#even if the passport application works out. now i have no one who would care enough to take me in. im sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry

[luminescencefics]

fade in, fade out - part six

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A/N: Since this chapter is quite long, mobile viewing is probably not the best option because Tumblr can sometimes be finicky! I would recommend viewing in a browser. Happy reading, loves! x

***

The Climax

January 2013 

Marcus and Nora break up during the spring of her second year.

He wanted things to move much faster than they were, and Nora was far too comfortable with their normal—the normal in which Marcus lived a floor above her and they could wrap around each other in his tiny twin bed without worrying about things outside of their protective bubble. Because this normal was easy, it was simple, it was safe—and doing anything different, switching up their normal, would make it the complete opposite.

So when he tells her that he found a small studio apartment in the West Village one April afternoon underneath a budding black tupelo tree in Central Park, and he would love more than anything for Nora to move in, she immediately declines. She wasn’t ready for that step—wasn’t ready to not live with Ebony and switch up her normal and pop their bubble.

Breaking up wasn’t in Nora’s plan, but she knew that it was bound to happen. It was an amicable split, something that didn’t shake her world or leave her feeling lost at sea without an anchor in the unforgiving rough waters. And two months later, when she’s spending her final summer at home with her mother, Nora wonders if there’s something wrong with her heart when it still feels intact and the still-beating flesh isn’t ripping apart at the seams.

But life moves on, and so does Nora.

When she arrives back on campus at the start of her third year, Nora finds that she has room in her schedule for extracurriculars due to her influx of AP credits from Townbridge. On a whim, she decides to fill in the gaps with Film Study classes, and Nora finds that her heart is thumping in a way that it never has before—in a way that makes her feel that she’s finally found purpose, finally found her passion, finally found something close to unadulterated happiness.

Her favorite film professor is an older woman named Suzanne Davies who insists she be called Sue, or more radically, Suzy. She’s built of thin bones and worn skin, mahogany eyes that have seen almost everything that Nora wishes she could, with grey curly hair that twists at the nape of her neck and covers a brain that Nora wishes she could pry apart and indulge in every memory like a film projector reel on a thin hanging sheet.

She teaches Film Theory & Criticism, and when Nora listens to her thick British accent work through Apparatus theory and Structuralist theory, she can’t help but think of London—a city that feels an entire world away, and how badly she wishes she could visit, if only for a short amount of time.

One dreary November afternoon when Nora is the last one to leave the lecture hall, Suzy stops her and asks her what she wants to do with her life. Nora is instantly brought back to a time in December three years ago, in a different state with a boy she thinks about every now and then, who asked her this very same question as the snow was falling outside and they were laying down on concrete steps, eyes facing the cracked ceiling above. She was honest then, not even hesitating when spilling the words freely from her lips, because for some odd reason, she trusted him entirely in that small moment in time.

She feels the same now, and suddenly, she’s telling her professor about the pressure she feels of choosing a stable career, of how she needs her mother to be proud of her, of how she studies Communications but craves Film, of how she’s never been happier than when she’s watching old movies and dreaming up plots of her own. She tells Suzy how she’s never left the country, of how she wishes to see places that aren’t coastal Newport or rural Connecticut or bustling New York City.

When Nora sits in her usual seat in the middle row for her next class a week later, she finds an application for Columbia’s exchange program with University College London on her desk. She skims through the pages, finding that Suzy has filled in most of the basic information, leaving the personal questions for Nora to finish. And when she looks up at her professor just as she’s beginning the lecture, Suzy feels her gaze warm her wrinkled cheek and shoots her wink, going right back to discussing human nature as a fundamental theme in A Clockwork Orange.

Nora sends in her application right after class, and receives her acceptance letter the week before Christmas break. She feels as if she’s floating through thin air, and the only thing keeping her from floating into the stratosphere is the glossy folder from UCL with the words Congratulations! and welcome and 4 January 2013 printed on thick paper. Her mother might possibly be more thrilled than Nora, and when she’s back in Newport folding thick sweaters and knitted scarves and thrifted trench coats into her suitcases on New Year’s Eve, Nora can’t help but think that if moments could be bottled, she would pick this one to cherish forever.

Time seems to pass much faster for Harry. His first year meshes into his second year without hesitation, his afternoon’s at his internship with his father fall into nights spent with his mates almost thoughtlessly—and it’s only once he’s been doing the same thing for almost an entire year when he feels himself growing tired of it all. He’s sick of this routine. Sick of drinking himself into a place where he doesn’t have any feelings, doesn’t think of all of his past mistakes, doesn’t do anything else except simply exist for a few hours. And when he falls into his bed the next morning feeling his brain throb against his skill in agony, he comes to the conclusion that he’s completely and utterly exhausted from this meaningless lifestyle.

When his third and final year comes along, he decides to stop answering his mates when they call. He doesn’t show up to their penthouse parties anymore, he doesn’t frequent the same claustrophobic clubs he knows they’ll be at. Harry keeps to himself, and when he sees a flyer after his Business Ethics lecture about intramural football tryouts, he brings his old kit to the pitch the next afternoon. He’s a bit rusty, but Harry finds that most of the lads are, and that thought alone makes him start to feel something other than emptiness.

He makes the team and meets a boy named Niall. He’s from Ireland and drinks like a fish, but he’s kind and easygoing and doesn’t care that Harry’s surname is Styles—and it’s a refreshing change from the incessant partying and shallow people he wasted away with his first two years. Niall is warm and comfortable, and reminds Harry of slipping on that warm jumper he’s had for years in the back of his closet whenever the weather gets cold, and it’s nice having a real friend for once in his life.

As October changes into November, Harry feels a change within himself, too. It’s subtle, the smallest of shifts that allows his icy heart to thaw ever so slowly, and he finds that he welcomes it with open arms.

He meets Niall’s girlfriend just as the long stretch of autumn begins. Her name is Piper and she’s practically made for Niall, in the way that the top of her head reaches just under Niall’s chin so that he can rest it there whenever they’re talking to other people, in the way that his hand practically swallows her much smaller one whenever they’re walking from pub to pub, in the way that she instinctively makes him a cup of tea whenever she brews her own, knowing exactly how he takes it. It makes Harry a little bit jealous, because for the first time in years, he finds that he yearns to wrap a body part around another warm person just to inform them that he hasn’t forgotten their presence, yearns to swallow palms with his own, yearns to have another person think of him while doing the most mundane of tasks.

Yearns to have somebody want him in a way he hasn’t ever been wanted before.

Piper is in her third year at UCL, and she met Niall at a house party during their first year hosted by a mutual friend. They fell in love quickly and seamlessly, and after three weeks Niall told her that she was the one for him, and it all sort of made sense.

She welcomes Harry into their eclectic group, filled with a few lads from footie and a few girls from Piper’s dorm, and they’re the fastest friends Harry’s ever made. They spend their fall semester at a small pub in Camden on Wednesdays that plays live music and is filled with seemingly normal people like Harry’s new mates, and busy house parties hosted by UCL students on the weekends, with the occasional club sprinkled in between.

As autumn trickles into winter, Harry finds that he’s quite sad to watch Niall leave for Ireland for the holiday break. He’s not sure how time passed so quickly, and as December fades into January, Harry’s counting down the days until his loud brown-haired mate is back in London, showing up on his doorstep to drag him to the pub around the corner for a pint.

When Nora exits Heathrow during one of the coldest days of the year, she finds that not even the weather can dull her perpetual shine. She barely slept the entire flight, her excitement of being on a plane for the first time and receiving her first official passport stamp keeping her wide awake throughout the entire seven hour journey.

During the car ride from Heathrow to her residence hall in Central London, Nora’s face is glued to the window pane, her eyes taking in every sight that flashes by. Her mouth is close enough to the glass that her humid breaths are causing the window to fog over, but she can’t even think about how rude that probably is. All she can think about is the fact that she’s in another country, in a brand new city, experiencing all of this for the very first time.

When the black car finally pulls up to a brick building, Nora clutches her two suitcases in each hand, her leather backpack strapped tightly against the wool material of her trench coat, and makes her way to the sixth floor.

Nora’s room is small but homely, a single twin bed against one wall with a wooden wardrobe on the other. A white desk sits underneath the decently-sized window straight against the back wall, and when she looks around and takes everything in, she feels herself breathe properly for the first time since stepping on English soil.

Her floor is quiet, but before Nora can begin to explore, she decides to be smart and starts unpacking, knowing that the longer she puts it off, the less inclined she’ll be to put her clothes away properly. 

After about an hour, she decides to venture down the hallway into the common room where a small kitchen and lounge area reside. Nora notices a few coats thrown over the back of the couch haphazardly, and before she can build up the courage to turn down the other adjacent hallway and meet her new floormates, she decides to brew a cup of coffee to push past the jet lag attempting to invade her insides.

When she turns the kettle on and rummages through the cupboards to try and find some instant coffee, Nora discovers nothing but various tea flavors. Disgruntled, Nora plucks a package of Earl Grey and places it inside a mug she grabbed from the shelf, moving the plaid tea towel a little bit further down the countertop as she waits for the hot water to boil.

Nora leans her right hip on the counter while she waits, drumming her fingertips against the laminate material as she tries to remember if she even likes the taste of tea to begin with. She drank chamomile tea once after studying for finals so that she could sleep, and whenever she was sick with a cold, her mother would make her a cup with a dollop of honey to soothe her scratchy throat. She wonders if she’s allowed to put milk inside so the color isn’t a deep murky brown, or if sugar would help with the bitter taste.

Suddenly, Nora detects something that smells distinctly of burning. She springs upright, wondering what on earth she could have possibly done. Water can’t burn, right?

But before her fuzzy brain can start functioning properly, she looks down to her right and notices that the edges of the plaid tea towel have charred, and when she blinks, Nora realizes that the red light on the hot plate has been turned on.

“Shit!” Nora squeals, flicking the switch off that she must have accidentally turned on when she lazily rested her hip against the edge of the counter moments ago.

Just as she makes a reach for the burning tea towel, she hears a high-pitched accented voice behind her shriek, and suddenly, freckled arms are appearing in her periphery, snatching up the ruined tea towel as she yells, “Oi! No tea towels on the hot plate!”

With a flick of her wrist, the girl throws the tea towel into the sink, turning the cold water on while Nora’s cheeks burn bright. “I’m sorry! I didn’t even realize—Christ,” she splutters, tearing her eyes away from the wet fabric inside the steel basin and focusing them on the smaller girl in front of her.

“Ah, you’re the new American exchange student.” The girl says it in a way that makes Nora wonder if it’s a good or bad thing, as if her identifier explains why she nearly burned their residence hall down a mere three hours after being allowed in the country.

Before Nora can apologize or worse, make an even bigger fool of herself, the pretty girl in front of her chuckles in a way that makes Nora breathe in a deep sigh of relief. And before she can even realize what she’s doing, Nora starts to laugh along with her—loud enough until her cheeks feel bruised from smiling so brightly and her ribs hurt from the lack of air pumping through her lungs. The kettle starts to whistle, forcing them to break their eye contact.

Just as Nora reaches over to turn it off, the girl’s freckled arm beats her to the punch, knocking her hip against Nora’s with a bright smile, “Let’s keep you away from any more potential fire hazards, yeah?”

The lightness in her tone makes Nora believe that she’s being genuine, and when the girl begins to pour the hot water into the mug and shoots a kind smile over her shoulder, Nora takes a step back and feels a bit more at ease.

“I’m Nora, by the way,” Nora announces, watching the pretty girl with auburn hair dunk the tea bag exactly seven times into the water.

“I’m Piper. How do you take your tea?” she asks, looking over her shoulder again. Nora gets a bit distracted by the smattering of freckles covering the bridge of her nose and falling onto the apples of her cheeks. Her eyes are the brightest shade of green Nora’s ever seen, and when the girl tilts her head to the side in question, Nora shakes her head, realizing that she has no idea how to properly drink tea.

“Uh, I’m not sure,” she admits sheepishly. Piper gives her a soft smile, before reaching into the refrigerator and grabbing a small carton of milk.

“You’ll take it like me, then. Reckon I’ll convert you into a proper tea drinker by the time your exchange is over, Rah,” Piper calls out, pouring a dash of milk and plopping one sugar cube inside the cup, stirring it another seven times. Nora wonders if that changes the taste or if it’s just a little quirk her new floormate does.

Nora’s eyebrows furrow at the unfamiliar name that falls from Piper’s pink lips. “Rah?”

Piper hands over the mug with twinkling eyes. “Gotta give you a nickname if we’re meant to be proper mates, right?”

It’s a question that seems to not need an answer, because Piper is the type of girl that says things with an air of unbridled assurance. Piper could tell you that the glowing star in the sky wasn’t the sun, instead, it was a dripping egg yolk that warmed everything underneath, and you would believe it. So when she calls Nora by her nickname, she doesn’t even bat an eye, because if being called Rah means she has a new friend in this unfamiliar place, then Nora will accept it without hesitation.

“Let’s get you all settled in then, yeah? I’ll have my boyfriend bring us some dinner. I think you’ll like him,” Piper says, grabbing Nora’s hand and dragging her into her bedroom at the other end of the hall.

A few hours later, when a brown-haired boy with matching blue eyes and a thick Irish accent shows up with two bags of Thai takeaway in one hand and a twelve-pack of Fosters beer in the other, Nora finds that Piper was right—she likes him quite a bit. They seem to get on like a house on fire, and when he cracks open a beer for her and tells her that he thinks she has a funny accent, Nora laughs and throws his comment right back in his face. The three of them end up eating too much food and drinking too much beer, but Nora doesn’t mind the bellyache when she falls into bed later that night, thinking all of it was worth it, because she made two new friends on her first night.

The next evening, Piper swings open Nora’s door without knocking, and begins rummaging through her wardrobe and pulling out her nicest pair of blue jeans, a cute sweater she got on the clearance rack at some New York City boutique, and one of her thrifted trench coats. She tells Nora to get ready because they’re going out tonight, and before she can decline, she hears Niall yell over from the common room, “Get yer arse dressed, Rah! It’s pub night!”

Barely thirty minutes later, Nora finds herself sandwiched between Niall and Piper in the cold January air, heels stomping against the pavement as they zigzag their way through the crowded streets of Camden Town.

Niall’s phone begins to ring, and before Nora’s head can snap in his direction, the sleek black device is already pressed against his ear as he begins speaking loudly into the night air. “Curly! How’re ya, mate? What? Yes, of course we’re goin’ to the pub. It’s Wednesday! Late? What d’ya mean, late? Oh. Yeah, sure, take yer time, Pipes and I have our hands full breakin’ in Rah over here. What’s that? Rah? Pipes and I adopted her. Yer gonna love her. Right, see ya later!”

He looks over at Nora as he slides his phone into his back pocket. The question is at the tip of her tongue, but when she takes in the mischievous twinkle in his eyes and finds that Piper’s are matching, she just shakes her head softly before muttering, “Do I even want to know?”

Niall flings his arm around her shoulder and Piper’s much smaller one wraps around Nora’s waist. “Best not to know anything,” Piper whispers into her ear, giggling as they make their way around the corner to the brick-faced pub at the end of the street.

When they finally pull Nora inside, it takes her a few moments to get adjusted to the unfamiliar setting. She’s only been twenty-one for two months now, and even though she knows the legal drinking age here is eighteen, she’s still only been inside a handful of bars in her short existence.

Bars in New York City are nothing like the place Nora currently finds herself in. She’s used to proper lighting, sleek bar tops, upholstered seating, and fancy liquor bottles lining the mirrored walls. Instead, she finds herself surrounded by chipped wood, sticky paneled flooring, and string lights fastened to original crown molding. The bar itself has more beer taps than she’s ever seen another place have before, and instead of ornate tequila bottles on thick glass panes, Nora finds numerous bottles of dark liquor haphazardly placed on oak shelving. It’s all wooden stools and high-top tables and stained rims on old surfaces, and when she notices an elevated platform along the farthest wall with musical instruments placed a bit too close together to make up for the lack of room the space provides, Nora finds that she likes this place a little bit more than the ones back home.

Instead of asking Nora what she’d like to drink, Niall just bends down and speaks into her ear, “You trust me, right?” And when she nods and finds that she surprisingly does trust this friendly stranger after only twenty-four hours, he grins and smacks a kiss to the crown of her head, prancing over to the bar with a giddy smile on his face.

Piper just shakes her head with a chuckle, grabbing Nora by the hand and dragging her over to a high-top closer to the empty stage. “Come meet the gang, Rah,” she says, squeezing her palm a little tighter when she notices the nervous look washing over Nora’s features.

With her palm in Piper’s, Nora is happily introduced to a group of five people clutching pint glasses with two plates of chips in the middle of the table. She recognizes two of the girls from her residence hall, and smiles when they compliment her boots and coat. The rest are names Nora tries her hardest to file into her memory, and when she slips into a stool with Piper sliding into the one on her right, she finds herself feeling much more comfortable.

Niall appears with a black tray covered in spilled beer and shorter glasses filled with a deep brown liquid Nora can only assume to be whiskey inside. She gulps, attempting to alleviate her dry throat, mentally preparing herself because she did tell him moments ago that she trusted him. And when she slides the liquor down her throat and feels it burn her insides, she chases the warmth with cold beer and hears Niall’s loud cheer across from her.

“Way to go, Rah! Yer a natural!” Nora feels Piper squeeze her shoulder affectionately, and before Niall can slide another shot glass in her direction, Nora watches his eyes lift over the top of her head to something behind her. His blue eyes suddenly widen and his teeth rip through his skin, grinning widely as he calls out, “Curly! Just in time, mate!”

Nora hears a deep chuckle behind her, and for some strange reason, it sounds all too familiar. 

She’s instantly brought back to a time three years ago in the dead of winter, the rolling green Connecticut hills covered in thick white blankets of snow, in which a boy and a girl spent ten days together without any interruptions. She heard that chuckle enough times in those ten days to permanently have it imprinted in her memory, and suddenly, Nora feels her stomach clench uncomfortably, because how, after all of this time, can Nora still remember that sound?

But then she hears it. His voice—much deeper now, but still gravelly and throaty, forming words slowly with his accent tilting at the end of specific phrases. It’s much thicker now, no doubt from his time spent in his home country, and all at once, Nora feels her face pucker with discomfort. She wonders if anybody else can notice the inner-turmoil wreaking havoc underneath her skin, but then he speaks again, and it’s close enough to cause her to momentarily forget how to breathe.

“What do we have here, then?” Nora can’t bring herself to move. She feels as if her bum is glued to the wooden seat, the soles of her boots are transfixed to the legs of the stool, and her upper body has lost all proper motor function. Nora is almost certain that she’s panicking, but then she’s brought back into focus when Niall’s cheerful voice echoes off the walls of the crowded pub surrounding her.

“This is our Rah! Came all the way from America on exchange, so don’t go and scare her off,” Niall calls out, his grin faltering a little when he notices the alarmed look covering Nora’s face.

“Came all this way and the first person she meets is you? Well, let me formally apologize for that disappointment—” Nora gulps one last time and swivels around in the old stool, finally revealing herself, causing his words to fall flat.

When their eyes finally meet, Nora’s relieved she isn’t holding the pint glass in her hand, because if she were, she’s certain that it would fall to the floor below her, breaking with a resounding crack when she finally faces Harry Styles for the first time in three years.

It feels like everything is happening in slow motion. Sea green eyes widen in shock, and Nora watches as his neck pushes his face outward, as if his body was forcing him to take in every inch of her face to re-familiarize himself with it. He’s a bit taller now, still wearing an expensive dark-colored trench coat, still choosing an inappropriately thin t-shirt underneath. He seems to have grown up in every sense of the word—with the way his chest is a bit fuller and his arms are a bit thicker and his stomach is a bit tighter. His jawline seems to be more pronounced, the bone practically slicing through his skin with the way the lines effortlessly sculpt his face that is still annoyingly perfect. She notices that his hair is pushed back into a low bun, the curls escaping the thin hair tie just kissing the nape of his neck. She can’t help but wonder what the tendrils would look like if she pulled the knotted elastic from his hair, allowing them to fall freely down his back.

“Nora Priestley?” Harry barely calls out. He feels as if he’s hallucinating.

Because the last time he saw Nora Priestley in the flesh, she was all blonde hair and skinny limbs and knobby knees. There’s no denying that this is still her, considering her blue eyes are practically tattooed underneath his eyelids whenever he tries to fall asleep at night, and nobody else can steal that shade. She’s practically a fully-blossomed woman sitting in front of him—all slender legs and tiny waist, long torso that has rigidified over time, undulating hips that truly show a level of maturity that didn’t exist three years ago back in Connecticut. Her face is still angular, her nose is still buttoned, her lips are still pouty, her cheekbones are still high on her face and tinted pink. But when he looks at her hair, he notices that the blonde is gone. In its place is a deep shade of brown, nearly black, flowing over her shoulders and down her back languidly. Her fringe is still there, all messy strands framing a face that she’s finally grown into, and Harry finds a calming sense of familiarity in that.

She’s beautiful—she’s always been this effortlessly cool type of beautiful, and Harry can’t actually believe that she’s sitting in front of him. Can’t actually believe that her lips are moving on her face, forming his two-syllable name. Can’t actually believe that he’s been staring at her hearing white noise flood through his ear canals, blocking whatever else is falling from her mouth.

“Your hair. It’s different,” are the words Harry chooses to say once he realizes her mouth is closed, mentally berating himself for being so wrapped up in this New Nora that he seemingly forgot how to hold a normal conversation.

She seems to be on the same page, with the way she slowly tears her eyes from his own, staring blankly at the wall over his shoulder when an odd sense of déjà vu clouds her vision, before nodding absently.

“Yeah,” she finally voices, bringing her forlorn gaze back to his. “I could say the same for you.”

He smiles a bit, wondering how to maneuver through these unfamiliar waters with her. But before he can even properly locate his mooring, Niall interrupts, causing Nora to swivel back in his direction so that her back is once again facing Harry.

“I’m confused—have you two met?” Niall asks, observing the two with wide eyes, a crinkle in his forehead as he tries to dissect the interaction unfolding across the table.

“Uh, yeah. We went to boarding school together,” Nora explains, filling in the gaps. She sees the pint glass in her periphery and grabs it tightly, bringing it to her lips and gulping three heavy swallows of the bitter liquid to slow down her erratic heartbeat.

“Wait—here? I thought you said you’ve never been on a plane before, Nora!” Piper calls out from Nora’s right side, her auburn hair flicking back and forth when she notices the tension radiating off of their bodies.

“No, in America,” Harry answers for Nora when he realizes her mouth is preoccupied with downing her entire pint in one go. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are darting in every direction that isn’t the blue of Niall’s eyes or the bright green of Piper’s, and Harry can conclude that Nora is uncomfortable.

“Well, that’s a plot twist I didn’t see comin’,” Niall says through a chuckle, moving his eyes away from Nora’s as he takes a long swig of his drink, shaking his head at the uncanniness of it all.

The whole group seems to be a bit shocked by this revelation, and before Nora can suffocate under the unnatural silence surrounding the table, Piper asks the rest of the group a question about the new band performing tonight, and just like that, all is forgotten.

Nora can feel the body behind her disappear, and when she sees black wool material flutter past her eyesight, she breathes in a sigh of relief when she notices the only chair available is the one diagonal from her, almost conveniently out of her line of vision.

She looks up when she sees a fresh pint glass being pushed in her direction, and when her eyes lock with Niall’s and she realizes that he’s given her the second beer he originally saved for himself, she smiles appreciatively before bringing the cool glass to her lips, swallowing deeply with her eyes shut tight.

If Nora’s meant to endure this entire evening, she’s going to need all of the liquid courage she can muster. Because the universe must be playing some sort of sick-twisted game with her, giving her the opportunity to travel to a new city while simultaneously thrusting the boy who almost broke her heart right in the epicenter of it all. She wonders if this is her karma for ending things with Marcus, for not agreeing to move in with him and take the next steps in their relationship.

Nora sighs, wanting so badly to laugh at her situation, but knows deep down that she can’t. Because London is supposed to be a big city—filled with nine million people and her chances of potentially running into Harry were meant to be astronomically low. The numbers should have been on her side—considering Oxford University is sixty miles away from UCL, and Oxfordshire is an hour and a half away from Central London, and out of the three hundred pubs in all of Camden, the probability of running into him at this very one in this exact moment in time is far too outstanding to even be considered a possibility.

But it is, and it’s happening all around her, and suddenly—Nora needs to leave.

She can’t be sat so close to him after all this time and act like everything’s okay. Because it’s not okay and she’s not okay and this whole fucking scenario will never be okay, and in order to be okay, Nora needs to locate the closest escape route and disappear.

Her head is swivelling and she’s not listening to any of the conversations happening around her, and as if the gods were pitying her, sensing her panic attack all the way from the heavens above, they send her a sign in the form of Niall grabbing Harry and bringing him over to the bar with the guys for another round.  

Once they’ve left, Nora abandons her half-emptied glass and grabs her coat, flinging it on her body without even buttoning it properly. Piper looks over, realizing that Nora’s face is flushed and her eyes are a bit widened, and before she can get too far, she asks, “Rah, you alright?”

Shit, Nora thinks, I forgot about Piper.

“Uh, yeah. Just need a smoke,” Nora lies, teeth forming a barely-there smile to try and prove to her new friend that she’ll be okay and doesn’t need to be followed.

Piper warily falls for it, and when Nora watches her freckled face turn back towards the girls at the table, Nora sighs in relief and hurries over to the front door, flying out into the cold January air as she tries to navigate her shaking feet back towards the Underground.

She doesn’t make it very far, barely rounds the corner of the street before she hears her name being roughly called from raspberry lips she’s too terrified to face. But his legs are longer than hers and his strides are more purposeful, because just as Nora’s identified the Underground entranceway, Harry’s large palm wraps around her tensed bicep and suddenly, she’s spinning on the heels of her boots, officially caught trying to run away in the middle of a busy sidewalk surrounded by throngs of people.

Nora immediately flinches, shaking his hand off her body before she becomes familiar with the warmth that encapsulates the fabric adorning her skin. Harry gets the hint and dejectedly brings his hand back down to his side, shuffling in his brown suede shoes as he tries to form the correct words to say to her.

“You don’t have to leave,” he starts, trying his hardest to identify the wary look in her eyes. Because he’s never seen her look like this—so completely and utterly defeated, and Harry almost wishes she would lash out instead of continue to look at him the way she is doing right now.

“I do,” Nora says, moving her eyes down to the cracked pavement. She can’t bring herself to look at his face anymore.

“Piper said you were having a smoke. I didn’t think you did that.” Harry’s words cause her head to lift abruptly, and she’s not sure if it’s because his voice sounds so broken and dejected, or if it’s because he’s insinuating that he still knows things about her.

“You don’t know me anymore, Harry,” Nora spits out, leveling her blues with his greens in a standoff that she doesn’t feel ready for.

Harry frowns, rubbing his palm against the back of his neck, choosing to back down. “I know.”

It’s sad. The whole situation is terribly sad, because suddenly, Pandora’s box has been ripped open—the lid practically flung across the pavement as feelings that have been buried underneath the surface for so long are unforgivingly being unearthed right in front of their eyes.

Nora turns away, knowing there’s really nothing left to be said between the two of them. Not until she’s properly processed it all. Not until she’s dealt with her emotions the right way instead of screaming in his face and never looking back.

“Nora,” Harry tries, his voice pleading with hers. He waits until she turns around before saying, “My birthday is in a few weeks. The first. Niall’s throwing me a party and all that, and uh—” he takes a massive gulp, his entire body riddled with nerves, “I’d really like for you to come.”

“I’ll think about it,” Nora says after a moment’s pause, offering him a shaky smile in hopes that it’ll be enough for him to allow her to enter the Underground without another interruption.

“And Nora?” her eyes find his one last time before he says, “It’s really great to see you.”

The next Wednesday pub night, Nora decides to stay home. It’s not that she doesn’t want to hang out with everyone, because she does—she just knows that Harry will definitely be in attendance, and she still isn’t really sure how to feel about everything. The last thing Nora wants to do is make things awkward with this new group of friends she just met, so staying in was the easiest option.

On the Wednesday after that, Harry decides to skip out. He doesn’t want Nora to feel like she has to avoid her new friends because their relationship (or lack thereof) is stuck in limbo. Traveling to a new country, especially for the first time, is never fun to do alone—and Harry would hate himself if he made her feel that isolating herself is the best option. So he stays home, and tries not to text Niall and ask him if Nora decided to show up (even though he stalks his mates’ social media and finds that she did, in fact, go).

Niall and Piper try not to ask the invasive questions that are dancing on the tip of their tongues, because it’s so blatantly obvious that Nora and Harry were never “just” mates from school. Nora never explicitly tells her new friends about what happened, but Piper can figure it out, because she’s a girl, and girl’s know what Nora’s eyes mean when they twinkle and break at the mention of Harry’s name. Harry, on the other hand, drunkenly spilled anecdotes to Niall in the past about a girl who deserved so much better than what he could offer her, and with one look at the bruised skin underneath Harry’s vacant eyes in the days that follow their reunion, Niall understands then that the girl in question is none other than his special Rah.

The first of February comes along with a dip in temperature, and before Nora can mull over Harry’s birthday party invitation any longer, she decides to throw caution to the wind and go. She shops for a pretty dress with Piper, and when she finds a discounted Topshop number that pairs excellently with the only pair of heels she stuffed into her suitcase, she purchases it without a second thought.

The girls get ready together and Nora lets Piper curl her hair, and when the rest of their friends make cocktails in their tiny shared kitchenette, Nora feels her worries wash away with each sip of fruity liquor that slides down her throat.

When they arrive at the club Niall organizes all their mates to meet at, Nora barely has time to try and locate the birthday boy. Because suddenly, she’s meeting a handful of new people and being dragged to the dancefloor against her will, and after her second (or third?) Sex on the Beach, she’s in that perfect state of drunkenness in which she feels light and airy and nothing but happiness radiates off her sticky skin.

Harry, oppositely, is in that state of drunkenness in which his words are slurring together and his eyes are glossy. He feels airy, practically lightheaded at this point, and his teeth stretch the skin around his mouth wide as he laughs along to whatever his friends are saying.

He’s barely had time to make the rounds, because people kept approaching him left and right with birthday praises and a shot glass filled with pungent liquor for him to shoot back. Niall finally rejoins him at the U-shaped leather booth in their corner of the club, and when Harry asks him something that sounds like Piper, Niall points in the direction of his girlfriend twirling around the dancefloor with a group of her friends.

When he refocuses his blurry vision on the group, Harry instantly notices brown hair floating through the air. The curls seem to have fallen a bit as the night dragged on, and when the girl turns around to mouth the lyrics of the upbeat song to Piper, Harry grins when he recognizes the pouty lips that are painted a refreshing shade of sherbert. Her cheeks are tinged and Harry wonders if it’s from exertion or alcohol, and when she spins back around to shake her hips to the beat of the overplayed pop song, he can’t tear his eyes away. It’s only once her hands scoop the hair at the back of her neck, pushing it upwards to let the prickling skin underneath breathe for a bit, when Harry notices the new etchings of ink on her body.

Three equally-sized birds are tattooed on the back of her right shoulder, swirling on her ivory skin whenever her arms move above her head as she dances. Harry can’t seem to look away—suddenly wondering if there’s anything else about her that has changed in three years. He finds that he wants to know everything about her within the time period when they weren’t in each other’s lives, and it’s that startling realization that causes him to ignore the advances of the yellow-haired girl sitting across the table from him.

“Y’alright, Curly?” Niall asks after Harry waves the girl away, and he nods distractedly, bringing his whiskey and ginger to his mouth to gulp back heavily. Niall shakes his head and tells him that he’s going to go dance with Piper, and Harry just watches idly as his friend saunters away.

