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babylooneytoonz · 4 years

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Where's My Baby? - Tommy Shelby X Reader

Requested by : Anon

Summary: Reader and Tommy Shelby have a young baby boy and one day, Tommy takes the baby out to the Garrison, only to end up forgetting the baby there and later, the reader is all worried and in tears and Tommy is angry at himself? They end up finding the baby in the end.

Warnings: Tommy being a lousy father | Garrison is still there | John never died | Grace and Charlie never happened |

Thank you to the creators for their lovely GIFs. These aren't mine. ❤️

"We are going to be fine, love. You need to go see your father." Tommy's index finger was tracing circles over the side of your neckline, his warm palm resting on your other shoulder squeezing it for support as he towered over you from your back, your body perched on a chair in the dining room with your eleven months old son, Daniel sleeping soundlessly on your chest.

Being a mother for the first time, you had your apprehensions leaving your baby alone with the household help, although you knew that Tommy was going to take good care of him. At first, you'd thought you would take Daniel with you to London but taking a small baby in a train, bringing him out to the world, was not something you wanted so early. There were all sorts of sicknesses going around outside and you felt that Daniel was the safest in the warmth of the Arrowe House.

"I don't know, Tom, I don't know if I can leave Daniel alone, what if he doesn't want to be fed ? Even the nanny called in sick today. What if he just doesn't stop crying? What if –"

"Love, calm down." Tommy walked up to your front and he knelt down in front of you, placing his palms on either of your knees, looking up into your moist eyes. "Daniel's going to be fine, I promise, I've asked Polly to come over for the day and she will take care of him."

You nodded, the corner of your lips ghosting into a frail yet reluctant smile. You knew he was right, there was no one other than Polly Gray who could take care of Daniel for you, and maybe, even better than you because she was much more experienced than you were. But parting with your baby was like pulling your heart out and handing it to someone else, even if it was for twenty four hours.

Also, there was the fact that you didn't have a choice. Your father, even though you were not on talking terms with him, ever since you had decided you wanted to get married to a Birmingham gangster– he was on his deathbed and he deserved to be given all the love he could from all of his family, at least when he was breathing his last, all past forgotten. You were already dressed and your tiny bag was already packed with a fresh set of clothes because you were only going to go for a day and be back tomorrow, the first train in the morning.

You let out a weak sigh when you saw Mary enter the dining room and clear her throat faintly.

"Mrs Shelby, I have packed your bag for you, is there anything else I can do? I can take the baby if you wish to?"

You shook your head at her, giving her a polite smile and sensing your reluctance, she gave you a brief curtsy and walked out. You finally stood up and carefully, placed your sleeping child in his father's arms, not failing to notice the way he beamed when he was holding his son.

"Tommy, love, make sure to lock the windows of his nursery at night."

"I know, and I will make sure I check his nappies otherwise he might develop a rash." He chuckled playfully, still looking down at the beautiful baby boy you two had created, together.

"Don't tease me." You muttered dryly, almost rolling your eyes at him as you leaned forward and gave your husband a soft kiss. "And please Tommy–" You pulled away, licking your lips, tasting the aftermath of Tommy's lips on you, "– Can you please not come home late tonight? For once, the work can be stalled. I don't want all the work to land on your poor aunt's shoulders. I'm already embarassed as it is. What the fuck must she be thinking? That's not even her child."

"Come on now, stop overthinking things, you know Pol loves the lad like her own."

That she did.

Daniel, ever since he was born, eleven months back, was the light of Polly's life – more so because she had never thought she would see the human side of Tommy Shelby. It awed her that day when she saw tears stream down her nephew's eyes when he heard his cries from the room upstairs for the first time.

"Well, I think I should stop stalling now." You sighed and finally took a step away, forcing yourself to look away. The more you would look at the angel in his arms, the more you will weaken in your resolve.

"I love you both." You whispered as you finally walked down the front steps of the Arrowe House towards the motorcar that was waiting at the doorstep to drop you to the station.

• ───━━━━─ ● ─━━━━─── •

"What do you mean you have to leave? Come on, Pol, you can't fucking do this to me, not today. I have a potential business partner coming in to meet me at the Garrison in two hours."

Tommy shot a helpless Polly a glare of his own, his uncontrollable pacing all over the living room not coming to a halt, his hands fixed to his hips. No, this couldn't be happening to him, he had fuckin' worked hard to get this potential client to meet him for this business meeting.

"Tommy, I'm sorry, Esme needs me. She's in pain, what the fuck do you want me to do?" Polly snapped.

"Ask her to call for a fucking doctor maybe?"

"Fuck off, Thomas Shelby. You should cancel this business meeting that you have and for once, stay home and look after your own spawn." Polly spat out the words, flinching instantly at the harshness of her own words because that is now how she had meant to take out her anger.

"Fine, get out."

Polly shook her head at the stubbornness of his nephew. When was he going to learn?

"Thomas, you have to stop with this attitude. You're a father now –"

"Aren't you getting late now? I thought John's wife needed you." Tommy cut Polly off, his fingers toying with the box of cigarettes as he pulled one out and flicked it to his lips, his fingers now shuffling through his pocket to pull out the matchbox.

"You will never learn."

Shaking her head at her nephew, she grabbed her purse, swinging it over hurriedly over her shoulder, rushing out through the front door. The door slammed shut and the sound of Tommy's match lighting echoed through the air, smoke coiling around him as he stood like a stone statue in the living room, staring into the air, smoking.

It was just a business meeting, he thought to himself, and that too at the Garrison. He could always take Daniel along with him, also, the presence of a baby might even melt the old woman's heart and she might even get distracted enough to agree in doing business with him.

"Mary?" Tommy's voice rang through the halls and the housekeeper dropped the dusting she was doing at the voice of her employer and rushed out.

"Yes, Mr. Shelby?"

"Can you get Daniel ready and make sure he's dressed warm enough? I'm taking the baby out."

"Sure, Mr. Shelby." Mary kept standing there, watching Thomas leave the living room, his heavy footsteps moving away, towards his study. She frowned slightly as she made her way to the baby's nursery. Once Daniel was dressed up in something warm, she filled up his baby bag with a bottle of milk, some cloth nappies and a rattle that the baby loved playing with.

Just then, there was a knock on the door and Tommy was leaning by the doorframe, watching Mary as she zipped up the baby bag.

"Mr. Shelby, I'm sorry to ask but do you want me to come with you, to help with the baby since the Missus is not home?"

The idea appealed to Tommy. It would have been a lie to say he didn't require help with the baby. Had Daniel's nanny been here, he would have gladly accepted but he couldn't take Mary with him. For two reasons. One, he needed someone to take care of the house. Two, and the more important reason, he didn't need unwanted ears prying over his business deal. Besides, Daniel was a good baby, all he needed was to be fed once and then he fell asleep. Or, he would just play on with the rattle if he was awake.

"No thank you, Mary. You may go and resume your work."

• ───━━━━─ ● ─━━━━─── •

If anyone was to see this hilarious sight, any gangster or any of Thomas Shelby's enemy, he would have rolled over the floor, laughing. It wasn't a daily sight that the leader of the Peaky Blinders walked into the Garrison with a stroller, the mindless babbles of a child echoing all through the quiet pub, all eyes on him. If he did feel embarassed, or flustered, he didn't show it.

The minute he entered, he pushed the stroller straight into the private room, the door banging shut. The business deal took over an hour and once done, the door opened once again and a woman with almost greying hair, her eyes like a Mohawk, stepped out, scanning the crowd with her eyes.

With the way Tommy's eyes were relaxed, his hand moving mechanically from his lips back down, a lit cigarette in his hand, it was pretty clear that the business deal had gone in his favour. He walked out with the woman to where her horse was, watching her as she left, galloping down the street like the wind, until she was nowhere in sight.

Maybe it was the stress that work actually caused him, because what followed after was something Tommy would regret for a long time.

Tommy Shelby forgot about his son and instead of going back to the private room to get the sleeping child, he mumbled something incoherent under his breath and walked out of the Garrison, smoking his cigarette. He slid into the motorcar, taking off his cap for a split second to run his hands through his matted hair, before fixing the cap back on. Turning the engine on, he slowly pulled the car onto the road and started driving back towards the Arrowe House, his baby completely forgotten.

It had been three hours since you had reached London. You had already met your father, having had a good one hour discussion with him. You were now sitting at your old home, the place where you had grown up, staring blankly at the ceiling. Your heart was getting restless, you had no idea what was going on back home and whether Tommy and Daniel were doing okay.

Finally, you stood up and huffing in frustration, you grabbed your bag, swinging it over your shoulder and rushed out of the room, running into your mother.

"Where on earth are you off to, lassie?"

"I'm going back home."

You bit your lip, your fingers toying nervously with each other. You were waiting for your mother to begin lecturing you on how you had visiting after years and now you were just going to leave but the words that exited her mouth left you in awe.

"T's okay love, I'm your mother too. I know what it feels like being miles away from your flesh and blood."

Thus, by the time Thomas Shelby was done with the business meeting at the Garrison and was driving back home, you had already stepped off the train at the Birmingham station. You pitched a ride with one of your friend's husbands who you knew worked at the station. It was a fifteen minute ride and he dropped you off at the gate.

Excited, you walked at a fast pace, towards the front door when you saw Mary dusting over a ceramic statue by the entrance. She saw you and almost gasped, not having expected for you to show up after the dark the same day you had left.

"Mrs. Shelby? Is everything alright? I thought you weren't going to back until tomorrow noon."

"I know, I know Mary, I just couldn't rest easy without Daniel. You know it's the first time I went somewhere without him–" Still talking to her, you stepped quietly into your home, the woman following you as she helped you take off your heavy coat.

"I suppose Polly must be inside eh? The house is so quiet." You looked at Mary, squinting your eyes with slight confusion.

"Mrs. Shelby, Ms. Gray had to leave early today. She had some work." Mary lowered her eyes for a split second and your eyes almost widened.

"Oh, I see. Thomas must be upstairs then? With Daniel?"

"About that, Mrs–"

You saw the woman look up at you with nervous eyes, her fingers toying with her white apron and you instantly knew something was wrong.

"Mary? Where is my husband? Is he with another woman? Oh my god, there's another woman up there, isn't it–"

You were already on your heels, storming through the hallway towards the bedrooms, the pleas of Mary falling on deaf ears.

"Mrs. Shelby, No. There's no woman. Mr. Shelby isn't home. He had a business deal to make so he took the baby along."

You stopped walking, your eyes narrowed as you turned towards her. You were furious, more so because you had thought you would find Tommy in bed with some other woman, but this revelation did not do anything to pacify you.

You clenched your eyes shut to calm yourself– it was alright, wasn't it? Of course Tommy would not have taken the baby with him if he was going somewhere that wasn't safe. You trusted your husband that much.

You had almost relaxed now and were climbing up the stairs on your way to your room when you heard the motorcar come to a halt. Tommy stepped out, shutting the door, his steps slow and dragged towards the front entrance. He placed the hand on the doorknob, twisting it until he heard a click and the door swung open.

He took of his coat, hanging it on the coat hanger by the entrance and was about to head straight to his study where he could sit and get some files sorted. You quietly made your way back downstairs only to come face to face with your husband on his way to the study. His eyes widened with surprise as he had not expected to see you.

"Love? You are back early."

You smiled softly, placing your hand on the railing as you gracefully stepped off the last stair and rushed into your husband's embrace.

"It's all fine, Papa isn't angry anymore. You tell me, where's Daniel?" You had by now wrapped your hands around his neck, but your eyes were scanning for the stroller.

It suddenly hit him.

Fuck.

Tommy's hand flew to his head, abruptly pushing you away in the act, his cap falling off, his hand grabbing a hold of his matted hair, almost tugging down on them. You kept looking at him, a horror sweeping over your face when you suddenly realized that Daniel was not with him.

"Where is my baby?!! Where's Daniel Tommy?!!"

It felt as though you didn't know who this man was – standing in front of you, his head almost hung low, his eyes clenched shut. Before you could ask him again, he had already turned on his tail and was speed walking towards the car.

"Thomas Shelby, wait! Will you fucking tell me what's going on?!" You ran along with him, trying to do anything you could to get him to answer you, grabbing his arm or blocking his way until he finally yelled at you.

"I FUCKING LEFT DANIEL AT THE GARRISON ALRIGHT? FOR FUCKS SAKE, WILL YOU MOVE OUT OF MY BLOODY WAY?"

Of course, he had left his baby at the Garrison. What kind of a father was he? You kept standing there, too numb to even react, almost leaning over the hedgerow, your eyes moist and cloudy with worry. What if something happened to Daniel? What would you do? How will you face Thomas Shelby without hating him for it? For fucks sake, you shouldn't have left. You shouldn't have gone to London. You cursed yourself.

Twenty minutes.

You kept walking around the lawn, waiting for a glimpse of your baby, to hear him babble mindlessly in your ears again when you saw the headlights of the car almost flash on your face before coming to a halt with a screech. Your husband stepped out, holding Daniel in his arm, talking to him.

"Will you forgive your daddy, love? Will you forgive me for being the bad, reckless father I have been?"

You walked up to him, your anger still pretty evident on your face and giving you one look, Tommy handed you the baby, not wanting to get into an argument he knew he couldn't win this time. You took Daniel and planted a kiss over his cheek, your tears finally spilling out.

"Mummy's sorry she left you, love. I never should have left. I should have known–" Your angry eyes shot towards your husband and he parted his lips, letting out a weak exhale.

"Love, I'm sorry, I–"

"You can sleep in any other room tonight, but you are not welcome in the bedroom. Not until you realize how you put our son in danger." You turned on your tail and cooing slightly to your son who was now playing with loose strands of your hair, tugging at them and giggling playfully, you walked into your bedroom and closed the door behind you, laying Daniel in Tommy's side of the bed.

Tommy wasn't a bad father, he had never let you feel that away ever but you didn't want him to do anything like this ever again and you knew you had to make sure he didn't. You were eventually going to forgive him, but that day wasn't today.

(I don't have a permanent tag list at the moment but I'm thinking of having one. If you want to be added, please send me message or an ask please.)

#thomas shelby x reader #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinders #peaky fucking blinders #tommy shelby

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rosesvioletshardy · 4 years

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i’m sorry - b.h

hi another imagine that was requested that took me forever to write and finish

not sure what this is but hopefully y’all like it because there were nights where i just stayed up staring at it hoping that i can think of something to write so yeah

masterlist

warnings: yelling?, angst

# of words: 2,916

Dating someone who was almost 10 years older than you and famous felt like a weird experience. Y/N wasn’t really used to it after dating for two years already since the biggest age gap she had with someone was someone who was only a year older than her. She was quiet and reserved and was sometimes sensitive, especially when someone raised their voice at her, which was why her last relationship didn’t work out.

There were times where she felt like there was something wrong in their relationship because of how sometimes he would avoid her and sometimes would cancel dates and blow her off. She understood that he wanted to hang out with his friends at some points since he doesn’t get to see them that often especially when he has to leave for another country for filming. They did go on dates every now and then and would make sure to let the other know beforehand if they were to cancel it so they could reschedule.

Recently Ben has been home for a few months and this was the longest he has been home that didn’t involve filming, even if it was in London since most of the time he had to stay on set in his trailer. He missed pretty much everyone in his life currently but the one thing he missed a little bit more was hanging out with his friends. He knew that wasn’t the best thing to think about or ever miss when he has a girlfriend but he hasn’t gotten or had a proper guys night out in a while with them and he wanted to do something with them again and act like teenagers.

It was still early in the morning which meant that he had enough time to fit in a workout and lounge around before he went off at night. When he woke up, he felt the bed empty next to him which meant that Y/N had gone to work and wouldn’t see him until he left for the night. He really did love her and wouldn’t know what he would without her. Ben loved her kind nature, how she always put others first before herself which he hated sometimes because he felt that there were times where she needed to focus on herself but she didn’t know how to sometimes. He didn’t do much that afternoon since there wasn’t that much to do. He went for a run, made breakfast, talked to Y/N, cleaned up around a bit. Ben knew he shouldn’t have been working while on a break from filming but he couldn’t help but start writing a screenplay he just started thinking of.

Hours have passed and it was now the evening which meant he was finishing getting ready for the night as his girlfriend walked into their apartment carrying a few take out bags as she kicked off her heels by the door and walking to the kitchen to set everything down before going to their room and finding him sitting on their bed putting shoes on all dressed up.

“Hey babe” she told him giving him a kiss on the lips as he got up almost towering over her

“Hey baby, how was work?’’ ben asked her as he got up and looked at himself in the mirror one more time before he left

“How long do you think I would go to jail for murdering someone for constantly annoying me?”

“Work was that bad?”

“Yeah, I was hoping that a certain someone will help make my night better as we eat the takeout I brought and watch someone movies while drinking some nice wine. Why are you all dressed up?” she asked looking up at him when she wrapped her arms around him

“I was going to go out with some mates since I haven’t gotten a proper chance to hang out with them in a while”

“Oh-” Y/N said feeling a bit disappointed

“You alright?” he asked her when he hear the disappointment in her voice

“Yeah, yeah i was just hoping to spend some time with my boyfriend after a shitty day at work, but you want to go out. It’s fine” she said pulling away and starting to change out of her work clothes

“Are you mad that i want to spend some time out with mates after not seeing them for a long time?” ben questioned her as he pulled away from her

“No, you can hang out with them. I was just hoping that I got to spend the rest of the night with my boyfriend after a shitty day at work and do nothing.” she defensively told him

“I haven’t seen my friends in who knows how long because I’m either always away and working or they have their own lives and work, and if I do it’s never for a long time too. I always spend all my fucking free time with you. I don’t even remember the last time I just got to relax and hang out with them and just be one of the fucking guys!” he told her raising his voice a bit

“You had three fucking weeks to hang out with them and you chose today! I know none of them were that busy and neither were you in those weeks!” she called out back at him

“GOD! ARE YOU REALLY DOING THIS NOW? ACTING LIKE I CAN’T HAVE A FUCKING LIFE OUTSIDE OF ACTING? OUTSIDE OF DOING MY FUCKING JOB? I’VE KNOWN THEM SINCE I WAS A KID! I’VE KNOWN YOU FOR ONLY 2 FUCKING YEARS” he yelled at her raising his voice causing her to take a step back and flinch as he raised his voice, turning red as the veins in his neck began to stand out and his jaw clenched while tears began to escape her eyes

“No. you’re right. I’m sorry, go and have fun.” she sneered at him

“You know what I will.” he pointed a finger at her, then grabbing his keys and storming out of the room leaving her alone. The slam of the front door caused her to flinch as she soon broke down, falling down to the floor, with her back against their bed crying.

Ben on the other hand couldn’t focus at all when he left. The entire time he was driving to the pub, his jaw was clenched as one hand gripped the steering wheel tightly thinking about the scene that happened before he left and the thought and pulled into the lot of the pub. When he entered, he quickly spotted his friends and walked over to them before greeting them. Once they got their drinks, they began to catch up with each other and chat about everything that’s recently happened in their lives. Ben was distracted and couldn’t focus on what they were talking about and would just mindlessly drink his beer, zoned out and not paying attention as to the conversation that was happening between him and his friends. They all noticed that he was quieter than usual and wasn’t partaking in their conversation

“Jonesy? You a’right mate?” josh asked him which made ben snap out of his thoughts

“Yeah, yeah. Sorry. ‘M just thinking.”

“Everything alright between you and Y/N?” sam asked him taking a swing of his beer

“Everything’s fine between us. Now what were you talking ‘bout?” Ben asked them wanting to avoid the question not wanting to bother them with his relationship problems. All his friends could do was just look at each other and know he was lying from the way he was avoiding the question. Just because he was a trained actor doesn’t mean he’s a good liar at all.

“Bullshit. Tell us what’s really wrong. Is it Y/N?” they kept asking him before he snapped

“Fine! Yes it is about her.” he told them as they listened closely

“She came home from work late and told me she had one of the worst days because of something her boss and coworker did. Then she mentioned how she wanted to just spend the rest of the night with me just eating take out and watching movies but I had already made plans with you lot and then it got worse. She explained to me everything and how we had three weeks to hang out but we never did and how you weren’t all busy to do so. But um, um, I may or may not have ended up yelling, “I’ve known them since I was a kid” and “i’ve known you for 2 years” at that is what brings us here.” ben told them all as they just stared at him and all he could do was nod

“Yeah so that’s how my night has been.” he finished off with drowning the pint of beer in front of him

“You’re so screwed mate.”

“Yeah she probably hates you by now.”

“You think I don't know that?!” ben said irritated and slightly raising his voice before taking a deep breath

“Look, what you need to do right now is you need to go to tesco, buy some flowers, some chocolates, her favorite bottle of wine, and go back to your flat and apologize. That’s pretty much all you can do because yelling, especially with what you said, is just a big yikes mate.” sam told him

“Yeah, yeah i know. I guess I should be going then, if it’s going to close soon.” ben told them laying down some money and getting out of his seat

“Alright, i’ll talk to you all later” he finished as he put his coat back on

“Right, see you” his friends told him as he walked out to the uber he called earlier

The drive to Tesco was quiet, seeing that his thoughts consumed him as he thought about the past 2 years he and Y/N were together. Within those two years, he has never raised his voice at her and the only time they yelled at each other was if they were messing around and playing. Yeah they had fights but never this serious. He was soon knocked out of his thoughts when the driver called out his name. Ben thanked him and got out, and entered the store.

He already knew what he was going to be getting since he was used to getting them for Y/N whenever she was on her period and didn’t go to the store. The only problem he was having was that he was debating on whether what kind of bouquet of flowers he should get her. A simple bouquet or a huge one seeing about how bad he fucked up. Deciding to go with the big one, he quickly made his way over the wine aisle and grabbed the most expensive but good one he could find before going to get some candy.

When he got all he needed, he went to the register, the older woman can tell that he did something bad by looking at everything he bought for Y/N and wished him luck once she finished ringing everything up. He wished her a goodnight and left the store and headed back to their flat hoping that she would forgive him.

“Alright ben. This is it. You can just go in there, find her, and apologize while giving her everything. You didn’t mean to yell at her and you regret it. If you can get naked in front of people for a play, you can confront your girlfriend and admit your mistakes.” he said to himself as he stood outside their front door trying to calm himself down.

He took one more deep breath before opening the door to find it completely silent and dark. Frankie didn’t even come to greet him which meant she was probably with Y/N. He set his keys down, remembering that he needed to pick up his car the next day when he was sober, and walked to their shared room. When he got there, he softly knocked on the door and got no answer. Ben waited a few seconds before knocking again and tried to turn the handle to find it was locked. Letting out a sigh and sat down, his back against the door and began to talk.

“Y/N? Love? I don’t know if you’re asleep by now or if you’re still awake but i wanted to say I’m sorry. I was being a terrible boyfriend and decided to go out rather than be with you. I didn’t mean to yell at you and if i’m being honest i don’t know why i did it. I completely regret it because I know how someone raising their voice makes you and it made me feel terrible afterwards.” ben started

“What I’m trying to say is that I’m sorry, is that you have every right to be mad at me and can shut me off for as long as you want. Um, I got you some things I’d thought you’d enjoy and another way of saying “I’m Sorry” so, I’ll just leave them here. I’ll sleep on the couch tonight” he finished getting up and heading to the living room to lay down

Y/N was awake listening to everything he had said and she felt bad but not as bad as he did from when he yelled at her. She heard him set everything down and get up and listen as his footsteps grew quieter. Frankie laying beside her, Y/N scratched her ears and began to talk

“He feels really bad about it, huh franks?” she asked knowing that she wasn’t going to get an answer from a dog

“Same here. I should’ve just let him go without saying anything. Shouldn’t have said anything in general.”

“Don’t look at me like that, let’s just go see what he bought.”

Y/N got out of their bed and walked over to the door and opened it to find her favorite sweets, a bottle of really expensive wine, and some of her favorite flowers. She noticed the note inside the flowers that she noticed had his handwriting listing some of his favorite things about her. She couldn’t help but smile at the thought of him a little tipsy writing everything down, but she knew that whenever he’s even the tiniest drunk he becomes a little clingy with the people around him before he lets loose. Walking down the hallway, she walked past all of the photos of her and Ben throughout the years and couldn’t help but smile. Some people thought it was weird that the two of you had pictures hung up since you weren’t married and some of them were just the two of them being themselves and messing around.

Y/N got to the living and saw his sleeping figure on the couch. She couldn’t tell if he was actually sleeping or if he just had his eyes closed. Walking into the kitchen, Y/N put the flowers in a vase with water and put the wine and chocolates onto the kitchen table before walking over to where Ben was. She admired him and everything he did for her. Ben felt someone staring at him and opened his eyes to find Y/N smiling at him.

