#but the idea of him actually being a computer worm is so absurd that it's actually working | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

In Q3 of 2020, 31% of US users access the Tumblr app daily.

#but the idea of him actually being a computer worm is so absurd that it's actually working

bopbopstyles · 4 years

Text

10. Emerson

SERIES RATING: M (sex)

CHAPTER WORD COUNT: 9.8k

MASTERLIST | INSPO TAG

Y/N promised herself she would never date a musician. It was her one rule–her only rule, actually–when it came to dating. But then, Harry Styles rolled into her life and asked her to break it, just this once. And this is what happened.

a/n: this is the last chapter of The Only Exception, and honestly, i never thought it would come. s/o to @bfharry and @havethetimeofyourstyles for helping me with dad!harry concepts! thank you to everyone who reblogged and loved my two little angels - i love them so much and hope you enjoyed their journey as much as i did! concepts for them are always open - i’m definitely not ready to let go of dad!harry. slide into my DMs and share your thoughts!

pls reblog to spread the word about only exception! 🥰

The final weeks before Emerson arrived were a flurry of activity. Y/N went on maternity leave, much to her dismay and Harry’s joy because he got to spend all day with her, every day. They finished the nursery off, finished their respective parenting books and compared notes, and did buckets of research on what to expect at the hospital. Harry, being Harry, ended up worming his way into helping Hanna and Jamie plan the baby shower, saying that if it was going to be at their house he deserved to have at least some part in planning it.

If he was being honest, he mainly did it to distract himself from the anxiety that seemed to plague him every time he woke up in the morning and rolled over and saw Y/N’s extremely pregnant belly. It wasn’t necessarily the anxiety about being a dad, that he could figure out, it was the anxiety about her giving birth. He had stayed up one night stalking a Reddit page that started out as advice for soon-to-be-dads, but ended up devolving into horror stories of things gone wrong. There were even a couple where the woman had died, which had Harry immediately shutting his computer, trying to get the thought of Y/N dying in childbirth out of his mind.

But he couldn’t. He rolled over every possible outcome of the birth, even the extreme ones of losing either her or their little Peanut, who he hadn’t quite adjusted to thinking about as Emerson yet. Anne hadn’t been much help at calming his nerves, even though he knew she was saying all the right things. The problem was that he wasn’t being rational, that he was letting his mind run rampant, and the only way to solve that, Harry knew, was to focus it on something. A goal.

Which led him to the baby shower. He had basically forced Hanna and Jamie to let him help, which he was a bit ashamed of, but the planning actually helped. Thinking through decorations and guest lists and party games and food and playlists, it quieted his mind enough to let his anxiety subside for most of the day. Now they only took over when Y/N fell asleep and he laid awake, watching her sleep and staring at her belly in awe.

Those moments of anxiety and awe were, coincidentally, the same moments in which he ended up thinking about proposing to her.

He loved Y/N more than any other woman he had ever known, he knew that much for sure. She challenged him in ways he loved, made him work to keep her around, and cared for him in a way he had never experienced before. Somehow she knew what he needed before he ever asked—the touches, words, reminders that put his mind and body at ease. Loving her was so fucking easy that it scared him a bit.

And then there was their little Peanut, Emerson, who was already the love of his life. The time he spent singing to her belly, talking to him with his body nestled between her legs, pressing kisses to where he kicked her, it made his heart practically burst. Harry had always wanted to be a father, and even though this wasn’t how he had planned it, it made no difference to him. It was still the best thing that had ever happened to him. She was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He wanted them to be a family, a proper family in a traditional sort of way. And he knew that marriage didn’t make a family, that it was love and time and effort that created one, but that didn’t mean he wanted to marry her any less. He wanted her to have his name, the same last name Emerson would have. He wanted to watch her walk down the aisle in a beautiful white gown in the church in Holmes Chapel he’d spent years in. He wanted their child to throw rose petals ahead of her. He wanted to say his weddings vows to her, to slide a ring on her finger, to kiss her when it was all said and done. He wanted to spend the rest of his life loving her.

He didn’t necessarily know when he decided he wanted to propose to her, which night exactly, or what moment he knew in his heart that if he didn’t he would regret it for the rest of his life. He’d been thinking about it off and on since she told him she was pregnant and it got stronger when she moved into his house and made it her permanent address. When she came on tour and he saw how easily she fell into his world every single day. When she had a group text chat with Anne and Gemma where they bullied him and talked about the baby and politics all in the same conversation. When he got home and he felt like he could finally breathe again, because he was with her.

He was fully set on the idea a week into being home, and that was when he went rummaging through his attic for the box of things Anne had given him of his grandmother’s. Specifically, he was looking for a ring—one that had been her wedding ring, and she had given him as something to remember her by, or use for his own marriage. When he found it, he knew it was perfect for her—simple silver with vines etched into the band, and one clear diamond. Y/N was an understated person, never too flashy, and even though Harry could afford an expensive ring, he knew it wouldn’t mean nearly as much to her as this one would.

When it came to the question of when he would propose, he decided to wait. She was too stressed as it was, with Emerson on the way, and it wasn’t like she was going anywhere. He would wait until things had settled down, until he had the ability to do something special for her. He didn’t want to rush it in any way, shape, or form. So instead, he kept the ring tucked into the back of his sock drawer, ready for when the moment arrived.

Until that time, though, he would have to satisfy himself with the simple moments of loving her. And when they were all sat in their backyard, streamers and lanterns decorating the space, their closest friends and family sitting around them at tables and chairs, that was one of those moments. She was talking Anne and Gemma, who had flown in for the birth—which was only a handful of days away—a grin on her face so wide he wondered if her cheeks hurt. Her hair tumbled down her back in waves, her eyes glowed with joy, and the soft pink lipstick she had selected made him want to kiss every inch of her face. She was in a white summer midi dress and a pair of comfortable sandals, and he didn’t know if she had ever looked more beautiful.

“Harry!” His name pulled him out of his trance. She was beckoning him over, and he stood from his chair where he had been vaguely talking to Jeff and some of his other friends, and moved towards her immediately.

“Hey love,” he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, his chest pressed to her back, and rest his chin on her head.

Her hand moved to cup his forearm, a simple touch that made him smile. “Anne and Gem were just wondering if there was going to be cake.”

“For the record,” Gemma said, “we did not specifically ask about cake. We asked generally about the likelihood of there being dessert.”

Harry laughed at his sister and simplicity of the request. “Yeah, there’s cake. Got. Your favorite kind,” he said squeezing Y/N’s shoulder.

She tipped her head up and looked at him, eager eyes finding his. “Really?”

“Mhm,” he murmured. “Cookies and cream ice cream cake is in the freezer.”

She yelped in excitement, pressing a kiss to his lips chastely. “Love you.”

“Just for the cake?”

She shrugged. “And other stuff.” Anne and Gemma started laughing, the sound intermingling with the chirp of the birds and soft sounds of the playlist he had spent hours creating. They had played baby shower games led by Hanna, which had left them all in hysterics, some people had gone for a swim, and they’d had a cookout. It was simple, easy, and exactly what Y/N had requested. There was pile of gifts inside that she declined to open in front of the group, since neither she nor Harry were the kind of people who liked to show off their gifts at parties. One of the many things they shared.

Now, the party was winding down, the sun was setting, and he knew people would begin preparing to head out. It was probably time for cake. “Ready for it?” He asked Y/N.

“Yes!” She followed him inside, where the air conditioning was a welcome relief from the warm summer day. Her hand slipped into his and thumbed along the inside of his wrist, a smile drifting onto his face from the small action.

“Do you like the party?” He asked when they reached the kitchen.

She leaned against the counter and watched him make his way over the fridge. “Yeah. I don’t know why I was so against the idea at first—it’s been nice having everyone here. And to celebrate little Peanut.” She hadn’t adjusted to the name yet either, so they had stuck to calling their unborn child Peanut, leaving the name for when they arrived in the world.

“Me too.” He pulled open their freezer and found the cake easily—he’d gotten it done at their favorite gelato shop and it had cost an absurd amount for a cake, but he didn’t mind. The reaction on her face when he lifted the top and she saw the cake was worth double the price. “Like it?”

Her arms came to wrap around his waist, tugging him into her. “You know, sometimes you just blow me away a bit.”

He mirrored her position, arms twined around her waist. Her head was tucked into the crook of his neck, and he leaned his head against hers, savoring the simplicity and calmness of the moment. He’d started doing it lately, knowing they would be few and far between. “So do you.”

Footsteps sounded on the wood floors of their house, and he turned his head to see Trisha, her mother, in the living room. “Sorry,” she said with an embarrassed smile. “Came in for another drink.”

Y/N pulled away, much to his dismay, and when to the fridge for another sparkling water for her mother. “Can you take the plates out too, Mom? We’re doing cake.” She handed her mother a stack of plates and flatware, bustling around the kitchen to find the rest of the napkins from earlier.

“Is that ice cream cake?” Trisha asked, sliding the stack into her arms. “You know her well, Harry.”

That he did. Was quite proud of it, too. The three of them made their way out to the rest of the party, Harry holding the cake and the napkins clasped in Y/N’s hand. Everyone turned at the sound of the sliding door and excitedly joined the couple around the cake, a jabber of conversation about how gorgeous the cake was and how delicious it looked. Anne asked if it was going to melt and Harry chuckled in response, before cutting into the cake. Y/N got the first slice, and Harry watched as the ice cream melted on her lips ever so slightly, a sticky mess coating her skin a bit. He restrained the desire to lick at her skin knowing she would hate him doing that in front of everyone. Instead, he stood next to her with his own piece of cake, an arm around her waist and her head nestled against his shoulder as their friends and families chatted.

“How are long are you staying?” Hanna asked Anne and Gemma, taking a bite of the cake.

“A few weeks,” Anne replied. “I might stay longer, but Gem has work to get back to.”

“If you need someplace to stay, I’ve got spare rooms,” Peter piped up.

Anne gave Peter a thankful smile. “We might take you up on that. Hotels can get a bit tiresome.”

“Mum, you can alway stay with us,” Harry told her for the millionth time. Anne had insisted upon her and Gemma staying in a hotel until the baby was born, wanting to give Y/N and him as much solo time as possible before Emerson arrived. Harry and Y/N had both fought her on it, telling her she was welcome, but she was sure on the decision. Trisha had ended up deciding to stay in the same hotel, echoing Anne’s desire to let them have their space before the birth, so the two had gotten a bit closer. Trish had even become Anne and Gemma’s personal chauffeur, since they didn’t have a car.