For some reason, Harry doesn’t get up. Instead, he pulls more sips from the liquor at his table, watching in curiosity as Nora mingles with his mates and dances with Niall and Piper. He thinks it’s fascinating, thinks that in a parallel universe he and Nora would be doing this every night, and instead of random girls vying for his attention, Nora would undoubtedly have all of it.

With that thought running through his head, he sloppily gets up from his seat, drunkenly hobbling over to his group of friends on the dancefloor near the bar. When he approaches them, he flings an unsteady arm around Niall’s neck for extra support, grinning widely when everyone calls him the birthday boy and pinches his cheeks in drunken adoration.

“Mm, think ‘ve had enough, mate,” Harry slurs in Niall’s direction, resting a good portion of his weight on his shorter friend who has to tighten his grip around Harry’s waist.

“I’ll call a car, have ‘em bring you home. Need me t’come with?” Niall asks, and when Harry looks at each of his mates in their small circle, he shakes his head cheekily and smiles in Nora’s direction.

“No, I want Nora to.” It’s innocent in the way that he just wants to spend time with her, because he hasn’t even had the chance to speak to her tonight, and all he can think about is how much time has passed between them and that he misses her in a way he didn’t think was possible.

Nora watches Harry whine in Niall’s ear, and even though the music is too loud for her to make out everything he’s saying, she somehow manages to hear the words want and Nora and please. Niall looks over in her direction, and when he asks her if she’ll take him home, she considers accepting for some odd reason. Because he’s drunk and needy, and she’s never seen a needy Harry Styles before, and as if the time frame has blurred right in front of her, Nora finds herself in the backseat of a fancy town car driving off into a quieter part of the city.

They sit on opposite ends of the car with the middle seat unused between them, and after a few minutes of silence, Harry decides to break it by saying, “‘M really happy you came tonight.”

Nora’s not nearly as drunk as he is, and she finds it quite adorable the way his deep voice cracks over the slurred syllables, and his lips are bright red from his teeth gnawing into them, and his cheeks are almost a deeper shade from the alcohol surging through his veins.

“It’s your birthday. It would have been mean of me not to,” Nora says softly, watching as Harry tears his eyes away from the blurred streets and onto her face.

He grins. “I don’t think y’know how t’be mean, Nora. Not sure there’s a mean bone in your body.”

Nora just smiles back gently, unsure of how exactly to respond. Thankfully, the car pulls to a stop on a quiet street just in front of a white stucco townhouse. There’s a small iron-clad gate on the sidewalk that comes about waist-high, and when Harry unlocks it and begins his wobbly trek to the navy blue front door, Nora can’t help but look around his neighborhood in slight awe.

The jostling of keys breaks her out of her reverie, and when she finds Harry struggling to place the correct key into the lock, she calmly pushes him out of the way and flicks her wrist to unlock the door, pushing it open and allowing him to step in first.

She barely gets a chance to take in the interior of his home before he’s grabbing the keys from her hand and dropping them loudly in the bowl on the hallway table, unsteadily stepping out of his shoes and leaving them haphazardly on the floor, reaching for her hand and dragging her up the stairs to the loft bedroom above.

Before Nora can even comprehend what Harry’s doing, he’s suddenly flinging his clothes across different surfaces of his room—starting with his trench coat over his desk chair, his belt on the shoe rack in his closet, his wallet on the bureau nearest to the door. It’s only once he starts fumbling out of his jeans when Nora turns around with a squeak, feeling a bit awkward watching him drunkenly scramble out of his clothes.

“What’re you doin’?” He slurs, the sound of his feet struggling to get out of the tight material ceasing abruptly.

“Giving you privacy,” Nora explains, finding herself counting the knobs on his dresser instead of hyperfocusing on the fact that Harry is undressing behind her.

She can hear him chuckle a bit, and then the sound of a body flopping onto a mattress takes over. Harry grunts in frustration, and it’s only once he’s called Nora’s name when she peeks over her shoulder timidly, finding Harry lying flat on his bed with his shirt still on, his feet firmly planted on the hardwood floor as his jeans seem to be stuck around his knees.

“Can you help me?” He doesn’t seem to be making a pass at her, because his voice is whiny and his neck is strained, and he really seems to be struggling taking off his tight skinny jeans.

Nora laughs a bit before walking over, grabbing his jeans by his knees and forcing him to straighten his legs as she pulls. Harry watches, leaning up on his elbows as he wiggles the material off of his skin, gleaming proudly when they’re off and discarded into his hamper.

With her back to him, Harry reaches for a pair of joggers and shuffles them on, swapping his wrinkled dress shirt for an old band tee that he wore the night before. When she hears him trying to untuck his duvet from underneath the throw pillows on his bed, Nora turns around and places her palm on his back in the place just between his shoulder blades, causing him to freeze.

“Go brush your teeth. I’ll do this before you fall on your face,” Nora says through a giggle, and Harry does as he’s told, watching her through the reflection of his mirror with wide eyes as she delicately places the throw pillows on the bench under his window and pulls back the duvet and sheets pristinely.

After he spits out the mint toothpaste and waddles back into his room, Nora pats the spot on his bed that she’s left untucked for him, smiling softly as she says, “C’mon birthday boy.”

Harry grins sleepily, pushing himself on the mattress and burrowing into his pillows, chuckling when Nora pulls up the sheet and duvet until it’s tucked underneath his chin. She checks his nightstand to make sure that his phone is plugged in, and after confirming that everything seems to be put into place, she tries to wish Harry goodnight before he interrupts and asks, “Will you stay?”

Nora attempts to shake her head, telling him that it isn’t a good idea, causing Harry to try an alternative approach. The whiny, annoying kind, that usually works magnificently on the likes of Niall and Piper.

“Please, Nora! ‘S my birthday. ‘S all I want, and you didn’t get me a gift!”

Nora pauses, reading Harry’s face and finding the ghost of a smile hidden underneath his lips. She admires his tactic and decides to play along, stubbornly adding, “I didn’t know what you’d like! Not quite sure I can compete with all of the nice things your friends already got you.”

Harry scoffs indignantly. “I would’ve loved it anyway. ‘Cos it’s from you.”

“Harry—”

“—Please stay,” Harry interrupts, causing Nora to frown as she’s torn. “We can watch a film! Like we used to! I know y’love films, Nora. I even ‘ave a bunch in a drawer over ‘ere, look—”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Nora rushes out, placing her hands gently over the duvet covering Harry’s chest, forcing him to lie back down on his bed. “No need to get up. It just took me ages to get you tucked in!”

“You’re right, ‘m sorry. ‘S over there.” Harry aimlessly points in the direction of his television stand at the far end of the wall. Nora nods, turning on her heel and beginning to walk in that direction, bending at her knees as she opens the drawer in question.

As she scans over the movie titles, she’s surprisingly impressed at his collection. They span across multiple genres, although Nora does note that he owns a decent amount of romantic comedies for a twenty-two year old boy. She almost chooses Ferris Bueller’s Day Off to reminisce, but those memories are jaded now, and she hasn’t seen the film since she sat thigh to thigh with Harry in his twin bed all those years ago, so instead, she plucks 10 Things I Hate About You and places it into the DVD player.

When the title screen loads, she checks on Harry over her shoulder and finds that he’s grinning from his position tucked snugly in his bed.

“Did y’know this was based on Taming of the Shrew?” he asks suddenly.

Nora pauses her act of getting up from the floor, shocked at the fact that Harry is willingly giving her film trivia that she used to provide. And when she stands up after a beat, looking down at him from the end of his bed, she smirks and asks teasingly, “Have you been studying film trivia?”

Harry just shrugs, a shy smile covering his face as his cheeks bloom pink.

She turns around then and hits play, and once the opening credits begin to roll on the screen, she rounds his king-sized bed and lays beside him on the other end, making sure to lay on top of the covers in her dress to keep a safe distance between them. Harry tries his hardest not to pout at the absence.

“Does this mean you’re staying?” Harry whispers just as the opening scene flashes onto the screen.

With her eyes trained on the screen, Nora just nods quietly, trying her hardest not to look over in his direction. And around halfway through the film, just after Patrick belts “Can’t Take My Eyes Off Of You” to Kat on the staircase, Harry looks over to find Nora sound asleep on the other side of the mattress. Without waking her up, he grabs the blanket at the end of his bed and throws it over her body, watching as she welcomes the warmth as she snuggles into it.

It’s far too early when Harry wakes up. The sun has barely started to stretch its sunbeams outside of his window, and when he blinks through the dimness of his room, he finds that the first thing he sees is Nora Priestley. They’re both lying on their sides facing each other, a little bit closer than when they first dozed off. Harry can feel their bent knees brushing against the other’s underneath their respective blanket layers, and when Harry focuses on the hand that isn’t buried under his pillow, he realizes that his fingertips are ever so lightly grazing Nora’s much smaller ones. He smiles to himself, and just before falling back asleep, he hooks his pinky finger around Nora’s.

When he wakes up a few hours later, Nora is gone. He looks around his room to see if she’s in the ensuite or banging about downstairs, and finds himself frowning when all he’s met with is silence. Just as his eyes sweep over his nightstand, he finds a note near a glass of water with two paracetamol tablets on top. He scoops up the medication in one hand, and brings the note up to his eyes with the other.

Happy birthday, Harry. Here’s the best I could do on short notice. -Nora

He glances over to his alarm clock and realizes that it’s not even noon yet, and without really thinking, he reaches for his mobile and rings Niall to ask him for directions to Niall and Piper’s residence hall.

“Curly? What’re you doin’ up before noon?” Niall’s loud voice asks through the receiver.

Before Harry can bring himself to respond, he hears a giggle that sounds almost identical to Nora’s in the background, and suddenly he’s asking, “What’re you up to?”

“Hangover brunch, mate. Sunday tradition,” Niall responds easily, the sound of the late morning air ruffling through the speaker.

“Since when?” Harry asks, straining his ear to see if he can try to hear Nora again.

Niall laughs loudly, breaking his focus. “Since always! Yer dead to the world until the afternoon, so Rah always third-wheels with Piper and I—oof! I’m just messin’ around, Rah! You know we love yer company!”

Suddenly, Harry’s springing out of bed, running into the bathroom to brush his teeth and splash cold water onto his face to wake him up. He asks Niall the name of the restaurant, and just as the words leave his mouth, Harry hangs up and throws on the first clean pair of jeans and jumper he can find, shoving a beanie over his mangled hair and flying out the door.

He arrives just as tea gets brought to the table, and when he finds that the only open chair at their table of four is the one across from Nora, he grins and slides right in, watching the way her cheeks blush as her eyes burn holes through the plastic menu.

“Any particular reason why yer up and at ‘em this mornin’, Curly?” Niall asks, a knowing look on his face as his eyes dart between Harry’s and Nora’s accusingly.

“Just felt like waking up, I suppose,” Harry says in Niall’s direction, ordering a cup of tea from the waitress as she passes by. When he realizes that Piper and Niall are indulged in their own conversation, Harry leans forward over the table and asks Nora lowly, “So, what’s good here?”

Nora’s eyebrows dart up in surprise, asking, “You’ve never been here before?”

Harry shakes his head, smiling when he coaxes a pretty giggle out of Nora’s mouth. He finds that she looks cute in the morning, all sleepy eyed and puffed out cheeks. He almost wishes he caught her before she snuck out of his flat. He would have loved to see what she looked like buried in his pillows.

“I usually get a full English and give Niall my tomatoes,” Nora explains, sipping her tea generously.

“Why’s that?” Harry asks.

Nora scrunches her nose. “Not a fan of them.”

Before Harry can say anything else to her, the waitress pops over to take their order, and when their plates arrive and the first thing Nora notices Harry does is eat a bite of his grilled tomato, she pierces her fork through the two on her plate and drops them on his own instead of giving them to Niall.

If anybody at the table notices, they choose not to say anything.

After that Sunday morning, Harry finds that he can’t stay away from Nora. He remembers lurking through her Facebook page a year ago and finding that she has a thing for coffee shops, and after asking Piper for her class schedule, he waits for her outside her lecture hall one dreary Tuesday afternoon and brings her to his favorite café a few miles away from her residence hall.

It’s called the Muddy Cup and Nora’s surprised that it’s a place Harry frequents, considering it’s the complete opposite of his personality. It’s all bright colors and mismatched furniture, uniquely shaped mugs with bluesy, light jazz music playing in the background. It smells of coffee grinds and a hint of vanilla, and after their third trip there, Nora finds that this version of Harry is just like the one she remembers enjoying during their ten days together back in Townbridge—except, it’s heightened here in London. He tells her things without hesitating, he seems to have recognized how wrong his actions were, he seems to have a plan for his life. It’s a lot all at once, but Nora takes it all in stride, constantly reminding herself not to hold grudges and to try to remember that people are continuously changing and evolving, and that if Harry is trying his hardest to let her see this side of her, then she should at least give him the opportunity to allow him to do so.

But she’s not naive. She knows that she can’t just hand him her heart without precautions all because he’s trying to show her how much he’s changed. Because underneath all of her strong walls, all of the barriers she’s constructed to ensure that she doesn’t feel pain again, she knows that if anybody has the power to weave through all of her booby traps and decoys and rattle the infrastructure, it’s him.

Harry knows this, too. Knows that even though this New Nora in front of him changed her hair and grew up a little bit, she is still guarded, and he really can’t blame her for being overly cautious of him. He’s trying though—really trying, because if there’s anybody in this world that can bring out the best version of himself, it’s her.

After a few more coffee dates and a walk around his campus, Harry finally comes up with a plan. He’s not sure why he hadn’t thought of it sooner, because he’s almost positive it’s going to be the best first date Nora Priestley has ever been on. And he wants that for her—so badly, because she deserves it.

Harry schemes with Niall and Piper to make sure that Nora is free on a rare sunny late February afternoon. He shows up outside of her residence hall in his black Range Rover, watching the way she smiles bashfully at him when she notices him leaning against the passenger door of his car, posture nothing but attractive confidence with the way his jean-clad left leg is bent resting on the steel door, the way his emerald green jumper stretches across his chest due to his arms being crossed over the thin material, the way his long hair is free flowing down his shoulders as the wind ruffles the tendrils in the cool air. He weaves his sunglasses atop his head when he sees her exit her building, giving her a one-armed hug as he simultaneously opens the car door with his other hand, allowing Nora to fall into the warm leather interior.

“Where are we going?” Nora asks after they’ve merged onto the motorway. Harry looks over at her then, one hand resting on the steering wheel while the other pushes and pulls at the skin covering his lower lip nervously. He offers her a shy smile, before muttering, “A surprise,” causing Nora to blush immediately.

Once the colorful pastel townhouses flood into view, Nora isn’t sure how she didn’t realize it sooner. The streets are winding and her nose is practically glued to the window as she takes in the flashes of raspberry, lilac, peach, coral, and mint lining Notting Hill. She can’t wipe the aching grin covering her face, and when she whips her head around to look over at Harry and finds that he’s already looking at her, it’s almost instinctual when she slips her hand into his and squeezes it in gratitude.

When Harry has to park the car, he almost whines at the fact that the moment he removes his key from the ignition, Nora’s hand will leave his own.

They spend the afternoon weaving through the crowded streets. Harry leads her through Portobello Road Market and watches as Nora’s eyes flick through racks of clothing and tables filled with various antiques and collectables. She notices Harry eyeing a gold ring from a jewelry stand towards the end of the market, and when he offers to buy them a cup of coffee from a small café across the street, Nora sneakily purchases it for him as a way of saying thank you (and maybe for another reason entirely, too.)

As Nora sips through her warm styrofoam cup of hazelnut coffee, she notices a string of bookshops across the street. She laughs to herself, her memory immediately reverting to three years ago in her tiny twin bed at Townbridge when she and Harry were cuddled up underneath her mom’s handmade blanket watching Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant meet for the very first time. She wonders if Harry is thinking about the same thing, too, but she doesn’t dare ask him. Instead, she links her hand with his and drags him to the first shop she sees, pushing the door open with her hip and letting the smell of old books and worn leather fill her senses.

Harry isn’t sure if Nora is doing it intentionally, but as they scan through the spines of books resting on dusty shelves, her hand never leaves his own. It warms his insides up in a way he’s never experienced, and he feels as if he’s floating through air, and the only thing that’s keeping him grounded is her small hand squeezing his ever so lightly.

Once they’ve rounded the end of the store, Nora looks over and asks him, “Do you have any suggestions?”

Harry’s heart thumps a resounding string of three beats, and he can’t help but wonder if she felt the same whenever he asked her to pick out her favorite films for him three years ago back in her tiny dorm room. From the smile coating the lower half of her face, Harry can assume that she most likely does, and without slipping his hand from her own, he drags her to the classics section and peruses through the titles.

Nora watches as he somehow maneuvers three paperbacks into one hand while keeping her own nestled tightly in his, and when he brings her to the front of the store and easily grabs his wallet from his back pocket, she tries to wriggle her hand from his grasp to stop him from paying for her. Harry doesn’t allow this though, and instead, shushes her by squeezing her hand tighter, looking down at her with his chin resting on his shoulder as he shakes his head with a coy smile covering his face. Nora isn’t sure how to respond—mainly because she’s mesmerized by the turquoise twinkle in his eyes, or the way his large hand wrapped around her own makes her feel overwhelmingly safe, or the way she can’t seem to look anywhere else but at the profile of his structured face. The realization strikes her straight into her heart, an electrical current causing the beating flesh to vibrate almost erratically, making her skin prickle with warmth and her stomach twist and turn with giddiness, and she finds that she never wanted her hand to leave his in the first place.

Before they even realize it, the afternoon is over. Harry intentionally slows his gait so that he can do everything in his power to extend the time he has with Nora’s hand nestled in his own and the left side of her body sidled up to his. But unfortunately, not even Harry has the ability to slow down time, and sadly, they’ve approached the car in despondent silence.

He turns her around just as they’ve reached the passenger side door, Nora’s back resting on the cool steel as she lifts her head up. Harry’s eyes are focused on their tangled hands, toying with her fingertips as he tries to figure out what she’s thinking.

“I got you something,” Nora says after a beat, waiting until Harry’s eyes are on hers before she slips the hand that isn’t knotted with his inside her jacket pocket. He watches as she removes the gold ring from the paper envelope and drops it into his palm gently.

“Nora—” Harry starts, pausing as he stares at the thick gold band with dancing bears engraved in the middle. The sun makes the metal twinkle in the light, and when he shifts his eyes into Nora’s blue pools, he isn’t sure which is brighter.

“Put it on me?” he asks. Harry knows that he’s fully capable of putting it on himself, but that would require removing his other hand from her own. Also, he selfishly wants to feel Nora’s smaller digits tickling his skin, and when she obliges with a gentle smile and grabs the ring from his opened palm, Harry tries to conceal the shudder shaking his body when she obeys his request.

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” Harry whispers into the small space between them when Nora’s fingers push the gold ring past his knuckle.

She just shrugs, looking up at him timidly. “I wanted to.”

While Harry’s eyes are focused on the newest addition to his growing jewelry collection, Nora decides to be brave and reaches up onto her tiptoes with the intention of planting a kiss on his cheek as a way of saying thank you without having to properly vocalize it. But, Harry notices everything she does, and when he watches her body shift towards him in his periphery, he lifts his head up at the last moment in question, causing Nora’s plump lips to land on the corner of his mouth.

The contact only lasts a measly two seconds, but it’s enough to cause them both to freeze. Nora’s eyes widen, and before she can let her body fall into his own, she springs back and places a generous two foot gap between them.

Harry’s not even sure what to think. He’s almost positive that he’s frozen to the pavement, his thick boots stuck in sludgy cement as he tries to bring them to move forward so that Nora doesn't feel so far away. But he can’t move—the neurons in his brain aren’t connecting to the muscles in his legs, and he has no fucking idea why.

Nora stares at him, trying her hardest to force her mouth to form the words “sorry.” But when she really stops to think about it, she finds that she isn’t sorry at all. The smallest feeling of his mouth on hers was enough to cause her body to zap with excitement, and when she looks up at him underneath the curtain of her eyelashes and find that his pupils are dilated to the fullest degree, she decides to forego her apology and leans in, pressing her lips to his with reckless abandon.

Instinctively, Harry’s arms wrap around her waist to support her body as their lips re-familiarize themselves with one another. The sigh he breathes into her mouth is nothing but relief—because ever since he left her dorm room three years ago back at Townbridge, all Harry’s been thinking about is feeling her lips on his again. And now that it’s finally happening, he feels as if he can’t breathe.

Nora’s hands clutch the lapels of his woolen jacket over his chest to bring him closer to her, because even though his body is flushed with hers, it still isn’t enough. Harry brings his right hand up to cup her jaw ever so delicately, his thumb pulling her chin down so that her jaw falls slack, allowing him to slip his tongue inside to meet her own. The moan that springs from the back of her throat almost causes Harry’s mouth to still, but when her fingertips wrap around the ends of his hair dusting his shoulder, tangling until she pulls at the roots on top of his head, he can’t help but reciprocate the sound.

When Harry’s neck starts to ache from leaning down to meet her lips, he trickles his palms from her temples to the back of her head, threading his fingers through her thick dark hair until they clasp together just above her neck, allowing him to tilt her head backward and kiss her properly. Nora hums inside his mouth, wrapping her arms around the middle of his back so that she can pull him closer to her in order to feel his heartbeat against her chest through all of their warm layers, his heart thrumming against her skin as if the fleshy organ was screaming at her own “I missed you! I missed you! I missed you!”

Eventually, they break apart, sucking in deep inhales of cool February air to try and quell the lightheadedness caused from their second first kiss. Harry rests his forehead on her own, his eyes shut tight as he tries to permanently ink that memory into the pink pillows of his brain. His warm hands are cupping her jaw in order to keep her as close to him as possible, and Nora can’t help but squeeze the fleshy parts of his arms, keeping their fronts pressed together so that the warmth that emanates from his skin continues to stay wrapped around her.

“Go to dinner with me,” Harry whispers against her skin once his eyes blink open, the fuzziness dissipating when he notices the pinkness of her swollen lips and the tinge of red coating the apples of her cheeks. He missed this. He missed her.

“When?” Nora asks, her voice hoarse from the lack of oxygen ripped from her airway.

“Right now, tonight, tomorrow. Don’t want to let you go just yet.” Nora leans in, her nose resting on his warm cheek as she giggles against the smooth skin. Harry brings his hand to rub soothing circles against her back, wondering if they could stay in this position forever.

Harry can feel her smile against his cheek, and when she moves her head to press two subsequent kisses against his ripe lips, he knows that he’s fucked. Because it’s Nora fucking Priestley—it’s probably always been Nora Priestley—and she’s here wrapped up in him nodding against his skin at his outrageous request, and Harry’s never felt this complete in his entire life. It’s like flying and falling, searing warmth and bitter coldness, being too close but still not close enough—a paradoxical rush of adoration shooting to his heart with a loud cacophonous pang that sends his brain into overdrive.

They have dinner together that night, and the night after that, and if not for Harry’s evening lecture, they probably would have gone for a third consecutive date. He takes her to tiny hole-in-the-wall restaurants that serve the best food Nora’s ever tasted, and although a small part of her was expecting him to go all out and take her to outlandish posh eateries, Nora finds that Harry knows her much better than she originally thought, and he’s constantly full of surprises.

On the next Wednesday pub night, Harry and Nora show up together. Nobody says anything, but Nora can practically feel the scorching looks Niall and Piper are shooting at her from across the table warming her cheek. And after her third beer, just as the band starts to play their first song, Niall saunters over to her side and wraps a heavy arm around her shoulder, whispering excitedly into her ear, “Knew you were special, Rah.”

Harry's insides are buzzing, whirring to life with each sip of bitter beer that falls down his esophagus. The liquor seems to make Nora a bit looser, and once she’s developed a thin layer of drunkenness that causes her cheeks to flush and her guard to falter, Harry practically explodes when she brings her body to rest against his, her back leaning on his front as she allows his warmth to envelope her as they listen to the band playing on the far side of the room. He wraps his arm around her shoulder so that his right hand is splayed out against her collarbone, holding her close in a protective stance as she lets her head fall back on his shoulder comfortably.

After three songs, Nora finds that she’s had enough. Harry’s hand feels too hot pressed against her chest, his hair feels too silky tickling her exposed neck, his chin feels too heavy sitting atop the crown of her head. She wants more, finds that she suddenly needs more, and when she twirls around abruptly and finds that his green eyes are practically black, eagerly searching for her own, she doesn’t hesitate before whispering in his ear, “Can we get out of here?”

Harry’s pretty sure his pants have never felt tighter around his waist. He doesn’t even care about the unfinished pint in his hand, doesn’t even care to make the rounds and properly say goodbye to his mates, doesn’t even care when he hands Niall too much money to pay for their drinks that are absently left on the sticky high top table, doesn’t even care about the looks he receives when he slips his hand in Nora’s and drags her through the front door and into the Underground so that they can reach his flat before her confident streak runs out.

When they’re both standing in his loft bedroom, hands tangled in each other’s hair and lips pressed to warm skin and clothes strewn against hardwood flooring, Nora finds it easier to forget about all of her past hurt. Because his hands feel that good, and his mouth tastes that good, and his warm body looks that good. But when she backs away to pull off her sweater so that she’s left standing in front of him in just her bra and underwear, she suddenly hesitates to move forward.

The memory hits her like a bullet to the chest. It’s of her, standing in her Townbridge dorm room wearing a sports bra and sleep shorts, her arms wrapped around herself protectively as she tries to stifle the rib-racking cries shaking through her body as she watched Harry disappear right in front of her face, leaving her alone to try and wrap her head around what he had done to her and what it all meant. Because he was her first real sexual experience, something that Nora didn’t necessarily place on a high pedestal, but still ultimately was a big deal for her. It took a lot of trust to allow Harry to take that from her after ten days of unassuming happiness, and just as quickly as he showed her a different side of herself, he simultaneously ripped it away when he left her alone and confused barely eight hours later in the early morning light.

It’s as if the memory is being broadcasted in Harry’s bedroom, Nora’s blue eyes the screen and her bruised heart the projector, because suddenly, her lips are trembling and her hands are shaking and her eyes are staring blankly at the wall over his left shoulder—and he knows right then and there that her walls are now ten times thicker, constructed with stronger material that will no longer allow him to seep through the cracks. Not without an explanation. Not without an apology.

“Nora—” Harry starts, taking a tentative step forward. The small motion of his feet approaching hers is enough to break Nora out of her daze, her head shaking violently as she takes three more steps back, reaching for her sweater and throwing it over her head without a second thought.

“Please, I—” Harry is panicking. He doesn’t want her to disappear, but he also doesn’t want to make her feel uncomfortable. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way. He wanted to talk to her without the cloudy sexual energy suffocating them, without her dreamy silhouette obstructing his vision, without her sudden desire to escape more prominent than her desire to stay and listen to him.

“I need a minute, we shouldn’t do this, not when—”

“—Just please listen to me. I can’t let you leave, not like this. Not when you’re finally here after all this time. And I’m not saying this because you’re standing half-naked in my bedroom, it’s just—fuck. I should have said this three years ago. I should have said it when I sent you a friend request on Facebook. I should have said it that first Wednesday pub night. I just got distracted and—”

“—Harry—”

“—I’m sorry, okay? I’m truly so fucking sorry.” Harry seems to have taken the breath trapped in Nora’s throat, because suddenly she’s staring at him wide-eyed and frozen in place, whereas Harry’s chest is erratically shifting up, down as he struggles to contain his uneven breathing pattern.

“I fucked up. I was a dumb, stupid kid who hurt you—and you didn’t deserve it. Not one second of it. I thought about what I did all the time in the aftermath, it fucking ate me alive, Nora. And I’m not saying that for you to pity me, because you shouldn’t. You shouldn’t even be here giving me a second chance, because I don’t deserve it. I never deserved your kindness to begin with. You’re too good for me and I just, fuck. I’ll make it up to you for the rest of my life if I have to. I just want to be good enough for you. And I’m so sorry—”

Nora shushes him with a collision of her body into his, her arms wrapping around him tightly as she buries her head into the crook of his neck. Harry’s response is inherent; strong arms encapsulating her smaller body, wide palms spread out evenly along her upper back for support, warm cheek nestled into the velvety waves resting at the top of her head.

“It’s okay, Harry. I forgive you. You’re enough, you deserve kindness too,” Nora mutters into the skin of his neck like a mantra of self-love and acceptance. Because even though Harry nearly broke her heart and made her resent him, she never wanted him to feel hurt, too. Not when it’s self-imposed. Not when it can be dealt with in a different way.

Nora thinks the phrase “an eye for an eye” is ineffectual. Just because you hurt somebody else, does not mean the same fate should be bestowed upon you. Humans are constantly changing and evolving, and pain and acceptance are a part of the long and winding battle in figuring out who you are as a person. If Harry is finally realizing that now, all Nora can do is hug him tighter and forgive him. Because that’s what any decent person would do.

Without unlocking their tangled bodies, Nora slowly steps forward, causing Harry to shuffle backward, until they’re both lying horizontally on his king-sized bed. She turns them over so that his back is flat on the mattress, her leg hooking over his hip as she rests her head against his beating chest, rubbing soothing patterns against the warm skin until he finally calms down.

They spend that night talking for hours. Harry wants to know everything she’s done in their three-year absence, and Nora doesn’t hesitate to give him the details of her new life in New York City. She tells him about Ebony, her roommate-turned-best-friend who supports her without question, who she misses practically every waking moment she’s not with her. She tells him about Marcus, the boy she had more firsts with, who she never found herself loving completely, but still appreciated him for helping her grow up and feel new things. She tells him about the tattoo shop in Brooklyn she went to after her twentieth birthday where a girl with pink hair and purple eyes etched three identical birds on the back of her shoulder.

He doesn’t tell her about the drinking and drugs and blank-faced girls he wasted his time with for the first two years during their time apart, because he’s aware that she already knows—considering his Facebook page holds a track record of every Nadine and Scarlet he toyed around with to fill in the empty hole Nora unknowingly carved into his heart. He doesn’t tell her that hearing about Nora’s ex-boyfriend causes the green monster who has been dormant inside of him for years to suddenly wake up, his blood laced with envy as he thinks of how somebody else got to see her in a vulnerable position he stupidly took for granted.

Harry realizes that this is a bit unfair, considering Nora lived her life without thinking about how it would affect him. And if Nora is jealous of the girls he slept with two years ago, she never shows it. Because she’s much more rational than he is—the calmness to his angst, the mooring to his shipwreck, the comfort to his unease.

They talk until the inky sky turns into an aegean blue, signifying that dawn has begun to break. Nora muffles her yawn into Harry’s neck and he wraps his arm tighter around her body, bringing her against his chest as he closes his eyes, reveling in the feeling of having her close again after so much time apart.

When Harry wakes up well into the afternoon, he can’t stop thinking about Nora’s body, considering she shed her sweater sometime in the middle of the morning when they were sleeping, leaving her in just her black bra and underwear as her warm skin suctioned to his own. He hasn’t felt this close to somebody in so long—probably ever, if he really stops to think about it—and before, when he was mindlessly fucking girls to cure the loneliness aching inside of his chest, he never cared about the act of intimacy surrounding sex. But now, with Nora’s body wrapped around his own and the swells of her breasts moving up and down with each languid sleepy breath she takes, the curve of her ass bending whenever she cuddles deeper into his chest, the stretch of her legs winding whenever she coils them around his sinewy hips—Harry feels like he’s in a fucking trance.

He never pushes it, but it’s practically all he can think about in the weeks that follow. He finds that when they’re together he always chooses a new part of her body to hyper-fixate on—whether it’s the angular cut of her jaw, the long arch of her neck, the thin layer of skin covered in gold necklaces on the top of her chest, the fleshy part of her hips that connect to her thighs—Harry feels completely and utterly famished.