“Hey.” she whispered

“Hey” he answered back. It was quiet between the two of them for a moment as he sat up

“Listen, before you say anything I want to tell you that yelling at you, especially like that, was one of the worst things I could possibly do. Especially when I knew how you would react. You were right. I had weeks to hang out with them and you came home feeling the worst. I should’ve canceled or rescheduled and stayed home with you, especially when you had a bad day.” he said all in one breath

“Ben, no it’s my fault. You’ve known them since you were teens and it makes sense that because you weren’t filming that you would want to go out and just be a normal person and feel like a teenager again. I spent all those weeks with you and it made sense that you would want to go out.” Y/N told him as ben shook his head trying to justify his argument and blame himself

“No. it’s entirely my fault. I yelled and it got out of hand. I don’t want to argue with you about it now or ever about these kinds of things ever. Please. Now i just want to spend the rest of this night with my girlfriend and let her talk about her shitty day at work and how much she hates her boss and coworkers. It’s what she deserves and I need to make up for what I did to her.” he told her, pulling her into his arms as he buried his face into her neck as she went into his chest.

“Well then, there’s a really expensive bottle of wine this guy bought for me and some take out and I think we should open it and eat.” he said, staring into her eyes “I think the guy must be crazy in love for him to buy an expensive wine only for it to be paired with take out and chocolates” Y/N told him giving him a peck

“Yeah, he really is crazy in love and he doesn’t regret it one bit”

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cassandraclare · 5 years

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The Anniversary Party

Someone asked me about the flash fiction this month, and I realized I’d sent it out in my newsletter, but forgotten to post it! So here’s the whole Jan/Feb story, in which we get a bit of background on Cordelia and her family. Art by Cassandra Jean, of course! This is the last of the flash fiction stories, and it’s been a pleasure to share them with you!

THE ANNIVERSARY PARTY

FRANCE, 1899....

Cordelia did not like Menton very much. She should have, in theory. Menton was a pretty seaside town, a jumble of pink and yellow buildings along a small harbor, mostly slips for sailboats and some fishing boats. The air was warm and Mediterranean, the fish was exceptionally fresh, she could see Italy from her bedroom window across the far side of the harbor. What was there not to like?

They had come for her father’s health—why else did they go anywhere, after all—and Cordelia could understand why Menton had a reputation as a healing destination for the sick and the elderly. Indeed, her father’s health had rebounded since their arrival a few weeks earlier and he was in a period of good spirits, willing to dance with her in the parlor and even managing to drag a smile out of Alastair on occasion. Alastair had entered a turbulent adolescence, as Cordelia overheard her mother say to her father. Cordelia hoped that when she was Alastair’s age she would maintain her composure a little better than he was managing.

But Menton’s charms quickly faded for her. Its popularity with the sick and the elderly meant that the town’s population had a large proportion of both, and while Cordelia wished them all well, they did not offer her much in the way of companions or even adults interested in conversation with a girl for whom French was her third language, and not very strong. The beach turned out to be made not of sand but of large round pebbles—Cordelia had never heard of such a thing, a beach made of rocks, very uncomfortable on bare feet, not pleasant to lie on, and offering no opportunity for building castles or digging trenches.

Worst of all, her parents continued to be as antisocial as ever, making no efforts to reach out to the local Shadowhunter community (the closest Institute being in Marseilles). And so Cordelia was alone. Sometimes she was alone with Alastair, but he mostly ignored her, and even so they were both duly sick of each other’s sole company after a week.

The only source of relief was the knowledge that this, too, would pass—the Carstairs family moved constantly, obsessively, for the sake of her father’s health. Cordelia could never understand the logic of it, except that she agreed that it was worth doing anything if it meant her father’s wellbeing. In this case, it was a bit of a relief. She knew they would not stay in Menton more than a few months.

This was, she felt, why she was so alone. Her family never stayed anywhere long enough for her to meet anyone her age, much less make friends. Her only real friends in the world were Lucie and James Herondale, and only because, Cordelia knew, Will and Tessa Herondale had always worked very hard to make sure that their children saw the younger Carstairs. It was still a rare treat to see them, as the Herondales ran the London Institute, and thus were usually in London, and occasionally in Idris, while Cordelia and her family were all over the map.

And here again, the Herondales came to her rescue, this time in the form of a letter her father read aloud at the breakfast table.

“’Good morning, Elias and Sona,’ – I say, how would he know what time of day we’d read it, the man is mad as a hatter—”

“We are reading it in the morning, though,” Cordelia said. Her father gave her an indulgent smile and went on.

“’It is a capital day here in London, and I hope it will be a capital day in Paris six weeks hence, when Tessa and I will celebrate our nineteenth wedding anniversary. As it is not the custom of any known culture to make a to-do out of the nineteenth wedding anniversary, we have decided to throw an enormous party.’”

“A ball!” cried Cordelia, but a worry poked at her. Would her parents attend such a thing? Her father was frowning at the letter, but possibly he was simply trying to make the words out better without his glasses.

“It’s not a ball,” said Alastair, who had stopped halfway down the stairway to listen.

“’A ball, if you will,’” her father read on. “Well done, Cordelia.”

Cordelia stuck out her tongue at Alastair.

“’We would love if you and your darling children would join us…if you would do us the pleasure of responding…,’ et cetera, et cetera…” Her father scanned the letter. “And then it has the date and the address and all that.”

“It started out strong, but it ended in something of an anticlimax,” Alastair said.

“Can we go?” Cordelia said eagerly. “Can we please? I would so like to see Lucie and James. And maybe I’d meet some of the people Lucie talks about in her letters!”

“I would like to see anyone at all other than you lot,” said Alastair mildly. “No offense intended.”

“Alastair!” Sona scolded, but Cordelia was not about to let Alastair distract from the main point. She redoubled her efforts in the direction of her father.

“Papa, can we go, please? You’ve recovered so well, surely a trip of only a few days would be possible. Don’t you want Shadowhunter society to see how well you are?”

“Hm,” her father said. He looked at her mother, who looked back. They exchanged a series of incomprehensible looks with one another.

“If you think it would be a good idea,” Sona said to Elias. Cordelia’s father gave Cordelia a long look. Cordelia tried to catch Alastair’s eye, but he’d turned away and was looking with disgust into the middle distance, a typical expression for him these days.

“I think we could manage a train trip and a few days in Paris,” her father allowed. “I do adore Paris.”

Cordelia threw her arms around him. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.”

Cordelia spent the next weeks in a state of constant dread. She didn’t dare remind her parents of the upcoming trip, lest they remember that they had intended to cancel and not attend after all. It had happened before, but never before for an event in which Cordelia had a strong investment.

But when the event was a few days away, her father brought up the timetable of the Calais-Méditerrannée Express train at breakfast. Tickets were bought, bags packed, and still Cordelia could barely believe it when she found herself the evening before the party, pulling into the Gare du Nord in an elegant blue train car, clutching her hands in her lap in anticipation: Paris, at last she was in Paris! She would see her future parabatai, and her brother, and the cream of Shadowhunter society, and she would do so in Paris.

The next day found her gazing into the full-length mirror in their rooms at the Hôtel Continental on the Rue de Rivoli and wondering that she was even the same girl who had been miserably pining away a few days before. Her mother had helped her select her dress, a frothy lemon confection of lace and silk. She wasn’t entirely sure it suited her, but it was very elegant.

Even Alastair regarded her with something in the neighborhood of admiration when he came in to fetch his gloves. “You look surprisingly mature,” he told her. Cordelia thought that was probably equivalent to a full swoon, for Alastair. For his part, he was clearly aiming at “mature” as well, having put on a brown sack coat with only one of its buttons buttoned, and having dared to apply a dab of pomade to his black hair, which, Cordelia had to admit, did make it shine compellingly.

“You look like you’ll be trying to impress someone at the party,” Cordelia teased him. “Anyone in particular?”

“Everyone,” Alastair sniffed. “Everyone that is anyone.”

Cordelia rolled her eyes.

Her father was in high spirits as they entered the carriage a short time later, joking and laughing. Her mother was quiet, watching her husband with a smile and a considering expression, and that is how they were for the entire ride to the Paris Institute.

She had been practicing her French, and when the imposing figure of Madame Bellefleur greeted them at the Institute door with a paragraph of rapid-fire enthusiasm and questions, she understood them: welcome, how was their journey, isn’t it frightfully chilly tonight. She began to think of a reply, and found that her entire speaking ability in the French language had departed her brain in exactly that moment.

Her father’s French was fluid and expert, and Cordelia felt a little rush of pride as he said, “Madame Bellefleur, dear! You are looking as lovely as ever, Odile. But what has become of you, that you’ve fallen so far to be working the door?”

Madame Bellefleur laughed, a hearty chuckle that made Cordelia like her immediately. “I sent the maid off to enjoy herself. I like answering the door, Elias — it may be the Herondales’ party, but it’s my Institute.”

Inside, Cordelia slipped away from her parents as soon as it was feasible and went to look for her friends. It took her all of five minutes to become hopelessly lost. Unlike any Institute she had been in before, this one was laid out as a labyrinthine series of interconnected salons. Each looked much like the last, and was crowded with adults, none of whom Cordelia knew, and most of whom were speaking in rapid French. She had not spotted a single Herondale, and the clatter and chatter of the party guests was beginning to make her feel less like a young sophisticate at the ball and more like a little girl who had lost her mother at the market.

Out of nowhere came a whirlwind of petticoats, which turned out happily to be Lucie Herondale, throwing herself into Cordelia’s arms with great force and a squeal of delight. “Cordelia, Cordelia, you must come, Christopher is going to teach us how to eat fire!”

“I’m sorry?” Cordelia said politely, but Lucie was already pulling her toward the door to the next salon. “Who is Christopher?”

“Christopher Lightwood, of course. My cousin. He saw a man eating fire in Covent Garden and he said he’d worked out how to do it. He’s very scientific, Christopher.” Lucie’s progress was stopped short, and Cordelia looked up to see a tall, slender older girl, with dark hair braided atop her head and a striking look. She was wearing a lacy blue dress without much enthusiasm. She raised her eyebrows and stared Lucie down. “And this is his sister Anna,” Lucie said, as though she’d planned the encounter.

“Christopher will not be eating any fire,” said Anna, “or indeed anything other than the canapes tonight.”

Lucie said, “Anna, this is Cordelia Carstairs; she’s going to be my parabatai.” Cordelia felt a rush of affection for her friend—she felt so alone so much of the time, but she wasn’t, not really. She was going to have a parabatai; neither she nor Lucie would ever fully be alone again. Or that’s how she had come to understand it would feel.

Anna, however, merely arched an eyebrow. “Not if Christopher burns the Institute down, she won’t.” She turned her piercing gaze onto Cordelia. “Carstairs?” she said curiously. “What Carstairs?”

Cordelia knew what that was about. She gave Anna a smile. “Jem Carstairs is my second cousin. I only know him a very little bit, unfortunately.” Jem, who had been Lucie’s father’s parabatai, had a long and tragic story that ended with his having become a Silent Brother. He was Brother Zachariah now.

Would he be here? It was strange to imagine among the sparkling, laughing conversation, the clinking of glasses, a parchment-robed silent figure drifting about. But why wouldn’t he be? Lucie spoke of him all the time. Cordelia felt a little frisson of nerve at the thought of meeting him again—eagerness but also worry.

“Any Carstairs is welcome,” Anna smiled back airily. “And obviously any parabatai of Lucie’s is essentially a member of the family. Speaking of which.” She turned back to Lucie. “Don’t encourage Christopher, Lucie. You know how he is.”

“It wasn’t my idea!” Lucie protested. “It’s Matthew who set him on it. You know how he is.”

“I don’t,” said Cordelia mildly.

Lucie gave her a look of wide-eyed horror. “Oh, dear, what kind of host am I? Here is my best friend in the world, and I haven’t even introduced you to everyone! Anna, we must go.” She reached for Cordelia’s hand again.

“It was lovely to meet you,” Cordelia said to Anna.

Anna tipped her glass in Cordelia’s direction with a small smile. “Likewise.”

“All right,” Lucie narrated as she pulled Cordelia into yet another salon. “Matthew is Matthew Fairchild, he’s the consul’s son but don’t worry, he’s all right and not a bit stuck-up about it, and anyway Aunt Charlotte and Uncle Henry ran the London Institute when my Papa was young—he lived there, you know—and they’re over there, actually, hullo Aunt Charlotte!” Lucie waved a hand madly.

Cordelia looked over and quickly spotted Charlotte Fairchild—even someone as socially deprived as she was recognized the Consul—who was in the middle of saying something very serious to a group of equally serious-looking people, and didn’t notice Lucie’s wave. It was funny; Charlotte was tiny, bird-like, and towered over by the men around her, but she had a presence that dominated the room regardless. It was an admirable way to be, Cordelia thought.

Next to Charlotte was a red-headed man in a Bath chair, who did see Lucie wave, and waved back madly himself with a grin. Henry Fairchild. He was too far away for them to speak, but Lucie pointed at Cordelia and raised her eyebrows. Henry raised his hands and exclaimed in pleasure, and Cordelia waved too, a little less madly than the others.

“Is that Matthew with them?” Cordelia said. “The tallish one with his father’s hair?”

Lucie snorted. “Oh no! Matthew would be so offended. That’s his older brother Charles. He’s, well….”

“What?” said Cordelia.

“He’s a little dull.” Lucie had the good manners to look ashamed at her admission. “He’s very interested in politics and Shadowhunter business and all that, and he treats us all like children.”

“We are children.”

“Yes, so is he!” Lucie said impatiently. “But you wouldn’t know it from the way he acts.” She sighed. “He’s an all right sort, though. Next salon!”

With rapid speed Lucie took her through the remainder of the people Lucie considered it important for Cordelia to know. Her Aunt Cecily and her Uncle Gabriel—Gabriel also turned out to be among the group surrounding Charlotte—who were Anna and Christopher’s parents. Her Aunt Sophie, who had worked at the Institute as a mundane and then Ascended and married Gabriel’s brother Gideon.

Gideon, Lucie explained, was not here, because Thomas—oh, it was a shame that Cordelia was not going to meet Thomas, and also Thomas would never have allowed Christopher to get within a mile of fire to eat it, if he had anything to say about it, but anyway Thomas had broken his leg and Gideon had stayed home with him.

“Also there are the older girls,” Lucie said darkly. “Barbara and Eugenia. But they’re not much like us. They’re not even here; they had something else tonight. Can you believe it?”

Cordelia wasn’t sure whether she was supposed to believe it or not believe it, having never met either girl, so she only shook her head understandingly.

“Lucie!” A woman with heaps of curly scarlet hair was advancing on them at speed. “I need someone to help me put out the silver. Congratulations, girl, you’re hired.”

“Bridget,” Lucie protested. “Bridget was my nursemaid, when I was young enough to have a nursemaid,” she explained to Cordelia.

“And now your repayment of my kindness to you continues,” Bridget said sharply, “with the putting out of the silver. Come along.”

“I can help,” offered Cordelia.

Bridget looked offended. “I’ll not have a guest doing work at a party. This one here is hosting the thing.” She dragged off Lucie, who gave Cordelia a beseeching look of apology as she vanished into the crowd.

This left Cordelia back to meandering a bit aimlessly. Perhaps, she thought, she would go back and speak more with Anna, who had been so kind. Perhaps she would seek out her own family and see how they were making out.

Where were her family, though? After a few minutes’ wandering she spotted her mother, who seemed to be unusually in her element, animatedly telling some story to a captivated audience. But she couldn’t find her father, or Alastair, anywhere. It was a large party, surely, but she would have expected her father to be with her mother, or if not, captivating his own audience. Cordelia had been able to tell that he was the second-most excited to go to the party after herself. So where was he?

Perhaps, she thought, he had slipped away to the library. She wanted to get a look at the Institute’s library herself, anyway. She managed enough French to ask directions from one of the waitstaff. It was down an iron spiral staircase, and Cordelia allowed herself to feel like a princess descending a tower.

The library had a tremendously high ceiling, which gave it an airy feel, but on the ground it was crowded with ancient, heavy oaken bookshelves, all of which were piled so densely with books that they were bent over by the weight, and it was astonishing that they had not already collapsed. Cordelia loved the place immediately. It was crumbling, in the most beautiful way possible. The light was warm and orange, and dust motes floated in it. It smelled pleasantly of must and old paper, and here and there were chairs of cracked, heavily aged and stained red leather.

Down at the other end of the room there was indeed a figure seated on the windowsill, curled up with a book, but it was obviously not her father. As she got closer, the dark-haired figure raised its head to peer at her, and she realized: it was James Herondale.

Part 2

“Hello,” said James Herondale. He peered up at Cordelia owlishly, as though he’d just come out of a reverie and wasn’t quite returned to the fully waking world.

“By the Angel, I’m awfully sorry.” Cordelia couldn’t help feeling she had interrupted something. She had met James before, of course—Will Herondale had been nothing if not diligent about making sure that his children and the Carstairs children knew one another—but she would not have described him as a friend, necessarily. He was a bit unknowable, in his odd way.

“No need to apologize,” James said mildly, “it’s me who’s skiving off this party to read.” He sat up rather suddenly, as if he’d only just realized he had been splayed casually across the windowsill and he should seek some kind of propriety.

“Most people don’t skive off parties,” Cordelia said, amused. “It’s usually lessons and chores, that sort of thing. Do you not like parties?”

“I like parties just fine,” James said, a bit defensively.

Cordelia crossed her arms and said sternly, “Well, I am in the library because I wanted to see the Paris Institute library, but also because almost the whole party are strangers to me. But they’re your friends, aren’t they? Wouldn’t you want to be with your friends? Matthew, and Thomas and the rest?”

James gave Cordelia a long look. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “They are my friends, I suppose, but really they’re more like relatives. I’ve always felt out of place among them.”

The thought of James being out of place anywhere struck Cordelia as funny. Compared to herself, he was self-assured, charismatic, effortlessly interesting. Compared to her awkward discomfort inside her own body, he was graceful and strikingly handsome—

Good Lord, Cordelia thought, where had that come from?

It was true, though. Among the pillars and medieval arches of the library he looked as at home as a marble statue, an oil painting of a classical youth at study. How could someone who matched his environment so perfectly be uncomfortable?

“I always feel out of place too,” she offered. “But I thought it was just because my family is always traveling so much. I’ve never stayed in one place long enough to make friends.” She looked down at the ground. “Maybe it’s more complicated than that.”

James said, “We’re friends, aren’t we?”

Cordelia gave a little laugh. “Well, yes. We are. But how often do we see each other? Once a year, maybe twice, if we’re lucky?”

He shrugged. “I don’t see most of the people at this party more than that, anyway. We’re always in London and they’re usually in Idris. Although we’re meant to go to Idris this summer, so perhaps I’ll see them a bit more. And of course, we’ll all be at the Academy this fall.” He sighed. “Maybe I’ll start to think of them as real friends at some point. I just feel so different than them. Like…like everyone else is looking out at the world, at other people, but I am always looking inward, instead.”

Since to Cordelia James appeared to glow from within slightly, this struck her as an odd facet of his personality, but she supposed that the shy and retiring came in all shapes and sizes. “‘All man’s miseries derive from not being able to sit in a quiet room alone,’” she quoted. “My father always says that.”

“Your father sounds very wise,” said James.

“Actually,” said Cordelia, “I think Blaise Pascal said that, and my father was only quoting him. You’d get along with my father,” she went on, surprised to find herself saying it out loud. But it was true; both her father and James had the same sense of the world being a bit too much for them, of preferring solitude, of seeking refuge in books. “I should go find him,” she said. “Again, I’m so sorry for interrupting your reading.”

James put the book down on the side table next to the window. “Again, please don’t apologize, I’m always happy for the opportunity to talk with you.” Cordelia found herself blushing, a bit, but James didn’t appear to notice. He stood up and said, smiling, “I shall escort you in your endeavor.”

On the way out of the library they fell silent, and Cordelia began to feel a bit awkward. It was usually so easy to speak with James, and yet she was unaccountably tongue-tied. Finally, desperate for a conversational gambit, she blurted, “Did you know that the original Paris Institute library burned down in 1574 when someone opened a Pyxis containing a Dragonidae demon?”

James raised his eyebrows. “I did not know that, Miss Carstairs,” he said, and Cordelia burst into giggles.

The smile was wiped quickly off her face, however, by the arrival of Alastair, who looked grim. “There you are,” he said, but he sounded more relieved than angry. He had a tired look in his eyes. “Father’s not well,” he said. “He’s asking for you.”

“Oh!” said Cordelia. She felt a brief, uncharitable flash of annoyance — her father’s sickness had spoiled so many parties, even Cordelia’s first rune-day. She turned to James. “I should go to him.”

“Of course,” said James. “I’m so sorry to hear he’s not well.”

“There’s an old monk’s chamber down that hall,” Alastair said, gesturing. “Father said he wanted to be someplace cool and dark.” He shook his head, agitated. “Sorry, Cordelia.”

Cordelia wasn’t sure what he meant—perhaps that it was usually her that Elias asked for when he wasn’t well, and not Alastair? She hoped it didn’t hurt Alastair’s feelings. She assumed it was because Elias believed girls made better nurses than boys, though she wasn’t sure that was true.

She left James and her brother there, looking askance at one another, and went down the hall until she found a short little heavy wooden door set in the wall. It swung open at her tentative push, and inside she found only a bit of dim light and a sparsely furnished room, with a small platform bed in the corner on which her father sat, his arm over his eyes.

“Papa,” she said, “I’m here.”

He groaned. “Cordelia, my love. It came on so suddenly.”

Cordelia felt a wash of guilt at having resented her father. “I know. I’m here, Papa.”

She went over to the bed and sat down next to him. The room was suffused with the strong smell, herbaceous and strongly bitter, that she associated with his episodes—the medicine that the Silent Brothers gave him to keep his health under control, she assumed.

“I’m sorry to ruin your party, Cordelia,” her father said after a moment. His voice was throaty, his words slow, as though it pained him to speak.

“No,” said Cordelia gently. “I’m sorry you’re not feeling well. I know you had looked forward to the party as well.”

He looked up from his arm and gazed at her fondly. “I already feel better now that you’re here.” He reached out and took her small hand in his larger one. “You’ve always been my best charm for getting well.”

Cordelia rubbed his hand anxiously. “What can I do, Papa? Is there anything you need?” She glanced around the room, looking for anything that might be helpful. Her eye fell on one of the room’s few decorations, a small shelf with a selection of cloth and leather-bound books arranged haphazardly across it. “I could read to you,” she said. That was what she would want if she were feeling ill, after all. To be read to would be the greatest act of love she could receive, so it only made sense to offer it here.

“Yes, that would be very nice.” Her father closed his eyes and smiled, as if in anticipation.

Cordelia went to examine the shelf. Doubtfully she said, “Well, in English we have either the 1817 classic How to Avoid Werewolves—”

“You mean, socially?”

“I’m not sure,” said Cordelia. “Your other option is the classic travelogue of the Shadowhunter Hezekiah Featherstone, Demons With Whom I Have Had Relationships.”

“Should you really be reading that second one?” her father rumbled.

“Papa!” said Cordelia, scandalized. “I don’t think they are romantic relationships.”

“Well then,” said Elias, settling back on the bed, and Cordelia thought he did already sound like he was feeling a bit better, “surprise me.”

James thought, it wasn’t Cordelia’s fault that he had been left alone with her older brother. It was only an unfortunate side-effect of the situation.

Though only a couple of years apart in age, James had always thought of Alastair as impossibly older than him, and Alastair, for his part, had treated James as impossibly younger. James supposed this was a natural result of being an older sibling. Certainly he could not imagine taking anyone fully seriously who was only his little sister’s age. In this circumstance, however, it left him unsure what to say to Alastair, or whether to wait for Alastair to speak, or whether to simply bolt from the room at top speed and assume Alastair was too slow to catch him.

Alastair ended the mystery by saying, in an odd tone, “My apologies for all this. My father is often unwell.”

“It’s all right,” James said, feeling strange to be reassuring an older boy. Tentatively he said, “Your father is a hero, after all.”

“What?” said Alastair, thrown off guard.

“Your father,” James said. “He killed the demon Yanluo.”

“Not by himself,” said Alastair.

“No,” said James, “but still. My father says an experience like that can leave scars. It’s a kind of sacrifice that heroes make, taking those scars so others don’t have to.”

He had meant it kindly, but was dismayed by the way Alastair’s face shut down. He became a blank, and when he looked at James, it was clear that he had ceased to regard James as being present in the room, or indeed, existing at all. “Quite,” he said. Without further comment he headed down the hallway toward the library..

“I’ll see you at the Academy,” James offered, one final try. “This fall. I’ll be starting.”

Alastair turned back, and in the same oddly neutral tone, he said, “That’s right. I suppose you will.”

After Alastair departed, James stayed where he was for a while, alone in the narrow, whitewashed corridor of the Institute. There was a party shaking the very rafters of the building, and yet here there was only silence. James thought of Cordelia, comforting her ill father, of Alastair stomping off for the sake of stomping off, obviously with no destination in mind.

His father had always made such an effort to get the two families together, the Herondales and the Carstairs. He had told so many stories about them, and was always encouraging their spending time together. And James had always been fond of the Carstairs, especially Cordelia. But now he thought, it’s odd, really, how little I know them as people.

He thought of the cousins, the parents’ friends, the Enclave members celebrating above. Other than his own family, he knew so little about any of them as people. And while he felt safe here, in the quiet, in the dark, he could tell that the world would not let him remain there for much longer. He would be out in the world, and he would need friends, and family, to help get him through.