Anne waved at the thought. “No, I want you two to have your space. We’ll be here after the birth, but until then, savor these last moments together.”

Y/N pinched at Harry’s hip and he yelped, giving her a glare. She was giggling into his arm though, a playful smile on her face, so she let it slide. “As much as I’d love to have family around, I can’t say I’m mad.”

Everyone laughed at that, and Harry rubbed a circle on her skin, enjoying her relaxed nature, the anxiety that had been plaguing her recently disappearing. It wasn’t just him who had been stressed lately about the quickly approaching birth—Y/N had been having vivid stress dreams that usually ended up waking him up, her body sweating next to him.

Harry wasn’t mad that his family wasn’t staying with them either, because frankly after being apart from Y/N for so long, he didn’t want anyone invading their space unless absolutely necessary. (Exceptions would obviously be made for their child.) He just wanted to touch her all the fucking time, just pet her skin or kiss up and down her neck, and sometimes he kissed her hard against the wall just because he could. As they stood next to each other, her hands gripping the back of his striped t-shirt and his fingers brushing up and down her spine, he wanted everyone to leave so he could love on her as much as he wanted.

When Y/N started to yawn, Harry knew it was time to wrap up the party. He did the honors of ushering their guests out, knowing she was too kind to ever pressure people to leave, but Harry had no problem forcing people to leave his home so that he could be alone with her. Peter lingered behind to help pick up the yard while Y/N and Harry washed dishes in the kitchen. Fleetwood Mac flowed from the speaker and they moved around one another in ease, comments about the party passed between them. Harry pinched her hip when she scooted past him and she swatted his ass with a towel in retaliation, a playful smile directed his way.

“Love you,” she murmured against his shoulder, nosing at the shirt stretched across his body. His hands were in soapy water as he washed a plate so he couldn’t touch her, which he felt was a crime, but he settled for just turning his head and kissing her temple.

“Love you too,” he replied. “Now get back to drying, you’re messing up our flow.” She giggled and he handed her a plate, which she wiped dry. Her father came inside with the rest of the decorations and items that had been left outside, and Harry directed him to put them in the garage. Going through all of them was on his to-do list for tomorrow, but he didn’t have the energy to do it now. After that, Peter showed himself out, promising to call Harry the next day to talk about the song he had mentioned wanting to work through with him. Harry had never thought having a talented musician as a father-in-law of sorts would be so nice, but now that he had Peter he loved being able to give him a call and get his opinion on a mix or the bridge of a song he was working on.

The dishes were finished, and Harry pulled the plug in the sink to let the soapy water drain before wiping his hands on a towel and turning to Y/N. “I was thinking a late night swim might be nice,” he said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.

“I don’t want to try and find a suit that fits,” Y/N said with a frown, hand brushing over her belly.

Harry would personally have favored if she was naked all the time. “Don’t need one, love. C’mon—I’ll turn on the fairy lights you love.”

She smiled and nodded, letting him lead her to outside to the porch. Outside, it was dark, moonlight illuminating the outline of the large oak trees in the backyard, the shed with the lawnmower Harry had been meaning to replace, and a vegetable garden they had put in before tour. Hanna had tended to it while they were gone, and then it was Y/N’s responsibility, and she had done a good job—they had little tomatoes and beans and broccoli and a variety of herbs, which Harry loved cooking with. A few feet past the patio was the pool, the concrete surrounding it strewn with reclining chairs where they loved to sunbathe in the afternoons, Harry running sunblock over Y/N’s stretched skin.

When his feet met the concrete of the patio, Harry tugged his shirt off, then his pants and briefs, before turning to look at Y/N. She was struggling with the tie at the back of her dress, and Harry motioned for her to turn, his fingers deftly pulling the ties loose and then tugging her zipper down her back. “Beautiful,” he murmured, pressing a series of kisses to her spine that had her shivering. He helped her out of her undergarments, and then she stood before him bathed in moonlight and the soft glow of the fairy lights that twinkled around them. Her full breasts, a hand rubbing over her belly where their child rested. She looked almost ethereal, a vision, a dream. “Come on, love,” he said, walking towards the pool.

He dropped into the water without a pause, the cool temperature washing over his skin deliciously. When he poked his head up to the top of to the water, he found Y/N sitting on the edge of the pool, her feet dangling in. “It’s cold,” she said, kicking some water into his face.

Harry moved towards her, pulled like magnets, and snatched her feet. Littering her leg with kisses and leaving her giggling for him, he found a spot between her knees, his chest pressed to the side of the pool. “Feels good, though.” His hands swept over her belly, and he nosed at her bare skin. “Want to go for a swim, Peanut? Think it’ll feel good, but Mumma isn’t so sure.”

“God, you’re so annoying,” Y/N said, pushing at his chest so she could slide into the pool. She landed on the bottom and immediately reached for Harry, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Did you have fun today?”

Harry pulls her thighs up so he can hold her close, and her fingers scratch at the nape of his neck. “I did. You were so happy.”

“Not just about my happiness, you mush. You seemed pretty happy too.”

This was true, but the sight of Y/N happy made him happy. “I was, baby,” he reassured her. She pressed her lips to his, one of love and care, and then pulled away, resting her head on his shoulder. He just held her close, adoring the feeling of her bare skin on his, their child nestled between them, basking in the glow that was loving her.

Harry dipped the tongs into the pasta water, grabbing at a piece and pulling it out of the hot water to test its readiness. Y/N was standing next to him, tossing the salad they had put together, and trying to hold herself together. The contractions had been coming and going all day, pain that radiated up her spine as she clenched her jaw and tried to continue her activities. They’d called the midwife the minute they started and she had been there ever since, helping Y/N with breathing patterns and guiding her into different positions to keep the pain from overwhelming her. They hadn’t been regular, though, so they were still at home, waiting for the contractions to speed up or even out.

“Another one?” Harry asked, peeking over at her, her hands clenching the edge of the counter as another contraction rolled through her body. She nodded shakily, and Harry ran his hand across her back. “Breathe for me love, remember? In, out, even—there you go.” Once he was breathing more evenly, he went to pour out the pasta, wanting to make sure Y/N had strength for the delivery that was for sure coming.

It might have seemed unusual that Harry and Y/N were cooking dinner—the midwife had sure thought so, but it felt good to have something for Y/N to focus her mind on, even if it was just putting together a salad and watching Harry cook. It was better than doing uncomfortable exercises in the backyard to try get the labor moving along. They’d tried her squatting, her waddling around, her doing loud yells, and none of it had worked. She was exhausted.

All of a sudden, a dull pain lashed through her and she dropped the tongs to the counter with a clatter, the metal hitting the granite countertops.“Fuckkk,” Y/N groaned, clenching the edge of the counter and trying to breathe in and out.

“That was faster,” Harry said, panic rising inside of him. He looked to the midwife, who was on her feet and moving towards them from where she had been sitting on the couch reading a book. “Right?”

“Yes,” the midwife, Sarah, told them both, coming to Y/N’s side. “Breathe for me, Y/N, okay? I need to start counting them. Can you do that with me?”

Harry had completely forgotten about dinner as he counted with Sarah and Y/N, timing the distance between her contractions. Y/N was panting so hard and all Harry could do was grip her hand when she reached out for him, and hold it and watch in sheer horror at the pain in her face. It had been like this all day, but this—this looked different somehow, more intense. Her fingers were squeezing his palm so tightly he thought she might cut off circulation.

Together, they managed to move Y/N to the couch, where she could be more comfortable. Her contractions were coming faster and more frequent over the next hour, dinner completely forgotten—Harry could tell and Sarah agreed. “Harry,” Sarah said, breaking her focus on Y/N to look at him, “is the hospital bag ready?”

It had been ready for two weeks—he’d done it the day after he had gotten home and checked it almost every day to make sure they had everything. “Yes,” he said.

“Go get it.”

Y/N’s eyes widened, and Harry pressed a kiss to her hand before scampering upstairs to the nursery to grab it. He took the stairs two at a time, eager not to be away from her for too long. When he reached the nursery, he looked around and thought to himself that the next time he would be there, his little Emerson would be coming home.

Downstairs, Sarah was counting with Y/N again, talking her through the contractions and the pain. When Harry reappeared, she waved him over before taking out her phone. “Take her,” she told him. “I’m going to call the hospital.”

“It’s time?” Y/N looked up in panic, before another contraction made her moan, her fingers squeezing Harry’s. “Oh my god, H, it’s happening.”

Harry scooted next to her on the couch and pressed a kiss to her sweaty brow. “It’s happening, love. How does it feel?”

“Like hell,” she said, teeth clenched. “They said it hurts but fuck this is horrible. Why do women have to experience this? Fuck, Emerson, baby, please calm down.”

Sarah was talking to the hospital in the background, giving them information on Y/N’s contractions and Harry was only half listening, mostly focusing on Y/N’s eyes, which were darting around the room. “Got the bag ready,” he said, trying to distract her. “We’ve got everything we need. Plenty of gas in the car, too—checked this morning.” He did it every morning now, just to be sure that if it happened suddenly, he would be ready to drive.

“What—fuck—about dinner?”

Harry just chuckled, brushing her hair back. “I’ll have Gemma come by and clean up. Don’t give a shit about the pasta getting stuck to the bottom of the pan.”

She leaned into Harry’s neck and exhaled sharply, clutching his leg. “I don’t know if I’m ever going to have another kid,” she said, “because this is fucking torture.”

Before Harry could reply, Sarah turned to them. “They’re waiting for you—let’s go you two! Time to meet little Emerson!”

Harry drove like a calm, collected, race car driver on the roads. Trying to go as fast as possible without getting pulled over, jumpy because every time Y/N moaned he freaked out a bit, just praying he would get the hospital soon so that they could give her something for the pain. At one point he had brought up natural birth and she had given a look like he made him immediately shut up and never bring it up again. Now that he was seeing labor in person, he fully understood why.

