#but i have never been so grateful for the 'no reblogs' functionality since

[thedreamlessnights]

Almond, Apple, & Maple - pt. 1

Geralt of Rivia x modern fem!reader (upcoming NSFW)

Synopsis: When a strange young woman crashes into your kitchen and sends you tumbling through time and space, you find yourself transported to a new world - one of monsters, magic, and witchers.

Warnings: Descriptions of vomiting and nausea, as well as blood & severe injuries.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Surprise! New Geralt series - someone please tell my brain to stop having long-winded ideas and relax? Anyway, as usual, this is the game version of Geralt and written accordingly. I'm very excited to get this story told, and I hope you all enjoy this first chapter! Comments and reblogs are extra appreciated <3

Theo is waiting when you arrive. You can see him from the porch, pacing back and forth in front of the window, the way he always does when it’s dark and you aren’t home. The sun’s just set, but with black clouds brimming the sky, you’d think it had gone to rest hours ago. 

When he finally sees you, Theo lets out a meow that’s deafened by the glass and rubs his cheek against the windowpane, no doubt purring up a storm. It’s only been a few hours since you left, but you’ve missed him. 

Despite your mile-long trudge through the snow and the way you’re sweating under your coat, your fingers are frozen. They fumble clumsily with your keys until the lock finally turns. Theo is immediately at your feet, nuzzling against your legs. He’s the only cat you know that doesn’t try to bolt when the door is open.

“Hey, bud,” you greet him, slightly out of breath. You slam the door shut and squat down, ignoring the protest in your thighs. The icicles of your fingers messily attempt to scratch behind his ears, but if Theo notices that you’re inept, he doesn’t seem to mind.

You’ve never been more grateful for the cans of cat food nestled safely in your inner coat pocket, clinking dully against your remaining seventeen cents. There’s maybe a dollar or two more of loose change that can be scrounged up under couch cushions and in pockets and loose drawers. If you’re lucky, you might find a few crumpled bills. For this week, at least, Theo will be fed. You can’t say the same for yourself.

The house is warm and quick to thaw you out, which means your fingers start working again within a few minutes. Once they’re functional, a can of soup serves as your dinner. Thankfully, the microwave is still working. You dump the soup into a bowl and let it heat, then get Theo’s dinner ready for him. 

When he’s started eating - that’s when the day’s events finally hit you. 

Exhaustion is at the front of it all, thick and heavy, like a two-ton chain on your shoulders. Behind it is defeat. Defeat is exhaustion too, but different. It pulls at you from within. It isn’t your aching body or cracked, dry hands, isn't a chain or a profound sense of guilt; it’s a tiny fire within you, threatening at any moment to go out. And the inclination to let it happen.

You stare numbly at the counter, knowing the fridge is empty, knowing you have only five cans of food left until you go hungry again. Knowing that none of the job interviews have called you back, and that it’s been too long to keep up hope. 

Your hands start shaking and you want to cry, but no tears come. You’ve no doubt exhausted your supply - your eyes still feel puffy and sore from the cry you had earlier. Instead, a lump locks in your throat, and something pulls in your chest, and all at once, you’re not sure you have it in you to go on.

It’s Theo that you’re worried about, more than anything else. It’d be horrible, so horrible for you to dump him off at a shelter, but it’d be even worse to see him go hungry. You’d been hoping - are still hoping - that it wouldn’t come to that, but… you can only hope so much.

The shrill sound of the microwave rouses you from your lethargy and chain of thought. Food. The smell of the soup is heavenly, and it seeps life into you as you chug it down, spreading warmth throughout your chest. But before long, it’s finished. You’re left staring at the empty bowl, still hungry. Wanting to cry again.

Theo must sense that you’re upset, because he nuzzles against you and purrs louder than ever. No tears come, but they would if you had any left. Without him, there’s nothing but a hollow life of work - if you can even find it - and isolation. How can you possibly think about survival when there’s nothing to survive for? 

“What am I going to do?” you ask aloud, swallowing hard. You rub your temples and your words ring out in the silence, as if some response might come. Nothing. Of course, nothing.

It feels wrong to be sitting still like this. More than ever, you should be doing something. Yes, you need to move. The water in the sink is ice-cold and won’t heat, but you scrub the dishes anyway and dry them. Clean the counters. Sweep the floor. Organize the cabinets. 

These miniscule tasks keep you sane. They keep you from thinking.

Padding up to you, Theo stretches up and paws at your legs, clearly wanting to be held. You take him in your arms and hold him close, burying your face into his fur and kissing the soft little spot between his ears. He purrs louder and wriggles from your grip, making his way into your coat pocket and tucking himself into a comfortable position. He’s always been small, and likes being in there, for some reason. You hadn’t even realized you were still wearing the stupid coat.

There must be some way to keep him, right? Someone willing to watch him, just for a little while? But who? And how could you ever repay them?

A flash of sudden, searing light interrupts your thoughts. 

It comes out of nowhere and instantly spreads through your kitchen, brighter than you can stand, a ghostly hue of green. Just as you’ve shut your eyes to block it out, something rams into your shoulder and knocks the wind out of you. 

Your arm instinctively wraps in front of Theo as you stumble back. Your ribs burn with a hot, throbbing pain, and you search for breath that doesn’t come - gasping airlessly, sweat trickling down your neck until you finally taste oxygen. Oh, and your shoulder is jammed and aching too, but it’s clearly the least of your worries, because the room has started spinning. 

This is no gentle turn, no light sway of the ocean. It’s vertigo. The world is coming apart. You can see nothing but a black void as reality breaks at the seams and drags you with it. Nausea and disorientation wash over you until it’s all you can do to hold on to your dinner; hot, stinging bile in your throat, aching ribs. It hurts to breathe. Your knees buckle and legs crumple until you hit what should be hard ground, but it’s nothing. You’re falling. Theo starts wailing and digs his claws into your chest.

You’re on the sea, crashing in the thunderous waves, taking in mouthfuls of the salty water and coughing it back out - sinuses burning. You’re in an earthquake, gravel rattling beneath your hands like the ground might collapse under you, swallow you whole. 

You’re in soft grass, crawling on all fours, not knowing what’s real and what’s not. Your head throbs in rhythm with your heart and your body feels like it’s closing in on itself, compressing, bones bending. And all at once, it stops. 

You immediately lose your dinner. 

Thick, burning acid climbs up your throat again and again until you’re left retching, stomach churning. Theo meows fitfully in your coat, but you can’t move to let him out. With how hard you’re shaking, it’s hard to do anything but collapse onto your side. Then he finally worms his way out of your pocket and sits on your chest, wailing some more.

The bright light hasn’t faded, and you blink a few times and squint until you finally realize it’s the sun. Warm, golden light is shining down on you. Which would be lovely, if it wasn’t seven o’clock at night and the middle of winter. You’re dry, too, so your memories of the ocean clearly weren’t real.

I must have hit my head, you think. Exhaustion must have gotten the best of you, and you’d collapsed, hit your head, and hallucinated all of this. But when you finally gain the strength to sit up, setting Theo at your side, your thoughts stall in place.

There’s a young, ashen-haired woman lying unconscious next to you, and a wound on her abdomen is oozing blood. At first, she doesn’t seem real. But she’s warm when you lay a hand on her arm, and the ground has stopped spinning, so you figure she is. And she’s hurt.

Your hands move of their own accord, twitching, knowing that you should do something to help but not knowing what. In medical terms, you’re mostly clueless. Thankfully, when you carefully lift her shirt up from the abdomen, the wound doesn’t seem very deep. There’s bruising there too, deep violet blooming around her navel, but it’s her head that’s really scaring you.

On her temple is a swollen lump, not bleeding much - but it’s the internal damage that you worry about. Sure, you’d been trained in CPR when you were younger, but you have no idea how to treat an injury like this. The first thing you do is make sure she’s breathing. Then you find her pulse, strong and even under your fingers. Those things encourage you. 

You know that you should stop the bleeding, too. Clean the wound. Unfortunately, the only possessions you have at the moment are your coat and the seventeen cents left in the inner pocket. And Theo. Not exactly suited for fixing this sort of thing. 

Her clothes are… strange. They almost look like a costume, if the leather didn’t look so real, so meticulously fitted. And she has two swords at her back, though she’s clearly not in any position to use them. Not important, you chide yourself. The number of questions you have about what just happened is only growing and growing. But you can deal with those once she’s been treated. 

Your gaze catches a pouch on the girl’s belt, and you pull it open and lay out her things, muttering an apology under your breath for invading her privacy. Inside are a handful of strange-looking coins, a vial or two of substances you don’t recognize, and a roll of cotton bandages. When you open the vials and give them a whiff, both are their own disgusting, putrid odor, and neither are identifiable. Shuddering at the smell, you replace their corks and return them to the pouch. Which leaves only the bandages.

As cautiously as you can, you wrap them around her abdomen in an effort to stop the bleeding. It seems to staunch the blood flow. Somewhat. You don’t dare to move her or touch her head - nothing to be done about that here without the risk of making it worse. So you stand up with still-shaking legs and take stock of your surroundings. 

Green fields. As far as the eye can see, there are green fields with blooming wildflowers and bees buzzing from one spot to the next. Birds chirp in the distance, a bubbling stream lies about twenty feet away, and the sun is warmer than ever. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was spring. You have to take off your coat and tie it around your waist to ward off the growing heat.

There’s some form of wooden shack on the horizon, but you don’t feel right leaving the woman alone. Still, isn’t it better to get her some help? Should you be trying to wake her up? After a moment’s hesitation, you give her shoulder a slight shake, and she stirs. Another shake rouses her completely. 

She flinches and sits up with a start - halting the action with a pained yelp as she cradles an arm around her stomach, grimacing. Finally, her green eyes, so bright they almost appear to be glowing, land on you. “Wh-where am I?” she asks faintly, sounding as if she’s not quite conscious. “Who are you?”

Good questions, you think. But you have so few answers.

“I have no idea where we are,” you start. “This place just… appeared. I was in my kitchen, and - then I was here.” It’s a pathetic explanation, but it’s what you have. After a pause, you give her your name, too. You want to say more, but your mouth closes on its own. You don’t know what just happened, and you’re in no position to explain it.

“I see,” she says, voice tinged with effort as she straightens up. Her gaze lands on Theo, calmly laying beside you, and her lips quirk into a small smile - contrasting ghastly with her greying skin. “And who is this little one?” she asks.

“This is Theo,” you answer softly. 

“Ciri,” she reveals. “I’m… Ciri. I’d say it’s nice to meet you both, but...” She trails off, shaking her head. The movement sends blood trickling from her temple down her cheek. “It seems I’m a little worse for wear at the moment,” she lightly remarks, though her tone can’t hide the exhaustion, the dark circles under her eyes. “Help me up?” 

It’s easier said than done. 

You manage to get her standing and haul her arm over your shoulder as support, but she’s stumbling rather than walking. The sun is scorching hot and merciless, and you find yourself immediately missing the snow. You can’t stop here. 

The grey shade of Ciri’s skin gets worse and worse the further on you go. Her steps get progressively clumsier too, like her legs have started to spasm. Finally, her knees simply give out and she collapses, panting as she plants her gloved hands on the grass. The shack isn’t far now, but she’s bled through her bandages. It seems the wound was worse than you thought. At least Theo is obediently following behind the two of you, and seems to be enjoying this strange adventure.

“Only a little further,” you tell Ciri, even though you’re shaking with overextension and every inch of you hurts. Even though you know in your gut what the odds against her are.

She nods, gritting her teeth in determination, so you prop your shoulder under her arm and help her up. It’s worse this time. She’s a dead weight. You’re practically dragging her. But something anxious - manic, even - buzzes under your skin, fills your breath, surges strength to leadened muscles. Your thoughts trip over one another again and again until you find the word. Adrenaline. It’s the only reason you’re still walking.

The two of you have just made it through the door of the shack when she collapses again, tilting her head back against the wall as she gulps in air, pressing her hand against her abdomen.

You’re suddenly overtaken by the fear that she’ll die and leave you here alone. That you’ll be left with a corpse, a hollow, rotting shell of a girl you barely know. You want to ask her if she has any last wishes, if there’s anything you can do. But, seeing as she clearly hasn’t given up on life yet, it seems cruel to start bringing up death.

Instead, your hands, forever busy, start rummaging through the shack’s cabinets and drawers. You find a few small treasures: a bottle of spirit, some dried fruit and meat, and a length of clean (or, at least, it looks clean) cloth. You don’t waste a moment before returning to Ciri, undoing her blood-soaked bandages to press the cloth against the wound.

She softly cries out as you apply pressure, but makes no move to stop you. Her body lies limp as you work. Then you secure the cloth with the old bandages, tying them as tight as you dare. Her stomach is still bruised, after all, and she’s clearly in pain. At least her face looks less grey now. A little.

“Well, well. What’ve you got there?” she asks, her gaze turning toward the floor, where your newly-found treasures lie.

“Some kind of spirit, I think,” you tell her, picking up the bottle and examining it.

“Give it here?” 

You hand it over without hesitance. She bites off the cork, spits it on the floor, and takes a whiff of the liquid inside. Finding it acceptable, she downs a large swig and tilts her head back again, sighing in relief. Yes, she’s definitely less grey now.

She can’t be very old. What happened to her? Who did this to her? You’re suddenly filled with blind anger. A helplessness that you can’t do more, can’t even comfort her. Theo must be sharing your line of thought, because he crawls onto her lap and starts purring, tucking himself into a circle.

“Thank you very much, Theo,” she says weakly, petting his back. She takes another swig from the bottle, then closes her eyes. You linger near the window, fighting the urge to pace around the room. You’re just about to ask her what happened to her when the rapid sound of hoofbeats approaches.

“Ciri!” a voice calls. Deep - coarse. Warm. The hair on your neck stands up at the sound of it. From fear or anticipation, you don’t know.

“In here,” she responds. She doesn’t bother yelling, just speaks the words as if they’re meant for you. You doubt whoever it is out there can hear her, but he comes inside anyway, bursting through the door like he’s afraid it won’t open.

You immediately gape at the sight of him, thoughts conflicting. This stranger, he’s tall, and broad, and beautiful. And a little scary. You should be afraid of him. He clearly thinks you hurt Ciri, from his expression. You should move, or explain, but you can’t. You just stare at him.

He stalls at the doorway, taking in the sight of her with wide eyes, looking almost pained. You can’t tell what color they are - his eyes - but as they rake over the extent of her wounds, something hardens in his gaze. Then it turns to you. He takes a slow step forward, muscles pulled tense like he’s waiting for a fight, watching you the way one watches a venomous snake. Do you imagine the way his hand instinctively twitches toward his blade?

“Geralt,” Ciri says, sounding immensely relieved. “It’s alright. She helped me.”

At her words, he instantly relaxes, gaze turning away from you as he steps over to Ciri and squats down at her side. Your head’s begun spinning again.

“Geralt, is that Ciri?” a distorted, cool-toned voice asks. “Is she there?” The words seem to have come from the air - you can’t see a source for this new speaker. Then Geralt pulls out a small metal box from his belt and holds it up toward his mouth. Like a phone.

“She’s here.”

The response comes through the box again. “Don’t move.” And, apparently, the voice doesn’t wait for an answer. Ten seconds later, a swirling circle of light appears in the midst of the room and a dark-haired woman walks out of it. 

“Ciri,” she murmurs, going pale. The word is half relief, half fear, and her voice is much clearer now that it isn’t coming from the strange box. She kneels at Ciri’s side, tucking bloodied hair out of her face. “Come with me,” she says. “We must get you out of here, get you somewhere safe.”

“Not going to argue with that,” Ciri says, attempting a laugh. The sound cuts off in pain. The dark-haired woman purses her lips, then helps her to her feet, half-carrying Ciri the way you did. The two of them walk toward the swirling circle of light together, and you watch them helplessly - not knowing if you should say something.

At the last moment, just before they’ve entered, Ciri angles herself toward you. “Wait - I forgot to thank you for your help,” she says. “You may have just saved my life. I can’t repay you at the moment, but… thank you.”

Frozen, you simply nod in response, watching as the two of them step into the light together. Ciri’s words swirl through your mind restlessly. There’s a flash, then both of them are simply gone. Vanished into the air. And, a moment later, the circle fades. 

Leaving you and Geralt alone.

You stare at him across the room, and he stares back at you, looking even more confused than you feel. You’ve seen a fair amount of insanity in your life, but never anything like this. You can’t even begin to process what you’ve just seen. And, funnily enough, you’ve never felt more alone in your life, even with his company. 

Now that Ciri isn’t here, you can take in the sight of him fully. Dark leather armor, snow-white hair, and two swords strung on his back. Like Ciri.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think they were wearing costumes. But Ciri’s blood is much too real on your hands, and so is this… weird, fucked reality that you’re in, sunny when it should be winter, daytime when it should be night, you have no idea where you are, and - fuck. What the hell is happening?

Your feet move to take a step toward the table - to sit down, think all of this over. But something strange happens when you move. Your body starts shuddering and the ground below you suddenly feels unstable. Your head throbs and your legs feel strangely light. Instead of taking a step toward the table, your knees tumble out from under you.

Or they would have. If Geralt hadn’t caught you.

tags:

@henryownsme @madamemelancholysstuff @fullmoonshadowwrites @darkscrossfire @beforethepen @julijal @ailynyan @ivuravix

(So sorry if you didn't want to be tagged! If you’d only like to be tagged for my other series, Accismus, please let me know and I'll happily fix that for future works ❤️)

#geralt x reader #geralt x you #geralt of rivia x reader #game!geralt #geralt/reader #geralt/you #mywriting

[theerurishipper]

What do you think of the take that despite the show telling us that Marinette is against injustice and unfair systems, the show's execution of her character pretty much just made her a person who primarily doesn't like not being on top of the food chain. You know, since the show/ Marinette never undoes unfair systems, she's just put in charge of it to be the one benefiting from them.

I don't remember anymore if the post I saw this in had alot of likes and reblogs and if this is a more widespread opinion, but I remember thinking that it was harsh but unfortunately not exactly inaccurate either.

I mean we all know what treatment Cat Noir gets/ got under Ladybug's leadership and guardianship (in comparison to Alya getting the deluxe partnership) to the point where saying it stands in ugly hypocrisy against how big of a deal the show makes about Marinette's past as a victim of bullying and systematical power abuse is an understatement.

By all means, she's been doing all of that to Cat Noir on a daily just without malicious intentions. But the only actual difference is taht she is benefiting from it and therefore the show supports Marinette's hypocritical treatment of Cat Noir and even calls it "good leadership and friendship he had to learn to be grateful for"

And Marinette's guardianship didn't exactly paint her as being much above Su-Han's level either, of yelling and stomping her foot regarding everything until she gets his way and her way only. She answers to no one and she does whatever she wants or else she can't function as a leader and you must learn your lesson.

Not to mention the show just... dropping Felix' excellent point from Emotion where he called out that Ladybug is one of the people in power who decide subjectively who gets to have powers and a voice and who doesn't. The end of season 5 wants to pretend as if her giving out the miraculous somehow disproves that but no? Shes still basically the magical monopol of the Miraculous? She's still deciding everything subjectively, even if it's just her giving her okay for Félix to keep the peacock. That's still her having given permission and she could take it away on a whim too because nothing about his correct point was done, he just dropped it and the show called it a day.

The show's writing just does her no favor in anything of this. Because I guess yes, in canon Marinette doesn't actually mind social hierarchies, she just doesn't like not being the one on top because her leadership style fundamentally requires for a hierarchy to exist since Marinette is now less and less tolerating not getting her way ever since season 4.

So Marinette as a character doesn't really mind systemic injustice and will absolutely uphold them to her benefit, we're just supposed to think it's fine for her to do it since Marinette isn't maliciously intentioned and will try to help if she notices injustice against others she's bothered by.

Which raises the question though how Marinette will react in future to any civilian person who Lila will work up against Ladybug? Her writing has by now painted a clear picture that Marinette doesn't tolerate not being treated well anymore, so how will Ladybug react when civilians will "bully" her?

If it's a person like the racist guy who arrested her mom in season 4? Will they continue the bully-logic despite Ladybug being the all mighty power monopol in Paris and on top of the city's food chain? Cause Ladynette defending herself can easily overstep the line to tyrannical behavior since SHE'S the superpowered monopol in charge of everything while THEY are regular civilians who get to have no saying or power in anything.