Perhaps at the Academy, this fall.

#flash fiction #chain of gold #tsc #shadowhunters #the shadowhunter chronicles #.cog #cog2 #tlh #cassandra jean #cassandra clare

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stillbandofbrothersthirsty · 3 years

Text

As Far As Friends Go

Chapter 16 (Chapter 1; Chapter 2; Chapter 3; Chapter 4; Chapter 5; Chapter 6; Chapter 7; Chapter 8; Chapter 9; Chapter 10; Chapter 11; Chapter 12; Chapter 13; Chapter 14; Chapter 15)

Nixon - July - September 1944 All thought left Nixon’s mind as he stared down into Emily’s red-rimmed gray eyes. He wanted to say more, but the words were stuck in his throat. Who the hell was he to tell her anything? He was married. He was a bad husband, a selfish lover, a drunk - he had no business giving her advice.

“Just trust me,” he whispered. Emily’s frown deepened as she searched his face. But Nixon would reveal nothing. The only thing he was certain about in that moment was that he didn’t want to see Emily get hurt; not by Harry, not by him, not by anyone. “Emily, I’m sorry I accused you of not taking your job seriously. You are one of the best people on my staff.”  “Really?” Emily’s voice was meek.  “If not the best. You’re invaluable. I’m sorry that I haven’t given you the acknowledgment you deserve. I’m sorry you don’t get the respect you deserve.” Emily swallowed. Nixon’s heart broke into a thousand pieces when her chin quivered. “I’m sorry I got so emotional,” she said in a hushed voice. “Don’t apologize.” Nixon wanted to move forward to touch her, to hold her, but something in him wouldn’t allow it. She probably didn’t want that from him anyway. His words could only heal so much in a night.  “Please,” something caught in Nixon’s throat, “please just don’t say anything to Harry. I don’t want to see you get heartbroken.” Emily bit her lip. It took all of his patience to remain quiet as he waited for her to respond. She roamed his face with her eyes. It was as if she was looking right through him, right into the very core of him. Nixon’s stomach jumped at her shameless gaze. “Fine,” she finally said. Fine, he would have to accept that. Inside, he begged her to say more. He begged her to stay standing there so he could just look at her a moment longer. But she turned to the street, the city’s shadows rippling off the folds of her dress, the angle of her jaw and curve of her eyelashes. She stretched a hand into the night sky and a black cab appeared, its golden headlights flashing. Emily turned back to look at him before stepping through the open car door, “see you in Aldbourne, Nix.”  Nixon only managed to raise a hand goodbye and then she was gone, slipping off into the night. Nixon kicked himself. Why did he make the same mistake over and over again? He always went too far. He was mean. Why? Why did he lose his cool around her? Day after day he had officers, soldiers, and Tommy’s saying stupid shit to him and he still managed to hold his tongue. But the simplest conversation with Emily would spiral out of his control. Nixon returned to Aldbourne in the morning. He was relieved to be back. He needed a purpose and he enjoyed the work that occupied him. Green replacements were showing up every day to take the place of men Nixon had worked alongside for two years. All of the new faces suddenly made the quaint refuge of Aldbourne feel foreign. The new soldiers hadn’t had half the training the Toccoa men had, nor the rigor that Easy Company experienced under Sobel. Winters and the other officers had their work cut out for them getting the replacements up to standard. Nixon had other things to worry about. The 101st was on standby; jumps were scheduled and canceled as Patton’s army infiltrated the continent. The men were restless. Having faced the reality of war in Normandy, the men were living carpe diem. They went out drinking, fighting, and playing every chance they got. John Martin and Bill Guarnere even got themselves some tattoos. In the evenings, Nixon found himself in his lover’s bed, and during the days he was watching Emily. As far as Nixon knew, Emily hadn’t said anything to Harry regarding her feelings. But Nixon didn’t miss the forlorn looks she gave him. Nixon grit his teeth each time he saw her mooning over Harry’s turned back. That night in London Nixon realized that he cared deeply for Emily in a way that could never be realized. He was married. He was a rogue. She deserved so much more than being a mistress- stop. He had to stop himself there. He couldn’t afford to even entertain the idea. Let her pine for Harry. It was only a crush, a crush and nothing more. It wasn’t hurting anyone; at least no one but him. The reality was, Emily was young. She was beautiful and clever. One day she would meet someone and it would be more than just a crush. Their fight in London had sobered Nixon up. Not literally, but it made him check his own behavior. He didn’t want to fight with her again. He never wanted to make her cry again. If all they could be was friends and colleagues, he wanted to be the best friend and colleague she had. Once they returned to the continent their time together would be even more limited. Nixon was determined to make the most of it. That summer in Aldbourne they worked together more symbiotically than ever before. Nixon’s conscious patience combined with Emily’s keen intuition made their workdays go smoothly. This was beneficial for the American intelligence’s reputation in front of the Brits. The next drop onto the continent would take place in Holland. Operation Market Garden was the brainchild of British intelligence. Nixon didn’t want to sound like a snob so he wouldn’t admit that he was wary of their plan. But orders were orders so Nixon surrendered control. Though Operation Market garden was the strategic genius of the British, Nixon and his staff did a lot of the grunt work. Emily helped to identify drop zones and coordinated routes for the paratroopers to meet up with the British armory. It was a lot of work in a region Emily had never seen, nor would likely ever see. The plan was to drop into Holland near Eindhoven. This meant another troopship for Emily and overground travel through the seized territory. If everything went as it should, Emily would link up with Battalion headquarters just across the border in Germany. That was if everything was executed as the allies hoped. Summer wound down and the first chills of winter came with the falling leaves of September. Back in their old digs, Nixon sipped on a whiskey-laced cup of coffee. “Why are you being so nice to me lately?” Emily was working at her desk, using a ruler to draw a grid on a black and white map. “What do you mean? I’m always nice.” Emily lifted her pen from the map she was looking at to give him a look. “What? You want me to be mean?”

  “No, of course not,” she turned back to her paper, “but it’s weird.”  

“Why is it weird?”  

“I’m just not used to you like this.” “Like what?” “You have two versions.” Emily said, “smart Nix and grumpy Nix.” “Nice to hear you think I’m smart,” Nixon perched on the edge of his desk to watch her work. “Smart as in smart-ass,” she elaborated. “Well, that’s not very nice.” “I’m not the one being accused of being nice.” “Accused? You make nice sound like such a bad thing.” Emily giggled, “I do not! I’m just saying you’re out of character.” “Maybe war has changed me.” “I’m so glad you’re never dramatic.” Nixon raised his eyebrows over a sip of coffee, “If I’m dramatic it’s from spending time with you.” Emily stuck her tongue out at him. Nixon was about to retort when Lt. Colonel Strayer appeared in in the doorway, “Captain Nixon,” “Right,” Nixon sat his coffee down on his desk and followed Strayer out the door. Nixon shared a jeep with Strayer as far as the hanger outside Aldbourne. Winters stood in front of the Easy Company men assembled beneath a large map of Holland. Nixon took his place on Winters’ left and the lieutenants and sergeants fell in by rank behind him. Nixon noticed Emily’s handiwork on the stenciled letters above the hand-colored map. “This is called Operation Market Garden,” Winters presented, “in terms of Airborne Divisions involved, we’re dropping deep into occupied Holland.” Nixon scanned the faces of the men assembled before them. Without knowing the individuals, he could tell who had been in Normandy and who hadn’t; it was the difference of acceptance and anxiety. All of their serious faces hung on Winters’ every word, soaking up every detail of what was to come. As Winters finished his presentation some of the veteran’s expressions changed to ones of confusion. Nixon stepped forward, “the entire European advance has been put on hold to allocate resources for this operation. It’s Montgomery’s personal plan and we’ll be under British command.” Once Nixon finished the men filed out to prepare to jump the next day. “Old men and children?” Winters said over Nixon's shoulder.

Nixon looked over at his friend, “that’s what they’re telling us.” “And how reliable do you think the intelligence is?” Winters asked as they walked out of the hanger. Nixon rolled his jaw, “what can I say? It’s coming from the top.”  “It’s hard to believe this will end the war.”  “All we can do is hope for the best. Home by Christmas,” Nixon said. “Home by Christmas,” Winters repeated as if it were a mantra. That night Nixon couldn’t sleep though he needed to. They would be leaving for the airfield at first light. After an hour or so of staring at his ceiling, Nixon pulled on his boots, grabbed his flask, and walked downstairs. He didn’t know what he was seeking but he had to get out of his room. Nixon took a sip from his flask as he stepped into the hall. It seemed to stretch on forever in the darkness. He didn’t bother to screw the cap on his flask. He made his way down the carpeted steps drinking along the way. Nixon didn’t know where he was going as he wandered through the winding halls of the manor. It wasn’t until he was in front of her door that he realized he had walked to Emily’s room. He raised his hand to knock when the door swung open. “Oh!” Emily yelped in surprise then quickly pressed a hand over her mouth, “Lew, you startled me.”

“Uh, sorry,” Nixon said. Emily’s expression quickly morphed into concern, “is everything okay?” Nixon smoothed his hair down, realizing it was probably mussed from laying in bed. “oh yeah, I just was walking by and noticed your light on. I wanted to make sure you were okay.” “Oh,” Emily smiled suspiciously, “okay, well I’m going downstairs for some tea, you want to come?” Nixon hesitated, considering her offer, “uhh, no, that’s okay. Thanks.” “Okay, you sure?” Emily’s eyes flicked down at the flask in his hand. Nixon tightened his grip on it suddenly self conscious. “Yeah, gonna head to bed.” “Okay, well hey, if I don’t see you before,” she paused, not wanting to verbalize the goodbye. “I’ll see you over there,” Nixon nodded confidently at her. Unexpectedly, she reached out and took his empty hand. Nixon looked down at her grip and back up into her sweet face. She squeezed his hand, “I’ll see you over there, Lew.” It took all of his willpower to turn away from her. He walked slowly back down the dark hallway listening to her light steps fall away down the steps behind him.

#Band of Brothers #hbo band of brothers #fanfiction #original character #as far as friends go #lewis nixon #emily rooney #lewis nixon x oc #joe toye #george luz #dick winters #harry welsh #harry welsh x oc

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upthenorthmountain · 4 years

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Heartwood - Chapter Nine

Previous Chapters

The final chapter! Enjoy!

And a special thank you for the very special @karis-the-fangirl, for all her help now and always x

Chapter 9

“...Anna?”

Anna woke. She didn’t remember falling asleep, but now it was clearly morning. Kristoff was sitting on the side of the bed, fully dressed.

“Mmm?”

“I’m sorry, this is such a pain, I forgot I have to go into Town today - I have to go or I’ll miss my train. Will you be okay?”

“Mm. Yes. I’m fine.” He had said something about going to London the day after her birthday, and she’d forgotten too.

“I’m so sorry, I meant to…” he looked at his watch. “I’ll come home as soon as I can, okay? And we’ll - talk. And there’s something else I wanted to do yesterday but - anyway. Later, okay?”

To her surprise, he leant forward and kissed her on the forehead. “I’ll see you later. Go back to sleep.”

“See you later,” Anna said, and watched him go.

-----

It was almost eight, not so very early. Anna wasn’t sleepy any more so she got up and dressed. Yesterday’s events seemed distant already, almost dream-like - but they’d happened, and she could barely sit still, she was so caught up in wondering - had the doctor made a mistake? She couldn’t think of another reason why she was still here, breathing, heart beating as normal, as she paced the length of the garden and back.

At nine she rang the doctor’s surgery and made an appointment for later that morning. Kristoff would have taken the campervan to the station but she could call a mini-cab, or perhaps ask Lillian for a lift - no, she knew if she did that, she’d end up telling her everything. She had almost told Lillian, so many times, but she hadn’t wanted to make her sad; hadn’t wanted the time they had to be coloured by it. Kristoff had been good as his word, and never referred to Anna’s health, never treated her as if her strength was any less than his, and she was unbelievably grateful for it.

He’d said they needed to talk. Was he drawing the same conclusion she was? Or was he thinking that she had lied all along?

-----

“I see here,” the doctor said, reading her computer screen, “That you were scheduled for a follow-up from your last appointment but you cancelled it, any particular reason?”

“I - there didn’t seem much point.” Anna cringed a little, expecting to be told off.

The doctor frowned at her computer screen and clicked through a couple of tabs. “Yes, you’re probably right,” she said. “Looking at your results - not much point.”

Well, that was a little horrifying, coming from her doctor. Anna winced.

“Yes, a lot of people have these little blips,” the doctor was saying. “It’s good to have it in your records in case it gets worse but for now, no need to do anything. Have you had any further symptoms?”

“No,” Anna said. “Nothing.”

“Then I wouldn’t worry about it.”

“I shouldn’t worry about…” Anna paused. “I’m sorry, I’m confused. When I saw you, last year, you said...you gave me this.” Anna rummaged in her handbag and produced the letter, now looking a bit bedraggled. The doctor took it and glanced at it; then frowned and read it more carefully; then turned to her computer again and started clicking through various screens. “Odd,” she said. “I don’t see why - ha. Yes, we did have trouble with that one…”

“With what?”

“Oh, the machine - it wasn’t calibrated correctly - but we called everyone back in,” the doctor said. “Didn’t you get a letter?”

“I - moved,” Anna said. Well, that was true. She wasn’t going to sit here and say that she’d had a letter - possibly, actually, more than one - and ignored it.

“Oh, goodness, I am sorry. Yes, I can see your results here but it’s definitely wrong, we’ve estimated what it should have been although of course we can redo it if you like.”

“I’m not dying?”

“No, no. A mild murmur. Won’t cause you any trouble.” The doctor was watching her face carefully. Probably wondering why I look so horrified, Anna thought dully.

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor said. “I will of course follow up with the admin staff and find out why they didn’t contact you again.”

“Of course.”

The doctor cleared her throat, then reached across her desk and picked up a card. “And if you wish to contact our official complaints service, then I’m sure…”

Anna shook her head. “It’s fine. It’s....I’m sorry, I have to go.” She grabbed her bag and stood up.

“Miss Rendell -”

“Mrs,” Anna said, and fled.

-----

And suddenly, all the happiness of that past year was gone. All of it had been built on a lie, a lie that had ended up being at someone else’s expense. Stupid, stupid, stupid. Didn’t even get a second opinion. Anna almost ran out of the surgery and along the road to the taxi rank by the station. She saw Kristoff’s camper in the station car park and flinched away from it, even though he was miles away.

No wonder Kristoff hadn’t wanted to talk to her last night, had hidden away to avoid her. He’d realised what it meant, when the incident at the train track didn’t hurt her; he’d realised Anna was perfectly healthy, and that meant he was stuck with her forever. Or at least for another two years, wasn’t that how long it took to get a divorce? Or was it five? Either way. Oh, what if he’d thought she was lying all along; he must have been so angry. He probably wanted to talk to her later just to throw her out.

It was cowardly, to leave while he was at work, but she knew she needed to do it. She didn’t want to put him in the position of having to pretend he wanted her to stay, to say he didn’t mind. She had made him marry her under false pretences and she didn’t deserve his understanding. She didn’t deserve anything.

“Could you come back in an hour and pick me up again?” she asked the taxi driver when they pulled up at the end of the lane.

“It’s a bit of a drive out -”

“I just need to get my things together, I need to leave before he gets home,” Anna said. It wasn’t until the driver’s expression changed that she realised what she’d said.

“Of course, love,” he said. “I’ll be here. Do you want me to wait here while you get sorted? It’s no trouble.”

“Oh, no, it’s nothing like that -” But it would take too long to explain. “He’s at work until late. I’ll be fine, thank you.” The driver nodded but she noticed he didn’t pull away until after she’d reached the house.

-----

It took only half the time for Anna to pack her suitcase. Banjo rubbed up against her legs as she squeezed her clothes into the case and she bent down to scratch him under the chin. “I’m sorry, puss,” she said. “I’ll miss you.”

There were a few other things scattered around the house, and as she was gathering them in a carrier bag Anna realised that she did need to tell him why she had left. She should leave a note. But the only paper she could find was the shopping list pad, which had a design of cheerful vegetables - that didn’t seem very appropriate. Or the back of an envelope. Oh, dear.

Without thinking, she ran down the path to the office. It was locked, of course, but the key was under a flowerpot - she’d seen him take it out a hundred times. She didn’t think at all about what she was doing - she was just focussed on needing a piece of paper, and this seemed the most likely place to find one.

She’d expected a desk, maybe shelves or filing cabinets. There was a small table with a laptop, but it was connected to some other electronics she didn’t recognise. That was definitely a microphone, and speakers. His guitar was on a stand in the corner. But they weren’t paper, so she didn’t pay much attention to them. Instead she spotted an inkjet printer in the corner and took a piece of paper out of the tray, then went back to the house, locking up behind her.

Anna put her case and the bags outside the front door, then she sat down at the dining table with the paper and a biro from the kitchen drawer. Her mind was racing. What could be enough? Nothing. But she had to write something.

Kristoff,

I’ve gone home. I went to see my doctor this morning. She told me that there was a problem with the machine they used to diagnose me last year. There was never anything wrong with my heart and I am perfectly healthy and should live for decades.

I’m so sorry. I never meant to deceive you (she had to stop here for a moment to rub her sleeve across her eyes) and I hope you can forgive me. I will contact a lawyer and hopefully we can be divorced soon. I will of course pay all the costs.

Thank you for the happiest year of my life.

Anna

She took the ring off her finger and left it on top of the letter.

-----

The taxi was waiting for her at the end of the lane. It had taken Anna a couple of trips to get all her belongings there, and the driver helped her fit everything into the boot.

She wasn’t going to cry. And she wasn’t going to look back at the house or the lane as they drove away.

The radio was on, and she asked the driver if he would turn it up, which he did quite happily.

‘....and now we have an exclusive - the new John Foster track, which I know you’ve all been waiting for -”

Oh, she’d forgotten about that. She’d seen about his new album online a few days ago, but with everything, she’d forgotten.

“- and you won’t have heard this anywhere else. I’ve heard it, and it’s a cracker, so settle down and enjoy. This is John Foster, his new single, Heartwood.’

The song began, and Anna’s brow wrinkled. This song wasn’t new - why, hadn’t she heard Kristoff play that intro a dozen times. He was always sitting around holding his guitar and playing little bits of tunes, and she’d liked that one. John Foster, you’re a plagiarist, she thought.

The lyrics began. Unusually for Mr Foster, it seemed to be a love song. There was a girl, and he loved her. He loved her, but they only had a year. For everything there is a season. That was what Kristoff always said. Well, she supposed it was no wonder she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

[They say

For everything there is a season

However many or how few

But if we only have a season

At least I spent this one with you]

She was going to cry. She concentrated on the words to try and avoid it.

[Your hair is honey in the sunlight

Your kisses honey on my lips]

Kristoff had said that. Something like that. Hadn’t he?

[When I come home and you’re not waiting for me

Your sweet smile is what I’ll miss]

[They say

For everything there is a season

However many or how few

But if we only have a season, Anna

At least I spent this one with you]

Anna sat bolt upright in her seat. Did he say her name? She was imagining it. She…

...she knew Kristoff wasn’t John Foster; she’d seen John Foster perform. But she also knew that he didn’t write his own songs, there had been a heated discussion about that online that she’d avoided, because what did it matter? The songs themselves mattered. She hadn’t given much thought to who the songwriter actually was.

Except that she was married to him. That’s how he’d got the tickets to the concert, why he already knew the tune, how he made his money. And he’d written her a love song. His first love song.

No. She’d lied to him - however unintentionally - and it was a good idea for a song. It was a nice song; he was a talented man. She hoped the people of the world loved it and he made a heap of money, which he deserved, for putting up with her all this time.

But. He’d written her a love song.

She hadn’t let herself think about her feelings for Kristoff. Because she knew what they were. She’d known for a long time. If things had been different, if she’d met him otherwise - well, who knew how that might have gone. Maybe he’d have tired of her, anyway. Maybe she’d still have ended up alone, no matter how much she loved him.

Anna swallowed hard, and stared out of the window, watching the trees give way to houses, until they pulled up outside Elsa’s door. Anna’s door.

The taxi driver helped her get everything out of the boot and carry it up to the door. Anna tipped him well, found her old door key in the bottom of her handbag and let herself in.

No one noticed her, for a little while. She brought everything inside and started to carry it up to her bedroom, which was exactly as she’d left it. Anna wondered if it had been left for her deliberately, if Elsa had thought she might come back; or if no one had thought about it at all.

She was putting away some of her clothes when Elsa appeared in the doorway. “Anna?” she said. “Why are you here?”

“Because I’m not going to die,” Anna said, sat down on her bed, and burst into tears.

-----

Elsa clearly didn’t know what to do, but she sat down next to Anna and patted her on the shoulder, which is more than Anna would have expected. She listened while Anna told her the full story - or most of it - and she only said ‘Why didn’t you get a second opinion?’ once and ‘I wish you’d told me’ twice, which to Anna was acceptable.

“I’d actually been meaning to come and see you,” Elsa said, after they’d sat in silence together for a long moment. “I wanted to tell you something.”

“Tell me what?” said Anna, taking a whole handful of tissues and blowing her nose.

“I bought Bennett’s Field.”

“What? For what?”

Elsa hesitated, and looked at her hands. “The council has been looking for sites for a new country park. I bought the land to donate it. I thought - if you agree - we could combine it with the land we already own.”

Anna stared at her, mouth open. Then she said “That sounds wonderful.”

“I know that - you and I haven’t always seen eye to eye. I didn’t know how to be your guardian. I knew I wasn’t doing a good job, but I had no idea how to fix it.”

“It’s okay,” Anna said, automatically.

“No it isn’t.”

“We can start again. From now. As adults.”

“I’d like that.” They sat side by side for a while. “I haven’t even met your husband,” Elsa said.

Anna sniffed. “He won’t be my husband much longer.”

Elsa squeezed her hand. “You never know.”

-----

The doorbell rang at almost eleven that night, as Anna was contemplating going to bed. She didn’t want to climb into those white sheets, alone, but it had to be done; she’d put everything away, tidied it all neatly, had a long hot shower, and now going to bed was the only thing remaining. Until the doorbell rang. Elsa answered it.

“May I speak to my wife, please?”

Anna stopped at the sound of his voice, and listened, but Elsa’s reply was inaudible. Anna leant on the wall and peered round to try and see down the stairs.

“I just need to talk to her. I think - there’s been a misunderstanding. My fault. Is she here? Please?”

Anna walked out of the hallway and onto the top stair. Kristoff was standing just outside the front door, and when he saw her he stepped forward; Elsa moved backward to let him into the house. She glanced at them both, then shut the front door behind him and disappeared into the living room. Anna barely noticed her leave. Kristoff was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking at her with an expression on his face that she couldn’t place.

“You can come up,” she said, for want of anything else to say. “Um. If you like.” She didn’t wait for him to reach her, but walked slowly into her bedroom.

“This is your room?” was what he said when he joined her.

“Yes.”

He nodded, slowly. Now that he was here he seemed to not be able to think what to say.

“Kristoff,” Anna said, “Are you a musician? A songwriter?”

He smiled, lopsided. “Yes.”

“I heard your song. On the radio.”

He nodded. “I knew it was being released today. I was going to play it for you yesterday, on your birthday. And tell you everything. Then I was going to do it today, but I got home and you weren’t there.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before?”

“About the songwriting?” He shrugged. “At first just because I knew you’d want to meet John and he and I don’t really get on. He’s a bit of a dick, to be honest. The record company matched us up, we aren’t friends.”

“But you don’t mind him recording your songs?”

Kristoff shrugged again. “They’re all just nonsense.”

“No, they aren’t. Kristoff, you don’t know what they meant to me, those songs, when I was alone and miserable. They’re wonderful.”

“The only one I care about is the one I wrote for you.”

He took both her hands in his. “I read your letter. You’re not going to die?”

“No. No more than anyone else, anyway.”

He squeezed her hands and she looked up to see him beaming at her. “Come home,” he said.

“You don’t want me to do that. You don’t have to be polite.”

“I’m not.”

“I can’t come back,” Anna said. “And we have to get a divorce. I’ll do whatever you need me to do. We can be friends. But I know you only married me because you felt sorry for me and wanted to help me out. And I can’t stay married to someone who doesn’t love me, no matter how I might feel about them. It isn’t fair.”

Kristoff nodded and let her hands fall. “That’s my fault,” he said. “That you think that. Alright, yes - I married you because I knew you’d be miserable if you went home, and I thought I could help you. I thought you’d stay until you got your money, then you’d be off, and I was okay with that.”

Anna opened her mouth, but he wasn’t finished. “I didn’t love you then,” he continued. “Though I liked you well enough. And by the end of the summer I realised I was falling for you - but I remembered that you were going to die. And I couldn’t - I tried, I tried to stop myself. I told myself it was nothing. But my god, when I saw that train bearing down on you, I knew that I loved you. You have to believe me.”

He was so very earnest, that was the thing. He had never lied to her; looking into his eyes, she knew he wasn’t lying now.

“I love you,” she said. Kristoff smiled. He put his hand in his jacket pocket, and pulled out the ring Anna had last seen on her letter, on the table. He held it out to her in his open hand.