Nora feels it, too. Feels that if she has to stand so close to him on Wednesday pub nights and feel the warmth of his body enveloping her own without him moving any closer, she’ll burst. Feels that if she has to observe the coiled strands of his long hair weave down his neck without her hands tangled at the root, she’ll explode. Feels that if his raspberry lips mouth her two-syllable name followed by his infamous smirk without her own swallowing the last vowel, she’ll shatter.

It finally happens as springtime infiltrates the streets of London, melting any remnants of snow and bringing forth longer stretches of sunlight on the horizon. Nora spent the week studying for a major exam in her Emerging Media Studies course, causing her to miss out on Sunday brunch and Wednesday pub night. Her absence hit Harry the hardest out of everybody, and when she walks out of her lecture hall Thursday night after she handed in her exam, she can’t help but catapult into Harry’s arms when she sees him waiting for her.

They drive to his flat and he cooks her a hearty pasta dish and when he suggests watching a movie tangled in his sheets afterward, Nora finds that she has no interest in absorbing the content on his television screen. She’s made Harry wait long enough, and it feels like the month after his birthday has been a continuous long stretch of unbearable foreplay that Nora can’t wait to act on.

Before Harry has even made it back to bed after setting up the film, Nora’s already pulled his borrowed sleep shirt over her head, leaving her in the matching navy blue lingerie set Piper encouraged her to purchase at Selfridges last week.

Nora’s never seen Harry move faster in his life at the first sight of her. She can barely make out his pupils darting from the exposed skin above the waistline of her underwear to the swells of her breasts uncovered by the lacy underwire bra before he’s jumping on the bed, her entire body shaking with the mattress as he plants searing kiss after searing kiss all over her flushed skin.

He dotes on her body, mumbling praises in between each suction of his lips as he works his way from the top of her forehead to the tips of her toes. “Christ, look at you Nora,” he whispers into the skin underneath her jawline, “All for me? How’d I get so lucky?” he mumbles into the tight skin between the valley of her breasts, pausing to dart his tongue underneath the lacy fabric covering her nipples, pulling a delicious moan from the back of her throat, “You’re fucking perfect,” he purrs into the thicker skin covering her upper thighs as he noses his way teasingly around the edges of her underwear, making her wiggle in want and need.

And when she finally allows him to slowly peel each piece from her body, leaving her bare in front of him as her dark hair fans against his charcoal-colored sheets, Harry’s almost positive he’s forgotten how to breathe. He’s never wanted somebody this badly before—needed somebody this badly before, and when Nora leans up on her elbows and urges him to come closer to her with a slow drag of her fingertip, he almost bursts at the sudden rush of his heart thrashing against the walls of his chest.

All because of her.

“I’m done for,” Harry whispers against her lips before slotting them together with fervor, gripping the skin at the back of her neck tightly to keep her close to him. Nora doesn’t mind, in fact, she absolutely loves his roughness—loves it so much that she can’t help but reciprocate when she wraps her legs around his waist and flips them both over so that their positions are switched and she can be the one to run her lips and teeth down the front of his body in domineering adoration.

Where everything with Marcus was simple and easy, Harry is the complete antithesis. He is everything new and exciting, complex and invigorating, compelling and beautiful. Nora didn’t think it was possible to feel this starved and fulfilled at the same time—but when Harry’s naked body is hovering over her own, his teeth sinking into the fleshy part of her shoulder blade, one hand gripping her ankle and the other holding her hip close to him, she finally feels fireworks burst underneath her eyelids when he enters her for the first time. Her skin feels as if it were bubbling, her heart pumping blood as if it were working in overdrive, and her brain fills with fluttering images of Harry’s chiseled jaw, his matted hair, his supple mouth, his hungry eyes.

It’s everything and more—Harry is everything and more, and when they’re spent and the white noise in Nora’s ears has finally subsided to a gentle hum, she can’t believe that she waited this long to experience this. She wonders if her first time was a dud, a faulty scenario in which her partner didn’t understand how to satisfy her properly. Or maybe, just maybe, it had nothing to do with Marcus at all. That the feeling of her heart exploding and stars bursting through her vision and fireworks cracking in the air above were solely caused by the boy lying beside her, his heart seemingly entangled with hers.

Nora wonders if it's fate or if she’s magnificently cursed for the rest of her life.

As March fades into April, Nora has never felt closer to another person before. It’s incredibly new—this feeling of freefalling off of a cliff into the rocky waters below with nothing but Harry’s strong hand holding hers to remind her that this is all new for him, too, and there’s nobody else he’d rather experience this with than with her.

Harry’s never been the best at giving himself completely over to another person, considering vulnerability is a difficult construct for his mind to wrap around. And when he lies awake at night while Nora sleeps soundly beside him, her arms wrapped around his waist and her head rising and falling with the scattered breaths escaping his lungs, he wonders what’s holding him back. Wonders why it’s so easy for her to talk about family and the future and everything that falls in between—because for the first time ever, Nora is the one that’s completely sure of something in their relationship. Harry, on the other hand, is hesitant. Apprehensive. Scared.

Because it’s so much easier to hide certain aspects of his life from her. Harry has enough skeletons in his closet to fill an entire graveyard, and they all tend to orbit around his shitty relationship with his parents and his innate desire to fall apart whenever he succumbs to the inordinate amount of pressure his father places over his head.

Nora doesn’t deserve to see that. Nobody does. So Harry does what he thinks is right and hides this part of his life from her, lying straight through his teeth whenever she questions where in the world his parents are, and instead of them being in Hong Kong or Indonesia or Dubai, they’re just a forty-five minute drive away. But that’s far too close for Harry to manage, so refocusing her brain on something else is the better option.

Because while Nora was falling hard, giving Harry the directions to make it through the labyrinth to claim her heart, she figured he was doing the same. Letting her in unconditionally and trusting her with this new feeling. But, unbeknownst to Nora, he was shielding her from the life he’s always dreaded being a part of. She was just in too deep to fully realize it.

The first lie starts at the end of April. Harry doesn’t even realize he’s lying in the first place when it falls from his lips that he has to skip out on Wednesday pub night to stay on campus and prepare for a group presentation the following Monday, but once it’s out he can’t force it back into the depths of his being. So while Nora texts him that she misses him and things aren’t the same without him there, Harry’s pushing the lie deeper and deeper inside of him until he’s swallowed the lump whole and it rests heavily at the bottom of his stomach.

Because while his mates are drinking in Camden, Harry’s only eight kilometers away in Knightsbridge wearing a navy blue suit sipping gingerly at a glass of bourbon and initiating small talk with his father’s stuffy work friends. It’s some charity event his father had mentioned in the past, and although Harry’s mind is preoccupied with thoughts of Nora, he suddenly becomes alert when his father introduces him to the only other person that is relatively close to his age.

Harry remembers her from one of the events he was forced to attend during his internship at his father’s office. He doesn’t recall much from meeting her nearly a year ago, considering he was a bit of a dickhead and was more focused on plotting ways to dip out early without being caught to meet up with his mates than trying to mingle with other guests, but now—now that she’s standing in front of him wearing a pretty mauve dress with expensive strappy heels, hair perfectly in place as her almond-shaped eyes gaze into his own, Harry doesn’t hesitate to shake her hand properly.

Her name is Jacqueline Van-Doren, and although she’s the type of beautiful that people can’t help but gawk at, Harry finds that he’s subconsciously comparing her to Nora. Her eyes have more of a greyish tint to them, and while Nora’s sparkle whenever any trace of light reflects off of her irises, Jacqueline’s are more lackluster in comparison. Her cheekbones are higher than Nora’s, but they lack the subtle shade of pink that always appears whenever Nora’s in a close enough radius to Harry. And while she’s much taller, much more confident, much more put together than Nora and all her mumbling and stuttering and clumsiness—Harry finds that he would indubitably pick Nora over a girl like Jacqueline any day.

The second lie happens in the middle of May just as the temperature is rising and the trees are green and blooming. Harry had plans to take Nora on a day trip to Bath so she could tick off another destination on her travel list, but unknowingly, he double-booked himself as his father reminded him he had a familial obligation to attend that same day in the form of an elaborate wedding at The Savoy.

He tells Nora that he has to attend a networking dinner in Oxfordshire, and somehow the lies get easier and easier to tell the more he spews them. Harry’s grateful that Nora doesn’t fact-check his excuse with Niall, but then again, she has no reason to suspect anything, right?

Harry spends the entire reception sitting in the back of the room in his charcoal Louis Vuitton suit with a sick feeling settling inside of him. It grows stronger with each candied sip of whiskey that falls down his throat, and when his father approaches him with a familiar blonde-haired grey-eyed girl practically matching his ensemble, Harry tries his hardest not to laugh. Because his father obviously is not shy in trying to set the two of them up, and although Jacqueline is still undeniably gorgeous after four whiskey neats, it’s not what he wants. She’s not what he wants.

But the pressure of displeasing his father is too much to bear, so he kisses her cheek cordially and allows her to sit with him. They talk the rest of the night but Harry genuinely has no idea what the content was, and when his father tells the pair of them that they’re required to attend an intimate work dinner at the end of the week, Harry just nods and goes along with it.

As May reaches its end, Nora can barely think straight. Her time in London has been nothing but an absolute dream—a whirlwind of newfound friendships, acclimating to her second favorite city in the world, and falling in love with somebody she never thought she would find solid ground with. She’s never felt this way about anybody before—not with Connor, not with Marcus, not with anybody. Nora isn’t even sure if her heart can feel this way about someone ever again. Not after Harry.

She’s hyperaware that her time in London is coming to an end, and reluctantly, she doesn’t want to leave. Not when she’s decided that she’s in love with Harry. Not when he can give her a reason to stay.

Nora has never unexpectedly shown up at Harry’s place before, but after rewriting the conclusion to her final essay for the fourth time and it still not making any sense, she grabs her jacket and oyster card and makes her way to the Underground to head towards Hampstead Heath.

She doesn’t bother calling or texting to alert him that she’s on her way, because in her mad rush to leave her residence hall, Nora forgot to grab her phone that was charging on top of her duvet. Nora’s never been impulsive or brash before—but it’s Harry and she’s in love, and she needs to tell him.

The white townhouse and small iron-clad gate come into view before Nora’s even figured out the words to say to Harry when he opens his navy blue front door. She figures that when she sees his face she’ll finally figure out how to explain what her feelings are, but when his green eyes meet her blues in trepidation, Nora wonders if she made the wrong decision in showing up unannounced.

In the tense silence that follows, Nora pauses for a minute, taking in Harry’s crisp white button down shirt tucked into a sleek pair of slacks. He seems to have been in the process of finishing fastening them, considering Nora can still see the tops of his butterfly tattoo and the swallows underneath his collarbones almost perfectly.

“Nora? What’re you—did we have plans?” Harry’s cheeks are blushed and he’s fidgeting uncomfortably in his fancy brogues and for the first time in months, he looks like he doesn’t want to let her inside.

“No, I uh—” Nora’s confidence is crumbling, and she’s suddenly not sure if this was a good idea at all. Maybe being brash and impulsive is a thing protagonists only do in the movies. “I had to tell you something. But this obviously isn’t a good time, so…”

Before she can turn to leave with her tail tucked between her legs, something inside of Harry clicks into place. He quickly opens his door wider and lets her in, ignoring the warning bells ricocheting inside of his brain as his brain fights with his heart for control over the situation. His heart ultimately wins in the end, and once Nora takes her first few steps inside his home, Harry can feel his insides quiver with nerves.

Nora barely makes it past the foyer, standing just at the cusp of his living room when she notices the expensive blazer thrown over the back of his leather sofa, his crisp black wallet on the fireplace mantle, and the heavy cardstock with cursive script that seems to be an invitation of the utmost importance lying parallel on the surface.

Why didn’t he tell her he was going somewhere? Was he hiding things from her? Was he ashamed to bring her to his gaudy work events? Does she really look that unappealing on his arm? Why has this all of a sudden become too confusing for Nora when just minutes earlier, she was unquestionably sure that she was in love with him?

Harry’s playing with the links on his shiny wrist watch nervously, attaching it with fumbling hands around his inked skin when Nora finally decides to break the silence. “Where are you, uh, going?”

He looks up at her, a bewildered expression on his face, and suddenly, his mouth has gone bone dry. Nora grows more and more skittish with each quiet breath that passes between them, and she’s never felt more unsure about their relationship.

God, when did things get so awkward between them?

“My dad’s back in the country, and it’s just this stupid event he’s making me go to. I tried to get out if it, honest, but it didn’t work. So, uh, I didn’t think it was a big deal to mention it to you,” Harry says quietly, feeling his lungs begin to constrict in the most agonizing way.

This lie feels worse than all the others he’s told her, because for the first time, there’s a crack in his resolve. Harry knows then that he’s done something very wrong, and he immediately regrets it all when he notices the hurt expression clouding Nora’s vision.

Nora knows this, too, because his chest is moving up and down from the thundering beats of his heart inside of his chest, and his hands are shaking against the smooth material of his pants, and his eyes are blown out so wide that Nora can make out all of the different shades of green hidden inside. And when his tremulous pupils finally focus on her own, Nora can see that Harry looks completely panicked in front of her, and she isn’t quite sure what to think.

“Oh,” Nora lets out in a soft exhale. It sounds defeated and she’s not entirely sure why, because nothing has even happened between them yet.

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe that’s why she feels so low all of a sudden. Because it’s  been months of almost something’s—of days spent exploring different parts of the city and nights spent exploring different parts of each other. All without a label. All without a conversation. And now, standing in the front room of Harry’s home with shaking hands and trembling lips, Nora doesn’t understand how nothing can be said.

When her blue eyes fall to the floor, Harry springs into action. He’s in full recovery mode, approaching her slowly until the tips of his brogues bump the white of her trainers. His hands find purchase on her shoulders, gently kneading the skin until she finally looks up at him.

“I’ll only be there for an hour. We can do something afterwards, yeah? Just, uh, stay,” he pauses suddenly, eyes wide when he realizes what he’s saying before swallowing deeply, squeezing her soft skin a bit harder. “Stay here while I’m gone. Please.”

“You want me to stay here?” Nora echoes, blinking once, twice, a winsome dumbfounded expression gracing her features.

Harry nods, moving his right hand from her shoulder upwards until his warm palm is cupping the underside of her jaw tenderly, his thumb offering soothing strokes against the pink skin covering her cheekbone.

“Yeah, I do.”

Nora’s doubts are finally subsided, because how can he not feel anything towards her if he’s allowing her into his space for the first time without supervision? He obviously trusts her, and he obviously needs her—and that’s all the confirmation she needs to quiet her racing head and settle her thumping heart.

Her small hands settle on Harry’s waist and he instinctively brings her closer, cupping her jaw with his other hand so that he can angle her head back gently and press his lips against her own. It’s soft and sweet and soothing, and how can he not feel the same way when he kisses her like this?

Before they can get too carried away, his doorbell buzzes and Nora giggles when she feels him groan against her lips, shaking his head softly and backing away, looking down at her with a childlike pout on his lips.

Nora can’t help but trace the protruding flesh with her thumb, causing Harry to shiver. He’s dreading this event even more now, because all he wants to do is drag Nora upstairs and lock her in his room and turn their clock off for just one night.

But the doorbell buzzes again, and he sighs, knowing he can’t do that.

“That’s the car. I’ve got to go,” Harry whispers, giving Nora one last kiss before shrugging his blazer on and grabbing his wallet, keys, and invitation in one fell swoop.

Nora nods, a bit breathless at the sight of him. Harry opens the door, and before he can fully retreat, he peeks his head over his shoulder, long hair tucked behind his ear as he gives her one last small smile.

“One hour. Don’t miss me too much.”

As if she doesn’t miss him instantly when he leaves her.

True to his word, Harry comes back an hour later with a slice of red velvet cake he nicked from the dessert table before sneaking out undetected. He finds Nora burrowed in the thick sheets of his bed wearing the same Rush band tee he wore earlier in the day, her eyes lifting from the movie on the screen to the green of his eyes.

“Hey you,” she says softly, sitting up taller on his bed so that her back is flushed with his headboard and the tops of her thighs are poking out from underneath his duvet.

“Hi,” Harry responds, toeing off his shoes and walking over to her languidly, “Got you a present.” He drops the takeout container on her lap, grinning when she squeals and dredges her pointer finger through the thick frosting.

“Mmm,” Nora sighs, licking her finger dry as she smirks mischievously at Harry, watching as he undresses mindlessly. He isn’t sure if she’s doing it intentionally or if she’s always been a secret seductress, but when she repeats the action and swirls her tongue along her sticky digit, Harry snatches the box from her lap and slides his arms around her waist, switching their positions effortlessly so that she’s on top of him as he falls easily back onto the mattress.

“Someone’s feeling cheeky,” Harry says against her lips, his nose bumping hers repeatedly as she giggles against his skin.

“Can’t help it. I missed you,” Nora explains, adjusting her knees so that her weight is evenly distributed along his lower half, her backside resting against his front as her hands twist in between the curls along the crown of his head.

“Yeah?” Harry coaxes, his fingertips sneaking underneath his shirt as he plays with the lace material covering the bottom of her underwear.

“Always.” Nora seals her response with a fiery kiss, bringing her lips to his and pressing her entire body against his searing torso. She wonders if it’ll always feel like this—white hot electrical current shooting up her veins, warming her entire body up with just one simple press of his lips to hers.

Once Harry starts nipping at the skin of her lower lip, Nora responds by grinding into his lower half, the thin material of their underwear leaving little to the imagination as they garner enough friction to cause Nora’s knickers to dampen and Harry’s briefs to tighten.

They kiss until they’ve reached their very last breath, and when their lips depart, Harry uses this time to throw his shirt off of Nora’s body, leaving her sitting against his lap in just a nude pair of lacy underwear that makes his eyes roll to the back of his head.

With his head resting back against his neck, Nora decides to attach her lips to the column of Harry’s throat, causing his entire body to shudder as a carnal moan rips through his throat and settles between them. Her fingers draw a tantalizing path down his chest and abdomen until they’ve settled along his waist, red lines marking the path Nora’s fingernails greedily traced.

Her small palm cups his growing length trapped inside the strained cotton material, rubbing and squeezing as her teeth bite into the sharp cut of his jaw. Harry hands grip the skin of her waist in anticipation, and once Nora’s decided that he’s had enough teasing, she rolls the band of his briefs down, freeing his length in the stifling air of his bedroom.

“Christ,” Harry whispers, his eyes shut tight as he breathes through the feeling of Nora’s bare hands on his newly uncovered skin. She shushes him with gentle kisses, lapping her tongue against his own once he’s finally calmed down a bit more and begun reciprocating her tenacity.

Before he can take control, Nora makes the decision for him as she slides her underwear down her legs, flinging the thin material against his floor. Harry’s eyes snap open as he takes in the sight of her naked against his lap, the moonlight flooding into his bedroom outlining the curve of her body, the shape of her breasts, the valley of her stomach, the stretch of her legs.

No matter how many times Harry’s seen her like this, he never fails to stop and appreciate her. Because he’s taken it for granted too many times in the past, and every time he sees her exposing herself to him in the most vulnerable way there is, he can’t help but feel his heart grow in his chest, hammering against his ribs as he marvels in the fact that Nora Priestley chose him.

“What?” Nora asks shakily, shrinking into herself when she realizes Harry’s been staring at her for a beat longer than necessary.

“Nothing,” Harry admits, bringing a hand up to her face and tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “You’re just beautiful.”

Nora responds with a smile, pressing her lips to his tightly. “I want you like this.”

“Are you sure?” Harry asks, his hands tightening against her waist as he watches her scoot up higher on his lap so that her core is lined up with his aching length.

Nora nods, her teeth sinking into the plushness of her lower lip as she wraps her arms around his neck. Before he can say another word, she begins teasing her entrance with the tip of his cock, watching the way his eyes widen almost cartoonishly and the vein in his neck starts to pulse.

“Nora, fuck, baby, wait. I need—fuck. Need a condom,” Harry stutters, holding her tightly in his grasp as she hovers over his tip.

“It’s only been me, yeah?” Nora asks, the muscles in her thighs straining as she holds herself in the position over his length.

“What? Why would you ask me that? Of course it’s only you,” Harry says quickly, a look of bewilderment gracing his features.

“Then let’s not use one. I want to feel you like this,” Nora whispers, her hands holding his face tightly so that he has no choice but to stare into the blues of her eyes.

Harry feels his stomach bottom out, constantly amazed at the girl in front of him. “Are you sure? Have you ever done this?” he asks, disquietude lacing his every word.

Nora shakes her head. “Have you?”

“No,” he answers, much to Nora’s surprise. “I haven’t.”

“Well, Harry Styles,” she whispers, rubbing her palms over Harry’s hands that are gripping her waist, signalling that she wants him to loosen his hold, “There’s a first time for everything.”

Harry’s teeth widen at her quip, remembering the way she uttered those same exact words to him three years ago when he was experiencing another first with her. Before he can say anything back, Nora gives him one last kiss before sinking down on his length, causing his brain to forget every single thought rushing through his head other than the fact that he’s inside of her with no barrier between them, and it’s probably the closest he’s ever (and will ever) feel with another person.

They both seem to be in the same headspace, with the way Nora freezes on top of him, her throat pinching when she realizes she can feel every ridge and curve of his length from this position, and it’s only once he asks her his standard question of, “Are you okay?” when Nora starts to lift herself on her knees, before sinking back over him once more.

“Oh my god,” Harry exclaims, wrapping one arm around her lower back and the other gripping harshly at the back of her neck, holding her as tightly and as closely as possible so that he can feel every shudder of her body and every thump of her heart against his own.

Nora angles his head back so that she can crash her lips to his, swallowing his moans as she swivels her hips against his own, feeling his tip bump against the spongy spot inside of her walls that causes her toes to curl. When he expertly hits it for a third continuous time, Nora’s neck falls back as she cries out into the stuffy air.

Harry noses at the clammy skin of her neck before pressing his lips to the spot near her jaw, licking and sucking until she’s whimpering above him. “Feel so fuckin’ good,” Harry whispers against her skin, sinking his teeth deeper into her flesh when he feels her clench around him.

“I’m close,” Nora says through an exasperated breath, weaving her fingers through his long hair until she’s wrapped the strands around her wrist in a makeshift ponytail, pulling just enough to cause Harry to groan against her.

“Fuck, baby. Me too. Do that again,” he instructs, feeling himself lose control when Nora obeys his request.

Nora’s never been on top for this long before, and while her thighs are burning and her lungs are losing air the closer and closer she gets to her release, she’s never had sex feel this good before. The knot inside of her stomach is tightening with every thrust Harry meets her with, and when his right hand sneaks down between them and rubs at her swollen mound, it only takes three rotations until the knot is uncoiled and Nora’s careening towards her end.

She stills on top of him, trembling with the aftershocks as she comes down from the most intense orgasm she’s had yet. Her body doesn’t even feel like her own, with the way she’s vibrating all over and her skin is dampened and her hair is knotted. It’s only once Harry’s pushed her backward, hovering over her as she’s horizontal on his sheets, when the fuzziness finally dissipates from her vision. She’s thankful that she can finally see clearly, because when her blue eyes meet his, she watches as he slips out of her, pumping his length until white ribbons coat the skin underneath her belly button.

They’re both staring at each other with heaving chests and dotted irises, coming down slowly as they realize what had just transpired between them. When Harry finally catches his breath, he whispers, “Shit, I’m sorry I probably should have asked—”

“Shh,” Nora coos, always the one to calm his racing heart and wild thoughts. “It’s okay. That was amazing. You’re amazing. C’mere, please.”

He smiles before crashing his lips to hers, kissing her soft and slow, a thousand words spilling through their lips without their voices ever speaking them. They break away softly so that Harry can grab his discarded shirt from the floor to clean Nora’s stomach, his arm reaching for the article of clothing without getting up so that he can keep her underneath him for as long as humanly possible.

As he dotes on her ever so delicately, Nora’s convinced that he feels the same way. She argues over how to tell him in her head as he wipes at her stomach and in between her thighs, before throwing the shirt into his hamper across the room. She debates the wordage as he wraps his arms around her gently, heaving them up the bed until they’re tangled together underneath his sheets. And just when she’s about to say it, he mumbles against the skin of her neck in his throaty voice, “I wish time could stop and we could stay like this forever. Just you and me.”

Nora freezes. Because suddenly, her heart pangs with the startling realization that she’s leaving London in four days. Moments like these with Harry are dwindling away one by one, and she really needs him to give her a reason to stay.

She needs to hear him say it.

And just as she’s built up the courage to whisper her declaration out into the air, Harry’s soft snores whistle against her neck. So she pushes it down, and waits for another day.

Nora wakes up in the middle of the morning with a nervous knot lodged inside her throat. She’s not even sure what spurred this on—considering she fell asleep tucked underneath Harry’s arm feeling safe and warm, her head lulling against his chest as his sleepy breaths ruffled the brown strands of hair falling against her cheek. But now, at six forty-three in the morning, Nora feels completely unsettled.

Her skin feels hot but she’s shivering for some strange reason, and when she’s reminded of the weight of Harry’s arm wrapped around her waist, she suddenly feels weak under the heaviness of it. She doesn’t feel comfortable, and all at once she feels the urge to get out from under the stifling duvet and get some fresh air.

She sneaks away from Harry’s body, tip-toeing towards his bedroom door with nothing but her cardigan on from the night before. Just as she’s closing the door, Nora makes sure to peek at him one last time, smiling to herself when she watches him flop onto his stomach and clutch the pillow she was just using tighter into his grasp. Nora wonders if he sleeps like this when she’s not with him.

She wonders if he’ll sleep like this when she leaves in three days.

Sighing, Nora makes her way to the sliding door connected to his kitchen, plopping herself down on the brick steps of the tiny porch overlooking his back garden. With her thighs pressed to her chest and her chin resting on the oversized knitted material of her buttoned cardigan over her knees, she despondently watches the blues and oranges and yellows of the early morning sun paint a picture of this piece of London she’s grown to love almost as much as the sleeping boy upstairs.

Nora’s not sure how long she sits out in the cool June air contemplating what the uneasy feeling was that forced her out of bed, but it’s long enough for her to notice the sun rising with the rest of Harry’s neighborhood. Her stomach begins to grumble then, and the thought of making coffee and toast urges her legs to carry her back inside the flat and into the small kitchen.

Just as she’s distractedly buttering her toast, Nora feels two strong arms lock around her waist from behind. She jumps at the feeling of it, even though there’s no other person it could possibly be besides Harry. Nora’s not sure if it’s just a residual effect from this morning, but still, she leans into him when her pulse decides to go back to normal, and she can feel Harry’s nose bumping against the side of her neck.

“You’re up early,” Harry mutters in that raspy morning voice of his that never fails to make Nora’s thighs clench together. There’s just something about him in the mornings.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Nora explains, her teeth ripping a small piece from the corner of her toast before bringing it over her left shoulder for Harry to try.

He hums in appreciation. “Don’t like when you’re not with me when I wake up,” he admits, tightening his arms around her as he swallows so that her backside is fully flushed with his.

“I know,” Nora whispers, the knot suddenly reappearing in her throat without warning. The half-eaten toast in her hand is no longer appetizing to her, and when she places it on a paper towel with trembling fingers, Nora comes to the conclusion that it’s now or never. She needs to tell him—because holding it hostage deep down inside of her is causing her to feel physically ill, and she’d rather face the consequences than always wonder what could be.

Harry notices her switch in demeanor almost instantly, and before Nora can even gather her bearings, he’s spinning her around, one opened palm cupping her jaw with his thumb rubbing her cheekbone delicately while the other tucks a stray piece of hair behind her ear as he observes her closely.

“Everything alright?” he asks, nervously watching the way her eyes seem to focus on everything but his own, her hands seem to shake erratically against her sides, her lips seem even darker due to the incessant nibbling she’s done to them throughout the morning, and Harry suddenly wonders if she’s finally caught up to all of his lies.

Nora takes one last breath before bringing her eyes to his own, “I think I’m in love with you.”

Now Harry’s the one that’s panicking.

As if his brain is no longer controlling his body, his hands suddenly disappear from Nora’s face. He takes a tentative step back, leaving a cold space where his warm body was just flushed against her own. Nora watches as his skin turns an uncomfortable shade of pale, and as if they had completely swapped roles, Harry’s now the one who can’t seem to hold her gaze.

“Wait—what?” Harry unnecessarily asks. He mainly utters it as a placeholder, considering he’s let an awkward wave of silence wash over them both with his inability to say anything of importance.

Nora breathes through her nose, concerned. “I said, I think I’m in lo—”

“Why?”

Nora wonders if he’s joking.

“What do you mean, why?” Harry can feel her slowly losing her patience, her arms wrapping around herself slowly, creating a layer of armor that she’s used in the past to protect herself from his callous words.

“I mean—are you sure?”

“Are you serious?”

Sure, Harry knows that he cares for Nora with everything in his being. And sure, a part of him understands that when his heart speeds up and his chest tightens and his cheeks bloom pink whenever he’s around her, it’s all due to his feelings for her.

But even though that all stands true—Harry can’t help but be wary. Because how are you supposed to know how to love somebody when you’ve never properly been loved yourself?

His best times with Nora are always a dream-like trance Harry finds himself reliving over and over again. They’re always short glimpses of time, weeks or months with an expiration date looming over their heads because Harry can only allot himself momentary feelings of bliss and vulnerability before he realizes that his heart has the capacity to break in half if he continues on any further.

While Harry’s heart and mind battle with one another, Nora decides that she’s had enough. There’s only so many minutes she can stand in front of him watching as he silently stares at the linoleum flooring of his kitchen instead of explaining his reasoning to her. It’s only once she feels the pressure of tears welling at her waterline when she ends up slinking around him, gathering the rest of her clothes and belongings in record speed so that she can leave his home before the first tear falls.

Harry’s frozen in place. He’s still staring at the spot Nora once filled, hearing the sounds of her slipping her shoes on by the door and twisting his door knob, but none of it is actually registering in his clogged mind. He’s not sure why—he’s completely and utterly recalibrating the entire inner-workings of his head, body, and heart.

It’s only once he’s heard the navy blue door slam shut when he snaps out of his catatonic state, realizing then and there that even though he hasn’t figured out how to explain his warped outlook on love to her, he still owes it to her to acknowledge her declaration.

But he’s too late—he’s always too late when it comes to Nora Priestley. Because while he’s approached the iron-clad gate wearing just his black briefs, Nora’s already rounded the corner of his street, leaving a flurry of dark brown hair and tears staining the pavement in her path.

Harry knows that his immediate reaction should have been to chase after her, but instead, he decides to grab the first bottle of liquor he could grasp from his bar cart, slinking down onto his couch and bringing it to his lips without an ounce of food in his stomach.

This is where Niall finds him hours later, a nearly-emptied bottle of whiskey at his feet while Harry stares at the black screen of his television with blank eyes, still wearing his briefs from this morning. He’s replayed the conversation so many times in his brain that he can recite Nora’s staggered breathing patterns by heart, and Harry knows that Niall is privy to this because instead of yelling at him, he sneaks off into his bedroom and throws a clean set of clothes at his bare body.

“Up you get, Curly. Time to dilute all that whiskey with some greasy food.”

In hindsight, Niall probably shouldn’t have brought Harry to the pub down the road from his flat. But he couldn’t carry his deadweight any further, and he figured the only place that would be okay with serving somebody who was already drunk was the ancient barman that knows the two by name at this point.

“Where’s that pretty girlfriend you’re attached to?” Said barman asks the moment Harry and Niall fall into the creaky barstools. Before Niall can try and alleviate the situation, Harry’s already ordered a pint of Carlsberg and a shot of Jameson, ignoring Niall’s pleas of trying to urge a burger and chips down his liquor-ladened throat.