He pulled into the hospital, following Sarah’s instructions for what entrance to use, and put the car into park. People were rushing to the car with a wheelchair which he knew Y/N would hate, but she needed it. He let them get her out of the car before parking it horribly and racing after them, hospital thrown over his shoulder and his phone in his hand. He was having a baby, he thought to himself after the door slid shut behind and he walked alongside Y/N as she was wheeled down the hall. He was going to be a dad today.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” Y/N panted, holding onto Harry as she looked at the doctors around her. They’d given her an epidural, which helped, but she was fucking exhausted. She’d been pushing in time with her contractions for two hours and her body felt like it was on its last limb. Even though she couldn’t feel the pain, she could feel the ache in her muscles and she just wanted to sleep for hours. But she was dilated to ten centimeters and it was time to do the final pushes. She was in the home stretch.

“Come on, love,” Harry said, brushing at her forehead. “You’re so close, yeah? You can do it, baby.” His eyes bore into hers, the hazel irises overwhelming her. The look of love and pride and utter awe written all over his features.

“I need you to push for me, Y/N,” her doctor said. She could see him between her legs, where he was looking up at her. “Emerson is ready to meet you both.”

She nodded, taking a deep breath, and then she pushed as hard as she could, bearing down on Harry’s hand so hard she thought she might break it, but he didn’t say anything. Just held her tight and repeated encouraging words, telling her how good she was doing, how she could do it, how they were so close to meeting their baby.

“I can see the head,” the doctor informed her when Y/N took a breath. “Another one—okay? You’re doing great.”

She looked at Harry, the eyes pricking both of their eyes at the prospect of meeting little Emerson finally. And then she shut her eyes, took a deep breath, and pushed with every fiber of her being, desperately wanting to meet her child and let this be over. She screamed—she could hear it in her ears as her body tensed, toes and fingers curling.

And then she heard the most beautiful sound in the world.

The cry of a baby.

“Oh,” Harry gasped, kissing her hand in his, making her look at him. He was crying in the chair next to her, tears rolling down his face, utterly overwhelmed. “You did it, baby.”

“It’s a girl,” the doctor said, giving them a wide smile.

A girl. “Emmy,” she said, the nickname claiming its place in her heart immediately.

“A little girl,” Harry murmured in awe, and she couldn’t stop the tears rolling down her face at the sight of him, overwhelmed with love for her and their child.

The doctor pulled away slightly from her and looked to Harry. “Do you want to cut the cord, Dad?”

Y/N’s heart lurched at the doctor calling Harry “Dad”—the kind that utterly took her breath away. Harry was moving in an instant, going to where the doctor was situated. “Harry, what does she look like?”

Harry’s curly hair bounced as he looked from their child to her. “Pink,” he said simply, a giggle leaving his lips. “Beautiful.” Then she heard a snip and the umbilical cord was cut, and the doctor was handing her baby to Harry.

She wanted to see her child, but the next thing she knew she was being told to keep pushing, that she had to deliver the placenta, so she focused on the task at hand. She was worn out, but she reminded herself that she sooner she did this, the sooner she could hold Emerson in her arms. When she was done, she sagged into the hospital bed and stretched out her arms to Harry, who was swaying slightly, their child held close in his arms.

Y/N looked at her child in awe. Ten fingers and ten toes, two little green eyes that stared up at her when Harry set her against her chest, a tiny nose and adorable lips that puckered and stretched. Emerson. Her baby, her child, the person who she loved with her entire soul from the moment she discovered her existence. “Hi, Emerson,” she whispered, brushing at her face.

Harry knelt next to Y/N, kissing her forehead. “She has your nose.”

“How in the world can you tell?”

He shrugged. “Just can.”

She looked up at Harry and found his eyes, the one their daughter shared. “I love you.”

He kissed her lips, the love that flowed between them overpowering every other feeling in her her body. “I love you so much, Y/N. Feel like the luckiest man in the world—I’ve got you and I’ve got little Emmy.” Then, he was nudging at Emerson’s hand with his forefinger, and Y/N watched in amazement as her daughter opened her little fingers and clasped Harry’s finger, as if to know it was her father.

She was a true wonder, and Y/N couldn’t look at anything else.

TWO YEARS LATER

Harry set his daughter down on the counter, her chubby thighs nestled against his torso. She had on a pair of overalls and a baby blue shirt, a pair of little baby Converse that Harry had absolutely lost it over when he saw them. He had discovered an obsession with baby clothes and had turned Emerson into his personal model, despite Y/N’s annoyance at the size of her daughter’s closet.

“Need to put your hair up, Ems, otherwise it’s going to get all in the food,” he told her, pulling at the hair ties he now always had on his wrist for moments like these. His daughter’s dark brown curls that matched his own were long enough to where they had to be tied up, otherwise they would end up tangled in seconds.

Emerson looked up at him, her hazel eyes peeking up at him under long eyelashes. Y/N always joked that she was a spitting image of Harry, and he couldn’t help but admit it was true. He adored it—seeing his child, who was so obviously his, but with a personality that was so Y/N it made him laugh sometimes. Her stubbornness, the way she insisted on her own way, even her little opinions that were starting to peek out as her vocabulary grew. It drove Y/N bonkers, but Harry loved discovering more and more of his child.

He swept her hair into a ponytail, something he had become adept at in the two years of being a father. As he tugged the hair tie around her locks, Emmy’s hands made their way to Harry’s hair, which had grown longer recently. Y/N had been working up a storm since she was promoted last year, and Harry had taken on the role of full-time stay at home Dad with glee, but it did mean things like shaving and hair cuts had fallen by the wayside. He didn’t mind though, and Y/N didn’t seem to either, from the way she nuzzled her face against his bit of a beard, and tugged on the ends of his hair when they made love.

Emerson had a similar obsession with Harry’s hair, another thing she shared with her mother, and it always made Harry burst with love whenever his daughter played with his hair. “Papa’s hair is soft,” she mumbled as he tightened the hair tie so none would fall out. “Like mine!”

He poked his daughter on the nose, loving how her eyes scrunched up. “That it is, my little angel. Ready to cook with Papa?”

“Yes!” Her hands reached for him to pick her up, which he did, swinging her onto his hip as he moved to her designated spot on the floor next to where he would be set up by the stove. It was their nightly routine—as Harry cooked dinner for them all, Emerson played with the wooden cooking toys that Harry had bought for her, babbling at his feet. It kept her entertained while he got dinner done, just in time for when Y/N got home from work.

He situated her on the floor and pulled out her box of toys from the cabinet, squatting down to unload the wooden bowls, spoons, and fake foods inside. Emerson grabbed at each of them, telling him the name, as he had taught her. “Bowl, spoon, cheese!” She said, looking at him with wide eyes to see if she got it right.

“Good job,” he said, kissing her forehead before standing to his full height. “Where’s your apron?”

“My apron!” Emerson babbled with a gasp, grabbing at her clothes.

Harry chuckled at the sight before grabbing her yellow apron that Harris had sewn her for her second birthday, something far too gorgeous for a two-year-old, but Emerson was utterly obsessed, so Harry didn’t make a fuss about it. “Apron!” She said when he tied it around her neck and her little waist. “Papa, spoon!” She was holding her wooden spoon up at him and Harry smiled at his daughter, her love for their little traditions making his heart soar.

He grabbed his own spoon from the cup on the counter, bending down and bumping it against his daughter’s mini version. “Spoons unite!” He said, the sound of his daughter’s giggles filling his ears. “What do you want to listen to while we cook, bubs?”

“Hmm.” Emerson dropped the block of cheese and some nondescript meat into a bowl and twirled them around with her spoon. “Papa!”

“Me?” Recently Emerson had become obsessed with his music, constantly requesting for him to play it. Fine Line had come out just a few months ago and she loved Watermelon Sugar, which Y/N utterly hated since she knew what it was about, but Harry found it hilarious. “Which one?”

“Watamelon Suga!” She said, struggling with her Rs. She bounced up and down on her knees in excitement until he was hooking up the music over the speakers. When it came on, she immediately began bopping her head back and forth to the music and trying to sing, which Harry found positively adorable.

He started to make dinner, chopping up vegetables for a stir-fry that he knew Emerson liked. He had been trying to help her branch out into new foods, which Y/N kept on reminding him was really unnecessary considering she was barely two years old, but he liked seeing her little face screw up when she didn’t like something or eyes widen when she liked it. They sang along to his songs, and every so often he’d peek down and check on Emmy, who was happily pretend cooking with her toys, making all sorts of things. Sometimes he would ask what she was making and she would reply with any foods that came to mind that she had heard him mention, even if it was completely incorrect. One time she said she was making a cake, but she had a broccoli and some grapes in the bowl, and he tried not to crack up at the sight.

“Papa!” He looked down at his daughter, her spoon raised at him. “Look at my spoon!”

He chuckled, bending down to take a picture of her holding her spoon up triumphantly. “You just love your spoon, huh?” He snapped the photo and posted it on his Close Friends story on Instagram, which was 90% photos of Emerson doing random things throughout the day.

“Papa’s spoon is bigger,” she said, struggling with the last syllable of bigger, but making it through.

“It is. But yours is pink, which I like a lot.”

Emerson examined her spoon, and then lifted it to Harry, rubbing her nose on the back of her tiny hand. “You can use it, Papa!”

His heart melted at his daughter’s generosity, which was overflowing. She was always offering for him to borrow her toys or to let other kids to use her things, and he loved her kind soul. It was another thing that came from Y/N, he was sure of it, since he hated sharing as a kid. “Thank you, bubs, but I’m fine with mine.” He kissed her hand and she smiled at him, before going back to her cooking.

Fifteen minutes later, he heard the garage door open and close, and Emerson must have heard it too because she on her feet immediately, teetering out of the kitchen in the direction of the garage. “Mama!” She screamed, and Harry smiled at the sound of Y/N’s voice, her soft reply of “Hello, pumpkin,” and the soft laughter of his daughter cascading through the house.

“Smells good,” she said, and Harry’s eyes caught hers as she entered the kitchen, Emerson resting on her hip. Her little head was on Y/N’s shoulder, each hand scrunched in her work shirt, eyes flickering over Harry. “Stir fry?”

Harry gave his love a kiss on the forehead. “Mhm, know how much my two girls love it.”

“That we do,” Y/N replied, hiking Emmy up a bit on her hip. “Did you have fun with Papa today, bubs?”

“Yes!” Emerson replied, picking her head up and smiling at them both, her little baby teeth showing. “We went to park and made new friends. Charlie, right, Papa?”

He nodded, brushing a hand across Y/N’s shoulders and rubbing into the tense muscle there. She lolled her head back on his arm and smiled at him, a silent thank you passing between them. “Then we got some lunch at our favorite spot, and took a swim in the pool.”