“Then come home,” he said.

And Anna realised that the only thing stopping her was the little voice in her brain saying that it was too easy. It was too right. How ludicrous, to have something you wanted so much offered to you freely, by someone who desperately wanted you to take it. But how wonderful.

Until her dying day - many, many years in the future - Anna never forgot the expression on Kristoff’s face as she took the ring from his hand and put it on. Never forgot how it felt when he pulled her into his arms and kissed her, knowing that this time, it really was forever.

-----

Anna woke, and it was so comfortable and familiar that it took her a few minutes to remember everything that had happened over the last couple of days. But she was home; this was home. Forever.

Something was unfamiliar, though. She could hear two men, talking. She got up, put on her dressing gown, and opened the bedroom door.

The back door was open, and the conversation was happening just outside it.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” one man was saying. “Either just put it in the bathroom as it is or knock through here. Or could use that space for a shower. I’ll do you a couple of quotes, if you like.”

“That’d be great, thanks.” That was Kristoff.

“Lovely spot you’ve got here. Can see why you don’t want to move.”

“We’re fond of it.”

“You know,” the other man - a builder? A plumber? - said, “This floorplan, what most people do, is put some stairs in and convert the loft. You can probably get two bedrooms up there, or a nice master suite. Keep one bedroom downstairs if you want. That storage building, it’s brick, right?”

“Breeze block,” Kristoff said.

“So it’s a permanent part of the existing building, right, you could get planning to add that onto the house. Might not even need planning permission. You could get three bedrooms in here, easy, without having to make the actual building any bigger, except maybe some dormers in the roof. Up to you, of course. Depends how much space you think you’re going to need. Just the two of you, is it?”

“At the moment, yes. Though that’s certainly something to think about.”

“I’ll put together a rough estimate on that as well if you like. You don’t want to have to move when you have kids. Lovely spot.”

“That’s very true. Though right now I mainly don’t want to spend another winter listening to my wife complain about how cold the loo seat is.”

Anna laughed, and Kristoff looked over at her and smiled. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Anna said; and it was. The first, best morning of the rest of her life.

#heartwood #kristanna #modern au #fanfic #fanfiction

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matildashoney · 4 years

Text

Loving You’s the Antidote: Chapter Six

MASTERLIST

MOODBOARD // PREV/IEW(S) // TAG LIST // TAGS // PLAYLIST

TAG LIST: @ihearthemcallingforyou, @cock-a-doodely-doo

WARNING: CHAPTER INCLUDES SEXUAL CONTENT.

talk to me about it! feedback is greatly appreciated!

Sunday Dinner.

One day a week that was designated for the family to gather around – especially now that two out of three of the children have left the nest – and have a nice, home-cooked dinner and dessert and a film that everyone has seen one too many times.

Mom and Dad’s house never changed. Always the same tinted beige on the siding, a gentle baby blue shutter outside every window, the colourful florals filling the boxes on the top floor. Dad wanted the Southern Charm. Mom wanted a taste of Paris. They settled on something near California twang. On the interior, Mom made home. All of the walls decorated with family portraits and your paintings and the photographs that Grandma gave her on her very last visit. All of it – the cracks in the wood, the chips in the paint, crooked frames – was home.

Dad and Brandon are in the living room, Mom outside tending to the garden of vegetables that would begin blooming in the near future, Phoebe in her bedroom talking about something One Direction-related obnoxiously.

Hiding Harry – and the relationship she has with him – away from Phoebe might be the hardest part.

“Hello, hello,” Mom quips as Amelie walks inside, toeing her shoes at the carpet and laying her bag on the makeshift table, the golden trotting to her side to greet her. “Dad’s in the living room with B. Phoebe is upstairs. Have everything almost done!”

Mom is clad in her favourite Sunday Outfit – the necessarily painted jeans, a white blouse, and her favourite slippers that she purchases from a tiny shop in the outskirts of Paris every time she visits home. Her hair is greying ginger, and although she loves it, she refuses to colour it. Makes me feel wise, sweetheart.

“Mama,” Amelie says hesitantly, kissing her cheek, sitting on the chipping barstools – her idea was that every year her children would repaint their barstool, and eventually all the paint would become an eclectic memory – and taking a sliver of the tomato chopped on the cutting board, “j'ai besoin de votre aide pour quelque chose.”

Mama, I need your help with something.

Mom sets the knife down, her palms flat on the counter, her light green eyes staring into her daughter’s. “Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas?”

“Know how I told you that I started seeing someone,” Amelie begins, her heart pounding in her chest, her cheeks flushed with her anxiety and the anticipation. “He’s in Melbourne, right now. He’ll be there for Valentine’s Day.”

“Okay,” Mom urges, her attention moving to the exaggerated shouting in the living room from her husband and eldest.

“I,” she stutters, her palms sweaty and sticking to her jeans, her tongue wetting her chapped lips, “I think I want to go see him.”

“Chéri,” Mom coos, walking around the counter and settling on the stool nearest to her, taking her hands in hers and drawing circles with her thumbs, “qui est ce garçon?”

“His name is Harry,” she murmurs, laying her phone on the counter and showing her their favourite picture from his birthday a week earlier. “He’s on tour.”

Mom’s eyes are wide, fully aware of who Harry is. Her mouth is slightly agape, her hand covering her parted lips as she stares at the picture – Harry kissing Amelie’s cheek, his arms wrapped around her waist, her hands covering her eyes. Her cheeks shade a light pink, her sigh sounding in a tone of awe.

“That’s the Harry from Phoebe’s band, yeah? One Direction,” Mom says quietly, her voice barely above a whisper, ensuring that her youngest wouldn’t hear and interrupt the conversation. “Comment as-tu réussi ce coup, mon amour?”

“No idea, Mama,” she sighs, a smile tugging at her lips as his contact swipes across the screen with a message. “He’s so good to me.”

Good morning, doll. Have fun at family dinner. Call me when you’re home. x

“You love Harry,” Mom smiles, kissing her hair sweetly, standing from the crooked stool and reaching for her laptop, opening the screen and gathering all the information for a flight. “Nona did this for me, especially when Dad flew to North Carolina for that film. Great Grandma did that Nona when she wanted to take the train to Papa in Paris for the weekend.”

“Didn’t know that Nona took a train to Paris for Papa,” Amelie murmurs, typing in the information for the airport that Glenne had given her the day before. “You flew to North Carolina for Dad.”

“Il faut savoir ce que tu veux et aller le chercher, chérie.” Mom pokes her head into the living room, Dad grinning ear to ear to see her, Brandon waving towards her as Daisy nudges at his hand to pet her. “En utilisant la carte de crédit, mon amour.”

“Okay,” Dad hums, standing to give her a kiss. “Guessing by how quiet you are, I shouldn’t say anything to Phoebe or B.”

“Our secret,” Mom smirks, kissing his cheek sweetly. “Doing what Mama asked us to do like they did for us. Giving her a chance.”

“Good.” Dad squeezes her into a hug, Mom melting into him. “Hi, honeybee.”

“Hi, Dad.”

“Oh mon Dieu,” Mom squeaks, rushing to the stove and quieting the heat, ensuring that the meal wouldn’t burn. “All the time.”

“J'ai failli brûler sa cuisine la semaine dernière,” she giggles, shaking your head at the memory. “Not fully burnt down, but I definitely burnt our chicken and ordered us pizza, instead.”

“Happens to the best, and worst, of us.”

“No longer allowed in his kitchen unless I’m supervised,” she laughs, her attention turning to the doorway where her youngest sister stood with her arms crossed and a scowl on her face. “Oh, what’s wrong, Pheebs? You look like someone told you a concert got cancelled.”

“Have a show on Valentine’s Day and Cassie was supposed to livestream and apparently the internet in the arena is being worked on,” Phoebe sighs, hugging her momentarily and settling onto the stool beside her, her eyes squinting suspiciously as she closes her phone and lays it beneath her thigh. “Cancelled going to a party so I could watch with Cass.”

“Can’t you still go to the party? Not like you were uninvited,” she reasons, her heart beginning to beat heavily in her chest with anxiety.

Does Phoebe know already?

“Guess so,” she sighs frustratedly, shaking her head and heaving a breath with annoyance. “I’ll probably stay home and wait for updates, anyways.”

Mom’s eyes meet hers, Have you told her?

Of course not, she mouths, forcing a smile as her younger sister takes the cutlery and sets it along the table.

“God, you’ve gotten weirder since you turned twenty.”

Have to tell her soon, Mom whispers, kissing Phoebe’s hair as she takes the decorated plates and begins laying each on their designated mat – the ones that we painted every year that we needed a new change in the kitchen aura – to accompany the meal.

Know that and I will, she swears, her eyes meeting her younger sister and opening her arms for a hug, smiling as she stalks towards her with a pout on her lips. “I’m sure someone will livestream the show, Pheebs.”

“I’m just annoyed,” she grumbles, leaning her cheek on her sister’s shoulder and having her arms hang loosely around her torso. “Can I be an adult already and get to travel to see all of my favourite shows whenever I want, already?”

“Don’t think that’s how it works,” Amelie hums, stifling her laughter against her hand, her lips tucking into her mouth to mask your smile.

“Harry would probably pay for his girlfriend’s flight to visit him. Niall, too,” she groans. “That is such an unfair thing. There is someone out there that gets to love Harry Styles.”

Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god.

“Enough with the impending doom until after supper, Phoebe,” Mom muses, shaking her head and walking into the living room to tell Dad and B. Her wink towards her telling her that she could see the anxiety on her face, encouraging her to relax.

Having – more or less – hippies as a mother and father, Family Dinner is certainly something other than functional and orderly.

Mom talks about the novel she sent to the editor earlier in the week, one more approval needed to finalise one section of the publication contract. Dad mentions in passing that he has to be at a film set early in the morning for the promotional campaign shoot. Heads turn as Brandon brings up asking Autumn – his girlfriend since the age of thirteen – to marry him. Phoebe complains about not seeing Harry and Niall as soon as she wanted. Congratulations ensued as Amelie mentions that the mural at the bakery is complete and perfected.

I’ll take you to the airport, Mom whispers as Amelie hugs her goodbye. Her petite body wraps tightly around hers, squeezing her tightly. You should tell Phoebe before someone else tells her.

Calling Harry on her way home, her mind is racing with all that her mother said, all that her sister said, all that she has to be done before she leaves in a mere three days.

Harry talks quietly in the background as she readies herself for the night, her hair strung in a towel and one of the band’s tour shirts clinging to her damp skin, her lips coated with her – and his – favourite chapstick. He mentions the flowers that are outside his hotel, how the season is so much brighter than London. He asks about Mom and Dad, Phoebe and Brandon. One day I’ll bring you out here, Harry says.

All that replays in her mind is her mother’s words, and the flight confirmation sitting in her email.

Have to know what you want and get it, honey.

/ / /

“Welcome to Melbourne,” the flight attendant announces on the speaker, the lights slowly beginning to brighten and wake the sleeping guests scattered about the plane. Amelie’s carry on is tucked in the overhead bin, an older gentleman offering to get it for her as she struggled to reach.

If Harry was here, he’d be making fun of you for being too short.

Amelie sinks into Harry’s sweatshirt, smirking at the fact that her father would be seething with her wearing a Greenbay Packers anything. Her fingers quickly type on the screen, Harry’s name with an accompanying picture at the centre.

Need your hotel and room number, please and thank you. Don’t ask questions.

Harry takes a minute to respond and Amelie can see the expression on his face, the furrowed eyebrows and squinted eyes, his bottom lip pulled between his fingertips.

The Langham, Room 702. I’m about to get in the shower. Should I stay out a bit longer?

Her mouth curves into a smile as she notices a bouquet selection near the exit. Her attention immediately goes to the sunflowers and daisies in the corner, paying and quickly making her way outside to meet the security guard that Niall arranged with her.

Give it like twenty minutes.

His response comes immediately, the suspicion evident in his text. He doesn’t question her, simply responding and taking a seat on the unmade bed. He shuts the water in the shower, heaving a breath and sinking into the mattress, trying to think through everything.

Alright.

Laying there is unbearable, Harry standing up and beginning to pace around his bedroom nervously. He can’t quite grasp the idea of her coming to Melbourne. That would be simply impossible with university and the artwork projects and family dinners.

That would be impossible, wouldn’t it?

Although unlikely, twenty minutes felt like hours. Harry wasn’t a patient person. He became bored easily and the idea of having to wait for something his girlfriend was surprising him with, and being without a single idea, gave him a headache.

His ears perk to the knocking on his suite door, quiet chatter outside, his feet padding against the carpet and his hands yanking a stray shirt over his naked torso. His chest deflates at the sight of Niall holding a bouquet of sunflowers and daisies – certainly from her.

“How–”

“Quite the selection they have at the airport,” Amelie squeaks, laying her miniature knapsack against the wall and smiling, her arms wrapping around his shoulders as his arms circle her waist, squeezing her into him as tightly as physically possible. “Harry, I can’t breathe.”

“Bye, you two,” Niall smirks, handing Harry the bouquet and turning to return to his suite.

Harry chuckles, releasing his grip on her slightly, taking the bouquet from his friend and nudging her bag inside with his foot, his arm continuing to stay wrapped around her and hugging her to his chest. “Sorry, I’ve just missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” she whispers, closing the door behind her, his cheeks taken in her hands, her lips moulding to his and soaking in his kiss, the bouquet set on the nearby table, his fingertips gripping her hips. “Glad you didn’t shower and leave me out there.”

“Would never do that to you,” he smirks, his thumbs tracing her bottom lip, stealing a kiss innocently. “Can’t believe you’re here.”

“One very long flight later,” she smirks, kissing his cheek and jaw sweetly, her arms squeezing him tighter in her embrace. “Good thing I sleep on planes.”

“Forty fucking hours, love,” Harry whispers, gently nudging her cheek, his mouth moulding onto hers and savouring the way she kisses him.

Amelie smiles against his lips, obsessed with the way his reaction made her heart swell against her chest and heat radiate on her skin. “Considering I can wake up with you on Valentine’s Day, it’ll be worth it.”

“Tell me you didn’t bring that knapsack and that’s it.”

“Had to check into m’room and shower, first,” she says, lightly tugging on the curls and kissing the vein in his neck, smiling at his moan as her lips touch the centre and nip at his skin. “All of m’stuff is there.”

“You’re not staying in another room,” Harry breathes shakily, his hands travelling across her hips and squeezing her bum. “You’ll stay with your boyfriend.”

“Know that but I needed to get here without you finding out,” she smirks, a heavy breath leaving her lips as his mouth begins mapping kisses along her neck, biting into the skin and marking her, their bodies walking backwards into the bedroom, his hands gently nudging her against the wall.

“Must’ve cost loads,” Harry mutters, his lips sweetly kissing her jaw. “You’re not allowed to buy another plane ticket to see me. I’ll get it.”

“Can thank Mom for me being here,” Amelie sighs, adoring the feeling of his mouth on her, the way his fingertips dig into her hips, holding her tightly to him. “Bought m’flight and all that. Came from a whole story about women in m’family travelling for their men. Apparently, it’s a thing they do. Take chances on nice guys, and all that.”

“Oh,” Harry smirks cockily at that, his teeth dragging her bottom lip as he kisses her hungrily, the briefs beginning to feel all too tight against his cock and tensing thighs. “’m a nice guy to take a chance on, then?”

“Think so,” Amelie moans, her eyelashes laying against her cheeks, all her thoughts hyper-focused on Harry’s hands trailing beneath her – his – sweatshirt, his thumbs tracing over the curves of her breasts. “Can feel you trying to distract me about the flight.”

“Give up on paying for your next flight,” Harry says sternly, silently praising the way there wasn’t a lacy bralette to get in his way. “Quicker you do that, quicker you’ll have the best shag of your life on that unmade bed, over there.”

“Fine.”

“My sweatshirt, hm?” Harry smirks, gently taking the material and tossing it onto the carpet, the cotton leggings adoring her hips rubbing uncomfortably against his hips. Her lips suck at the skin on his collarbone, the skin bright red and adorning a temporary mark.

“You left it,” Amelie mutters against him. Her thighs tense at the feeling of his fingertips ghosting across the lace waistband of her panties, his thumbs tucked into the material and dragging it slightly. “Harry.”

“Did it on purpose.” Harry nudges Amelie against the mattress, her cheeks flushing as his eyes travel along her body, taking in every inch of her figure, the curves and the tattoos and the lines that make her. “Up,” he murmurs, smiling as she lifts her hips and her panties accompany the clothing on the ground.

Harry kisses her inner thighs sweetly, coaxing her to relax with his touch. He gently massages her hips, smiling against her skin as she breathes out an airy moan, her fingertips curling through his hair, his arms tucked under her bum to have her core meet his mouth. He lays his tongue against her heat, savouring the way she tastes so sweet, his lips suckling on her clit the way she loves.

Amelie’s moans spur him further, the moans vibrating against her making the orgasm overwhelm her senses. His fingertips tease her heat, gently inching into her and curling against the velvet walls that squeeze him, the sucking against the nerves between her thighs having her chase her orgasm with white vision and moans.

His tongue continues to lay on her heat, taking her orgasm and humming with the taste, his fingertips between his lips to have all of her. His smirk is enough to make her squeeze her thighs together, the way he is so happy to please her making her want to have him again and again and again. He sponges kisses along her inked thighs and belly, teasingly biting her nipples as his mouth works his way back to hers.

“Get on the bed,” Amelie tells him, her jaw clenched as Harry smirks and tosses the remaining clothes on his torso. “Don’t smirk at me like that.”

“Not doing anything,” Harry smirks, his cheeks tinging pink as Amelie manoeuvres around him and settles between his thighs. “Gon’a kill me looking at me like that.”

Her fingertips ghost across his thighs, her lips touching his skin, smirking against him as his hand gently takes her hair away from her face. Her tongue wets her skin, her hand gently wrapping around his cock, her thumb spreading the arousal around his shaft, his breathy moans echoing around her.

Amelie slowly eases over him, hollowing her cheeks and sucking, her tongue swirling around his throbbing tip the way he loves, her hand pumping all that she couldn’t take. Her fingertips squeeze his hip, his arousal and orgasm beginning to taste on her tongue.

“God, this is so much better than me trying to pretend it’s you,” Harry moans, his head rolling onto the pillow as her innocent eyes meet his.

“Oh, baby, you think about me,” Amelie hums, the vibrations making his hips ache and thrust into her mouth.

Harry groans as she takes all of him, his cock hitting her throat and her tongue taking his arousal. “Certainly, don’t think about m’hand.” His orgasm is reaching him quickly, his panting rapid and causing his chest to heave. “Need to be in you, doll.”

Amelie smirks, kissing the inked thigh and laying her lips across his heated skin. Harry squeezes her hips above his waist, making her pause, her breathing shaky as she realises what he’s implying. “Are you sure? Don’t wan’a hurt you.”

“Love, I promise you won’t,” Harry says shakily, moving beneath her and laying his back against the wooden headboard, his lip taken between his teeth as she gently settles on his thighs. “Go slow, I’ve got you.”

Amelie nods nervously, smiling shyly as Harry squeezes her thigh encouragingly. His hands hold her hips, coaxing her forward slightly, his cock hard and throbbing against her heat. He nudges her to lean onto her knees, his skin prickling with bumps as he gently eases into her, her warmth surrounding his shaft and squeezing him in her velvet walls.

Amelie intertwines her fingers with his, her pelvis rolling and grinding, his knees tucked behind her, his hips thrusting to meet her. Her mouth parts with her moans, the friction against the nerves between her thighs making her legs shake. Harry leans forward, his lips sponging kisses along her jaw, suckling a mark on her chest. His hands take her hips, smiling as her arms circle around his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin. His thrusts meet a rhythm with the way her hips beginning rotating, a heavy moan leaving his throat as she squeezes him, easing him out inch by inch.

“Want you deeper,” Amelie moans, meeting his mouth with a chaste kiss, his knees parting her thighs, his figure laying over hers.

Harry sinks into her, her warmth soaking him in, squeezing him tightly. He kisses her jaw, her thighs wrapped around his waist, his cock bottoming out and reaching her hit with every thrust. His orgasm is heating in his stomach, sweat sticking the curls to his forehead, her moans in his ear making him want to bust. Her thighs squeeze around his hips, holding him in her, her climax warm and milking around him. His orgasm spills inside her, his panting hot against her neck. His mouth breaks into a smile as her hands take his cheeks and her lips kiss his sweetly, her ankles slowly unlocking around his bum and laying lazily on the bed.

“Good, you’re so good,” Harry hums, gently sliding out and lying beside her. His arm slings over her waist, pulling her into his chest, his cheek laying against her shoulder. “Have you spoken to your mum since you got here?”

“Oh fuck,” Amelie swears, snagging her sweatshirt and tugging it over her torso, pulling her phone out and sending messages to her mother and best friend. “Done.”

“Care to leave the pants off for the evening,” Harry winks, laughing loudly as Amelie rolls her eyes at him. He takes his phone, smirking and beginning to type against his screen, hiding the phone away from her obnoxiously.

Laying her head on his chest, she presses a kiss to the butterfly adorning his abdomen, her cheek resting on her forearms. “What are you doing?”

“Making a list of all the places I want to shag you in.”

“God, you’re annoying.”

“That wasn’t telling me to quit.” Harry grabs her cheeks and kisses her, smirking at the way her lips perfectly adorn his at every angle. “Got to check off Aus, thank you for that.”

Amelie hides her face in her hands, trying to mask the smile that is etched into her features. Only a few weeks ago she was telling him that she couldn’t understand why he stared at her in such a way, and now she can feel herself doing the same. “Have any plans for Valentine’s Day, Mr Styles?”

“Considering m’girlfriend is here,” he hums, carding his fingers through her hair and delicately brushing the stray hairs away from her forehead, her fringe freshly cut and swaying beneath her eyebrows, her lips tinted red with the kisses. “Have a few thoughts in mind.”

“Dirty thoughts, I’m assuming.”

“Could be,” he drawls teasingly, his eyes narrowing at her as she pinches his hip. “Have a show on Valentine’s Day, so could we makeshift tomorrow to be our Valentine’s Day? Have breakfast and an early swim, avoid all the crowds. Only us.” His eyes brighten with her smile. Harry loves seeing Amelie happy. “Can plan something special for dinner, later on.”

“Good thing I brought something nice to wear," Amelie smiles, heaving a sigh as she straddles Harry’s thighs and slips off the bed, giggling at his groans and complaint of her leaving. “Have a dress for tomorrow.”

“Ooh,” Harry hums, following her into the bathroom and leaning against the wall, admiring away she mills about the space, gathering her toiletries and pyjamas for the night. “Haven’t seen you in a dress before.”

“Only on special occasions.”

“Love that you consider me a special occasion,” he says, walking towards her as she turns the water on in the porcelain bath, testing the temperature with her fingers. He wraps his arms around her waist, kissing the sweet spot at the nape of her neck, smirking against her skin as she shivers. “What are you doing?”

“Need a bath, I’m sticky.” Her words spew out without thinking and her eyes roll as soon as she feels Harry’s smirk against her skin. “Harry, don’t you dare say something.”

“Didn’t say a word, doll.” He kisses her shoulder, releasing her from his grasp and walking to the shower, the water sputtering against the glass. “Want to take a shower with me? Warm in there.”

“Having you as a distraction in there? No thank you.”

“And you think I won’t distract you in the bathtub,” Harry scoffs, shaking his head and clicking his tongue, walking to the tub and turning off the faucet, taking her hand in his and smirking as she reluctantly walks with him. “Think very highly of me, love.”

“Hope to have a minute of peace, in here, that’s all,” Amelie moans, her eyelashes fluttering against her cheeks as he kisses her cheek, patting her bum to get into the shower.

“Not gon’a happen,” he chuckles, shutting the door as he steps inside. He smiles widely, taking in the way the water falls over her and her fringe clings to her forehead. They’ve not showered together before, only staying in the bathroom while the other bathed, and there was something intimate about the experience and the way Amelie trusts him enough to do so. “Did you have a nice flight, at least? Layover somewhere, I’m assuming,” he says, taking the shampoo and squirting the liquid into her hand.

“Mhm,” she hums, lathering her hair and soaking in the warmth around them. Harry is the first man she’s ever showered with, and the thought about how much she truly trusted him made her anxiety heighten. Begging her brain to quiet down, she asks the thoughts to leave her alone and have her enjoy the moment. “Slept everywhere I could.”

“Knowing you,” Harry winks, nudging Amelie’s hip and rinsing the soap smoothly, his eyes drifting across her body as her sponge coats her skin with bubbles, “that sounds about right.”

“Brought a bathing suit with me,” Amelie mutters, playfully pushing his chest to move under the water. “Only go to the beach a few times a year so you better take your opportunity to see me in a swimsuit and run with it.”

“Happily.” He kisses her cheek, stepping out of the shower and wrapping a towel around his waist, grabbing a new one for her from the stack near the sink. He admires her as she wraps the cotton around her figure, her hair clinging to her skin, her face slightly flushed from the heat. He tugs her into a hug, smiling as she wraps her arms around him. He’s learnt that she loves the unexpected hugs, the affection that is genuine and means something to the other person. His nose smells her hair, the scent that he could only describe as her lingering in the air. “Ooh, you smell good.”