He’s rang Nora at least six times now, currently going for a seventh after Niall returned his stolen mobile when Harry refused to put something in his whiskey-sloshed stomach. He obliged, only because he really wanted to get a hold of her and apologize for being an absolute twat. But she’s ignoring him, and he knows deep down that she has every right to, because she trusted him with her feelings and all he did was shut her down in the worst way possible.

Harry’s not sure how Niall agreed to it, but after they’ve closed out and Harry’s capable of standing on his own two feet, they’ve somehow ended up outside of Nora and Piper’s residence hall. Harry knows that Piper has to let Niall in, so in his drunken convoluted mind, he comes up with the plan to sneak past them both and head up the stairs to beg for Nora’s forgiveness.

What he didn’t account for was Piper’s protectiveness over her crying friend upstairs.

“Harry, I can’t let you do that,” Piper says, closing the door a bit so that only her face is poking out from the glass paneling.

“Piper, please. I’ve got—’ve gotta talk to her. ‘S important.” He tries entering the building again but somehow Piper’s much smaller body blocks the entrance, her arms holding the door frame in order to keep Harry out. Niall sighs from behind her, conflicted. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

“Harry, you’re pissed. I can’t—”

“No! Piper, please. I need t’go upstairs. I’ve rang ‘er and texted ‘er and I know—I know her, Piper. Fuck, it’s—” he pauses, breathing in deeply and trying his hardest to straighten out the jumbled thoughts causing his entire body to shake. “It’s Nora. Please.”

Before Piper can close the door on her friend one last time, she feels Niall’s hand on the middle of her back, and she calms almost instantly.

“Let ‘im try, Pipes.”

With a final sigh, she opens the door and Harry sprints up the stairs, nearly tripping over himself as he tries to get to Nora’s door in one piece. He knows he’s drunk, knows he’s probably a mess, knows that she has every right to send him away—but he needs to talk to her or he’ll fucking explode.

He knocks about eight times on the wooden door before Nora appears behind it, eyes puffy and skin pale. Her hair is a knotted mess and her fringe is frizzy and Harry feels his chest crack in half when he realizes that he’s made her cry again.

“Harry—”

“You lov—” he hiccups loudly, causing his words to cut off the moment his body shakes abruptly. He pauses, tries to remember what he was going to say, before starting again, only to fail to pronounce the godforsaken word appropriately. “You lo’ me?”

He knows his mouth can barely utter the word, and his voice comes out a bit more squeaky than he would like, but he can’t help it. That word has always felt foreign coming out of his mouth, and he’s never understood the magnitude of its meaning. Not dead sober, and especially not after drinking the entire pub’s collection of whiskey.

Nora doesn’t say anything, but she does look into his glassy eyes and realizes that it’s from alcohol and not sadness. His hair is somehow knottier than hers and his part is amok, and she knows it’s because he ran his fingers through the tendrils one too many times. His cheeks are flushed, and before she can respond, his mouth is already opening.

“‘Cos I panicked. And ‘m sorry, but it’s just—nobody’s said that t’me before and properly meant it. Like my parents. They don’t lo—. Yeah. They don't. And me, I don’t even think I feel that way about m’self, either. ‘S just—it scares me, and I don’t know how to lo—”

“—No,” Nora says softly, interrupting Harry’s drunken monologue with a sad shake of her head.

Harry blinks once, twice, his blurry eyes trying to focus on her frame as the tears begin to bubble along her waterline. “No?” He’s confused, feels as if his life is completely off-kilter with the short utterance of a simple, two-lettered word.

“I don’t love you like this.”

Harry wonders if Nora can hear his heart begin to rip inside of his chest. “Nora—”

“You can barely even say it! Even when you’re piss drunk, you can hardly say the word love, let alone stick around long enough to hear somebody say it to you!” Her voice echoes through the small hallway of the sixth floor, and Harry stares back at her, flinching with each raise of her voice. “I can’t do this, Harry. I’d rather have you not say it sober than try and spit it out when you’re drunk. I just—I deserve better.”

“Nora please, I—you don’t understand—”

“—No I think I do. Quite clearly, actually.” Before Harry can try to force himself through the door one last time, Nora’s already begun to close it on him. “I think it’s best you go.”

“Nora! Please!” Harry calls out against the heavy wood, but it’s no use. She’s already flicked the lock, already sunk down to the floor with her back resting on the other side of the door, already begun muffling her sobs with trembling hands. And every time Harry bangs on the door with clenched fists and Nora can feel the wood shake, she just clenches her teeth on her bottom lip harder, praying with everything in her that Harry can’t hear her cry.

Harry’s not sure how long he’s stood there pounding on Nora’s door, repeating the word please enough times that it’s somehow lost its meaning. It’s only once he feels Niall’s hand on his back, ushering him out of the hallway and down the stairs, sticking him into the back of a cab when Harry feels the weight of his mistake rest heavy on his shoulders.

The only reason Harry gets any semblance of sleep that night is because he forces himself to swallow back five generous sips of whiskey before collapsing onto his mattress.

When Harry wakes up the next morning, his head isn’t the thing that hurts the most. Somehow, it’s his heart—and even though he’s suffering from the worst hangover he’s had in a very long time, it pales in comparison to the ache resonating through the inside of his chest.

But he can’t feel sorry for himself anymore. Because the longer he sits wallowing in his own self-induced misery, the more Nora drifts away from him. Feeling sorry for himself isn’t going to fix this. He needs to own up to his mistakes, find Nora, and beg for her forgiveness—because even though he doesn’t deserve her, he can’t make her feel horrible anymore.

Just as he’s rummaging through his wardrobe trying to find the cleanest shirt he owns, he hears his mobile ring for the third time that morning. When he looks over at the screen he realizes that it’s his father again, and although they aren’t very close, seeing him try to reach him a handful of times is enough to be worrisome. And just as he’s about to slip his shoes on, his father rings again. Harry begrudgingly answers, wondering what the hell is going on.

“Good to see you know how to answer your mobile,” his father says instead of a normal greeting, his voice filled with sarcasm. Harry almost hangs up the phone on him, his head filled with much more important things than dealing with another ribbing before noon.

“What’s going on? Did someone die?” Harry asks, flying down the staircase in order to locate his trainers that he remembered throwing across the floor in his drunken stupor last night.

“Very funny,” his father retorts, the sound of an unamused chuckle floating through the receiver. “Surprised you haven’t seen it yet.”

“Seen what?” Harry asks, tying the final lace as he begins the search to locate his wallet and keys.

“Page Six. Lovely spread of you and Jacqueline leaving the work event from two evenings ago. That’ll definitely make for some good press surrounding our merger with the Van-Doren’s. Well done, son.”

Harry didn’t think it was possible to feel worse, but somehow, after hearing his father congratulate him for being photographed with the girl he’s been trying painfully hard to set him up with, Harry feels as if everything around him is falling apart.

He doesn’t even respond to his father. Instead, he hangs up the call, typing his name in the Google image search bar. Sure enough, a picture of him and Jacqueline standing close enough to each other for it to be a story is covering his screen. Harry’s never felt more enraged, because he suddenly realizes that if his father has seen it, then Nora definitely has as well.

This can’t be happening to him.

She leaves tomorrow. He can’t let her go like this, not when he wants her to stay. Not when the words are practically at the tip of his tongue, ready to be shouted out into the sky. He’s ready to tell her.

He needs to tell her.

But before he can walk down his front steps and through the iron-clad gate, Niall is standing there blocking his path, a sullen look covering his face.

“Mate, she’s gone.”

*** A/N: I’m sorry times infinity. I know it must seem like I’m torturing you, but I promise I’m not! Everything will make sense in time, even though it’s a bit painful to read. My inbox is open for all complaints/theories/ill-wishes.

Sadly, the time has come that I no longer have completed chapters already written. I've tried to keep up, but real life got in the way. I have like barely half of the next part written, so I’m not entirely positive if it will be posted next Friday. I want to give you guys the best I can offer, and if it feels rushed I know it’ll be quite disappointing! I’m aiming to have it up by Friday, but if it isn't, I will surely keep you posted. Thanks again for sticking with me and this story, please be kind to each other and I’ll see you (hopefully) in one week!

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[sequinsmile-x]

Empty Nest

A follow up to Full House .

Summary: Emily & Aaron raised their girls to be independent. They just wished they hadn't taken them quite so seriously.

Words: 3,140 

Read here on ao3

It was harder than she expected it to be.

Audrey had spent years talking about going to Oxford for college. Initially Emily and Aaron had thought it was just a fantasy of hers, that when the time came she would pick somewhere slightly closer to home.

Then she applied. Without telling them.

The first they knew of her application was when she got in. A scream coming from her bedroom that Emily swore shortened her life by a couple of years, indicating something had happened. Emily remembered running in, thinking she was going to find her daughter hurt or worse, and instead Audrey was crying and clearly delighted. She had thrown herself into her mothers arms and cried into her shoulder that she had got in.

Emily remembers being grateful that Audrey hadn’t been looking at her at the time, her face pressed into her shoulder instead, because it took longer than it should have for the shock to wear off. She had fixed her expression by the time Audrey pulled away, a smile on her face as her daughter excitedly said she wanted to tell Aaron.

Emily had never been so grateful for growing up in the political arena. Ever since that moment she felt as if she was barely holding herself together, different scenarios of what could happen to her daughter when she was across an ocean, thousands of miles away, but she never let it show. Until she was alone with her husband.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t proud of Audrey. She was so proud that she could burst. She just wished that her daughter hadn’t taken the independence they had tried to instill in all of them all the way to it’s limit.

It’s how Emily finds herself in her bedroom, packing a suitcase for her and her husband as they prepare to take Audrey to England the following day. She stands, holding a shirt in her hands, as she thinks about when Audrey was small and refused to leave her side. Practically glued to her mother as often as she could be, tiny fingers digging into hair and clothing so she couldn’t be removed from Emily's embrace.

“Em?”

She turns to find Aaron standing behind her, a concerned look on his face. She folds the shirt in her hands and averts her gaze, looking at the suitcase on their bed. “Yes?”

“Are you ok?”

She throws the shirt into the suitcase. “Of course I’m not. She’s going to London.”

“Technically, she’s going to Oxford.”

“Aaron.”

He grimaces at the tone in her voice, and he knows that his attempt at humour has failed. So he goes for a different tactic. He walks over to her, wraps his arms around her waist from behind, and she automatically covers the hand he places on her hip with her own. He presses a kiss to her temple.

“She’s just like you, Em. They all are. Independent, brave. Wilful.” She pinches his hand for that, making him smile and kiss the side of her head again. “You almost went to London once.”

She narrows her eyes and turns in his arms, knowing they are about to have a conversation they’d had countless times over the years. She puts her arms around his neck. “That’s not true and you know it.”

“You would have gone if you weren’t pregnant with Ivy.”

She smiles at her husband, places a hand on his cheek. “I don’t like it when you say it that way, it makes it sound like I wouldn’t have stayed for you.”

He hums. “I don’t think Clyde has ever forgiven me for knocking you up.”

“Oh honey.” She pats his cheek, turns back to the suitcase she was packing. “He’s never forgiven you for threatening him during the Doyle situation. Me being pregnant and turning down the Interpol job was the icing on the cake.” ___________

“You guys really don’t have to come.” Audrey says, watching as Aaron checks they’ve all got their passports for the third time in five minutes. She looks to Emily, a pleading look in her eyes, and sighs when she sees the adoring amusement on her mothers face.

“Sorry sweetie, we’re coming with you.” Emily says, placing her hand on her husband’s arm to stop him checking they had all their documents yet again. “Now say goodbye to your brother and sisters.”

Emily watches as Audrey gives each of the twins a hug, promising she’ll FaceTime them as soon as she can. Cora and Hazel both hold on to their older sister tightly, their apparent aloofness towards the whole situation melting away now that Audrey was actually leaving. She moves on to Ivy, the most free with her emotions, tears streaming down her face as she hugs her sister.

She takes in a deep breath as Jack, who had come over specifically to say goodbye to his sister, hugs Audrey tightly enough to lift her off the ground. Emily was determined to not let her emotions show yet, so she clears her throat, tries to push them back down into her chest where they were blooming from. She feels Aaron’s hand press to her lower back, a silent show of comfort in front of their children.

“We’ve got to go, or we’ll be late to the airport.” Aaron says, a hesitancy to his voice she hasn’t heard from him in years.

Emily pulls Jack into a hug, and smiles when he hugs her back just as tightly. “It will be fine, Emily.” He gives her another squeeze before letting go. “And I’ll be here to make sure these two,” he says pointing at the twins, “Don’t give Ivy any trouble when you are gone.”

Ivy laughs, punching her eldest brother in the arm. She was back from college for the summer, about to go back to Harvard for her final year. “I can handle Cori and Haze.” She says looking at the twins. “Because I have dirt on them both.”

Cora and Hazel roll their eyes at the same time. “Of course you do.”

“Ok.” Emily laughs, stepping forward to hug Ivy. “We really do need to go.”

She hugs the twins at the same time, both of them wrapping an arm tightly behind her back. “Behave for your brother and sister, ok?”

“Yes, Mom.” Hazel says as she pulls back, a curious look in her eye. “Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, sweetheart. I promise.”

Aaron says his goodbyes too, his parting words with the twins a little more stern than hers had been, and as the front door closes behind them Emily feels like things might never be the same. ___________

Audrey holds it together the entire flight to London, and the journey to Oxford from there. Her excitement comes off of her in waves and she gasps when she sees the campus for the first time. They spend a day together, just the three of them, and they explore the place their daughter will live for the next three years.

It takes until it is time for them to say goodbye for their daughter to start to crack. The nervousness they had both seen, but dutifully ignored, under the surface starts to seep out in her fathers arms. The place she had always found solace in since she was a little girl.

He stands back and watches as Audrey and Emily hold each other tightly, neither of them seemingly willing to be the first one to let go. Eventually, Emily takes a step back from their daughter and places a hand on each of her shoulders.

“You can call anytime. I don’t care what time it is back home, just call.” She says, repeating what Aaron had said only moments before when she watched him hug their daughter goodbye. She cups Audrey’s cheek, wipes a stray tear away. “If you ever need me I’ll be on the first flight here. I’ll even use the jet from work.”

Audrey laughs through her tears, throws a look at Aaron over Emily’s shoulder with a raised eyebrow before hugs her mother tightly again. Arms wrapped around her neck in a way she hadn’t done since she was a little girl. “I love you.”

“I love you too.” Emily replies, kissing the side of Audrey’s head.

They say their final goodbyes, and Emily manages to hold it together until after the door to Audrey’s dorm room closes. The sound of their daughter crying on the other side is the thing that finally pushes her over the edge after days of just about holding it together.

He wraps an arm around her shoulders and maneuvers her out of the building, exchanging knowing looks with other parents as he passes them by. Mothers of other teenagers being dropped off giving Emily sympathetic looks.

He wondered how many of them were dropping off their child a whole ocean away from where they lived.

Aaron holds her in his arms the entire journey to the airport, letting her cry into his jacket as he wipes his own tears from his face.

He tips the taxi driver an extra £20 for not mentioning any of the wrought emotions he had witnessed in his backseat. _________

They get home the following day before the twins get home from school. Ivy draws both of her parents into a hug, lingering in the embrace with her mother when she sees that her eyes are slightly swollen. She keeps her sister’s occupied when they get home from school, helping them with their chemistry homework whilst her parents unpack and try to pull themselves together.

Later that evening Emily is sitting on the couch, Aaron in his study doing some paperwork that had been ignored in favour of taking Audrey to England. The TV is on, some reality tv show that she isn’t paying attention to playing in the background.

“Mom?”

She turns to see Cora standing there, a cup of what Emily assumes is hot chocolate in each hand. “Hey, honey.”

“Can I join you?”

“Of course you can.” It feels ridiculous, Emily thinks, to be so excited at the prospect of her youngest’s company. The years had gone by so quickly, melting away until she suddenly had no little ones to look after. All of her daughters, and Jack, no longer needed her so intensely, and it still made her chest ache when she thought about it too much.

Cora smiles at her, rounds the couch quickly and hands Emily one of the cups before settling next to her. Pressing up against her in a way she hadn’t since she discovered liking your parents wasn’t cool. Sneaking under the blanket Emily had over her lap so they could share it.

Emily smiles, wrapping an arm around her daughter and pulling her closer, enjoying the closeness her 15 year old will allow her for now, memories of her as a little girl who once refused to sleep anywhere except pressed up against her mothers side.

She shakes her head at herself, as if to physically get rid of the sadness that had settled over her since they had left Audrey in another country. It doesn’t work, so instead she sits with Cora and snuggles a little closer. They sit in silence, both watching the tv, sipping their hot chocolates and enjoying each other’s company.

“Mom?”

“Yes, sweetie?”

“I promise I won’t go so far away when I go to college.” She presses her cheek into Emily’s shoulder as she speaks, seeking comfort from her mother.

“Cora.” She turns to look at her, sees the unshed tears in her daughter’s eyes. She knows she’ll never say it, the twins were both closely guarded with their feelings, but she can see how much she will miss her big sister. “You need to do what’s right for you.”

Cora sniffs. “I don’t want to make you sad.”

“Oh, sweet girl.” Emily says, the moniker she hadn’t used since Cora had been a tiny little thing, scraped knees from a day in the park and tears in her eyes as she tried to be brave, slipping out without thought. “I’m your mom, no matter what happens I’ll be sad when you move out. But I’ll also be so proud.”

Cora frowns, a look on her face she knows Aaron will say is all her. She opens her mouth to speak, to argue with her mother in a way that only a teenager could, when Hazel’s voice rings out from behind them.

“Damn it, Cori.” They both snap to look at her, and she is standing there also with two mugs steaming in her hands. “I thought we said I’d do it tonight.”

Emily raises her eyebrows and looks between her two daughters, a smile appearing on her face. “What, are you two taking it in shifts to cheer me up or something?”

The twins exchange a look that they perfected years ago, wide eyes at each other as they realise they’ve been caught out in their mischief. Hazel walks over to the couch, sits next to Emily on her other side and hands her the hot chocolate.

“You were just so sad, Mom.” She says, narrowing her eyes at her twin. “We thought we would try and make it better.”

“That’s very sweet.” She pauses for a moment. “Now you’re both here, why don’t we watch a movie or something?”

They put on a Disney film, something the twins had been obsessed with when they were small and Emily had always insisted she would never watch again.

When Aaron leaves his study later in search of his girls, he finds them on the couch all fast asleep, Ivy sat on the armchair near them with an amused smile on her face. Emily was sitting sandwiched in between the twins, head resting on top of Hazel’s. Both girls curled around against Emily’s sides, their heads on her shoulders and arms wrapped around one of hers. Their dark hair all blurring into one. He sees the credits of an old favourite rolling on the tv and he turns it off before the sound of the next movie lined up would shock them awake.

He takes a couple photos of them, shoots one off to Audrey who he knows would get a kick out of it. Adds it to the favourites folder on his phone so he can treasure it.

“Mom will kill you for that.” Ivy whispers, before taking a photo on her own phone. Aaron raises an eyebrow at her. “What? It’s cute.”

It doesn’t hurt that it would also make for great blackmail material the next time one of the twins pushed the boundaries. ______________

Emily stares at a photo from their wedding day she keeps on her nightstand as Aaron gets ready for bed. It was her favourite from the day, taken by Penelope after they exchanged their vows in Dave’s backyard. Emily had a 9 month old Ivy in her arms, and Aaron had his arm around both of them. Jack was standing in front of them both, wearing a tux that matches Aaron’s, a wide grin on his face.

She smiles at the photo and thinks of how much their family had grown since then. Audrey was not planned yet, the drama of Ivy’s birth still sharp in both their minds. The twins not even an idea they had considered, the best and most welcome surprise of their lives.

“You ok?” His voice is soft as he climbs into bed, drawing an arm around her waist and pulling her to him.

She sighs, cuddling into his side. “I don’t know. She texted earlier saying she missed us. It’s just...so far away.” She doesn’t miss how his hold on her tightens. “How about you?”

He hums, presses a kiss to her forehead. “I’m ok. I just want to make sure you are.”

“Aaron.” She pulls away from him, placing a hand on his neck as she does so, her thumb tracing his jaw. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you’ve just been looking after me this whole time.” She smiles fondly at him. “It’s very sweet, and I love you for it, but she’s your little girl too.”

He sighs at that, closes his eyes as he presses his forehead against hers. “Did we have to raise them to be quite so independent?”

She laughs at that, but it catches on a sob in her chest. “Damn our superior parenting skills. Raising all these amazing, intelligent kids.”

“I know.” He replies, hand coming up to tangle in the back of her hair. “We suck.” He pulls back to look at her, sees the same watery smile on her face he knows matches his.

“We really do.”

“What if she finds some amazing English guy and falls in love with him, Em? I can’t threaten someone over there. I have no jurisdiction.”

She laughs at that, fully belly laughs and she kisses him. She doesn’t mention that he has no jurisdiction here either, since he had retired a few years ago. “God I love you. So much.” She wipes a tear away from her cheek. “She’s been there two days days, honey. Let's take it one step at a time, ok?”

“Ok.” He kisses her again. “One day it will be just the two of us.”

Her smile trembles at that, the idea of the twins being out in the world too almost too much to bear in the moment. “Let’s not worry about that yet, ok? I’m sure when the time comes we’ll think of ways to keep ourselves occupied.”

The suggestive look on her face makes him raise an eyebrow. “Are you propositioning me, Mrs Hotchner?”

She leans in, stops just far enough away from his lips to speak. “Always.” ____________

Three years later they stand proudly as Audrey graduates from Oxford. Her things were all packed up in their hotel suite so she can fly home and do her postgrad at Georgetown. Emily still remembers the relief that flooded her system when she told them of her plans to come back to the states.

They go for dinner afterwards, the whole family having flown out for the ceremony, including Jack’s fiancée. Emily looks round the table, all of her children now grown up. Cora and Hazel were due to go to college in the fall, the later going off to California, and it felt like it never got any easier.

Aaron grabs her hand under the table, linking their fingers together to get her attention. “You ok?”

She nods at him. “I’m ok. I’ve got you.” She kisses him quickly, only to be met with a chorus of disgust from her children. She pulls back and smirks at her husband

Maybe having the house to themselves for the first time wouldn’t be all bad.

[sadaboutniall]

Without Fear

masterlist | tag | wattpad

Chapter One. January.

remember that first laugh? all it changed once I had that // like a hurricane, but I don't care where I land - rome, dermot kennedy 

The whole thing had started out as a joke. Or maybe a pipe dream. Or maybe a massive mental breakdown and a poorly thought-through trip to the passport office for a rush renewal and a visa application. 

No matter how it had started, Luna hadn’t actually thought it would pan out. Two and a half months ago, standing in her parents’ kitchen in New York, reading the lawyer’s letter, it had been a shiny, exciting, half-baked idea—an escape she could cling to while everything else was going to shit. It hadn’t been a reality. 

It was hardly a reality even as it began to happen: Luna, packing her bags on a Friday night, deciding which pictures of her ex to keep and which to toss; Luna’s dad, hoisting her bags into the trunk of the car for her; Luna’s mom, petting her hair as she hugged her goodbye at the airport.

And it wasn’t real when she got to Inis Mór either: her snug little apartment above the coffee shop, the smattering of mismatched furniture that her Great Aunt Niamh had left behind, Ruairí, the black cat her new neighbor had been feeding, the mess of her suitcases, exploding on the floor, markedly different to the seemingly ancient chairs and quilts and sweaters that Niamh left for her. 

Or, just left. It’s been hard for Luna to tell what’s for her and what isn’t. 

And even now, nearly a month into living here and it only half feels real, the way she gets up every morning and putters down to the shop to open up, the cat following behind her, meowing for breakfast and Siobhan, the baker, already well on her way to done with the morning’s pastries, the smell of cinnamon and dough and vanilla and the cold air outside wafting through the shop to wake Luna up sweetly; the way old Mr. Whelan is always her first customer, never deviates from his order of a black coffee and a croissant, toasted; the rush of cold air every time someone opens the door, feeling like it’s flaying the shop open, sending napkins fluttering to the floor, causing Ruairí to hiss in protest and curl up closer to the fireplace. There’s nothing real in the way the sun sets at 4pm these days, quick as a wink over the hill outside the window, a flash of orange and purple the only reminder that day once broke in this place that always feels dark, under cover. There’s nothing real in the way Luna needn’t worry about anything here—her rent is paid and there are no deadlines anymore, no screaming bosses, no one angry with her for dropping an artist file or fucking up a coffee order. It’s not real, not even when she calls home and talks to her parents, when they tell her about her brother Sam’s new PhD research and his girlfriend Mary’s trip to Honduras. It’s not real, any of it. And it works. It’s fine. And so is Luna. 

It’s hardly real on a Monday night at the end of January, either, after Siobhan has already left for the day and Luna is quietly closing up, tucking mugs into cabinets and dropping bits of pastry on the floor for the cat. She’s not thinking about much of anything—in the month she’s been here, Lu’s found the very start and very end of her days to be the most relaxing, the way she can clear up the shop or fire up the coffee maker without having to talk to anyone, think about anything. It’s so markedly different from what feels like a lifetime ago: bustling into the office at 8:30 and still feeling like she was late, a tray of coffees balanced in one hand, someone’s dry cleaning in the other, 12 voicemails already waiting for her, 30 emails, more coming through as her phone vibrated in her pocketbook. This is quiet and slow: Ruairí is weaving between her legs, meowing gently when he wants more treats, and outside it’s dark and still and cold, despite it being only 7pm. Luna is tired but not wiped—a feeling she forgot existed before leaving New York—and it occurs to her that she can have a slice of cake tonight in front of the TV, and maybe a glass of wine, while watching Law and Order until she falls asleep. 

She’s lost in that thought—and the already building annoyance at the fact that she knows she’ll inevitably wake up on the couch at 3am and have to stumble to bed—when the door creaks open, nighttime wind rushing in, a boy stumbling after it. 

“So sorry,” Lu looks up from where she’s been wiping down the counter behind the pastry display. “I’m closing up. But I still have a few leftover slices of cake if you want—”

“Oh, erm,” the boy stills, maybe surprised, and Lu does too. He’s—well. Lu hasn’t seen anyone here who looks like him. 

He’s a mess of hat hair, dark at the roots and an unnatural blonde at the tips, curling over his ears and flopping over one eyebrow. He’s bright blue eyes, wide when he looks at her, and cheeks flushed red to match the tip of his nose, and a smattering of stubble along his face, darkening in the dimple of his chin, his pink lips chapped where his tongue darts out to soothe them. He takes her breath away for half a second—or maybe that’s the rush of wind that crashed against her chest when he opened the door. 

The boy is clutching a guitar by its neck, gloved hand wrapped almost reverently around it, and his white high-top sneakers are mucky where the rubber soles have been sludging through the perma-mud outside. He looks like something out of a dream, maybe, Lu’s heart catching a little in her throat. 

“Hi,” he says, finally, looking just as out of sorts as Lu feels. She’s not sure if that’s good or bad, but he carries on. “I wasn’t expecting—I didn’t think you would be so… uh. American? Uh,” gently, he tucks the guitar under his arm and tugs off his navy blue gloves, the cotton pilling from wear. “I’m Niall,” he reaches out a hand. It’s cold when Lu takes it to shake, when he wraps it gently around her own. “I live Kilronan.” 

“Hiya,” Lu’s voice comes out softer than she expected it to. “I’m Lu. I work here.” 

“Right, right,” Niall nods, swallows thick. “You’re Niamh’s niece? I was so sorry to hear about her passing—she—”

“Great niece,” Lu rushes over Niall, exhausted, even a month later, of every introduction on this island starting with a condolence. “I actually only met her once. But it sounds like she was a force.”

“You—once?” Niall shoves his gloves into the pocket of his puffer jacket. 

“Yeah,” Lu shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. Was there, uh,” she doesn’t want to get rid of him,  but doesn’t know where to go next. “Did you want one of those slices of cake? I’m sorry for you to come all the way from Kilronan for nothing.”

“Oh,” Niall looks like he’s only just remembered where he is. “No, I didn’t come for cake. I, uh, I have a… a question? An idea?”

Briefly, Lu worries if she should be nervous—but crime doesn’t happen here, not like this, and Lu knows the statistics when it comes to stranger attacks. Either way, Niall keeps talking before she can spiral, the words tumbling out like he knows he has to speak before he thinks better of it.

“I, uh, I was wondering if there’s any chance you were looking for someone to, like, play guitar and sing a bit? Like, live music in the shop for a couple hours a week? You don’t have to pay me or anything, ‘m not asking for that, but I could maybe leave my case open for tips? I can do covers or requests or—whatever you want, really. And I can give you my work schedule and we can work around that; I’m free on the weekends mostly, except for when I coach football, but also on weeknights if you’d prefer that and if you want to split the tips I understand, we can do that too, and also—” 

“Niall,” Lu can’t take it. He’s speaking so fast it’s shuttling her toward an anxiety attack, and throwing up on the shoes of the first cute boy she’s seen in a month was not on her agenda for today. Meeting a cute boy in general was not on her agenda for today, but Lu’s been learning that things don’t tend to pan out the way she plans them. “I like the idea. That sounds cool.” 

“I totally understand if—wait, really?” Niall pauses, hand halfway up to his face, like he was going to cover his mouth, or rub his eyes, or bite his nails. His brow furrows and his mouth drops open a little, like he didn’t expect it to be that easy. Like he didn’t accept Lu to be agreeable at all. 

“Yeah,” Lu shrugs, then nods at the guitar still tucked under Niall’s arm, “but you’ll need to audition for me,” she bites back a cheeky smile, watches Niall do the same. “I can’t have a crap singer driving away all my customers.”

“Ah, fair play,” the left side of Niall’s mouth pulls up into a smile, and Lu pointedly ignores the kick in her chest. “What would you like to hear?”

She shrugs again, as if “casual” or “easygoing” were ever words people would’ve used to describe her back home. “Your favorite song?”

“My favorite—” Niall scoffs, but there’s no malice in it—it’s playful, inviting, fun. It makes Lu feel like he wants to keep talking to her. Like he wants her to keep winding him up. “You think I can narrow it down to one favorite song?”

“I can,” Lu smiles, soft, “I’m good at making decisions.” 

“Go on, tell us then.” 

“You first,” Lu gestures toward a table, the only one in the shop that isn’t rickety when there’s too much weight on it. “Then I’ll tell ya.” 

Niall hums under his breath, approval, and settles himself on top of the table easily, feet perched on the chair, guitar natural in his lap. He strums once, to check that everything is in tune, and then glances up through the bit of hair that’s fallen over his eye. He’s striking—bright blue eyes, a shock of blonde at the tips of his hair, a lone dimple digging into his filled out cheeks—and Lu feels her stomach swoop and kick again. She takes a deep breath, crosses her arms over her chest. Niall sits up straight. 

“Alright,” he says it so quietly that Lu thinks it might just be for him. She’s suddenly struck with the notion that she’s intruding on something, a moment between Niall and his guitar and himself that isn’t for her—that, maybe, this isn’t something a lot of people get to see. 

And, if that’s true, Lu realises the second he starts strumming, it’s a damn shame. 

It takes Lu a second to recognize the song, but it doesn’t even matter. With a guitar in his hand Niall is even more mesmerizing. Hypnotizing. Completely, incomprehensibly, irresistible.

And then he opens his mouth. And Lu feels sick. 

It’s “With or Without You”. 

But there’s none of the corniness, none of the playful groaning and eye rolling that usually accompanies a U2 cover. Instead, Lu feels frozen to her spot in the middle of the shop, Niall, seated atop the table, eyes down, an anchor in the middle of this island. His voice, lower than she expected, and raspy in all the right places, is somehow vulnerable and confident at the same time—somehow makes her want to simultaneously hold him and be held by him, to protect him and let him protect her. It’s real. It’s vulnerable. It’s terrifying. Lu doesn’t know what to do with it. 

