#i have no way of eloquently speaking into poetry anymore either | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stellarboystyles · 4 years

Text

serendipity

ahhhh she’s finally done!! now i can rest my weary soul. thank you to my lover @bfharry for putting this lovely event together, and i’m sorry this late, i’m a mess.

7k pining, fluff and smut

friends to lovers college au // trigger warning - mentions of illness, family death and childhood trauma, mentions of alcohol use.

She was reaching as high as she could, desperately trying to get to the book on the shelf that was much too high for her to reach. She turns to Harry, who’s smirking down at her with crossed arms.

“Need a lift, sprout?”

She gives him a look of eloquence. “Please.”

She giggles as he dips down, wrapping his arms around her legs and lifting her up. Now, she’s happily at eye level with the desired shelf.

Her fingers skimming over the spines of all the hardbacks sitting comfortably on the wood surface. E...F...G...H...

“Found it!”

Once her eyes lock on the title, she pulls the book out as fast as she could.

“Okay, let me down.”

“Sure? Don’t like the view from up there? Know you’re not used to it-”

“No, now let me down before I bruise you like the peach that you are.”

“Ouch.” he snickered, setting you back down onto the ground beneath. “S’harsh.”

“Deserved it.” she teased before he sticks out his tongue in a playful response.

“What d’ya need the book for?”

“It’s for that analysis we have to do for poetry class.”

He blinks at her once, eyes widening slightly. “What analysis?”

She giggles at his expression. “You didn’t read your emails, did you?”

“Fuck!” he exclaims, voice slightly above a whisper, but it was enough to agitate the other students in the library who are trying to either study or get their own work done.

“Shhh!”

“Sorry, sorry.” he apologizes to the people around them before Y/N puts a hand on his bicep and he leans into her to hear her whispering words.

“You just have to pick a poetry book, analyze it, make a conclusion, all that stuff.”

“So it’s like an essay?”

“Kind of.” she follows Harry as he starts to examine the shelves for a book himself. “You know how Greene is, he’s super chill. He wants it to be more of a review, what you think of the book and the author.”

“So, like a review.”

She blinks at him. “That’s what I just said.”

“M’tired, gimme a break.” he sighs. “He never challenges us in that class.”

“I guess not.” she shrugs. “Easy grade, right?”

“Sounds like it.” he gives a casual nod. “When’s it due?”

“Tuesday.”

“Sweet.” he nods, eyes skimmed across the shelves before landing on a cornflower blue hardback. Harry chose books by their cover a lot. Not metaphorically, just literally.

“Ready?”

He nods again. “Yeah, let’s go.”

Once they’d both gotten their book signed out, they started down the path across the patch of grass, making their way to their next class that they had together.

“So you really didn’t check your phone all weekend?”

He shakes his head. “No, my phone was off ‘cos Gem was visiting over the weekend, remember?” he taps on the side of her head with one finger. “Helloooo, earth to Y/N, you were there.”

“Quit it!” she scolds, swatting his hand away. “Yeah, I think I remember her. She’s the least annoying Styles’ sibling, right?”

Harry unexpectedly clutches his chest, wincing in pain. “Ouch, ow!”

Panic rushed through her, the first thing popping into her mind was that he was having an asthma attack. “Haz, are you okay?” she drops her bag onto the ground so that she can help him. “You’re scaring me, do you need your inhaler?”

He leans over, eyes squeezed closed. One hand is resting on his knee, the other still grasping at his sternum.

“My ego...it hurts.”

As soon as the words registered, anger washed over her, jaw rippling before punching him in the bicep.

“You’re such a little shit.”

“Oi, tha’ hurt!” he laughs, which makes her even more angry, whisking her bag off the ground and walking away from him as quickly as possible.

He lets out a lighthearted sigh before starting to jog up to her. “C’mon, wait up.”

“Go away.” she grumbles, quickening the pace of her steps towards the building that their next class was in. Her hand was less than a foot away from reaching the door, about to push it open but she was no match for his longer legs as he jogged to catch up with her.

“Hey, hey.” he manages to get her hand in his grasp. She turns around in his grip, eyes fiery with vex.

“What.”

“C’mon, don’t be like that.” he frowns, moving so that he’s holding both of her hands in his as he stood in front of her. “Please? M’sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, leaning against the brick wall behind her. “Yes you did.”

“Let me make it up to you?” he offers, resting his palm on the rough surface above her head.

“Whatever you want.”

The pounding heartbeat in her ears is deafening, but the prank that he’d just pulled wasn’t quickly forgotten.

“I’ll let you know when I think of something.” Pushing herself off the wall, she turns and pushes the door open to the classroom, leaving a sad Harry behind. He trudged along behind her, silently moping before sitting next to her. Not even a minute after they sat down, Harry was leaning over to her, trying to get her attention.

“Y/N, please.” he whines, laying his head on her shoulder. “M’sorry.”

The butterflies in her stomach were crumbling her resolve, and she lays her cheek on top of his curls. “It’s okay.” he can hear the smile in her quiet voice. He peers up at her, an endearing smile beaming back at her.

“Not mad at me anymore?” he clarifies, voice filled with hope.

“How long have we been best friends?” she laughs. “Y’know I can never stay mad at you.”

“We were babies, don’t you remember?” he snickers. “Like, actual babies.”

Neither of them really remember.

Harry and Y/N’s parents had been neighbors and friends for years before either of them were born, and when Harry was almost two, they’d given birth to a beautiful baby girl.

“Harry, look.” Anne coos to her son as he sits on her lap. “See the baby?”

He stops playing with his teddy, toddling over to the sound of his mummy’s voice and he’s so fascinated, probably because he’s never seen a real baby before.

“I hold her?”

The new mum says “of course” before she gives her baby to Anne, now holding her in Harry’s lap.

“I pet?”

He carefully lifts a chubby hand, places it on her tummy and pats gently at the pale lavender onesie.

“My sweet boy.” Anne kisses the top of his head, smoothing out his blonde bangs.

Harry leans down and pushes a soft kiss onto her cheek, and it’s safe to say both mums melt at the sight.

“They’ll be best friends for sure.”

He looks up at the baby’s mum. “She seepin’?”

She nods with a smile. “Yeah, she's sleepin’.”

He gives her another kiss on her cheek before speaking again, this time in a hushed voice.

“Night Night, baby.”

“Our mums are never gonna let us forget that day.” he groans, twisting open the cap of the drink in his hands.

“Or that you had a crush on me.”

He nearly chokes on his juice, making her split into a fit of giggles.

“Maybe I did.” he admits, leaning his elbows onto the desk. “So what?”

“You definitely did, remember when you kissed me?”

His cheeks heat up at her teasing, arms crossing on top of the desk before laying his head down in embarrassment. He cracks one eye open at her laughing. “y/nnnn.”

When Harry was five and Y/N was four, he asked if he could kiss her, at school.

“You’re the prettiest girl in the whole world.” Harry tells her as his fingers draw in the dirt.

“That’s what my mummy and daddy tells me!” she cheers, and he may only be five years old but he knows that no other girl on the playground would happily sit in the dirt with him like she would. Her cheeks are resting against her hands and Harry thinks that they’re the cutest cheeks he’s ever seen.

“Can we kiss now?”