“I kicked Papa!” Emerson said excitedly to her mother, and she laughed in response.

“Did you get him all wet?” Emerson nodded, and Y/N brushed her hand to Harry’s side, the touch warming him immediately. “Sounds like fun. Maybe we can have a pool day tomorrow?”

It was Saturday, the whole family’s favorite day. Emerson got both of her parents all day, and Y/N and Harry usually had date night, Emerson going to her grandpa’s house for the night. It was a tradition they’d had since she was born, and one that had become incredible important to them. “I think that sounds great,” Harry said. “Ems, can you help Mama get dressed for dinner?”

“Yes!” Emerson loved watching her mother get dressed and Harry firmly believed that she was inheriting his love of clothes from the way she loved to run her hands over the materials.

Y/N chuckled and pressed a kiss to Harry’s cheek before she walked out of the kitchen, their daughter on her hip. She chatted to Emerson about her day, asking questions about what she and Harry had done in her absence and answering her daughter’s questions. Harry got dinner finished up, putting the stir fry into bowls for him and Y/N and a smaller amount into a bowl for Emerson, cutting it up into smaller bites so she could eat it more easily. He placed them on the table and filled up a glass of wine for both Y/N and himself, before switching the music to some nice relaxing jazz while they ate.

Y/N reappeared in one of Harry’s old tour shirts and sweatpants, an excited Emerson trailing after her on the stairs. She was scooting down them hesitantly, something she had recently become obsessed with doing and Y/N and Harry were letting her do while supervised. Harry was terrified of her cracking her head open on the stairs, but Y/N told him it was important for her to develop confidence in her ability to move around, so he tried to let it go.

“Ready for dinner, Ems?” He asked, picking her up and settling her into her high chair. She nodded and he handed her little fork and her bowl, before settling into his seat next to her. Y/N sat down in the seat opposite him, reaching out for her wine glass and taking a long sip. “How was work, love?”

“Long,” she replied, tucking her napkin into her lap and picking up her fork. “I got that presentation done I was working on. I think we’re planning to bring someone else on, which would be a huge help.”

“When’s that going to be?” Harry took a bite of his food before reaching over and helping Emerson to get some food onto her fork, noticing she was struggling.

Y/N sighed, and Harry looked up at her, noticing the exhaustion in her eyes. “Soon hopefully. There’s way too much on my plate and there’s just no way I can get it all done.”

“I hope they figure it out soon,” he told her, reaching across the table and squeezing her hand. “Want to have a bath after dinner? I can do nighttime tonight.”

“You sure? You’ve been with her all day—“

“Hush,” Harry cut her off with a smile. “You know I love doing it. Want you to relax, okay?”

She nodded, lifting their clasped hands so she could press a kiss to his knuckles. “Thank you.”

“Of course, love. Emmy and I have a book to finish, right, bubs?”

Emerson nodded, and then launched into a mildly botched description of the book they had started reading last night, one about a girl detective that she really liked. Harry was passionate about reading to her every night, as it helped her settle down and developed quite a healthy imagination that he loved. They chatted for the rest of dinner about what they wanted to do the following day, deciding that Harry was going to make biscuits, Emerson’s favorite, and have a pool day, since it was quickly becoming too cool outside to have a proper pool day. Harry loved that about California, though, that it was warm year round so even in September they could be outside in the sun and he could work on teaching Emerson how to swim. Y/N wanted her to be comfortable in the water so they could feel safer with her around the pool, so they had been working on teaching her how to get in and out of the pool how to kick and how to breathe. So far, she was a natural, a little fish, Y/N called her.

After dinner, Harry helped Emerson into her pajamas after changing her diaper—they were still struggling with potty training—and watched her as she brushed her teeth triumphantly in the mirror. Then, they recited their nightly affirmations, thinking of something they were thankful of and something they liked about themselves. Harry had implemented it from the moment Emerson had started learning to talk, and now it was a nightly ritual for them.

“I’m thankful for Papa,” Emerson said, making Harry smile as he stood behind her in the mirror, the resemblance between them startling. “I like that I was nice to Charlie. What about you, Papa?”

“I’m thankful for Emerson and Mama,” he told her, tickling her sides and making her giggle, “and I like that I was able to help Mama tonight when she was stressed.”

Emerson turned around, gave her father a peck on the cheek, and lifted her arms for him to carry her to bed. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, clinging to him like a koala, and Harry walked her to her bed, pushing aside the princess netting she had fallen in love with at Target one day and had nearly thrown a tantrum about before they bought it. She snuggled into his side as he curled up next to her, grabbing the book from the bedside table to continue reading. She rested her head on his chest, eyes on the book that he had opened for them to read, and he sighed from the feeling of his daughter nestled into him. He loved the moments like this of being a father, the quiet ones of just him and Emerson, the world falling away from him.

Being a dad was his proudest achievement.

Once Emerson was asleep, he got up, tucking her in and making sure her nightlight was on before shutting the door gently behind him. Down the hall, Y/N was waiting for him, tucked into bed with a book she was reading.

“Hi you,” he said, shutting their door behind him, the wood creaking softly as he leaned against it. “Missed you today.”

She looked up, taking in the sight of the man she loved standing next to the door. His hair as all askew from her daughter’s pillow and his voice was a bit raw from reading, clothes creased from a long day with a two-year-old with plenty of energy. But she loved him like this, so obviously a father, taking every part of his role with a smile on his face. “You say that every night.”

“That’s because I miss you every day,” he said, moving towards her. “Now come here, wanna hold my girl.”

But Y/N waved him away. “Go get ready for bed. Don’t want you to have to get up later.”

“Fine,” Harry said, rolling his eyes at her, but followed her directions anyways. While he brushed his teeth and washed his face, she chatted about work and asked questions about Emerson’s day, wanting to know what she had missed out on. As much as she loved working, she hated being away from her family all day. After he had stripped out of his clothes, just his briefs hanging on his hips, he pulled back the duvet and pulled Y/N into his side. “That better?”

She rolled on top of him, her book long forgotten on their bedside table. “Much.” Her knees came up on either side of his hips and she tucked her hands into his hair, tugging softly as he pulled him into a kiss. She lost herself in the taste of his lips, a home she loved returning to every day, a home she never wanted to leave. His fingers trailed down her body, rucking up the edge of the shirt she wore and smoothing across her back. She shivered under his touch and he smirked, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth and making her pant his name.

“Thought you were tired,” he mumbled, brushing his lips down her neck in short kisses that had her panting in his ear.

“Not too tired for this,” she replied, and when she rolled her hips over his, Harry groaned, hot and heavy into her neck. She wanted him always, it seemed, unable to get enough of the way he touched her, even after a child and plenty of sleepless nights, she still found the energy to love on him. It filled her up, the way he brushed her skin with his kisses and showed her how much he appreciated her.

“Gonna kill me, love.” His hands, bare from his usual rings, pressed into her hips, anchoring her against him. “Ya sure? Don’t have to.”

But Y/N had other plans, wiggling free from his grip and kissing a line down his chest. Harry was mumbling her name as she moved, tugging at her skin as she disappeared under the comforter and pulled his briefs down his legs. He pushed at the duvet, desperate to keep his eyes on hers, and Y/N loved it, wanting nothing more than to see his face as she drew pleasure from his body. “Want to show you how thankful I am for you,” she told him, before spitting on his dick and pumping the spit in her hand.

“Fuck.” Harry gripped the sheets to try and hold himself together. Nighttime was her favorite time of day, because it was when she got him all to herself, Emerson far enough down the hall that they could do whatever they liked without waking her up most times. They’d had some close calls, but so far they were blessed with a daughter who loved to sleep and they’d made sure to put her on a sleep cycle early on so she was trained to sleep through the night by now.

Y/N tugged her hand up and down him a few times, before licking a stripe up the underside of him. Harry pushed at her hair, tugging it into a ponytail so he could see her face as she did it and the light from their bedside tables illuminating his face. His wide eyes, the same ones their daughter had, stared back at her, blown wide with desire, his tongue licking across his lip as he watched her move. “Wanna taste you,” she said, pressing a kiss to his tip.

“God,” Harry mumbled, bucking his hips up into her touch and she loved the control she had over him. “Can do anything you want to me, baby.”

Without waiting, her lips were around his tip, taking him into her mouth and Harry moaned, fingers digging into the sheets from the sensation of being inside her. He was heavy in her mouth and she loved how he brushed her throat and panted her name, barely holding himself together and she licked at him. She knew everything that set him off after years of being together and used it all. Scratched at his thighs, hummed over him, batted her eyelashes at him, mumbled his name.

She knew Harry wasn’t going to last, though, he never did. Far preferred being inside of her to coming in her mouth and told her often. “Love,” he said, reaching for her and trying to pull her off of him. “Need you.”

She decided to play with him a bit, wind him up just because she could. “Where do you need me?”

He whined, pulling at her hair to try and get her to move up him, a desperation overtaking his body. “Around me. Need your pussy.”

Those were the magic words for her. She climbed up him, capturing his lips in hers for a passionate kiss that had them grinding against each other like kids. He was hard against her clit, the wetness of both of their desire mixing and allowing him to slide easily between her folds. When he bumped her clit with his tip she whimpered, and Harry lost it, unable to wait any longer.

He flipped them, Y/N yelping as she landed on her back, a soft giggle escaping her lips as he settled over her. “Little tease,” he scolded with a playful smile, sucking on her neck, the soft spot that always had her pawing at his skin.

“H,” she panted, pushing her hips up to his. “Please.”

She was on an IUD, had been since they’d started having sex after Emerson was born. Neither of them were in the market for another kid right now, as much as they loved Emmy, she was plenty of a handful for both of them. They wanted to wait longer, get their life together and more settled before they had the conversation about more kids, although it definitely wasn’t off the table. Especially since Y/N had said yes when he had bent down on one knee, a year after Emerson was born, unable to wait any longer. For now, though, they were in no rush to marry, just enjoying building a life together, raising Emmy, and being together. Maybe it hadn’t been the life either of them expected, but now that they were living it there was no turning back.

Y/N pushed his hair off his forehead and tugged at the ends, pulling his head to hers so she could pull him into a kiss that left them both breathless. “H, fuck me, please.”

“Good God,” he panted against her lips. “One day you truly are going to kill me.” With that, he moved slightly and pressed his tip to her slit, both of them groaning as he pushed inside. It had been a few days, the longest they usually went since they, even after a child, couldn’t get enough of each other. Y/N quickly adjusted to his size, because after four years with Harry she couldn’t remember what it was even like to be with someone else—he was so good to her, always.