The song lasts forever and is over in an instant. Eyes closed, Niall carries out the final, desperate, confident, terrified, “I can’t live, with or without you,” as he stops playing and lets his voice take over. The whole shop shakes with it. Or maybe that’s just Lu, trembling. 

His eyes don’t open for a few seconds. Lu can feel herself breathing, she can feel her heart beating, she can feel the wind, outside, throwing itself against the shop’s ancient windows. She can feel it when Niall opens his eyes. 

“Was it that shite?” 

Overwhelmed, Lu exhales an unstoppable, lovely laugh. Niall’s cheeks are red and his eyes are a little glassy and he runs a hand through his thick hair, his bicep flexing just a millimeter. Lu already knows there’s no way this can last.

“Terrible,” she smiles. “Worst I’ve ever heard. When can you start?” 

####

They work out the schedule together, leaning over the only good table, comparing planners. Lu still keeps her old Moleskin, dark purple, embossed with her college seal and the year she graduated. She hasn’t needed it much lately—after years of her work, and eventually her social life, revolving around Google Calendar, she feels a freedom in being able to jot down appointments and approximate times in a messy journal. Niall’s got a battered leather one—doodles on the front, his name in script on the first page. He flips through it quickly, keeps it close to his chest. 

He works at a local furniture and home goods boutique most days, as a design consultant, and coaches the middle school’s co-ed soccer team on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoons, with games on Saturdays. Lu tells him not to overbook himself but he does it anyway, and they settle on Monday, Thursday, and Friday nights, as well as Saturday mornings, starting the next week. He says he’ll have a friend work up posters to advertise, and tries, again, to tell Lu he’ll split his tips. 

At 10:30, he notices the time, his cheeks pinking up, his chapped lower lip caught between his teeth. They’d been splitting the final two slices of cake, and there’s a tiny glob of chocolate caught in the corner of his mouth. 

“Fuck,” he says, looking reluctant, “I’ve got to go, I’m meant to be at work at 8 tomorrow morning.” 

“Oh, God,” Lu feels a bit like she’s coming out of a daze, that feeling she gets, sometimes, when she’s been reading a book or watching a movie and then has to reimmerse herself in the real world. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.” 

“No, no,” Niall rushes, “you didn’t. I—thank you. For the chocolate cake. And the, uh, opportunity.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Lu presses her lips together, resists the urge to lean forward and thumb at the chocolate on his mouth. “You’ve got, uh, a bit of chocolate,” she touches the mirroring spot on her own mouth, “right there.” 

“Right,” he smiles, tongue darting out to catch it. “I won’t. Thanks.” 

Lu gathers the plates and cups and totes them to the sink while Niall gets his things together. When she turns around, he’s bundled in his coat and scarf, hat pulled low over his brows, free hand shoved into the pocket of his puffer. She doesn’t know how to look away from him. 

“I guess I’ll see you next week, then?” He asks, fiddling with the zipper on his puffer. He hasn’t got all the chocolate—Lu wonders what it would taste like against his lips.

“Next week,” she echoes. “Yeah.” 

“Brilliant. I’ll, uh—I’m excited. Have a good week.” 

Lu’s “and you” gets lost in her throat as she watches Niall head toward the door. His hand is on the knob when he turns back around. 

“Wait, Lu.” 

The sound of her name in his mouth makes her heart stutter. She hopes her raised brow will pass for a response. 

“You didn’t tell me.” 

“What?” She gets that out, at least.

“Your favorite song of all time,” Niall smiles, dimple prominent. “What is it?”

Looking back, Lu has no idea where the sudden confidence comes from. But, somehow, it does. She smiles, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not sure I want to tell you yet,” she says, kind. “I want to see if you figure it out for yourself.” 

####

taglist: @missy14us @coconutdawn @ficnarry @okaaayniall @theresnooneheretosave @niallgolden @tinyfelthat @adoremp3 @thelifeofbo @crocodileniall @niallsguitarthings 

Join the tag list here.

[piracytheorist]

A Kiss for Good Luck (7/15)

Summary: So this is the story of one born lucky, and one born unlucky. Fate will keep making them cross paths, but is it to bring them together, or to test them? Captain Swan AU.

Rating: T (make sure you’re okay with the warnings on AO3) Warnings: This chapter contains mentions of character death and descriptions of past child and domestic abuse.

Word count for this chapter: 4.9k (48k in total) AO3

Read from the beginning: Tumblr | AO3

~

Chapter 7: Emma Swan, October 19th 2011 – October 24th 2015

Emma's senses register very slowly. She first realizes the guy is tasting like rum, and then that he's already pushed her, gently, back.

"I thought it would be a quick kiss," he says and looks slowly up at her. "I have a girlfriend."

"Shit. Sorry."

"'Salright. Go pee."

"Yes. That. Thank you again."

Relieving her bladder and splashing cool water on her face bring her a bit back to Earth. Did she just try to make out with a stranger – one who apparently is taken – because he gave her his turn to the bathroom?

She looks at herself in the mirror. Somehow, though she splashed water on her face while completely forgetting she has make-up on, it has stayed intact, not even a single smudge from running mascara.

She may be drunk off her ass, but she's a good-looking drunk. She smiles at her reflection.

She straightens her back and prepares to unlock the bathroom door when a loud, sharp BANG erupts from outside. The music is still loud inside the club, but Emma can hear people screaming.

Her hand freezes over the key. A shooting?

Some long seconds pass by before a second BANG is heard – and with that, a man screaming. She looks at the window. It's too high to see outside, but it still carries the sounds pretty clear. The people inside are screaming in fear. The man outside is screaming in pain.

Finding some composure, Emma takes her hand away. There's a mop in the corner, and she takes it in her hands. It's not much of a weapon in this situation, but it's better than nothing.

Eventually, the screaming calms down and Emma hears ambulance sirens. By now some people have gotten out, so it's too loud to hear if the probably injured man is still there, or even alive.

A loud bang on the bathroom door and it's Emma's time to scream.

"NYPD! Are you alright in there?"

Emma unlocks the door and opens it. An officer with a bulletproof vest on is looking at her, gun at the holster.

Her alibi provided by locking herself in the bathroom – and the two surprisingly sober people who were waiting outside – is solid, so she's the very first to be allowed to leave. She learns that someone shot a woman in the chest, killing her almost instantly, then shot a man in the hand. She's advised to be careful and not stay alone, but it's not as if she has someone to accompany her.

However, she immediately finds a cab, having a smooth ride to her hostel.

She hears about the shooting on the news the next day, when she gets back to Boston. There are no leads about the killer, though they say he didn't act alone. The injured man is in no danger, but he was a couple with the deceased woman.

The guy she kissed... he mentioned having a girlfriend. And she didn't see him anywhere around after the shots – though she doesn't really have a perfectly clear memory of how he looked like.

Tears fill Emma's eyes. She wants to blame them on the thought that the chance of losing people she loves just like that is another reason why she isn't opening up to anyone, but it just doesn't feel a good enough justification for her crying.

She doesn't want to be cooped up in her apartment for her twenty-eighth birthday, but without any company her main choice is clubbing, and the memories of hearing the shots and the man screaming in pain are too raw, so she contents herself with blowing a candle on a single cupcake with the audacious wish to not be alone.

Tired from a busy workday, she lies in bed, checking her phone one last time. She sees Ingrid has contacted her on Facebook, and she stares at her phone for three minutes straight, having a hard time believing it.

Ingrid says she has been trying to get a visa for years now, but her criminal record especially regarding entering the country had been a big hindrance. A few days ago, her application for a 90-days visa was accepted, and she's asking Emma if it's okay to come see her.

Emma all but bursts out in sobs. She only decided to make a Facebook account a week ago, but Ingrid has been trying to get in contact with her for years, even though she knew there was a chance she may never be allowed in the country again.

She realizes she's too emotional to answer her now, and there's still a part of her that may regret the elated "Yes!" she wants to send back. She turns her phone off and sleeps on that thought.

Her emotions are still reeling from the possibility of seeing Ingrid again, finding out why she'd immigrated illegally in the first place, how she's been doing all this time... how much she's been thinking of Emma. But she still tells her yes, providing Ingrid stays in a hotel and not with Emma. At least not yet.

Ingrid arrives only a week later. Half of Emma wants to meet her at their designated rendezvous the next afternoon; the other half wants to greet her at the airport, perhaps even give her a lift to her hotel. It's the same half that feels guilty she didn't offer her to stay at her place.

The second half wins this round. From the distance, Ingrid looks exhausted and much older than Emma had expected her to look, but when she spots Emma her whole face lights up and she nearly drops her bags.

Fuck it. Who cares anymore. Emma runs to her and hugs her tight, and at once she's eleven and has just learned that that wonderful person is adopting her and giving her a forever, loving home.

"I'm so sorry, Emma. I'm so sorry for everything."

Emma is already crying, and so is Ingrid. Even in the arrivals section that's full of people reuniting, they look out of place. Emma feels a surge of cold when Ingrid pulls back a little, but Ingrid just places her hands on the sides of Emma's face and stares at her.

"Emma, Emma." Her voice is shaking. "You're all grown up. And I wasn't there for it."

"Shut up." Emma hugs her again, knowing that people are starting to stare now, but she doesn't care.

"I should have been more careful... you shouldn't have been left alone like that."

"It was because of my lost passport, wasn't it?" Emma pulls back, but she's not angry, and she's careful to not let Ingrid misunderstand. "When we contacted the embassy in England, to get me new papers so that I could travel back, they looked into your case."

Ingrid nods. "It's not your fault, honey. I should have... I..." She sighs. "I've got so much I want to tell you, and I can't get it out!"

"It's okay. It's okay. How long are you staying?"

Ingrid sniffles, wiping away her tears. "I haven't bought return tickets – yet. I can stay eighty more days, though, as long as my ESTA lasts. That's why I contacted you right as I got it, and why I came so soon. I didn't want to miss any day I could have spent here."

Eighty days. But then she'll have to go back. "Then there's enough time. Come. I'll drive you home."

"Home? Emma-"

"Nope. Forget the hotel. You're staying with me."

The next day, after Ingrid has had her rest and Emma has made them hot cocoa – her mug with cinnamon, Ingrid's neat – Ingrid begins her story.

"At first it was five of us. My parents, me, and my two younger sisters, Helga and Gerda. I might have been the oldest, but my love for my father had blinded me. I thought it was normal to get a beating for every little mistake we made. For every time the food wasn't tasty enough, for every time the house wasn't clean enough. He never did any housework himself, but he demanded it was kept pristine. Otherwise, he would hit us.

"My mother was an only child, her parents died before we were born. Our extended family was all on my father's side, and of course, most of them were just like him. It took me years to even consider that what was happening to me wasn't normal, or okay. Both of my father's brothers were policemen. Both their wives were miserable and distant, in every family gathering I can remember them at. Both of them disappeared at some point. I later learned that the one was dead, probably by her husband's hand. The other one had escaped him and fled the country.

"I got that idea myself before I even learned about her. I thought that, when I would turn eighteen, I'd have enough pull to take my mother and my sisters away, and somehow keep us safe."

Her face turns pensive.

"I didn't get the chance. My mother died one month before I turned eighteen. I panicked, I knew for sure that it was my father, making sure we'd never leave, and I was right, and his plan worked. I blacked out, got depressed. And he got worse. With three women to burst out on instead of four, the beatings got more often, and more serious. I ended up in the hospital three times. Helga and Gerda, once each. And every time, the cop who would ask us if our father ever acted on any 'suspicious' behaviour would be a friend of one of our uncles. We couldn't say anything.

"Until I woke up. That time is... hard." She sighs, the memory clearly upsetting her. "I don't remember much of it. I just remember father beating Gerda badly. She was only sixteen." She shakes her head.

Emma wants to tell her that details aren't necessary, but she knows Ingrid needs to let some of that out.

"I grabbed an old radio and hit him in the head. At the time, I thought I'd killed him. Me and Helga picked up Gerda and ran. We managed to hide for a few days, taking care of Gerda's wounds until she could walk and run, and then we tried to cross to Sweden. They found us... we had been wanted for assault and murder attempt. Murder attempt! We were running, and Helga tripped. Gerda wanted to go back for her, but Helga screamed for us to run. And then they shot."

She covers her face with her hand, and Emma's tears fall.

After a long silence, Ingrid continues. "I knew Gerda was running with me, but I barely felt her presence there. We managed to cross the border, but none of us felt any relief. For three months we were in the streets, pick-pocketing, eating off of garbage, shoplifting a few times..."

Emma looks away. Like mother, like daughter?

"Then we found someone who promised us fake passports. He promised us safe passage to the United States. At the time, it was like a gift from God, Emma. But I made Gerda swear not to follow me if they caught me. But I passed over safely. It was Gerda who was caught."

Emma's jaw drops.

Ingrid smiles. "She was okay. She was deported back to Sweden, and I don't know how she made it, but she did. She got married and had two beautiful girls, her Elsa and Anna. But all those years, until I was deported to Norway, I had no idea..."

"Your father?"

"He died four years after we left. I didn't even care to find out how. I've mostly been in Sweden all this time, reconnecting with Gerda."

"I'm so glad you found her."

Ingrid nods. "When I came here, my contact actually managed to find me a job and someone to teach me English, good enough to pass for a local. I worked hard, stayed in horrible apartments... but you know, it was the '80s. The more time passed, the better it got. I supported fundraisers for domestic abuse victims. I let victims stay in my tiny apartments until they found a safe space. And never... I could never share my full story." Her voice breaks. She sniffles, recovers, and continues. "But I wanted more. I wanted to help someone, and see for myself that they did well. Emma... you were not an experiment, I want you to know. I loved you, and I still do. I wanted you to be happy, I wanted you to have what I didn't have." Her voice breaks again. "And I messed that up. I left you alone, you had nothing, no-one... I failed you."

Emma shakes her head, more tears falling. "You tried. And yes, it sucked. But you changed my life. You have no idea how big it was, how better you made my life because you were there for me. I don't know where I would be if it weren't for you."

They're both crying now, and Emma is the first to hug her.

It takes time. Emma isn't ready to share everything that's happened to her, but she's still glad to have Ingrid back and know she had a very good reason for the things that eventually led to Emma being alone. And, after all, she did search for her. That's huge.

"My aunt, the one who had 'disappeared', found me a little after I was brought back and helped me. We didn't even know each other that well, but we knew each other's pain. A little more than a year after that I located Gerda. With my father and most of the side of his family dead, at least the older ones who shared his stance, it was easier to search around. I couldn't leave the country yet, so Gerda took her family and visited me in Norway." Her eyes tear up again.

What could it have been like, to not have heard from her in nearly twenty years, not knowing if she was dead or alive...

"It was... okay. But I still thought of you. I didn't know what I could do, I was nearly broke for years after I went back. It's only the past four years that I managed to make some money, and all of them were being saved for this exact trip. I will come visit you again, Emma. I don't know how soon I'll be allowed back, but I'll try my hardest. I know you don't need me anymore-"

"I do. I missed you. You have no idea how much."

She smiles sadly. "Perhaps I've got a clue."

She does stay eighty days, which go by way too fast, even with Emma using up her sick and vacation days to spend time with her.

It's the first time since Ingrid was deported that Emma has someone to spend Christmas and New Year's Eve with. It's even bigger for her, considering that Ingrid chose Emma and didn't go back to celebrate with her family.

January goes by too fast, and then Ingrid has to leave.

"I'll visit you in Norway first chance I get. I want to meet your family, too."

"The rest of my family," Ingrid says. "I will wait for you. I'm not perfect with Facebook, but I'll try to keep contact every day."

"Ask Elsa, or maybe even Anna, to teach you next time you meet. They're teenagers, they'll know."

And then she has to say goodbye, and it's too soon, but for the very, very first time, it's a goodbye she gets to say. And it's amazing, how less painful it is, now that it's out there with the promise of a reunion.

The next morning she takes an early walk before work and finds a ten dollar bill on the street.

She looks at it dumbfounded. It's the first time in probably ten years this has happened, and when she walks into her favourite coffee shop, she's still staring at the bill in her hand.

She has a coffee and a big piece of cake, courtesy of the found bill. As she's enjoying her treat, a young woman with bright red streaks in her brown hair sits on the chair across from Emma as if she was just invited to do so.

"Hi," she says all too casually. "Don't freak out, there's just this guy I'm trying to catch and it'll look less suspicious if I pretend to sit with company here." Her tone, facial expressions and hand movements are full in the game.

"What do you mean, 'catch'?"

The woman leans forward. "I'm a bail bond agent. There's a guy I'm trying to catch, and I got word that he comes into this coffee shop quite often. I'm just trying to- speak of the devil." Without changing her expression a bit, she tells Emma, "Don't turn around. He just got in."

"Is he dangerous?" Emma shivers.

"No, no, he was just arrested for some tax fraud." The woman's expression turns serious. "Are you alright?"

Emma's hands are shaking, and the question is out before she can consider it. "Is he gonna be armed?"

"I don't think so. In any case, stay down."

That's it, Emma thinks. The shooting in New York City. Emma lowers her head and leans it a little to the side, managing to get one small glimpse of someone walking towards them.

"Is that him?" Emma says.

"Yes!" the woman says excitedly, exaggerating for cover.

Then the man is right next to her.

"Excuse me," he says, and Emma bites her lip as she looks up at him. "I don't remember seeing you around here. Are you a new customer?"

Emma holds back her surprise. Is he trying to hit on her?

She just shrugs.

The man offers his hand. "My name's Walsh," he says.

"Damn right it is," the other woman says, and with a swift movement of her hand, a handcuff is placed around his wrist.

Walsh looks at them both like an idiot.

"Thanks for making my job so much easier," the woman tells him. "And thank you, too." She winks at Emma, then takes a handcuffed Walsh outside.

Emma sighs, staring at her coffee and half-eaten cake as her heartbeat returns to normal. She knows that this very reaction is different from her panic at first. She turns to see the woman push Walsh into the backseat of a car.

Emma smiles. That was actually exciting.

Her boss is lost in thought all day, so Emma's shift goes pretty smoothly, as boring as retail is. On her way home from work, she walks past a police station and runs into the woman from that morning.

"Oh," the woman says, smiling wide at Emma. "My good luck charm!"

"Your what?"

"You have no idea how long I've been trying to catch that Walsh guy. He may not have any serious felonies under his belt, but he's elusive as hell. And I got a pretty good bonus for him too."

"Oh. Sounds good."

"And it's all thanks to you! Come on, would you like a drink?"

Emma stares at her.

"Oh, no, not in that way," she says and laughs. "Just as a thank you for your help." Her smile is earnest now.

"I didn't do anything."

"You brought me luck. That's worthy enough of at least one beer. And you behaved very bravely at the sight of a potentially dangerous criminal. I think you deserve a relaxing night out."

Normally, Emma can't afford such relaxing nights out. And the woman seems nice. "Okay," she says.

"Great! My name's Ruby, by the way. I know a place around with the best homemade onion rings."

Emma's mouth waters. Ruby has no idea what she just unleashed. She only hopes she can restrain herself in front of her favourite snack.

Ruby is really fun and kind. She doesn't ask any too deep questions that might provoke painful answers, and Emma has one of the best nights out in a while.

She realizes that, not counting her little time with Ingrid the past three months, she hasn't actually had a girls' night out. Not as an adult, at least.

"I'm not kidding, though, when I say you were pretty brave with Walsh. Some people freak out completely. Not that that's bad, but..." she says and looks at Emma, raising her eyebrows.

"But?"

"You know, there are never enough bail bond agents out there. Especially in a city as big as this."

Emma lies in bed that night, mind too full of thoughts to sleep. Ruby went through all the details of her work, and Emma absorbed it all. But, she has done time – not that she felt ready to confess this to Ruby.

She may have the guts to do that job, but probably not the ideal past for it.

Two weeks later, she's outside that same police station waiting to go with Ruby for drinks. Perhaps it's time to talk to her about whether her past would pose a problem to her becoming a bail bond agent.

She thinks she sees it too late; a car, losing control and going straight for the pregnant woman a few steps away from her.

Emma doesn't think; she runs forward, somehow manages to gently push the pregnant woman aside and then jump onto the running car's hood, rolling over the roof and down onto the street.

People are running to them. A man is shouting someone's name, worried. Then Ruby kneels down next to Emma.

"Emma! Are you alright?"

She is. She didn't even scrape her palms while falling down. She stands up, moving every limb and checking for any pains.

"Is it the adrenaline?" Emma says. "I feel fine!"

"You must be the luckiest chick on Earth," the car's driver says, also checking her for any injuries.

"You... you pushed my wife aside," a man says, coming closer to her, side-hugging the apparently unharmed pregnant woman.

"I- I did that."

The woman steps forward and hugs Emma tight. Then suddenly, people around them are clapping. Clapping at her.

She does go into a bit of a shock; David Nolan, the expectant father, takes her to the hospital to check her out for any internal injuries. Mary Margaret Nolan, the expectant mother, sits next to her on the back seat, holds her hand, and can't stop thanking Emma again and again.

Ruby is in the passenger's seat, talking to David, and it's only then that Emma realizes they're in a police cruiser, siren on and all.

After a full examination Emma turns out to be fine – not a single bruise. Once again, hearing the good news, Mary Margaret pulls her into a squeezing hug.

Encouraged by her unusually good luck, Emma tells Ruby about having done time. Ruby just tells her that David owes her big.

And by a week later, she's a bail bond agent.

Next month, she's staring at her bank balance, unable to comprehend having so much money available to spend however she likes.

At this rate, she'll be able to afford a trip to Norway in less than three months. And she does. She sees Ingrid, meets her sister and nieces, and for the first time since Neal left her she allows herself to just relax and enjoy the moment.

It's still not easy. Gerda's English isn't the best, and more than a few times Emma assumes Gerda doesn't like her, and her heart nearly breaks. It takes a lot of reassurance from Ingrid, but by the time Emma has to get back, she's already friends on Facebook with Elsa – Gerda says that Anna will get an account after turning eighteen as well – and they all promise each other that they will meet like that again.

On her flight back Emma gets a window seat facing north and gets a stunning view of the aurora. She hears the flight attendants say how they've never had sighting of it in the very few hours of dark the north gets in the middle of summer.

Emma can hardly believe it. How did luck decide to be so nice to her?

She can't even imagine something sullying her trip, but as she thinks that, she starts worrying that her bad luck will strike again.

It doesn't. Her job goes well, she gets a better apartment with a much kinder landlady, Ruby becomes her first friend in years and David and Mary Margaret invite her for dinner every Sunday, despite having a very loud and time-consuming infant.

The baby is always sleeping soundly every time Emma visits, and when he does wake up he's  calm, surprisingly so according to his parents.

Emma lies in her new bed, on her brand new anatomical mattress, and thinks how it all started because she found that ten dollar bill on the street – the first of many that came later, if she's honest – and decided to treat herself that morning.

As luck would have it. Perhaps it was all a matter of positive thinking.

She grows closer to Ruby and the Nolans and, combined with Ingrid's surprise visit, her twenty-ninth birthday is the first in twelve years that she doesn't celebrate alone.

She starts crying when they sing her the Happy Birthday song. Against all odds, her wish from last year actually came true, in the most unexpectedly heart-warming way.

From that point on, it's only better and better apartments and all holidays spent with either friends in the States or family in Norway.

During one more return trip, she realizes how she can actually afford all these trips now; a dream she couldn't even imagine before.

Her thirtieth birthday is celebrated in Norway; her thirty-first, back in the States, and for her thirty-second, she decides to gift herself and Ingrid something they'll both love; tickets to the Scorpions' 50th Anniversary Tour in Maidstone, England.

Ingrid tries to stop Emma from paying both their plane tickets, but Emma is not having it.

A small part of her remembers what happened after their first and last trip to England, but it's too small a part to stop her from organizing the whole trip.

If Emma is honest, it's one hundred percent Ingrid's fault that Emma loves the band so much. It's one of the things she passed on to her without even trying.

The concert is amazing; even though they have first row tickets, they have lots of space to dance and jump and enjoy the whole concert.

After the concert is over, Emma is waiting for Ingrid a bit farther away from the portable toilets, when she hears someone humming the melody of No One Like You next to her.

"Catchy tune, huh?" she tells him.

"Oh, which one isn't?" he answers. "What a night."

Emma nods. He's definitely a local. "Did you have fun?"

He makes a grimace. "A lot of people stepped on me, I got groped, pick-pocketed, and I got in a fight with my... friend, but you know what?" He shrugs. "Bloody worth it."

"Oh, sorry that you were mugged."

"Ah, it was like, twenty quid. I've known better than to carry credit cards where hands can easily reach."

Emma realizes she had almost everything on her, including her passport. But everything in her belt bag is intact.

"Do you have a ride back home?"

He looks at her, and his expression turns shocked for a moment. "Bollocks. I overshared, didn't I?"

"I mean, I have a car, and space for two... how many of you are there?"

He seems to recoil a bit, raising his hand to scratch behind his ear before putting it back inside his jacket pocket. "Don't worry. We've got a car. And we going right back to Brighton, anyway."

"Oh." Emma pauses. "I don't even know where that is."

The man smiles. "Figured so. From your accent."

Emma smiles back. "I'm Emma," she says, extending her hand.

"Killian," he says, getting his hand out of the pocket and shaking hers. She barely notices that his other hand stays in the other pocket even after his right hand drops to his side. "So... you know that they're actually having a few concerts in the States for this tour, right? How come you decided to fly all over to here?"

"Well, today... or more like, yesterday," she says, checking her watch, "was my birthday. This was more like a birthday gift to me, and of course I'm going to see them in- What?"

He is staring at her with his jaw dropped. "You're not kidding? Tomorrow- or, today, is my birthday."

"Wow. Happy birthday, then."

"Happy birthday to you too. Seems it was a great one."

Emma sighs happily, looking back at the now empty stage. "I'd say one of the best ones." She then turns to him. "Does your birthday seem promising?"

He looks at her; his eyes and his smile soften. And she actually feels butterflies in her stomach.

Wow. It's not like she's been denying herself much, but this look... she takes a step forward before she realizes it.

And he leans towards her.

"It seems that way, aye," he says, still smiling.

Oh, damn him. They both close the distance between them, and his lips are on hers.

~

(A/N: It has happened! They have officially met! Rejoice! But prepare for the next chapter; you know what's coming. Emma spent those four years being lucky, so Killian... >:)

Also, Scorpions did have a concert in Maidstone in 2015 as part of their 50th Anniversary Tour. It took place in July, but I took some creative liberties with the date for this story ;)  )

[visionsofus]

For your songfic, may I suggest Heart of Stone (Six)? Not all the lyrics are applicable, bc neither Wanda or Vision are Henry VIII (thank god lol), but the steadfast and enduring love and devotion that drives the song seems especially pertinent given that finale 😭. Or Simply the Best by Tina Turner? ❤️

hey anon! thank you so much for your requests ❤️

I’ve finished The Best by Tina Turner but I’m still working on the Heart of Stone prompt (please bear with me while I tear my heart out and put it back together because I wanna do the prompt justice) 

please enjoy!

wanda and vision’s mixtape | read this part on AO3 

synopsis: In which Wanda searches Edinburgh for Vision after she arrives late at their safehouse. When she discovers his energy signature floating around the city, she decides to follow the threads to their source. Along the journey she recalls the complications of their long-distance, secretive relationship but by the end recalls exactly why they sacrifice so much to be together.

Wanda was frantic as she hurried out of the airport. She’d been anticipating this trip for a month, her heart set on the two weeks Vision had managed to buy away from the compound. She’d planned out all the details to make sure she was on the right flight, that her fake passport was in order and that Nat was aware of her location if something went terribly wrong. Even her status as a fugitive was relatively under control thanks to some false information she’d planted over in Ohio last month. She’d left behind a trail of misleading clues that the Secretary of State and his team were lapping up eagerly, thinking they were getting closer to her capture for the first time in eighteen months.

Instead, here Wanda was halfway across the world having just landed at Edinburgh airport.

No matter how much she had planned things out, no matter the scope of her powers, nothing could have stopped the wave of snowfall that the UK had received in the last few days, coming to a head the previous night. She’d timed her flight to arrive, as they’d agreed, at 9pm at a predetermined destination in the city. To her dismay she’d found herself on a crowded red eye flight that had left 6 hours later when the runway had to be cleared of snow.

The worst part was that she’d had to sit there for those hours that dragged on for an eternity, knowing that at that very moment Vision would be waiting at the airbnb they’d rented out, alone. Wanda had no way to contact him, not with such short notice. Technology was too easy to track but it didn’t stop her longing to go and buy a cheap international sim from the technology stand at the airport and use it to just send one message. At this inclination Natasha’s voice had rung out in Wanda’s head, ‘the next time they catch you it’s as a war criminal, don’t give them a reason to decide you’re better off dead than locked up’.

  So it wasn’t worth the risk but it didn’t stop the sick feeling that grew in her stomach as she waited nervously to be let through passport control, then at the taxi stand and finally on the doorstep of the flat they had booked just off West Port.

It was early morning by the time she arrived, but the wintery sky was still hazy with the night’s darkness so she hoped that Vision might be waiting inside. The key box, which they’d been given a code to open from the host, was empty which further confirmed this conclusion. She rang the doorbell twice and waited. And waited and waited some more. There was no answer.

Wanda looked at the houses around her, streetlights reflecting their orange glows off of second story windowpanes. There were few lights on inside at this time of morning, but she still needed to be careful.

Leaving her only piece of luggage, a small carry-on bag that held the bare essentials of what she kept with her at all times these days, she looked up to the windows above her. Perhaps one of them would be open.

Wanda took a deep breath and let her power grow in her palms, red mist arcing out to push her from the ground. Her ascent was controlled and slow and she reached the windowsill with ease. It was just wide enough for her to grasp the waterpipe next to it and rest her feet on the sill. She froze when a light switched on next door and what sounded like a radio began to play, rather loudly considering the time of day. She used the music (it sounded like Tina Turner but she couldn’t be certain) to hide the distinct click that sounded from the window as she forced the lock open with her powers. Inside was quiet, all the lights were off, and Vision was not there.

“Vis?” Wanda called out nonetheless.

If he wasn’t here were could he be? Their general rule of thumb was that if one of them couldn’t make it to the predetermined location they had to wait 24 hours given it was safe to do so. It stood to reason that he’d follow the protocol this time, particularly given how long they were due to spend in Edinburgh and the months it had taken to concoct a believable excuse for why Vision wasn’t going to be in America.

Wanda returned to the window quickly and looked out over the limited view it gave of Edinburgh city and the castle rising up behind, providing a somewhat medieval backdrop. She raised her fingers to her forehead and took in her surroundings, focusing on the sound of early morning commuters from the main street, the sound of a ticking clock at her back, a car door closing down the road, and beyond it all she felt for Vision. Wanda hadn’t used the telepathic dimension of her powers in a while, or at least not as much as she had used to. They were a little rusty, making it hard to pinpoint precisely where Vision was but, when she opened her eyes something similar to an energy field could be seen gracing the cityscape before her. Certain structures stood out to her, outlined in a golden haze that couldn’t be anything but the mind stone calling to her.

Without hesitating Wanda vaulted out the window and hit the pavement below, her powers softening the landing. A flick of her hand sent her bag flying up through the open window.

Wanda grinned in anticipation and set off in the direction of the nearest golden glow, her boots hitting the cobbled streets one after the other. It had been freezing when she landed but as she ran through the slowly waking streets of Edinburgh Wanda removed her scarf and let it trail behind her.