She thinks for a moment before speaking.

“You can’t tell your mummy, because she might tell my mummy and we’ll be in trouble.”

“Won’t tell anyone, not even Niall.”

Her eyes go wide with a gasp. Niall was his best friend, he must really mean business.

“Really?”

“Promise.” he holds out his pinky for her to squeeze.

Unfortunately for them, while Y/N was over next door at Harry’s for a playdate Anne caught them kissing in the back garden and they were both forced into the friend zone. Y/N was super sad, and Harry didn’t like that one bit, so he tried to make her feel better.

“Don’t cry, someday when we’re grown ups we can kiss and hold hands anytime we want! We can be best friends ‘til then, okay?”

“The start of an epic friendship.” he reminisces, flashing her a wink.

“Good times and bad.” she nods, and the mood drifts to sad silence.

“We’ve really been there through everything, huh?” he acknowledges, meeting her gaze.

When Harry was twelve and Y/N was eleven, Harry’s dad left. Left his family with nothing and Harry was devastated.

“How could he? This isn’t fair to any of you.”

Y/N was standing in Anne’s kitchen listening to her painstakingly tell her what had just happened. He’d left while Anne was working and Gemma and Harry were at school, leaving the remainder of the family devastated.

“I know darling, but we’ll get through this. I’m worried about Harry, he ran off. He was so upset. Do you know where he could be?”

“I’ll find him.”

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

Her mind and legs worked together to pedal faster than she ever had before through the park behind their street. As soon as she crosses the bridge she sees him. He’s sitting under their favorite oak tree, knees dew up to his chest.

“Harry!”

She throws her bike down and sprints to him, falling next to him.

He looks up, releases the grip on his hair and reaches out, grasping her hands and she quickly pulls him into a hug and she’d never held anyone so tight in her entire life. Her own hot tears started to fall from her face at the sound of his heartbreaking cries and she doesn’t know how long they stayed there like that, slowly moving her fingers through his curls as she held him. He let out a whimper when she forced his face out of her neck, cradling his cheeks in her hands. He looked so defeated and she had to use every ounce of strength in her body not to sit there and cuddle him against this tree all night. His mum and sister needed him, and he needed them. Her fingers brushed across his wet cheeks and he leaned into her touch as she repeated the action.

“I’m so sorry, Haz.” another sob escapes him at her words. “You don’t have to talk about it. You can cry, scream and yell, whatever you want...but we gotta get home., it’s getting dark.”

“Don’t wanna go back there.” he shakes his head and tightens his hold on your shirt.

“H, your mum and sister need you, and you need them.”

“I need you.”

Y/N’s heart flutters and she’s not sure why, but she’s sure Harry can feel it because he’s still fisting her shirt.

“I’ll stay the night at yours, my mum won’t care.”

“What about your dad?”

“He’ll get over it.”

Understandably, of course her father wasn’t too fond of the idea of his daughter sleeping over at her best friend’s house, because he was a boy. But she reassured her dad countless times that “boys were gross” so he begrudgingly allowed it.

They’d cuddled countless times, that night was no different. She held him, stroking his hair some more as they talked. The mood is lightened after awhile. Even though the healing process hasn’t even really begun yet. Harry was gonna be okay, because he had Y/N.

“Gemma gets so jealous because she can’t have boys in her room.” he jokes, making her giggle.

“She’s also fifteen and has a boyfriend.” she reasons. “We’re just best friends.”

“True.”

Comfortable silence engulfed Harry’s room for a few moments, the vibe was mellow from each other’s presence before Y/N spoke again.

“It’s gonna be okay.” her voice was barely above a whisper, brushing the stray hairs away from his forehead.

“You don’t know that.” he whispers, peering up at her. The moonlight shining through the window is enough to illuminate their faces while they talk.

“Yeah I do.” she argues softly. “It’s bad right now, but it’ll be okay someday. Promise.”

When Y/N was seventeen, her world came crashing down.

“Harry, can you come down please?”

He quickly put down his phone, shoving it into his pocket when he heard the urgency in his mum’s voice coming from downstairs. Ever since his dad left he’d grown closer to his mum and sister, more protective.

He rushes downstairs, finding her in the kitchen.

“Mum? What's wrong?”

“I need you to go next door and check on Y/N, alright?”

His face fills with confusion and fear but Anne doesn’t give him any time to respond.

“I just got off the phone with Rachelle, she and Will had gone out to dinner and he started to have some terrible pain. They’re at the hospital now, they did some tests…they found something and they think it might be cancer.”

Harry’s face falls.

“Oh God, Mum—”

“I know, baby, I know.”

“Does she know? She had to work after school today, does she know?”

“Her mum said she was going to call her once she’d gotten home from work.”

“She gets off at eight thirty,” he pulls out his phone and sees that it’s nine fifteen. “She should be home by now.” He briskly walks over to the window that faces Y/N’s house.

“Her car’s there.” he reveals. “M’goin’ over there. I’ll be back.”

She agrees and without another word Harry’s at her front door.

Locked.

“Shit, shit, shit.” he mutters to himself before remembering the spare key under the flower pot by the door. Once it’s retrieved, his trembling hands fumble with the piece of metal before successfully unlocking the door and pushing it open. As soon as he’s inside, he hears muffled crying from upstairs and it’s all he needs to hear before he’s rushing upstairs and down the hall to her bedroom. Normally he would never just walk in her room uninvited, but when he saw the white wooden door decorated with silver stars all over, he wasn’t going to stop until he got to her. As soon as he pushes her bedroom door open, the sight alone is enough to make him cry. He watches her yank her desk chair out, screaming as she throws it as hard as she could across the floor.

“Y/N!”

He rushes to her, pulling her in the most protective hug he’s ever given. Her arms retreated to frightfully gripping the front of his shirt, knees buckling. They ended up crumpled on the floor, backs against the wall as he held her. Her gut wrenching cries were hushed by Harry’s embrace.

“Hey, hey—shhh. M’here, look at me, okay? Deep breaths, breathe with me, okay?”

“I can’t, it’s too much. This isn’t happening, this isn’t happening.” her cries made his heart ache, all he wanted to do was make it better, but he just couldn’t.

Needless to say, they’ve been there for each other through everything. Y/N’s dad passed away later that year, leaving everyone devastated. Harry waited a year to go to college to be there for Y/N and her mum.

“Are you excited for NYU?”

She tried to sound happy for him, but her voice was laced with sadness. His back was facing her so she couldn’t see his face as he glanced at the sunset out her window.

“M’not going.” he admits, voice small and her jaw goes slack.

“What? What d’you mean you’re not going?”

“Can’t leave you two here like this.” he turns around and tears are brimming his waterline. “Already talked it over with mum, and the bakery’s not really willin’ t’let me go yet.”

“Harry.” she warns.

“Hey,” it’s alright.” he pulls her into a protective hug. “We’ll get everything sorted out, okay? It’ll be nice to take a year off from school anyway.”

His lighthearted tone isn’t enough to soothe her anxiety. “You don’t have to put your life on hold for me.”

“I’m not.” he promises. “We’ve been there for each other through everything, yeah?” he pulls away slightly, giving her a warm smile. “That doesn’t just stop because we aren’t kids anymore.”

“We make a good team.”