I don't know how to end this ask, this already went to places I initially didn't wanted to bring up. I just would love to read your opinion since I enjoy your takes alot ^^

Honestly? I think it makes sense that it might come off that way, even if I don't think it's right. I don't think Marinette is not someone who likes being on top, but she is someone who likes being in control of a situation, which can manifest in ways that seem like she does. And since the writing never portrayed her as in the wrong and only doubled down on her actions, I can see why it would seem that way after 5 seasons of it.

Thank you for your ask!

#ML Salt #ML Writing Salt #ML Writers Salt #Marinette Salt #Ladybug Salt #Asks

[blueywrites]

Hi, I noticed TD&TC only has 2 chapters on ao3, do you have any plans of updating it there? I just wanted to know since it's easier for me to read it there when I'm commuting, since tumblr closes stuff if it's idle for too long

Hi babes, thanks for checking in about this! Your ask is not really about all of this but this has been weighing on my heart for a little while and I wanna just address it with everyone following me.

When I first joined Tumblr earlier this year, I was very much in the midst of my Eddie Munson fanfiction hyperfocus that had lasted since June of last year. I know the word hyperfocus gets thrown around loosely sometimes, but I really mean it. I was diagnosed with ADHD last year at 30. I don't wanna get into the specifics of all the challenges my disability brings me right now, but the relevant stuff is that the motivation and good feelings provided by hyperfocus make you feel basically superhuman, like you have a never-ending font of energy to pull from when it comes to your area of interest.

At the beginning, it was so, so easy for me to answer every DM, every ask, every comment and reblog on my own work, as well as read and reblog and write extensive commentary on others' work.

That hyperfocus has since waned. This is not within my control, and I often feel at the mercy of my own brain. I share this because, while I still love writing and interacting with you all, I've been feeling for awhile extremely guilty for not being as good as I was at the beginning with everything: answering your comments, reblogging your reblogs to answer you, updating AO3 and Tumblr simultaneously, answering DMS... even just writing about the guy we all love. I've just generally slowed down, and everything has gotten more difficult. And I've been worrying you might think I am not grateful for the interaction and the love you show my work.

The biggest challenges I face with ADHD in general, I think, are worry, guilt, and shame. I'm feeling all of those things in regard to how my interaction with you guys has slowed, and it's taking a real toll on my mental health and my ability to function.

So I wanted to let you know how just... really fucking grateful and appreciative I am for every single comment, reblog, like, ask, DM, idea, suggestion - everything you guys share with me. I hate to think that if I don't answer right away, or don't answer at all, you think it's because I'm getting an ego or something. It's really just because I get overwhelmed, then guilty, then avoidant, just like everything else that becomes hard for me in my life.

So, I just wanted to be transparent about it. I love you all, and I am so in awe of your support for me and my work, even if I am struggling to express it.

Please continue to comment, reblog, send asks, DMs to your hearts' content. Even if it takes me awhile, or I forget to reply, or I just get overwhelmed and have to cut myself some slack, I carry all your words in my heart always. Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Love, your Bluey.

#blueynews

[ceebit]

okay let me do my new year post now bc i will most definitely be dragged out to party and then promptly pass out 😭

2022 has been a rough year for me, emotionally and physically. i went through a lot this year, academically, personally, mentally—by far one of the worst years i’ve ever pocketed. without getting into details, i hit my lowest point. and not to sound like that, but through kpop i found hope again. like a temporary crutch of sorts.

i joined kpopblr four months ago on september 19th! this blog hit its 4 month mark on the 19th this month, and while i didn’t openly celebrate that milestone on here, i took the time to sit back and really look on how my life has changed since then.

i’ve made so many good memories. and with those memories, i’ve met so many good people here. people that deserve more than the world for being friendly faces (despite not seeing y’all lmao) during my up and coming days. so i gotta shout y’all out because i wouldn’t be as comfortable in this space without u all.

@wonwooridul @seungkwan-s : the first official friends i made here. none of this would have been possible without u two !!! i love u both so so much please. 🤍🤍🤍

@hansolz : for giving me an invite to the caratblr server ): we don’t talk as much but never got to express how grateful i was (and still am) for opening that door for me. i really can’t thank u enough <3

@ the caratblr server : ik im the worst at being active in there but i’m so so happy to be there. being exposed to so many talented creators from writers to giffers and all those in between—it’s been so much fun getting to know u all (from the times i remember discord exists, at least 😭)

@minghao-s : rose my kpop lighthouse………. u are literally the reason behind everything here. i think fondly on that two hour boy group introduction a lot. thank u for taking the time to guide me through all of that. and for taking ur time with me ??? my memory is NOT the best and i do be forgetting things, but thank u for pulling and knocking sense into me ^_^ and ultimately being 1/2 mutuals who like to actively plot my k-demise…..

@wuahae : cat beloved </3 i had to mention the reason why there’s a significant sunwoo shaped crater in my skull. u are at fault for my recent lack of sleep and lack of appropriate decorum during the waking hours. (affectionate) jokes aside thank u for tbz infodumping at odd hours of the night and indulging in my relentless questions <333 hope u get ur vampire media one day 🫶🏽

and to rest my beloveds : @txtkids @caratonce/@silvmoonsky @haylo4ever/@dokyeomblr @haylo4ever @huiranghaes @naptimed @otlwoozi @theloserphenomenon @aceofvernons @woosanhui @98linerz @strawberri-uyu (and if you’re not here i’m so sorry 😭) thank you for filling my dash and literally making tumblr worthwhile each time i long on. my experience woukdnt be the same without y’all. love u all to the moon and back <3

to my readers : you are the reason i create!! the reason i find inspiration to continue to write. thank you for the endless tags and asks and reblogs and comments and everything. if i could hug all 800+ of u, i would. squeezing u all with so so so much love thru this screen. <333

and to my anons : thank you for some of the funniest moments i’ve ever seen in my life. you all r the reason the ask function was made. even if you haven’t come off anon, just know that i cherish each and every single ask you’ve sent to me—responded or not. (terribly sorry if i haven’t, tho… sometimes my brain tricks me into thinking i already have 🥲) hopefully some of you gain the courage to reveal yourselves so we can be friends :)

okay let me wrap this up before i start crying. tmrw starts a whole new year of kpop for me and all of you. here’s to more writings, creations, laughter, and good memories to come.

with love, from (hopefully) your favorite joshua-changbin-sunwoo juyeon-and-now-hongjoong enthusiast,

cece <3

#OK I GO !!! food just arrived and i’m so hungry oh my god #HAPPY NEW YEARS MY LOVES !!!!!!! #MAKE 2023 UR BITCH <3

[spine-buster]

feelings/update under the cut

i've been writing and releasing my two newest stories 'that which we are, we are' ft. nathan mackinnon and 'to sail beyond the sunset' ft. sidney crosby since september after taking a posting break and focusing on my writing. i'm going to be real with y'all: i've written up to chapter 7 for ttwawa, and chapter 6 for tsbts. though i know where the stories are going, i have nothing else written as of now. work has been more excruciating that normal this year (h*gh sch**l english means way more marking) and i basically haven't written anything since october.

i've never been a writer that hung on every note or reblog i got on this site -- i write because i love it, because i have ideas, because things won't get out of my head until they're written in a doc. it's how my brain has functioned for a long time. however, all writers do require some sort of feedback and/or engagement with their writing, especially when it's posted on a site like this (with a long history of that feedback and engagement fuelling entire fandoms), and especially when it's being written for free. to say i haven't gotten the same level of engagement on these stories is an understatement. they're barely cracking 100 notes, when sometimes, like let's say a chapter of 'patience is a virtue', would crack 100 notes by the time i went to bed monday night. that is NOT to say that i am not grateful for every like, reblog, and dm i get in my inbox. it's just that i find that ever since coming back from my posting break this summer when i was travelling, engagement has been super low. way lower than normal. i don't know if it's the hockey players i'm writing for. i don't know if it's the content of the stories.

i don't know if it's my writing.

i don't know if it's me.

in any case, with the christmas break coming up, i am going to try to get more chapters written so i can still post. but this is sort of an announcement to say that during those two weeks, i'm taking another posting break, because, well...i literally have nothing to post. it's nobody's fault but mine, truly -- but...yeah.

i'm very, very sorry.

#my writing #personal

[writer-darling]

hi ella!

i’m back with another “gentle reminders” ask. it goes in line with one of my personal goals this year of trying to work on my kindness and how i show that kindness to others.

the beginning of a new year is always a bit tough for many people, for many reasons but at the scale of the fandom, i have noticed some negativity starting to spread. maybe it’s bound to happen on any social media but i always considered tumblr to be different, to be over the kind of discourse you could find on other apps. this place has been a true haven for many of us and i would like to keep it that way, so i thought, as a way to counterbalance this negativity, i could compensate with a nice message for one of the driving forces in the fandom: our dear writers.

i would like to begin by saying thank you.  thank you for dedicating your time, your energy, your love and sharing pieces of yourself with us. the fandom wouldn’t be what it is without you: just like a body needs a brain or a heart to function properly, fandoms need writers like they need others contributing. thank you for offering diversity, engaging with different tropes and characters to reach as many readers as possible. i will admit, some things proposed are not my cup of tea but i know they can be enjoyed by others, the same way some of my favorite fics wouldn’t necessarily attract others. so thank you for giving a chance to everyone to find what they enjoy, to discover, to learn, to cry, to laugh, to love and to be able to do so in an open, safe space. thank you for interacting with us as well. thank you for responding to our questions, sharing snippets when we get impatient, teasing us with your new ideas and making life a little more fun and exciting every day. and of course, thank you for doing all of this for free. for expecting so little in return when you give us so much.

now a few things i want you to remember: 

although we’re all thankful for having access to your art, your first fan should be yourself. write what you enjoy, write that self-indulgent fic, write your favorite trope, an improbable duo or crossover because you’ve always wanted to. do it for yourself. in the same way, have fun with it. writing is a hobby, it’s not your job, it’s not supposed to be a chore. so do what makes you happy. don’t worry about updating fics, about being slow, about posting too much or too little. some things might take time, some might need an hour to be posted but in the end, they all matter just the same. they’re worth being read and cherished and we will appreciate them. whether you have thousands of notes or barely a few hundreds, you have your place here. you’re still an amazing writer, you’re still an artist regardless of the stats. 

whether i've had time to binge-read your stories or just discovered you. thank you. i love you. i’m grateful for you. i see and appreciate your work. your efforts. you.  i’m sorry if you’ve ever been received with negativity but i hope this can make up for some of it.  you deserve nothing but kindness and appreciation and i hope you know how much you matter here.

sending you all my love,

anna 💗

Anna, I am floored by this gentle reminder! 🥹 I learned a long time ago that I have to write for myself first and foremost but I always struggle with not hyperfixating on numbers and popularity. It helps to know that writing is in my bones, it’s been a part of me since I was a kid and when I lost it for a while, it was like I had lost a close friend, and I was worried I’d never see it again. But, thankfully, it’s back and while I step away from it (even though I don’t want to, but need to sometimes), writing will always be my first love and I am sure I’m not the only one amongst us.

It’s lovely to be recognized with messages, comments reblogs, and being added to various writer/fic recommendation lists. It’s a true honor, and it’s a delicate balance to be grateful but to not get so wrapped up in the glory of it. I do what I do because I love it, not because I want to be this writing superstar. Writing is like breathing to me, and yes, more interaction would be nice. And some days I wish I was more popular. But I know who I am, I know my craft and I’m proud of the work I’ve done so far.

All that to say: THANK YOU, for this reminder. I desperately needed it and I’m grateful you took the time to send it! And an additional thank you to everyone who interacts with me/my stuff. I’ve said it before I’ll say it again: I love my little corner of the internet where I can do what I love most! 💚🌻

#answered asks #ask me stuff #ask me anything #lovely moots 💕

[nickywhoisi]

wow i'm starting to hate the heart for likes...I guess i was unfortunately correct about the likes being equivalent to my wants being ignored, and that not being okay anymore as an artist, and as a human being in general, sharing my thoughts? Just. Maybe Tumblr should make an update where only the reblog function exists, and could...be the like heart? Just mashing them together maybe? If that would help?

I don't know man. I guess it just hurts to see something i poured my heart and soul out on and established my boundaries with just got the same treatment as what I originally complained about. This fucking stings is what I'm saying. Fuck the people on here using this like twitter or facebook. It makes me all the more grateful to see when somebody has reblogged. I wish that happened more often.

So anyway, I had meant to provide some links to some new places I'm going to post my work on. I tried to find a simple photo uploader, but shit wasn't going right there. My god everything is going to shit here.

But here's the good news! I have some places in mind; one is on Gaia online, which still exists! Wow no wai guyz, but yah wai. I'm Foxishpeep, and another one of mine is NicolleneCosplay. I encourage you guys to make an account if you like, and get access to things like my profile and journal, and make comments on threads I make in the future, because despite what things happened there, you don't necessarily have to keep up with monthly collectibles, and it's one of the most iconic avatar designers on the internet. Buying items with real money is just like any other gacha; optional. And I'd actually say gaia has gotten fairer about getting gold and fancier items now. It's way easier than in the past! I like that. I'm gonna post my art and writing, and just generally play around with avi customizing, as I always have. It's actually a fun way to render original characters!

Another spot I have is on Pixiv, NickoWicko, which is exclusively for art posts. That might be good for comics too, so I'mma try it out. I've already posted some concept ideas for my Fate/ fanwork, Fate/WildPinnacle! I have SO MANY SCRIPTS FOR THIS ALREADY. But for anything I want to create visually for it will go here. As for writing...

I have overheard of a project called Neocities, and I haven't decided what mine will be named, but it will basically be my tumblr here, but even more personalized and just better all around. This is where I guess everything will go. Just wanna see if I can spread myself around. I'm especially excited, because while I basically know next to nothing about coding, I have always wanted to make my own website since all the way back in the late 90's. THIS IS AN OLD DREAM THAT HAS A CHANCE TO COME TRUE AGAIN, HOW CAN'T I GET HYPE ABOUT THAT. I'VE GOT THE POWA

The other two places I have in mind is Fanfic.net or AO3, exclusively for writing. I have actually been making more written work than art lately...because I have never found the free time or a safe space to wind down and have a focused atmosphere to create like this. I can still type, but my fucking god I miss being able to have a quiet draw session... It especially hurts because I want to post pictures with my fanfics and original works! Uuuurghgrhgg

REBLOGS > LIKES, THANK YOU!

#So that's that #I might be kicking myself for this later #I want to actually see through my plans but sometimes I haven't done a good job of that #I want that to switch though #ramble brambles #plan making #upsetting things have happend to me...really bad things #but I want to get away from it and get some soothing relief from interwebs again #I bloody mean it about the likes though its making me mad here #It is literally disrespecting me to ignore what I have asked for and you might as well not click anything if you do this still #Likes? more like hates nowadays fs #psa #big things are gonna be happening round here

[wimbledon2008]

Italy jersey and uniform was so pretty last season, I guess the darker shade of blue looks better in their uniform. Slightly off topic but there are two friendly games on November, so who knows if the squad can be different and even more effective! What's your opinion on the current squad?

despite how much i bitch about them i do think italy is actually a bit stronger than they look on paper. they're obviously searching for an identity right now (one that's not "failed to qualify for the world cup twice in a row") but it seems that their confidence is growing again, and they've won recent matches against teams that aren't pushovers by any means. i still don't know how england managed to not beat them at the euros given the form they were in at the time, but the loss against north macedonia was honestly just very unlucky (and ofc due to some damning laziness in those final minutes and a failure to show up when it mattered most in the prior matches). i'm encouraged by what i've seen since then though. italy has needed a more clinical and decisive striker for a while now, and it's clear that raspadori has the appetite and ability to be that player. gnonto too! they both play so doggedly, fighting for chances and never giving up, and i'm so excited to see what they can bring to the national team. i think back to the lithuania match and how refreshing it felt to watch those younger players succeed; for that i'm grateful immobile was absent from the last round of nations league matches, so that they were able to prove their quality again. hopefully mancini has gotten it through his thick ass head now and is more willing to reinvent the tried and tired euros squad that clearly hasn't been functioning at the necessary level since hmmm the match against turkey in june 2021? maybe the later one against belgium if i'm feeling generous. overall, i'm tentatively hopeful about the squad but am still managing my expectations appropriately 💙

omg i'm so gagged to see chiesaball again, he's such a talent. him coming back from injury and tearing it up with the national team again would definitely improve matters significantly. maybe find a less stinky club though my king <3

i don't speak italian either but the italy nt post-euros documentary "sogno azzurro" was still such a treat to watch. even though "watching" involved me google translating italian subtitles line by line. i was able to watch it on raiplay (italian site) when it first came out, but i'm not sure if it's still available there or if there are other places to find it now :/ followers please feel free to comment below if you have any insight on the matter. honestly though, other than looking up youtube compilations or watching old matches the best way to find more content is to just start trawling through people's tags. i know i've been involved and invested since the euros, so perusing #azzurri, or #matteo pessina or #manuel locatelli if you're interested in them in particular should give you a pretty comprehensive overview of everything that's happened over the last year. absolutely look through the blogs i've reblogged things from too, because the folks over at tumblr.it have a lot of fun and are the best resources for italy nt content

if i'm being sincere i'm actually very much looking forward to an italy-less world cup this year because i have this disease called "caring too much" and it's incurable and it made watching the euros and world cup qualifiers a waking stress nightmare that took no less than 42 years off my lifespan 🤗 light and love tho @ gli azzurri

all jokes aside, italy nt really does run on friendship and homoerotic affection, and it makes them a joy to watch! even when they're sucking ass spectacularly they still seem to have a lot of fun together, and they're perpetually falling in love with each other over and over again which is it's own special kind of reward 💙💙💙

#italy nt #azzurri #answered #anonymous

[sunflowervolvimp3]

42 Hours

Content: an enemies to lovers au in which Harry and Y/N are forced into a cross country road trip to make it to their best friends’ wedding on time

Warnings: language, mentions of nsfw content

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 20k 

A/N: I actually cannot believe that this is finally being posted over almost a month of working on it!! originally, I was going to make this one long stand alone fic, but once I hit 35k with no end in sight, I decided to split it into two parts so that it would be easier to read for you guys.  I’m hoping to have part 2 posted within a week, so keep an eye out for it!! this fic was partially inspired by this post by @avhrodite​ (thank you miss bailey!!) and can I just say that I had so much fun writing it!! I love road trips!! it makes me so sad that I had to split this fic because there are so many fun music scenes in the next part but those will all come in due time!! I would also like to give a big thank you to miss andrea @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy​ and miss alex @darthstyles​ for putting up with me bouncing ideas off of them and for proof reading for me!! and miss andrea again for editing this stunning header pic!! also everyone I tagged is a wonderful writer and if you’re looking for more to read after reading this then I HIGHLY suggest taking a look through their masterlists. and as always, if you like this fic, please like and reblog it!! and shoot me a message!! feedback is always appreciated, not just by me, but by all content creators <3

{masterlist}

also!! if you want to set the mood for a road trip with Harry, here is a link to the playlist that is mentioned and referenced in this fic!!

When she was a little girl, Y/N’s grandmother had told her about Murphy’s Law.  Grandma Sarah’s favourite activity was staring at her granddaughter over the kitchen counter, a knife in one hand and half an onion that she’d been cutting in the other, spouting various wisdoms at the young girl, who would often be sitting and peeling vegetables for her.  The old lady had hoped that, after being lectured enough times on life’s difficulties, Y/N might be able to avoid making the same mistakes that she had made in her own time.  She always had a list of advice that she’d cycle through, as if she were a record on a loop.

“Always look both ways before crossing the street.  Your great uncle Albert didn’t, and he never regained full function of his left hand.”

“Beauty fades, but there’s no shelf life on your mind.”

“The grass is always greener on the other side, so stop staring at it, and focus on taking care of your own lawn.”

All of the advice was, by any accounts, useful for anyone to know, especially a young girl.  Of course, sometimes the advice would get a little scrambled after Grandma Sarah had had a few glasses of wine, but even her tipsy thoughts were useful to Y/N in her later years.  To this day, Y/N still sets a glass of water on her nightstand before going out to a bar, and her hungover self is always grateful the next morning.  And Y/N had yet to find anything that smelled as sweet as a vanilla dabbed behind her ears and on her wrists when she runs out of perfume.  However, perhaps the most important piece of advice Grandma Sarah ever gave her came one afternoon when Y/N was eleven years old, and her older cousin Grace was due to get married the next week.

Grandma Sarah had cracked egg after egg into her mixing bowl, always without getting any unwanted pieces of shell in the egg whites, and gave her granddaughter a long look across the kitchen counter.