The sun had not yet crested the horizon, but its light was turning the sky a nice lilac colour highlighted by the grey expanses of cloud hanging over the city. She briefly wondered whether it might snow today or if it was going to be too cold.

As Wanda rounded the corner onto the main street she nearly lost her footing on a stretch of dangerous black ice on the pavement only just catching herself on a nearby bus bench. She’d reached the first place Vision’s energy signature was calling her to, a small café down a wynd bordered on both sides by the back walls of town houses. The interior of the store was dark but a soft light glowed at the back where Wanda assumed the bakers had started their morning preparing the delicate pastries the café was known for.  

Wanda walked up to the window and looked at the ground where a strong outline of gold was hovering just above the icy cobble stones. Vision had been here recently, but he hadn’t gone inside, he’d just stood in the exact space she now hesitated at. They hadn’t had plans to meet here but it was a place they frequented any time they met up this side of the world.

Beyond the dark glass a few inches from her nose Wanda could see the cozy window seat that had become their spot. The café opened early and closed late at night so the pair had become frequent patrons what with Wanda sometimes kept up by recurring nightmares from her childhood and Vision who refused to let her be alone in those darkest hours.

Wanda’s fingertips brushed against the cold glass, leaving little prints in their wake at the tenderness of those memories, of her leaning against Vision, her hands clutching a warm cup while his arms encircled her waist. They’d sit there until the late hours when the store finally closed often talking about the other patrons in hushed tones. The students nursing late night coffees as they sat before computers, the lonely ones in new cities come to reclaim some control over the evening hours and, like them, the other insomniacs all drawn to the same place in this historic city. The conversation inevitably turned to their future and Wanda enjoyed thinking up ridiculous scenarios where they had a house in suburbia and didn’t have to run from anyone anymore. Things stayed lighthearted until they both grew too invested in the imaginary life they were discussing and returned back to wherever they were staying.

Wanda looked skywards again in the lightening morning and caught site of threads of gold leading her further down the street.

A mere block away was the only bookstore that stayed open 24 hours in the city. Some nights when the café had closed for the evening they had come here. The bell jangled, sharp in the serene silence of the store, as Wanda entered the maze-like stacks. Her fingers tingled in response to the energy signature that Vision had left here and she followed it to the back of the store which housed a few comfy armchairs and a long couch that they’d often set themselves up in for the night.

She could see it now as Vision’s energy shifted around her, as though it was responding to her presence. Could see him sitting across from her in her minds eye, a memory tucked away for safe keeping of when they’d last been in Edinburgh. He’d sat reading a book of poetry that he’d found amongst the stacks, his hands running gently across worn pages as he took in each word. She’d been perched at the other end of the couch, legs tucked beneath her and a sketch book resting on her knees as her pencil arced across the page creating the basis of his form, the curve of his shoulders, bend of his elbow, his legs crossed at the heal as he relaxed. Every now and then he’d glance up and she’d tilt the sketch away form his watchful eyes with a smile, or he’d take the moment to read out a particularly beautiful piece of poetry from the collection he was perusing.

Wanda had picked up drawing in the aftermath of the events in Sokovia and had been encouraged by Steve and Nat who had acted as her caretakers in those first few weeks after arriving in America. It had started as a simple activity to quiet her mind and draw what was happening within her, the first drawings hadn’t been good in skill or message, they’d started out dark. Vision didn’t know it, but she’d been drawing him for years, fascinated by trying to capture the feeling in his eyes or the gentle grace of his movement. Most of all this act of creation served to remind her that her hands could create beautiful things too, it didn’t all have to be death and destruction.

Wanda started as the energy rolled around her ankles before arcing back to the door. So, he wasn’t here either.

Out on the street gold threads guided her further up towards Edinburgh castle, the energy was growing stronger, and Wanda ran faster no longer just concerned about where Vision was but whether he was worried by her absence.

A small thread of energy darted off to the side and was so imperceptible that Wanda almost missed it. It was so weak that she knew there was no chance he’d be there but nonetheless she slowed down to a stop in front of a small newspaper stand that was being set up for the day. It was one of those metal domes that folded out to reveal the magazines and papers within. The elderly gentleman behind the counter gave her a warm smile as Wanda turned to the magazines, the cogs in her brain turning.

Of course he’d tried to stop here. Before they had brought Natasha into the picture, Wanda had communicated with Vision through the missed connections pages of local newspapers and gossip magazines. They’d leave each other a note, usually encoded so only they would understand it, detailing a time and place for their next meeting or what magazine they were going to put their next message in. In hindsight Wanda smiled at the memory but at the time she had been something of a mess. She’d come to rely on Vision for so much in the year they had spent living together, their first home. Being torn away from each other the way they were had been difficult, and the challenge of meeting each other in safe places for both of them had weighed down their evolving relationship. She wondered what might have happened if they’d been given the time they needed.

The owner of the stand was twirling the dial of a small radio moving from static to static until he found the radio station he wanted. To Wanda’s surprise, it was Tina Turner once more:

Each time you leave me I start losing control.

You’re walking away with my heart and my soul.

Wanda realised she was wasting time and hurriedly thanked the man before turning on her heel and starting down the street again. From here the incline grew but she hung onto the knowledge that when she eventually reached the thread’s end, Vision would be there waiting for her. Another lyric from Tina Turner’s song fluttered around her head as her chest burned from the running.

I can feel you even when I’m alone.

It was true that she always carried him with her when they were apart, but it was never the same as being with him in person. Nothing could beat that.

Wanda hadn’t realised but, whether from the intensity of the moment, or the cold, little tears had started to trickle down her face, blow away by the brisk wind.

The energy was growing stronger.

In your heart I see the star of every night and every day.

She ran faster, leaping up some steps two at a time and spinning around the corner.

In your eyes I get lost.

The gates to the public entrance to the castle tour were yet to open but Wanda wasn’t about to let a bit of steel stop her from getting to where Vision was. She did a quick 360 to make sure that she was alone before pushing off the ground with her feet and a jolt of power. She was up on the nearest rooftop and past the entrance in moments. Running around corners and up steps she felt like the threads were pulling her up towards him. She finally reached the top section of the castle – the battlements.

Just as long as I’m here in your arms

That was when she caught sight of him, the energy grew stronger until it was so bright, she might as well have been looking at the sun. For one horrifying moment as she waited for the light to clear she feared she had imagined it all. As fear seized her heart, she slowed down a bit, gasping a little at the exertion.

I could be in no better place

There he was, looking out over Edinburgh’s fading night lights in the early morning. He turned around in surprise, immediately glamouring his appearance before he caught sight of who was there.

“Wanda,” he whispered, the illusion dropping instantaneously as she stepped towards him.

“I’m sorry,” she said so quietly that she was worried he might not hear her, “my flight got cancelled.”

He reached her in a few large strides and wrapped his arms around her waist, squeezing her close to him. Wanda led out a shaky breath that was somewhere between a sigh of relief and a sob she’d been holding in since that morning. She buried her face in his shoulder relishing in having him here before her at last.

“I know, I know,” he whispered into her hair. “I figured you’d been held up with all the cancelled flights from Heathrow.”

They held each other for a few moments longer, swaying back and forth a little.

“How did you know where I was?” Vision asked pulling back a bit and brushing Wanda’s hair over her shoulder so he could cup her cheek, his eyes searching her face as though not quite believing that she was here, before him.

“I’d always find you,” Wanda said before laughing softly, “I can feel you even when I am alone.”

Vision tilted his head at the abrupt change in her tone, but Wanda couldn’t help it. It was impossible not to be happy as she stood there, atop Edinburgh castle in his arms halfway around the world from all of their problems.

“Well, I’m glad you found me.”

They stood there watching the sun rise, colouring the clouds in soft hues of lilac and lavender. Vision sighed in contentment, his chin resting on her shoulder from where he stood at her back, arms wrapped around her and holding him warmly to him. It wasn’t until sounds of the morning rush in the city below began to reach them that Wanda pulled away to look at him.

“I don’t suppose you’d mind if we spend the day in bed? I need to sleep off last night’s flight and recover a bit,”

“Of course not, my love,” he said raising her hand and kissing it. “You rest, I’ll pop out to get something for you for breakfast.”

Wanda sighed in happiness as they started to walk down the hill together. “I got lucky y’know.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I have my perfect synthezoid partner willing to go and get me breakfast in bed despite the fact that I basically stood him up.”

Vision chuckled, swinging their hands back and forth together. “Not quite what happened, but I suppose you could say I am simply the best,” he said nonchalantly waving a hand.

“You caught me! You should have told me you knew the song before I tried to use it as a romantic line,” Wanda mockingly scolded.

“I’ll always catch you,” Vision replied, pulling her closer as they emerged after the eventful night into the city welcoming them home together at last.  

[inmyarmswrappedin]

Episode 19. Okay, guys, this was an excellent season. Thanks for watching along with me. 

Aisha’s been up all night cramming for the math exam. The wake-up alarm rings, and she turns it off with a smile, and then stretches in her chair.

As Aisha is getting ready to go to the exam, she runs into her mother. Her mom asks if she’s going to school, and when she says yes, her mom sounds more affectionate than she’s been the past few days. Aisha realizes this is a good moment to apologize. She says she’s sorry for making her mom worry, says she didn’t mean to. Her mom accepts the apology and gives Aisha her phone back for being a good daughter!

As Aisha rides the train to Oslo, we see Emrah going back to his place. Then we get shots of Aisha doing the exam, while Emrah examines his passport. Emrah also packs a bag. When he opens one of his drawers, he finds a Kinder egg capsule. He’s surprised to find one of those toys you have to build inside. Aisha must’ve left it there when she stayed the night. Emrah empties the capsule (without building the toy!!) and leaves his apartment.

Aisha texts Jamilah and Freba after the exam. She thinks she did really well! She goes back home, it seems that Yusuf is there alone. She asks where their parents are, and Yusuf says they’re away (I think at a friend’s). He still sounds a little upset. Aisha lays it on him. She’s not studying law right now. Her grades weren’t good enough to get into law. (As a Spaniard, this isn’t at all relatable to me, because Law is one of the degrees with the lowest entry grade lol.) But  she’s taken the exam again, and she did really well! Yusuf doesn’t have much of a reaction... He’s just like, “But you’ve been at school so much?” Aisha says she’s been going to Sonans, which appears to be some kind of private school that helps prepare students for uni admission tests. And because this is a private business, and not free like uni, she’s been working as much as she can so that she could pay the fees. She didn’t want to ask their parents for money for this, since it wasn’t their fault Aisha didn’t get a good grade in maths the first time around.

Aisha waits a beat, and then asks Yusuf how come he’s not screaming. Lmao. Yusuf says he doesn’t have a job. There we go! I thought it was so sus that he’d go back to his parents’ place when he’d been living abroad. He doesn’t manage a lot of artists. All his clients left him, so he went back to Norway and he’s been sending resumes and applications. This explains so much. Yusuf was so down on himself for “failing”, so he was even harder on Aisha because, as far as he knew, Aisha had so much more to lose than he did, studying law but dating Emrah, etc.

Yusuf asks Aisha why she doesn’t trust him. He says he can’t back her up if she doesn’t tell him anything. Aisha says she’d like to trust him, but she can’t when he threatens to tell their parents about Aisha’s shit whenever she does anything he doesn’t like. She jokes that she’s going to tell their parents about Yusuf not having a job. But then she sits next to him and she says he’s not like his friends say. He’s a good brother and he’s been taking really good care of her. Yusuf just has to stop treating her like a four year old, and they have to trust each other. 

Emrah then texts Aisha to meet at 5. Yusuf asks if that’s Emrah, and Aisha says yes. Yusuf says to go meet Emrah, and he’ll cover for Aisha. So we get a scene where Aisha puts a lot of work into her appearance, with a nice top, Chanel’s earrings (! girl I miss you) and necklaces.

She and Emrah meet, and hug. I feel like Aisha is a bit overdressed compared to Emrah tbh lol. But anyway, Emrah then takes Aisha to some building, and he says one of his friends lives there. Aisha is extremely creeped out. She doesn’t want to go in or to walk up the stairs or anything. Emrah says to wait behind a door for a second, but of course, we know Aisha would never not barge into a situation headfirst lol. Behind the door, there’s a terrace. It’s empty. Aisha looks over the railing as if to check whether Emrah jumped lmao. 

Emrah is actually on a higher level. He tells Aisha he told her to wait, but now she can just climb up the ladder. Aisha tells Emrah he’s so weird, but climbs up regardless. It turns out that Emrah remembered when they looked over Oslo at Ekeberg. Abdi lives in this building, and I guess he gave Emrah access to the rooftop, where he and Aisha can now have a nice view of Stovner, the neighborhood where AIsha has felt so trapped. There’s also a blanket and pillows, it’s all very sweet.

Emrah tells Aisha that is going to go away for a year. He can’t say what he’s going to do, but when he comes back, the debt will be repaid and he’ll be free. And what he’ll be doing shouldn’t hurt anyone, except perhaps himself. I don’t like this, I really wish Emrah didn’t have to go away. 😞 Why won’t Bigmac be arrested instead? But anyway, Emrah is fidgeting a bit. Aisha asks him if he’s okay, and Emrah says he’s cold. However, he’s also nervous, which we know because of what he does next. He gives Aisha the Kinder egg capsule. When she opens it, there’s a fucking ring inside lol. Aisha makes the funniest face, it’s like 😕. She looks over at Emrah, and he is kneeling! He asks her to marry him!

Aisha’s like, “no.” Gvhvhv. And she says Emrah doesn’t even want to get married. Emrah admits this is true. He just wanted to offer Aisha an out since she didn’t feel free at her parents’. Aisha says she doesn’t want to get married just to be free. Then she asks if Emrah stole the ring gvhv. She says, you have a debt so how can you buy a ring? Emrah says the ring is his mom’s, so he didn’t steal it. They laugh at how Emrah proposed marriage when they’re not even together.

Emrah says that when he was in jail, thinking of Aisha made it all so much easier. So he didn’t like that Aisha saw him like that in his apartment, talking about the panic attack. But, he’s also glad, because even after that, Aisha is still here. He says Aisha is his very best friend. Aisha says she’d never been in love before Emrah, not like this. Because Emrah always accepted her for who she is, even if she’s preachy and bossy. Emrah says maybe it’s best like this, they don’t have to be together. Aisha lays her head on Emrah’s upper arm and says he can always ask her for help, because even big, strong, tough guys need help sometimes, right? Emrah agrees. Then Aisha sticks her head under his arm, so that Emrah wrap his arm around her shoulders. Aisha says Stovner looks really nice from here. Emrah praises Stovner.

Then follows some aesthetic shots of Stovner, without people. And finally, a series of medium and close up shots of young people from Stovner. Boys and girls of different ethnicities, a couple wearing head coverings.  

I think 17/18/16/19 was a show that was always committed to do justice to Stovner kids. In many ways, Abdi, Emrah, Ibo and Aisha (Yusuf, Jamilah, Freba...) embody stereotypes ascribed to second generation kids from poorer neighborhoods. But throughout this season, I always felt that, like Aisha said, the camera accepted Aisha for who she was. Even when she behaved badly or talked shit. I feel like this season (and probably the whole show, but I haven’t watched those seasons yet) showed characters who struggle to get by, who don’t have it so easy because they’re not wealthy or white or live in a really nice neighborhood. But these characters are ultimately just people who want to be happy and make things better for themselves and others, even in little ways like not burdening their parents with added debt. I think the 17-verse cared deeply for its characters, and so I find it hard to find a flaw. Because I don’t think it sought to judge the characters, or even the characters that the mains dislike. (Like uncle and Mohammed, for instance!)

One thing I’ve read a lot when it comes to representing minorities, it’s that the media should portray the joys along with the struggles. It shouldn’t be all struggle all the time, in order to make white (straight, cis) viewers feel pity. I think the shots of Stovner and Stovner people did just that. Show the joy, shyness, happiness of these teenies when they’re asked to pose for a TV series. 

I hope you’ve enjoyed the season, and thanks for reading these posts. 💛

[fromirelandtokorea]

Lesson #129: The LGBT+ Community in Korea:

LGBTQ+ (Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual, Transgender, Queer and more) issues are being more accepted and addressed worldwide in recent years, with many new countries passing laws against discrimination, conversion therapy and introducing laws for same-sex marriage and gender confirmation on legal documents (passports, licenses, etc.)

However, as wonderful as this is for LGBTQ+ people, it does not mean that they are all accepted and loved for who they are. In South Korea, the conservative society still deems homosexuality as unnatural or a choice that people make, contrary to the fact and knowledge of broader LGBTQ+ identities and orientations are very much lacking. Same-sex sexual activity is legal in Korea, but same-sex marriage is not. As well as this, conversion therapy is not banned, homosexual military applicants are illegal and same-sex couples cannot adopt. 

There are some protections in place for queer Koreans, against discrimination in general and in areas such as housing and employment discrimination, as well as gender confirmation being legalized and more openly accepted. Citizens of all ages in this society have shown support or opposition to LGBTQ+ movements, with protestors gathering at queer events such as Seoul Queer Festival, calling it “obscene and provocative”. One Korean citizen whom I interviewed mentioned that one year when he was present at the festival he witnessed “vagina cookies, d*ck jelly” at the festival and found it quite revealing and provocative. Many opposing Koreans seem to think that all queer people dress in an outrageous fashion and said that they hope that they can welcome them back to “Korean standards” and “religious values”.

In an interview conducted at Seoul Queer Festival, many younger people who attended the festival said that many people are stuck in the old ways and that foreign views on these issues are very different. It seems that the younger generation is becoming more aware of how the conservative society is affecting queer people, forcing them to isolate themselves and feel alone and alienated, which in turn can have a detrimental effect on their mental health and physical wellbeing. 

It is frighteningly clear that there are a large number of worrying issues surrounding these vulnerable people, however, fortunately there is progress being made in South Korea every year, and more awareness being spread worldwide about these issues. 

To get a further, more personal insight into these issues, I asked a Korean friend of mine who is currently working in Ireland to answer some questions I had about LGBTQ+ issues in Korea. Here are the questions I asked and the answers that my friend Hansol provided me with: Q. What is LGBT+/gay culture like in Korea and is it different to Ireland? A. We are very closed. Especially old people think that it is awful. But the new generation are starting to understand LGBT.

Q. What do you think about it? Did coming to Ireland change your opinion or thoughts on Korea’s closed culture? A. Yes absolutely. When I was in Korea I used to work as a campaigner at LUSH which is a cosmetic brand. And I worked for LGBT (people) as well. But even though I worked for LGBT, I couldn’t understand them totally. It looks so weird.

Q. What about Ireland changed that for you? A. Since I’ve been here, I’ve seen LGBT (people) more than Korea, it’s started to adapt. I realise LGBT are the same as us and it's a common culture, and gay people get married, they don’t care to kiss on the street. But in my country, it’s rare to see that. I feel like Irish respect them, in Korea most people don’t respect them so LGBT hides from society. 

Q. If someone came out to you as LGBT+, what would you say to them now after coming to Ireland? A. I just respect whatever they do, I just leave them. 

Q. Do you think that LGBT+ people have a hard time around the world? A. I think, so far. Actually, I have no idea about western culture but especially in Oriental culture.

Q. Korea has a lot of different religions, do you think religion is a big reason it is disrespected or the general conservative society? A. Especially Christian. We have an LGBT parade, but it’s not common. It’s a minority event and sometimes Christians protest in front of them. 

Q. Do you think LGBT+ Koreans and foreigners are treated differently in Korea? A. I think so. We have an open mind for foreigners, so we can understand LGBT from abroad. 

As you can tell, Hansol really gave me an interesting insight into the views on LGBT+ issues and how her view has changed since she came to Ireland. Still left with some curiosity and a need for more opinions, I posted on HelloTalk asking Koreans for their opinions on LGBTQ+ people and issues. Here were the responses:

진세린 (Jin Serin): 편견없어요 그들도 사람을 사랑하고 있는 사람이죠. Trans: No prejudice, they are people who love people.

Sung yong: I wanna be gay too! Cuz they get dressed so well and they are always amongst the girls lmao. But if they show any interest in me, I would be umm..

StanleyHan: 점점 이해하는 사람들이 많아지고 있어요! Trans: More and more people understand! 90Babo: 여자만이 남자를 사랑할 수 있어요? ㅋㅋㅋ But I’m a straight. Trans: Can only a woman love a man? Ha ha ha But I’m a straight.

Jay: Well...these people are so open-minded haha. I feel still quite disgusting. I saw they made vagina cookies and d*ck jelly in lgbt festival in seoul and they’re spreading AIDS..Lesbians cause gender confliction of the websites and many girls are participating in it. I don’t want to care about them but they do like to reveal themselves. That’s why I don’t understand them though. 

Marquis St.German: 게이들 중에 40-50프로는 여��친구 두고, 결혼해서 아들, 딸 있던데, 꼭 그런 것만은 아닌 듯 하네요.. Trans: Among the gays, 40-50% have had a girlfriend, married and had a son or daughter. It doesn’t seem like it..

Jaemi gyopo 3sae: Never understood it and found it gross. But I watched Call Me By Your Name. It changed my mind on how I felt. That you could love someone of the same gender. And the feelings are true. And love would be true. People find it disgusting because they are thinking about it sexually, which is just a small part of love. 

Soojin: It seems like people are living in two separate worlds. Some straight people never know that there are so many LGBT+ people around them and just think those are only seen in queer parade, And some of them believe it’s okay to reveal their hate directly, since Korean society allows that. 지금은 나아지고 있다고 하는데, 제가 초, 중, 고등학교 다닐때이와 관련뒨 교유육은 받아본 적 없어요. Trans: It is said that it is getting better now, but I have never received any education related to it when I was in elementary, middle and high school.

If you made it to the end of this post, firstly thank you and secondly I hope you don’t lose hope with any negativity on this post. I am a huge supporter and a member of the LGBT+ community, and I hope that with knowledge of this issue we can help educate and make people aware of who we really are. I hope that you take the positives away from this post instead of the negatives, and remind yourself that you matter, you are loved and you are amazing. If any of this has hurt or triggered you I have a list of contacts and helplines you can contact, or you can talk to me. You are not alone.

Thank you, Caitlín xo

[s-trawberryv-eins]

An Introduction

(NOT MY GIF)

AN INTRODUCTION TO CAROLINE STARK

A/N: Hi! Thanks for reading! So, after months of waffling about wanting to write, I finally sat down and did it. It’s pretty complicated, so it’s pretty important to read this one before you start with anything else. I’ve created an original character, who lives in a slightly alternative universe to the one we were left with after Endgame. I’d like to state that none of my personal changes are reflections of my opinions of what DID happen, but in order to build her as I wish, some things needed to be slightly different.

1)    Steve didn’t go back to Peggy after he returned the stones

2)    Hulk and Banner didn't become one, they’re still two separate beings

3)    Natasha was brought back by Steve as he was able to return the soul stone in return for her life

4)    The compound was rebuilt after the Battle of Earth. There is a memorial for Tony where he died.

A few other things to note:

1)    My first piece of writing will be a background that is applicable to all of the fics. However, many of them will be stand alone, unless I state otherwise. I’ll be creating a masterlist which will lay everything out very clearly, but please feel free to ask if you need to 😊

 Thanks for reading the boring stuff. Everything will be up soon!

 Summary: An introduction to the secret Stark sister. Who is she? Why was she kept a secret? And what happens when everybody finds out?

 Warnings: Abandonment, injury, PTSD, death, blood, but there's plenty of soft love too.

 Word count: 1921

 SUMMER 2004

MALIBU, CALIFORNIA

"Yes, yes, two seconds!" Tottering over to the front door of her bosses lavish Malibu home, Pepper Potts grumbled under her breath, annoyed by the fact that she was the one answering the incessant knocking. "I’m not your maid, Tony!” Sighing, she unlocked the door and prepared to shoo whichever reporter, play bunny, or cold caller had decided that 10 PM on a Tuesday evening was a good time to show up. However, she was greeted with something entirely unexpected.

“Oh! Hello! Are you lost? Where’s your Mom?" In front of Miss Potts stood a small girl, 7 years of age, a sparkly pink bag held tightly in her little hand. Pepper greeted the young girl with the cheeriest voice she could manage in her surprise. Sticking her head out of the door, she looked around, but with a furrowed brow she realised that they were alone. There wasn’t another figure or car in sight.

“Momma said I had to give you this." In her tiny outstretched hand was a thick envelope. "She said my Daddy lives here.” The look on her face told Pepper that she knew exactly what had happened. Even as young as she was, she had an obvious maturity that would break hearts. Her mother had abandoned her, and the girl understood that entirely.

With eyes so wide it hurt, Pepper took the envelope, peeking inside to find a passport, a letter, and a photograph of Mr Stark and a woman. The girls' mother, Pepper presumed. Shock was written into the PAs face, but she forced a smile all the same. After a quick look at the passport, she ushered the child inside.

"Come on in, Caroline. We’ll sort you out, okay?”

 LATE 2008

NEW YORK

A series of loud bangs on her bedroom door pulled Caroline from her daydream. Not even having a chance to respond, the door burst open and three young girls practically fell into her room.

“Turn the TV on!"

“As if you weren’t famous enough!"

“Did you know? You must've known?!"

Wide eyed and clueless as to what her friends were talking about, Caroline blinked back gormlessly as Amelie grabbed the remote and turned the TV on.

“What channel?“

“Can somebody tell me what the hell is going on?" The 11-year-old spoke up, and all three heads turned to face her, humour in their eyes as they stated what was seemingly obvious.

“Your dad, Care.” Caroline knew her Father had been in some trouble. Happy had shown up outside the halls of residence, whisking her away immediately. The panic set in as her heart sped up violently. As the girls scrambled through the channels, they froze as a man in a suit appeared on the screen. Caroline's dad. Tony Stark. They watched in awe as he addressed his audience. As his daughter, she'd watched a few press conferences before. They were a bore, however, she couldn't lie.

The TV remote fell from Amelie’s hand as he spoke the four words that changed history.

“I am Iron Man.”

 MAY 2012

MANHATTAN, NEW YORK

Footage of the Chitauri destroying the very ground she stood on flashed through Caroline’s mind. Gripping Happy’s arm as she sobbed, the 14-year-old girl cried out desperately for her Father. Their relationship had been very rocky for a while. He’d rejected his new responsibility at first, leaving Pepper to parent the girl. He’d even shipped her off to boarding school, where he further pushed away his long-lost child. It wasn’t until Pepper dragged him by the sleeve to the young girl’s dorm room and forced him inside that he’d actually spoken to his daughter. From there, they established a solid relationship. Caroline, of course, fell head over heels for her Father. He could do no wrong in her eyes. That never changed, even as she grew.

Fear wracked her body at the thought of Tony not surviving the battle. Staring at the sky, she prayed and prayed that he return from that giant swirling hole of death that currently dominated New York. When she saw his body fall through the sky, her fear both vanished and increased ten-fold.

-

Later that evening, JARVIS informed her of her Fathers arrival at the beaten-up tower. Racing to find him, she threw her arms around his neck and cried. She cried and cried until she ran out, but she never let go of his hand.

 MAY 2015

NOVI GRAD, SOKOVIA

“Daddy?” Her voice came out a whimper. She felt weak and small.

“Hey baby girl, I’m uh…I’m guessing you’ve seen, right? Yeah, it’s bad, Care.”

“Dad, what’s going on?”

“Listen, baby, I’ve gotta end this. Me and Thor, uh, we think we’ve got a way. A lot of people will die if we don’t do this. You're the best thing, you know?" His voice was soft, even as he continued to fight off robots and save the world. The line grew staticky and Caroline couldn’t stop the tears that spilled from her eyes. "I'm so glad you showed up on my doorstep all those years ago. I’m sorry for taking so long."

“Why does it sound like you're saying goodbye? Daddy you're scaring me!” Her voice was a desperate whimper, and a pain in her chest bloomed violently.

“I love you, Caroline. Remember th-" Horror erupted over her features as the line went dead. Not knowing whether she'd ever see him again, she made her way to New York, her heart dragging painfully behind her.

 NEW YEARS EVE 2015

AVENGERS COMPOUND

UPSTATE NEW YORK

Caroline and her Father walked through one of the many laboratories of the new compound. On her 18th birthday the Stark girl was offered a position as a biomechanical engineer for the new era S.H.I.E.L.D. program, built following its collapse in 2014. Taking after her Dad, she had excelled in school, and to the amazement of her new bosses, had landed a glowing recommendation from Iron Man himself. The decision for her to live under a different last name to Tony was one he himself had requested in a bid to keep her safe for as long as he could. She had never really met the other Avengers, and only three other people knew of her existence; Pepper, Happy, and Natasha Romanoff. It was easy enough to hide her identity.

Caroline didn’t mind too much. She could still see her parents as much as she pleased, and it prevented any special treatment from schools and professors. Those around Caroline herself knew; her school friends knew, she didn't want to keep a secret from them, and besides, she didn't know any better when she told them at 8 years old.

“How’re you settling in? Are you sure this isn’t too soon? This is too soon. I’m taking you-“ midway through his rambling, Tony realised his daughter both lived and worked at the compound, rendering his threat useless. "I'll take you somewhere. Details, schmetails."  

“Dad! Calm down! You’re spiralling. I’m fine, I’m settling in just fine! Now come on, I need to meet everyone.” A proud smile graced the young girls features as she tried to rid her rather of any worry. With a sigh, he took his daughters hand in his own and led her to the Avengers quarters. Separating just before they entered the room, Caroline took a shaky breath.

“Folks gather round. This is our new Doc. With Banner MIA," his brows drew together as he spoke, and his gaze fell to the floor for a second before finding Caroline "she’s our go to! This is Caroline. Caroline Lockwood.”  A half smile appeared on his face, the bittersweet moment getting the best of him. After a few brief introductions, the girl bid them goodbye to get ready for one of Tony Starks famous New Year’s Eve parties.

 JUNE 2018

AVENGERS COMPOUND

UPSTATE NEW YORK

Pepper sat with her daughter, a blanket around the two of them as they hid. They sat in silence, unable to find the words. Trying to maintain hope when everything around them told them to give up was the hardest battle they'd fought yet. “Momma? We’ll be fine, right? We always win.” Her voice nothing but a whisper in the darkness, she felt her adoptive mothers’ fingers tighten around her own.

“We'll be fine, baby. Your Dad will do what he always does. He'll save us. He'll save everybody.” The sad smile on Caroline's face couldn’t be seen in the dark, but Pepper could tell the moment that it fell. She felt the energy in the air shift. Did they lose? “Baby? Baby what’s wrong?" Placing her soft hands either side of her daughter’s face, she gasped sharply as the blanket fell around them, no longer supported by two bodies. Instead, a dark ash took the place of the youngest Stark.

“I’m sorry, Momma" she choked out before disintegrating completely "I'm sorry.”

Pepper was left alone, covered in heartbreak, grief, and the ashes her child left behind.

OCTOBER 2023

ATLANTA, GEORGIA

"Hey, sweetie. Do you want Mom?" Morgan shook her head and stepped closer to her sister.

“Can you help me? You’re my sister.” With sad, glazed over eyes, Caroline nodded. It's not difficult to sympathise with the two girls. Morgan knew all about her big sister. Stories were told, and pictures were framed in every inch of the house. Morgan idolised her before she’d ever met her. And when, by some miracle, they did meet, it was a few days before their fathers’ funeral. Two days before that, Caroline had been dead.

Dead.

It'd been one hell of a week.

To say the oldest Stark sister walked on eggshells around the younger one would be an understatement. Allowing their relationship to be on Morgan’s terms was the least she could do. The thought that Morgan may reject her completely never left her mind, despite Peppers constant reassurance. “I can braid your hair, if you’d like. Momma taught me when I was a little girl."

-

"Where's Morgan?" Pepper's voice barely registered in Caroline’s brain. She could feel herself drifting further and further away every day. But she didn't have the strength to fight it.