Her words warm his heart and he turns to her, nodding with a sweet smile.

“Yeah, we do, don’t we?”

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

Her.

Admire her.

Tell her how the crinkles in her eyes are like crescent moons, glowing when she smiles.

Watch how she giggles at your jokes that aren’t funny, and how coy she gets when you’re sweet with her.

She couldn’t help but get lost in books like this. Somehow they managed to capture everything she’s ever been through, and everything she’s struggling with now. It was torture, really, being in love with her best friend, seeing him everyday, hiding her feelings from him in fear of their friendship being ruined forever. She couldn’t even fathom if that horror were to become her reality, she surely wouldn’t survive the heartbreak.

Touch her.

Tell her that the stretch marks that paint her skin are magnificent, and that her body is just one dazzling part of who she is.

Snuggle her with tender touches and soft fingertips, love on every curve of her body.

She found herself daydreaming at times like this—the midday sun beaming down on her through the window of the library as she sat in one of the lounge chairs, reading one of her favorite poetry books. She would think about how Harry would touch her if she were his. How he would caress her skin, what his lips could do, where his hands would go.

Adore her.

Cherish her.

Her reading was quickly interrupted, her vision obstructed by a pair of hands covering her eyes followed by a familiar voice.

“Guess who.”

“Uh...Bigfoot?”

“Heeeey.” he protests, moving to sit in the lounge chair next to hers. “S’mean.”

She giggles at his pouting, squeezing one of his cheeks. “Poor baby.”

“Ouch.” he brought his hand up to his face to rub the sore skin. “Like beatin’ up on me, do yeh?”

“Just a little.” she winks.

“Yeah, yeah.” he playfully rolls his eyes before turning his attention to the book in his best friend’s hands. “Whatcha readin’?”

Her heartbeat quickened as she realised that she had been caught, swiftly shutting the book and tucking it into her bag. “Nothing.”

“Nooo, lemme see!”

He didn’t give her another chance to respond, knowing her all too well. She shied away from his words, cheeks splashing with pink.

“C’mon, pleeease?” he frowns, nudging her arm with his elbow. He notices her apprehension, not wanting to push her.

“S’just me.”

His voice is softer, giving her a fluttering feeling as he leans in closer. “Y’trust me, right?”

The close proximity made her heart thump in her chest. She gives him a slight nod before quietly replying. “Yeah.”

He gently bites down on his lower lip, his eyes flickering from her eyes, down to her lips.

Were they going to kiss?

“Why won’t you tell me what you were readin’?” he quirks with a small smile, tilting his head slightly. You can see the wheels turning. “S’it naughty?”

“No!” she gives him a look, as if to say stooooop, Haz.

He chuckles at her nervousness, patiently waiting as she keeps fumbling over her words, avoiding his captivating eyes. “No...no, no, it’s a...it’s just a book.”

“Obviously.” he blinks. “What kind of book.”

“Just poetry.” she mumbles, hoping he would drop the subject quickly.

“S’it for your poetry analysis thing? What kind of—”

“Harryyyyy.” she whines, hiding her face in her hands.

“M’not doin’ anything! Can’t I be interested in what you’re readin’?” he defends, resting his cheek in his hand, elbow leaning on the arm of the chair.

“M’only teasing.” he swipes his fingers across her heated cheeks as he speaks softly to her. “You’re bein’ so shy.”

It’s so adorable, he thinks to himself.

“You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to.” he reassures. “M’starving. Did you still wanna go to lunch?”

She perked up at his question, the book in her bag eventually forgotten, just as she wished. “Please, I’m so hungry.”

“Can we get—”

“Chinese?” his face lights up. “Please please please?”

“We had that last weekend.”

“So? S’the best food ever, and since when do you turn down chinese food?” he rests his head on the table. “I’ll help you with French Lit.”

“Compelling argument, I didn’t know you were taking a debate class.”

“So funny.” he rolls his eyes. “C’mon, please?”

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

“I love chow mein so much.”

Y/N’s words barely register in his ears, let alone his brain as he admired the sight of her, eyes closed in bliss as she slurps another noodle.

She’s just so fucking cute.

“I love you so much.”

“What?”

He’s sure his heart had just dropped into his stomach and his eyes were going to pop out of his head. He hadn’t even realised he’d said it out loud!

“Didn’t say anything.” he mumbles, mentally cursing himself after feeling the heat radiating off his cheeks. He avoids her gaze as he shoves another spoonful of hot and sour soup into his mouth.

“So how’s your story for creative writing going?” she wonders, twirling some noodles with her fork, because no, she didn’t know how to use chopsticks, and yes, Harry never missed an opportunity to tease her about it.

“Awful.” he pouts, to which she mirrors his expression.

“You stuck?”

“Very.” he groans. “Just can’t seem to get the words out, y’know?”

“I’ve been there.” she nods. “Do you want some help?”

“Please.” he begged, giving her puppy eyes. “S’due next friday, been workin’ on it every night and still can’t get a single word out.”

“I think you just need to take a break, babes.” she offers. “Let’s have a sleepover this weekend and I’ll help you.”

He gives a sigh of relief, making her laugh. “You’re a gem. What would I do without you?”

“Your life would definitely be less exciting.” she notes, taking another bite.

He was silent for a moment, probably thinking of a comeba—

“At least I know how to use chopsticks.”

“You won’t teach me!” she pouts at his teasing. “Quit being mean.”

“Want me to teach you?” he perks, peering up at her.

“Yes.” she lets out a breathless giggle while nodding.

He playfully huffs, slightly rolling his eyes as he moves to sit behind her on her bed.

“Okay, so you hold them like this…”

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

Friday, October 12

Dear Diary,

I feel like I’m going crazy. I keep trying to finish this story for my creative writing class but I keep getting distracted...all I can think about is him. I can’t help it, he’s all I ever think about. How am I supposed to write a romance fiction piece when all I can think about is how I’m in love with my best friend? Harry is charming and sweet and funny and genuine, any girl would be lucky to be his. How did I get myself into this mess? Harry would never like me like that, ever. My heart hurts if I think about it too much. Sometimes I feel like I should just tell him, bite the bullet, rip off the band aid and hope to God that our friendship isn’t ruined forever. In a perfect world,

Y/N drops her pen at the vibration of her phone.

Harry is calling…

“Hello?”

“We’ve known each other for how long and you still answer with hello?”

She lets out a breathless laugh. “Are you having a bad day or are you just making fun of me for shits and giggles?”

“Lil bit of both, yeah?” she can hear the cheekiness in his voice. “We still havin’ a sleepover this weekend? Might have to do it at yours, Niall’s havin’ a party and I doubt we’ll get anything done.”

She could hear the sheepish tone in his voice. “Oh no, if you wanna be at the party we can totally reschedule.” she offers.

Harry scrunches up his nose. “Need to get this paper done, m’never gonna finish it with all the noise.” he’s lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling.

“Besides, I’d rather spend the weekend with you.”

She feels her heart flutter at his admission, cheeks tingling with heat.

“ Okay...can you bring some snacks?”

There were no two humans on earth that loved fruit more than Harry and Y/N. so around fifteen minutes later, when Harry showed up to Y/N’s door with two smoothies, she melted like sugar.