“When you get married, Y/N,” She had said, voice firm. “Remember Murphy’s Law.  Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.  When Murphy’s Law comes into play, there’s nothing you can do except roll with the punches.”

Eleven year old Y/N had nodded her head seriously, as she always did when her grandmother told her seemingly important things.  The advice, despite its usefulness, however, didn’t stick around in her head, and Murphy’s Law didn’t cross Y/N’s mind for fourteen years.

It takes fourteen years for Y/N, who is standing in front of a flight check-in at LAX, two large suitcases next to her, one of which contains two gold wedding bands, passport in hand, and a distressed look on her face, to remember the law her grandmother had once told her about.

“When you get married, Y/N…anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.”

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Y/N pushes the echoing words of her grandmother out of her head. “I’m sorry, just—” She gives a pained smile to the lady working the check in. “Can you explain that to me again, please?”

The lady also takes a deep breath, the smile on her ruby tinted lips just as pained as Y/N’s. “There’s a storm system moving through Utah and Colorado.  These systems have the potential to become tornadoes, and because of that, the conditions for flying are too dangerous right now, so all flights through that area are grounded until further notice.”

“So my flight is cancelled?” Y/N holds up the ticket in her hand that’s stamped with LAX – JFK. “This flight, this flight to New York, which is nowhere near Utah—that’s cancelled?”

The check-in lady, whose name tag reads Brynn, gives another tight smile. “Yes, ma’am.  It’s cancelled.”

“Okay, no, I’m sorry, Brynn, but that doesn’t work for me.” Y/N shakes her head fiercely as the manic rush of emotions through her begins to set in.  The denial, she finds, keeps the oncoming panic at bay, and so she decides to focus on that to ground herself. “My best friend is getting married in the Catskills in one week.” Y/N holds up one finger, as if her words are hard for Brynn to understand. “That’s one week from today.  I’m the maid of honour.  I have to be there to help organize, keep her calm, and make sure she actually makes it down the aisle, because—between you and me—she’s got some commitment issues—” The more Y/N speaks, the more her panic begins to spill out in her words, like a dam with a leak that’s about to burst. “And she forgot the goddamn wedding rings, so I have those too, and I just—I really need to get to New York, like, now. Right now.”

Y/N finally pauses to take a sharp breath, and Brynn, who had been waiting for her to finish, speaks again, her voice flatter than before.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, ma’am, but as I said, all flights are grounded right now.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, Y/N takes another deep breath.  Roll with the punches, her grandmother had told her.  What else is there to do? “Okay.” Y/N is careful to keep her voice in check when she speaks again. “Alright.  Do you know when they’ll be ungrounded?”

“As I’ve said,” Brynn’s smile is more of a grimace now, and Y/N knows that she’s treading on thin ice. “All flights are grounded until further notice.  We’re not sure when we’ll be able to open them again.  It could be a day, or it could be five.  If you’d like, I can put you down on a list to be called when flights are available again, but I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

“Let’s do that, then.” Y/N relents in a tired voice, already making plans to pick up a coffee on her way back to her apartment.  In the back of her mind, she begins to wonder if she has any Baileys Irish cream liqueur left in her kitchen cabinet—and if 8:30 A.M. is too early to be drinking Baileys with her coffee.

…

It takes Y/N two cups of coffee with Baileys (it had been 10 A.M. by the time she arrived home, thanks to L.A. traffic, and she had decided that 10 A.M. was a fine time to drink when one’s flight gets cancelled indefinitely) to work up the courage to call Jo and tell her that she isn’t sure if she’ll be able to make it to the wedding.

Josephine Waters, or Jo to anyone who doesn’t want to get punched in the arm, has been Y/N’s best friend since the girls were five years old.  They became fast friends on the first day of kindergarten, as Jo liked how Y/N could already colour inside the lines, and Y/N liked how Jo tackled a boy who tugged on Y/N’s pigtails.  From the very beginning, the two were a perfect match for each other; where Y/N was reserved, Jo was wild.  Where Jo was disorganized, Y/N was focused.  Each girl balanced the other in the most natural way, and it’s this fact that Y/N and Jo credit for the two of them staying friends for twenty years. As they grew up together, they grew together, taking the very best traits from the other and using it to help themselves develop.  Y/N had been the first person that Jo came out to, confessing to her best friend during an eighth grade sleepover in a quiet and nervous voice.  To Jo’s pleasure, Y/N had been completely supportive, and returned the favour from the first day of kindergarten by punching a boy in the nose for calling Jo a homophobic slur.  Jo helped Y/N through her parent’s divorce.  Y/N helped Jo manage her ADHD.  Jo talked Y/N through discovering her bisexuality in university. Y/N answered every 3 A.M. phone call to comfort Jo after a panic attack.  In every sense of the word, the two girls had been there for each other.

And now Y/N is going to miss Jo’s wedding.

The harsh realization digs a pit in her stomach as she opens her phone and clicks on Jo’s name.  It’s noon in L.A., which means it’s 3 P.M. in New York time, and Y/N knows Jo will answer.  She always does.

Sure enough, after three short rings, Jo’s voice chirps through the phone. “Hey, Y/N!  Has your flight landed already?”

“No, there’s—there’s been an issue.” Y/N downs another gulp of her coffee, wishing she had added more Baileys when she had the chance, and clears her throat before continuing. “There’s, um, a storm in Utah, and apparently it’s bad, and so all flights from L.A. to New York are grounded until further notice.”

Jo makes a scoffing noise, and Y/N can practically picture the indignant look on her face that she’s seen so many times before. “That’s ridiculous.  Did you tell them that New York is nowhere near Utah?”

“Uh huh.”

“What about that my wedding is in one week?”

“I told them that, too. Brynn didn’t seem to care.”

“Bitch.” Jo mutters under her breath. “Okay, just wait a second, Laure just walked through the door, so I’m putting you on speakerphone—”

Y/N hears rustling on the speaker, as well as muttering in the background as Jo speaks to her fiancée, and then Jo’s voice is back, sounding slightly more distant.

“Okay, so I told Laure what happened—”

“That’s awful, Y/N.” Laure’s voice is laced with stress, and Y/N can only imagine how much anxiety this information is adding to her already full plate. “They won’t tell you when flights will be leaving again?”

“Nope.” Y/N pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her free arm around them, leaning her head against the back of her couch.

“Okay, well, planes aren’t the only way to get here.” Laure says, always the more rational out of the two. “Maybe a car—?”

“Y/N doesn’t have one.” Jo chimes in, a hint of teasing in her voice, despite the serious problem that’s in discussion. “She’s scared of driving—”

Y/N sits up, an indignant look on her face. “I’m not scared of driving!” She says hotly, setting her empty coffee mug on the table with a thud. “I just hate L.A. traffic, and honestly, there’s no point!  I can walk to work, and Uber anywhere else I need to go!  A car would be completely useless to me!”

“Except now, when you’re about to miss your best friend’s wedding.” Jo points out. “What about renting one?”

Y/N sighs, her moment of indignation already fizzled out. “I tried that already.  There’s nothing available for a cross country trip.”

“And the drive is so long.” Laure murmurs, and Y/N knows it’s more for Jo’s benefit than hers. “It’s over forty hours.  She can’t do that by herself; it’s not safe.”

“But—”

“Look, Jo, don’t worry about this, alright?” Y/N cuts across her best friend’s anxious voice, assuming her usual role of protector. “I’ll figure this out.  I promise you; I will make it to your wedding on time, looking pretty in my dress, and with your wedding bands.  I promise.”

“We’ll keep thinking about it and see what we can come up with.” Laure promises through the phone, her voice sounding further and further away. “This is just—it’s a bump in the road, but it’s fine.  We can work around this.  We’ll find a way.”

…

The way that Laure finds for Y/N pounds on her door at 7:30 A.M. the next morning.

Y/N, like any exhausted and stressed out adult who has already begun her ten days of vacation time that she booked off for the wedding, is fast asleep in her bed when she hears the knocking.  The loud noise pulls her out from her dreams abruptly, and she cracks one eye open, squinting through the sunlight that’s lighting up her room.  When the knock echoes through her apartment again, she pulls herself from her sheets with a groan, grabbing her robe from the back of her door and tying it around herself as she makes her way to the front hallway to yell at whoever has the audacity to wake her up.

When she opens the door, Harry Styles is peering down at her with an irritated look on his face.

“Took you long enough, Y/N.” He rolls his eyes as he speaks, finally stepping back from the door that he had been pounding on a moment ago. “Are you ready to go?”

Y/N rubs her eyes, suppressing a yawn as she does so. “Styles, I have no idea what you’re talking about.  What are you doing here?” She demands.  She doesn’t have the energy to deal with him right now, she thinks, let alone the mental capacity to listen to anything he has to say.

Harry crosses his arms across his chest, and it’s then that Y/N notices the duffel bag strewn over his shoulder. “It’s a forty-two hour drive from L.A. to the Catskills.” Harry’s eyes scan over Y/N’s appearance, the very corner of his strawberry pink lips twitching, and Y/N tightens her robe around herself with a glare.

“A drive?” Y/N asks, uncertainty growing in her voice as she crosses her arm over her chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Your flight was cancelled, right?” Harry’s voice grows more impatient as Y/N’s half asleep brain struggles to piece together what’s happening. “So was mine, so I decided to drive to the wedding, and then Laure called me last night, begging me to take you with me.” He shrugs a bit, fixing his sunglasses on top of his head as his jade eyes scan over her appearance one more time. “Not my first choice of road trip partner, but I don’t think the best man can say no to bringing the maid of honour.  And splitting the cost of gas will be nice.”

“Okay, wait, I…” Y/N’s finally coming out of her fog of exhaustion, and the newfound clarity of her mind is causing a newfound pit to develop in her stomach. “Laure and Jo didn’t tell me any of this.”

“Well, I expect they’re a bit busy, given that they’re getting married in a week.” Harry adjusts the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder with a sharp sigh. “Look, are you ready to go or not?  It’s over a five day drive, so we need to leave as soon as possible.”

“I—yeah—” Y/N nods before taking a hesitant step back from the doorway, positioning herself to the side so that Harry can get by her. “I just have to get dressed and grab a couple last minute things, so…come in, I guess.���

Harry flashes an insincere smile to Y/N as he steps into her apartment, his eyes darting around at the furniture and home decor.  Y/N watches as his gaze lingers on her library of books, her yellow bicycle leaning against the wall, and every other little touch of herself that she likes her home to have, and she can see the judgement that’s clearly apparent in his eyes.

“You can sit, if you want.” She mutters, turning on her heel to go back to her bedroom. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

The first thing Y/N does when she shuts her bedroom door behind herself is assess the situation in the analytical way that usually calms her.  Alright.  So a road trip across the country isn’t exactly ideal, and a road trip across the country with Harry Styles is even less ideal.  But, at the present moment, being stuck in a car with Harry seems to be the only sure way that she’ll be able to make it to Jo’s wedding on time. And for Jo, Y/N would put up with anything.  Even Harry.

As she rummages through her drawers for some leggings and a tank top, Y/N wonders what she could have possibly done to bring this much bad karma into her life.  While she gets dressed, her mind flickers back to Murphy’s Law, how everything that can go wrong will go wrong, in the worst possible way, and then she thinks about being in a confined space with Harry for five days, and—yeah.  That seems to be the worst possible thing she can think of.

Y/N remembers the first moment she’d met Harry seven years ago, and the unfortunate circumstances under which that meeting had happened.  Jo and Laure had just barely met back then, and Jo had begged Y/N to come out on a double date with her and “this really hot girl from my women studies class who I’m, like, 83% sure swings my way.”

Y/N had groaned at that comment, flopping back on her bed in the tiny dorm that she and Jo shared. “No! I have an essay due in three days that I haven’t even started!”

Jo rolled her eyes as she flopped down on Y/N’s bed as well, ignoring her own half-made bunk that was across the small room, favouring her best friend’s bed like she always did. “We both know you’re not starting that essay until the day before it’s due, and that it’s just an excuse because you don’t want to go!”

“I don’t want to go.” Y/N had agreed with a sharp and fervent nod.  She shut her laptop and pushed it to the side of her bed, knowing from experience that she wasn’t going to be able to focus and argue at the same time. “Why would I want to hang out with a complete stranger while you make googly eyes at a girl from your class?”

“Okay, first, I don’t make googly eyes.” Jo made a face at that comment, nudging Y/N’s calf with her own foot. “And second, he’s her best friend from high school, and he’s coming to visit all the way from London!”

“So?  He’s still a stranger!” Y/N pointed out, her eyes drifting to the sticky note covered novel beside her.  She picks it up and begins to flip through the marked pages as she speaks. “Knowing where he’s from doesn’t change that!”

“It should, because he’s only going to be here for a week, and Laure almost cancelled the date because she doesn’t want to miss spending time with him—” Jo grabbed one of Y/N’s pillows and tossed it at her arm, knocking the book from her hands. “Focus! So I said that he could come, but she said that she didn’t want him to be left out, so I said that I happen to have an incredibly beautiful and witty best friend who would be able to entertain Harry while we all hang out together.”

Y/N inhaled deeply as she gave Jo a withering look. “Did you already tell her I’m going?”

Jo, in return, gave Y/N her most dazzling smile. “Yes.  We’re meeting them for dinner at 7.”

Y/N shakes herself from her memories as she runs to her bathroom to toss her toiletries back into the bag she’d taken them out of the day before, working as quickly as she can. It does her no good to think of Harry in the past, she thinks, because the present Harry is currently sitting in her living room, probably snooping through her stuff, and the longer she takes to get ready to go, the more he’ll go through.  Not that there’s anything incriminating in her apartment, really—or at least, nothing incriminating in her living room.  When Y/N makes it back to her bedroom, however, to quickly zip up her suitcase, she does make sure she grabs her favourite vibrator from the box under her bed, tucking it between her half-folded underwear.  If she’s going to be gone for a week, she’ll need something to help her relax.

Within a few more minutes, Y/N is repacked and ready to go.  Her hunter green bridesmaid dress is carefully arranged on the very top of her clothes in her suitcase, all of her makeup and toiletries are packed inside, and Jo and Laure’s wedding rings are secured in little velvet boxes stashed between her socks.  As far as physical preparedness goes, Y/N is ready to go on a coast to coast road trip. As far as mental preparedness goes, however…that’s the thing that Y/N’s not quite sure about.

…

“What are you doing?”

Y/N glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, her hand still half stretched out to the radio dials in his car.  Although Harry’s green eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, and his face is turned towards the long road in front of them, he still somehow manages to catch her motions, and it irritates her to no end.

“I’m changing the radio station?” Y/N answers after a moment, giving him a puzzled look. “I don’t know why you listen to this weird oldies station, but—”

“First of all—” Harry’s hands turn the steering wheel slightly to guide his car over the curve of the road, his jaw twitching as a smirk works its way onto his pink lips. “This isn’t a radio station, it’s my Spotify playlist.  I put a Bluetooth connection in Stevie a year ago. Secondly—”

“Stevie?” Y/N repeats incredulously, twisting her whole body as best she can to look at Harry straight on. “You named your car?  You’re one of those guys?”

Harry finally gives Y/N a flicker of a glance, the glare obvious in his eyes even behind his dark sunglasses.  He turns his attention back to the road before replying. “Secondly—” He continues from before, ignoring her comment as his right hand readjusts the gear shift. “Driver picks the music.”

Y/N makes a face, the corners of her lips pulling down into a grimace as she settles back into the passenger seat with her arms crossed. “So we’re just going to listen to ‘Tiny Dancer’ for the entire drive, are we?”

“Not the entire drive, no.” Harry flicks on his turn signal with a ringed hand before shoulder checking to change lanes.  Y/N glances at him, her eyes training on the strained muscles in his neck as Harry continues. “We’ll listen to ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,’ too.”

“Great.” Y/N exhales slowly and presses her head back into the seat’s headrest, closing her eyes as Elton John’s voice continues to float through the speakers. “Really looking forward to it.”

“You know, maybe you should try to sleep.” Harry says, his voice prickled with irritation as Elton John bleeds into The Zombies. “I think you’ll be in a better mood after you take a nap.”

Y/N readjusts her crossed arms as she mutters a short reply. “Don’t tell me what to do.” Still, she shuts her eyes again, twisting her body towards the window in an attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep.  Being in the car with Harry is already giving her a throbbing migraine, and they’ve only been on the road for less than two hours.  Sleeping through most of the trip will probably be the only way she’ll be able to survive it.

Despite that realization, however, her phone vibrates in her lap three minutes later, pulling her away from her thoughts.  Y/N glances down at the now lit screen, catching her bottom lip between her teeth when she registers the name on the message.  Opening her phone quickly, she reads over the reply as a guilty feeling begins to build in her stomach.

BRANT: Hey, what are you doing tonight?  Want to grab some dinner?

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” Y/N’s head snaps back up, her eyes jerking in Harry’s direction.  Like before, he’s watching her from the corner of his eye, catching every one of her movements, and the constant surveillance is annoying to no end.

Harry, it seems, is either oblivious to her annoyance, or is choosing to ignore it. “I asked what’s wrong. You have a weird look on your face.” Harry’s blunt words are accompanied by the sound of him tapping his ring covered fingers against the gear shift. “Everything alright?  Is it Laure and Jo?”

“No, it’s just—” Y/N glances down at her phone again, fingers poised over her keyboard as she crafts a reply in her head. “It’s no one.”

Harry snorts once, a short and harsh sound that grates against Y/N’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “I don’t buy that for a second.”

“It’s no one to you.” Y/N updates her retort, turning her full attention back to her phone. “My personal life is none of your business.”

Y/N: I’m sorry, I can’t!! Caught a last minute ride to New York with somebody.  Maybe once I’m back?

“Personal life, huh?” Harry clicks his tongue once, and the childish noise is even more irritating than his snort. “What, you can’t talk to me about whoever you’re shagging?”

The blunt remark hits Y/N like a shot to the chest, and she sputters for a moment as she struggles to form a response. “I—we’re not—” Taking a moment to gather herself and clear her throat quickly, Y/N avoids Harry’s gaze as her cheeks begin to burn. “We’re not like that. We’ve just…had a few dates, that’s all. There’s nothing…official.”

“You don’t need to be official to have a shag, now, do you?” Harry lifts his hand from the gear shift to fix his sunglasses, settling it back down on his jean covered thigh once he’s done. “If you don’t want to date the bloke—”

“I didn’t say that.” Y/N cuts over him, pulling herself from her embarrassment enough to give him a cold glare. “He’s very nice—”

“Boring, you mean—”

“And I—this is none of your business!” Feeling the flush of embarrassment rise back to her cheeks, Y/N once again turns her attention to her passenger seat window, avoiding Harry’s pressing gaze. “I’m done talking about this.”

Harry gives an indifferent shrug. “Whatever.” He says casually, tapping his finger against his thigh as his shoulders once again lift slightly beneath his fitted black t-shirt. “I just feel bad for the guy, that’s all.”

The comment is bait. And the thing is, Y/N knows it’s bait.  She knows that the only reason Harry is saying it is to get under her skin and keep her talking about Brant, further embarrassing herself in the process. She’s been around Harry enough to know how he works, and she knows that the only reason he would say that is to bait her.  She knows she shouldn’t take it.  And yet—

“There’s no reason to feel bad for him.” Y/N scoffs as she fidgets with the position of her seatbelt, trying to stop the strap from cutting into her chest. “We’ve been talking for a month, and there’s nothing official happening.  Just because you can’t go that long without trying to stick your dick in someone—”

“You have no idea what I can do, Y/N.  Don’t pretend that you do.” Harry’s tone of voice is just as scoffing as hers, his eyes still set on the road in front of them intently as he gives his sharp response. Y/N watches as he shifts the gears of the car and speeds up, just enough to make the engine roar, but not enough to lose control of the car.  Part of Y/N wistfully wishes that he would just slip up and crash the car, just so she wouldn’t have to continue this conversation.

“All I meant,” Harry continues, unaware of the dark daydreams running through Y/N’s head. “Is that I feel bad that you’re clearly not interested in him, which is proven by the fact that you haven’t wanted him in your bed.”

Irritation flares through Y/N’s body again, stronger than the embarrassment of discussing her sex life (or lack thereof) with Harry, and she half considers just grabbing the steering wheel and yanking it into a passing cliff so she can finish them off herself. “For Christ’s sake, Harry, sex isn’t the only way to—”

“I don’t mean actually having it, that’s not a given.” Harry rolls his eyes from behind his sunglasses as he slows down for a curve in the road, his practiced hands once again changing gears with ease. “You don’t have to fuck him.  But you should want to, especially if you’ve had a month of dates, and you clearly don’t want to.”