“Happy took her for cheeseburgers.” A hint of smile traced her mouth, but it didn't stick. It never stuck. The bags under her eyes were heavy and dark, and the once rich brown of her eyes seemed to have dulled miserably. After receiving her own private recording from Stark, she felt as if she'd broken completely. Turning to face Pepper, she struggled to continue, her voice hoarse from crying and screaming in the night. "They should be back an-"

“MOMMY SISSY UNCLE HAPPY BOUGHT EXTRA.” Watching the tiny girl stumble through the door, a brown paper bag clutched tightly to her chest, Caroline just stared in awe. Of course, Morgan was too young to really understand what happened. She missed her Daddy, and she knew he wasn’t coming home, but she managed to smile. Her eyes shined bright as ever. The world hadn't tainted her hope, it hadn’t torn away her faith.

It would be so, so easy to just let go. To just give up and fall into the oblivion that called her name. But in doing so, she'd miss even more time with her sister. Watching her eat with a pensive look on her face, clutching on to Pepper and watching all the strangers around her, Caroline made a choice. She could do it for Morgan. She could hold on and keep going.

So, she did.

TAGS:

@bucky-castiel​

[comparatist]

Here goes my findings on Neerja Bhanot. ✌

Neerja Bhanot: The First Indian And The Youngest Woman To Receive Ashok Chakra

What does the modern articulation of a hero consist of, or for that matter the ancient terms of presenting a male protagonist? A towering figure, with unrealistic standards of physical beauty, a ‘masculine' rage and a penchant for bloodlust to be projected through his body language and last but not the least, the portrayal of basic forms of kindness through the glorification of the ‘saviour' mentality. When the normalisation starts to set on such standards, who’d have thought that a young woman in her 20s would break the monotony of such reflections through her indomitable courage, intelligency and dedication to establish the fact that not all hero wear capes? Neerja might not fit the traditional projection of heroes we see everywhere, but she’s the hero who refused to endure domestic abuse, saved the lives of 359 people by her quick wit and is an inspiration for all woman, who choose to speak even after being bloodied by the claws of patriarchy every now and then.

• Early Life: In September 7th, 1962, Neerja was born in the family of journalist Harish Bhanot and Rama Bhanot. Her father wrote in a letter, after death that he was ‘happy to hear' that he was blessed with a baby girl. Little Neerja was instantly everybody's centre of attention and often used to get addressed by Lado(the loved one). Neerja did her primary schooling till 6th standard in Chandigarh’s Sacred High School before her family shifted to Mumbai. She completed her schooling from Bombay Scottish School and eventually graduated from St Xavier’s College. Harish Bhanot wrote how Neerja was a no-nonsense girl from the very start. At the age of 18, she got approached by a photographer for a modelling assignment as ‘The Girl Next Door' for a magazine named Bombay. The ad gave her the opportunity to work with Paville, a popular retail store and eventually opened doors of getting featured in Binaca, Vaporex, Charmis, Krack Jack, Amul etc. for her.

However, by March 1985, her family got her married to a man they saw on the ad in Sharjah, UAE. Her became a living hell after that.

• Overcoming Obstacles: Within two months Neerja realised, life here won’t grant her the freedom as it did back in Mumbai. She faced emotional abuse from her in-laws in the form of “Even a very poor man gives his daughter something in marriage,” though they had decided not to take dowry during the marriage. She was even starved and denied money. She decided to end their marriage and pledge never to go back after she returned to Mumbai for a modelling assignment, and a letter from her husband stating the humiliating terms for her return followed her.

Determined to move past the trauma, she applied to Pan Am for the position of a flight attendant. Only 80 out of 10,000 applicants where chosen, Neerja being one of them. She was sent to Miami, for span of 6-8 weeks and within a year, based on peer review and her incredible performance in the field, was sent to London to be a Purser- the senior most cabin manager. Pursers worked as managers on flights. They handled passengers' complaints, made required arrangements and handled security.

It was this training which helped her later, to save the lives of people during the Pan Am flight 73 hijacking incident on September 5th, 1986.

• Neerja, The Braveheart: Several survivors of that hijacked flight, later revealed the importance of her role in the situation of crisis, how she outwitted the Libyan terrorists, alerted the crew to escape and prevent the flight from taking off. Doctor Kishore Murthy, a passenger on the flight recalled, “She was at the entrance of the aircraft when the terrorists boarded. She could have escaped like the pilots did, but she didn’t do it. That shows her guts and inner strength. She was truly a great leader.” After the crew left, she took the responsibility of the highest command in her hands, took charge of the situation as the terrorists asked for a different flight crew and tried to single out and take hostage of the American passengers in order to get their demands met. Under her supervision, the remaining staffs remained to maintain their duty of taking care of passengers along with successfully hiding their American passports from the terrorists as well.

Her anti hijacking training skills helped to keep the terrorist calm, thereby preventing any escalation during the negotiation efforts for 17 hours. Things took ugly turn when the lights went out due to the power shortage and the terrorists opened fire. Even then, she didn’t panic, held her ground strong and opened an exit to get all the passengers out before trying to leave herself. Her quick thinking angered the terrorists so much that they shot her point blank range in the head while she was doing her duty of guiding the passengers to safety.

• Legacy: Neerja's valour resides in the hearts of Indians even after 34 years of her demise. She was awarded Ashok Chakra posthumously for her bravery, which mother accepted in her place. Four years after, since 1990, a ‘Neerja Bhanot Award’ is given to women who are bold enough to overcome social injustice and help others to do the same every year by the Neerja Bhanot Pan Am Trust.

In 2004, the Indian Postal Service released a stamp in her honour. In 2016, Sonam Kapoor starred in the award winning masterpiece ‘Neerja', that honoured Bhanot's life. The same year, her brother Aneesh Bhanot authored a book named ‘The Neerja I Knew', having personal accounts of her friends, life, family and her co-workers along with her photos.

[diveronarpg]

Congratulations, ROSEY! You’ve been accepted for the role of FLORIZEL with an approved FC change to Kenta Sakurai. Admin Minnie: This application was like a special treat made especially for me, with everything I love in one place. You captured what makes Felipe both human and god, man and monster, poison and antidote. My absolute favorite part of this application was the way you likened Felipe to a human drug, I just about dropped everything and started screaming at that line — because that’s exactly what he is, and it captures his spirit so well. And that interview? Wow, you captured every layer and every complexity to his character with just a few questions. I’ve read this application six times now, and I don’t know when I’ll be able to stop; Felipe is a drug, indeed and so are you! Please read over the checklist and send in your blog within 24 hours.

WELCOME TO THE MOB.

OUT OF CHARACTER

Alias | Rosey !

Age | 22

Preferred Pronouns | She/Her

Activity Level | Please describe how active you think you’ll be in a few sentences.

Timezone | PST

How did you find the rp?  |  Uh...I made it.

Current/Past RP Accounts | Here you go!

IN CHARACTER

Character | Felipe Antonio Castro / Florizel

• An FC change to Kenta Sakurai would be greatly appreciated -- I changed his last name to reflect his change of ethnicity as well!

What drew you to this character? | There’s something about the volatility of Felipe that I think I fell in love with. There’s a heavy theme of drugs that is interwoven into his biography, and I think it is very fitting to say that the worst drug is Felipe himself. He makes you fall in love with him, gives you that taste of playfulness and fun, the little trip that you need to get hooked, but then slowly and surely something rotten begins to set into you. When you slip your hand into his, there’s a thrill of trepidation that follows the action. At the edge of his smile, you begin to notice a dark curl to his lips that whispers of something a little more foul. You catch him watching you in the odd glances here and there, as though he’s waiting for something to unfold -- and it’s then and only then that you realize you’re obsessed with him. That you can’t let go of him. The problem is though, that you’re chasing after a ghost. And there is nothing -- nothing -- that will drive you more insane than chasing after someone you can never truly capture. Felipe is always slipping through your fingers, dancing at the edge of your grasp, intangible and driving you half-crazed with the inability to have him.

What is a future plot idea you have in mind for the character? |

1. REVELATION -- He has hidden in the shadows for so long he has forgotten what it feels like to have his face shine in the sun. Sitting still has never settled well within him, especially with a soul so restless and the first step to shedding the shackles of his many sins. I think, true to character, the revelation of his life will be an impulsive, spur of the moment revelation. However, there are a couple of things he would make sure he has up his sleeve before announcing his resurrection: a passport, enough money to live comfortably (he has his eyes on some place like Greece), and a quick means of escape secured. He does not quite like the thought of Valentina upstaging him and stealing his thunder, but wouldn’t it be fitting, after such a melodramatic death he’d have a resurrection that would rival Jesus’ himself?

2. REDEMPTION -- Falling in love is no small thing to scoff at and for Felipe it was pivotal. It awakened something that was eclipsed for the majority of his life, this inkling of kindness and nobility that was forsaken in his quest for obsessive adoration. It’s hanging there at the very end of his biography, an opportunity for him to redefine himself  as a man that is more than a collection of his worst decisions. I see a path that is laid out before him that will be tedious, heart-wrenching, and hard but the end is ever-looming and always in his sights. He will need to do the unthinkable and earn the place that he had long-occupied in her heart, become worthy of it so that the memory of the dead man she had loved is  not something she thinks about only in shades of blue. The way I see this happening is for him first to cement a connection with one of the mob’s high-ups (likely Genevieve since he would want to be close to Paola).  He would have to reconcile for his many, many sins and this would be a long term plot that would involve Felipe having to unlearn many of his natural inclinations but...it would be worth it.

3. RECOMPENSE -- I took a lot of inspiration from the character Frenchie for this -- but since he has habitually consumed a lot of drugs, I think he has learned a lot about them. It would be an interesting study if the Montagues tried to test their drugs on him, to see what they could do to prolong the effects of the ambrosia and make it more potent while figuring out ways to curb the come down, but also maybe give him an opportunity to study the drugs that undo him, to learn about them and maybe with the proper tutelage come up with something new for the Montagues. He is a sharp, wickedly cunning man - he has to be in order to slip through the once-thought iron-clad grip of the mobs, so who is to say that he wouldn’t use his talents in such a self-serving manner that could prove profitable to the Montagues? Or the Capulets if things happen to pan out in another fashion. He has to atone for his sins somehow, doesn’t he?

4. RECKONING -- In the case of NEITHER of the mobs accepting him, it’s clear that he has become a rather formidable force himself. He knows how to work around the mobs, knows their ins and outs, their secrets, their weaknesses, their weak links. Should neither of them serve his needs the way that he wants them to, Felipe has in mind to make himself the go-to person if people need information, a smuggler, or a hitman. He’s a jack-of-all-trades and master of -- well, all of them, if he does say so himself. Though killing people makes his hands tremble and bile rise in his throat, he does what must be done. He rather enjoys the thrill of smuggling things in and out of the city, though, and cannot help but feel like a cat with a canary caught in its mouth whenever he learns new, invaluable information. Perhaps this is an eventuality or maybe it’s a lofty dream. Regardless, he knows he has the capacity to stir the city into a frenzy if he so wishes. It would require a great amount of effort, though...so here’s to hoping, he won’t.

Are you comfortable with killing off your character? | Just try and stop me! >:(

IN DEPTH

His leg is slung over the arm of the chair, cigarette in hand as he waits for the girl to set herself up. His eyes flickered over her face subtly -- if he looked at her too openly she might think that he was interested in her, which would only make her feel as though she were worth his time and energy. And he didn’t want her to think that, not quite yet. She was cute, with a little button nose and wide eyes that gave one the impression that she was a bit younger than she actually was. It was the way that she handled herself, though, that gave her age away. The woman’s posture was impeccable, she carried an over-the-shoulder bag rather than a backpack and pens, a recorder, and a journal rather than a notebook. Details, details, details. His gaze caught for a half-second on her hand as she set her items onto the table. There was a band around her finger, a strip of skin that was paler than the rest.

Either she was recently divorced or didn’t care for people to know she was married.

Felipe -- no, what name was he using right now? Marco.

Okay, well, Felipe thought that Paola was much more preferable company -- and frankly, Marco had eyes, so his opinion was the same -- but she was working right now and he needed a way to pass the time while her shift was ending. Students tended to frequent the place and this Graduate Student had asked him to help her with a journalism exercise -- nothing more than a profile on no one. He had been assured that this project would mean nothing and she’d probably get an A regardless, but still. Having his name penned into a book with black ink was a type of permanency that he didn’t care to have haunting his thoughts.

He took another drag and tilted his head back as he expelled the smoke from his lungs. The waning sun shined in his face and he basked in the warmth.

“Marco?”

“Hm?”

“What’s your favorite place in Verona?”

Sighing, he combed a finger through his hair, contemplating on what kind of answer Marco would give. If it were Felipe who were answering, he would say that he had rather enjoyed the Roman Baths -- getting high there while listening to music was an experience that brought him nearly as much peace as waking up to Paola in the morning. Marco, however, was a little bit more basic than Felipe was. Marco enjoyed historical sites, books, things that would make girls like the one sitting across from him swoon.

She probably fantasized about one of her professors. Maybe he could give her a taste of that fantasy -- as a gift, from him to her.

“Think I would have to say the Roman arena,” he answered with an apologetic grin, as though it were embarrassing to admit such a thing. “A bit nerdy, but it’s a historical site that I don’t think gets enough recognition. At night it can be haunting, when the mist settles low and the moonlight shines overhead. You could even imagine that the mist takes shapes and the souls of the gladiators are there, waving their gladius’ and throwing their spears.” There it was, that bit of testosterone that she was probably craving, to reassure her that he was a man of books, but he knew how to handle her in bed.

Her lashes fluttered, as though she were a little taken aback by that -- although, from the flush of her cheeks, it was in a manner that leaned weighed in Felipe’s -- Marco’s -- favor. A slow, lazy smile dragged along his lips at that, but she was too busy taking notes to notice. He shifted, foot propped up on the seat, elbow resting on his knee.

“Uh huh, and what does your day typically look like?”

“Well, I used to wake up to my wife, but then circumstances changed,” -- he was careful not to look at her, head bowed as Marco suddenly becomes interested in a well-worn groove on the wooden table -- “and now I wake up, go for a run, brew some coffee, shower, and go to work. Then I  go to a bar across from the Castelvecchio, read and people watch for a bit, then call it a night and head home. Nothing too wild or interesting -- those days are far behind me.” Marco had answered the question genuinely, but Felipe was interested to see if she’d take note of the trail of breadcrumbs he had left her. It was evident that Marco was a man of routine, maintained healthy habits, and liked the quieter aspects of life, but dealt well with change. Also, he was quite comfortable in the bustle of a bar, but preferred to watch from a distance rather than openly engage.

When he looked at her, she was leaning forward, pen still against the notebook. There was a curl to her lips that hinted at a smile, as though she were charmed, but sympathetic to the new routine that he had to learn. He wondered if he should mention that Marco had adopted a dog recently, but maybe he would pull that one from his sleeve later.

“That sounds lovely,” she chirped, suddenly realizing that maybe she had been staring for a little too long. He didn’t mind at all, but Marco did. So he smiled bashfully, looking down and fiddling with the ring on his thumb as though he needed to distract himself.

“It’s a slower pace for things, but it was needed. A little peace and tranquility is underappreciated, I think. And when I want a change of pace, I like to take trips here, to Rome. Different, more interesting people are out here. Like you.”

Ah, she seemed to like that a lot. A shining, bright laughter flew from her lips and he let his own mingle with hers.

“Sorry,” he demurred, grinning. “Couldn’t help it, couldn’t help it. Continue on.”

That was a little too assertive. But maybe it would work, he thought. She should know that Marco isn’t one to shy away from someone he’s interested in. After putting up with her significant other for so long, she might need someone to chase after her for a bit and maybe this could hint that he was more than willing to do the work necessary to hold her attention. He had to play this carefully, though, he didn’t want to seem overeager. Most women didn’t find that attractive.

“Right -- cosi, this is a more intrusive one, apologies --  what has been your biggest mistake thus far?”

“You don’t think you can be kinder to me?”

“Unfortunately not.”

“Damn,” he murmured ruefully, shaking his head. He quieted, as though contemplating the question.  Felipe didn’t like to think that he made mistakes. Sometimes the decisions he made had unfortunate consequences, but was anything really ever a mistake if it was predetermined? Not that he believed there was a holy order to anything -- it was simply more convenient to think that when things didn’t quite go the way that he had planned. But sometimes, when he woke up with a thick tongue and a storm raging in his head, muscles aching and cramping, his skin sticky, and coated  with a light film of sweat as Paola stared at him anxiously...sometimes, he did think that his lifestyle, as a whole, as a mistake.

Marco’s answer was easier, though, and far more romantic.

“Letting my heart get carried away,” he said softly, melancholy twisting his tone. Marco/Felipe rubbed at the back of his neck, eyes downcast. “Not letting my head reason with it more.” There was more truth in it than he cared to admit. His heart was what had guided him for so long, ravenous and relentless. Demanding, demanding, demanding. If he had let his head wrestle with it more, perhaps, then he wouldn’t have the cravings that he did, have the inexplicable penchant for a life of brutality and crime. Sighing, he shrugged, making it clear that his thoughts began and ended here.

Gently, she continued on with her questions, ducking her head a bit to meet his gaze. She wanted to engage him in eye contact so that he could know that she was listening, that she cared.

God, Paola’s shift couldn’t be over soon enough.

“So, then, what has been the most difficult task asked of you?”

“Learning to recognize what was best for me and act on it.” Long-winded lies were easier to swallow when they were peppered with the truth, and the sincerity of his tone surprised even him. He wasn’t going to elaborate on it, but he would let the woman draw whatever conclusions she wanted. “You’d think that once you realized that someone -- or something -- was bad for you, you’d immediately try to quit it, but…” Felipe/Marco let it end there. His gaze drifted away from his interrogator’s watching the people that walked here to and fro, living their quiet, mundane lives. Content with living in a tepid existence. Never knowing a taste of revelry, worship, and glory. Truthfully, though, he should have recognized after his first kill that maybe this life wasn’t always meant for him. The thought had been buried six feet under, because it meant that he would be able to live the life he wanted -- adored and whispered about as though he were a legend in the making.

Then he had met Paola.

And fallen in love with her.

Ah, fuck, maybe that was his mistake.

...Marco?

“...Sorry! Sorry, apologies, got caught in my own head.”

“I just wanted to know, since you’re from Verona, what are your thoughts on the war between the Capulets and the Montagues?”

“I don’t think you should ever ask someone from Verona that.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize it was a sensitive --”

“No, it’s alright, I might actually be one of the few people that you could ask this question. The war is a waste. The people of the city are terrified and tired of fighting for a cause they can’t even remember. There needs to be some sort of definitive change because, eventually, there’s not going to be any blood left to spill.” Huh. Odd. He didn’t have to lie as much as he thought he would have with this question. The city was tired, as were the people, as was the cadence of the war. They needed someone to go in and shake things up a bit, maybe spice things up with a little intrigue and mystery. He’d see if he was bored enough to do it -- but for now, he was more than happy to bask in this little paradise he had found for himself in the arms of a delicate woman he would easily go on a bended knee for. Not now though, he wanted to wait a bit. But eventually.

The woman handed him her number as the interview began to draw to a close, idle conversation clearly something that she thought Marco would enjoy. Felipe didn’t much care for it, but he continued with the niceties until she began to look at her watch. The moment she turned away, he crumpled up the paper and tossed it into a planter, covering his mouth with a lazy fist as he yawned, standing up and stretching himself out as he made his way over to the bookshop.

His phone buzzed in his pocket and he frowned.

Only Paola had his number, except for one other person in Verona --

“Fucking hell.”

EXTRAS:

THINGS TO KNOW ABOUT FELIPE CASTRO

1. For years he has perfected the following accents: British (posh), Australian, Spanish, French, German, and American (Southern). For years he regularly went with the Spanish accent to make himself seem more enticing to people and when he met Paola he said he was born in Italy but raised in Spain. He was rather proud of himself for that one and would have kept the accept for the rest of his life if it meant that she would take his name.

2. When fighting, he tries to knock people out rather than kill them. Though it makes things slightly more difficult, he loathes robbing anyone of their life. One would think it would get easier each time, but he has found that it gets more difficult every time he does it. There is a routine that typically follows the act: his hands begin to shake uncontrollably and the next day he finds himself incapable of leaving his bed. After the 24 hour period he buys a rose and throws it into the Adige. So far he has bought 6 red roses and 1 white rose.

3. Felipe is a natural at chemistry. He enjoys it and probably would have gotten a career as a chemist if he had continued his education instead of teaching himself, but he finds the structure of academia boring and tedious. Learning topics at his own rate is far more preferable and allows him to consume things at his own rate -- although he does find himself writing what he learns in journals. In these same journals he practices different styles of penmanship so that, should anyone read the books, they’d think it was passed between multiple people.

4. His bambinaia was from Germany and sometimes he would slip up and accidentally call her mama. He keeps a picture of her in his wallet. A stupid, sentimental thing to do that will probably get him in toruble, but Felipe can’t seem to bear the idea of parting with it. The only person he had shown her picture to was Paola, and even then he couldn’t bring himself to elaborate on their relationship. He acts like she’s dead. It’s easier that way.

5. He prefers reading poems over books. They give much more insight to a person than a five hundred page book ever could.

CHARACTERS SIMILAR TO FELIPE CASTRO

1. Jet -- Avatar the Last Airbender

2. Frenchie -- The Boys

3. Flynn Rider -- Tangled

4. Luke Castellan -- The Percy Jackson Series

5. Theon Greyjoy -- Game of Thrones

[stillebesat]

i was rereading your stork au (bc i Love It and im so soft for baby logan) and i was kinda wondering how the legal bits work in that universe? like do the storks tell whoever (idk the right government people lol) that ‘x has a kid now’ or do the new parents have to like,, go register or something? idk its just a thought that came to mind after reading

(So happy you love the STORK AU! ^^;; It’s been a favorite of mine to write)

Short Answer: MAGIC!! It fixes everything! ^^;; lol For the most part the STORK’s magic makes pretty much all the necessary changes to all documentation instantaneous as soon as the new parent(s) accept their child. 

Longer Answer below the cut: 

The nice thing about STORKS is that they do have their own brand of magic that helps to facilitate the child’s move to a better family.

Their main magic is used for the changing/erasing of the original parent(s)/guardian(s) memories so that they won’t go looking for the child and to ensure that the child doesn’t have to worry about running into them again. 

But this magic also is used to alter official records that the government (and medical, educational, etc places) keep. Basically if a government person just happened to be looking at the child’s name on their birth certificate when they’re taken by the STORKS and accepted by their new family it would be like a ‘blink and you miss’ it sort of change. One second the name may say Joe Johnson and the next it would be Joe Anderson. (The person may not realize that the name changed or think they misread the name, it’s so quick)-And if the child doesn’t want to keep their name that their original parents gave them, then the paperwork could change to say Andrew Anderson or even Jennifer Anderson depending on what the child wants to be called. Etc. 

-The changes are also very very easy to make for those government systems who have digitized their information. As basically just blip and the necessary information is altered and no one is the wiser. 

The good thing about the government though is that there are billions of people living on the planet and keeping track of every single form for every individual is such a momentous task that unless the person in the government is involved directly with the STORKs (aka they accepted a child from a STORK) it’s unlikely anyone will notice any changes to documents that contain the child’s name. 

The only major difference to most governments is that since most of the time the original parent(s)/guardian(s) believe that their child was killed, there needs to be a paper trail there just in case one is needed. (aka death certificates and insurance claims filed and processed)

-If there is insurance on the child, then there’s the added complication of ensuring that the money was processed and placed in the right accounts so the original parent(s)/guardian(s) aren’t like “Where’s my money?” 

Also what all needs to be changed in the paper trail of the child often depends on the situation that they come from and their age. 

It’s a lot easier on the STORKS when the child hasn’t yet entered school as there are less official records (mostly like a Birth Certificate, Social Security Number, and maybe a couple of medical records.) that need to be altered.

It’s also the reason why most of the STORKs work with babies and toddlers. (And how they got their reputation for carrying babies to parents in the stories) There’s less that needs to be altered to ensure that the child can seamlessly enter into their new family’s lives. 

But if the child is older and in school then there’s more complications and potentially more legwork (including physical visits to differing locations) that the STORK has to complete after uniting the child with their new parents in order to ensure that the no one goes “Oh hey wait what happened to Jimmy who was in class last week?” When the original parents think that the child ‘died’ three years ago.

-Basically if a person was closer to the parents, their memories will shift so that they too think the child is dead.

-If the person was closer to the child, they will forget who the child’s original parents were and remember only the new parents and in most cases will think that left because they moved away. 

But yah. Schools complicate everything because there’s such a paper trail in those buildings. Assignments, Tests, Scores, Assessments, Nurses Visits, etc etc. (again yay for digital stuff as computer records are quite easy to alter for the STORKS.) 

It’s even more complicated in the rarer cases where the ‘child’ is at that near adult stage of 15-17 years old where they may have a job (and all those certifications/background checks, etc) or have received their learner’s permit/driver’s license. 

Because Remy usually deals with infants and toddlers his job isn’t as complicated as other more experienced STORKS who take on the older children in need. 

And because Virgil is Logan’s original Dad, his case is different than most as he can keep his original name as his birth certificate was filed using Virgil’s last name as Logan’s last name and named him as father. 

The main complication is that the Mom is still alive and now believes that Logan is dead. 

-With Remy’s magic she believes that he died in the boating accident along with Virgil because Virgil’s Grandfather told her that Virgil was dead. Now the memories shift to include Logan in that.

So there’s a tricky bit of magic there where you could call it…a mirage. If she were to happen to look at Logan’s birth certificate she would see Logan’s name with her Maiden Name (though since she and Virgil weren’t yet officially married, she never took his last name and hasn’t yet been married to anyone else.) But if Virgil were to look at that exact same certificate, he would see his last name as Logan’s last name.

There will also be a Death Certificate found in the state of Florida that has Logan’s name with his Mother’s Maiden Name on it if the Mom were to need it. 

In very very rare cases. A STORK is unable to properly change memories/paperworkforms because they have to act in the spur of the moment and take the child before a new family can be found for them. In these sort of cases it’s like…’the strings of fate’ -or in this case the ties of family- are violently snapped leaving the child(ren) adrift with no connections to anyone (records vanished, memories people have of the completely gone from their minds leaving holes in memories) until the STORK can get them out of imminent danger and realign them with a better family. 

This happens to Remy when Logan is 14 years old when he rescues nearly 16 year old Roman and Remus from a cousin they lived with who was deadset on killing them. 

Remy basically yanked the twins off the street as they ran by, shielded them with his wings from their cousin’s view and promptly used his magic to ‘break’ every single thread connecting them to their old life because he had no time to be ‘delicate’ when their lives were literally on the line. 

As to the new parent(s), mostly what they have to worry about is what they’re going to tell people when they’re like “Hey…who is this?” The STORK’s magic, however, ensures that whatever story the new parent(s) decide to tell, it will be believed so that the child can be better accepted into their new life. (Though there’s almost always that one distant relative that disproves of everything no matter what you tell them. “Can they even afford to have another child?!” “Adoption?! Why in the world would you subject yourself to that?!”)  

Again with Babies it’s rather easy if there’s a parent involved who can bear children as they will often use the story of “I didn’t know I was pregnant!” With older children the reason can be slightly more complicated and parent(s) have told very simple stories of “we decided we wanted to adopt this little angel” to more complex stories of “So apparently I actually had twins in the hospital but they told me one died but only now through Ancestry.com did I discover my child had actually survived and after a lot of searching we found each other.” (The STORKS have to shake their heads at some of the stories they’ve heard the parent(s) tell to explain why they suddenly have another child) 

Paperwork wise the parent(s) usually find all the necessary documentation for the child in the mail within the week (after the haze of ‘we have a new child!’ has faded a bit) to ensure that there won’t be difficulties in their future (drivers licenses, passports, job applications, college applications, medical history, etc). 

Again with Virgil and Logan it’s easier in some ways and difficult in others since Logan is Virgil’s biological child. So he can rightfully claim that Logan is his son. 

But it does take Virgil a good two or three days before he feels like he can leave the building with Logan and tell people the story he’s comfortable telling.

Because like….how do you explain to people that your Grandfather didn’t want your fiance to marry you and so he set up the boat explosion to kill them, but somehow they survived, but then he convinced the Mom to fake being dead and then lied to Virgil about the her and Logan’s survival only Virgil discovered years later that they could potentially still be alive and when he ‘found’ them (Virgil never sees the Mom again, Remy is the one who took action to find them before Virgil could get a chance to) and Logan’s Mom could no longer care for him (otherwise Remy wouldn’t have been able to take Logan from his mother) and ‘wanted’ (since she���s not alive) nothing to do with Virgil and so Virgil took Logan back home to live with him and raise.

Yah…Virgil doesn’t tell that story to more than a handful of people. He mostly sticks to “His Mother took him from me, but now can no longer care for him and so I took my son back.” And if they know his situation with his ex-fiance will also state that she ‘faked their deaths and I just discovered they were still alive.”  

But yah, paperwork wise, not much needed to be changed for Logan as he was too young to be in school (at almost five) and his Mom hadn’t enrolled him in preschool and had stopped taking him to daycare a good year before when she realized he could take care of himself well enough that she could leave him home while she was at work and not worry about him burning down the house (and save $$$ in the process) so no one would question why he no longer was coming. 

Hope that answers your questions! Let me know if you have any more. :D

[disappearinginq]

One thing that’s been bugging me is Higgins never struck me as someone who would forget about her visa. I know they didn’t say how long she’d been working on getting the extension or a new visa but it seems strange that she didn’t started the process months before it was up. I know for passports they don’t like to let you travel if it expires within 6 months so you have to renew it a while before it expires. And she’s overstayed by almost 6 months? 1/2

2/2 And Higgins Just went back to England at the beginning of the season. Customs and immigration would probably have told her when she returned stateside that it was expiring soon. For me it would’ve been better if we got some snippets of Higgins working on something not case related and private occasionally from the beginning. It wouldn’t be so out of nowhere then. At the end I honestly thought Katsumoto had gotten through to her and she called someone in England to let her stay not TC.

I actually think they did cover that - when they’re searching for clues/evidence when Magnum first brings up getting married, I got the impression that she had been trying for a while, but it wasn’t working out, which is why she had time to find a lawyer, etc. You’re right, she’s so anal retentive about the law that you would think she would’ve been filing like 6 months before she even had to think about it, not 10 days before hand (and actually, since it’s within two years [read: 2 days] of her green card application, she wouldn’t legally be allowed to marry even if it was for love). But it would’ve at least made more sense if they did it the way you were suggesting - a couple episodes long arc about her working on it, and it getting denied. 

Of course, now that I go back and rewatch it, they don’t say one way or another, just that she had already over stayed it and they denied her extension, but not when she filed it. 

But yeah, you’re still hitting on all the things that make no sense about this story line. She was just back in the UK at the beginning of the season, which was give or take six months (right when she would’ve been hitting the 180 day overstay extension), so...yeah. How the hell did she get back here in the first place? She would’ve just been stopped by customs and told to renew it, and she would’ve been getting back to the US in the same amount of time - 6 months, and it would be a non-issue. 

It’s just...dumb. From every aspect. Unless this is some weird ploy by Ivan (which I don’t know I would get why he would care) or someone else to forcibly make her leave Hawaii, I’m not sure where the hell they think this is going to go, because they can’t have her marry TC, they’re not going to have her marry Thomas, and even if they just go ‘oh, your paperwork was lost! My bad, here’s your extension!’ then it’s just a waste of time and unnecessary drama. There’s no good way for this to end. 