“Berry for you.” he hands you the icy purple smoothie in his left hand. “Strawberry banana for me.”

“Awh, thank you!” she gently pinches one of his cheeks. “You’re so sweet.”

“Oi, worse than my mum, aren’t you?” he rubs at the newly pink cheek.

“No.” she defends. “C’mon, I’ll help you with your story so you don’t drag it out all weekend.”

“I resent that.” he mutters, sitting beside her on her bed as he flips open his laptop.

“Do you have an idea of what you wanna write?”

“I have a little bit finished, now, about five thousand words. Wanna have a look?”

Y/N reads it over and it’s nothing short of a masterpiece so far. How can he be so pretty and talented at the same time?

“This is beautiful,” she gapes, turning to look up at him. “This is so good, H.”

“Oh, stop.” He sheepishly brushes off her praise. “Don’t think it’s bad so far, just need to come up with a conflict.”

“Just figure out what breaks your characters, what makes them the most vulnerable, what would completely crush them?”

“Losing each other.”

“More specific?” she tries, staring at the screen in front of her. “It’ll help with the details.”

“Rory’s afraid to tell Daisy that he’s in love with her.” he says. “He’s afraid that, if she finds out, it’ll ruin their friendship.”

Y/N’s lungs felt empty, like all the air had been sucked out by Harry’s words.

“Okay, um,” she gulps, trying to collect her thoughts. “So...write about that, and see where the story takes you.”

Three hours later

“Can we take a break?” he groans, laying back on the pillows of her bed. “M’starving.”

“Me too.” she pouts, fiddling with her hands. “Whatcha hungry for?”

“Mmm,” Harry thinks for a few moments before speaking up. “A veggie grill just opened up downtown, we should go there!”

“You’re making me crave nachos.”

“You always crave nachos.”

“Why do you always have to call me out?” she whines, giving him a bashful glance.

“S’fun, innit?” he smirks, nudging her shoulder with his bicep.

“No.” she giggles, lying down next to him. “I’m gonna go get a shower then we can go.”

“Okay.”

An endearing smile adorned his face as she snuggled slightly into the soft pillows. Her eyes leisurely blink at him, falling closed after a few seconds.

“Sleepy?”

“Mhm.”

“Thought you wanted a shower?” he hummed. Although, he wouldn’t mind staying here all night. “You can stay here, I’ll go pick up some food.”

“No, it’s okay.” she yawns, pushing herself up off the bed. “I’ll be quick.”

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

Harry gets bored easily, although his best friends room was much more lovely than his. He thinks his room is pretty basic; but Y/N’s room was much more charming. The walls were painted a pale ivory, decorated with fairy lights above her bed, which was dressed with a crisp white comforter and matching pillows. The knitted plum blanket that Harry had gotten her ages ago for Christmas was at the end of her bed. He vividly remembers when he had given it to her.

Her eyes were sparkling with joy as she pulled the blanket out of the box.

“Your mum helped me make it.” he mentions with a sheepish smile. “She was so patient, even though I had no idea what I was doing.”

“It’s beautiful.” she beams, pulling it close to her heart before looking up at him as they sat on the floor of Harry’s living room. “I love it.”

He gives her a soft smile, but he feels melancholic energy surrounding him. He keeps telling himself that he didn’t have a reason to be sad, because they weren’t together...but all he wanted was for her to be his. She was so cute, beanie snug on her head under the glow of the Christmas tree.

“Can I ask you somethin’?”

To which she nods. “Of course.”

“Do you think,” his lips are pressed together in thought for a moment. “Do you think that fate is real?”

“Like kismet?” she cocks her head with a smile and he nods, breaking into a laugh.

“Yeah. Yeah, like kismet.”

“I think,” she takes a moment, fumbling with her hands before looking up at him. “Yeah, I think it’s real.”

Ten thousand words. Harry has to write ten thousand words by next Friday and he doesn’t have a single word typed out. Creative writing was supposed to be fun, and he had to write a romance fiction piece? Harry didn’t exactly thrive when it came to love. In fact, his love life was bone dry, to put it lightly. Other girls were...boring, compared to Y/N. Harry was charming and romantic and sweet and loving—but he didn’t want some random girl, he wanted Y/N to be his girl. Pining over her was his full time job, always has been.

He walks over to her desk, admiring the pictures that graced the wall just above. One of the photos that catches his eye is Y/N, probably about three or four, and her dad is reading her a bedtime story, her mum most likely being the one taking the photo. Sorrow washes over him, because it never gets easier, does it?

His eyes float to a few photos of Harry and Y/N laying next to each other on their friend Jess’s parents house on the terrace. It was the first time they’d ever gotten drunk and they were trashed. The first photo is them attempting to sit up for a picture.

“You guys are so drunk.”

“M’not drunk.” Harry glances at Millie and Jess, who were behind the camera. “M’Harry! Who’s drunk?”

Harry’s rebuttal left both of them bursting into a fit of giggles.

“Haz, Jess wants a picture of us, pleeeeaaaase?”

Harry holds himself up by leaning back with one hand on the ground, the other arm slung around Y/N’s shoulder. He then turns to nuzzle his nose into her hair.

“Y’so pretty.” he murmurs drunkenly into her ear.

“Shut up, you’re drunk.”

“M’not, m’serious.”

The last one from that night was them cuddling on the sofa at the end of their night, Harry’s face nuzzled into her shoulder as they slept soundly well into the afternoon.

His fingertips brushed across his favorite photo of them. They were working together at the bakery, and Harry had just traced his flour dipped fingertips in a line across Y/N’s cheek before she retaliated by sweeping some icing across the bridge of his nose. He grins from ear to ear at the memory.

“Hey Y/N, guess what?”

She turned around to face him when he abruptly drew a line with his flour dipped fingertips across her cheek.

Her jaw went slack at his bold action before icing was swiped across the bridge of his nose.

“Now we’re even.” that is, until she flicks some of the remaining blue icing from her fingers onto his face.

“Aw, c’mon!” he wipes his face with his apron before narrowing his eyes. “Really?”

“You started it.” she pointed out and Harry gave her a shrug.

“I am so gonna get you back the next time we bake at my house.”

His eyes fall down to her desk, and he promises he didn’t mean to see it. It was his name, in her handwriting, written in purple gel pen inside an open book. Was it a journal?

Friday, October 12

Dear Diary,

Shit.

He looked away for a moment, lip caught between his teeth. Should he read it? No, but he couldn’t help himself.

I feel like I’m going crazy. I keep trying to finish this story for my creative writing class but I keep getting distracted...all I can think about is him.

Him? Who’s she talking about? Does she like someone? The empty feeling in his chest isn’t a good feeling by any means.

I can’t help it, he’s all I ever think about. How am I supposed to write a romance fiction piece when all I can think about is how I’m in love with my best friend?

All the color drains from Harry’s face.

“Is she talking about me?” he murmurs.

Harry is charming and sweet and funny and genuine, any girl would be lucky to be his.

His heart flutters at the mention of his name, aching at the next line.

How did I get myself into this mess? Harry would never like me like that, ever. My heart hurts if I think about it too much.

He felt like he was going to cry. How could this girl not know how much of a sucker he is for her? His heart thumped inside his chest and he could feel the heat radiating off his flushed cheeks.