“Compliment central, over here,” she smirks, kissing his shoulder and squeezing his hips. Amelie presses her lips to his cheeks to compensate for the lack of touch, his lips pouting as she shuffles into the bedroom to grab the sweatshirt and panties from her knapsack, her towel strung around her hair to dry.

“Can’t help a crush, love,” Harry says, yanking a pair of sweatpants up his legs, the waistband low on his hips and displaying the ferns that she loved to trace. “Huge one at that, doll.”

“Hm,” Amelie hums, taking her hairbrush out and beginning to comb through the ends. “You’re staring.”

“Le’ me brush your hair,” he says, coaxing the brush and nodding towards the mattress with messy sheets and a duvet. They couldn’t be bothered to make a mess beneath the comforter, too caught up in the moment. He smiles at her, taking in the way she situates herself between his thighs as he centres himself on the bed. “I’ll be gentle.”

“Okay,” she agrees, tilting her head back and smiling, her heart swelling in her chest as he gently kisses her lips, her nose, her forehead. “Hi.”

“Hi, love.” Harry turns on the television, delicately combing through her wet hair and soaking in the simplicity and intimacy of the moment. He never envisioned himself the kind to desire the moments like these, the ones that were simply him and the one he adores – loves – taking in the silence around them. “You look beautiful.”

“Currently in pyjamas,” Amelie says, shocked in the way that Harry could be so easily impressed by the simplest of things.

“Okay, and,” he says, setting the hairbrush on the bedside table and running his fingers through her hair, smirking as he notices her closed eyes and parted lips. He kisses her cheek, his thumb drawing a line along her jaw. “Don’t nod off when ’m talking to you, you cheeky thing. You’re gon’a kill m’ego."

Amelie squeezes his knee, barely opening her eyes to meet his stare. The way Harry looks at her makes her want to melt. No one has ever looked at her like that. “Your voice is soothing; I like listening to you.”

“Can read to you if you wanted,” Harry offers, moving his arm to have her manoeuvre onto her side, her hair tucked into the hood of the sweatshirt as she shares his pillow. Amelie isn’t a fan of cuddling at night, especially when she’s feeling far away, but she never strays too far. “’m halfway through your book.”

“Are you? How are you feeling about it?” she wonders curiously, her voice quieting as she begins to drift to sleep. “Careful, this is my favourite book you’re about to bash.”

“Like it,” Harry assures her. “Quite fitting with your fucked-up romance theme you go for.” He chuckles quietly as her chest heaves with heavy breaths. “Are you going to fall asleep while I read to you?”

“Most likely,” Amelie murmurs, taking his hand and squeezing it, kissing his palm sweetly before letting go, her hands tucking under her cheek as she snuggles beneath the duvet. “Goodnight, baby.”

“Night, love.”

Harry opens the novel besides the bed, the cracked spine folding beneath his fingertips. He opens to the bookmarked page, smiling as a highlighted quote catches his eye.

“And then she kisses me. It's the kind of kiss that makes me lose track of everything, and so it may take hours or minutes by the time we break apart.”

Harry admires the waves crashing ashore, the sun shining brightly in the sky, the golden hue tanning their skin as they lay peacefully and privately on their towels. He found the perfect spot – so he believes – away from the suspecting and invading eye, secluded and private to allow them to simply be alone. Amelie lays beside him, her sunglasses tucked on her nose, her cheek resting on her forearms as she stares at him, taking in the olive tone and tinted tattoos.

“Could you put more sunscreen on me, baby?” Amelie questions, handing him the bottle and smiling as the top clicks open.

“Mhm,” Harry hums, squirting the cream in his hands and beginning to rub it into her skin. His hands go beneath the band, his fingers searching for a clasp to unhook. “Can’t unclasp the top, love.”

“Not meant to,” she smirks, shaking her head and clicking her tongue disapprovingly as his bottom lip juts into a pout. “Know you, Styles. Knew what you were going to do.”

“I am insulted, love.” His voice feigns his innocence, the glimmer in his clearly displaying his true intentions. “How dare you think so lowly of me!”

“Mhm,” Amelie muses, playfully smacking his thigh as his hands travel closer to her bum. “Hands above the waist in public.”

“Have to ruin our makeshift Valentine’s Day, huh.”

“You got laid two hours ago! How am I ruining Valentine’s Day?”

“Wan’a see your boobies,” Harry mutters, gently tugging at the edge of the bathing suit, his lips tucked together to stifle the laughter.

“Harry, boobies, really?” Amelie groans, nudging his hand away from her chest, rotating her head slightly to stare at him. “Are you thirteen?”

“Find that saying, ‘wan’a see your tits’ is quite crude to your girlfriend, so,” he muses, smacking her bum playfully as he stands on his feet, his toes tucked in the sand, his hair shaking out on her freshly coated skin. “Okay, I’m going for a swim. Have fun without me.”

“You’re unbearable,” she grumbles, trying to hide her smirk through a bitten lip, her heart sinking as he begins to walk away. “Wait.”

“Hm,” Harry hums, turning around and walking back to her, leaning down to meet her.

“Kiss?”

“Always,” he smiles, kissing her lightly, her strawberry chapstick lingering on his skin.

She admires him as he treads into the water, the clarity of the water exhibiting the tattoos that marked his skin, the way his eyes reflected through the sun. Her forehead lines with sweat, her body begging to have the relief of the cool water around her. She hesitates though, the idea of showing her body so freely intimidating and making her question her apparel choice. Harry looks perfect in the infamous yellow trunks, the colour bright on his skin and simply great on him.

Her eyes couldn’t leave him.

“Come in here, Ames,” Harry calls, his eyes travelling around the area to make sure attention wasn’t called on them. He didn’t want her to be intimidated by a crowd and the rumours and headlines that were bound to come about. He lowers his voice, his words only travelling to where she could hear. “Water is so lovely.”

“Fine, fine,” Amelie concedes, standing up and beginning to walk towards the water, shaking her head and hiding her face in her hands as he whistles. He would never whistle at a woman; however, it was apparent that her confidence was weary. He would do anything to make her feel like the most confident woman. “Ames, hm.”

“Ames,” he says confidently, taking her hand and bringing her to him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, his hands holding her waist tightly. “You like it?”

“Never had a nickname before,” she mentions, pursing her lips as she traces through her memories and searching for anything that her family or friends might have called her beyond her name. “Only nicknames m’family has given me are honeybee and chéri.”

“Honeybee for the flowers, right?” Harry asks this for confirmation, the way he pays attention to every detail Amelie tells him, butterflies swirling in her belly at the thought. “And the other.”

“Chéri means honey or darling,” Amelie tells him, her accent rhythmic as the words roll off her tongue. “Mom likes using names like that.”

“Cute,” he smiles, kissing her cheek and hugging her tighter to his chest, waves lightly crashing into their backs, barely reaching his hips. “Happy you’re here, doll.”

“Me too.”

Harry presses his lips to Amelie’s, smiling as her arms hug tighter around his shoulders. He is grateful for the privacy, wanting to show her that she deserves to have someone that loves on her around anyone. He is nervous though, he would have to admit; media can be absolutely brutal, and the last thing he would want is to have someone hurt her through a lousy magazine or social media posting. He cherishes the kiss, the easiest affection. He could kiss her for hours.

“You seem to really love it here,” Amelie says, kissing his cheek, her legs quickly moving to her chest as a jellyfish moves past them. Harry gently grabs her thighs, trying to coax her into circling around him completely. “Harry.”

“Hm,” Harry sighs, his thumbs gently rubbing her skin as he awaits her answer – although he is sure he already knows.

“Don’t.” Her voice is quiet as she shakes her in disapproval, her eyes scanning beneath them for the fish, her legs slowly slinking towards the sand. “’m too heavy.”

“Says who?” he wonders, his voice slightly exasperated and confused. He is angry, frustrated with whoever would tell her such a thing, make her believe that there is something about her that would make her not fit enough for affection. “Doll, who said that? They’re wrong.”

“I –” Her voice cracks and Harry knows exactly who’s done this. He would do anything to have a talk with Jack, to really get inside the boy’s head and see how anyone could treat another human this way, especially one that deserves nothing but love.

“Hey, you don’t need to think about that with me.”

Let me love you, please.

“Harry, I’m trusting you,” Amelie breathes, taking a deep breath and releasing the tension in her muscles, allowing Harry to coax her thighs around his waist, his arms tucked under her bum and holding her to him. He kisses her cheek a smile on his lips as she begins to relax.

“Appreciate that more than you know,” Harry says, his lips delicate on her skin. “I’ve got you. Always do.”

In that very moment, Amelie chooses to believe him.

Amelie paces around the bedroom, her suitcase strewn across the lounger, her outfit for the evening set out neatly on the made bed. Her anxiety is echoing in her brain, her heart pounding heavily against her ribcage, her jaw tense as she stares at the multiple ignored calls with her sister. Harry is partially undressed, getting ready to shower, leaning uselessly on the mattress. He absolutely hates seeing her this way. He would love to take the stress and negative thoughts away.

He sighs, walking over to her and gently grabbing her shoulders, his hands cupping her cheeks and making her meet his stare, his lips touching her forehead to calm her. “Don’t worry, love,” Harry says softly, trying his best to calm her. “Aren’t Phoebe’s friends coming to the show, tomorrow? Maybe they’re all talking.”

“Guess so,” Amelie sighs, leaning into his chest, his arms embracing her. He taps her spine lightly, nodding to the vibrating phone set on the dresser behind them. “Maybe that’s her.”

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Quickly taking her phone, she sighs heavily, sliding her thumb across the screen and waiting to have the video connect to speak. “Hey, Phoebe.”

Hi, Phoebe, Harry whispers, nodding towards the shower and walking into the bathroom, quietly shutting the door behind him and turning on the vent, the water sputtering on and hitting the tiles.

“Hey,” Phoebe murmurs, her lips pursed together, her cheek leaning against her fist.

“Are you alright? You’ve been avoiding my calls,” Amelie says, her voice barely above a whisper, the anxiety beginning to overwhelm her.

Phoebe found out. Phoebe found out and now she’s mad at you. You’re the worst sister. She’s going to hate you.

“You’re there, in Melbourne,” Phoebe sighs, blinking slowly and taking a deep breath, trying to gather all of her thoughts and emotions. Phoebe wasn’t mad at Amelie. How could she be? Her sister fell in love, that was obvious. Having a relationship, after everything, is what she deserved. Her lying about it, that’s what upset her. “Valentine’s Day is tomorrow.”

“Not sure what you’re getting at.”

“At dinner, on Sunday, you said you were seeing someone.” Her voice is flat, lacking all emotion, her eyes a bare blue, lacking their shine and glimmer that light everyone’s day. That breaks Amelie’s heart. “It’s Harry. You’re seeing Harry Styles.”

“Phoebe,” Amelie begins, quickly quieting as Phoebe opens her mouth to speak. Her intention was to listen, to not upset her any further.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Wanted to tell you, I did,” Amelie says honestly, tears prickling her eyes as she takes in the hurt on her sister’s face. “How did you find out?”

“Cassie is a barista at the café on the private beach,” Phoebe sighs, running her fingers through her hair and shaking her head. “Could see Harry a mile away with those yellow trunks. On the way out, she wanted to see if he was still there, maybe she could say hello or something. There Harry was, standing over a girl, shaking his wet hair out, laughing. Cass took a picture and sent it to me. Whoever she is, Harry looks really happy, is what she told me.”

“Cassie posted it,” Amelie chokes, her anxiety rushing with thoughts that spring tears in her eyes.

Oh my god, everyone is going to find out. Everyone is going to find out and the bullying, the harassing, everything is going to start before you and Harry could even make it to two months together.

“Of course not,” Phoebe assures her, her heart breaking as soon as Amelie begins breathing heavier. “As soon as Cassie texted me the photo, everything made more sense. Mama showed me the picture you sent her of the beach, the hotel. All of it looked the same as the pictures people posted online. Knew it then. I told her that she could not post it.”

“Oh,” Amelie breathes, the sweat on her forehead beginning to dry.

“Hurts me that you didn’t tell me, Amelie. You’re my sister, my best friend. We tell each other everything,” Phoebe sighs,

“Phoebe, I.” Amelie has nothing to say.

“Are you happy?”

Amelie goes absolutely silent, pursing her lips together and lightly nodding her head. Harry steps into the room, a shy smile on his lips as he nods, telling her everything without a word.

“Are you happy? Are you and Harry happy?” Phoebe repeats, desperate to emphasise her meaning. Her sister deserves to be happy, whether she believes so or not. Phoebe could never be upset with her for that.

“I am,” Amelie smiles, genuinely smiling, taking a deep breath. Her honesty surprises her, the way the words are so easy to say shocking her. Happiness, like this, hasn’t been something she believed she could have. “For the first time, I am.”

“Then, I’ll be okay. You and I, we’re okay. I’m not upset.” Phoebe sucks in a breath, budding her courage in her chest. Phoebe never expected this to happen. “Put Harry on the phone.”

“Huh?”

“Tu m'avez entendu, Amelie.”

Harry’s eyes widen at the statement. He gulps, taking a deep breath and walking towards Amelie, nodding approvingly and settling on the bed beside her.

“Um, Phoebe wants to talk to you,” Amelie mutters, giving him the phone and nodding towards the bathroom. “’m gon’a go take a shower.” Grabbing her towel and nervously treading into the en-suite, she shuts the door slightly, barely enough space to hear.

Harry clears his throat, taking a deep breath before beginning. He can see that Phoebe is shaking. “Know that you’re mad at us, and I’m sorry.”

“Not mad,” Phoebe says nervously, her thoughts jumbled and trying to comprehend who is speaking to her on the screen. Never would she have thought that this would be the way she would him. “Just a little upset.”

“Understand if you are mad, because Amelie and I made the decision not to tell anyone, and that included you,” he sighs, scratching his neck nervously. “’m sorry you had to find out by someone else, but you should know that you not speaking to her is making her really upset.”

“Has Amelie gone in the shower yet?”

“Mhm,” Harry nods, unsure where the conversation is heading, accepting it, nonetheless.

“Do you know about Jack?” Phoebe murmurs, her voice growing quieter to ensure that Amelie wouldn’t hear. Upsetting her about him is not what she wants to be doing.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Harry mutters, desperately trying to not become angry. Hearing his name makes Harry furious.

“Amelie thinks I don’t know, and I don’t remember what happened, but I do, and I don’t ever want to see her that upset, that bad, again, okay?”

“Of course.” Harry smiles softly, admiring the way she so openly cares about her sister.

“Know you’re you and all, but that’s my sister. You can’t hurt her, okay?” Her voice is laced desperately, the concern evident in her eyes. Harry would never dream of hurting her, and he has to make sure she knows.

“Phoebe, I promise you, I won’t.”

Amelie’s eyebrows furrow together in confusion as Harry says that, her towel tucked around her hair and her body clothed in simply her panties and lace bra that he loves. Harry pats the bed, encouraging her to come closer to him.

“Not a bribe, but ‘m gon’a need you to tell me the shows you have tickets to,” Harry says, smiling as Amelie settles in the open space that he’s made for her.

“Um, San Diego and Santa Clara,” she stutters, her fingers shaking over her mouth as he hands her sister his phone and she typed in the dates for him.

“Alright. Talk soon,” Harry smirks, squeezing his girlfriend’s thigh and setting her phone in her hand, kissing her cheek, his body moving away from the mattress and taking his phone into the bathroom to busy himself until the call is over.

“Phoebe,” Amelie teases, mouthing a quiet, thank you, as Harry tosses headphones to her to talk, “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. Don’t be mad.”

“Ugh,” Phoebe sighs, knuckling her eyes and taking a heavy breath. “I’m not mad. As long as you’re happy, I’m happy. Amelie, you deserve to be happy, even though you think you don’t.”

“Love you, Phoebe.”

“Love you, too,” Phoebe says quietly, turning her light off and settling under her comforter, her eyes beginning to close. “Don’t fuck this up for me, Amelie. Don’t fuck this up for you, either.”

“I’ll try not to, Pheebs, I’ll try.”

Harry reserved the most secluded section on the beach. Quiet waves crashing against the sand, twinkling lights around the posts, blankets and stray towels accompanying their picnic to lay on the cushion of the cabana, the sand slightly damp beneath their feet. Amelie can make out the chatter of the crowds in the distance, the sidewalk much too far for them to be seen.

“Like this,” Amelie smiles shyly, taking a bite of her sandwich and taking a swig from the wine settled between herself and Harry. “Quiet and very us. Nothing flashy and extravagant. That’s something I always wanted, y’know – to be happy, simply me and the other person.”

Harry presses a chaste kiss to her lips, his thumb and forefinger holding her chin, nosing her jaw with a kiss and squeezing her hand.

“Harry.”

“Hm.”

“Do you think that the stars align a certain way to make things happen? Don’t know, like, the universe wants something good to happen to someone, so the stars and the planets and moon move a certain way to make it happen,” she wonders, laying her sandwich down and leaning back on her hands, her head turned over her shoulder to look at her boyfriend, his body resting peacefully on the blanket, his head tucked on a folded towel.

“Jovian-Plutonian Effect,” Harry smirks, his eyes shining beneath the moonlight. “Think you’re mine if that counts for anything.”

“One thing I was thinking about the other day –” she begins, her eyes narrowing as his voice cracks to interrupt.

“You think about a lot of things.”

Amelie lightly smacks Harry’s arm, his laughter airy and making her heart swell against her ribcage. Her love for him is growing every day, and there is one moment every so often that makes her want to mutter the words that she swore she would never say to a man, ever again, the words that would break her heart eventually.

But you do love him, Amelie’s heart incessantly reminds her. That is something that happened. You fell in love.

“You and I,” she whispers, trailing her attention from the crashing waves to the moon lingering above them, the light casting above their illuminating skin, “whenever we’re apart, we’re staring at the same moon. It sounds stupid, I know, but there’s something comforting about that. You,” she hesitates, frightened by the words falling so easily from her lips, “you’re one of my closest friends. Don’t know, it’s just nice never feeling that far away.”

“Nothing you say is stupid. Don’t say that,” Harry sterns, gently poking her thigh to have her attention. “Only a phone call away if you need me, love,” he murmurs, taking her hand in his and kissing her knuckles. “Always looking at the same moon.”

“Know that I’ve only known you a month, but I’m proud of you. Not many people would have the courage to go on stage the way you do, travel so many weeks and months away, work the way you do. I admire you, Harry. There are so many people that you inspire, every day. I’m one of them.”

“Gon’a be honest, it’s hard sometimes, and it’s one of the only things that are truly hard. Missing m’family, you. Hope that you’ll come and join tour eventually, see what it’s like. ‘s my dream. ‘s like when your work is in an exhibit, y’know, the one place where everything makes sense. All the adrenaline and the screaming and everyone singing back to you. Nothing like it,” Harry rambles, moving the covered wine aside and kissing your knee sweetly. “Happy to make you proud, doll. You inspire me.”

“Hate being this, soft,” Amelie giggles, squeezing his hand and gently nudging their hands into his thigh. “Not very like us. Usually, you’re bothering me.”

“Don’t like sharing your emotions, I get that,” he sighs, turning over and laying his head on her thigh, smiling softly as she cards her fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp lightly. “Know that going through all that you did made you feel this way, and I’m sorry that it happened, but I want you to know that you can share things with me.”

Her eyes sting with tears, her lips pouting as Harry wipes a stray from her cheek. “Hate that Phoebe was mad at me. Honestly, it makes my stomach hurt. Didn’t want to hurt her by hiding this, us, you know? I just didn’t know how to tell her. Hard to really understand this all sometimes,” Amelie pauses, trying to find the proper wording to express herself.

Expressing yourself is hard enough on a good day.

“C’mere, baby,” Harry sighs, situating on the blanket and opening his arms, smiling as her body settles on his thighs, her arms tucked around his shoulders, his lips touching light kisses on her shoulder. He barely makes out her mumbled apology, his head moving away from her shoulder to stare. “Amelie, why are you apologising to me? You’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Crying into you because of my anxiety on a Valentine’s Day date,” Amelie laughs wetly, tears staining her cheeks, her eyes glossy as she stares into his, his thumbs drying her skin. “Hate me.”

Harry’s heart twists in his chest. He absolutely hates that Amelie feels this way. He isn’t quite sure what anxiety entails, the details and intricacies, but knowing that all of her thoughts and emotions are so deeply impacted by it hurts him. He would do anything to take it all away. “Don’t say that.” He nearly wants to mutter the three words they’ve been waiting to say. He hesitates, taking a moment to gather his thoughts back. “All I want is fo’ you to feel okay. You have me, I’m here.”

“Harry Styles.”

Her voice is airy, her hands clasped together around his neck, fingertips twirling the curls at the nape, her thumb tracing the cut of his jaw softly. Her mouth sponges kisses on his cheek, her breath hitching in her throat as his mouth steals her lips, his kiss gentle and lingering on her skin.

Harry knows that Amelie won’t verbally say more, yet the way her arms are tight around his shoulders, her mouth is rhythmic with his, their kiss taking their breath away, his hands squeezing around her torso to have her melt impossibly closer to him, tells him everything. Harry knows that Amelie trusts him, that eventually everything would be said.

All that was needed was time. Harry didn’t mind waiting.

His fingertips work at the buttons on her the dress – floral printed, naturally, his mouth kissing her shoulder as he nudges the jacket away from her torso. His mouth grew dry at the way her breasts accentuated the cut; the straps are sewn with thicker material for support beginning to slip off her shoulders. Her giggles echo in his ear, making his stomach swirl with butterflies and his heart beat so loudly he swears she could hear it.

“Quite possibly the worst idea you’ve ever had, Mr Styles,” Amelie smirks, manoeuvring her body beneath his and tugging the dress away, Harry’s shirt tossed somewhere near the basket, a sheet pulled over their bodies to hide them away, the cabana’s curtains tugged closed, the moonlight peeking through the slight cracks. “Don’t get us caught.”

“Don’t be loud,” Harry chuckles, his teeth nipping her bottom lip, her eyes rolling at his comment. “May or may not have a crush on you.”

“Considering you say that quite a bit, I think you do.” Her mouth moulds against his perfectly, a giggle leaving her lips as he fumbles to work his jeans down his thighs. “That’s what you get for wearing jeans.”

“Quit teasing me.”

“Make it so easy for me, though.”

“Quite lucky the way you flirt with me is endearing, Ames,” Harry teases, laying his jeans along with their clothes and straddling her waist, one knee tucked between her thighs, his forearms around her splayed hair.

“Call this flirting? Oh, this is nothing.”

Harry laughs, shaking his head and laying his lips on hers, soaking in the way she tastes faintly of wine and the swollenness of her flesh, her fingers lacing through his, squeezing his hand for comfort. He adores this, the way he can feel her calming. Harry savours the moment, the way their skin is clammy against each other and her thighs are wrapped around his waist, the way his heart is heavy in his chest because everything feels right.

Harry and Amelie couldn’t have pointed out the planets or the stars or the constellations underneath their makeshift blanket, their attention too obsessive with each other and the way they feel.

Although, Harry could have sworn that this is what it felt like to have Jupiter and Pluto align.

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everyonesawhoregrace · 5 years

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I'm feeling So Sad and I literally miss my cat so badly, could you please write a blurb about Tommy sensing that the reader's feeling kind of down and just going up to her and cuddling her (like a fucking cat yeah I have no shame)

awww i am so incredibly sorry about your cat. what an unfair loss - im sorry baby - and fuck shame, you’re emotional. sending good, wholesome vibes your way angel

MY E V E R Y T H I N G

You went MIA for the first time ever, and it wasn’t because you wanted to tease Tommy, or because you were feeling like being a bitch. But rather, the loss of your furbaby. He came to your door, begging for you to let him in. Being without you was a first for Tom Shelby.

At first, your relationship was platonic. You were good company and someone who didn’t desire money. You were a safe place for Thomas Michael Shelby. And more than anything, you were a pretty face Tommy could look at. You were happy, and your cheeks were rosy, and you were strong, and womanly. Sexy.

Thomas grew attracted to you very quickly, he realized he needed you in more than a friendly way. He was forthright with wanting to fuck you, but you didn’t let the fool play with your emotions, or your body.

Things got really good between the two of you, until finally, you two shared your first kiss. He clung onto you then, and promised to never let go.

And he never did...

He stood at your front door with his head bowed, listening to the soft whistle of the wind. He wished, in that moment, that you’d allow him entry into your home. You were cuddled up in bed sobbing, wishing you could hear your little cats annoyingly cute pur again. You felt silly, but a loss is a loss, and this one hit home.

Thomas didn’t know anything about the loss of your cat. And to the heartless man, you’d imagine he didn’t give much of a fuck. But the truth was, when your heart ached, his did too. But ten times harder.

It was the fourth day of you barricading yourself in your house when he knocked on your door early in the morning.

“Y/N!” He shouted as loud as he possibly could, “I swear to God, if you don’t open this fuckin’ door, I’ll get Moss’s boys to come and break the door down!” At this point, Thomas was worried you had slipped in the bath or something ridiculous like that. But hey, you were ridiculous like that.