Her legs twined around his waist and pulled him deeper into her, and Harry moaned her name into her neck as he sunk in and then pulled back out. He leaned on his elbows on either side of her face, his head falling so his forehead knocked against hers when he pushed into her, but neither of them minded. They loved being this close, so close she could feel the beads on sweat on his chest and hear his every exhale in her ears. He was deep, deliciously so, and when he nudged the back of her walls, finding that spot that drive her wild she arched her back into him. “Feel so good,” she murmured, attaching her lips to the column of his neck, sponging kisses down it. “H, fuck fuck fuck—“ He drove into her, deeper than before, and the impact had her scratching lines down his back, red angry marks left in their trail that he would admire in the morning and Y/N would blush at the sight of.

“Yeah? Like feeling me inside of you?” He nudged at her nose, turning her head so he could kiss underneath her earlobe, a soft spot that left her keening in his touch. “Made for me, you know. Just…made for me and only me. You’re mine, love—fuck—mine forever. Can’t wait to marry you, Y/N, please,” he spat when she fluttered around him, walls pulling him deep. He stuttered inside of her, barely inches from tumbling over the edge, but he wanted her to come first, always wanted her to finish first. “Close for me, baby?”

She nodded frantically, pulling at his biceps to keep her steady and he thrusted into her at a fast pace, their bed squeaking slightly. “Want you to come, too,” she told him, lips finding his in a quick kiss.

“I’ll come when you do,” he promised, because he could never hold himself together when she came around him. Had never been able to and would never be able to. “Come for me, love.” His words were rough in her ears, murmuring and begging for her.

With another thrust and a sloppy kiss to her nipples, she was coming, panting his name in breaths that left her gasping for air. Harry finished right after her, slamming into her and shuddering against her body as he fell, sweaty skin kissing sweaty skin. He rested his head on her chest and her fingers combed through his hair, brushing at the locks just like he loved. “When do you want to get married?” She asked him after a few minutes of lying there.

He picked his head up and looked at her and she saw the sparkle in his eyes that she adored. “Tomorrow. I don’t care, Y/N, as long as it’s to you.”

She kissed his forehead and pushed a curl back. “I want to do it in Holmes Chapel, like we talked about. Or maybe Italy. In the Spring? Before Emmy is three.”

He slid his arms under her and pulled her up so she was sitting in his lap, her legs around his hips, and he grinned at her. “Yeah? You wanna marry me in the Spring?”

“As long as it’s to you,” she said, and Harry chuckled into her skin, before capturing her lips in his, just as sweet as the first time he tasted them. “I’m so glad I made an exception for you.” Her words were a quiet confession, and one that Harry had heard multiple times over the past four years of being with her, but ones that never ceased to make him love her more.

“Your only exception,” he mumbled, kisses dusting across her cheeks, showering her in his affection.

She nodded, holding his cheeks in hers, eyes boring into his, the ones he dreamed of when he was gone. “My only exception.”

TAGLIST: @smokeinherperfume @afire-hes @harryinsweatersandbandanas @marinalima3 @havethetimeofyourstyles @ursogoldenshan @inmygardensuit @marinalima3 @amaridon @harrys-watermelons @dontgiveupthedayjob @cronias13 @apples2019 @laula843 @afterstylesmadeit @kait-brin @harrys-watermelons @groovybaybee @clumsywithlove93 @1142590m @erin0717 @ketchuplukehemmo @harrysclementines @meetmeinfleetwood @kakaym @harrystyles-concepts @harrymoncheri @berrynarrybanana @samjo1986 @adams-tammy72

#harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fic #harry styles x reader #harry styles one shot #harry styles smut #harry styles drabble #harry styles writing #sorry this was late!!!!!! i was ft my friend and hanging out with my mom #WHOOPSIE!#BUT SHE'S HERE NOW!!!!!

205 notes · View notes

trashbinbackyard · 3 years

Note

pre, general and love for yecal + neja and kadiz + tal

I am still stressed AF

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

How did they first meet?

“Want to do crime, crimedoer will be hired” and Yecal took the bait

On some sort of recon mission, on part of Tal, Kadiz also just happened to be right there on the data they needed

What was their first impression of each other?

Yecals was along the lines of “well this certainly cant be she, can it?” idk about Neja

Kadiz was extremely skittish about being seen. Tal probably though “wth is that”

Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

Neither of them let their relatives know before they were actually dating (or married)

Im sure Tal’s other partners were supportive of him getting some more love. Kadiz doesn’t have friends and family to speak of, but Rosta and Charon were kinda ??? on the whole situation

Who felt romantic feelings first?

Hard to say, both are kinda ho’s but who falls faster I don't know, my moneys a bit on Neja’s side

Tal, Kadiz didn’t really consider it at first

Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Nope, even though their meet-cute was kinda absurd

In the end no, Kadiz was little slower to recognize the feelings but she never tried to deny them

If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

Lol xd

“a what”

What would their lives be like if they had never met?

Not much different, just Yecal lacking a person to share house chores with, and Neja not having a secured bed

Quail’s force would lack a walking databank for one, Kadiz would be much more lonely

GENERAL

Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

Neja? Kinda? Leaving her number all suggestive and all. But it also could be Yecal for reaching out again

Kadiz, sorta, by accident

Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

Yecal’s gonna consider their little breaking and entering stunt and their first date

They rarely have free time and Kadiz really cant be seen by the general public so their date options are limited. Just go hide in a nook in the base and chat

What was their first kiss like?

Right before bonking

Kadiz thought an acceptable kiss good luck to a friend was on the lips (oops)

Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

I doubt, both were Veteran Ho’s at that point

Kadiz’s first everything really, for Tal though? Nope

What’s their height difference? Age difference?

Plenty heightwise, age not so much

They are similar heights, Kadiz is considerably older (you minx you)

What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

Chill, Yecals family might get little much for Neja but they mean no harm. Yecal is also cool with Neja’s fam

Thats a can worms

Who takes the lead in social situations?

Either could, though Yecal greatly enjoys Neja telling someone off, that's his wife!

Kadiz, she’s very matter-of-fact and usually has good insight

Who gets jealous easier?

They’re adults, they’re past that

Kadiz, a little, with not being able to eat or sleep, and consumed with curiosity

Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear?

Both do, though it would be hilarious for Neja to ask Yecal to lean down as if she has something Very Important to say and then it’s a dick pun

They don’t do that

LOVE

Who said “I love you” first?

Yecal, just get it out in the open by the time he knows she feels the same and wont leave him looking all stupid

Taliesin, a very loving boy

What are their primary love languages?

Physical touch, acts of service, quality time

Quality time, word, acts of service

Who uses cheesy pick-up lines?

Both, relentlessly

Kadiz might try some out, but she’s going to be embarrassed

How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

Whenever they’re home at the same time it is given that they just pile up. In public they would link arms or even smooch

They cuddle whenever they have free time. No pda, though is smooching in front of your boss is pda then..

Who initiates kisses?

Both do, Yecal just little more often, don't even need to be mouth kisses, a forehead kiss goes a long way

Both do, Tal maybe more often?

Who’s the big and little spoon?

They switch, look, sometimes big bad goth vigilante wants to be held, ain't nothing wrong with that

Kadiz is happy to be the big spoon

What are their favorite things to do together?

Cuddle, bar crawl

Cuddle, tell stories

Who’s better at comforting the other?

No idea, Yecal isn’t a super comforting presence other than having very strong hugs and soft feathers

Kadiz, just a shoulder to cry on and to vent, she can handle it

Who’s more protective?

Yecal, Neja please be safe you are so small and divine

Kadiz, if she could whisk all of Tal’s trauma away she would, the best she can do is look after him

Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

Physical

Either or

Who remembers the little things?

Neja more likely, Yecal’s a little scatterbrained

Kadiz, that's what being a walking computer does to ya

#oh lord help me #im both scared for noobert and also scared of the vet bill #at least sami agreed to haul us to the vet so i dont gotta worry about a taxi or bus at least #hhhhhnnnngggg #space shitstorm #aight imma head to shower

6 notes · View notes

the-magnus-archives-archiver · 5 years

Text

Anatomy Class

Case: 0161207

Name: Lionel Elliott Subject: A series of events that took place during his class, Introduction to Human Anatomy and Physiology, at King’s College, London, in early 2016. Date: July 12th, 2016 Recorded by: direct from Dr. Lionel Elliott, under the supervision of Jonathan Sims, Head Archivist of the Magnus Institute, London

[Archivist (John): Apologies for the somewhat archaic—

Dr. Elliott: No need to worry, I understand. Some things you just can’t trust to computers. It’s like I always say about those robotic surgery machines. It’s just not the same. If I’m going to be operating on a man’s pancreas, I want to feel that pancreas. Fiddling with a joystick just won’t cut it. As it were.

Archivist: I didn’t think you still performed surgery?

Dr. Elliott: I keep up with the developments. And I remember the feel of a pancreas.

Archivist: Well... quite. Now, if you’d be so good as to—

Dr. Elliott: You know you have an infestation, don’t you?

Archivist: Excuse me? I’m not sure—

Dr. Elliott: Yes, little, grey, maggot things. I saw a few on the way in. Don’t recognise the species, but I’d say you need to get the exterminators in here. Gas the little blighters.

Archivist: You saw them? You weren’t bitten were you?

Dr. Elliott: Bitten? They’re worms. Still, I’ll admit I didn’t like the look of them. I reckon the sooner you get someone in to kill them dead, the better.

Archivist: We’ve tried, believe me. Now, shall we?

Dr. Elliott: Oh, certainly. Where do want me to start? The bones? The blood? The... uh... the fruit?

Archivist: Right from the beginning. One second. Statement of Dr. Lionel Elliott, regarding a series of events that took place during his class...

Dr. Elliott: Introduction to Human Anatomy and Physiology

Archivist: At King’s College, London, in early 2016. Statement recorded direct from subject 12th July 2016.

Statement begins.

Dr. Elliott: Now?

Archivist: Yes, just start from the beginning.]

Right. Well, I shouldn’t even have been teaching the class, really. As far as I knew, I wasn’t going to be needed for any teaching on the Biomedical Engineering course this year. I can’t say I was particularly upset. The Human Anatomy module is where a lot of the engineers discover just how messy the human body is, and while the human heart is a phenomenal piece of machinery in terms of design and function, most of the students would be more comfortable holding a transistor. Not to put too fine a point on it, I get tired of... squeamish students, and was glad that I could avoid it this year.