Okay, don’t panic. Just calm down, don’t freak out.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to process what he had just read whilst trying to decide what to do. Does he just tell her? Show her the page? No, she’ll be so angry that he read her diary, who does that?

In that moment, he chooses to do the only thing that makes sense.

He listens to his heart.

* 。˚ ˛ • 。* 。° 。 * 。 • ˚ ˛ 。* 。• ° 。* 。 • ˚

She’d just hopped out of the shower when she heard a knock on her bathroom door.

“Hey, s’just me.” Harry’s voice clarifies through the wood. “Already ordered some food, m’gonna go and pick it up, I’ll be back.”

“I can go with you if you want-”

“No, s’okay! Be back in fifteen.”

And he’s gone.

After exiting her bathroom, she changes into some comfy clothes before deciding to read something from her book collection until Harry gets back. WHen she turns to go over to her bookshelves, she sees it.

A familiar lavender book, her diary, was lying open on her desk, and her heart sinks. Had he read what she’d written earlier? That must be why he was in such a hurry to leave! She probably scared him off. Y/N’s heart was racing as she stepped closer and realised that the page the diary was open to wasn’t written in her handwriting.

It was Harry’s handwriting.

Hi lovie, it’s Harry.

I was too nervous to tell you this to your face, so I’m gonna write out my feelings.

You’re my best friend in the whole world, and I absolutely adore everything about you.

I love how you talk in your sleep, and yes, you do talk in your sleep. I know how much you love to snuggle when you’re sleepy or sad or you just want a cuddle...and how you still sleep with a night light on like when we were small. You always tell me it’s so you can see in case you need to get up and have a wee in the middle of the night, but I know it’s because you’re still scared of the dark.

She couldn’t believe her eyes. Was she dreaming?

I love how you crinkle your nose when you laugh, and how your smile glows like moonlight and how you play with your hands when you don’t know what to say. I love your love for books, and how much better your taste in music is than me. I love how you love to snuggle, especially when you’re...inebriated.

She giggles silently to herself, because he was so right. Not that he was any better.

I could go on forever, but I don’t wanna get caught writing this.

I am so in love with you, Y/N.

Love, H. x

Y/N didn’t know how to feel. Her heart was warm, but she was so nervous. What does this mean for them? How will this affect their friendship? Hundreds of questions run through her brain until she hears a knock on the door.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” she whispers. “Okay, just... be chill, please be chill.”

Trying to calm herself down in a matter of seconds was pointless. Walking over to the door, she took a deep breath in before opening the door.

“Hi.” he blinks at her, letting out a light laugh before setting down the two paper bags in his hands. “M’back. They didn’t have the-”

“I read it.”

He avoids her gaze and he feels frozen by her words, digging his vans into the carpet.

“Harry.” she breathes. “Say something.”

His eyes flicker to meet hers, taking a step forward.

“I...I love you.”

Y/N feels like a weight has been lifted off her chest, like she just came for air after being kept under water for too long.

“If this makes things weird, I’m sorry. I’m so fuckin’ sorry, but I love you to pieces and I-”

“I love you too.”

His smile is pure joy before he takes her hand in his, pulling her closer to him.

“Can I kiss you?” he begs, almost breathless. “Please.”

She nods, and he cradles her cheeks in his hands, pressing a sweet kiss to her lips.

His lips were so soft, moving with hers like they were made for each other.

Harry was sitting on the edge of her bed, her thighs straddling his hips and she sat across his lap. Her hands were in his hair, the fluttery tendrils twirled around her fingers. His hands are settled on her waist, slowly moving to her thighs.

“Is this okay?” he murmurs the serious question against her lips and she nods quickly. “Yeah.”

“Okay.” he breathes. “M’just checkin’.”

“It’s okay.” she laughs breathlessly against his lips. “Everything's okay.”

Reluctantly, he pulls back slightly to look at her, searching for any sort of doubt, but there was none.

“Don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, okay?”

His voice is cautious. “M’not goin’ anywhere, ever. Don’t have to rush anything.”

“Just go with the flow, H.” she murmurs, sliding her hands up his clothed biceps.

“Sorry, who are you?” he raises his eyebrows, a baffled expression on his face. “Since when do you ever go with the flow?”

“A lot of things have changed today.” she confesses, hands resting on his shoulders. “Why not?”

They’d always felt so safe with each other, so now was no different.

They both dived back into the kiss. Harry’s tongue swiped across her bottom lip, testing the waters before lips and tongue worked together to deepen the kiss.

“Wanna ride my thigh?” he wonders, mumbling against her lips. “Don’t have to if-”

“Yeah. yes.” she gulps, moving to slide her shorts down while he shuffles out of his jeans. Once they were both without pants, they didn’t waste anymore time.

“C’mere, darlin’.” he flicked his fingers, encouraging her back onto his lap.

“Just feel my touch.”

The tone of his voice was unbelievably hot, raspy and low as their lips continuously brushed. His hands grip her hips, guiding her movements.

“Feel good?” he suckles on her bottom lip, drawing a whimper past her lips. She’s rocking against his bare thigh, coarse hair stimulating her even closer to the edge.

“Feels so good, Harry.”

Her moans are nothing short of melodic, chasing her orgasm through the lace. He pushes her t-shirt up, kisses are decorated down her neck until his mouth is on one of her breasts. She tilts her head back at the suckling sensation with another moan, and it’s so fucking intoxicating to Harry. His tongue flicks her nipple a few more times before lifting his head.

“Like that?” he hums, moving to cup her breasts. She nods and his thumbs start to tweak her nipples and she arches her back at the feeling.

“Harry.” she whimpers, gripping the material of his shirt in her fists. “Please.”

“Whatcha need, tell me darlin’.”

“M’gonna come, m’gonna come.”

He gives a thick moan, hands moving to hold her backside. “Know you are. C’mon angel, you can let go.”

His sweet words coax her through her orgasm as she’s coming down, and she feels like she’s floating.

“Did you like that?”

“Mhm.” she nods, her eyes fluttering closed as Harry’s hand brushes some baby hairs off her forehead. “Wanna keep going.”

“Jeez, at least let me take you out to dinner first.”

#boyfriendathon #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut

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dottiechan · 4 years

Text

Tempest (Pt. 3)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

Read on AO3

Pairing: Ava Du Mortain x f!Detective

Wordcount: 2031

Warnings: murder, mentions of prostitution & drugs

Summary: Ava and the Detective must pull an all-nighter working on a case on Christmas Eve, 1896.

A/N: Happy Holidays! What better way to celebrate or relax this December than with some soft Ava? Huge thanks to @sparkedupsilver for being an absolute delight and giving me brilliant ideas about locations! <3

Image credit: Pixoloid Studios, Alienist: The Angest of Darkness concept art

London, Christmas Eve, 1896

A woman appears on the street, retreating into the shadows as she heads into the heart of the district, avoiding the light of the gas lamps illuminating the road in yellow circles. She is barely wearing anything to fend off the chilling wind and the snow - a torn shift several sizes too big for her underneath a corset, the sleeves spilling down her upper arms to reveal a set of bony shoulders. Even through the darkness, Ava can see the way she shakes, the dried blood sitting on her upper lip she haphazardly tried to wipe off with the back of her hand. She can almost smell her craving.