You walked towards the door in your four-day-old clothes and pulled open the door. Immediately, seeing you, Thomas grinned widely before noticing that you were completely disheveled. At first, he thought you were drunk, and then, he noticed that you were walking completely fine into your home. He frowned, entering your home. “Hey...” He began.

“Thomas-” You spun around and looked up at the lad. “I-I don’t wanna talk, I just, I lost my cat, and-”

“What?!” He shrieks, sincerely shocked.

You gaze up at him, puzzled. “Yeah.”

“Oh my God, y/n.” Before you knew it, you were being embraced by the Peaky Blinders gang member. “I’m so sorry...”

You sniffled, squirming a little under his arms. In that moment, you forgot how allergic Tommy was to your cat, and how you would have to tell him over and over again to not rub his eyes. You mouth went dry remembering that, Thomas would bring these disgustingly smelly sardines and throw them on the floor to get the cat out of your bedroom when you’d two make passionate love.

In that moment, you realize that this just as much of a loss to him as it might be to you...

“Why didn’t you open the door for me?” He asked once convincing you to lay down in bed. He laid under you, running his hands down your back. It was soothing, and as you snuggle your head into his chest, you can’t help but deeply regret not opening the door for him so many days ago.

“I just thought you wouldn’t care too much,”

“I was worried.” He whispers, looking up at the ceiling. Really worried.

“I’m sorry.” She looked up at him, “I thought you were leaving for London on Tuesday.” Two days ago.

“I was but I cancelled.” He defensively agues.

“Why?”

“When you didn’t open the door for me, I thought the worst happened. I couldn’t get on the train knowing I didn’t say goodbye to you. I needed to know you were okay.”

“But you,” You catch your bottom lip with your teeth, meeting those baby blues, “You need to work...”

“I need you more, Y/N.”

You sniffled, looking up at him. “I’m sorry I didn’t open the door for you-”

“Hush...” He saw the tears fill your eyes and quickly leaned down and kissed your forehead. “You have no idea how much I care about you...” He swore to her, shaking his head. “You’re my everything.”

Your heart sits in your throat as you cling onto him. Your fingers rest over his back, he holds you tightly. You snuggle into his arms, resting your head in the crook of his neck now, he gently strokes your back.

“I love you.” He breathes into your hair, kissing the top of your head.

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dailyaudiobible · 4 years

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07/18/2020 DAB Transcript

1 Chronicles 26:12-27:34, Romans 4:13-5:5, Psalms 14:1-7, Proverbs 19:17

Today is the 18th day of July welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian and it is an honor and a joy to just kind of walk and sit down around this Global Campfire and open up the Scriptures and just relax, exhale…ahh…and enjoy the word of God being spoken today. And, so, let’s get to that. We are continuing our journey through the book of first Chronicles as well as our journey through Paul's letter to the Romans. And we’ve been reading from the Lexham English Bible this week, which is what we'll do today since it's the last day of the week. So, let’s dive in. First Chronicles chapter 26 verse 12 through 27 verse 34 today.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word. We thank You for another day. We thank You for another week. We thank You for Your faithfulness. We thank You that You are ever present if we are even remotely aware. You are with us and we are still here walking forward, and You are still willing to guide and direct our steps as we surrender ourselves in faith and believe and receive the gift. So, come Holy Spirit. This is such a relief, and yet…and yet we so rarely partake. To consider that it is already done, that we aren't earning anything, that You love us period and that You are leading us as a Father would into the truth so that we might…so that we might shine the light into this world and so that we might live as we were created to live. This isn’t fencing us in this is setting us free. And, so as we release this week and it becomes a part of history, we look forward to living into this in the days ahead. Come lead us Holy Spirit. Show us what this looks like for us. In the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailaudiobible.com is home base, it’s the website, it’s where you find out what is up around here. So, be sure to stay tuned and stay connected.

Check out the Community section of the website. That's where you find the different links to connect on social media, that’s where with a Prayer Wall lives and there's prayer happening on a continual basis there so be aware of it. Check it out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, thank you, thank you, first of all, thank you humbly. We wouldn't…we wouldn't be…we wouldn't be taking this journey if we weren't in it together. And, so, thank you for your partnership in the summertime here. There is a link on the homepage. If you're using the Daily Audio Bible app you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or, if you prefer, the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement 877-942-4253 is the number to dial or you can just hit the Hotline button, the little red button at the top in the app and share from there.

And that is it for today. I’m Brian I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Hey DAB family this is the other Melanie from Georgia. I’m calling today because I saw on Facebook last night, Harold that you posted about the fact that the Chicago Marathon that you’ve been training for all these many months has officially been canceled. And it just reminded me of that first day that I heard you call in, just a guy from St. Louis who was not a believer but was listening to the podcast and really feeling encouragement. And just this journey that you’ve been on and all of us have been with you is just interesting to me that ultimately it turned out that that did not get to happen. But what a greater thing God is doing in your life and has done and will do just by your faithfulness and I just wanted to call in today and just rejoice with you that you are here and you’re a part of this community. And now you may not be running in the Chicago Marathon and you may not ever run in a marathon but you are running the race that’s really and truly important and you’ve been such an inspiration and I just wanted to call in and just recognize that and thank you for what you’ve meant to this community. And I just wanted to also just quickly pray this prayer from the book of common prayer. Oh, Holy Spirit beloved of my soul, I adore You. Enlighten me, guide me, strengthen me, console me. Tell me what I should do, give me Your orders. I promise to submit myself to all that You desire of me and to accept all that You permit that happen to me. Let me only know Your will. Amen. I pray that for all of us.

Hi Daily Audio Bible family it’s been so long since I’ve left anything on this prayer line. I think the last time I popped in was for the Christmas last year. So much has changed in my life and it’s hard to find the time dedicate to the prayers of all my brothers and sisters. So, I have decided to make sure that I listen to this month and not worry about the months that have gone on before and make sure that I’m current with July and then as the Lord helps me find the time I will go back to previous ones. But on July 6th Trusting Father confessed to the sin of arrogance and that prayer pierced my heart because I too have been thinking I have been better than someone else and I have shown it in my speech and it’s just gotten nasty. And, so I confess that I have been arrogant. And I want to be humble because O Lord I am a daughter of yours and there’s nothing in me, no wisdom, no skill, no anything that does not come from You. And, so, God I just want to shine Your light in the world and not worry whether I’m in shadow or not. Thank You, God. Amen.

Good morning this is Fenney from London I’m calling in response to GG from Gainesville message. My heart is so heavy for you. I am so connected to your spirit. I know that you are going through a lot now with the loss of your father. Wow. It’s only God Almighty that can strengthen you and I pray that the Spirit of the Lord will comfort you, the Spirit of comfort will overwhelm you and the rest of your family, that the strength…God’s strength will be made perfect in this time of your need, of your weakness. I pray that you will feel the embrace of the Lord God Almighty. Be assured that He never leaves you nor forsake you. The Lord is always with you and He’ll always be with you. Stay strong in the Lord and He will help you through this difficult period. Rest assured upon Him He never fails. It doesn’t matter what the situation might be, it doesn’t matter what we are going through, God is always there. You just need to continue to call upon Him …

Hey, my sweet DAB fam this is Kingdom Seeker Daniel from Chicago I apologize for calling again. Today is the 14th and I just heard GG from Gainesville’s call. My dear, I am so sorry, so sorry for your loss. I am praying for you and my wife and I will be standing in the gap for you. You sound like such an incredible young lady that God’s hand is on mightily and I want to pray for you, and we will continue to pray for you. As you said, your DAB family will be praying for you. Father, I ask You to please wrap GG, her four siblings, sisters and brother and mom in Your arm. Will You strengthen them and give them the ability to move forward? Help GG in her physics and her chemistry and prokaryotic diversity classes. Give her the strength to finish strong. I ask Father that Your grace will see her through this and the family as a whole. And I pray for Your peace to completely surround them and help them to take one step at a time. Let them know that You are a very present help in their very difficult time right now. Thank You for this precious Young lady GG and her family in Jesus’ name. Love you sis.

Hello DAB family this is Emily in Seattle I wanted to pray for everyone today who is affected by the COVID-19 virus, if you’ve been unemployed or if you came down with a virus or if you know of someone who has I want to pray for you. Dear heavenly Father, I lift up everyone affected by the COVID-19 virus right now and I pray Lord that You will show Yourself strong on their behalf and that You will help them in every way possible and I pray Lord that You will bring health to their body and prosperity to their life and that You will comfort them and be near to them. And also, that You will always be their comforter and their deliverer. I pray Lord You will deliver them and honor them in every way possible in Jesus’ name. Amen. God bless you guys. Hang in there. We love you. Bye-bye.

Hello, my beloved DAB family I can’t let the sun go down on this day July 13th 2020 without acknowledging that today is my 10th DAB birthday thanks to my beautiful daughter leading be here with my life was broken. Because of her love and Brian’s obedience my life will never be the same. Through nearly a year of unemployment followed by the best job ever, a trail of broken relationships, and a remarriage to an amazing man of God, praying my children through very difficult times and seeing them absolutely flourish today, moving to my moms hometown and feeling her presence all around me despite her passing in 1983, one family gathering, three trips to Israel, one more gathering, finding the most amazing church, many new friends and so many more countless blessings all while Brian washed the living breathing word of God over my life every morning without fail. As sure as the sun rises, the word is there, feeding, guiding, correcting, directing. Brian, you and your family’s obedience have saved my life and the lives of thousands. I humbly thank you and ask God in Jesus’ name by the power of the Holy Spirit to continue to bless you, your family, and your anointed work. This is Cathleen from the beautiful rolling hills of Taska Minnesota.

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backtothestart02 · 5 years

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Mixed Drink - 8/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: No WA interactions but a necessary chapter. I hope you enjoy! Many thanks to @travelattwilight for commissioning this!

*Many thanks to @valeriemperez for beta’ing.

...

Chapter 8 -

With a generosity she was not feeling, Iris responded with a smiley face emoji and an agreeable sure followed by an enthusiastic can’t wait to see you!

Barry had canceled on her. Again.

She supposed it was partially her fault. She’d been ravenous with him the last couple days. He’d indulged her, of course, but she’d been the one constantly pinning him to the bed or the door or the wall or down on the seat in the shower so she could straddle him. Honestly, she couldn’t remember ever being this horny in her entire life.

Then again, she hadn’t gotten laid in months, maybe even a year. She was long overdue for some body lovin’.

It was more than that, as reluctant as she was to admit it. She sexed the man up because lust made no sense. She had despised him shortly after they first met, and now she was calling him pet names because the last few days had consisted of probably the best sex she’d ever had.

It was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.

But one thing wasn’t.

What Barry said about Patty… Well, she didn’t want to do it, but she knew she had to. Great sex with Barry wasn’t going to make her problems go away. And he was right that she needed to have a plan for after he was gone, since he wouldn’t be there to assist her for another month. She couldn’t force her boss to take her back, and the problems with her family were too difficult to resolve in one day. But Patty… Patty had always been on her side, even after she heard about the family drama that would make anyone else side with Iris’ parents.

Patty had been royally pissed off the day she kicked Iris out, and she hadn’t tried to call her, but it was difficult for the cop-in-training to stay mad. Just because Iris hadn’t ever seen her actually get this mad before now didn’t mean she wasn’t also capable of coming down from it after a certain period of time. She might not take her back as a roommate, but maybe their friendship could be mended, and Patty could even help her look for a job.

Iris bit her bottom lip, debating her two very straightforward options: to call or not to call.

She opted not to call and texted instead.

Pulling out her phone, she found Patty in her contacts and opened a text message.

Can we talk?

She hit send.

Moments later she received a reply. The buzz from her phone nearly made her jump out of her seat it was so instant.

Where?

Iris breathed a sigh of relief. Patty knew her. She knew she was an in-person kind of girl when it came to resolving conflict. And often, that she needed the other party to come to her.

The Charlton. Rooftop café.

Patty didn’t respond for a full minute.

SRSLY?!?

Iris smiled to herself and sent one final message.

Get here as soon as you can. 😉

…

Humming quietly to herself with a headset and three computer monitors in front of her as well as two hanging from the ceiling, Felicity Smoak multi-tasked through five of the big projects of the day that she’d been steadily going at since eight o’clock that morning.

It was now noon.

A light knock on the door frame leading to the gloomy room lit only by a couple dim lamps and monitors did nothing to dissuade her from her tasks.

Opening the take-out bag containing her favorite meal though, was.

She stopped, her fingers hovering over the keyboard in front of her. She sniffed a few times, the sounds in her headset fading away due to her concentration. She turned around slowly.

“Is that…”

She saw his huge, gorgeous smile seconds before she connected who he was without seeing his face clearly and what he’d brought for her without seeing that in front of her.

“Barry All-”

But she nearly went down in her haste to get to him, thanks to a headset still attached to the monitor and now wrapped around her head.

Barry, with his long stride, got to her seconds before her heels went sideways and managed to catch her mid-air with one heel still barely touching the ground.

She straightened her glasses that had gone sideways and blinked a few times before looking at him, scrutinizing.

“Is my food safe?” she asked, which made him laugh belatedly and glance at the bag before him on the floor.

“Perfectly,” he said, setting her down. But she was too worried that somehow her food being that close to the floor might taint it somehow.

“Barry, you can’t just-”

He raised his eyebrows after she’d turned around with the bag clutched tightly in her arms.

“Thank you for lunch.”

She climbed up the two steps to get back to her seat, then sat down.

“You can go now.”

His jaw dropped.

“That’s it?”

He followed her over to the semi-circle desk and sat down on the least cluttered part of it, despite Felicity’s fussing that he was moving her very important papers to the wrong piles and thus messing up everything.

He resolved to stand up and search out the stool but found that also had a stack of papers on it that was likely just as important as the rest.

“There’s got to be a better way to organize this,” he muttered under his breath.

He thought briefly back to his file on Iris and how she’d always had the cleanest presentation boards and well-written papers in school, and how – until she’d been kicked out – her bedroom had been immaculate.

He shook his head at how ridiculous some of the facts on people the government deemed important for a later date.

But he dismissed his initial thought too. Iris deserved so much more than just making Felicity’s endless paperwork organized and presentable.

“I thought I wasn’t going to see you this week,” she said, taking a bite into a sandwich Barry couldn’t even pronounce let alone imagine actually tasted good. She moaned appreciatively.

“Yeah, I…” He tried to come up with a good excuse and came up blank, which was so unlike him.

“Draeger finally got to you, huh?”

He sighed. “It’s not that I don’t like seeing you, Felicity. We’re friends. You’re one of the few women in the whole department I haven’t slept with yet.”

She turned around slowly.

“Always an encouraging thought.”

Silence lingered between them.

“Who is she?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Don’t play coy with me, Bartholomew,” she said around a mouthful of food. “I know you met someone – like, really met someone. Like, not a one-night someone, but a someone someone.” She closed her mouth and finished chewing as his mouth fell open.

“How did you-”

“I’m good,” she said, relaxing some as she set her sandwich on a napkin.

“You’re the best.” He grinned.

“So, tell me about her,” she said, swinging one knee over the other. “What’s she like?”

He ran a hand through her hair and approached her, sinking his hands into his pockets.

“What makes you think-”

“It’s a her? Well, you’re straighter than an arrow, my friend, so it can’t be-”

His brows were fused together, and Felicity’s mouth went dry.

“I was going to say serious.”

“Right!” She brightened up. “Right, that’s exactly what- I was just messing with you.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“I promise! I’m not that out of sync with you. We’ve known each other for what? Ten years?”

“At least,” he agreed, and hesitantly sat on a stool Felicity appeared to have pulled out of nowhere.

“So…?”

He wrapped his hand around the back of his head and hesitated, avoiding eye contact.

“Wow. It is serious.” Her heart swelled. “I didn’t think I’d see the day Barry Allen fell in love.”

His eyes fixed on hers immediately.

“I’m not in love.”

“Falling?”

“No.”

“Infatuated?”

He hesitated again. She smiled victoriously.

“Infatuated, it is.”

“Don’t get too excited. Kevin says I have to be on the plane back to London tonight. I told Iris I’ll come back to see her once a month, but-”

“Ooo…Iris. Iris as in Iris West? As in who we all originally thought the target was supposed to be?”

He nodded once, tired already of retreating from the truth.

“One and the same.”

“And you’ve been what? Romancing her for the last three days?”

“Well…” His voice squeaked a bit.

“You haven’t just been having sex with her nonstop since the gala, have you?”

“You know me so well, Felicity.” He leaned towards her lecherously, and she leaned back against the desk just as far.

“Ray told me you got hit, though.”

He angled his head so she could get a better look.

“You probably can’t see very well in here, but-”

Felicity reached around under the desk and flipped a switch, immediately lighting up the room.

“Since when-”

Jax installed it last week with a couple of the other guys. That’s one of the reasons I was hoping to see you this week, so I could show it off.

“But you choose to keep it off when you’re working, because?”

“I focus better in the dark.”

He raised his eyebrows again, but there wasn’t time for him to remark, because she had turned his head to the side again and nearly screeched into her loud gasp.

“Oh, my God, Barry.”

He frowned. “It’s not the worst I’ve gotten.”

“No, but it’s bad. Who got you?”

“Henry, if you can believe it.”

“Henry’s new.”

“Exactly.”

Felicity pursed her lips.

“Well, I hope you didn’t take it out on him too harshly. What did you tell Iris?”

“That I went for a walk and got punched in the face.”

“And she bought it?” she deadpanned.

He glared.

“Wow, she must have it bad. Almost as bad as you, I dare say. Did she… ‘kiss it all better’?” she teased.

“If you must know,” He pulled back. “She iced it for a good three hours before any kissing came into play.”

She chuckled.

“Oh, my God, I can’t believe this. Barry Allen – in love.” He opened his mouth to correct her. “Sorry, sorry, ‘infatuated’.”

He rolled his eyes. “This may come as a surprise, but I didn’t come here to talk about my love life with you.”

“Oh, it’s a love life now, not a sex life?” She wiggled her foot dangling in the air.

“Felicity.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” She giggled. “My guess is you came because you need help finding Bethany.”

He was surprised again but made no show of it this time.

“You guessed right. Have you found her?”

“Well, I wasn’t sure you would come, but…yes.”

She handed him a small pile of papers.

“This is all the information we have on her. She was last seen entering the bank on North and Bower 20 minutes ago.”

His eyes zeroed in on hers.

“Robbery?”

“Unlikely. Her M.O. is night robberies. She’s pretty legitimate during the day. It’s why she’s been so hard to catch. Plus her husband, interestingly enough, makes wigs. So, the whole family makes their getaway through convincing disguises from one state to the next.”

“Has she ever tried to go overseas?”

“Not as a criminal, but she used to go to Italy every summer up until she was in her early 20s. She has a dual citizenship there.”

Barry’s lips thinned. “Interesting.”

“Indeed.” She tilted her head to the side. “Need anything else from me?”

He looked down at her and relaxed, smiled.

“Just your word that you won’t go around telling people I’m sleeping with or in love with anyone.”

“So, infatuated is still on the table then?”

He glared, and she laughed.

“You have my word.” She waved him off. “What more could I possibly want in life than to have Barry Allen’s dirty little secret kept all to myself?”

She kept chuckling until after they’d said their goodbyes and Barry left.

When she stopped, she realized there was more than one of his secrets she was taking to her grave.

...

*Also posted on AO3 and FFnet.

#westallen #fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #westallen fanfiction #mixed drink #commission by travelattwighlight

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missoneminute · 5 years

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Les Inrockuptibles Interview with Peter Doherty

May 2019-05-15

Transcribed by @theoriginalcollectorglitter12 Thank you!

Rescued by a fortnight of excess, Peter Doherty has just celebrated his 40 years and, health flickering but inspiration intact, reveals a peaceful album. meeting with a lucid rock-star for whom composing is life itself.

The day before our meeting, Peter Doherty celebrated his 40th birthday in Margate, a small seaside resort in the south-east of England where he now lives. Looking at the photos and videos of his evening with Carl barat on Instagram, we must admit that we had some doubts about his ability to tele-transfer to Paris the next morning. He is however at the rendezvous, to charm a whole team photo with his sparkling banter, to seize his acoustic guitar very often for improvised serenades, to tell his incredible journey to get here in full strike customs.

This unpredictable side, which has always been part of his personality, is as much a strength as a weakness. His fans have learned to accept that anything is possible with him: he can decide on a whim, to play in the intimate setting of La Maroquinerie early April, announcing just a week in advance. a month later, he may be forced to cancel a concert in Belfast by invoking the most far-fetched (but truthful) excuse that has ever been heard: he was struck down by a hedgehog sting he was trying to remove from the mouth of his dog. To love the music of Peter Doherty has long been to defend an underrated singer, portrayed as a cartoon character by the tabloids, better known for his legal troubles and his excesses of narcotics than for what he does best: write songs. When he sits by our side, in a baste deserted room, the agitation that accompanies him usually disappears. "I do not understand how a song is born, I do not really have the technique to write, all I know is that it's essential for me to have these songs," he says. Songs in my life, I'm hoping it'll be okay as soon as I make new songs, that's all that matters, if I can still compose, it'll be okay. " We ask him if his creativity had already abandoned him. He whispered, "I do not even dare to whisper it, it would be my death sentence, it's a permanent threat, I do not even want to think about it, it'll break my heart, and I'll be done." All those who did not pay dearly for the skin of Peter Doherty, predicting that he would join the club of 27, were wrong, fortunately. We find his troubadour quickdraw on the cover of his new album, signed Peter Doherty and the puta madres. "It's a picture of the wall of my room, where I drew my figure, on the peeling paint. The final visual was supposed to be seen from the front, with the title along the right side, but the result has been rotated for a reason that escapes me. "

When the Englishman lets things escape, it can also give moments of grace, as evidenced by the opening of the album, All at sea, a jewel of tenderness and regret. This piece is one of the treasures that had been dormant in her drawers for years - this is also the case for two other songs here in the credits, A fool there was and Narcissistic teen makes first XI, sometimes heard in concert or on acoustic sessions. For the record, this sensitive storyteller was used, in the early 2000s, to put online demos he had just recorded, a taste of sharing that reached its peak in 2006 when the entire file "my music "from his computer appears on the internet. We ask him how these three songs came back to him, which we thought were lost forever in the limbo of his memory: "they never left me, just to find the right moment and the right people with whom I could to play them, people who would not hurt me by talking or changing rooms while I'm making them listen to what I believe are some of the most beautiful things I've ever done. A fool there was very important to me, All at sea too, the Puta Madres understand them. "

We are curious to know if it happens to him to listen again all these old sessions which are still available on the net; "For a long time, no, but recently, I've reviewed them all during an emotional night, I've read everything on youtube and read all the comments - I do not understand why these songs had evaporated while I'm so proud of it, not that I'm desperate for commercial success, or even fortune, maybe they're even more valuable if not many people know them on stage, I never prepare a setlist. Song just calls another, like a memory that goes back to the surface. "

After playing with libertines, babyshambles and various ephemeral collaborators (Wolfman, littl'ans, Graham Coxon, the streets, dot allison ...), Peter Doherty surrounds himself today with a mixed and cosmopolitan group named The puta madres, after the favorite expression of their Spanish drummer Rafa Rueda. This troupe also includes a Welsh guitarist, 2 French, and the prodigious American violinist Miki Beavis. By crossing their fingers so that the brexit never materializes, they carry this album towards folk lands and relaxed atmospheres. This reflects the relaxing setting in which they have recorded : in a family house on the heights of Etretat with a view overlooking the sea and wild cliffs for 4 days last summer. Far from the sloppy draft of Hamburg Demonstration, his last solo album in 2016, the songwriter has regained his superb and his voice on these touching ballads, in turn intense and patraques, imperfect and overwhelming. his season in hell seems behind him.

Change of scenery has obviously made him feel good. For 2 years Peter Doherty lives in Margate, a small town in Kent, by the sea : "lately, I spent a lot of time alone with my 2 dogs, a husky and a malamute, they need freedom, open spaces and attention, so I walk them on the beach or on the beach. It’s a very peaceful place, Margate has a special water, a special light, people like Keats, TS Eliot, Stephen Spender, Coleridge and Dickens lived in the area. Albion Rooms, the Libertines studio-hotel, Carl even has a license to sell liquor, so we have a bar in the basement, The Wasteland, we're going to put a scene for small local concerts, sessions It is still a small town, but it is booming, sometimes there is a strange smell that comes from the sea: the gentrification will never pass by! We have space to breathe calm and think about what you want to do is the last stop of several train lines, if you are in London, lost or broken aye, you jump on a train to get away from it all and find yourself in Margate. Terminus. You wake up with a start because someone shakes you saying, "Hey, you can not stay here, get off the train!" you leave the station that leads directly to the beach, and here you are in Margate. if we can see beyond its dangerous side and its gangs, chances are there will be a way out, loneliness, peace. "

It is there that the Libertines have planned to record their new album, still under construction, just like the hotel they want to open in the coming months. These vast projects, this serenity, have not, however, completely softened the rocker with the airs of a cursed poet, who continues to flirt with danger. We can not help but notice that people are constantly coming and going around and asked if it is a way for him to escape the routine. he takes the time to think before making an implacable and distressing statement : "I would love to have a boring, predictable routine that would make me work all the time with the same people I love and respect, but People are disappearing from my life: I think they need to protect themselves, I have no structure, no discipline, many people with whom I have collaborated, like Carl or Graham, need to relate to landmarks and protect themselves from self-destruction, they do not want to risk falling into the precipice. "

His palpable passion for music obsesses him. on his new album, he pays a vivid tribute to two of his heroes on Someone else to be, taking up passages from Velvet Underground's Ride into the Sun and Oasis's Do not look back in anger. In full interview, he sings us the beginning of a piece that haunts him at the moment, Signed D.C de Love, that he will play at La Maroquinerie three weeks later. When asked how he discovered the power of music, he responds that the click occurred when he heard Smiths' I started something I could not finish, and immediately he played a good half of the music. The song in decorticating why each verse resonated so well in him : "all I want is to write a song that touches people, which makes them exclaim: 'but what is it? ? how dare you?' I try to find a way to express who I am and what I feel, what I look for in music is to find myself there.” A powerful impact but a shaky beauty, this new album reflects wonderfully its author, both fragile and indestructible.