Y/N doesn’t hide the incredulous stare of disbelief on her face as she turns to look at him. Harry’s face, though turned towards the road still, has a look of amusement mixed with contemplation on it, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control not to smack the expression off of him. Although there’s the ghost of a smirk on his strawberry coloured lips, his brow is furrowed behind his sunglasses, as if he’s thinking hard about the conversation between them.  Normally, Y/N would be amazed that Harry is thinking hard about anything.  However, given that their conversation is apparently turning into whether or not she wants to have sex with someone, Y/N’s not too thrilled about his sudden investment and serious contemplation of the topic.

Shaking her head decidedly, Y/N finally spits out a finishing phrase. “You don’t know what I want.” She says decidedly, reaching into the backseat to grab the sweater she stashed back there.  She clumsily pulls it over her body without taking off her seatbelt.  Harry keeps the AC cranked as high as he can, and she knows that he’ll kill her if she tries to change it. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know more than you think.” Harry counters, the tip of his tongue running along his bottom lip. “And I’m pretty good at reading body language.  You don’t really want him.  He—what’s his name?”

Despite her better judgement, Y/N answers in a flat voice. “Brant.”

The corners of Harry’s cherry lip twitches. “Brant.  Yeah. It’s clear you don’t really want him, and you’re wasting your time.  You’re wasting his time, too.  Poor Brant.”

“Poor—you’re such an ass, you know that?” Y/N’s irritation bubbles over as she gives Harry a nasty look, her hand squeezing her thigh hard in an attempt to ground herself in their conversation. “You can try to pretend otherwise, but you don’t know anything about me, or him, so—”

“You think I’ve been friends with Laure and Jo this long and haven’t learned anything about you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, risking a glance at her as he presses a heavier foot onto the gas. “I told you, I know more than you think, and that includes your type.”

An incredulous scoff leaves Y/N’s mouth, and she shakes her head in obvious disbelief before responding. “My type.  Right. What is my type, then?  What’s Brant like, exactly, since you seem to know everything?”

Harry goes quiet then, his brow furrowing again as he returns his full attention to the road.  With his incessant chatter gone, the only sounds in the car being “Maps” playing quietly in the background and Harry’s ringed index and forefinger tap on the steering wheel.  Y/N breathes out a long sigh of satisfaction as she relaxes back in her seat, her attention turned back to the blurred landscapes speeding by her window.  Finally, she’s managed to get Harry to stop with his ridiculous assumptions—

“You like someone that’s stable and secure, so he probably works in some corporation, or an office job. Majored in business, I’d think, but has a minor in something like mathematics.” The side profile of Harry’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the thought. “He wants to work his way up in the company, but never wants to actually start anything on his own.  He likes the stability of a blueprint. You’re obsessed with punctuality, so he’s probably always on time to pick you up for dates—and he has to pick you up, because you don’t drive—and your dates are never really dates. Dinners, or movies, or something like that, but they never really have that spark.” Harry’s shoulder lift slightly as he continues to make his conclusions. “Which, honestly, is probably a big reason in why you don’t want to fuck him, because as much as you like stability and safety, you also like the idea of a grand gesture, or something like that.  And you probably split the bill a lot at dinner, right?  Because it just seems fair, but really it’s because you know it’s not a real date.  But it passes the time, and he’s nice, so it’s fine.  But it’s only fine.” Harry licks his lips once more as he collects his next thoughts, his teeth catching his bottom lip just barely as his tongue retreats back into his mouth. “And he’s probably already talking about you coming to meet his family for some holiday.  Not in a romantic way, but just because he likes to plan everything in advance to every minute detail.  Just like you.”

Halfway through Harry’s speech, a flush had begun to creep up Y/N’s neck, continuing to warm her jaw and ears before settling on the apples of her cheeks.  She keeps her eyes trained on her window and her mouth pressed into a tight line, refusing to look at Harry and give him any hint of just how shocked she is that he’s guessed so much.

Harry, however, doesn’t plan on letting her get away from his inquisition. “Well?” He impatiently prompts after a moment, and even though she’s not looking at him, she can feel him looking at her, his emerald irises burning into the back of her head. “Am I right?”

“I—” Y/N clears her throat quickly, but her voice is still strained and tight when she replies. “No.”

Harry hums low in his throat, and his voice is laced with curiosity with he replies. “Really?” The irritating tap of his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music continues. “What did I get wrong?”

“He—” Y/N hates the way her skin is burning from his interrogation, how her voice shrinks smaller and smaller the more she speaks.  If Harry knows her so well, then he knows how much she loves being in control, and in this situation, with Harry managing to pull every one of her most secret inner thoughts and feelings out of her without trouble, she feels anything but in control. “He has a minor in accounting, not mathematics.”

The laugh that leaves Harry’s mouth is loud and bombastic, and his whole body curves over the steering wheel as the sound rolls out of him, his eyes just barely managing to stay on the road while his sunglasses slide down his nose. “Right.” Harry says between belly laughs, his voice stretched out in amusement. “But everything else was spot on?”

Y/N keeps her stiff body turned towards the window, refusing to engage in the conversation any further. That doesn’t stop Harry, however, who fixes his sunglasses as chuckles continue to roll out of him.

“I take it back. Maybe he’s the one wasting your time.” His hand runs through his hair lazily, fixing the curled strands that had fallen into his eyes as he laughed. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to sleep with your bore of a boyfriend—”

“He’s stable!” Y/N breaks her silence to protest Harry’s words, her voice heated. “And he’s not my boyfriend.  We’ve been seeing each other, but we’re not—it’s not exclusive, or—nothing serious—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.  It’s fine.” Harry waves off her arguments with a flick of his tattooed hand. “Besides, like you said, it’s none of my business, right?”

Y/N can practically picture what Harry looks like in this moment.  His chestnut curls are probably a mess from fidgeting with them, and his cheeks are most likely rosy beneath his stubble from the peels of laughter that left his equally red lips a moment ago.  Most infuriatingly of all, his dimples are probably present, making little indentations in his cheeks to show how entertaining he’s found embarrassing her. Bastard, she thinks, clenching her fists so hard that her nails dig into her palms, pressing them into her sides beneath her makeshift blanket.

She refuses to let herself confirm if her suspicions about Harry’s appearance are correct, and instead keeps her gaze on the blurred trees whipping by outside her window. “Right.” She mutters, leaning her head against the headrest as she closes her eyes. “It’s none of your business.”

…

As soon as the paint-peeled door to the motel room swings open, Y/N knows that she’s not going to be sleeping soundly tonight.

She’s not sure what her first hint should have been.  Perhaps it was the half-flickering blue and red light of the Motel 6 sign that should have tipped her off, or the front-desk attendant who looked as though he was hiding a few secrets himself.  When Y/N and Harry had first approached the front desk of the tiny, vaguely mildew-smelling lobby, their clothes rumpled from the drive and their attitudes just as bothered, the employee in the Motel 6 uniform had barely raised an eye at them, not bothering to look up from his computer until Y/N and Harry were directly in front of him.

“Hi.” Harry had said, his voice taking on a cautious but polite tone that, Y/N remembers thinking, she would have appreciated hearing throughout their eight hour drive that day. “We’d like two rooms, please—”

“Here.” The attendant’s gum snapped in his mouth as he reached behind himself and grabbed an old key with a flimsy blue plastic tag from a wall of empty pegs. “Queen sized bed, the first door on the left.  It’ll do you two nicely.”

“Um, no.” Harry cleared his throat loudly as he gave a slight shake of his head. “We need two rooms.”

Finally, the attendant looked towards them, his eyes scanning Harry before Y/N.  The latter had self consciously pulled her sweater around her, as there was something in the attendant’s eyes that had bothered her. “Don’t have two rooms.  I got one room left.  Everything else is booked.”

Harry had glanced at Y/N then, and she knew that his thoughts mirrored hers: there was no way that they’d share a queen bed together.  No way in hell.  They’d barely survived eight hours in the same cramped car without one of them driving them off a cliff.  If Y/N had to share a bed with Harry, even for just one night, she’d probably end up smothering him in his sleep before the first snore left his obnoxious mouth.

“That’s really not an option.” Y/N had stepped forward then, crossing her arms around herself as the attendant’s eyes canvassed her again. “Isn’t there something—”

“Look, lady, I’m telling you what’s available.” The attendant’s eyes continued to flicker between her face and her chest, making Y/N’s skin crawl more and more with every word that fell from his gum-filled mouth. “The room might have a pull out chair—some do, but I couldn’t tell you which.  Now do you want to share the room with him or not?  If you don’t want to share, then I could try to find something else for just you—”

Before Y/N had the opportunity to respond to the lewd suggestion, Harry was already stepping forward, his body angling protectively in front of her own.  She watched from behind as his broad shoulders squared beneath his black t-shirt, his shoulder blades flexing as he straightened up to his full height.  When Harry answered, his voice was just as firm as it was dark, lacking its previous polite tone.

“We’ll take the room.” He had said coldly, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet before tossing a few bills on the front desk. “Thanks for the help.”

Yes, Y/N thinks, all of that should have been a sign for the state of the motel room that they now find themselves standing inside.

The same mildew smell from the lobby surrounds them, permeating through every inch of air that Y/N breathes in. Dust seems to coat every surface as well, with thick layers of it covering the decades old TV and stand, the small coffee table, and the ledge of the window to her right.  To her relief, there is a small arm chair in the corner, which must be the pull out that the attendant had mentioned.  However, her relief is short lived when she sees the ratty beige comforter on the bed, and wonders if maybe sleeping in Harry’s car, which she had sworn to him that she didn’t want to do, might have been the better choice.

Harry shuts the door behind them with a firm thud, turning the deadbolt lock before attaching the chain from the door to the door frame. “Let’s keep that locked, yeah?” He mutters, walking to the window and making sure the beige curtains—everything in the room is a sea of beige, like some sort of khaki coloured nightmare—are pulled closed tightly. “I don’t trust that front-desk prick not to sneak in here.”

Y/N nods, fixing the strap of her duffel bag with her overnight clothes on her shoulder.  She’s not quite sure where to set it down, as everything around them seems to have been sitting stagnant and uncleaned for a while. “Yeah. Thanks, by the way.  For that.”

Harry acknowledges her thanks with a small grunt, barely lifting his head to look at her. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Despite her gratitude for his actions, Y/N can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes at his gruff response. “Jesus, can you not just say you’re welcome?”

Harry chooses to ignore her comment, and instead sets his bag down on the arm chair, unzipping it roughly. “You can take the bed.” He says simply, tossing his sunglasses into his bag before pulling out a small bag filled with what Y/N assumes are toiletries. “I’ll take the pullout.”

“Fine.” Y/N reluctantly sets her own bag down on the creaking bed, pulling back the covers to check for anything unsightly.  To her relief, the interior of the bed looks cleaner than the exterior, and she returns the covers to their previous position before grabbing her phone charger from her duffel.

Harry glances at her as she gingerly sits on the bed and plugs her phone into the wall. “I’m going to shower.” He says slowly, as if gauging her reaction to the simple phrase. “Do you, um, need in there, or—?”

“Nope.” Y/N shakes her head, her cheeks flushing slightly as she checks her messages. “You’re good.” She keeps her eyes glued to her phone until she hears the click of the bathroom door behind Harry, signalling that she’s alone.

Taking advantage of what she knows will be a rare moment of solitude over the next week, Y/N changes from her tank top and leggings into her pajamas, wishing that her past self had realized how likely it would be that she’d be sharing a room with Harry. She’d brought exactly two pairs of pajamas with her on the trip, and neither pairs were something she wanted Harry to see her in.  The first pair, a baby pink silk set she’d bought on a whim from her favourite lingerie shop, is eliminated before Y/N even considers them, leaving her with just her usual casual pajamas.  Unfortunately, Y/N’s usual casual pajamas consist of an old sports bra that she’d had since moving to L.A., and a pair of men’s boxers that she stole from an ex in college.  Still, despite her hesitancy, she knows that plaid boxers and a faded grey sports bra are better than pink silk and lace, and she changes into them quickly before sitting cross-legged on the bed and dialing Jo’s number.

Jo, like she usually does, answers on the third ring, her voice extra chipper to compensate for the verbal lecture that she knows is coming. “Hey, Y/N!  How was driving today?”

“It would have been better if I’d known Harry was driving.” Y/N sighs, rubbing her palm over the cold skin of her exposed thigh. “Shouldn’t I have been informed of that decision?”

“It completely slipped my mind, actually.” Jo says casually, and Y/N can just picture her leaning her chin into her palm. “How was the first day?  Are you calling to ask me to help bury his body in the desert?  Because, like, you know I would in a heart beat, but I think it may put a damper on mine and Laure’s nuptials if my best friend murders her best friend.”

“No one’s been murdered. Yet.” Y/N glances at the bathroom door, the sound of the shower echoing through the vents and into the bedroom. “Although a ‘help me hide the body’ phone call may be coming soon.”

“Uh oh.” Y/N hears something crackling against the speaker, and pictures Jo shifting the phone from one ear to the other. “Is it that bad?”

Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose as she contemplates the easiest way to answer Jo’s question. “He’s such an irritating ass.  He really is.” She lowers her voice, but only slightly.  If Harry’s eavesdropping, she thinks, then let him hear.  It would serve him right. “He wanted to pick a fight over every little thing, and he’s so particular about his car—did you know he named it?  He named it, Jo.  He talks about it like it’s a person!”

A loud sigh echoes through the speaker. “That’s really not that weird, you know.” Jo replies in her best peace keeping voice. “And, by the way, did you know that you’re really the only person who finds Harry irritating?  Laure adores him, and I really like him, and everyone who meets him thinks he’s very thoughtful!”

“Then they haven’t been trapped in a car with him and his playlists for eight hours.” Y/N begins to tap her fingers against her knee in a quick staccato pattern. “He practically interrogated me about Brant today, as if he has any clue about the people I date.”

“Did he?” There’s a trace of curiosity in Jo’s voice now, and Y/N can imagine her leaning forward in interest. “What did he say?”

“He said he thinks he’s boring.” Twisting a lock of her hair behind her ear as she speaks, Y/N leaves her hand resting against her cheek. “He was rude about it, too.  I didn’t ask for his opinion.”

“Well, honestly, Y/N…” Jo’s curiosity twists into hesitation. “Brant isn’t exactly the most thrilling person.  You know that.”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, her cheeks flushing for what seems to be the millionth time that day. “I’m aware of that.  But he didn’t need to be so smug about it!”

“Okay, well, what’s done is done.” Jo says as she takes on her mediator persona once again. “So there’s nothing else to do now except go to sleep, get back in the car tomorrow, and continue driving.”

The sound of the shower stream cuts off, leaving just the pitter patter of rain beginning to hit the roof of the motel as ambiant noise. “I guess.” Y/N mumbles, fidgeting with the waistband of her bra. “I’ll talk to you later.  Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

After the line clicks dead, Y/N flops back on the squeaking mattress and begins to scroll through her phone, opening her work email to check if everything is running okay back home while she’s gone.  On top of all this, the last thing she needs is for her work to completely blow up in her absence.  Within minutes, Y/N becomes so engrossed in her phone that she doesn’t even notice the bathroom door creaking open and Harry walking out with just a towel around his waist.

Until she looks up, and then her mind goes completely blank.

Immediately, Y/N feels overstimulated.  There’s just…so much going on that she doesn’t even know where to look first, let alone have the ability to remind herself that she shouldn’t even be looking at Harry like this in the first place.  

Harry’s curls are soaking wet, curling down around his flushed cheeks in a way that, if it were anyone else, she’d immediately describe as attractive.  Droplets of water are clinging to every inch of his skin, his toned and tanned and tattooed skin, that seems to continue forever as her eyes travel down his bare chest, noticing every curve of his muscle.  His jade cross, which is almost the exact shade of his eyes, sits between his pronounced pectoral muscles, moving ever so slightly with each step he takes.  Y/N notices tattoos she’s never seen before, like the giant butterfly across his toned stomach, and—her mind goes blank for just a moment—two vines that are tattooed over his prominent pelvic muscles, which just barely dip beneath the white towel that’s wrapped loosely around his hips.

As Y/N’s eyes glue themselves to the way Harry’s towel is moving as he walks, arousal begins to pool in her stomach, travelling all the way down to her core and back again.  For a split second, she thinks that maybe Harry is right.  Maybe she doesn’t want to fuck Brant, because she knows for certain that she’s never thought about him the way she’s thinking about Harry in this moment.

But it’s Harry, she reminds herself, as she tries to force herself to snap her gaping mouth closed. Underneath all those muscles and tattoos—and there are a lot of muscles and tattoos—it’s Harry, who annoys her to no end, who is one of the most self-absorbed individuals she’s ever met, and who has had it out for her since the day they met.

“Sorry.” Harry’s low accent snaps Y/N from her thoughts and pulls her wandering eyes back to his face. “Forgot my clothes out here.”

“It’s—” Y/N’s voice cracks in the middle of the word, still hyper-focused on just how it’s possible for one person to be as attractive as they are irritating, and she clears her throat before trying to speak again. “It’s fine.”

If Harry notices the slip in Y/N’s voice, he doesn’t say anything.  Instead, he just walks to his open bag, locking one hand firmly over his towel as the other searches through his clothes.  He pulls out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, examining them for just a moment before nodding in satisfaction and heading back to the bathroom. Y/N almost swears that she sees him glance at her one last time before he shuts the door, but then she gets lost in the taut muscles of his back, and forgets what she’s thinking entirely.

She’s only just begun to contemplate that maybe she should pull herself together when the door opens again, and Harry exits the bathroom in a way that’s a little more presentable.  His hair is still damp, but his body is dry, proven by the faded Rolling Stones t-shirt that’s now clinging to his arms and the boxers that are hanging low on his hips. His tattooed hips.  His incredibly sexy tattooed hips that could probably—

“What are you wearing?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow at her as he moves his bag from the chair to the ground.  He begins to unfold the bed from the armchair cushions to reveal a creaking twin bed, carefully stretching it out as he waits for an answer.

“I—pajamas.” Y/N glances down at herself self consciously, fixing the strap of her sports bra as she does so. “I just—I didn’t think we’d be sharing a room, so…”

Harry nods tersely as he finishes setting up the bed, his expression unreadable while he walks to the closet and grabs a set of sheets and a blanket. “Cute boxers.” He says casually. “Are they Brant’s?”

Within a flash, the intense rush of attraction and desire Y/N had been feeling is gone, and is instead replaced by the familiar irritation as she watches a smirk grow in the very corner of Harry’s mouth. “No.” She says flatly, turning her attention back to her phone.

“Interesting.” Harry says slowly, laying the sheets and blanket on the bed in a haphazard manner. “Whose are they, then?”

Y/N gets up from the bed and grabs her toiletry bag from her duffel before answering. “An ex.” She says shortly, tucking the patterned bag under her arm. “And why does it matter to you?”

The sound of the rain against the roof and windows gets louder and louder as they speak, and Harry raises his voice to be heard over the precipitation. “It doesn’t.” He shrugs as he maneuvers his lanky body under the blanket without causing the bed to fold in on itself. “Just curious, that’s all.”

“Well, you don’t need to be curious.” Y/N opens the bathroom door, sparing one last withering glance at Harry over her shoulder.  He’s sitting up on the bed with one leg hanging out from beneath the covers as one hand plays with his hair, the other fiddles with a ring on his finger, and the way he looks at her from the corner of his eye lights a fire in Y/N’s chest.  Except she can’t tell if it’s a fire of anger or arousal.  

When she slams the door behind her, it’s her own confusion over that distinction that frustrates her more than anything else.

…

“Took you long enough.” Harry scoffs while leaning against the side of his car, his white t-shirt a contrast to the dust covered body of the black Chevy Impala.  His dark sunglasses are perched on top of his head, keeping his unruly curls out of his eyes, while his arms are crossed over his chest impatiently as he waits for an answer. “I dropped off the keys ten minutes ago.”

By way of explanation, Y/N holds up the cardboard drink tray in her hands, a brown bag balancing in between the two coffee cups. “I was getting us breakfast, Styles.  Calm down.” She walks to the passenger side of the car, opening the door and climbing in one handed. “I figured you’d be even crabbier hungry.”

“You mean you’d be crabbier without caffeine.” Harry retorts, climbing into the driver’s side in one smooth motion. “Here—” He takes the tray from her so she can buckle her seatbelt, carefully removing the two coffees and setting them in the cup holders between them. “Just be careful not to spill anything.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she picks up the coffee closest to her (she’d gotten them both black). “Why? Worried about me ruining Stevie?”