You can perhaps imagine, then, that I was not best pleased when Elena Bower, the admissions officer, emailed me last November to say that there had been a mistake, and I was needed to take a ‘spillover class’. Apparently the system had accepted more students for the course than there were places, and they were trying to organise an additional class for the seven who were unassigned. It didn’t make a lot of sense to me, Anatomy class wasn’t until the second term, so surely this mistake should have emerged earlier, but Elena just kept saying she didn’t know, she just had seven students who needed tutorials. I won’t pretend I took the news gracefully. I have a lot of research due shortly and, well, you know academia – never enough hours in the day. Still, I was the only staff member both qualified to teach the class and technically free when it had to be scheduled. So I agreed, although that really makes it sound like I had more of a choice than I actually did.

I didn’t meet the students until the module started this January. I wasn’t responsible for any of the lectures, so the first time I saw them was in our initial class tutorial. They all sat there, all seven, staring at me, and I felt... oddly uncomfortable. There, there was nothing wrong with them, of course, nothing strange to see or to look at, just... well, this is going to sound stupid to say out loud, but I don’t remember what they look like. Any of them. I remember that each wore blue jeans and a white shirt, though they were all different makes and styles; I think one of the girls had a skirt, instead. I must have noticed that they were wearing the same outfits, but it didn’t strike me as odd. They all just looked so... normal. Unremarkable. I remember their names, though, from the register. They stuck with me – maybe because they were such an international group. There was Erika Mustermann, Jan Novak, Piotr and Pavel Petrov, who I think were brothers, maybe twins, John Doe, Fulan al-Fulani and Juan Pérez.

I greeted them when I entered the room, and was met with silence. Not a malicious or angry silence, just silence. I’ve never been self-conscious when teaching, but walking to my seat with those fourteen eyes just... watching me... it made ever so slightly uncomfortable. I got the oddest feeling they were judging my walk.

[NERVOUS LAUGH]

The class began, and we started going over some of the basics of anatomy and how the body works. They started to talk then, and some of my unease left me. I don’t remember exactly what was said, after doing it long enough most tutorials just kind of blur together a bit, but I recall being struck by just how basic some of their questions were. The composition of blood, where in the body the various organs sat, the sort of thing that anyone who’s done a science GCSE should know. I was almost tempted to ask where they went to school. At the time, I didn’t question the fact that they must have all gone to the same school.

Aside from that it was mostly normal, except... about halfway through the tutorial, we discussed the lungs and respiration. Inhalation, alveoli, et cetera. As I said, basic stuff, but I paused afterwards, just to have a think about where to go next, and I heard the sound of them breathing. That’s not abnormal, I know, but it seemed to fill the silence so suddenly, and all at once. I could... I could have sworn that I didn’t actually hear it before that moment. Like they’d only just then started breathing. [Nervous laugh] Which is, which is absurd, obviously. I was probably just listening out for it because we’d been discussing the lungs. Even so, it was disconcerting, and I don’t mind telling you that I breathed quite a sigh of relief myself when the tutorial was over and I could get out of there.

Now, I consider myself a conscientious worker, and in all my years at King’s I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve called in sick, but when the time came for the next tutorial with this class, I had to stay home with a migraine. It wasn’t a lie, exactly, the thought of sitting there for another two hours with those staring, placid eyes gave me such a spell of anxiety that my brain felt like it was being stabbed with a shard of ice. I did have to teach them eventually, of course. I couldn’t avoid it forever. Re-entering that room, though... All of them were sat in the exact same positions, in the exact same clothes, their breathing deliberate and almost pointed. When Erika Mustermann – or was it Jan Novak? – said ‘Good morning’, the others followed suit, one by one, and I had to fight the urge to run. It struck me then that, despite how diverse their names were, none of them seemed to have any noticeable accent. Not that it did anything to reassure me.

There was no-one else who could take the tutorials. Believe me, I did everything I could to try and find a replacement. Still, once I got used to their stares, their silence, and the fact that their questions were both specific and oddly basic – one of the Petrovs once asked me “How sharp are the knees meant to be” – I swear, it was just about tolerable. I’m a bit ashamed to admit it, but I came to terms with the fact that I didn’t care if they passed any exams, and that actually made the whole affair more manageable. I just did my best to stop caring.

And then came our first of two sessions in the dissection room. We were looking at the skeleton. I had been dreading this. Given exactly how creepy and unsettling the students were just sat in a classroom, the idea of what they could do when given access to human remains made me feel quite nauseous. But I couldn’t bring myself to leave them there alone, so I went.

It was even worse than I’d feared, seeing them stood there over the bits of cadaver. Their faces, normally so neutral, were alive with... what was it I saw? Excitement? Curiosity? Hunger? Whatever it was, it didn’t reach their eyes, still staring and blank. I went through the procedures with them and tried my best to keep the trembling out of my voice. When Fulan reached for a scalpel and started cutting into our samples, I felt faint.

I was trying to keep an eye on everyone, but the dissection tables were arranged in a semi-circle around the lab, and each time I turned to face one of the students, I began to hear this cracking sound from whichever tables I wasn’t looking at. Like a snapping bone, or a ribcage being forced open. I’d turn back and see nothing untoward, just John or Erika or Juan or whoever it was, looking at me quizzically over distinctly unbroken bones. But it kept happening. Whenever I wasn’t looking, I heard the crunch and the crack of bone. I couldn’t ask about it. I knew the dead-eyed, mute stare they’d give me if I did, and I just couldn’t face that.

Finally, I managed to position myself so that I could see what was happening behind me in the reflective edge of the metal table. It wasn’t much, but I could see a slightly warped image. It was Pavel, in this case. I saw him pick up a bone – a radius I believe, from the forearm. He held it up next to his own arm, and then there came that snapping, crunching noise. I swear I saw his arm distend itself, the skin shifting as something inside changed and rearranged, until it matched the length of bone he was holding up to it.

I tried not to react, not to make a noise at this mad impossibility that I saw. I couldn’t help it, though, and my legs gave out. I collapsed on the floor with a whimpering cry. None of them looked at me, none of them offered to help me up, none of them gave any reaction at all. I shut my eyes tight as that cracking sound began to come from every direction, as all seven of them began to change themselves. It went on for almost half an hour, until our allotted time in the lab ended. And then they left, walking past me, still sat helpless on the floor. As they did, each of them thanked me for the lesson as though nothing had happened. And I swear that every single one of them was taller than when they started.

I started taking more sick leave after that. I avoided their tutorials as often as possible, and when I did go we largely just sat there in silence until one of them asked a question about human anatomy, which I would reluctantly answer. I know I should have just abandoned them entirely. If they were going to complain to anyone they would have done it already. But even then I was worried my colleagues might notice, and I really didn’t want to get a reputation as some absentee tutor. It didn’t help that a colleague of mine, Dr Laura Gill, once expressed surprise on learning I’d been absent the day before, as apparently she’d passed by my teaching room and my anatomy class had just been sat there, waiting quietly. The thought of them politely filing into every tutorial, just sat there, blank and staring, whether I was there or not, just waiting... To be quite frank I think that bothered me almost more than being sat there with them.

Still, I managed to largely avoid them until the 21st of March, when they had their second lab dissection. Hearts. I’m not an idiot. I was well aware of the sort of sinister nonsense that was likely to happen if I went, but I also knew by now that they would attend whether or not I was there. And to leave them in the lab unsupervised would be the sort of thing that would get me actually fired from my position.

It was a rainy morning. I remember that, because I deliberately didn’t put up an umbrella. Something inside me was so dreading what was going to happen that the very act of opening umbrellas seemed pointless, as though my being dry couldn’t stop what was coming, then there was no reason not to get soaked. So I was dripping wet when I entered the lab, and my glasses had steamed up to the point where I could no longer see through them. When I wiped them clean, they revealed those seven blank faces, utterly unconcerned with my sodden state. Each had somehow got the heart laid out in from them on the dissection tray. I decided not to prolong it, and waved them to start.

I don’t know what I expected. Maybe I thought they’d descend into some sort of feeding frenzy, but they didn’t. They just began to dissect the hearts, as any other class would, occasionally asking me polite questions. I was so taken aback at how normal the whole situation seemed to be that it took me some time to actually answer them. I did, though, and the first hour of the class almost put me at least a little bit at ease. The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. Maybe they were doing weird things to their insides, but if it was the heart, then I couldn’t see it and I couldn’t hear it. And I’d long since decided with this class, that if I couldn’t see or hear it, I didn’t care.

Then Erika Mustermann held up her heart and looked at me. I began to get that sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach as she asked me “How does the heart pump blood?” I started to explain the biological mechanisms of the heart pumping, when she shook her head slowly and said, “What does it look like?” And then, when I didn’t answer, “Is it like this?”

The heart in her hand began to spasm. Not like the regular, rhythmic pulse of a heartbeat, but like a balloon being rapidly squeezed at one end. Bits of it swelled and stretched and distorted seemingly at random, and blood began to flow haphazardly from the ventricles, dripping down Erika’s forearm and dribbling onto the floor.

I stood there speechless, staring at this horrible miracle, from when behind her I see Fulan raise his heart, saying, “That’s not what it’s like.” And blood starts to gush from all over his heart in tiny geysers, shooting in every direction. Soon each of them is holding a heart up, each pumping and throbbing differently, blood leaking, spurting out of them in a different way, a different nightmare. They wanted me to tell them which was right.

[NERVOUS LAUGH]

I don’t know how long I stared before I finally raised my hand to point at Jan Novak, who seemed to have the closest to an accurate impression of a regular human heartbeat. Then I turned and walked out of the lab.

I spent the rest of the day sat in the staffroom, waiting for someone to come running in, screaming about the lab being full of blood. I expected questions I couldn’t answer and immediate termination. But nothing happened. No-one came. When I returned to the lab several hours later, there was no sign of any blood, except for the tiniest speck, dried into a tile crack in the corner. Unless that, that had been there before? I don’t know. My shoes were still speckled with blood, though, so I know I wasn’t hallucinating it. I checked with Dr. Gill, who confirmed that she could see the spots, though I neglected to tell her it was blood. I had no intention of inviting further questions.