#peter doherty

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amessywritersmind · 6 years

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Hold Me Tight (Brian May)

Request: HELLO LOVELY i'm taking a little break from writing tonight and decided i should finally request something instead of being the one writing these darn things. ANYWAYS i saw your post and i'd like to request a friends to lovers one where lanky boi Brian May is your roommate and you're scared by thunderstorms, so he uses it as an excuse to sleep in your bed with you and you can take it wherever you want from there ok LUV U have a good night !!!!! ahhhh @mark-diesel

Authors Note: I LOVE this idea!! Also, I got the title idea from a Beatles song (Love those boys) anyways, in honour of your amazing writing, I present this to you! I hope you like it!! :)

Masterlist

There were a lot of things I didn’t like. Frogs, tiny spaces, eerie silences, abandoned things. But out of all the things I disliked, thunderstorms took the top of the list, and tonight, the forecast just so happened to call for a huge one headed straight for London.

Originally, I planned to stay curled up on the couch, tea in hand and tons of candles and matches around me, to wait out the storm, but then Brian called from the studio and said his nights plans were cancelled due to the weather and that he would be home shortly.

I had been living with Brian for almost a year now, and I’ve been bestfriends with him even longer than that, but never have I told him of my giant, yet completely irrational fear of thunderstorms. In fact, I never told anyone. It was just too embarrassing to go around speaking of it freely. I know if the boys ever caught wind of it, I’d never hear the end of it, especially from Roger. So I just kept it to myself, and tonight, I’d just have to deal.

I was broken out of my train of thought by all the apartment lights flickering once or twice before deciding that they wanted to stay off. Permanently. Great, just what I needed. I was secretly hoping Brian would be home soon. I could deal with the dark in itself, but the complete eerie darkness accompanied with what was to come, I just didn’t think I could do it.

Much to my relief, not even 5 minutes later I heard the entry door gently open and then shut. Thank god he’s home.

“[name]?” He called out softly. Before I could process what I was doing, I was on my feet and rushing toward him, wrapping myself around him like my life depended on it.

He chuckled, returning the hug.

“And what’s all this for? I’ve only been gone since this morning” Brian asked.

I peered up at him sheepishly “I just really missed you?”

I tried to be convincing but my statement came out as more of a question.

‘Aw is someone scared?” Brian teased. I retracted from his arms, crossing mine over my chest and huffing.

“No! Can’t I just hug my bestfriend?” I said defensively. He just continued chuckling and shaking his head.

“Well, it’s been a long night and I am beat. I think I’m gonna head to bed. Need anything before I do so?” He said, shuffling by me. Not before ruffling my hair though.

“No no, I think I’m going to head to bed as well.” Lie. No way was I sleeping any tonight.

“Alright, goodnight love.” He called once more before I heard the door to his bedroom shut.

I followed suit, climbing into my bed and willing myself to fall asleep before the dreaded storm began to do it’s worst. I closed my eyes tightly, counting sheep, doing anything I could to be able to sleep peacefully, when the first clap of thunder hit the sky.

I pulled the covers up tightly, squeezing my eyes shut tightly, hoping the storm wouldn’t be as bad as the weather man had claimed it to be. Booms filled the sky, seemingly one after another, before it was all too much to take.

I scurried my way into the kitchen, attempting to make myself some tea, but the darkness of the night and the way my hands shook made it almost impossibly hard. I kept dropping things and making quite a bit of noise, hoping I didn’t wake Brian in my attempts to calm myself down.

The storm outside was loud enough to block any other noise, so much so I didn’t hear Brian come up behind me.

“[name], is everything ok? “ His voice startled me, causing me to drop the mug on the ground. I turned to face the direction of his voice, teary eyed and terrified. Hopefully he couldn’t see me.

Before I knew it I was wrapped in a gentle hug, being rocked back and forth.

‘what’s going on love? I’ve never seen you this way before.” He murmured into my hair.

“couldn't sleep.” I sighed out.

“And why would that be?” He asked again. I took a deep breath. There would be no point in denying it now.

“I’m scared of thunderstorms” I said quietly, so quietly I didn’t think he’d heard. I was proven wrong though as the hug got tighter.

‘Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve done something to help or...” I shook my head, cutting him off.

“Can we just go back to bed?” I asked, I was beyond exhausted, but still slightly terrified. Being in his arms made it easier. I felt safe.

He nodded, grabbing my hand and leading us back into my room. He was about to exit when I called his name.

“Bri?”

“yeah?” he answered, turning towards me slightly.

‘Could ya stay? Maybe just until the storm is over?” I asked shyly.

I didn’t get a response. Instead, I felt the other side of my bed dip, as the covers pulled back and he got comfortable.

“Y’know, you could come closer. I don’t bite. “ I said, he shifted closer wrapping me up once again.

We spent hours in that position, talking about anything and everything as the storm raged on outside. It must’ve been around 3 when the wind ceased, and there were no longer loud noises in the clouds.

“Well, I think the storm is pretty much through. You should be ok to sleep now.’ Brian said, starting to climb out of the bed.

‘Wait! Bri” I said, grabbing his hand.

“Y’know...you could stay. If you want to” I said looking down. Thank goodness it was dark, my cheeks were on fire.

“Ok, love” He wasted no time in climbing back in and resuming our position. We stared at each other for quite a bit, not saying anything. He brushed a strand away from my face, looking at me so intently I didn’t have to be able to see, I could feel it.

Ever so slowly, our faces grew closer together. I let out a shaky breath, closing my eyes, our noses brushing each other. I couldn’t take it anymore. I reached the rest of the way, melding our lips together.

I swore it could've been below freezing and I wouldn’t have felt a thing. My body was on fire with emotion, I could feel everything he felt, and I was relieved he felt the same as I.

When we pulled back, there was more silence for a little while.

“I cannot begin to tell you how long I've wanted to do that.” he broke the silence first.

‘Falling for your bestfriend Bri? What a shame, I did the same thing” I teased, leaning in to connect our lips once more.

“Alright, let’s get to bed. As much as I love this-“ He said, gesturing between us.

“I am beyond exhausted. Goodnight love” He said, pulling the covers over us more, wrapping me up again.

‘Goodnight Bri” I replied, snuggling into him. He didn’t reply, instead placed a kiss on my forehead, drifting off into a peaceful sleep. Maybe, thunderstorms weren’t all that bad.

#brian may imagines #brian may imagine #brian may x reader #brian may #brian may love story #brian harold may #queen imagines #queen imagine #queen

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shookethbrooketh · 6 years

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Blanketed

Summary: When a classic snowstorm hits New York City the night before Valentine’s Day, Dan finds himself stranded and unable to catch his flight back home to London, so he does what any functional 27-year-old would do and hits the airport bar. It’s there that he finds another stranded passenger by the name of Phil. The two bond as they learn that they’re going to be stuck in the airport overnight, and in the morning they find themselves cuddled up for warmth underneath the same blanket. But what happens when the snow melts and they have to go their separate ways?

Warnings: Alcohol

Word Count: 3.7k

Artist: @pine-tree-gi Beta: @themeoweclipse

Read it on Ao3 Read it on Wattpad!

A/N: This is one of two fics I’ve written for the @phandomreversebang, and I love this fic so much. It’s probably the first (fairly) pure fluff I’ve written in a while, and I really enjoyed writing something soft. I hope you enjoy it as well! I know it’s a bit short, but my second one will be longer, I promise :)

“Bartender? Another drink, please?”

Dan looked up from his empty plastic cup branded on one side with “JFK Airport” in textured letters. The bartender walked over and poured more champagne into his cup. He gave the man a nod and he turned to serve other customers down the bar.

Dan took a sip from his third cup as a man slid into the seat beside him. “Champagne, please?” The bartender poured him a cup identical to Dan’s and then left the two alone. “Lemme guess,” he said, catching Dan off guard. “Snowed in?”

“News flash, buddy; we all are.” He thrust a thumb over his shoulder at the departures screen behind him. Every flight was accompanied by a red ‘cancelled’. “Not a single flight leaves until this damn snowstorm dies down and they clear the tarmac.”

“Good to know you’re just as annoyed as I am.” The man chuckled. Dan had never been one to talk to people in social settings, but he seemed to be a good-hearted man trying to make light of a shitty situation.

Dan rotated his barstool toward him and got his first good look at him. He had raven-black hair, and he was wearing a grey jumper covered in foxes along with a jean jacket the cold weather had prompted him to throw on over it. He could only see half of the man’s face, but, in all honesty, he was pretty attractive for an airport luck of the draw.

“I’m Dan.”

“Phil.”

Dan had done his part in the social contract, and they drank in silence for a moment before Phil finally spoke up.

“So, where-” he was cut off by a computerized voice ringing from speakers nobody could seem to locate.

“Attention all travelers. The weather forecast shows the current snowstorm continuing into the morning hours. Our crews cannot clear the tarmac until precipitation stops, so all flights are delayed until at least daylight tomorrow morning. We apologize for the inconvenience; thank you for flying through JFK International Airport.”

There was an audible groan from both men as well as everyone around them. Whines of tired children were heard even from outside the bar.

“Guess we’re gonna be here a while, huh?” Phil asked, shrugging off his jean jacket.

“Sadly,” Dan muttered, swirling the champagne remaining in his plastic cup.

“Hey, lighten up a bit!” Phil shouted, attracting a few glares from people around them. “You look plenty fun; you’re wearing a Christmas jumper in February.” He looked Dan up and down. “And it looks like you brought it through a wormhole from 2009.”

“Oh, thanks. Random strangers talking about my fashion sense is my favorite thing to encounter on an already shitty day.”

“Always happy to deliver.” Another moment’s silence passed. “I like your nails, by the way.”

Dan glanced down at his black-painted nails. He really did look like a 2009 emo. “Thanks,” he said monotonously.

“You seem upset. Like, beyond the level of upset a person would be just by this situation. I know we just met, but do you wanna talk?”

Dan sighed, throwing himself backwards and holding onto the bar to lunge himself back forward. “Boy, have I got a story.” He waved to the bartender. “Another round.”

“So let me get this straight,” Phil said, at least ten minutes later. “You wanted to use Valentine’s Day tomorrow as an excuse to confess to this guy you like, but there’s someone else he likes, and they’re ALSO planning to confess tomorrow, and now that your flight’s delayed, they’ll beat you to it?”

“Yup. I sound like a bloody teenager, but that’s what’s happened.”

“You really are having a bad day. I’m sorry, man. But come on!” he called out again, apparently the loud type. He threw his arm around Dan and shook his shoulder a bit. “Enjoy yourself! It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Have you got any suggestions?”

“You wanna go grab a bite? Might as well get some food before everyone gets paranoid and buys it all up.”

Dan shrugged. “Sure, why the hell not? Might as well not spend the night alone. Besides, I should probably stop drinking, or else I’ll spend the night alone and blacked out.” The two of them looked at the bartender and called out in unison.

“Check!”

A few moments later, they were rounding out their ice cream cones as they strolled through the terminal.

“Remind me why we decided to get ice cream during a snowstorm?” Dan joked, making eye contact with Phil. He hadn’t gotten a good look at his eyes earlier, but they were absolutely gorgeous. They were a wonderfully mixed turquoise with yellow flecks around the pupils; he’d only seen them once, but he knew they would be impossible to forget.

“Because we’re inside a heated airport and there just happened to be an ice cream shop in this terminal.”

“Fair enough,” Dan smiled, taking his first bite of the cone.

“Speaking of, what terminal are you headed to?”

Dan thought for a moment, almost having forgotten the details of his flight after a few drinks. “Terminal three. I only checked in here because the website said the security wait times were slower. I have a bit of a tendency to be late for flights. I thought I was going to miss this one, but, you know...” he trailed off, gesturing to the snowflakes falling through the illuminated night sky.

“Oh, nice! Same here.”

“The terminal, or the irresponsibility?”

Phil laughed, and Dan couldn’t help but smile just at that laugh. “Both.”

After they each laughed and Dan gushed over Phil for a moment, he returned to normal conversation. “Do you think there’s a tram we can take over there? I’ve had enough exercise for one day.”

“Should be. I took a train in, and I’m pretty sure it runs through the airport.” Phil paused for a moment, forcing Dan to do a double take and walk back. “It should be...” he trailed off, looking around; they’d found themselves in a four way intersection. “that way.” He pointed left and turned that way.

“There’s a sign right in front of us, Einstein.”

“Let’s just say I got pretty bored earlier and I happened to be sitting near an airport map.”

Dan rolled his eyes. “Nerd.”

After a short ride on the oddly fascinating tram, they were in terminal three, and they were both pleased to find that the terminal had a McDonald’s. Ice cream or no ice cream, Dan was planning to eat dinner on his flight back to London, and he was starving.

“A 20-piece McNugget meal, please.” Phil said to the worker at the counter, who clearly just wanted to go home.

“20 piece! I guess that ‘everyone’ who was buying up all the food out of paranoia was just you.”

Phil shrugged. “Man’s gotta eat.”

There ended up being two 20 McNugget meals in front of them as they sat in the far corner of the terminal. They hadn’t really discussed where to sit; they’d simply walked until they found an open outlet to plug their phones into, which took until the last gate in the terminal. That gate didn’t seem to have a flight planned to fly out of it, so there were no people gathered around it, allowing the boys to have their own little corner in the crowded airport. Sure, there were plenty of people within the vicinity, but it still felt as if they had a bit of privacy in their own space. And, most importantly, they could charge their phones.

“I cannot believe you got ketchup,” Phil scoffed at Dan as he dipped his McNugget into the ketchup pile he’d made on the open lid of his box.

“Don’t shame me for my dipping sauce choices!”

“Come on! Barbecue is obviously superior.” Phil made sure Dan was watching as he dipped a nugget of his own into his barbecue sauce and dramatically ate it.

“Do you wanna fight, Phil?”

“Do it, you won’t!” Dan quickly dipped a nugget in ketchup and shoved it in the direction of Phil’s mouth, smearing ketchup all over his face. “Hey!”

Phil glared at him as he dipped a nugget in barbecue and attempted to give Dan a taste of his own medicine. The two continued to shove nuggets in each other’s faces like children until finally Dan cried out. “Stop! Stop the violence!” The two paused, getting a few looks from random travelers in earshot. “I’ll eat yours, and you’ll eat mine.” They politely handed each other their nuggets and each took a bite. “Hmm,” Dan said, surprised. “This isn’t half bad.”

Phil looked up from the cup he was downing a sip of soda from. “Ketchup still sucks.”

Dan shoved him a bit, and they both laughed. Luckily, they ignored the dipping sauce choices for the fries and continued their meals until they’d each eaten to their heart’s content. They both smelled horribly of ketchup and barbecue sauce, but it was definitely worth it.

It was beginning to grow late, and the airport had dimmed the lights, allowing people around them to settle down and try to sleep. “This is so fucking uncomfortable,” Dan whispered, turning to Phil.

“We’ve both got carry-ons, right? We’ve got to have some useful things in there.” Phil sat up and unzipped the bag he was resting his head on. “I, for one, never travel without a blanket.”

“Phil, you’re a life saver.” Dan opened his carry-on, which was significantly smaller than Phil’s. “I’ve got a pillow, but it isn’t big. I think there’s still one store open down the terminal we can buy some small pillows from. If they’ve got enough, we can buy some to sit on and to rest our backs and heads on. Here’s some money; we can pool some together.”

“That’s a great idea!” Phil exclaimed, rummaging through his bag and pulling out about the same amount of money as Dan. “Stay here; I’ll go buy them out.”

“You really like buying people out of things, don’t you?” Dan asked, a smile crossing his face.

“It’s my specialty.”

A few minutes later, Dan looked up from his phone to see Phil waddling back down the terminal with pillows stacked up over his head. He jumped up and took a few from him so that he could see his face. “How did you get back down here in the dark with all those blocking your view?”

Phil shrugged. “Luck?”

Dan rolled his eyes and set down a couple of pillows for them to sit on. “Guess you didn’t bring back any change.”

“They had a lot of pillows,” he said as if to defend his actions. They each took a pillow and placed it behind their backs, topping it off with a pillow behind each of their heads.

“Clearly.”

After sitting independently on their phones for a while, Dan decided his phone had enough charge and unplugged it, favoring a pair of headphones and a dongle. “You want to watch some Netflix?” Dan asked, nudging Phil.

“Hell yeah!” he gravitated closer to Dan to see the phone. “What’ve you got?” Dan scrolled through his Netflix for a few seconds before Phil reached out and scrolled back up and settled on an icon. “You watch Queer Eye?”

“I love Queer Eye! I’m only halfway through season 2, though.”

“I don’t have Netflix, so I’ve never seen it, but I’ve always wanted to. Pick up where you left off; I’ll get into it quickly.”

They dove immediately into the show. Dan had to explain the premise and characters to Phil, but he really did pick up quickly. Then, every now and then they’d have to pause to discuss a good joke or especially gay moment. Ultimately, it ended up taking them an hour and fifteen minutes to watch 46 minutes of content. After the one video, they were both about ready to doze off.

“You know, Phil,” Dan said, plugging his phone back in. “I’ve never really had anyone to discuss Queer Eye with before. I really enjoyed that.”

Phil’s face was difficult to see in the darkness, but Dan could tell he was smiling. “I enjoyed it a lot too.” Phil bit his lip, avoiding eye contact. “I enjoyed... you.”

“What do you mean enjoyed?”

“Huh?”

“I’m still here.”

“What?”

“You said enjoyed. Past tense. But I’m still here. Enjoy, present tense.”

“Oh. Well, I enjoy your presence, I guess.”

“Hey Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“You know why I said that?”

“No. In fact, it just made this situation extremely awkward, so I can’t imagine why.”

“Because it would be significantly more awkward if I told you I liked you in the past tense, when, in fact, I like you. Present tense.”

“Oh.” They sat in silence, the sound of people shifting in their sleep around them filling the void. After a few seconds, Dan felt a hand slide into his underneath the blanket. He turned his head to see Phil grinning wildly at him. “I like you too.” Then Phil was leaning in, and before Dan even had time to think about it, Phil was kissing him. Dan’s eyes bugged out of his head, but he settled into it and eventually began to kiss him back, a feeling of peace filling his stomach. For that one moment, they forgot that they were complete strangers. They forgot that they didn’t even know each other’s last names, and they definitely forgot that they’d wake up in the morning and go their separate ways. In that one moment, none of those things mattered. After what felt like an eternity that somehow wasn’t long enough, they disconnected, but their fingers remained intertwined at their waists.

“Goodnight, Phil,” Dan said, nestling his head into the crook of Phil’s neck.

Phil kissed his forehead and settled himself under the blanket with him. “Goodnight, Dan.”

Dan awoke to sunlight pouring in through the airport windows. He yawned and checked his phone before slipping it in his pocket; it was a bit past 8:00. Other travelers were moving about the terminal and getting breakfast, but there was still no movement at any of the gates.

Dan immediately and painfully realized that he hadn’t gone to the bathroom in about twelve hours and tried to carefully slide out from under the blanket so as to not wake Phil. It took him a few seconds to stand up, but when he did he looked down and saw Phil still asleep, and he exhaled a sigh of relief. He started to walk in the direction of the bathroom when he heard stirring behind him. He clenched his face up in knowledge that he had failed and pivoted to face Phil, who was blinking his eyes open.

“Morning,” Dan said, looking down at him.

“Morning,” Phil groaned, his voice deep from sleep.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom; you start getting our stuff together.”

Phil nodded groggily as Dan made his way down to the strip of stores in the middle of the terminal. He glanced at the flight screen to find that no flights had been announced to be leaving soon; he was thankful for that, as his gate was in the half of the terminal on the other side of the stores from where he and Phil had set up camp, and he definitely didn’t feel like running back and forth that early in the morning.

The trip to the bathroom took ages; the line was so massive that he was sure Phil could have packed twenty bags in the time he was gone. Eventually, he returned from emptying his bladder to find Phil extending his bag to him. It was significantly puffier than it was the night before. “How many pillows did you put in there?”

“Two.”

“I can’t believe you fit the other four in your bag.”

“I’m magic.”

They walked down the terminal and back to the McDonald’s. “You know, Dan,” Phil said, a grin on his face. “I know McDonald’s serves breakfast, but I’d rather have a McFlurry.”

“Do you always eat this much ice cream?”

Phil laughed. “I wish!”

They stood in front of a window as they each downed their respective M&M McFlurry. The tarmac was blanketed in a layer of white, and trees in the distance glimmered in the winter sun. Dan could see a snowplow clearing off the tarmac in another terminal. “Isn’t it beautiful?” Dan asked. “I love to see the world blanketed in snow.”

“Yeah,” Phil said, turning to look at Dan. “But not as beautiful as you,” he said, pulling a bouquet of chocolate roses out of nowhere. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Dan.”

Clearly Phil was thinking of another kind of blanket. A dark, anxious feeling made its way into Dan’s stomach. “Where did you even get those? And when?” he asked, reluctantly taking them.

“Airports have everything. I found them this morning while you were in the bathroom.” He smiled, seeming quite proud of himself.

Dan sighed. “We should probably talk about this.”

“What? Did I overstep?”

“No, it’s not that. It’s just-I met you yesterday, and we’re complete strangers. After this is over, we’re probably never going to see each other again. Are you sure we should do this?”

Phil took Dan’s hands, and Dan elected to stare at the floor. “Look at me.” Dan sighed and looked into Phil’s colourful eyes. “Maybe we’ll never see each other, or maybe we’ll come across some sort of miracle and we will. Regardless, what have we got to lose?”

Dan bit his lip and took a deep breath. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am,” Phil said, giving Dan a short kiss.

“Attention all travelers,” said the computerized intercom voice. Both gasped and separated to listen to the message. The entire area settled into complete silence. “The tarmac is currently being cleared, and flights are beginning to be rescheduled. Arrivals will continue as scheduled, and departure times will depend on whether your plane was here when the snow began or if it still has to fly in. Please check the departure board for specific flight details. Thank you for flying through JFK International Airport!”

A cheer erupted through the terminal as a whole wave of passengers made its way towards the arrival and departure screens. “Something tells me we should finish our ice cream before going over there,” Phil said.

Dan watched people shouting at each other as they attempted to jump and shove each other out of the way to see their flights. In all honesty, it was purely terrifying. “Smart.”

After the area cleared up some, the two gathered their things and strolled over to the screens. Dan found his flight fairly quickly. “Mine’s back on. Leaving in half an hour.”

“Mine is too.”

The two turned to each other, a somber look on each’s face. “Guess this is goodbye?” Dan said, taking Phil’s hand in his.

“Guess so.”

They fell into a tight embrace. “Thanks for the blanket.”

“Thanks for the ice cream.”

They fell back into a kiss lasting longer than their first. This time, Dan felt a spark he didn’t feel the first time. He bit his lip, angry at himself for falling for someone in the last moment they’d ever be together. “I’m gonna miss you, Phil.”

“I’ll miss you too.” They smiled faintly at each other before Dan turned and began walking toward his gate. It wasn’t long before he realized Phil was still beside him. After walking about half the terminal, they were still side by side.

“Well, this is awkward,” Dan chuckled. Could Phil just leave already so he could mourn in peace?

Dan began to trail off towards his gate. “Dan?” He turned to see a genuine smile on Phil’s face. “Don’t tell me you’re flying into London.”

“Oh my God,” Dan said, doubling over in laughter. “We’re on the same flight, aren’t we?” Phil nodded, unable to speak from laughter. “Do you live in the city?” Phil nodded again, attempting to compose himself. “I do too!” Dan sighed as they wandered to take two empty seats in the corner. “How do these things happen?”

“I have no clue.”

“We were together for twelve hours; how did we never one ask each other where we were going?”

“I was going to when I first met you, but that dumb announcement cut me off!”

Dan couldn’t help but laugh again. “We both have British accents; how did we not expect this?”

“Two Dumbasses in an Airport: 2018′s worst romance movie.”

Each of them laughed so hard their stomachs hurt. When Dan finally wiped the final tear from his eye, Phil gave him a bit of a nudge. “Hey Dan?”