Harry reaches into his pocket, pulling out his keys as he gives her an irritated look. “Yes, actually. I’ve put a lot of work into her.” The car roars to life as Harry turns the key in the ignition, buckling his own seat as the motor warms up. “Adding on two thousand miles to her in five days is already worrisome enough, and that’s not even counting the other two thousand she’ll get on the way back.”

Y/N doesn’t respond to the comment, and instead lets the sound of Harry’s playlist fill the silence of the car as Harry peels out of the Motel 6 parking lot.  She’ll be glad to leave that place behind, she thinks, and focus on finding something better—and more private—for tonight, wherever they end up.

Harry, however, doesn’t seem content with letting silence fall between them. “How did you sleep last night?” He asks after a few moments, one hand on the steering wheel as he takes a sip of his coffee.

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye suspiciously, Y/N reaches into the paper bag and grabs her Danish, taking a small bite before answering. “Not great.”

“Was the bed bad?” Harry asks curiously, his brow furrowing while his eyes stay glued to the road, moving only to glance at the occasion sign directing him back to the highway. “The pull out wasn’t great, but I’ve slept on worse.  I would’ve thought the bed would be better than that.”

“No, it—I mean, the bed wasn’t amazing, but it—” Y/N clears her throat and swallows the bite of pastry in her mouth. “I, uh, I don’t sleep well when it’s raining.”

At this new information, Harry’s eyebrow quirks up, and he risks a look in her direction to attempt to read her face.  Y/N’s own eyes are focused on the Danish in her hands, refusing to meet his gaze as she lifts the pastry to her mouth to take another bite.

“You don’t?” Harry asks after a moment, the confusion in his voice almost visible within the space between them. “But it’s like white noise, isn’t it?  Supposed to be relaxing, and all that.”

Y/N gives a half shrug of her shoulders. “It’s—well, it’s not the rain, exactly, just—what it’s usually paired with.” Y/N hopes that her clear hesitancy to answer will be enough of a signal to Harry for him to drop the subject.  Harry, however, doesn’t seem to pick up on the reluctance in Y/N’s voice; or, at least, he doesn’t care enough to acknowledge it.

“What do you mean, what it’s paired with?” Harry takes a small sip of his own coffee, careful of the temperature of the liquid. “Like…wind, or—?”

Y/N debates back and forth with herself internally, but she knows that Harry won’t drop the subject without getting a satisfying answer. “Thunder.” She answers finally, setting her coffee down in her cup holder before turning her gaze towards her window. “I don’t like thunderstorms, ever since I was a little kid, and when it’s raining, it always feels like thunder is around the corner.  Puts me on edge, like I’m waiting for it.  And I can’t sleep.”

“So you never sleep when it rains?” Harry asks slowly, and the tone of incredulous disbelief in Harry’s voice is enough for Y/N to be able to imagine the expression on his face. His forest green eyes wide, strawberry pink lips agape, brow furrowed in confusion, his jaw slack as he contemplates a response to a grown woman admitting that she’s afraid of thunder. The image in her head is enough to make the back of her neck flush.

There’s a tightness in the back of her throat, and Y/N attempts to clear it again before answering. “Never.”

“Huh.” Harry taps his fingers against the gear shift in succession three times. “You’d hate London, then.”

The casual comment catches Y/N by surprise, but she doesn’t allow herself to lower her guard. “That’s why I don’t live in London.” She mumbles the words as her fingers pick at the napkin wrapped around her Danish. “I picked L.A. for a reason.  It has lots of heat, barely any rain, and I’m reasonably close to Disneyland whenever I feel like I need something magical.” The last part slips out without Y/N thinking, and the flush creeps further up her neck as a surprised laugh leaves Harry’s mouth.

“Something magical?” Harry repeats, new crinkles appearing next to his eyes as he laughs, as if the dimples that crease his cheeks aren’t proof of his amusement enough. “Do you frequently feel like you need something magical?”

It’s Y/N’s turn to give an incredulous look now, her body half twisting towards Harry to observe his confusing reactions. “How did I just admit that I’m afraid of thunder, and the thing you’re focusing on is that I like Disney?”

Harry shrugs at her words, flicking on his turn signal to exit towards the highway. “I don’t know.” He says as he peers over his shoulder to check for oncoming cars. “I mean, everyone has fears.  Not liking thunder isn’t exactly uncommon, you know.  However, hearing that Ms. Serious Type A Perfectionist likes magic—” His grin grows bigger by the second. “Now that’s surprising.”

“Oh, shut up.” Y/N mutters, finishing her Danish in a few more bites.  She waits until she’s entirely finished chewing before continuing the conversation over the voice of Billy Joel coming through the speakers. “Since I’ve admitted something I’m afraid of…” She starts, glancing at Harry from the corner of her eye. “I think it’s only fair that you admit something, too.”

Harry snorts in response, his hand freezing its movement with his coffee cup still half lifted to his lips. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N hums as she slips off her shoes in order to pull her legs beneath her to fold into a cross-legged position on the car seat. “Not so much fun when it’s your turn, huh? C’mon, what’s the Brit scared of? Not enough biscuits for afternoon tea?”

A short and harsh breath of air leaves Harry’s nose, half a snort as he sets his coffee down in his cupholder. “No, actually, diminishing biscuit levels are a low level fear for me.”

“Then what’s a higher one?” Y/N prods, watching as Harry’s neck muscles tense as he shoulder checks to change lanes.  There’s something about the movement that catches her eye, but she can’t quite figure out why—or rather, she can, but she’d rather pretend that she’s unaware.

“Uh…” Harry’s fingers nimbly switch on his turn signal before he transitions to the left lane, his right hand moving the gear shift to its desired place. “Crowds.  I’m not a fan of big crowds, really.  Like when everyone’s pressed together, so tight that you can’t breathe, and you can’t hear yourself think because it’s so loud…yeah. I don’t like that.”

The simple answer surprises Y/N as much as she imagines her answer surprised Harry. “Crowds?” She repeats back to him, a forgotten memory of long gone conversations coming to the forefront of her mind. “But what about, like, concerts and stuff?  Laure always told me when she’d go to shows with you…”

“That’s different.” Harry shrugs as one of his ringed hands comes to his lips, rubbing over them slowly as he contemplates his next words. “I…When I’m at concerts, I always go with someone, and if we’re in the general seating area, where there’s a lot of people, I always stick with them.  Like, sometimes, if it’s getting crowded, or people are pushing, Laure will hold my hand, so…” Redness begins to creep up Harry’s pale neck, staining the tops of his ears a deep berry colour as he trails off.

Not for the first time since their conversation began, Y/N is surprised at how candid they’re being with each other.  As she watches Harry’s blush grow, she feels her own diminish, a physical representation of her trading her embarrassment for something more empathetic.

“I get it.” Y/N says after a moment, once it’s clear that Harry isn’t going to continue. “When there’s thunderstorms, um, I feel better when I’m with someone, or talking to someone. It makes me feel less…”

“Alone?” Harry finishes for her, his eyes flickering from the road to her profile.  His green irises capture hers for longer than they should, his focus completely gone from the stretch of highway for at least five seconds before Harry’s attention turns back to driving. “Yeah.” He says slowly, pulling his sunglasses down from his hair to hide his eyes. “Yeah, less alone. It helps.”

Y/N nods slowly, unable to look away from Harry’s side profile.  It’s apparent that he’s on edge after their conversation, and she knows her body language is the same.  Tight in the shoulders, hands clenched, back rigidly straight.  And yet, seeing her own body language reflected in front of her bothers her.  Part of her wants to reach out and take Harry’s hand, soothe him like Laure does in the crowd of a concert, but she knows that’s ridiculous.  It’s ridiculous, and it’s Harry, and Harry, of all people, does not need her comfort.  Not in the slightest.

She watches as Harry clenches his fist on top of his thigh.

…

“Is this really necessary?” Y/N asks, slamming her car door shut as Harry does the same on the other side of the vehicle.  She leans over the roof of the car, crossing her arms on the cool metal as she tilts her head to the side in an inquisitive manner.  The clouds in the sky are getting darker by the minute, signalling the beginning of the storm that canceled her flight, and the angry black colour above their heads is making Y/N anxious.

Harry, however, seems unbothered by the gathering storm, and nods tersely as he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head before opening the door to the backseat and grabbing his army green jacket. “Of course it’s necessary.” He says, slipping the jacket over his broad shoulders before slamming the door shut and locking the car. “I’ve never been to Utah before.  I want a souvenir.”

“Okay, but—” Y/N follows Harry as he walks towards the dilapidated building in front of them. “Here? Really?  Does this seem like the best place?”

Harry glances at her over his shoulder at her, pausing his long strides to look up at the building he spotted from the highway.  If the chipped grey paint that was once pastel blue and dust-coated windows are any sign, the structure is probably older than Harry and Y/N combined, with a splintered front porch wrapping around its small perimeter.  The building has one faded sign above the door that reads “SOUVENIRS/SNACKS” in hand-painted capital letters, and seems to be hanging onto the outside façade by three small bolts and sheer willpower.  Y/N’s almost certain that she’s seen this exact building in a horror movie before someone gets murdered, and while getting back into the car with Harry isn’t at the top of her list of wants, it’s certainly preferable to getting stabbed to death by a serial killer.

“It’s fine, Y/N.” Harry waves off her concern without a second thought about the appearance of the shop. “If you’re really bothered, you can wait in the car.”

Y/N considers it for a moment, but decides against it.  She needs to stretch her legs, and honestly, Harry seems too trusting.  He probably wouldn’t be able to tell if someone was sketchy until their knife was in his back.  And, seeing as how he has the keys to the only getaway car available, Y/N kind of needs him around without a stab wound carved into his flesh.

“Let’s just get this over with.” She sighs, pulling her own jacket around her tighter as she steps over the worn wooden steps to the door. “We’re on a schedule.”

When Harry pushes open the door, the smell of stale air hits Y/N before anything else.  Despite one open window and a fan in the corner of the shop that’s being used in a weak attempt to circulate the air, it feels like nothing fresh has been in the shop for a while.  Y/N shoots a glance at Harry, caution and warning written all over her face.

While Harry sees her glance, he waves off her concern, turning his attention to the few shelves and wire racks around the small shop that are lined with inventory.  Within a few moments, he’s entertaining himself in the post card section, comparing different photos of the Utah landscape to each other with great care and concern.  Y/N observes him for a few moments before wandering off on her own towards the snack section of the shop.  Although there are a few items that she thinks about picking up, the thick layer of dust over the packaging puts her off from purchasing them.  She grimaces as she continues walking, stopping in front of a tower of silver key chains in the back corner of the shop.  Most of them, she finds, are crosses and bible verses, and all of them give her an ominous feeling in her stomach.  Y/N runs her finger over a miniature silver version of the Ten Commandments, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she does so.

“I think we should go, Harry.” She calls to him without turning around, setting the key chain back down on the rack carefully. “Just pick your post card and—Harry?”

When Y/N turns around, Harry’s broad figure is nowhere to be seen.  She walks back over to the post card section slowly, her brow furrowed with confusion as a knot tightens in her stomach.  Where could he be? She wonders, running her hand along the dusty wire rack in front of her.  It’s not like there’s anywhere for him to go in the small shop, and she would have heard if he left, or if he drove away.

“Harry?” She calls again, her steps slower now as worry fills her voice. “Where did you—fuck—!” Y/N screams as something grabs her from behind, its fingers digging into her sides harshly.  She whips around to find Harry standing over her, loud outbursts of laughter spilling from his strawberry pink mouth at the look on her face.

An indignant flush rushes over Y/N’s face. “You’re such an ass!” She hisses, gripping his shoulders and shoving his laughing frame away from her. “I swear, you’re like a five year old—”

“Did I worry you?” Harry snickers between his words, a wicked look of mischief alight in his dark green eyes. “Were you afraid something happened to me?”

Y/N’s cheeks burn with anger as she turns away from him, crossing her arms defiantly. “No.  I wish something had happened to you.  Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your immature antics.”

Harry’s lips stay quirked up in a smirk as he follows her, his voice falling into a singsong tone. “You were worried.” He insists, chuckles still rolling out of him every few moments. “I could tell.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Y/N snaps at him in an irritated voice. “Just pay for your stupid post card and let’s go.”

“I already did. There’s a sign on the desk saying the clerk is out for lunch, so I left some money.” Harry nods to the small desk in the corner with a few dollars left tucked under the dusty service bell. “I think that’ll cover it, yeah?”

“Whatever.” Y/N can’t resist shoving Harry one last time before walking towards the shop door. “That’s enough.  Let’s go. I want to make it to the motel before the storm hits.”

…

The nice thing about Grand Junction, Colorado, Y/N realizes, is that their motels have multiple single rooms available on short notice.  While she didn’t realize the importance of this fact before this trip started, having an evening of solitude and her own stable space away from Harry for the first time in two days is nothing short of a blessing.

When she gets inside her private motel room, which, while still shabby, is leagues above their previous motel, Y/N locks the door before breathing a sigh of relief.  Just the silence in the room is wonderful, and even though she knows Harry is right next door, having a wall between them is a luxury that she doesn’t take for granted.  When she showers, she doesn’t have to worry about being quick, or toweling off as fast as she can so she can get dressed inside the bathroom without Harry seeing. There’s no need to worry about anyone hearing Y/N sing quietly to herself under the (albeit weak) stream of the shower, nor is there an uncomfortable stick of her sports bra to her back caused by water droplets that she couldn’t reach in her hurry to dry off. And after her shower, with some of the knots from her back finally worked out, Y/N is able to stretch out on the double bed in the center of the room, her phone in her hand as she reaches for the takeout menus stacked on the bedside table.  She peruses the menus available before settling on Chinese takeout, and within five minutes, her order of a two entrée plate and fried rice is on its way.

Y/N sighs gently as she leans back on the pillows, wishing that she and Harry had stopped at a liquor store before coming to the motel.  She knows she could probably walk to one, but now that she’s showered and comfortable, the last thing she wants to do is wander around Grand Junction until she finds a bottle of Moscato.  Instead, Y/N flicks on the TV with a click of the ancient remote, and begins scrolling through the channels until she finds a rerun of Dirty Dancing that’s just starting.

An amused yet wry smile appears on Y/N’s lips.  It’s this movie’s fault that she and Harry are on an impromptu road trip, really. Jo and Laure both loved it, and were insistent that they had to get married at a resort in the Catskills similar to one from the film.  As her two friends cross her mind, Y/N settles into the sheets as Baby begins her narration, contemplating whether or not she should call Jo to check in.  Just as the thought pops into her head, however, the phone rings.

Y/N answers within a moment, not bothering to check the caller ID.  She and Jo had a strange habit of calling each other the moment the other thought of it, and when she raises her phone to her ear, she expects to hear her best friend’s familiar voice reply. “Hello?”

What voice she actually hears, however, surprises her. “Hey, Y/N.  I’m glad I got through.” Brant says easily, his voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “How are you?”

“Brant!” Y/N jerks up in bed in surprise, the remote falling from its perch on her stomach onto the sheets. “I—I’m fine.  How are you?”

“Oh, alright.  Just busy with work, but that’s the usual.” Y/N can practically picture the neutral expression on his face, and how he’d shrug his shoulders as he speaks. “How’s the road trip?  I can’t imagine driving for as long as you have to drive.”

“It’s…it’s alright, yeah.” Y/N speaks slowly as she puts her phone on speaker, balancing it on her knee while her hands begin to fidget with her rings. “Long, but not too bad.”

“Well, that’s good.” Brant clears his throat thickly, as if what he’s about to say makes him uncomfortable. “I miss you, though.  And our weekly dinners.”

A feeling of guilt washes over Y/N.  Truthfully, besides Harry’s inquisition on the first day of driving, Brant has barely crossed her mind.  Granted, he isn’t usually at the forefront of her mind while she’s in L.A., either, but for the last few days, her thoughts have been constantly consumed by the stress of making it to the wedding and her annoyance and frustration with Harry.  

“Y/N?” Brant’s voice crackles through her speaker again. “Are you there?

“I—yeah.” She says quickly, pulling herself from her thoughts. “Sorry, just—long day.  I’m tired.”

“I can imagine.” Brant says sympathetically, but there’s something in his tone that almost sounds patronizing. “Who are you driving with?  Have you been taking turns?”

Y/N pauses the fidgeting of her rings before snatching her phone from its balanced place on her knee. She quickly opens her messages and scrolls to her thread with Brant, searching through the text bubbles for a reminder of what she’d said to him.  Had she not told him that she was traveling with Harry?

Within a moment, Y/N confirms that she hadn’t.  All she had said was that she was getting a ride with someone.  Why had she done that, she wonders?  She’s sure she’s mentioned Harry in passing to Brant at least once.  When she talked about the wedding, probably.  As she thinks about it more, however…what had she told Brant about the wedding?  About Jo? How much does he actually know about her personal life?  Most of their dinner conversations revolve around work, or some book both of them have read.  Had the topic ever come up in detail?

“I’m, um, I’m driving with one of Laure’s friends.” Y/N brings the phone closer to her mouth as her other hand works its way to her mouth.  She begins to chew on a hangnail absentmindedly between her words, something she always does when her nerves begin to get to her.  She can’t count the number of times Jo has grasped her wrist and pulled her hand from her mouth to chastise her about the habit. “We’re…we’re in Colorado now.”

“Oh, Colorado.  That’s nice.” Brant says over the rustling of papers. “Listen, Y/N, I’ve got some work to get back to, but I’m glad we had this talk. I’ll call you again soon.”

“Uh, yeah.  Sure.  I’ll talk to you later.” Y/N nods, and then the line goes dead.  Out of curiosity, Y/N checks the length of the call.  The time 3:09 blinks back at her.

Tossing her phone back down on the covers, Y/N resumes her relaxed position in bed, despite being anything but relaxed after that phone call.  She should feel guilty, she thinks, for not telling Brant about Harry. But then again, what’s there to tell? She said she was getting a ride with one of Laure’s friends, and that’s true.  She hadn’t lied.  And even if Brant did know that the friend is Harry, why would he care?  It’s just Harry.  There’s no reason for Brant to be alarmed, because there’s nothing going on. And she and Brant…Y/N glances down at the call time again.  Things are different between them.  There’s…they’re comfortable as they are, she thinks.  They’re not dating, and they’re comfortable like that.  So there’s no reason to tell him about Harry, because there’s nothing to tell.  Nothing at all.

Y/N refocuses on the TV screen, where Patrick Swayze is dancing in a tight black tank top. Right.  Nothing to tell.

…

When Y/N leaves her motel room the next morning with her bag over her shoulder, Harry is already waiting by his car, leaning against the dusty black body with two coffee cups in his hands.  He’s dressed in another black t-shirt (Y/N wonders just how many identical copies of the same shirt Harry has) with usual jeans covering his long legs.  His curls are tied out of his face with a dark green bandana, and Y/N knows that if his eyes weren’t covered with his black sunglasses, the bandana would make them even brighter than they usually are.

“Hey.” Harry calls to her, extending a ringed hand that holds a coffee cup towards her as she walks over. “I got the coffee this morning.  You drink it black, right?”

Y/N nods as she takes the cup from him, careful not to brush over his fingers with her own. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harry crosses around to the back of the car, opening the trunk with a turn of his key. “Here.” Harry holds out his free hand for Y/N’s bag, taking it from her and setting it down on top of the suitcases in the back. “I got it.”

Y/N regards Harry with a bemused look as she wraps both hands around her coffee cup. “Thanks?” She says again, more questioning this time as she looks at him strangely. “I can do that myself, you know.”

“I know.  I’m just trying to be polite.” Harry’s voice takes on its usual bite like he’s flipping a switch. “Is that alright with you, princess?”

Within a second, the familiar irritation with Harry returns to Y/N, and it’s almost comforting to snap back at him in a testy voice. “Don’t call me that.”

Harry snickers under his breath, and although the sound makes Y/N’s annoyance grow, she detects a different tone in it than a few days before.  Before she can place a finger on why it sounds different, however, Harry is climbing into the driver’s side of the car and starting the engine.

The two of them are silent as Harry finds his way back to the highway, and they stay in that silence for the first few hours of that day’s leg of the trip.  As the third hour begins to pass, Y/N is content listening to the throaty and captivating voice of Stevie Nicks fill the cab of the car. By the second chorus of the song, Y/N is humming along quietly, her foot tapping to the same beat that Harry’s fingers are spelling out against the steering wheel.  It’s comfortable, she thinks after a moment.  The silence between them.  It feels different than it did on their first day, when Y/N was questioning her choice to get into a car with Harry and commit to a 42 hour drive. The silence seems to be fueled more by comfort than tension.  It’s…refreshing.