She’d put her money on cocaine if she had to guess what’s left the young prostitute in such an abominable state. That is, if she gambled, of course. Or cared much about the poisonous substances humans consumed for medicinal use or - as in this young woman’s case - their temporary bliss. The most accurate label for her as a whole would be a misanthrope, as Nate has so eloquently stated it on many occasions before, but she finds herself shifting and morphing into something else – she can feel it. She cares what she puts in her body. She cares what she does to herself. What is the term for a woman who would give herself up in a heartbeat solely to ensure the safety of another?

Her eyes shift from the window as she dares a glance inside the office. She snaps her head back in an instant when she realises what she’s doing. Don’t be a fool.

It’s her personal mantra these days.

Instead, she focuses on the woman outside, watches her as she leaves High Street and hurries down Whitechapel Road. She takes a sudden turn left, and disappears down an unlit alley. There are conventional ways to celebrate a white Christmas, and many of the Whitechapel residents seem to re-think what that festivity means for them. Not that Ava can particularly blame them - the circumstances in the worst slums of London are hardly its residents’ fault, and more so that of the authorities’. This area is relatively safe, but that is only because the recurring police patrols end with High Street – a necessary but superficial effort to quell the legacy of terror Jack the Ripper had left behind. (As if mere policemen could keep anyone safe from a werewolf like the Ripper was, Ava scoffs inwardly.) Beyond High Street is chaos and misery, and unfortunately cesspools like that offer the rot of rogue supernaturals a place to fester and spread quickly. Despite Ava’s best efforts, the detective has refused countless times to even consider selling the small flat she uses as her office to relocate to Chelsea or Marylebone or even Westminster.

And the thought of another rogue element potentially rising so close to the private detective’s office upsets Ava more than she cares to admit.

While other agents pursue the rogue supernatural, Ava is still assigned to her protection, loaned as a partner to her small detective agency she’s inherited from her father - at least that is what the detective thinks this setup means. Normally, Ava would be deeply offended by such a role. A mere bodyguard, compelled to deal with the crimes of mortals, a true retrogression in her career. But she finds herself caring, and that alone is more alarming than the Agency’s decision to keep her in her current position. This little act she puts on, the game she plays that plants the fallacy of their partnership in the private detective’s mind, it rings truer than it should, means more than what is allowed. It has been like this for months now, and with each passing day, the lie grows a little heavier. She wonders when it will finally crush them both.

She listens to the detective bustle in the tiny kitchen of the office, and the moment - heavy with the honeyed comfort of quiet domesticity - is enough to make her heart ache. She would never in a million years admit it, but leaving this place, this job, this woman... It would be the hardest thing she’d ever have to do.

So when she joins Ava by the window and offers her a cup of steaming, strong coffee - she doesn’t even like it, and she doesn’t understand why the detective would drink it to keep her awake, let alone consume it on the regular - she accepts wordlessly. The night casts long shadows across the office, hiding them both in a world where no one else exists other than the two of them. Ava never had neither the heart nor the mind for poetry the way Nate does, but in this moment, as their shoulders absent-mindedly touch, her skin burning up with the heat of her body even through her shirt and the detective’s soft leg o’ muttons sleeve, she could attest to her fatal attraction in a fashion that would shame even the great poets of old.

But that is all it really is. Fatal in every sense of the word.

Ava contemplates speaking to her about what is on her mind, but the words get stuck in her throat, and she forces them back down with a sip of strong coffee.

“There’s work to be done.” Too callous, she scolds herself inwardly, even if it is true. There are many old articles about relating murders they have to revisit, along with what they know of previous victims through the morsels of information Commissioner Bradford has loaned the detective out of respect for her late father with whom they served together in the military. The woman on her right mistakes her tone for annoyance, and Ava finds herself steeling her insides when her concerned gaze finds her deceptively pallid face.

“I’m sorry I’ve dragged you into this. It’s Christmas Eve, I understand if you wanted to be anywhere else than here.”

I don’t. I really don’t. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be. “I have nowhere else to be.”

“No family?” the private detective asks, eyebrows raised in a way Ava knows she has her undivided attention. She never wants this moment to end, never wants her to look at anyone else like this other than her.

“Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Silence settles on them for a while, and they watch the snowfall in a quiet trance. They have work to do, and yet they stand side by side, unable to move, unwilling to break this moment of silent admission that yes, yes, this can work, this can be home, you can be home...

Ava is shocked when the detective’s fingers - scorching hot from the cup of coffee she’s been cradling - graze her knuckles lightly, so lightly that she’d wonder if it was even on purpose if she couldn’t feel her eyes on her once more.

“I don’t have anyone left anymore either. I know what it is like. Which is why I’m thankful that you’re here now,” she begins softly, her bare honesty so alluring Ava finds herself turning to her. She knows she shouldn’t. She knows she will force herself to punish her for this open admission with coldness and retreat, but for a second, she wants to pretend that this is allowed, that this is as right as it feels in her no longer trustworthy bones.

“You’re thankful you’re chasing a murderer on Christmas Eve?”

“I could do without that,” the detective snorts, deciding to take Ava’s blunt question as a joke. Her face grows serious too quickly, and before Ava can react, her hand is in her gentle grasp as the woman closes whatever little distance is left between them. “But not without you. Not now.”

Ava opens her mouth to say something, anything other than the truth, ready to take a full step back when the detective raises her eyes, poorly masking the pain that finds itself on her beautiful features. The agent feels cold dread seize her spine, like icy rain slipping down and over each vertebra - for a split second, she thinks the detective can feel her inner turmoil. That she always pulls away and retreats because she is terrified of her desire to do the very opposite.

“Ava, just... Please don’t say anything. I know what you want to say now. I know. But I don’t want to hear it,” she whispers, paralysing the vampire with mere words. “I know we don’t think the same way about voicing what we feel for each other. It is plain. I understand. But for a second I want to pretend that us holding hands and sharing a tender moment is just as innocuous as anything else.”

“But it isn’t,” Ava quickly speaks, the lie coming out almost seamlessly as she pulls her hand back slowly, clutching her now cool cup of coffee with both hands to prevent any further contact between them. “It is harmful. Can’t you see that?”

“I can.”

“And yet you don’t much care for it.”

“Do I look like a woman who cares much for societal conventions?” the detective asks as she finally steps away from Ava, gesturing around the room. The agent can’t help but silently agree - a woman who’s also a private detective, well, in a way she should have seen this argument coming.

“That doesn’t mean you don’t have to abide the rules,” Ava breathes, her usual strength still annoyingly eluding her as she takes a seat in one of the armchairs, the files and newspaper clippings once more within reach as she sets her cup down on the side table.

“You do not have to go to such lengths to prove what I already know,” the detective sighs in defeat, retreating behind her great mahogany desk, the only piece of furnishing aside from the once elegant, but now rather decrepit chaise longue that is worth something in this office. There’s a painful distance now between them, one that hurts them both, especially when put in stark contrast with their earlier close proximity.

“And what it is you think you know?” Ava means for her tone to get under the detective’s skin, to dislodge this idea stuck in her head that there’s something going on between them - instead it comes out too slow, too pleading, too deep and raw. A dead giveaway that perks up the woman like a hunting dog picking up on a scent. But she soon deflates - what she thinks a momentary victory is gone the second Ava looks away and focuses on the neat stack of folders she insisted on organising herself.