[horansqueen]

I Almost Care : Part 2

PART 1

NOTES:

- I’ve always wanted to start a Louis story so here it is - The synopsis and the chapters are posted on my masterlist. - Yea it’s still my name in this. I know it bothers some ppl but that’s how i write. - Parts will be about 2k. Not sure yet how many parts I’ll write tho, probably depends if people read it not. - I do not proofread and i do not have a beta, sorry! - i decided to start a tagging list so if you want to be tagged in chapters OR be informed privately when it’s updated, let me know in my inbox, in a reblog, in tags, or anything. - There will be smut. and fluff. - The title is a Hanson song. The lyrics are posted in Part 1. - if you care about this story and read it and comment it and reblog it and like it, i love you and youre my new bff :D

I ALMOST CARE : PART 2

AMELY

I was supposed to say no and spend a nice and relaxed weekend in a lodge my parents has ranted for the summer. That was the plan. Then how did I end up agreeing to a wild weekend in Las Vegas? I was not even sure anymore. I guess the fact that my parents had invited the very same weekend our neighbors was probably for a lot, especially when I found out they were bringing their annoying and cocky son with them. There was no way I was going to spend days with him following me around and flirting with me with his annoying smirk and his shirtless obsession. The size of his ego was unbelievable and if I spent an other hour rolling my eyes at his disgusting pick-up lines, I would certainly puke.

I guess when Julie invited me, I jumped on the occasion of being as far as I could from Bradley and his cringe worthy personality. I hated gambling. In fact, I was pretty sure I wouldn't spend a single buck in a machine, but I was not against some fun, and if I wanted to be honest, I was ready to try new things. It was going to be my very first time in the states but gladly, I had a passport that I kept to go see family members, sometimes, in other european countries.

As usual, I packed whatever I could find and all this in only half an hour. I knew the flight would be long so I brought a book, earphones and a pillow with me. I also decided to wear sweatpants and a hoodie. I mean, there was no reason for me to be uncomfortable for 10 hours, right?

It's only when I rushed inside the airport, after being fifteen minutes late, that I realized my mistake. He was there. Louis was there and i looked like crap. Louis Tomlinson was a part of this trip and I was hideous. My clothes were old, my hair was a mess, and I was not wearing any make up, showing dark circles around my puffy and tired eyes. It's not like Louis had never seen me like that but when you see your ex after so long, you at least want them to regret not being with you anymore, even if just slightly. Clearly, no one could regret me with the look that I had at this exact moment.

My heart stopped exactly at the same time than my feet. My newest Vans made an annoying squeaky noise on the slick floor and we stared at each other. It was pathetic.

"Come on guys, hurry up!" I heard Julie say, clapping her hands.

"Hey Mely, late as usual." Liam pointed out with a chuckle. "Glad to see things don't change."

Normally, I would nudge him and tell him to shut up but I couldn't take my eyes off of Louis and I couldn't calm the beating of my heart. Truth was, I never wanted us to be over, but somehow, I felt like he was not ready to be with someone. Or maybe it was just me he didn't want to be with. Either way, we didn't work, even if, believe me, I did everything I could to be exactly what he wanted. The problem was, he didn't even know what he wanted. That thought made me raise my nose in a grimace and I saw him frown, probably thinking my reaction was because he was there.

I pulled my pillow closer to me and followed my friends to the gates. It was a good thing that (and I counted) there were nine of us. Perhaps I wouldn't have to spend too much time around him. Maybe he would even pretend I didn't exist and ignore me the way he did it so well not only after we broke up but also during the last few days we were dating.

It was very unlikely since I spent a lot of time with Julie and Liam and I was perfectly aware that Louis and Liam were very close, but I wouldn't mind trying to get closer to the other people with us, if I had to.

I didn't know how I ended up with a plane ticket in my hand but I decided to just follow everyone. I smiled when I realized I got a window seat and literally let myself fall on the bench that I thought would be more comfortable.

"A bit stiff? I know."

My breath caught in my throat and I held it in. My heart started racing, my cheeks were getting warm and most likely red, and I I could feel my hands getting sweaty. I had a curse. It was the Louis curse. I would become an idiot whenever he was close. It was that way before I started dating him and now, the curse was back. I turned to him, my eyes a bit too round than they should have been, and he sent me a polite smile.

"Not you, I mean the seat."

My lips curled into a rude smile. "Funny."

Louis was, in fact, a funny guy. He could always make me laugh, even when I had the ugliest day. He could always turn my frown upside down. He could always make me at ease, make me feel pretty, important, smart... Qualities I could not really see in myself, or at least, sometimes they seemed hard to see.

"I know, I'm a funny guy." he replied, as if he had read my thoughts.

This time, he sent me an amused smile and I surprised myself wondering if it was just an act. I knew Louis was just as uncomfortable around me as I was around him. There was a reason why we made sure we wouldn't bump into each other and being seated right next to him in this plane confirmed it was a good idea to stay away from each other. How long did I read that this flight would be again? I said 10 hours, didn't I?

"You don't have to pretend, you know." I just pointed out, grabbing my bag and searching through it without looking at him.

I didn't want to admit that watching him actually hurt me, and way more than I thought it would. I had put so much effort, time and love into our relationship but I was not even sure he noticed it. I was not even sure he ever really loved me. I didn't know why I stayed for so long. Perhaps it was simply because I had hope.

"What do you mean?"

It took me a few seconds but I finally moved my gaze up. Our eyes met and I inhaled deeply before breathing out.

"You don't have to pretend to be happy that we'll be stuck together for hours." i explained, slipping my hand in my backpack to find my phone. "I'm not pleased by this either."

I turned my phone on and started checking a few messages I had received but I could feel his gaze on me, burning my skin. He was so close I could smell his odor, a mix of his cologne and his natural scent. He smelled amazing and exactly how I remembered but I couldn't let that get to me.

"I take it they didn't tell you I was coming."

His words surprised me and without thinking, I looked up again. I stared at him for a few seconds and licked my lips,shaking my head from left to right.

"Yea, they didn't tell me you'd be there either."

Now that I was thinking about it, it angered me slightly. Why weren't we aware that we would have to spend a few days together? After all, our friends knew exactly what had happened between us and also knew that we were avoiding each other. I nodded and finally leaned against my seat, closing my eyes and hoping the discussion was over.

"It's true."

I frowned, waiting for him to continue but apparently, he was waiting for something and my curiosity won the fight. I opened my eyes and turned my head his way as it was still leaning on the back of the seat.

"I'm not pleased, but it's not because I don't want to see you, or because I hate you or anything." he admitted, glancing down quickly before looking back in my eyes. "It's because I know you hate me, and it's awkward between us. But trust me, I don't want to ruin your weekend. If you want me to stay away from you, then I will."

I blinked a few times, once again surprised by his words but also by his compassion. It reminded me of who I started dating, Louis was charming and kind, cheeky but soft, funny and sensitive. He was the whole package : the man you want to present to your folks but also the man to make you cum hard between the sheets. Looking at him from so close again brought back so many memories that I had to hold my breath for a few seconds as I felt my whole body throb.

After a while, I got back to my senses and cleared my throat, playing with my earphones.

"Alright." I said with a shrug, putting my earphones on and starting the music. "But I don't mind you being around me. It's your trip too."

I could swear I read sadness in his eyes and perhaps, I had gone a little too far. I was good at pretending I didn't care, he should know that, and the problem was that I cared. I cared so much. I cared too much.

"Oh and Louis?"

Once again, his head raised up and his eyebrows too. I couldn't help but let my lips curl a bit at how cute he looked.

"I don't hate you."

He sent me a small smile and made a quick head movement as a thank you. I hated that it started hurting again. It's like a wound you thought was pretty much painless and almost completely healed that would re-open suddenly and bleed like a bitch. I spent a few more seconds just staring at him as I made a list in my head of everything I missed about him before taking my phone in my hand. I got into my note application and started typing with only one fingers, cursing as I made typos every other word.

- the way he laughed at my clumsiness - the way he played with my hair - the mischievous smirk he sent when he was horny - the grimace he made when I had a good comeback - the way he rolled his eyes at the memes i'd show him - his warm hands traveling on my skin - the way his eyes roamed on me like I was the only person worth looking at - the way his lips moved on mine, slowly but avidly - how tight he held me against him at night even if his bed was king sized - the way he whispered 'i love you' when he thought I was asleep

I suddenly stopped typing and swallowed at as I re-read the last one twice, three times... ten... I felt my eyes water and cleared my throat, turning the screen off and letting my phone fall on my laps. Why was this happening to me? I was good without him, I didn't need him, and I was happy. Then why was I feeling like that? I felt my twist in my chest and he had been sitting next to me for about 10 minutes, how was I going to survive a long weekend around him without falling in love with him again?

That thought made my heart jump so hard in my chest that my whole body started throbbing again. I couldn't go through that again, I couldn't have my heart broken an other time. It was much more than I could handle. I wasn't even sure how I survived last time.

I leaned again my seat again and shut my eyes tight, trying to stop the tears from falling, but when I felt his fingers brushing against the top of my hand, my eyes opened wide and I turned to him.

"Hey, Mely, are you okay?"

No. Clearly, I was far from okay. I was nostalgic of the only relationship that ever mattered to me. I was falling again for the only guy I really loved, the only guy who really broke my heart, and I couldn't help but think that I didn't deserve this pain. I deserved better. With that thought, I quickly took my hand back and nodded.

"Yea, i'm fine, thanks."

[soferalo-blog]

What You Need to Know About China 10 Year Visa

https://de.ivisa.com/china-10-year-visa

What You Need to Know About China 10 Year Visa Therefore, if you're the sort that likes their itinerary done and dusted well beforehand, you may want to think about a conventional tourist visa for India.  If you don't need this to take place, argue the case which you want to fly on from Lhasa to Beijing after their tour and need the excess visa time.  When you got the visa, you don't need to be worried about going to the Chinese Embassy or Consulate to receive a new visa each time you intend to visit China.

If you're a UK citizen and you anticipate going to China a few times each year, for the the next couple of years, you might be considering a 10-year China visa.   Accordingly, please contact the business you're visiting in China to get the essential letter.  Overall an extraordinary experience!

Ok, I Think I Understand China 10 Year Visa, Now Tell Me About China 10 Year Visa! In general it requires four working days to find the visa.  Before handling the program, you should be certain your passport is valid and remains valid for at least the time period in which you're in China.   There are particular things with which you need to take care when applying for a visa.

The Ultimate China 10 Year Visa Trick Qualified U.S. students may get student residency permits valid for as many as five years based on the duration of their educational program.   Tourists will have the ability to stay in the countries for as many as 90 days at any 1 time.  You might try your house country to find out if you're able to wangle a three-month visa.

Checkthat the range of documents are collated and are correct according to your document checklist.  There's no change in document requirement, although the classification is changed.  If you don't have sufficient documents or property back home, it's OK.

It isn't unheard of for folks to book hotels for the interest of obtaining the visa and later cancelling the reservations. The price of the visa will differ based on where you're from, American citizens will normally pay more.  Based on what you have to do, you will wind up able to calculate what the fees are going to be by looking into it.

If you're a US passport holder who's eligible for a transit visa, you aren't going to will need to submit an application for a China visa before your arrival.  You have to be applying for the specific same kind of visa.  In the majority of cases you'll have to make an application for the visa in america, at one of the Chinese consulates.

The procedure and requirements might vary for different nations, but because all US citizens are needed to have a travel visa and a US passport for their trip, we are going to be addressing how to acquire Chinese Visa in the united states.  The visa application office isn't always located at the true consulate.  While Hong Kong is pretty liberal in regards to handing out visas, there's no guarantee you will receive one.

Generally you are considering about a week to get this done.  The arrangement recognized that travelers would have to periodically finish an on-line form updating their biographical info.  These numbers are extremely important.

Applicants with less quantity of fingers will have to give biometrics only of the current fingers and will need to sign the exception form.   Your letter must be dated and signed.  The expense of the visa is the exact same in all cases (almost all situations,) but it's the service fee that is not the same.

Top China 10 Year Visa Choices You're unable to apply on the internet or fax in your application either.  Additional fees are necessary for express processing.  In terms of the payment, you will be asked to make it before submitting the application.

For more thorough info, you can observe the Chinese Visa Exemption.   Based on the visa category, you might be required for extra documentation and a reciprocity fee.  The price of the visa will be contingent on where you're from.

| Maybe you should travel back and forth because of work, or maybe you've got family in China, and you'd like to visit them a few times annually. It allows approved travelers to go to Canada as many times as they want, for as many as ten decades, without needing to re-apply each moment.  So it really is dependent on your travel plans.

It isn't unheard of for folks to book hotels for the interest of obtaining the visa and later cancelling the reservations. The price of the visa will differ based on where you're from, American citizens will normally pay more.  The fee is going to be utilised to cover the price of running the system.

Vital Pieces of China 10 Year Visa Everything from what documents you will need to apply to whether it is possible to send in your application by mail.  While an invitation letter does make the process simpler, it's not essential.  To book visa appointment, the initial step is to complete DS-160 form.

It is very important to know your visa might still be valid in the event the passport it's in expires.  The visas are accepted by the neighborhood offices and you must apply with the consulate office in your region.  Tourist visas are usually issued for six months, based on what nationality you're.

The remaining documents has to be submitted along with previous Chinese citizenship and visa too.  You could visit the Chinese embassy and submit an application for a 10-year visa, but there's a more convenient way.  The optimal solution for you could best be answered by means of an immigration lawyer.

How to Find China 10 Year Visa You don't have to understand the precise date.  You do not have to supply a hotel confirmation and might enter the address information of the hotel you propose to remain at.  These numbers are extremely important.

As it's inconvenient to devote an application for a visa a few situations every year.  The only reasons they let you maintain your previous passport, is in case you should demonstrate anybody, that has to know where you have been the very last trips or time.  There are particular things with which you need to take care when applying for a visa.

The New Fuss About China 10 Year Visa Visa request can't be processed without your initial passport.  Each entry is fantastic for as much as 60 days.  The price of the visa will be contingent on where you're from.

Therefore, if you're the sort that likes their itinerary done and dusted well beforehand, you may want to think about a conventional tourist visa for India.  If you don't need this to take place, argue the case which you want to fly on from Lhasa to Beijing after their tour and need the excess visa time.  When you got the visa, you don't need to be worried about going to the Chinese Embassy or Consulate to receive a new visa each time you intend to visit China.

The terrible part is that you need to go through China.  Accordingly, please contact the business you're visiting in China to get the essential letter.  Overall an extraordinary experience!

Key Pieces of China 10 Year Visa Don't forget to fill in the right jurisdiction that was identified earlier at the Widget Stage.  Applying for an ITIN will enable you to complete all the incomplete info and makes it feasible to make sure that the government has all the needed info about you.  On the biometric edition, it's moved to page 3.

If you would like some other excellent alternatives for Visa Services, you can have a look at this comparison of the finest China visa services. Following that, you have to choose the processing time of your application.  In order to submit an application for an on-line visa, you still have to fill in an application.

| There's just one consulate in Lhasa the Nepalese (you actually don't require a Nepalese visa as you're able to pick this up on arrival).  You will get your visa in the timeframe of your choice, and you may delight in a stress-free trip.  As an example, you had a B visa and want to apply for one more B visa.

The New Fuss About China 10 Year Visa The visa gets void if it goes past the date of ENTER BEFORE even if there are a few ENTRIES left.  Your letter must be dated and signed.   Generally, the fees are costlier if you want to have more entries.

The Principles of China 10 Year Visa That You Will be Able to Learn From Beginning Immediately Qualified U.S. students may get student residency permits valid for as many as five years based on the duration of their educational program.   Additionally, five year visas are offered for people from 18 nations.   You might try your house country to find out if you're able to wangle a three-month visa.

In general it requires four working days to find the visa.  The only reasons they let you maintain your previous passport, is in case you should demonstrate anybody, that has to know where you have been the very last trips or time.  There are particular things with which you need to take care when applying for a visa.

The Do's and Don'ts of China 10 Year Visa You're unable to apply on the internet or fax in your application either.  Following that, you have to choose the processing time of your application.  In order to submit an application for an on-line visa, you still have to fill in an application.

China 10 Year Visa - the Story It isn't unheard of for folks to book hotels for the interest of obtaining the visa and later cancelling the reservations. The price of the visa will differ based on where you're from, American citizens will normally pay more.  The fee is going to be utilised to cover the price of running the system.

You may generally locate the forms of visas on the internet that you are able to work with, and learn a bit more about whether it's possible to afford it.  You have to be applying for the specific same kind of visa. In the majority of cases you'll have to make an application for the visa in america, at one of the Chinese consulates.

The procedure and requirements might vary for different nations, but because all US citizens are needed to have a travel visa and a US passport for their trip, we are going to be addressing how to acquire Chinese Visa in the united states.  The visa application office isn't always located at the true consulate.  The optimal solution for you could best be answered by means of an immigration lawyer.

Chinese citizens who'd like to go to the usa now may have a visa valid for as much as 10 decades.  Explain that China is a huge place and you are in need of a lengthy time to see all of it.  If you've ever wished to go to China, now would be a fairly excellent time to create that happen.

The terrible part is that you need to go through China.   Accordingly, please contact the business you're visiting in China to get the essential letter.  Overall an extraordinary experience!

Key Pieces of China 10 Year Visa Frankly, it's tough to obtain any organized, useful info on there.  The passport has 48 pages.  All documents have to be in English.

How to Find China 10 Year Visa Generally you are considering about a week to get this done.  You do not have to supply a hotel confirmation and might enter the address information of the hotel you propose to remain at.  These numbers are extremely important.

[volentixio-blog]

SIAN: Identity 2.0

Intro

S.I.A.N. stands for Sovereign Identity Attestation Network. This network is designed to provide users with the ability to control their identities online.

The following article creates a parallel between the physical world, and how data and identities are managed and the digital world. The overall conclusions of this article are that our digital identities, in function, do not reflect the behavior in the digital world. It is therefore theorized that changes are required in the digital world in order to better reflect the physical world in order to create a baseline architecture for our identity online.

The premise, for a system like SIAN, is that it all begins and ends at the data level. Whoever controls that data, and access to it, controls the narrative about you and your identity. The long and the short of the article is this: You should control your data online. All of it.

The Physical World

Let’s begin by looking at our day to day and how identity plays a part. Think about how you interact with the environment. To the barista, you present a version of yourself and they present a version to you. The identity you share is likely to be pretty surface stuff. At best they know your first name. A tiny piece of data. But they do not know any other data about you. Your address, government ID, passport number, or anything else of relevance about you remains with you and is not shared. You are still you, however, you are controlling the data you are leaking which ends up forming the identity presented.

Your work identity manifests, in all likelihood, more data about you than the barista identity does. Your first name, email, phone, LinkedIn, specialty, and rank are all available to the entire group, and, for the most part, this seems sensible. But your work identity is unlikely to share details about your more intimate self. Weekends with close friends. Moments alone with your spouse. The time you almost got into some real trouble. Whatever. A million things and a million things more.

Beyond these two simple identities, exist many others that all share one common aspect. You are in control of the data presented through each one of these identities. To the barista, it’s one you. To your boss, it’s another. Your friends. It’s not you being fake. It’s not dishonest. It’s not a mental issue. It's reality. It’s the way it works.

Let’s discuss the elephant in the room. People talk. You tell someone something, what’s stopping them from telling another? And so on and so on. In the real world, how people respect the data you provide them is something that remains outside of your control. It’s the element of trust you need to both shares. Sometimes that trust is broken. Sometimes it is not. In the real world, once you share something, you cannot unshare it.

Over time, humans have evolved in how they trade and form communities. In the beginning, the form remained mainly tribal. You knew everyone and everyone knew you. If you turned out to be someone who cannot be trusted, then the entire tribe, in effect your entire world, may turn their backs on you. You would be alone.

As civilization began to expand, new ways of trust needed to be developed. Away in which trade could be conducted without knowing the other party intimately. This new form of trust took the form of councils, guilds, clergy, banks, and governments. A third party that would be accountable to provide trust between two parties. A middle man. Basically, this third party would reside between two entities. Both parties trust this middle man to attest to the character, identity, and honor of the other. And in such a fashion, a business can be conducted.

Just a note. Much can be said about the current mechanics of these third-party middlemen. Without a doubt this function is required in any large scale ecosystem, however, they are not without their flaws. Centralization is the most pressing followed quickly by the behaviors driving data hoarding. In truth, both subjects are well beyond the scope of this article.

The Digital World

Now think of identity in the digital world. Who owns your identity? Certainly not you. Worse still, its federated into silos that do not share your data even if you wanted them to. Adding insult to injury, sometimes these silos do communicate between themselves, generally for profit, think ad networks, without your permission. No doubt that buried within the user agreement such a clause exists, however, for all intensive purposes we are being held at gunpoint.

So to be clear, the problem is, you do not control your data. That is the problem. Your data is how you manage your identity online. It’s those little nuggets that tell your story or at least the story you want to tell. When you are seeking employment, you know they are checking your Facebook and LinkedIn. Is that you? Do you feel that is the right way to tell your story at that moment? I don’t think so. I believe that all of us are far more complex and rich than any diluted ‘reflection’ a centralized provider can offer.

Note:

To be honest, the problem of social networks will persist for a long time to come. We are a victim of our own willingness to connect with each other. We have been exploited for profit and the whole social network thing is just going to have to play itself out. So for now, ignore the massive change that needs to take place to shift from a centralized social network into a decentralized one. Instead, I would ask you to think about other use cases such as biometric data and other emergent streams of information about you.

All this new data should be owned by you and you alone. You should be able to control what data apps have access to rather than the other way around. Developers of an application should require zero back end infrastructure because the hard part, data management, is being managed by the network itself. This alone significantly lowers the bar of entry for entrepreneurs and engineers to enter the marketplace without the longest of uphill grinds.

This small shift in computer architecture, the pivot of applications owning data to you owning the data, cannot be understated. App developers will be able to use data generated through other apps with no restrictions. You, after all, control if this new app can view this data, not the original application that generated the data. For example, if your watches biometric data gets stored in your data store, then another application developer will be able to leverage this data in order to provide a service. Simple services like heart monitors are obvious, however, other services would also be viable to construct with a small team of developers that provide advanced services for use cases such as outpatient care.

Just like the real world, the digital world will need middlemen in order to provide trust between two parties. However, just like the real world, you will also need centralized authorize to parley this trust for you. That's ok and SIAN has been architected to accommodate this scenario. For example, sometimes you must provide compliance for the region you are conducting business in, and, as a result, need attestation from the region's government. This scenario is unlikely to change for a very long time.

But let’s be honest, we all aren’t making large investments in foreign lands, we are just looking to trade online. In this case, will still require third-party middlemen to broker trust between the parties. Some cases will require a formal entity, however, other cases can be rectified in a much simpler fashion just as it is in the real world. For example, if Joe wants to work with me on something, and I don’t know Joe but my friend Susan does, and Susan trusts Joe, and I trust Susan, then I will trust Joe.

The mechanics, use cases, and functions of the trusted network continue and get pretty verbose as they go along so I will save it for another article. However, in closing, I would like to make it clear that, as with the data, you, the user, the control of your identity, also remain in full control of who you trust as a third party when conducting business. As they do not control your data, they become pluggable and can be replaced at any time for another trust verifier. As long as both parties trust the same verifier they will be able to derive trust between each other.

Conclusion

The SIAN network is a baseline protocol for people to manage their identities in a digital world. Is the underlying understanding we need to share in order to achieve true self-management of identities online. The main two facets to this protocol are:

You own your data outright

You decide what data is shared with someone else.

In an ideal world, we would also add a third protocol. That protocol would be decentralization. However, we must admit to ourselves that centralist interests will still retain control over many of our identities for the foreseeable future, and, as a result, make room for them within the architecture.

Wrapping up, we require, as a community, a system that will protect the user, their data, and their identity online based on the same principles we find in the real world. Today's centralized systems control your data and identity online in order to exploit it for their own benefits. However, moving forward we need new mechanics, tools, and techniques in order to decouple data from the applications they serve in order to ensure the user is in the driver’s seat moving forward.

Read More->https://volentix.io/en/sian-identity-2-0/

[phroyd]

PHARR, Tex. — On paper, he’s a devoted U.S. citizen.

His official American birth certificate shows he was delivered by a midwife in Brownsville, at the southern tip of Texas. He spent his life wearing American uniforms: three years as a private in the Army, then as a cadet in the Border Patrol and now as a state prison guard.

But when Juan, 40, applied to renew his U.S. passport this year, the government’s response floored him. In a letter, the State Department said it didn’t believe he was an American citizen.

As he would later learn, Juan is one of a growing number of people whose official birth records show they were born in the United States but who are now being denied passports — their citizenship suddenly thrown into question. The Trump administration is accusing hundreds, and possibly thousands, of Hispanics along the border of using fraudulent birth certificates since they were babies, and it is undertaking a widespread crackdown on their citizenship.

In a statement, the State Department said that it “has not changed policy or practice regarding the adjudication of passport applications,” adding that “the U.S.-Mexico border region happens to be an area of the country where there has been a significant incidence of citizenship fraud.”

But cases identified by The Washington Post and interviews with immigration attorneys suggest a dramatic shift in both passport issuance and immigration enforcement.

In some cases, passport applicants with official U.S. birth certificates are being jailed in immigration detention centers and entered into deportation proceedings. In others, they are stuck in Mexico, their passports suddenly revoked when they tried to reenter the United States. As the Trump administration attempts to reduce both legal and illegal immigration, the government’s treatment of passport applicants in South Texas shows how U.S. citizens are increasingly being swept up by immigration enforcement agencies.

Juan said he was infuriated by the government’s response. “I served my country. I fought for my country,” he said, speaking on the condition that his last name not be used so that he wouldn’t be targeted by immigration enforcement.

The government alleges that from the 1950s through the 1990s, some midwives and physicians along the Texas-Mexico border provided U.S. birth certificates to babies who were actually born in Mexico. In a series of federal court cases in the 1990s, several birth attendants admitted to providing fraudulent documents.

Based on those suspicions, the State Department during George W. Bush and Barack Obama’s administrations denied passports to people who were delivered by midwives in Texas’s Rio Grande Valley. The use of midwives is a long-standing tradition in the region, in part because of the cost of hospital care.

The same midwives who provided fraudulent birth certificates also delivered thousands of babies legally in the United States. It has proved nearly impossible to distinguish between legitimate and illegitimate documents, all of them officially issued by the state of Texas decades ago.

While some migrants worried about separations, others felt seeking asylum was worth the risk

For some seeking asylum, family separations were worth the risk: 'Whatever it took, we had to get to this country’ (Zoeann Murphy, Jorge Ribas/The Washington Post)

A 2009 government settlement in a case litigated by the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) seemed like it had mostly put an end to the passport denials. Attorneys reported that the number of denials declined during the rest of the Obama administration, and the government settled promptly when people filed complaints after being denied passports.

But under President Trump, the passport denials and revocations appear to be surging, becoming part of a broader interrogation into the citizenship of people who have lived, voted and worked in the United States for their entire lives.

“We’re seeing these kind of cases skyrocketing,” said Jennifer Correro, an attorney in Houston who is defending dozens of people who have been denied passports.

In its statement, the State Department said that applicants “who have birth certificates filed by a midwife or other birth attendant suspected of having engaged in fraudulent activities, as well as applicants who have both a U.S. and foreign birth certificate, are asked to provide additional documentation establishing they were born in the United States.”

“Individuals who are unable to demonstrate that they were born in the United States are denied issuance of a passport,” the statement said.

When Juan, the former soldier, received a letter from the State Department telling him it wasn’t convinced that he was a U.S. citizen, it requested a range of obscure documents — evidence of his mother’s prenatal care, his baptismal certificate, rental agreements from when he was a baby.

He managed to find some of those documents but weeks later received another denial. In a letter, the government said the information “did not establish your birth in the United States.”

“I thought to myself, you know, I’m going to have to seek legal help,” said Juan, who earns $13 an hour as a prison guard and expects to pay several thousand dollars in legal fees.

In a case last August, a 35-year-old Texas man with a U.S. passport was interrogated while crossing back into Texas from Mexico with his son at the McAllen-Hidalgo-Reynosa International Bridge, connecting Reynosa, Mexico, to McAllen, Tex.

His passport was taken from him, and Customs and Border Protection agents told him to admit that he was born in Mexico, according to documents later filed in federal court. He refused and was sent to the Los Fresnos Detention Center and entered into deportation proceedings.

He was released three days later, but the government scheduled a deportation hearing for him in 2019. His passport, which had been issued in 2008, was revoked.

Attorneys say these cases, where the government’s doubts about an official birth certificate lead to immigration detention, are increasingly common. “I’ve had probably 20 people who have been sent to the detention center — U.S. citizens,” said Jaime Diez, an attorney in Brownsville.

Diez represents dozens of U.S. citizens who were denied their passports or had their passports suddenly revoked. Among them are soldiers and Border Patrol agents. In some cases, Immigration and Customs Enforcement agents have arrived at his clients’ homes without notice and taken passports away.

The State Department says that even though it may deny someone a passport, that does not necessarily mean that the individual will be deported. But it leaves them in a legal limbo, with one arm of the U.S. government claiming they are not Americans and the prospect that immigration agents could follow up on their case.

It’s difficult to know where the crackdown fits into the Trump administration’s broader assaults on legal and illegal immigration. Over the past year, it has thrown legal permanent residents out of the military and formed a denaturalization task force that tries to identify people who might have lied on decades-old citizenship applications.

Now, the administration appears to be taking aim at a broad group of Americans along the stretch of the border where Trump has promised to build his wall, where he directed the deployment of national guardsmen, and where the majority of cases in which children were separated from their parents during the administration’s “zero tolerance” policy occurred.

The State Department would not say how many passports it has denied to people along the border because of concerns about fraudulent birth certificates. The government has also refused to provide a list of midwives who it considers to be suspicious.

Lawyers along the border say that it isn’t just those delivered by midwives who are being denied.

Babies delivered by Jorge Treviño, one of the regions most well-known gynecologists, are also being denied. When he died in 2015, the McAllen Monitor wrote in his obituary that Treviño had delivered 15,000 babies.

It’s unclear why babies delivered by Treviño are being targeted, and the State Department did not comment on individual birth attendants. Diez, the attorney, said the government has an affidavit from an unnamed Mexican doctor who said that Treviño’s office provided at least one fraudulent birth certificate for a child born in Mexico.

One of the midwives who was accused of providing fraudulent birth certificates in the 1990s admitted in an interview that in two cases, she accepted money to provide fake documents. She said she helped deliver 600 babies in South Texas, many of them now being denied passports. Those birth certificates were issued by the state of Texas, with the midwife’s name listed under “birth attendant.”

“I know that they are suffering now, but it’s out of my control,” she said, speaking on the condition of anonymity because of the sensitivity of her admission.

For those who have received passport denials from the government, it affects not only their travel plans but their sense of identity as Americans.

One woman who has been denied, named Betty, said she had tried to get a passport to visit her grandfather as he was dying in Mexico. She went to a passport office in Houston, where government officials denied her request and questioned whether she had been born in the United States.

“You’re getting questioned on something so fundamentally you,” said Betty, who also spoke on the condition of anonymity because of concerns about immigration enforcement.

The denials are happening at a time when Trump has been lobbying for stricter federal voter identification rules, which would presumably affect the same people who are now being denied passports — almost all of them Hispanic, living in a heavily Democratic sliver of Texas.

“That’s where it gets scary,” Diez said.

For now, passport applicants who are able to afford the legal costs are suing the federal government over their passport denials. Eventually, the applicants typically win those cases, after government attorneys raise a series of sometimes bizarre questions about their birth.

“For a while, we had attorneys asking the same question: ‘Do you remember when you were born?’ ” Diez said. “I had to promise my clients that it wasn’t a trick question.”

Phroyd