A memory from the first day ignites in the back of her mind, a spark so bright and obvious that she can’t believe it took her so long to see it. “Stevie.” Y/N says suddenly, turning to Harry as a smile spreads over her face. “You named your car Stevie, as in Stevie Nicks?”

Harry laughs, his shoulders moving up and down beneath his black t-shirt from the motion.  One hand lifts from the steering wheel and points a finger gun at her. “Took you long enough.  I was wondering how many days you’d have to listen to my music to get it.”

Y/N gives his hand a light shove. “I was too distracted by the fact that you named your car.” She rolls her eyes, bringing her bottle of water to her lips for a short sip. “I still think it’s weird.”

“It gives her character.” Harry defends himself as he rubs a hand over the steering wheel absentmindedly. Y/N can see the mirth swirling around in his light irises. “A bit of personality.  Just because you don’t value personalities doesn’t mean anyone else doesn’t.”

“I don’t value personalities?” Turning in her seat to stare at Harry head on, Y/N raises an eyebrow in question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just your taste in men, that’s all.” Harry says it casually, like it really can just be a “that’s all” type of sentence.

Within a heart beat, the comfortable atmosphere in the car turns to ice as Y/N straightens in her seat, her spine tense, tightening every nerve in her body along with it. “What the fuck does that mean?”

When Harry glances at her again, his eyes darken, his guard going up as he senses the shift in Y/N’s tone. “Nothing, just…motel rooms have thin walls.” Harry mumbles, having the decency to keep his eyes on the road as his ears redden slightly. “And from what I overheard, Brant doesn’t exactly seem…stimulating.”

Y/N sputters indignantly for a moment, unable to form a coherent response as anger rises in her chest. “You—” She sucks in a quick breath that hits the back of her throat harshly. “You eavesdropped on me?”

Harry licks his lips once, clearing his throat once before answering.  The tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel has resumed, his nervousness apparent in his movements as well as his facial expressions. “Not on purpose.  I told you, the walls were thin.”

“So put in head phones!” Y/N exclaims, gripping her water bottle so tight that her fingers begin to strain in protest against the metal exterior.  She has half a mind to throw the bottle at Harry in her anger, barely able to talk herself down from the ledge of the idea.

Harry’s posture shifts in his seat as his shoulders square, and Y/N can practically see his defensive side emerge from within his chest. “It’s not like you two were having phone sex.” He rolls his eyes at the idea. “It was the most boring conversation in the world, and lasted, what, three minutes?  Makes you wonder how long he lasts in other ways, doesn’t it?”

“Stop the car.” Y/N’s voice is low and void of emotion as she replies, her body turned back forward in her seat.

“Am I wrong?  It’s not like you know for sure—”

Anger bubbles over in Y/N’s chest, cancelling out any rational thought she has inside her and leaving pure, unadulterated fury. “Stop the car, Harry!  Now!”

Harry half jumps in his seat when Y/N yells, and he quickly jerks the car to the side of the highway without so much as a turn signal.  Pulling her seatbelt off as he pulls over, Y/N is out the door before Harry can so much as put the car into neutral.  While her more rational mind would tell her that she has nowhere to walk to along a highway in Colorado as the sky darkens to an angry black above them, the only thing she’s thinking of is getting away from Harry.  Stupid, self-absorbed, ignorant, and rude Harry.

“Y/N—” The sound of Harry scrambling out of the car and slamming the door behind him pushes her to walk faster. “Y/N, come back—”

Y/N turns around on her heel fast and hard, heart pounding so fast that she thinks it might break through her ribs. “What is your problem?” She hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Why do you insist on being so—so nasty about him?  You don’t even know him!”

Harry freezes where he is as the wind whips his hair around his face, his bandana barely keeping the messy curls in place. “I don’t—” His speech falters, and he sucks in a sharp breath before continuing. “I don’t think I’m being…nasty.”

“Well, you are!” Y/N takes a deep breath in, placing her hands over her stomach as it expands with air.  It’s a trick that Jo taught her back in high school, as a way to ground herself to her body. Feeling the movement of air in and out of her lungs helps calm her, even if by just a fraction. “Brant is just—he’s someone I’m talking to.  We’ve gone on dates, but we’re not dating, and even though we’re not dating, that doesn’t mean that you can insinuate things about him, or eavesdrop on our private conversations!”

Harry’s jaw tenses as he listens to Y/N speak, waiting until she’s finished her speech to respond in a harsh and clipped tone. “I already told you, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. And I’m teasing you.  It’s supposed to be a joke.  Isn’t that what friends do?”

“But we’re not friends, Harry.” Y/N’s voice is flat, the fury in her tone replaced with a hollow emptiness. “We’re not friends.  I don’t need you teasing me about a boy like we’re buddies, or whatever, because we’re not.”

Although Harry opens his mouth to respond, no words cross over the edges of his pink lips.  His jaw tightens even more as he closes his mouth again, and Y/N can see a million things flitting through his green irises, which are getting darker by the moment.  Y/N’s not certain if the darkness is from her words, or the black sky rolling above them that’s sapping the light of day from the atmosphere, and she’s not sure if she can take the answer either way.  Part of her knows that maybe—just maybe—she’s blown this whole thing out of proportion, and maybe she should examine why Harry making fun of Brant bothers her like it does.  It’s not like she’s unaware of his shortcomings, she thinks, but then she wonders why she’s now seeing them as shortcomings, when a week ago, she saw them as positives.  Y/N never has to worry about Brant being too much for her, or forgetful, or scatterbrained—he’s organized, and secure, and stable, and that’s what she likes.  It’s always been what she likes.

Harry’s delayed response tears Y/N from her thoughts. “Not friends.  Got it.” He mutters, rubbing his hand over his stubbled and taut cheeks. “Just get back in the car, then.  Let’s go.”

…

“Hello!  My name is Gracie, I’ll be your server today.” The waitress in the tiny diner smiles at Harry and Y/N, a notepad in one hand and a half filled coffee pot in the other. “Can I get you guys anything to start?”

“Coffee.” Harry and Y/N speak at the same time, each person’s eyes flickering to the other before looking away.  Y/N keeps her eyes focused on her off-white ceramic coffee cup as Gracie fills it, refusing to make eye contact with Harry again.

The last hour has been almost unbearable.  After they got back in the car, Harry had turned off his playlist, and for the first time since the road trip had begun, true silence had fallen between them. Y/N had thought she would like it, but truthfully, it had been the worst thing she’d ever heard.  Every few minutes, she’d hear Harry shift, or sigh, or tap a tense finger against the gear shift, and she wished that she could say something, but she didn’t.  She couldn’t.  She’d been grateful when he wordlessly exited the highway and parked in front of a diner, as the conversations of stopped truck drivers and the clatter of a kitchen was a good distraction from their argument.

A movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention, and Y/N glances up just enough to watch Harry slip a pat of butter into his coffee, stirring the contents of the cup with his spoon until it’s melted together.  She wrinkles her nose in disgust, and almost opens her mouth to make a comment (“Really, Harry?  Just add milk like a regular person, instead of drinking a cup of grease.”), but bites it back before it can fall off her tongue.  They’re not exactly in the position to make quips to each other, she thinks, especially after she told him that they weren’t friends.

Which they’re not. They’ve never been friends; that fact isn’t exactly news.  Not getting along has been Harry and Y/N’s signature since the day they first met. So why is there a pit in Y/N’s stomach that gets deeper every time Harry looks away from her?

The click of heels alerts Y/N of Gracie’s returned presence before her voice does. “Have you two decided what you’d like to eat?”

“I’ll have a turkey club, please, on whole wheat bread.” Harry folds up his plastic menu carefully. “And a glass of water on the side.”

Gracie nods, taking the menu from him before turning her eyes to Y/N. “And for yourself?”

“Um—” Y/N had barely glanced at the menu, too lost in her thoughts to think about it. “I’ll just have a burger, please.  And a water, as well.”

Gracie nods as she writes down the order, taking Y/N’s menu and giving the pair one last smile before disappearing to the kitchen.  A fresh wave of silence falls between Harry and Y/N as each of them sips their coffee, both of them doing their best not to look at the person sitting across from them.

Y/N’s best, however, is not up to her usual standard, as she can’t stop herself from stealing a few quick glances while Harry looks out the window.  He hasn’t shaved in a couple days, she notices, as the stubble on his cheeks and chin is even darker than it was the day before.  There’s a permanent crease between his eyebrows, his face as tense as she’s ever seen it, and a darkness over his whole expression overall. It’s like there’s a new wall up between the two of them, and Y/N’s never felt more detached from him.  Which, honestly, is saying something.

She’s looking back down at her own half empty coffee when Harry finally speaks a few minutes later, his voice just as tense as his expression.

“Shit.” He says in a low voice, and then the next sound Y/N hears is that of someone ruffling through pockets.  

She looks up to see Harry doing just that, his hands digging through the outer pockets of his army green jacket. “What?” She asks, her curiosity outweighing her need to continue the silent treatment. “What is it?”

“I had the vows in my—my pocket, but they’re—” Harry jams his hands inside a pocket sewn into the lining of his jacket, and Y/N watches as his face visibly relaxes. “Oh, thank God. I thought they fell out.”

Harry removes his hand from his pocket, two folded up notes clutched within his hand.  Each one is labeled carefully, one with Jo written in Laure’s neat penmanship, and the other with Laure scribbled in Jo’s quick writing.  

Y/N recognizes the papers immediately.  It’s easy, really, considering the amount of time she spent helping Jo rewrite draft after draft of the same sentiments. “You have Jo and Laure’s vows?” She questions, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Why?”

“The same reason you have their wedding bands.” Harry shrugs as he turns the papers over in his careful fingers, making sure not to crease them. “They forgot them.”

A small smile plays on the edge of Y/N’s lips at the memory of her forgetful friends. “Right.  Of course.”

Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s mouth at the sign of movement, and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth before responding. “Want to take a look?”

“At their vows?” Y/N looks around, as if someone could be watching and monitoring them. “I—that doesn’t seem right.”

“Fine.  Then don’t look at them.” Harry says easily, setting the note labeled Laure on the table between them.  His nimble fingers unfold the paper labeled with Jo’s name as his green irises begin to scan across the sheet. “I’ll read them.”

It only takes a few seconds of watching Harry read over the words for Y/N to crack. “Wait.” She brings her thumb to her mouth, chewing anxiously on her cuticle as Harry quirks an eyebrow at her. “Will you read them to me?”

When she asks, Harry spends so long staring at her that Y/N thinks he’ll refuse.  His jade eyes meet hers with an intensity that almost makes her flinch, but Y/N holds his stare, refusing to be the first to back down. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Harry gives a sharp nod, looking down at the note before he starts to read from the beginning.

“‘My darling Jo’,” He begins, his voice soft and low, his accent thick. “‘It seems so strange that this day is finally here.  I feel like we’ve been building up to it ever since the day we first met, and yet it’s always seemed so far away.  When I was a little girl, I always’…” Harry trails off as his eyes continue to move across the words, and he clears his throat before attempting to continue to read aloud. “‘I always thought that there was something wrong with me.  I thought that the things that I felt, and the way that I loved, was dirty.  I thought it was wrong.  I thought that—that I was going against God, and against nature, and that I was going to be punished for it.  And then I met you’.”

Harry pauses to take a sip of his coffee, and Y/N does the same.  There’s a shine beginning to appear in his eyes, and Y/N recognizes it as the beginning of tears because she feels the same thing brimming in her own eyes. She feels a bit guilty for reading the vows, but reasons that it’s for the best.  If she were to hear them for the first time at the wedding, she doesn’t think she’d be able to keep it together.

“‘The moment I met you, I knew that the way I loved could never be wrong, or be dirty, because I was loving you’.” Harry’s accent grows thicker the more he reads, and although Y/N hasn’t seem Harry in many different emotional states, she can tell that this is a sign of how the vows are affecting him. “‘Being with you could never be wrong, and God could never get mad at me for it, because only God could create someone as perfect as you.  I promise to love you when you wake me up at 3 A.M. because you’ve stolen all the blankets, and I promise to love you at 6 P.M. when you almost burn down our apartment while trying to cook for me.  I promise to support you through everything, listen to your stories, and watch in wonder as you make a difference in this world.  I promise to never let my anger get the best of me, and to always give you the benefit of the doubt.  I promise to love every version of yourself that you grow into, just as I’ve loved all the versions you once were.  I promise to love you in every way humanly possible, and even in ways that aren’t humanly possible.  I promise to love, period.  I’—” Harry’s voice cracks, and he glances up at Y/N as he clears his throat to continue. “‘I love you’.”

Y/N doesn’t realize just how emotional listening to Harry read Laure’s vows has made her until the first tear wells over the corner of her eye.  She turns her head towards the window to wipe it away as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, but from the way Harry is looking at her when she turns back around, she knows that he caught what she was doing.

“That, um—” Now it’s Y/N’s turn to attempt to clear the emotion from her throat. “Wow.”

Harry carefully folds Laure’s vows back up, taking extra care to re-crease the paper exactly how it had been folded. “I didn’t know she…felt like that.” Harry says after a moment, his voice quiet. “Like she was…wrong.”

Y/N, unsure of what to say, just nods while reaching for Jo’s vows in front of her.  Like Harry, she takes great care when unfolding the paper, smoothing it gently between her hands. “I’ll read Jo’s, then?”

Harry nods as he takes a sip of his water. “Sure.”

Y/N licks her lips once, wetting them with what little saliva she has in her mouth before beginning. “‘Laure’,” She starts, emotion already rising up to form a lump in her throat. “‘I don’t even know where to begin.  I’ve tried to write down all the ways I love you a million different times, but I can never seem to find the right words.  The problem is, I don’t think that there is a big enough word to describe what I feel for you.  ‘Love’ is only four letters, and four letters is just not enough to contain everything I feel.  ‘Adoration’ is nine letters, but even that doesn’t come close.  I think the best way I can describe it is ‘permanent’.” Y/N pauses her reading to take a long gulp of water, the coolness soothing the dry and parched feeling in her mouth and throat. “‘Anyone who knows me knows that I have trouble committing.  The idea of having something forever, of being in one place, normally terrifies me. But the idea of having you forever, and being in one place with you forever…that’s all I want.  I want us to be permanent to each other.  Even when we struggle, and we will struggle, I know that we won’t fall apart.  Committing to you isn’t any trouble.  It’s as easy as breathing.  I’m sure of you, and I’m sure of us.  I love you, permanently.  I’ll love you when you’re sick and gross, and I’ll love you when you’re old with a bad hip.” A small laugh falls out of Y/N’s mouth before she continues. “I’ll love you when you haggle at flea markets for the best prices, and I’ll love you when you do something so stupid that it makes me want to tear my hair out.  I love you permanently, and I want all of our family and friends to witness me saying that.  I’ll never back out, or bail, or run away from you.  You’re the one thing in my life that’s never felt hard. You’re my home base, and my north star, and you bring me back down to Earth whenever I need it.  I love you permanently, Laure.  I’ll never stop’.”

As she finishes reading, Y/N folds the paper back up, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand before grabbing the other note sitting on the table.  She pushes them towards Harry, her misty eyes unable to meet his. “Here. Put these away again, somewhere safe.”

Harry takes the vows from her, slipping them back inside his inner jacket pocket for safekeeping. “It’s probably—” He clears his throat once more, and Y/N knows that the vows have caught him in his chest just as they’ve caught her. “It’s probably good that we read them now, so that we’re…prepared for the ceremony.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wraps her hands around her coffee mug, the warm ceramic surface heating her cold fingers. “You’re right.  They really…love each other.”

Harry taps his fingers against the table top, a concentrative and thoughtful expression on his face.  His eyebrows are knit together above his stormy green eyes, and his pink tongue swipes over his pinker lips once before he speaks. “You know, Laure is my closest friend.  I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Immediately registering the tone of Harry’s voice, Y/N’s head snaps up, her own eyes becoming stormy as they meet his own. “Jo would never hurt Laure.” Y/N says defensively, the hairs on the back of her neck pricking up at even the suggestion of her friend hurting someone. “Didn’t you hear her vows?  I’ve never heard her sound so sure of something in her entire life.”

Harry’s jaw flexes at the cadence of Y/N’s voice, and his is just as agitated when he responds. “I’m just saying, if anything ever happened—”

“And I’m just saying, it won’t.” The tension between them doubles as Y/N shoots Harry an icy glare. “Do you just look for the worst in people?  Is that all you do?”

“You think I look for the worst in people?  Really?” Harry barks out a harsh laugh, pressing one hand flat against the table as the other fixes his bandana. “Christ, if that’s what you think of me—”

“Why would I think anything else?” Y/N asks incredulously, tilting her head to the side as she regards him. “All you’ve shown me is—”

“Alright, I have the turkey club on whole wheat, and the burger here.” Gracie appears suddenly to Y/N’s right, her tray loaded with food. “Here you guys are…” She sets the plates down in front of Harry and Y/N, her gaze darting between them nervously as she reads the tension in the booth. “Is…there anything else I can get you two?”

“No.” Harry’s voice is hard. “We don’t need anything else.”

…

By the time Harry pulls the car into a motel just off the highway in Lexington, Nebraska, all Y/N wants is a moment alone.  The strained atmosphere during that day’s drive had been unbearable, and between the anxiety from her confrontation with Harry and the sound of thunder beginning in the distance, Y/N just needs some space to herself to relax and calm down.

Of course, just because that’s what she needs, doesn’t mean that she’s going to get it.  When Harry returns back to the car with a single key in his hand and a sour look on his face, Y/N knows for sure that the universe is against her.

This room, at least, she’s pleased to find, has two actual beds, which are pushed up against the wall perpendicular to the door with a small night table between them.  However, that’s where her pleasure stops, as the click of Harry turning the lock behind her just reminds her that she’s trapped in here, with no chance to get away from Harry, the oncoming storm, or any one of her problems that have developed over the last four days.  The reality of the situation hits her all at once, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control to toss her bag on the bed and walk brusquely to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her before she allows herself to show a sign of her emotions.

The rest of the evening passes in silence.  She showers before changing into her sports bra and boxers, but the amount of exposed skin sends a vulnerable shiver down her spine.  Y/N opts for pulling a sweatshirt over her body, and then sets herself the task of braiding her hair to distract herself.  After that’s done, she busies herself with her skincare routine, taking up as much time as she can in the bathroom before she absolutely has to leave its private interior.

Harry, however, seems to want to see as little of Y/N as she wants to see of him, and pushes past her to enter the bathroom the moment that she steps out of it.  His routine, it seems, is designed to take up just as much time as hers was, because by the time Harry exits the bathroom, the scent of his shampoo trailing behind him, Y/N is already tucked under the covers of her bed, although she’s far from asleep.

In the time it took for her to shower and get ready for bed, the storm had picked up, and the only thing audible in the room was the sound of rain pelting against the roof and window, the wind howling through the trees, and Y/N’s shallow, uneven breaths. She wraps the sheets tightly around herself, pulling them taut to her chin with clenched fists that tighten every time a clap of thunder echoes through the room.  Although she’s turned to face the wall, away from Harry, she can hear his footsteps pause as he gets a glimpse of her shivering form beneath the blankets, and she does her best to will herself to appear asleep.  Breathing in as deeply as her tight chest will allow her, Y/N attempts to even her breathing, forcing her shoulders rise and fall in a way that appears natural and normal.  But all it takes is one clap of thunder for the controlled motion to go out the window.

“Y/N…” Harry’s voice is low, but despite its raspy cadence, it lacks the rough edge that it had earlier. The bed behind her squeaks, signalling that Harry’s taken a seat on the edge of it. “Are you—?”

“I-I’m fine.” Y/N says quickly, pulling the sheets tighter to her chin as another shiver rolls through her body. “Go to sleep.”

There’s another creak of Harry’s bed, and Y/N imagines him climbing under the starched linen covers, his damp curls flopping into his eyes as he lays back on the lumpy motel pillow. The image is almost enough to distract her until there’s another clap of thunder.  The sound seems to shake the motel room, and Y/N can’t stop the small whimper that leaves her lips as her body jumps in response.

���When I was a little kid, my mum took my sister and I to the fair every year.”