“Yeah?”

“When we get back to London, do you wanna go out sometime? Like, on a date?” Phil asked, excessively awkward for the context of their situation.

“Of course, you dork. I’ve kissed you what, four times now? You think I’m going to turn down a date?”

“Hey, you never know. You were talking about that guy earlier.”

“Hey. I found someone else.” The corners of his mouth twitched up into a smile.

An intercom beeped on near them and this time a real, male voice spoke from the desk near the gate. “Flight 1728 to London is now boarding.” The two jested of their stupidity as they turned their boarding passes in to the attendant and boarded the plane. Dan found his seat about midway through the plane, but Phil kept walking.

“Guess this is goodbye,” Phil said, altering his voice to sound like Dan.

“That’s a horrible impression of me,” Dan said, rolling his eyes. He smiled at Phil as he took his seat. “See you in London, valentine.”

“Or sooner,” Phil said with a wink, taking off before Dan had a chance to respond.

Dan stared off into space as he put in his earbuds. It was going to be an interesting seven hours.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #phic stuff #dong and ping #phandom reverse bang #prb #tw alcohol

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alittledizzy · 6 years

Text

stray puppy appeal rating: pg word count: 2.5k Summary: There's a stranger sleeping in Dan's bed, and he's not sure how to feel about it. Notes: Written for @velvetnautilus for my thirty minute fics for charity fundraiser to benefit PhandomGives.

[read on ao3]

There's a stranger sleeping in Dan's bed, and he's not sure how to feel about it.

Most of the time people checking into the hotel during Dan's ten pm to four am shift aren't really looking for conversation. They're looking for a bed to sleep in or a bed to fuck in and either way they're not going to stand around making small talk with the guy behind the counter who is doing his level best to project a disinterest in any interaction outside the structure of doing his job. He finds reservations, activates key cards, and sends them on their way.

But Dan's got a sixth sense about people who are going to need something from him, and because he's the only one working the front desk during the graveyard shift he's got no way to avoid it.

That sense starts to tingle the minute the door opens and a man walks in wearing a very respectable suit and tie with a stain on the front and no luggage at all. The man looks around with a slightly wild expression that means he's either drunk or exhausted. If he's drunk, at least Dan can ring security.

"Can I help you, mate?" Dan asks. His voice carries across the small lobby.

The man looks at him like he's only just realized someone else was there. "I think my driver stole my wallet," he says. "And my mobile's dead, and the airline lost my luggage."

Okay. Not drunk. Damn. And it's so close to his shift ending.

"Do you have a reservation here?" Dan asks.

"I'm with the conference," Phil says.

"... conference?" Dan repeats.

There is no conference.

"Yeah," Phil says again. "The conference. We're supposed to have rooms booked out."

"There's no conference here," Dan says. "Are you sure you're at the right hotel?"

The man looks slightly queasy now. "No," he admits. "Is this the City Centre hotel?"

"... mate." Dan barely manages not to laugh. "No. It is not. You're about thirty minutes in the wrong direction."

The man rubs his forehead and lets out a very quiet, passionate. "Fuck."

It’s painful watching Phil sit in the straight back chair in the lobby. It’s not comfortable. Dan knows that, because he knows the furniture was chosen with the intent of keeping people from wanting to linger too long using the free lobby wifi.

He’s only got ten minutes left until shift change. He knows who comes in after him, and he knows Phil won’t be allowed to loiter without a reservation and looking as he does. He’ll be told politely but firmly to leave, and Dan has a vivid mental image of Phil Lester walking down the street helpless and lost and broke.

There’s a chance of rain, too.

Dan sighs. He had plans. Those plans involved going home, eating something horrible for him in front of the television, playing Guild Wars for a couple hours, then crashing until time for the routine to start again.

“Hey,” Dan says, voice cutting through the quiet of the small lobby. “If you need somewhere to crash for a few hours, you can come home with me.”

Phil looks startled. “I can’t do that.”

Dan shrugs. “Fine.” Thirty seconds later. “Not like I’m trying to rob you or anything, though. Doesn’t sound like the last guy left much anyway.”

Phil almost appears affronted, but the expression fades into something more miserable almost right away. “I’ve still got organs. You could harvest those.”

“If I were in the organ harvesting trade, you think I’d still be working this shit job?” Dan asks. “I could probably pay my rent on one good spleen. Unfortunately I’m chronically undermotivated, so your spleen is safe.”

“Good,” Phil says. “I’ve only got the one. I think. Do humans have two spleens?”

“Just one,” Dan says. He sounds confident even though he’s not sure. He’ll google it later.

“But I really can’t.” Phil has polite-voice on.

“Suit yourself.” Dan goes back to looking at his phone. Eight more minutes, and he’s free.

There are a lot of things Dan would list about himself under the column of personality flaws. He's sullen and quiet, anxious, prone to depressive spells, lacks the ability to follow through on commitments, and frequently isolates himself from the people in his life that care about him.

But he's not a bad person. So when his shift ends at four in the morning he looks at Phil and says, “Come on.” and leaves work with a stray following close on his heels.

Phil a consultant for an editing software firm, and he's clearly having a worse day than Dan is but that doesn’t stop him from being chatty.

"I'll just charge my phone for a bit," Phil promises. "Then I'll be able to ring someone and figure out money.”

Dan doesn't really have money to give him. All of his meager paycheck goes towards rent for an overpriced one bedroom flat in one of the shittier London neighborhoods.

"Figure it out tomorrow," Dan says, waving a hand. If nothing else he'll be a nice person and put Phil into a car.

"It's already tomorrow, isn't it?" Phil says. "I'm all messed up with times. I flew here from California."

"Yeah?" Dan asks. He’s knows he sounds disinterested, but he’s really just… tired. He’s always tired.

"I'm actually from Manchester. But they flew me out to California to train me on the software, and I'm supposed to present it at this conference. At least it doesn't start until tomorrow, right?" Phil laughs a tepid laugh. He seems aware that he's mostly talking to himself. "Right. Where are we going?"

Dan gives him an amused look. "Would you know even if I told you? It's only five more minutes."

Walking to and from work is the only exercise Dan gets most of the time. There are days when he'd probably skive off work altogether if not for how much he enjoys his early morning walks.

"Right," Phil says a third time. "Okay."

In the bright light of Dan's kitchen, Phil looks even worse for wear.

"When's the last time you slept?" Dan asks. He'd really just planned on making some coffee while Phil's phone charged enough to make do and then sending him on his way, but now safe within his own territory Dan feels a strange stirring to do something more.

It's not often he's the one that can help other people. It's not often he feels like he can offer something that makes a difference to someone else.

Phil shrugs. "I can't sleep on planes, and the flight was twelve hours. And the night before they took me out for dinner and kept buying me drinks and then I had to go back to the hotel room and pack..."

"So, it's been a while." Dan abandons the coffee idea and heads into his bedroom.

Phil follows after him, but stops in the doorway. "What-"

Dan looks over his shoulder. "You want something more comfortable to wear? Maybe a shower?"

Phil looks surprised. "You're not going to harvest my organs, are you?"

"No," Dan says. "Can't be bothered cleaning up after that kind of mess today. But you look like shit, mate."

Phil looks down. "I spilled coffee on myself at the airport. I thought that would end up being the worst part of my morning. Before the airline losing my luggage, and the car driver taking my wallet."

He's already rung his bank and credit card company to cancel the cards, taking care of that from the hotel phone behind the reception desk.

Dan tosses him a t-shirt and a pair of joggers. "The shampoo in my bathroom is for curly hair, but have at it."

"Thanks," Phil says, holding the bundle of clothes. Dan looks up again when he doesn't move. "Where's the bathroom?"

Phil's shower is fast. Dan's not sure if he's always quick at it, or if he's just uncomfortable in Dan's space. His hair is wet and falls limply over his forehead and somehow the five o'clock shadow on his face seems a touch darker.

"Thanks," he says. "I feel more human now."

"You don't look it," Dan says bluntly.

Phil shrugs. He's at his phone already. "I'm at forty percent now. If you need me to go..."

"Didn't say I did, did I?" Dan asks. "Are you sure you're even safe to go out there? Why don't you just, I don't know, have a nap."

Dan's tired himself now, or beginning to be. He usually falls asleep around sunrise and wakes late afternoon. But Phil looks ten times worse.

"I couldn't-" Phil starts to say. "I couldn't impose."

"Fine." Dan shrugs. "I'm still offering, though."

Phil looks back down at his phone. "I could just... ring someone. To get me."

"You know people in London?" Dan asks.

Phil shakes his head. "But I could call the convention organizers..."

"At-" He looks at the time. "Five seventeen in the morning."

Phil winces. "I guess not."

"Just sleep," Dan says. "I still won't harvest your organs."

Phil gives him a grateful look. "Thank you."

Dan's a nice guy, but also a bit of a creep sometimes.

He definitely watches Phil sleep. He stands in the doorway of his bedroom and stares, because now that the buzz of a weird new situation has faded a bit he's able to recognize that Phil is quite fit.

There haven't been any fit guys in Dan's bed in a while. No fit girls, either. No one at all, except Dan and his laptop and his left hand.

Not that he's thinking of having sex with a random businessman that wandered into his workplace. He's not that hard up. Sex isn't even the first thing on his mind most of the time. He's got too much other shit to get together.

Dan stares just a bit longer, then turns and walks away. He'll nap on the sofa for a while.

He doesn't really sleep, but awareness fades in and out in stretches of five and ten minutes at a time until the sun is beaming down too directly on his face. He squints and rubs a hand over his eyes. He's tired, bone deep weary, and there's a stranger in his bed.

He opens the fridge and there's not much there. He takes his lunch around two am most days, and doesn't eat again until late afternoon. There's a lot of takeaway in his life, a lot of freezer meals.

Can't feed a freezer meal to a stranger. His nana would drive all the way from Reading just to slap him for it.

He doesn't even know what Phil likes to eat. Is he vegetarian? Vegan? Gluten free? Does he watch his carbs?

Indecision is paralyzing, but Dan's hungry and he needs something to do. He orders a pizza, but he orders what he'd normally get for himself. It's not a date, he tells himself. No need to try all that hard.

Tall, dark, and handsome-if-you-like-that-type stumbles bleary eyed from the depths of Dan's sleep cave at half two.

"Oh my god," he says, sounding mildly horrified. "I can't believe I slept so long."

Dan's on his laptop. He barely glances up. "Must have needed it."

"My phone's charged," Phil says. "If you need me to go."

Dan ignores the comment and says, "There's pizza."

"Pizza?" Phil's interest is definitely piqued.

"You must be hungry, right?" Dan asks.

"Starved," Phil says. He opens the box. The pizza's gone cold by now but he doesn't seem to mind. He takes a bite and moans slightly. "This is amazing."

"It's Dominoes," Dan says, "But it's good to know that's where your taste level is at."

"Nothing wrong with a Dominoes," Phil says.

Dan does happen to agree.

Phil eats his pizza standing. Dan pretends to be doing work on his laptop, when in reality he's refreshing twitter and watching Phil out of the corner of his eye.

When Phil's done eating, he wipes his hands on his (Dan's) joggers and then walks back into the bedroom.

Dan has a sinking feeling in his gut, and he's not sure what put it there. All he knows is that this day stands out from every other day already, and he's reluctant to let that go.

But then there's Phil, this person Dan barely knows, with whom Dan has barely even had a real conversation, and he's walking out of Dan's bedroom dressed again and regret for that unknown reason blooms even brighter.

"Guess you'll be going then?" Dan asks.

He can tell his voice sounds clipped. Phil can too, apparently. "If that's alright? Or did you change your mind on the organ harvesting?"

"Still can't be bothered," Dan says, shutting the laptop. Phil's wearing his own trousers and a button up.

"I need to get to my hotel," Phil says. "And then ring the airport about my luggage, and have someone wire me some money."

Dan can see the discarded tie making an unsightly lump in his trouser pocket, and he's got his jacket over one shoulder. The coffee stain looks even worse in the light of day. He's got Dan's hoodie clutched in his other hand.

"You can take that if you want to."

Dan's not sure where the offer comes from. He likes that hoodie.

Phil looks down at it. "Really?" He asks. "We could... we could meet up. For me to give it back to you. And pay you back."

"Pay me back?" Dan asks.

"For the money I'm about to ask to borrow so I can get the tube to where I need to be." Phil says meekly.

"Oh," Dan says. "Yeah, right."

"But I want to make it up to you." Phil takes a breath and then looks at Dan almost imploringly. "Dinner? When's your night off work?"

"Don't worry about it," Dan says. He grabs his wallet and pulls out the only cash he has. He doesn't even count it. "You don't need to pay me back. If you want to return the hoodie, drop it by the hotel."

Phil looks down at where Dan's offering it out to him. He's frowning, and Dan's starting to wonder exactly what's wrong when Phil says, "What if I just want to take you out?"

"What?" Dan stares at him.

"You're - am I wrong?" Phil asks. "I just.. I saw your quilt. And the sticker on your mirror.”

The warm, heavy quilt his friend made him in the colors of a rainbow flag. The equality sticker. "Are you asking me out? Are you even gay?"

The moment feels like a step beyond surreal.

Phil lifts up his trouser leg. His socks have little rainbows on them. Phil shrugs. "A bit?"

"You're a bit gay, or you're a bit asking me out?"

"Both?" Phil says.

"Okay I get how you can be a bit gay, but - how do you just ask someone out a bit?" Dan asks.

Phil begins to look uncomfortable. "If you don't want to, that's fine. I'll have your hoodie sent-"

"I don't work Sunday night," Dan interrupts him.

"Sunday," Phil repeats, smiling. "Alright. I'll bring the hoodie then. And buy you dinner."

Sunday comes, and Sunday goes. Dinner turns into a drink after and then a slow stumble through Dan's doorway with hands and mouths exploring. Monday morning dawns bright and early.

There's a stranger in Dan's bed again, and this time he knows exactly how to feel about it.

#phan #phanfic #thirty minute fics for charity

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phan-of-the-pen · 5 years

Text

I Dare You To Stay: Chapter 19

hope you enjoyed the fluff this is SAD

Tags for chapter: MAJOR angst, talk/mentions of depression/mental health issues, minor issues of self worth

Words for chapter: ~2.5 k

Fic Summary: Dan Howell is a barista working a shitty job, frequenting his shitty apartment, and living a shitty existence, hiding his asexuality and going for a PHD in self-depreciation and depression. Phil Lester is a part-time intern, part-time employee at a local weather station, trying to get experience in his field and make a name for himself, while juggling a second job at the nearby Tesco’s to give him some financial breathing room. Their paths were never supposed to meet, but what happens when they do anyways, one rainy day in Manchester?

(ao3!)

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~~~~~~~~~~

Dan ignored yet another buzz from the phone in his pocket. Like the past four this morning, this message would too be from Phil, and Dan just couldn't bring himself to look at them.

All of the texts boiled down to Phil trying to make up his absence to Dan, but Dan just wasn't in the mood to try and pretend to be anything but exhausted. His limbs were heavy and his heart was slowly numbing. Phil leaving was only part of the problem, but Dan just couldn't bring himself to shoulder it at the moment.

Phil was spending the next few days shadowing a retired but incredibly knowledgeable meteorologist. Dr. Mathers had worked with the weather station Phil was a part of for decades, and he had earned several awards for his work. He was more qualified in retirement than some of the meteorologists that were currently working in the bigger stations, and taking the time to learn from him was an opportunity that both Phil and the station couldn't pass up.

Normally, Dan would be just as excited and happy as Phil about something like this, but recently getting out of bed was an uphill struggle. He felt horrible about not being as outwardly supportive as he should have been, and he didn't know how to make it up to Phil. Even if he did, he wasn't so sure that he would be able to go through with anything, not with how much his mental health was crumbling in his hands.

It was the beginning of the second week in the new year. Jaime had left nearly two weeks ago on the 8AM train back to London on New Year's Day, and her departure had carved a deep chasm in Dan's soul. As angsty and emo as it sounded, he didn't have another way to describe how he felt. She had been going back and forth for what seemed like so long, and those two weeks that she had spent in Manchester had been almost solely devoted to just the two of them. Dan had been rendered nearly breathless with the realization of how much he had missed Jaime, and he had greedily drunk up every moment they spent together in the vain attempt at sedating an endless desire to be around her.

What he had failed to account for was how alone he felt now that she was gone; it was like he was missing his arms, or his legs. And it wasn't like he was entirely without her. They would text and Facetime, and he would skype her whenever they had the chance, but it was nothing like the real thing. Jaime wasn't meant to be simplified to just the pixels on his screen. In a way, her absence now hurt even more than her initial series of trips back and forth from Manchester to London.

Before Jaime's Christmas break, Dan had survived the separation by spending his spare time with Phil. Their blossoming relationship ended up flourishing because of it, and Dan was extremely grateful for how much they ended up strengthening the foundation that their relationship was built upon. These past two weeks have done nothing up test that foundation, however.

Phil had cancelled so many of their shared plans that Dan had only seen him twice in the past two weeks, and neither of those times were longer than half an hour stops at the coffee shop. Both of the two times that he and Dan had seen each other Phil had promised Dan that he would stay for at least an hour, but by the time twenty or thirty minutes were up his phone would ring and Phil would drop everything to answer it outside. After talking animatedly on the phone with a frown for ten to fifteen minutes Phil would reappear and shake his head. He'd chug down the rest of his coffee and walk out the door. "I'm really sorry, Dan, but I have to go. It's work." Phil was also only answering maybe half of the texts that Dan sent him, and he had acted horribly distant in the few and strained interactions the two had had.

Dan was as hurt as he was worried. Phil was shutting him out from something, and Dan wanted to be there for his boyfriend and smooth out the stressed creases in his forehead and surround him in a soothing hug. At the same time Dan was suffering from severe anxiety about the whole thing. He had never had the chance to talk to Phil about how he had been hurt from being shut out before, and now didn't seem like a good time.

He couldn't turn to Jaime because she was busy with the play, and he didn't want to spoil one of their few talks with his relationship problems. Good things to drown out the bad things was what he wanted right now, so talking to Jaime about this was out of the question. He couldn't lean on his boyfriend because Phil was not only dealing with something on his own, but currently all of their conversations were giving Dan skin-crawling anxiety with every terse word Phil gave him.

Dan didn't even have Mary.

She had been in the coffee shop once in the past three weeks, and it had been to tell Dan and Jaime that she wouldn't be around for a little. She needed a surgery to finally get some help for her bad knee, and she wouldn't be able to make the trip to the coffee shop for two months in her old age.

Part of Dan was happy to know why she had been acting strange a few weeks ago, but another part of him was sad and upset that he wasn't going to be seeing her for a while.

While Dan would never concern her with a problem of this magnitude, he would have killed to get even one morning with her. A little "Good morning, Daniel!" would have made his whole week, especially in the midst of all of this crap.

Dan unlocked the door to the coffee shop and flicked on the lights. He tossed his jacket into the break room and immediately and mechanically started to set up for the day.

He shovelled coffee grounds into one of the brew machines and slumped against the counter as he waited. His stomach grumbled a little as coffee started to permeate the air, but he didn't make a move to try and fix it. He hadn't eaten since his pitiful dinner of a slice of old pizza last night, and considering the fact that he didn't bring a lunch with him, it wouldn't be until he got home until he possibly would eat again.

Dan could just grab something from the case—they were allowed to—or even stop in one of the many shops up and down the street, but he didn't care if he didn't eat.

He didn't care about a lot right now.

Dan scrubbed at his face, exhausted in many more ways than just physical.

He had seen his therapist a few days ago, and she had warned him that he needed to try and prevent himself from falling further down this hole he was spiraling down, but Dan didn't really take her advice to heart. When he crawled out from this latest depressive episode he knew he would regret not listening to her, but right now he was empty and lonely, and that voice in the back of his head was too loud for him to ignore.

He didn't have his boyfriend. He didn't have his best friend. He didn't have Mary. He was all alone.

And it hurt. More than he could try and articulate, really.

~~~~~

Dan pushed the bag of crisps away from him, his minuscule appetite already gone. He wrapped the blanket around his body tighter and stared blankly at his television screen. One of the series he had been watching with Phil had uploaded a two hour season finale, but Dan wasn't absorbing a single second of what was being played. His stomach grumbled, but Dan only frowned and buried deeper into the blanket. He really didn't want food right now.

He didn't really want anything right now.

No, that was a lie.

He wanted someone. He didn't care if it was Jaime or Phil, or anyone else, but he needed some kind of human contact. Dan desperately wanted someone to help him pull himself out of his head space.

Dan slipped his phone out of his pocket and unlocked it. He had two unread texts from Phil that had accumulated since the last time that Dan had checked his phone a few hours ago. He ignored them for now and brought up the thread he and Jaime had.

> To: my maraschino cherry are u around?

It was close to an hour before Jaime responded. Even with her uncharacteristically late reply, Dan's heart still soared. He clicked on the new text.

> From: my maraschino cherry [multimedia message]

at a party rn. we did our first run of the whole set today! so we're celebrating lmao

anyways

did you need something? I can easily duck into a room, np danny

The picture attached was one of Jaime in what looked like someone's lounge. The whole thing was a little blurry, but Dan could easily see the sheer happiness on his best friend's face. Her arm was around an attractive blonde, their faces pressed together as they both widely and drunkenly looked into the camera.

Dan instantly felt guilty for bothering Jaime. She was having so much fun. There was no reason for him to not only ask her to momentarily leave the party to talk to him, but to also trouble her with the knowledge that he was rapidly slipping into a deep depressive episode. It would kill her mood and make her needlessly worry about him.

She deserved to be happy.

Dan quickly typed out his reply and sent it, backing out almost immediately.

> To: my maraschino cherry no dw! i just was wondering if u had time to talk lol. have fun! dont get TOO drunk ;)

Dan stared at his text chat with Phil. He read over the last two texts he had missed from his boyfriend, and bit his lip, trying to decide if he should bother Phil.

Phil hadn't directly seen what Dan's depressive episodes could come to. Jaime had been in the trenches with Dan, and even though she had never seen what they looked like behind locked doors and closed blinds until not too long ago, she had picked up his pieces after every one and was all too aware of the damage they did to Dan's mental and physical health. Phil knew the general gist of it from the few details Dan had given him, but there was no doubt that Phil would be in way over his head trying to handle Dan. Not to mention trying to deal with him in a depressive episode this strong.

Dan was also all too aware of how worried Phil would be over him, and Dan knew for a fact that no matter how far Phil pulled away from him, if Dan told Phil about this mounting problem Phil wouldn't be able to think straight until he could make sure Dan was okay with his own two eyes. It would put him off of his game for the whole week, and Dan didn't want to derail this important trip for Phil before it really began. This was an opportunity for Phil that Dan was determined not to ruin.

Frowning, Dan closed out of the messaging app. Almost instantly he reopened it again. His therapist had pointed out to him several times that he struggled with accepting and asking for help, and that he needed to let people into his life more if he wanted to get better. This was one of those instances, right? So shouldn't he talk to someone?

Dan drafted a message and deleted it. He tried again but only erased it as well. Dan groaned and nearly clicked the screen of his phone off out of frustration.

One more time…

Dan left this third attempt devoid of anything that would suggest that Dan was in trouble. In fact, it was very simple to what he had initially sent Jaime.

> To: Phil Lester (is amazing!!) hey, do u think we could talk?

After sending it, Dan felt a bit better. Even if he never gathered the courage to admit to Phil that he was in a bad place and that it would only get worse, he was confident that talking to Phil would make his spirits soar. It wasn't a miracle cure, but it would soothe the worst of the mind-numbing loneliness and depression deep in his bones.

Except Dan watched as the hours ticked by and his phone remained quiet and dark. When Dan blinked back into reality it was nearing 2AM. His Netflix show had long since expired, and there wasn't as much as a twitter notification on his phone. Dan dragged himself to his bed even though he knew that it was doubtful that he would sleep tonight.

Meanwhile, something hard had settled in the furthest reaches of Dan's chest. It made breathing difficult and his brain take three times as long to process even the smallest things. It had admittedly been a while since he had been last acquainted with it, but it was familiar. Sickly comforting in the sense that it was something he was so used to. In a way, it was like coming home.

When it was time to get up and get ready for work, Dan got ready on complete impulse. He was too busy dissociating to even remember the walk there, and was mildly surprised when he found himself stocking the cash register on muscle memory alone.

That was one thing that was different with this depressive episode, it seemed. Ever since he had first started to fall into this predicament about a week ago, he had buried himself in work. He took extra shifts in the coffee shop and even sometimes stayed overtime. Coming from someone who normally shut down in every way in the deepest caverns of his depression, the behavior was horribly different from what he was used to. Maybe it was because this depressive episode was caused by something different.

Before, they had been caused by his longing for things he didn't have: a family, a lover, acceptance, someone (or a group of people) who loved him and he could love in return. After he was kicked out and he found Jaime, they slowly became fewer and farther in between as he and Jaime became inseparable. Even though they were still there, he could manage them.

Dan had never had a depressive episode triggered by an all-consuming, numbing sense of being utterly and completely alone before.

Something deep in his gut did he have the feeling that this one would not be his last.

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