“That you’re afraid,” she replies anyways, opening a folder on top of her own stack and peering at Ava over it in a way that makes the vampire swallow her quip in an instant. There is truth in her words, and while she cannot, will not confirm it, she silently wants to speak to her. She silently wants to tell her the twisted things she makes her feel after 800 years of blessed solitude.

“But one day, you won’t be, Ava. And when that day comes, don’t be too surprised to find me waiting for you still.”

I am immortal. By the time I could rid myself of all my fears and stand in front of you as the uninhibited and unapologetic woman you deserve, you’d be long gone.

Immortal doesn’t mean infinitely wise, that is something Ava learns in another 365 days. Afraid doesn’t mean not being uninhibited. Cautious doesn’t mean not being unapologetic. The detective blurs the black and white of her world, and with this action the confining borders are gone too.

Four months and she won’t pull her hand away.

A year and she’ll let the detective tilt her face down to meet her lips with a kiss.

Two years and she will be long gone, four and the detective will be dead.

But now, she doesn’t know all that. Now, she buries the confusing conundrum of her love for the detective deep inside her and sets out to work in blissful ignorance.

#dottiechan writes #ava du mortain x detective #a du mortain x detective #the wayhaven chronicles #twc fanfic #ava du mortain #a du mortain

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wearetakingthehobbitstogallifrey · 7 years

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The Last Jedi, Loneliness, and Love

This is dedicated to @itspileofgoodthings aka @reylohasmyheart, queen of meta, and also to @thelonelybrilliance, queen of fanfic

Please forgive me, I was driving home from work yesterday, listening to Paloma Faith’s “Only Love Can Hurt Like This,” and somehow I started thinking about Reylo and why it makes my soul ache—why I think it is beautiful and why I think its development in The Last Jedi is, contrary to what you might think, realistic and even healthy

Oh heck I was going to make this a very eloquent, orderly post but screw that I have thoughts and they are going to run the race as they see fit

I think one of the great sorrows of humanity is loneliness. We were made for companionship, for family, for loyalty, for smiling and speaking and hugging, for dream-sharing and sorrow-comforting. For the gifting of the self to others, and most especially the gifting of the self to the man or woman we marry. To lead healthy lives, we need some form of community, even if it is only one or two people we talk to and entrust ourselves to. Usually it is more.

Anyway, this is where I want to begin with Rey and Kylo Ren—or as I am going to call him, Ben Solo

(Because Kylo Ren is just a mask, a veil between Ben’s tattered soul and the world around him, a pretense that he wasn’t broken and longing for something more, even as Darth Vader was a construction to block off Anakin Skywalker from the truth of his pain—that his terrible deeds were destroying him, not strengthening him. I’m not saying that Kylo Ren and Darth Vader are entirely separate from Ben and Anakin. What I am saying is that those personas are not building blocks but rather insidious vines wrapping around stone towers, strangling and cutting and smothering. You know why? Evil lies. It lies even when it screams it is telling the truth, even when it whispers that it alone sheds light on reality. And thus, evil can only tear down and destroy things. Each person has in them a potential of excellence, the best person they can be—thoughtful, brave, compassionate, humble, self-sacrificing, merciful, faithful, hopeful, loving. Since this excellent version of the self is the one I think we all should strive for, I would call it the deepest, truest self, and thus winds up my long digression into why I am calling Kylo Ren Ben Solo from now on...so sorry)

Back to Rey and Ben in The Last Jedi. Well, no, we have to go back to The Force Awakens for a moment. Many many people have already commented on the interrogation scene and the scene at the end where Ben asks Rey to let him teach her the ways of the Force, so let me just sum up the important ideas there. First, Ben is fascinated by Rey the moment he sets eyes on her (before that actually—why? Force visions? dreams? rumors? a gut feeling?) and he clearly does not like the idea of her seeing him as a monster. Interesting that he takes his helmet off immediately after she calls him one, even though he is the one who made the choice to wear the helmet, whether as a way to identify himself more with Vader or as a way to make his own choice for once, regardless of Snoke’s thoughts (the manipulative, abusive cretin).

Either way, Ben taking off his helmet in the interrogation scene signals his desire for Rey to see him as a human creature like herself. He does not want to be seen as Other. As someone to be overlooked, feared, discarded. (It kind of works, Rey is clearly taken aback, but she still has no time for his dark ways and thus she is awesome, because yeah Ben my son is currently working for the First Order) sorry this summary is just as long as anything anyway just take note that Ben does not want to be separated from humanity. And note the way he speaks her thoughts and feelings out loud, the tone of his voice when he says she is so lonely, desperate to sleep at night. He feels all of these things too, and in my opinion he is shook as heck that Rey is like a mirror image of him.

Ah Ben. One of my favorite scenes is the end fight, in which Ben and Rey beat each other up, in which Rey is a righteous ball of fury and Ben the fool has her literally on the edge of a cliff bent over backwards and all the awestruck idiot can do is—throw out a desperate plea for her to join him so he can teach her?? ?

If the guy was thinking clearly he might be able to divine that she isn’t the mood to become best buddies with him. But he is so ecstatic with the vision of what might be that he doesn’t see what is right in front of him. A very angry woman. Anyway, Rey connects with the Force and lays my man out flat on his back, face sliced in half, and still Ben looks at her like she is a sun or maybe a supernova and Rey looks back at him but that isn’t exactly part of the loneliness discussion I mean maybe it is but I would literally need another essay to discuss that and this essay is already like six essays so I need to move on

So much for the Force Awakens. Let’s look at The Last Jedi and loneliness. What fascinates me about the growth of reylo in this film is literally everything how Rey and Ben are both wallowing in different wells of loneliness, and each well is very different in their depths and their makings, yet still being in those wells allows them to understand each other’s pain. Both Rey and Ben suffer separation from their family, both suffer the feelings of abandonment. Of course, one could argue that Ben’s separation was his own choice, and it was, to a degree. He did choose to go with Snoke, to leave Luke, to destroy the Jedi academy. To kill his father. But to look at that and say that only Ben’s bare choices matter and that he deserves death and hellfire does a disservice to all those who have suffered mental, physical, and/or spiritual abuse as either a child or an adult.

(SIDENOTE: I am absolutely not saying Ben was justified in his actions, or that I approve of them, or that he is an innocent cinnamon roll. What I am saying is that he is a damaged soul, who has suffered so much from his own mistakes, from whatever mistakes his family made, and from the horrible cruelty of Snoke. He was literally manipulated and abused by shrivel-face from when he was in Leia’s womb, maybe, just MAYBE we can feel some compassion for him? And remember that his mom and dad still love him and forgive him and want him to come home)

Back to wherever I was, Ben is lonely as heck. He is cut off from his family, has felt unloved and unworthy for so many years, and has a soul completely wrecked by the murder of his father. In comes Rey. Rey, who was much more clearly abandoned by her family, who doesn’t seem to have had a friend in her life till Finn came along, who lived for years on a junkyard of a desert planet in the hopeless hope that her family might come back for her. Ben’s loneliness and Rey’s loneliness are not the same, but the feelings in both are deep and for better or worse are integral to the patterns of their hearts.