Harry’s deep voice cuts over the rain, and Y/N shifts in her bed, turning over to face him.  She keeps the covers pulled up to her chin, but readjusts herself so that she can keep her head on her pillow while looking Harry in the eye. “What?” She asks, confusion audible in her quiet tone.

Harry shifts himself as she does, continuing to move down until he’s completely horizontal, with one hand tucked under his pillow as he speaks. “My mum took my sister and I to the fair.  It came to Holmes Chapel every spring, and there were always rides, and games to play, and so many things to see.  It drew crowds from nearby villages every year, really big crowds, and my mum always held my hand tightly so I wouldn’t get lost.”

“I don’t understand, what—” Another clap of thunder shakes the room, making Y/N flinch halfway through her sentence.

“You’re okay.” Harry says immediately, his calm jade eyes focused on her as the reassurance slips from his mouth.  He waits a moment, gauging Y/N’s body language and waiting for his examination to be positive before resuming his story. “So…my mum always told me not to wander off, but when I was six, I did.  I saw some older kids playing games that I wanted to play, and Gemma was busy playing some sort of game with a ball—I can’t really remember what—and when my mum turned her back, I ran off.”

Y/N’s about to open her mouth to ask why he’s telling her the story when the answer clicks into place in her head.  She thinks back to the conversation in the car the day before, how she told Harry that it helps when someone talks to her to distract her from the thunder.  That’s what he’s doing, she realizes, as she forces herself to focus on his quiet and level voice.  He’s trying to keep her calm, even after everything she said and did today.

“I don’t look like it now,” A small smile flits across Harry’s blushed lips. “But I was pretty scrawny back then.  And all the people around me were so tall, my eyes were barely level with their hips. Everyone was rushing around, going in all directions, and I kept calling for my mum, but she couldn’t hear me.  No one stopped to help me.  I felt like I was…trapped.  Like it was a huge forest of legs, running all around me, circling me, and I couldn’t get out.  I was probably only gone for five minutes, but to a six year old, it felt like an eternity.  And just something about it…I don’t know.  It changed me.  I still don’t like crowds because of that day.”

Y/N’s shoulders unclench the slightest bit as another gust of wind blows against the window. “That must have been scary.”

Harry’s own shoulders lift in a slight shrug as he shifts the sheet to cover him more. “It was. But I can’t change it.  I just have to deal with the repercussions of it. That’s all a fear is, really.  A side effect.  We just have to deal with them as best we can.”

More thunder booms loudly outside, but Y/N manages to keep her flinch to a minimum, despite her hands curling into fists again under the covers. “Harry…” She whispers his name into the darkness between them, his outline barely visible save for his green eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry about today.”

Harry shakes his head, his damp hair rubbing against his pillow. “You don’t have to apologize.” He whispers back, his tone as gentle as she’s ever heard it. “I was an arse.  I shouldn’t have pushed the topic.”

“I shouldn’t have been so uptight about it.” Rubbing her eyes with one fist, Y/N lets out a low sigh. “I felt so shitty all day because of our fight.  I’ve never…none of our fights have ever made me feel like that.”

“Maybe it’s because…” Harry’s tentative voice trails off, his eyes flickering to the ground for a brief moment before staring back at Y/N nervously. “I don’t know.  I thought we were getting along better.  For a moment, at least.”

“We were.” Y/N’s teeth tug on her bottom lip, and she feels a sudden shyness overcome her at the admission. “I’m sorry I said that we…weren’t friends.  I think…I don’t know.  I’ve been stubborn for so long, but I can see now that you’re different than I thought you were.”

“Yeah.  Me too.  I was wrong, too.” Harry runs a hand through his damp curls, a soft laugh leaving his mouth. “How did we even end up like this?  I barely remember what made us hate each other so much in the beginning.”

“Seriously?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, barely peaking out from beneath the sheets as another clap of thunder sounds. “You don’t remember?”

Harry mimics her expression. “Do you?”

“Yes!  It was the very first night we met.  We had that double date with Laure and Jo.” Shifting beneath her covers, Y/N moves herself into a better position on her side, so she can be more comfortable while still maintaining eye contact with Harry. “And you were rude, and made inappropriate jokes, and you left in the middle of the date to go chat up a sorority girl!”

“Wait a minute, no!” Harry protests the memory, half sitting up in his bed as he speaks. “That’s not what happened!”

“Yes, it is!” A small laugh falls off Y/N’s lips at his indignant reaction. “I remember it perfectly!”

“No, you remember it wrong!” Although a flush creeps up Harry’s neck, there’s an amused smile playing on his lips, a tiny hint of a dimple just barely appearing in his visible cheek. “I was making jokes to try and break the ice, which didn’t work on the Ice Queen, it seems—” Harry motions to Y/N teasingly. “And you’re the one who started talking to some bloke before I started talking to that girl!”

Another clap of thunder echoes through the room, but Y/N hardly notices as she thinks back to the night they met, and who Harry could possibly be referring to. “A bloke—?  He was a classmate of mine!  I had to talk to him!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to enjoy it so much.” Harry grumbles, crossing his muscled arms over his sheets. “I had been so excited when Laure said she had an American girl for me, and then—”

“You were excited?” Y/N asks, her voice laced with surprise. “Really?”

The flush on Harry’s neck works its way to the apples of his cheeks. “Well, yeah.” He mumbles the words as his eyes drop from Y/N’s, slipping both hands beneath his head. “She said that you were funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful—”

“And then you met me, and realized that it was all a lie?” Y/N finishes for him, rolling her eyes in the darkness.

“No.” Harry gives a small shake of his head as his body shifts, the motel bed creaking under his weight. “No, she wasn’t wrong.  You were all of those things.  But I wasn’t, and it seemed like…I don’t know.  Like you didn’t think I was good enough for you.  I couldn’t keep your attention.”

The teasing smile slips from Y/N’s face as she registers Harry’s words. “You thought that I thought you weren’t…good enough?”

The nervousness is clear in Harry’s voice now, even over the pounding of rain against the window. “That’s what it seemed like, yeah.”

“I never—I didn’t think that.” Y/N says slowly, managing to relax her body beneath the sheets as she keeps her focus on the memory of meeting Harry. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there, but that’s because Jo set the date up without telling me.  I thought you were handsome, and I liked your accent, but then you started to act weird, and you started flirting with that girl, so I thought you were an ass.”

“You still think I’m an arse, princess, be honest.” The teasing tone replaces the nerves, and for once, Harry’s joke has the intended affect on Y/N.  When she rolls her eyes again, it’s more playful, and the same tone is in her voice when she responds.

“I told you, don’t call me princess.” She replies, running her teeth over her lip gently. “So…I guess we both kind of fucked up that day.”

“Yeah.” Harry nods, a sheepish smile playing over his red lips. “I guess so.”

“Can we just restart?” Y/N’s voice is small when she asks the question, barely audible over the sounds of the storm raging outside. “Like, all the way from the beginning. No more grudges, no more yelling. Even if it’s just for this trip, for Jo and Laure—”

“It doesn’t have to be just for this trip.” Harry cuts in, his eyes catching Y/N’s again. “We’re going to have to be around each other for a long time.  It’ll be a lot easer if we get along.”

Y/N nods in agreement, tugging down her covers to extend one arm towards Harry.  She makes a fist, holding out just her pinkie finger to him with half a grin on her face. “Truce?”

The space between their beds is small, and Harry’s long arm easily makes it across the no man’s land to meet Y/N’s pinkie with his own.  He loops it together with a smile that matches hers, tired and content and just at the edge of a humble new beginning.  Harry’s response is almost inaudible as thunder booms loudly outside the room, but Y/N can still pick out the cadence of his accent under the noise.

“Truce.”

(pt II)

#feedback is appreciated!! #harry styles x reader #harry styles x you #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles imagine #harry styles blurb #harry styles preference #one direction fanfiction #one direction fic #one direction imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #enemies to lovers #road trip au #fine line #fine line album #dreamwithharry #42 hours #writing

[what-breaks-my-heart]

Hello followers and precious mutuals!

A quick update:

I’ve been relatively inactive since early Saturday morning local time as my family and I are literally forced to evacuate our residence due to the flash flood. Water started entering our house around 1 am and by 6 am, all areas in the house were flooded.

Luckily, we managed to secure our important documents and belongings. We moved our key electrical and electronic appliances (TV, refrigerator, washing machine, printer) on top of tables and high concrete slab in the house before we evacuated the house. As of 11 pm yesterday (18 December), the water level in the lowest part of the house was around 40 cm high, with the higher parts recording around 30 cm of water level.

We evacuated the house and found shelter at my sister’s place, around 5 minutes away from our place. So far there are no signs of this place potentially getting flooded.

The flash flood is caused by extremely high amount of rainfall (around a month of rainfall within 36 hours) and high tide in the ocean, making it not practical to open the water gate so that the water can be released to the ocean.

Apparently this extraordinary rainfall is a result of tropical depression as an after effect of Supertyphoon Rai that rampaged the southern part of Phillippines earlier this week. The after effect created disturbance to the pattern of wind around South China Sea, with the most severe effect happening the Straits of Malacca. The flood is so massive (in terms of areas affected) that the last time this happened, it was fifty years ago in 1971.

Rainfall has decreased substantially today and water level has receded in many areas but because we live closer to the downstream and the ocean, it would take some time before our place is clear from the flood.

Cleaning the house would be a chore, but I’m glad all of my family members are safe.

I’m grateful to my dear friends from this hellsite (affectionate) who had kept me distracted (still on alert, just distracted enough not to overthink about the whole situation) since early Saturday morning by spamming my inbox. We might have never met but I’m forever grateful ❤

Internet connection is on and off because some network towers are not functioning due to the flood so I’ve not been able to ‘participate’ in fandom activities by reblogging stuff with my short comments in the tags. In fact, internet connection is weak for most of today so I’ve not been able to check out fandom contents that I’m sure would be as gorgeous as ever (seriously you all are witches with skills I envy so much!!!).

I may be able to come in when my internet connection is working so I’ll reply to any interactions whether in the tags or replies or inbox whenever I can (premised that I get the notification lol the signal is so weak).

If you can, please pray so that the situation is resolved as soon as possible.

Until then, stay safe ❤❤❤

#personal

[mollymauk-teafleak]

The Problem with Magic Markers

Soooo Critical Role campaign 2 just ended, I've got major brain rot over it and my wonderful gf gave me a wonderful idea for a fic so! This happened! A gift to @spiky-lesbian who came up with this adorable concept and is just generally an all round wonderful person who deserves the world. Also huge thanks to my ever patient, ever helpful beta reader @minky-for-short

If you liked it too, please reblog and leave a comment over on Ao3!

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Mollymauk is so proud of Caleb in so many ways and, now they have their lovely lives with their wonderful children, he finds more reasons to be every day.

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Mollymauk Tealeaf had learned many things since he’d become a parent, now five years ago. A short amount of time, he’d used to think, but plenty of time to obtain a lot of knowledge you never thought you were ever going to need in your life.

Like how sandwiches cut into triangles were disgusting but sandwiches cut into squares could be eaten by the hundreds. Like how to make a bath appealing to a toddler with the liberal addition of bubble bath and a willingness to get absolutely soaked playing Sharks with them. Like how a scraped knee and bumped forehead could be cured with his cuddles and kisses alone, like how a promise from him that everything was going to be okay was enough to make it so.

And how silence was very, very worrying.

So when Mollymauk walked past his son and daughter’s room and heard only silence, when he knew for a fact they were in there, he stopped dead. He put any thoughts of getting to go and spend some time with his sewing kit out of his mind. Because he’d been a parent long enough to know that something was up, two five year olds weren’t that silent unless some game was afoot, something they didn’t want their parents to know about. Which meant he should probably at least poke his nose in.

So he knocked lightly on their door, the one covered in whichever drawings they were most proud of that week and a hand painted sign Jester had made for them the day they were born, prettily proclaiming ‘Trinket and Una’s Room!’ amongst a flock of miniature unicorns.

“Sweetlings?” he called gently, “Mind if I come in?”

There was a sudden scrabbling from behind the door and he heard a muffled grunt from Una before Trinket answered hurriedly, “Um...yes! Okay daddy!”

Raising a curious eyebrow, Molly pushed the door back, disturbing the usual scattering of toys left on the floor like the aftermath of a felt based battle. Although it did seem like there was more mess than usual…

Trinket stood in the middle of the room between their two little beds, his backpack at his feet and an expression of perfect innocence on his face that was just a little too polished to be anything but an act. Molly had to admit he’d probably learned that from him.

“Well hello there, little man,” he leaned in the doorway, smiling crookedly, “What game are we playing today?”

Trinket shuffled his feet, “Um...packing?”

“That sounds like a fun game,” Molly’s gentle concern upgraded to full blown wariness, “And where’s your sister?”

Trinket turned a deeper shade of purple, looking down at his fidgety feet that were poking more holes in his innocence by the second, “Um...she...um…”

Which was the point Una helpfully chose to poke her little head out of the backpack, dark eyes blinking curiously and ears flapping, trilling, “Here daddy!”

Trinket flushed guiltily, frowning at her, “Una! I said you had to stay shh!”

Molly took a breath, wandering over to sit down on Trinket’s bed. As his eyes swept around the room, he noted a great deal more chaos in the room. Almost like someone had been going through the toy box and the drawers and bookshelves, hurriedly pulling things out, making quick decisions about what to abandon and what to stuff into a little blue, dinosaur patterned backpack. Molly supposed he should at least be grateful that Trinket saw his sister as worth taking.

“Why don’t you talk to me, babies?” he offered gently.

Trinket swallowed, eyes darting around nervously before the last of the fight went out of his narrow little shoulders and he mumbled, “Daddy...can I tell you a secret?”

Molly had to smile. This was almost a running joke between the three of them, his kids running up excitedly to tell him they had a secret for him before whispering into his ear about some apparently very cool bug they’d seen or that Uncle Caddy had snuck them an extra cookie or that he was the best daddy ever. He loved being brought into their world where everything was brighter and more exciting and there was fun to be found in the smallest things. And where everything was felt so much more keenly.

“Of course you can, sweetling,” he murmured gently, patting the bed beside him, “You can always tell me secrets. Whatever it is, I promise we can make it better together.”

As Una rolled out of the backpack, apparently unconcerned and rather enjoying herself, Trinket clambered up beside him and stood so he could whisper into his ear. Molly tucked his purple curls behind one ear, smiling encouragingly.

Voice already trembling, Trinket leaned in and murmured, “I messed up Papa’s coat.”

Molly absorbed that in silence, feeling his son’s anxious red eyes on him. He leaned back, keeping his face carefully neutral before taking a long, deep breath through his nose, marshalling his thoughts.

“Trinket, I’m not going to lie to you here. We might be in trouble.”

His opinion didn’t change when he actually saw the coat. The coat his husband had been wearing as long as he’d known him and refused to be regularly seen without, no matter how many attempts Molly had made to buy him a newer, less ragged, less musty smelling version. It was more a comfort blanket than just clothing, stained and scorched from numerous spells and spills, old leather worn shiny from overuse. He hadn’t said so in so many words but it didn’t take a genius to guess that Caleb had worn it since before he came to the city. Which meant it had probably come from his parents. And though it was old and faded and stained today, it must have been new when he got it, a costly garment for people like the Ermendruds. The sort of gift that would only be given if your only son was leaving home to join the Academy and wanted to show him how proud you were.

A lot of Caleb’s life was like that. Even as his husband, Molly found himself having to piece things together from passing comments and turns of phrase, things that dulled his love’s eyes and tightened his jaw. Molly had about a quilt and a half’s worth of assumptions and semi-finished anecdotes by this point, telling of a sad and fractured timeline.

But he knew enough to see what the coat meant to Caleb and the place it held in his husband’s black and white, yes or no, yours and mine way of thinking.

The coat that now had a minor gallery’s worth of doodles and drawings scribbled in magic marker across the sleeves and all the way down the back. And if he wasn’t comfortable with Molly washing the thing, he wasn’t going to be okay with this.

Trinket had been fretfully watching his daddy since he’d first pulled the coat out from where he’d guiltily stashed it under his bed. As Molly’s mutely horrified silence dragged on, he only became more and more anguished until he was barely in tears, wringing his tail between his pudgy fists.

“I only wanted to make it pretty,” he whimpered, “Papa will hate me. I won’t be his special boy any more.”

Molly looked up at him, reaching out and putting his hand on Trinket’s shoulder, “Oh sweetling, your papa loves you a lot, you know this isn’t going to change that.”

But he couldn’t stop thinking about the times he’d picked up a pen from Caleb’s desk without thinking much of it, doodling with it until he’d looked up to see his husband gaping at him in scandalised horror. Or the times he’d stolen sips from Caleb’s drink when they were at the cafe, the same way he’d do to any of his friends, but Caleb would frown if he caught him, unable to understand why Molly was taking his coffee?

It was just part of the way his brain functioned, the rules it spat out after absorbing years of poverty and trauma, along with some different wiring that had simply occurred naturally. Mollymauk had learned a long time ago how to fondly work with these Caleb-isms, making concessions where it was best to and encouraging his wizard to gentle the restrictions his brain built when he needed to. It was like tending some kind of creeping vine in a garden, the way he saw it. Sometimes things needed moving aside so it could flourish and sometimes it needed pruning so it didn’t strangle the flowers around it. Caleb had been as brave as Mollymauk could have wished in managing his idiosyncrasies and sometimes he just had to sit back and admire how different the Caleb he lived with today was from the anxious, mumbling wizard he’d first met.

But how much patience he’d be able to muster when it was one of his favourite things in the world, Molly couldn’t say. But he wasn’t looking forward to telling him about it.

“Should I go?” Trinket’s lower lip wobbled, glancing back at his half packed bag, which Una was back inside, the front half this time as she munched away on some snack he must have stashed in there.

“Absolutely not, your papa would never want that,” Molly squeezed his shoulder gently, “We’re going to put the coat in to soak so we can get all this ink out and then we’re going to find him and I’ll tell him what’s happened. But you need to be the one who says sorry, okay?”

Trinket nodded frantically, still clinging onto his tail for comfort, “I am sorry. I’m really, really sorry.”

“I know, buddy,” Molly drew him close and hugged him tight, hating to see him so upset, “But we’ll be laughing about this before long, you’ll see.”

Maybe if he said it confidently enough, he’d start to believe it too.

Caleb wasn’t hard to find for a number of reasons. For one, their apartment was very small and there were only a handful of rooms to look in. But more importantly, it was late afternoon on a day where Caleb didn’t have any reason to go down to the Academy and fulfill his duties as an adjunct professor and when his bookshop was closed, as it was once a week. Which meant there was only one place he would be, in his half of their spare room, either playing one of his video games or reading.

Molly wasn’t quite sure what they’d do when one of their kids decided they wanted their own room and were tired of sharing, meaning Caleb would have to store his books and he’d have to store his sewing somewhere else. Or if they had another kid. He’d been toying with that idea in the back of his mind lately.

Maybe best not to float that idea with Caleb right after this.

Mollymauk could feel Trinket in his arms, his offer to pick him up and carry him having been immediately, breathlessly accepted. He could sense him getting more tense, more anxious, growing heavier against him as Molly knocked lightly on the door.

“Ja, come in,” Caleb’s response was immediate, not even needing to ask who it was or having to pause over whether he wanted to see them.

When Molly went in, Caleb was in the old, ratty wingback chair they’d liberated from some sidewalk when they’d first moved in, Molly announcing teasingly that a future professor needed some grand leather throne from which to smoke a pipe and pontificate. Caleb had blushed and rolled his eyes, not even believing back then that one day he would get the job he’d always dreamed of having, thinking trauma and past hurts had stolen it from him.

So now Molly always got a small flush of pride when he saw his Caleb sitting in that chair.

His hair was getting a little longer these days, it’s auburn tangles pulled into a small knot at the crown of his head so it wouldn’t fall in his eyes. His beard was growing a little thicker too, more than the usual rusty shadow that dusted his jawline. Molly absolutely was not going to be complaining about any of that, he liked his husband looking a little more rough around the edges like when they’d first met.

As soon as he saw them, Molly with Trinket balanced on one hip, Caleb’s face lit up with a smile. His smiles had been rare once upon a time but now just the sight of his family was enough.

“Hello,” he set the book he’d been reading to one side, already expecting Trinket to want to sit on his lap like always, “How are my loves?”

Near Molly’s ear, Trinket whimpered mournfully and pressed his face against his daddy’s neck. It was more than an ache to listen to, Trinket idolised his papa, following him around whenever he could, listening devotedly as he explained his work even when it wandered far off the track that his little mind could understand. Molly had no doubt the attempt to brighten up his coat had been a genuine attempt to make him smile and he couldn’t imagine how much it was hurting his little boy, to think he’d upset the man he looked up to more than anyone.