I missed the next three tutorials. I just stayed at home. But something wouldn’t let me just simply let it go. Finally, I made a decision. I wanted to see where they lived. I felt like I needed to, for some reason. Needed to see if they existed outside of my class, outside of my mind. I asked Elena and, irregular as it was, she gave me the address. It didn’t surprise me to find out they all lived in the same place. A semi-detached house on Kingsland Road in Newham. I’m afraid I don’t remember the number, and the details have disappeared from the college systems.

The house itself was run down, as might have been expected, and I must have spent a good fifteen minutes just stood in front of it, waiting for the courage to approach. Finally, I knocked on the door. The wood was old and dry, and some flaked off under my knuckles. It opened immediately, and there stood Jan Novak. When she saw me, her mouth twisted into something I think was meant to be a smile.

“Hello,” she said, “have you come to give us more lessons? We would like to learn about the liver.” Her eyes locked onto my abdomen.

I was about to reply when a muffled scream of pain came from somewhere deep inside the house. It sounded ragged, like whoever was crying out had been gagged. I looked to Jan Novak, who showed no indication she had heard it, still staring at where I had taught her my liver would be. I ran, and she watched me go without moving.

I did call the police, but they just told me that the house was currently unoccupied, and they’d found no evidence that there had been anyone present. I took great pains never to see the class again. I avoided all tutorials, and simply waited until the end of term. I haven’t seen them since.

[Archivist: That’s it?

Dr. Elliott: Not quite. There was one other thing. When I went to the classroom shortly after what should have been their final tutorial, I found something on the desk. It was an apple. Next to it was a handwritten note that said “Thank you for teaching us the insides”. I burned the note, just in case.

Archivist: And the apple, did you... eat it?

Dr. Elliott: Do I look like an idiot? Of course not! I cut it in half, first, to check if it was... off.

Archivist: And?

Dr. Elliott: Human teeth. Inside were human teeth arranged in a smile. Here, I brought you the two halvesto see for yourselves.

Archivist: Oh good lord! That’s...

Dr. Elliott: Deeply unpleasant, yes. You can keep it, if you want. As proof.

Archivist: We do not want it. I’m afraid it isn’t really proof. Someone could have stuck those teeth in after the apple had been cut.

Dr. Elliott: [Somewhat distressed] You think I would do that?!

Archivist: I didn’t say you would, I just said it was enough of a possibility that I don’t think your... tooth apple has a place in our artefact storage. Also, it is technically medical waste.

Dr. Elliott: Fine. I’ll dispose of it myself. Now, is there anything else you want me?

Archivist: No, this should do. We’ll investigate and get back to you if we find anything.

Statement ends.]

Archivist Notes:

The first thing about this statement that makes me dubious is that it comes from a fellow academic. Historic and prestigious as the Magnus Institute is, there are still many within the sphere of higher education that do not grant it the respect it deserves, and some have been known to make false statements as ill-conceived jokes.

Another mark against the veracity of the statement is the names of the students. A quick Internet search reveals ‘Erika Mustermann’ as the official German placeholder name, similar to the English, well, the English name ‘John Doe’. The same is true the other names, ‘Juan Pérez’ is the generic name of choice in most Spanish speaking countries, ‘Fulan al-Fulani’ in the Middle East, et cetera. It seems strange to me that Dr. Elliott would fail to take note of this.

Still, Tim made contact with Elena Bower in the King’s administration office, and while she couldn’t find any actual records of them in the system, she does remember them being there, and confirms that she assigned them to Dr. Elliott last year. She could be in on it, of course, but Tim seems to believe her.

There’s also the matter of the teeth. I stand by my assessment that there is no evidence they were placed there by supernatural means, but it does seem an awfully long way to go for a bad joke. In the end we did send them off to a dental specialist, but they weren’t able to tell us much beyond the fact that they all seemed like healthy adult teeth, and most of them appeared to come from different people.

There’s not much more we can do to follow this up, without dedicating additional time we can’t afford. The only other lead was Sasha’s discovery that, early last year, Dr. Rashid Sadana took his own life. There’s no direct connection, except that he taught the Anatomy, Physiology and Pathology for Complementary Therapies course at St Mary’s University, and the only note found near the body simply read “NOT TO BE USED FOR TEACHING”.

#the magnus archives #magnus archives #MAG #MAG34 #MAG 34 #AnatomyClass #Anatomy Class #Statement #The Stranger

23 notes · View notes

xwaywardhuntress · 5 years

Text

Family Don’t End In Blood (Part Two)

Summary: Do mistakes make us bad? The plan to deal with Jack.

Pairings: Dean x reader

Warnings: Season 14 finale spoilers.

Word Count: 1500+

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. This is fanfiction only. Please do not redistribute my writings on other sites, horrible or not. Thanks!

Part One

Finding Jack had become a priority to everyone after Mary’s small post hunter funeral gathering, all for different reasons. Dean wanted to find Jack to get some sort of revenge for his mother. Castiel wanted to find Jack to talk to him as he still believed in the Nephilim. Sam wanted to find Jack before Bobby and his crew found him. Then there was Y/N who was more worried about the conflicts within Team Free Will itself.

It was obvious to her that everyone was not seeing eye-to-eye. Castiel had left to go to heaven to see if he could ask the remaining angels for help. Y/N was very doubtful they would be of any help, but she knew Castiel was trying his best to find Jack first before anyone else. When the angel came back with the news that heaven would help to locate Jack, everyone was skeptical about it.

As if timed perfectly, Sam had found articles where a man who wrote lies and rejected God was found dead by being turned into a statue of salt and then an accused fake health healing woman died from being swallowed up by the ground. Deaths that referenced something “Biblical” according to Castiel. There could only be one responsible. Jack.

After finding a ‘biblical’ case that didn’t lead to an immediate death concerning a pastor being consumed by worms, the team had left to visit the cursed man.

At the hospital, the idea of being consumed by worms was disgusting. Y/N found herself unable to stomach it and the odor that came from the man as she found herself waiting outside of the hospital room. It didn’t take too long till the boys had exited out of the room that held the worm man.

“Sorry about earlier. The smell was just so strong and gross.” Y/N apologized. “What did y’all find out though?”

“The guy confirmed it was Jack and he said Jack had told him he was carrying out heaven’s orders.” Sam explained.

Everyone turned to Castiel. The angel knew what they had all been thinking. “I’ll go to heaven and find out what’s happening.” He said.

The boys and Y/N agreed to let Cas look into it as they headed back to the bunker.

Arriving back at the bunker, Y/N could not stop thinking about the smell and the idea of worms crawling out of human skin. “I’m going to go shower.” She said shivering at the thoughts as she began heading to her and Dean’s room.

Dean smiled back at her, nodding his head. When Y/N was out of view, that’s when he turned to his brother with the plan he had thought of earlier. The plan to stop Jack once and for all.

The shower had felt great. Y/N walked out to the bunker war room, expecting to see the boys, only to find it empty. Sam’s laptop had been open on the table and not locked, which meant she probably just missed them. The younger Winchester would never leave his laptop open and unlocked due to the fact that Y/N and Dean could not be trusted with it. Dean would download porn and Y/N was known to mess with the computer settings just for fun. As tempting as it was to mess with Sam’s laptop, she decided she’d leave his laptop alone as she turned around to begin walking through the bunker halls looking for the Winchester brothers.

When she caught wind of their voices coming from the torture room, she made her way over. Arriving at the foot of the entrance of the room, her eyes landed on the Ma’lak box and the boys standing by it. She didn’t have a good feeling about the sight before her. “What are you boys doing in here?” She asked walking up to them and the box.

Sam turned to her looking perplexed, “Dean thought of an idea on how to handle Jack.”

She glanced at the markings on the box before them. This definitely wasn’t going to be a good idea. She looked over at Dean waiting to hear this idea of his.

“As I was saying, we put Jack in here. It was built to hold an archangel, it should hold Jack too.” The older Winchester explained.

“And then what?” Y/N asked crossing her arms.

“Then, we seal him in here and everybody’s safe.” Dean spoke confidently.

She chuckled, “What? We going to throw him in the deepest part of the ocean? Just like what you had planned to do when you had Michael in your head?” She knew that losing Mary took a heavy toll on Dean, but for him to suggest to lock Jack away was absurd. Jack was still family to her, even with what happened to Mary. No one was perfect. Not her. Not Sam. Not Dean. Especially not Jack. Did that mean that those who weren’t perfect deserve to be treated like the bad guy?

Y/N looked over at Sam who she could tell was very conflicted with this idea.

“Y/N, sweetheart, this is for the better. We can just keep him here till we find a way to get his soul back.” Dean answered.

That was the last straw. She couldn’t do this, listen to his ridiculous plan, especially if he had to lie to her to get her to go along with it. Dean may have been good at lying to others about pretending to be what was needed in a situation, but he wouldn’t be able to fool her.

She fisted her hands beside her as she looked at the box. “No. I’m not going along with this. There has to be another way.” She turned her back to them and left, heading straight for her car keys and the bunker entrance door. Neither of them had called after her, but she heard Sam say one sentence before she went out of ear range. ‘You shouldn’t have lied to her, she can tell better than anyone when you lie.’

Grabbing her keys, she got into her 1969 Camaro as she drove off to give herself some time away from Dean, the Ma’lak box, the Jack problem, everything. During the drive, she had begun feeling sick to her stomach again. She pulled off to the side, only a couple of miles away from the bunker. She got out of the car quickly, walking over to the open field on the right side of the road as she bent over dry heaving.

She was unaware of how long she had spent feeling like she wanted to throw up with nothing coming out. Eventually, she felt her body finally calm down and return to normal. Walking back to the Camaro, she fell bottom first onto the dirt ground leaning against her car.

She placed her head in her hands as she began questioning when did it all go wrong. Was it when Jack killed Michael? Or even further back when they brought Jack back from the dead, sacrificing his soul? How could no one have seen the changes in Jack after all that had happened to him?

The answer she sought was actually pretty simple. She didn’t want to see a change in the Nephilim. She remembered what Donatello had told her and Dean when they brought Jack to him. The prophet had never really confirmed Jack had no soul, but at the same time, he also hadn’t confirmed that the boy still had any portion of his soul at all.

Her head began to hurt thinking about it all when she felt the ground below her shake.

“What the hell? An earthquake?” She questioned as she stood up and used her car for support. When it stopped, her first thought went to Dean and Sam and the bunker. She quickly got into her car.