What happens then, in The Last Jedi? The Force bond between the two manifests, Rey sees Ben and shoots him immediately. She still remembers their last meeting, still remembers her hurt friend brother5ever Finn, still remembers Han Solo falling. She sees Ben’s crimes and is righteously disgusted by them. But then. Then she calls Ben a monster, for he has done monstrous acts, and this time, does Ben pull off a helmet, or try to pull aside some other veil, does he protest and say no, no, you and I are alike, I am not Other from you? He does not. Instead, he says, “Yes, I am.” YES I AM. Do you even realize what this means? Ben is no longer trying to lie to Rey or himself, to deny that he is in the right, that his actions are not dark. He killed his father, and he knows he is a monster for it, and he is not going to say he is a human like Rey because she has never done anything as terrible as that, and though he is lonely he will not compare the two anymore.

BUT REY IS TAKEN ABACK AGAIN! In TFA, when Ben removed his helmet, Rey was surprised to see he looked very hot just like any other man, that his soul did not reflect in his looks. It gave her pause. And now, when Ben says, yes he is a monster, that gives Rey pause again. I think this is because, when we are talking about humans and monsters, real monsters, a monster always denies he is one, and probably even believes that (or is at least perfectly content as such), but humans still have the capability to understand they have committed terrible wrongs, and to feel such a guilt that they do believe themselves to be monsters after all. Basically, the second Ben declares himself a monster is the moment that Rey realizes he is not one.

Oh my gosh now I get to write about the hand-touching scene!!!

Okay here is the thing. Rey is lonely, Ben is lonely. Both are going through some stuff right now. (Ben is all like, yup I killed my dad, how do I repress my guilt so I don’t drown in it; Rey is like yeah now I remember my family abandoned me, and they are never coming back). Force bond visions ensue, and Rey and Ben are sitting over a cozy fire in Rey’s hut and Rey, who not long ago was ready to slice Ben into shreds with her lightsaber, is now confiding in him, spilling her deepest insecurities. She feels so alone, so lost, the one thing she has held on to for all her life is now gone forever, mist blown away a hot sun, and what is her future to be like when Luke is not the teacher she wanted? And Ben, for all his issues, with a soul desperate and broken, sees Rey’s pain and blurts out this most compassionate line: “You’re not alone.” He cannot bear to see her in pain, because he knows what it feels like. He knows what it would mean to him to have someone standing at his side, and he offers his presence and loyalty and support to Rey. AND SHE SAYS IT RIGHT BACK. “Neither are you.” AND THEN REY HOLDS OUT HER HAND! AND BEN TAKES OFF HIS GLOVE AND IS LITERALLY SHAKING AS HE EXTENDS IT TOWARD HER!!! AND THEY TOUCH THEIR HANDS TOGETHER WHAT POETRY

AAH MY HEART

These two lonely souls, sitting in darkness and light, in fire and shadow, sharing their hurts and fears, offering each other comfort, because both have known suffering, because both care about the well-being of each other’s heart and soul—it’s so beautiful.

Where am I going with this? Ah yes. The healthy growth of relationships. Love. Reylo starts out in uncertainty or even fear, in misunderstanding who the other person is, in holding the other person up as either a monster to be defeated or as some perfect light to heal all wounds. Neither of these are true. But there is an attraction (and a repulsion) there nonetheless, and in The Last Jedi that attraction and repulsion balance out just enough so that Ben and Rey can converse with each other without the danger of Rey suddenly killing Ben. (Thank the Force!)

As time goes on and Ben and Rey learn more about each other, they discover how lonely they are, and shared feelings and compassionate hearts mean that they both long for the other to stand by their side. Their love is ridiculously powerful and beautiful and it makes me want to cry. Even still, this love has not grown into what it needs to be. Because true love means wanting the best for the other person, and doing what is best for the person no matter the cost. And guess what? That can be a hard thing. Look, Rey and Ben are both absolutely convinced that the other person loves them sooooo very much that they will leave behind whatever they have—the First Order, Snoke, the Resistance, friends. Part of that is because they also know how lonely they both are, and how wonderful it would be not to feel like that ever again. Thus, Rey ships herself right off to Ben, confident he will turn, and he is happy to see her, confident she will turn.

But it has to be so much more than that. Love is about compassion and sacrifice, and Ben does kill Snoke for Rey’s sake, and this is the start of his redemption I believe, but even though he gives up the part of himself that is the most important to who he is at the moment, changing himself irrevocably, taking the first steps to freedom, but he still does not give up Everything. I think he thought that would be enough for Rey, killing the fearsome monster who ruled him and threatened her, but it isn’t and it shouldn’t be. It is not enough to give up sin, one must then act virtuously. Ben is mistaken, therefore, to assume that Rey will join him now.

However, Rey is mistaken as well. The thing with Rey (which I absolutely love) is that she throws herself headlong into things with such passion. As much as she despised Ben before, she loves him now—no she loves him a thousand times more, because love is so much more powerful than hate. But she gets ahead of herself, or rather, Ben. Because as soon as she sees Ben turn back to the light, sees him destroy Snoke, the image of darkness, she asks him to run headlong into the sunlight.

Here is the thing though, redemption is not the flip of a switch but the climbing of a staircase up a mountain. Ben has made the right initial choice, has taken his first steps, but he is carrying a lot of baggage, guilt for the past, fear of the future, uncertainty of the present. He has been manipulated into believing in the strength of darkness for so long that it is going to take some time for him to pick apart the tangled threads of his soul, to understand what he must do and how he should think and act and love. It is unrealistic (though hopeful and endearing) for Rey to believe that Ben can suddenly be a perfectly good man, the most excellent form of himself. It is hard for even a very good person to make hard decisions like Ben has to make, and Ben’s soul is damaged in countless ways, his mind a tattered blanket that Snoke liked to tear and cut up into jagged pieces. It is going to take time for Ben to progress, to walk beside Rey everywhere she goes.

In the end, I am so thrilled with how Reylo unwound in The Last Jedi. Ben is traveling on the road to redemption, inspired by Rey but ultimately not saved by her. He must save himself, though he may lean on her for support. For now, Rey is disappointed in him, frustrated with him (and no doubt with herself for failing), but it would be foolish to say she no longer loves him or feels compassion for him. Yes, she shut the door on him, left with the Resistance, but she was obviously in pain then and later as well, when she is on the getaway ship. She is still lonely, and now more so than ever because the man who understood the pain in her heart is not yet able to understand what he must do to lessen the pain in his own heart. And Ben...well Ben is probably still kneeling in that cave frozen in lonely despair because he just f— I mean he......he.... OH FOR THE SAKE OF THE CHILDREN WE’RE JUST GONNA SAY IT LIKE THIS: HE DONE MESSED UP!!!

Or maybe he has set his jaw, drawn back his shoulders, and taken that next step. They say that the first step toward the light is the hardest, but maybe it is the second—the thrill of taking a new path has vanished, and now remains the strain of holding his course, of working through whatever pain he must suffer on the road to redemption...

#reylo meta #ben solo #rey of jakku #love loneliness and redemption #the last jedi #star wars #my meta #or do i mean a novel #i have a lot of feelings!!!

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