As she was about to start the engine, Castiel appeared beside her in the shotgun seat. The angel stared at her for a moment as if noticing a difference about her but had decided to not speak of it. Jack would be his priority right now. “Y/N. I need your help.”

“Cas? What is it? Is everything okay? The earthquake just now…”

“It was Jack. Dean and Sam tricked Jack to get into the Ma’lak box but he broke out and is now on the loose. I know you probably aren’t happy with Jack too, but I need to find him. Duma was manipulating Jack and told him that his actions would please you and the Winchesters. We just need to find him and talk to him.” Cas had been pleading for help to someone he thought was on Dean’s side.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her initial instinct after the earthquake was to get back to Dean and Sam, but Dean was only seeing red when it came to Jack. Hearing that he had gone through with his plan to try and lock up Jack saddened Y/N. Dean wasn’t in a reasonable state of mind, no matter what anyone said to him, he was set on one goal: to stop Jack at any cost. She opened her eyes coming to a resolve, “I’ll help, Cas. Let’s go find Jack and bring this family back together.”

Cas was surprised by her answer but a thankful smile appeared on his face.

Next: Part Three

Feedback is welcome!

FDEIB Tag:

@polina-93 @awesome-badass-cafeteria-sauce @deanwinchestersmydaddy @witch-of-letters

#dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #Dean Winchester #supernatural spoilers #Supernatural #Spn fanfic #Supernatural Season 14 #Family Dont End In Blood

68 notes · View notes

junker-town · 5 years

Text

What was Eric Cantona talking about after winning the UEFA President’s Award?

Photo by Eurasia Sport Images/Getty Images

After receiving the UEFA President’s Award before the Champions League draw, Eric Cantona gave an unexpected speech that left many in the room and the watching audience confused:

Wins the 2019 UEFA President's Award... Gives bizarre cryptic speech to confuse everyone in attendance. Eric Cantona, ladies and gentlemen pic.twitter.com/qNgZB0cFoW

— Football on BT Sport (@btsportfootball) August 29, 2019

Here, in conversation, we try to make sense of of Cantona’s speech and the themes that he referenced in it.

Zito: First of all, I want to say that his opening is incredibly poetic. I have a feeling that it’s a reference to some literature or some myth. It sounds like something that would have been in The Iliad. I’ve been repeating it to myself since I first saw the video. “As flies to wanton boys, we are for the gods. They kill us for the sport.” There’s actually a series of books, “The Complete Book of Swords” that has that premise that the gods do toy with human lives for the sport of it.

Graham: It’s Lear. Gloucester after he’s been blinded, wandering the heaths, lamenting his fate. His wings torn off.

Zito: You’re right!

”I’ th’ last night’s storm I such a fellow saw,

Which made me think a man a worm. My son

Came then into my mind, and yet my mind

Was then scarce friends with him. I have heard more

since.

As flies to wanton boys are we to th’ gods,

They kill us for their sport.”

Graham: A fantastic cold opening to a speech.

Zito: Yes! I was trying to figure out why it sounded so familiar, but what an opening to receiving a football award.

Graham: So there I think Cantona is complaining about it being human nature to wither and die. Which is what segues him into immortality and science. Essentially the whole thing is a meditation on death and humanity.

Zito: Which makes his part about immortality not being able to stop the corruption of humans in the form of crimes and wars more understandable. That even if we are eternal, or when we become eternal, we will still be victims of human greed.

Graham: Right. But it’s not exactly profound, is it? It’s the sort of thing you might say when drunk around a campfire. It’s certainly weird and poetic and sort of interesting, but it’s interesting mostly because he chose to say it for a speech at the Champions League draw.

Zito: And then ending it with “I love football” as if he ran out of time.

Graham: I like the idea of adding ‘I love football’ to totally unrelated speeches:

Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this sun of York;

And all the clouds that lour’d upon our house

In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths;

Our bruised arms hung up for monuments;

Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,

Our dreadful marches to delightful measures.

I love football.

Zito: What is interesting about it to me, isn’t even what he said, but that idea of immortality. Which has been the central human fear since day one.

Graham: His purely biological conception of immortality might be worth unpacking. His understanding seems to be that aging comes through the slow failure of cells. Look, I’m not an expert on aging and I don’t think the science is even close to settled, but treating it as the result of the failure of individual cells is really reductive and treats humans like a static system. Which they are not. But it’s also interesting because immortality is inherently a static system.

Zito: I think that’s the type of reduction that comes when the enemy is so absurd. Otherwise, you have to acknowledge the futility of it all. It’s like the rich people who think injecting themselves with the blood of young people can reverse aging.

Graham: A healthy, young body replaces and recycles its cells as they fail. You could abstract that model, if you like, to humanity as a whole. Do we need the cycle of death to keep growing as a people? Not that there is, right now, much evidence of recent growth, but I think the general point still stands: Cantona seems to be treating elements of a system as analogous to the whole.

Zito: From The Iliad: “Like the generations of leaves, the lives of mortal men. Now the wind scatters the old leaves across the earth, now the living timber bursts with the new buds and spring comes round again. And so with men: as one generation comes to life, another dies away.”

Graham: That’s one of the Trojans fighting Dio[medes], right? Which translation?

Zito: That’s Glaucus to Dio in the 1999 Penguins Classics version.

Though I’m sympathetic to it, I find the search for immortality so amusing. It also reminds me of something I read from Simone de Beauvoir a while ago:

”Whether you think of it as heavenly or earthly, if you love life, immortality is no consolation for death.”

Though in that context, she was talking about immortal life after death.

Graham: Is there any version of the hunt for earthly immortality which isn’t a worn out old trope at this point? Not that I begrudge Cantona musing on it.

Zito: I don’t think so, simply because it seems to be central to every human struggle. Every fear that we have is a refashioned form of the initial fear of death.

Graham: Right. So I think the more interesting question is why Cantona brought it up at all. Even if the thinking behind the speech wasn’t original, the venue was startling. “I love football.”

Zito: I thought the “I love football” part was sudden. It seemed like as if it was supposed to to be an argument that football is one of the things that bring joy in the endless chaos of life, but came too soon.

Graham: So let’s maybe look at the speech line by line:

As flies to wanton boys, we are for the gods. They kill us for their sport.

Soon the science will not only be able to slow down the aging of the cells – soon the science will fix the cells to the state.

And so we will become eternal.

Only accidents, crimes, wars will still kill us, but unfortunately crimes and wars will multiply.

I love football. Thank you.

I don’t see anything about endless chaos, even obliquely. Cantona’s eternity is one of order. “Fix the cells to the state’ reminds me of butterflies pinned under glass.

Zito: Is it? After saying we would become eternal, he says that though aging won’t kill us, the things that still can, crimes and wars, will only multiply. Eternal life allows us to focus more on our self-imposed deaths.

Graham: So I think you can have a utopian vision and contrast it with your non-utopian ‘reality’. Cantona is painting a picture of a world in which everything is, if you like, crystallised. And then saying crimes and wars, which will multiply, are an impediment to that.

Zito: Then “I love football. Thank you.”

Graham: It makes me wish he’d had about three times as long to speak. He was only talking for about a minute.

Zito: It feels like there’s missing lines there, but he might have just needed a way to close the speech.

Graham: I also wonder how this would have been taken if it wasn’t Cantona talking.

“When the seagulls follow the trawler, it’s because they think sardines will be thrown into the sea.”

Zito: He has a reputation. Though it seems that the idea of him as a crazed eccentric has more to do with the sport not being used to someone who speaks like him, more than it does with what he says.

Graham: Right. I do like his quote about racists though: ”Because arguing with racist people is like playing chess with a pigeon: It doesn’t matter how good you are! The pigeon is going to knock all the pieces down and shit on the board and parade around like he’s won.”

Zito: He is a remarkable man, and if nothing else, I appreciate that he seems to live in a world of his own. A poetic man from Marseille, I never would have expected it.

Graham: I’m not even going to try to pretend that I can think of any poets whom I know are from Marseilles. Has Cantona talked about immortality before? I’m still curious as to why he’s talking about it now. Is he feeling old?

Zito: He has. In this interview, he begins the answer to the question of whether he still has ambition with, “I’m sure I will not die.”

youtube

“I’m not afraid of death, but I love so much life.”

Graham: And the same sort of themes: ‘we will find a solution’.

Zito: It’s a bit in contrast with him then saying that he’s not afraid of it.

Graham: It’s almost religious, but as faith in bioengineering instead.

Zito: Scientism, which promises the same eternal life that some religions do, but in this world rather than the next.

Graham: So when this corruptible shall have put on incorruption, and this mortal shall have put on immortality, then shall be brought to pass the saying that is written, Death is swallowed up in victory.

I find the epistles fairly boring but they’re also pretty quotable.

Zito: This is actually one of the most interesting things to me when it comes to trans-humanism movement. The effort to free ourselves from the human shell, because it’s a constant reminder of the finality of existence. So if we can transcend it, we can hopefully transcend death, through science. But that also comes from the reductive idea that the body and the spirit are separate and a human being can exist immortally without a body.

Graham: Can you imagine how boring that would get though?

Zito: You don’t want to transfer your mind into a computer?

Graham: Well, right now I do because I’m extremely tired and it would be cool being disembodied. Also, would computerised brains get bored?

Zito: I don’t see what would be exciting about being detached from the sensations of the body. In gaining immortality that way, it seems you lose what makes mortal life worthwhile to begin with.

Graham: Well, yes, but you’re a hedonist. That version of immortality is the conceit of the life of the mind taken to silly levels. Also, I’ve seen how people treat computers. Who would want to inhabit one?

Zito: I guess for some any existence is better than none at all.

Graham: Also “I don’t see what would be exciting about being detached from the sensations of the body” goes back to some concepts of heaven too.

Zito: That’s why my favorite circle of hell in the Divine Comedy is the seventh, or the second ring of the seventh. For what the punishment of turning the suicides into trees implies.

Graham: Is it the birds shitting on you?

Zito: That’s awful, but also the idea that the full person on judgment day brings the body and spirit together (except for those who have treated their bodies as if it was material to be discarded).

Graham: I love football.

0 notes

Last Seen Blogs

neon-glowing-rainbow-stims

God put me on this earth to make arcadecore gifs

ripcurle2000

Panties Are Awesome

kayflockbigdoa

KAY FLOCK

marielle-solene-zeurtz

Marielle-Solène

callmeonmyrazr

call me on my razr 💞