Caleb’s smile dulled a little, seeing Trinket hesitate, immediately realising they weren’t here for playtime, “What’s wrong?”

Molly exhaled slowly, carefully keeping his voice calm and level, “It’s okay babe, Trinket just...did something he wants to apologise for.”

“Oh?” Caleb frowned a little, eyes still fixed on Trinket, arms still open.

Molly opened his mouth, ready to do the hard part but before he could, Trinket bolted upright and tearfully burst out, “I wanted to make your coat pretty because you always like my pictures and I thought you could take them everywhere not just in your pockets but I made a mess and I’m so sorry papa! I’m really sorry!”

For a moment both of his parents were a little stunned, not quite sure what to say as his rambles tapered off into spluttery sobs. Molly warily glanced at Caleb, looking for any change in his blank, closed off expression, any flicker of discomfort, even anger.

After a few beats, ones that felt longer than usual, Caleb only nodded, getting to his feet. Gently, he reached over and put a gentle hand on his son’s face, catching some of the tears dribbling down his cheek on his thumb.

“Little Kätzchen, it’s alright,” he murmured softly, “Please don’t cry.”

Trinket sniffled, blinking blearily, “You’re not angry? Don’t want me to go away?”

Caleb’s eyebrows shot up in alarm, “No! Oh, Trinkie, absolutely not. I’d never want that.”

“But…” Trinket’s eyes were wide, hopeful, wanting to take this relief being offered but hesitant to, “It’s your favourite thing in the whole wide world…”

Caleb chuckled quietly, his smile back with all it’s warmth as he leaned in and kissed his forehead.

“Kätzchen, you and your sister are my favourite thing in the whole wide world.”

Molly nearly yelped in panic as he felt the weight of Trinket suddenly leave his arms before realising his son had thrown himself at Caleb, locking his arms around him tightly. He didn’t doubt for a moment that his husband would catch him, only smiling fondly as he gathered Trinket close and buried his face in his hair.

“It’s all okay,” Caleb whispered against the rust red curls he’d given their son, “It’s okay, little one.”

Molly let them have their moment, letting Trinket cry the last of his tears out happily against his papa’s chest, hanging back and feeling his heart thudding warmly against his ribs. Eventually he was their beaming, bright little boy again, if a little damp, wriggling down from Caleb’s arms determinedly after one last little kiss against his papa’s cheek.

“I’m gonna make you a sorry card. The best sorry card ever,” he promised Caleb, already toddling towards the door, “It’s gonna have glitter.”

“Wow, that kid is definitely my son,” Molly observed wryly once his little lavender tail had disappeared around the corner.

“Then you can clean up the mess he’s definitely about to make,” Caleb chuckled, moving into his husband’s arms.

“Hey,” Molly kissed the crown of his head gently, “Well done. I know that must have been hard for you and...I’m really proud of you.”

He couldn’t see it but he could hear the coy smile in his voice, “Well...I meant what I said. Some coat is never going to be more important to me than my kids.”

Molly smiled knowingly, “I know baby….but you know, if you want to scream into that cushion for a little while, that’s okay too?”

There was a short pause before he felt Caleb’s shoulders drop in relief.

“Thank you, Katze…”

“Is it done yet?”

Molly had to fight a smile. He’d explained to Caleb that soaking his coat would take exactly thirty minutes, knowing his husband fixated on time easily, but still he asked every five minutes on the dot. He’d expected nothing less.

“Not just yet, babe,” he repeated, as he had all of those other times, looking up from the laundry they’d been folding so Caleb would have an excuse to hover anxiously in the laundry room, over the tub of hot soapy water and a little rubbing alcohol his coat was submerged in, “Soon though.”

Caleb gave a small grunt, poking a finger into the water curiously like it was some potion he was working over. After a moment, before Molly could turn back to folding the clothes, he frowned.

“This sleeve isn’t in the water…”

Molly’s smile turned crooked, coming over and putting a hand on Caleb’s before he could move the one sleeve into the tub, “I thought maybe you’d want to look at it...decide if you want to keep that one.”

Caleb blinked, not understanding until he turned it a little and saw the drawing his Trinket had chosen to adorn the sleeve with. It was done in bright red, standing clearly against the dark fabric, unmistakable a child’s drawing. There were four figures there, two taller and two smaller. The first had a set of horns drawn a little too large for it’s head, as well as a tail. The second had a long scarf and a scrawled head of shoulder length hair. The next was much smaller, with another set of horns and a tail but the same scribbled hair. And the last was tiny, with voluminous ears and spikes on the end of it’s fingers. All of them had immense smiles and held hands, a lopsided love heart hovering above them.

As the other scribbles and swirls turned into formless ink in the water, Caleb held this one like it was the most precious thing he’d ever seen in his life.

“Yeah,” he murmured, smiling softly, “I think this one can stay.”

#critical role #modern au #caleb widogast #mollymauk tealeaf #widomauk #una #trinket #please reblog and comment!

[willgrahymn]

Crushing Fear

wow can you believe I’m posting one of my fics on tumblr? me neither.

Tags: prinxiety, love confessions, some point close after FWSA, flower language, some swearing, and light angst but mostly fluff (oh and I throw shade at Janus).

Summary: Virgil didn't even remember how long he had spent repressing his dumb crush, but with Thomas falling in love, it felt harder to ignore the feelings welling up in his chest. All he knew was that he couldn't admit it out loud. Luckily for him, Roman was a romantic who couldn't stand to let a chance at love go uninvited, even if he didn't always feel deserving of it. 

Word count: 3334

I’ll reblog with ao3 link since I know tumblr is dumb about it :)

There were a lot of things Virgil loved about Roman. He loved the way Roman would push back his hair whenever he caught a glimpse of himself or felt nervous and he loved the way it always fell in his face again. He loved the way his eyes lit up when Virgil asked about a show or a musical he knew the prince liked. To be honest, it was hard to think of something he didn't love. Even things he once thought were annoying had become endearing to him.

It didn’t matter. He had a reputation to at least try to maintain, he’d already gone so damn soft around the others since the light sides and Thomas came to get him back and Roman made that sweet little speech in the darkness of his room.

“You make us better.” It was like a song he played on repeat. At the time, Roman was the last person he expected to convince him that this could be his home – his family – but somehow he did. He may have been a jerk early on, but maybe, Virgil thought, he really was a knight in shining armor. Roman was more like him than he once thought; using fake confidence to cover up insecurities was nothing new.

And now, years later, here he was lying in bed like a yearning gay fool with music that wasn’t loud enough to block out his thoughts. He figured his little crush would be something that he could just hide away until it wasn’t even there. That plan was failing horribly though, especially when Roman could steal his breath by just looking at him. He didn't know how to handle feelings that felt bigger than himself.

Would it be smart to try something now? Probably not. What would he even do? Roman always talked of big, grand gestures that could literally and figuratively sweep one off their feet. Virgil didn’t consider himself good at plenty of things, and wooing someone like he was in a movie happened to be on the list. The farthest he'd gotten with confrontation was making Thomas talk to Nico, all because he couldn't stand to see Roman so heartbroken. He could feel the darkness below his eyes lighten to that embarrassingly glittery purple at the memory of how proud Roman was.

But Roman was Creativity and had his own little kingdom in the imagination. Virgil was sure that if he wanted a boyfriend he could just make the man of his dreams who would do anything and everything for him without the slightest hesitation. It seemed existence wasn’t fair like that.

He could just barely hear a knock sounding at the door, Virgil's eyes immediately darting over to where the sound had come. He debated whether or not he should respond. It wasn’t as if he didn’t like his friends, but his same old avoidant tendencies from before never went away.

“Virgil?” Roman asked. His voice making Virgil freeze and want to melt away at the same time. “Are you awake?”

Fuck, shit, some other words Patton would disapprove of. What time was it? 1:30? He couldn’t blame Roman for assuming he was still out, especially since it was the truth not too long ago. He almost felt sorry for his sleep schedule, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. No matter how hard Logan tried to help he always found himself digging through the kitchen at 5 in the morning, and not because he was an early riser. He paused his music, hanging his headphones on his headboard. Listening to Sally’s Song for the 17th time could wait for later.

He heard Roman laugh, and it felt like roses.

“That’s alright. If anyone here knows anything about beauty sleep, it’s me. The glasses gays are insisting that I awaken the beast though, so you better at least have something on before I barge in.”

Virgil wasn’t sure if Roman was talking to himself or knew he was being heard. He just burrowed deeper under his covers. He didn't want Roman to find him awake and think he was ignoring him, even if it was kind of the truth.

The door creaked. It sounded like something from a shitty horror movie. The heavy footsteps didn’t make it any more calming either. Roman was never this quiet. He refused to open his eyes, even as his blanket was pulled away from his face. He couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath as he felt cool air shock his skin.

“Awh, c’mon! I’m the actor here. Your eyes were closed too tight, for one thing,”

Virgil sighed, opening his eyes and squinting at the light. “I thought you were here to wake me up, not give me acting lessons.”

“Good morning to you too, Mourning Glory. It’s not my fault if you want to hide away all day, I’m just giving tips on being more realistic.”

Virgil rolled his eyes, biting the inside of his lip to resist smiling. Wanting to stay calm as if he knew what he was doing.

“You’ve teased me about being a vampire before. Can’t I play the part?”

“Oh, trust me, you’re perfect for the role. Sadly for you, there are two very insistent Sides saying you have to be a real functioning part of the mind, so unless you want me to carry you out there and make a whole scene, you better come down on your own.”

Virgil sighed, rolling onto his back as his eyes adjusted to the light. The two stared at each other. Testing each other. Not getting out of bed never sounded more tempting.

He gave in, rambling. “Sure, okay, whatever.” He sighed, reaching out and taking hold of Roman’s hand, letting the prince pull him upright. Whether it was he or Roman who ended up bringing them so close was something he could stay up late thinking about later. Now wasn’t the time to focus on rough palms or scarred skin that he once bandaged up while cursing out the ever-so-reckless Roman for sneaking out on quests, leaving Virgil to hunt him down with nothing but adrenaline and a certain level of knowingness in his dread.

He tried to bite back a yawn. His eyes widening at the warm feeling of a hand pressed to his face, of a thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone. It wasn’t unwelcome, to be honest, he could probably fall back asleep just like this. He’d be okay waking up every morning if they were like this. If the romantic side offered it. If Virgil would allow himself to accept and experience it.

“How long have you been up?”

“Anywhere between 20 minutes to 2 hours. I don’t really know.”

Roman smiled, betraying the worried look in his eyes. It was probably just the effect of his room, that’s what Virgil hoped it was anyway. He tried not to show any disappointment when Roman’s hand fell to the bed.

“I’ll be down in a few,” Virgil continued, “just let me take care of my makeup first.”

Roman’s eyes trailed him as he got up and moved over towards his desk in the corner of the room, flicking on the light as he went by. Why is he fucking staring?

“While I’m here, I was wondering if you’d care to join me for a quest this evening? Or maybe we could throw a ball for the mind palace? I know it’s not your thing, but I thought it might be fun? Or y’know, something else more low-key.”

“Uh, yeah you know I’m not big on big things,” Virgil replied, looking over to the prince picking at a loose thread on the cuffs of his sleeves. “You know if you want to hang out you can just ask, you don't need some extravagant event going on to get me alone with you.”

Roman nodded, not seeming any calmer than before. Virgil's brows furrowed, worries flowed through him as if it were his blood. He didn't want to make Roman talk if he didn't want to, but god was it nerve-racking.

At the very least, it seemed like he wouldn't be putting on any more black eyeshadow to try and hide its changes.

Roman, on the other hand, decided not to question why the Side no longer seemed interested in putting his makeup on, and being grateful for the fact Virgil took advantage of the fact they could conjure themselves into different outfits rather than changing right then and there.

The two stayed there, an awkward silence taking over the room before a crash sounded from the living room.

“We should probably go.”

Virgil simply nodded, pulling his jacket tighter around as he followed Roman out of the room.

Luckily, the crash had only come from Patton knocking over a stack of DVDs, CDs, and a few other things. Another lost-glasses incident. It was a miracle nothing got broken.

The day itself would have felt completely normal if not for the fact Roman kept looking at him. Starting off as unsure as they did in his room, and slowly brightening like he had finally figured out a plothole in one of his stories. It was even more unsettling when he realized Roman was no longer there, vanished off to do god knows what.

So Virgil spent the next couple of hours trying to ignore the feeling of his fears eating him from the inside out like a moth to a sweater. He wouldn’t mind the holes if they didn’t leave him so uncomfortable. But then again, maybe that was fitting for his aesthetic. Torn-up shirts and jeans to pair with his torn-up emotions. At least he found solace in the darkness of his outfits.

It didn’t take long to get bored of the mundane mind palace.

Maybe I should take Roman up on that quest idea. He thought, his foot bounced, hanging over the side of the couch. Even if it wasn’t in his list of Shit Virgil Can Do Without Fucking Up, it was better than sitting around and waiting for nothing.

Virgil got up silently, giving a quick two-finger salute to Logan who had started reading some new detective novel before he sunk out. Appearing again before Roman’s door. Maybe he was just self-conscious, but it looked bigger than it was. Like behind it would be some hidden treasure that he finally reached.

It wasn’t entirely wrong. Roman was certainly someone to be treasured, even if he made mistakes. He just wished the other Sides would help him understand it.

He held his breath as he knocked, jolting back when it swung open almost instantly.

“You’re here!” Roman exclaimed, bouncing on his heels.

“Uh, yeah. I thought I’d take you up on your offer from earlier… if it’s still up, anyway.”

“Oh! Yeah, totally!” The prince tugged at his collar, not making eye contact. Virgil couldn’t help but smile slightly at the prince's giddiness. “I was just working on something if you’d care to see it?”

“You know I wanna see whatever you come up with, even if it’s some rewrite of Frozen.”

Roman bounced again, holding his hands out, palms up. He looked at Virgil with an emotion he couldn’t name, but it made him feel anxious in a good kind of way. Not anything like the dread he was used to. He placed his hands on Roman’s, and it wasn’t till they were sinking out and into the imagination that he realized it was the same kind of feeling from when Nico first texted Thomas about meeting up again. He held Roman’s hands a little tighter.

When he opened his eyes, they were surrounded by flowers.

“Woah…”

“Do you like it? I had to sneak into Logan’s room and borrow a few of his books.”

“I– yeah. It’s beautiful. And don’t worry, I won’t snitch.” He stepped away, wandering the circular little garden. He could only recognize so many. “Didn’t know you had a thing for landscaping.”

“I try my best. Honestly, I’m just happy neither of us has allergies.”

“Gosh, you’re such a dork.” Virgil laughed, petting the petals of a rose. Not paying attention to the way Roman watched him and shifted his weight every so often nor how warm his cheeks had become. “Do you know what any of them mean?”

“I do, but I think if I tell you, you’ll realize how predictable I am.”

“Go for it.”

“Well, roses are pretty well known. The red ones are anyway. Love, passion, romance, and courage. Things like that.” Roman said, walking closer. His boots clicking against the walkway’s pavement.

He stood close by yet just far enough for Virgil not to feel like he was being dissected under his gaze. It was an unreasonable thing to think after all the time they had spent becoming friends, he knew that. Yet part of him continued to scream that one day Roman would look at him and find out how horrible he thought himself to be and never want to be around him again. Maybe that was why he refused to confess just how much he liked Roman. It was a weight that crushed his chest every day yet made him feel dizzyingly light.

It was all too complicated.

“What about the purple ones?”

“It kind of varies by shade, but most of the time it’s about love at first sight or enchantment. A lot of the flowers here have to do with that sort of thing.”

“Yeah, should’ve been able to figure that one out myself.”

Roman shrugged. “It’s no matter, I just want to make sure you understand what they mean.” He looked to Virgil, again with that unnamed emotion. “You do get what I’m trying to say, right?”

For a moment, he hoped he did.

“Uh, yeah? Princey, I get it, you’re a hopeless romantic. You don’t have to spell it out for me.” He bit the inside of his lip, then asked. “What are they for?”

Roman looked at him with what he could only see as sympathy.

“I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I really do think you need it spelled out.”

Virgil scoffed, going to argue before he was cut off.

“First,” Roman began, reaching for Virgil’s hand, “You take him by the hand. That’s as far as you got before we both started screaming, anyway. So I suppose I’ll just have to wing it from here. I know I haven’t always been the best to you. I know I still make mistakes, and I really don’t want this to be one of them.”

“Roman–”

“I’m not finished. Virgil, out of all the other’s, you’re always the one who notices when I’m upset. You’re always the one who lets me bitch about Deceit without saying I was wrong for trusting him and then wrong for not. Really, you’re the only one I can bitch about the dark sides to, period. Logan is so reserved about it, and Patton is, well, he’s Patton. He tries to see the good in everyone.”

Roman paused, catching his breath. Virgil thought it best not to speak. He didn’t think he’d even be able to if he wanted.

“What I’m getting is that I trust you. I trust you because you’re my best friend and you listen to what I say even if it’s dumb. Because when I don’t feel like talking you're always down to just watch classic Disney movies and fill in coloring books. I know you don't realize it, but you do a hell of a lot more good than you believe, and I love you for that. You don’t have to say it back or even feel the same, I know you’re pretty reluctant about it. I just need you to know.”

Virgil stared at him, frozen like a deer caught in the headlights of love. Roman had said ‘I love you’ before, but not like this. What the fuck do you even do when your crush confesses they like you, more so, that you aren’t obligated to like them back? Complicated, and now surreal.

“You really mean it? All of it??”

“Of course I do, my Columbine Cutie! I could never lie to someone about love, I hope you know that.” Roman replied. Waving his hand as he conjured a mix of red and purple columbines, tucking them gently behind Virgil’s ear. Both knowing it was the truth, that Roman wouldn’t subject someone to such a thing because he knew how it felt.

But he still trusted Virgil with his love all the same. Trusted that it wouldn’t be taken advantage of or used against him.

“How long have you known?”

“You know, I think I fell for you far before I knew it.”

Virgil huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I uh… I think it was the same for me. Falling for you, that is.” God, it felt so weird to say it. Good, too. “I’m sorry I don’t know what to say. I never thought I’d end up here. I care about you too. I love you, I mean.”

And Roman… Roman just started to beam, shining like the sun as Virgil tripped over his words. He bounced, hands waving as he did. Despite his lingering fear, Virgil couldn’t stop the excitement Roman radiated and the wonder of it all from seeping in under his skin, a feeling like vibrations that he could only try to shake out. And there were hands cupping his face and there were words he didn’t hear. He still knew what they asked. “Fucking yes.” was all he could bring himself to give as a response before Roman’s lips were on his.

Strawberry chapstick and the faint scent of cherry blossom perfume were all that went through his head, it was the only thing that really could. He held onto Roman’s uniform like if he let go it would all disappear. Another dream reminding him of what he thought he couldn’t have.

When Roman pulled away and Virgil opened his eyes, he was still there.

He was real. Everything that had happened was real. He couldn’t help but giggle at how fantastical it was.

Roman brushed his bangs away, just enough to fully show his eyes. “Your eyeshadow changed again,” he announced, bouncing on his heels once again. Virgil groaned, turning away. “It’s a good look for you. Especially with how much you blush, my Lavender Love.”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“It’s adorable.”

Virgil knew from the grin on Roman’s face that it had only intensified.

“Whatever. I just– for what it’s worth– I appreciate it. All of this. I’d probably die never telling you shit about how I felt if you didn’t do it first.”

Roman softened, “Maybe, or maybe you’d end up pushing yourself like you did to Thomas. Either way, I’m happy with it if you are.”

Virgil nodded, the two going silent. Roman rocked back and forth still quietly bouncing, probably thinking of what to say next.

Slowly, Virgil opened his arms, smiling nervously to his crush– lover– whatever they were. He wasn’t all that open to touch, but Roman was so far off from everything else it didn’t matter. The prince smiled, pulling Virgil close to him and pressing a kiss to his magenta-colored hair.

“I’m happy to be your knight as long as you want me to be. Whatever it is that gets thrown our way, I’ll fight for you as you have for me. You deserve to shine every day like you are now.”

“Jesus, Princey. You already made your dramatic love declaration, but... thank you. I want you to be happy too.”

The two held each other, and for the moment, everything was okay. No dark sides, no fear, no challenging life debates. It was unescapable, of course, but it didn’t matter. They could survive and fight this hell of a world. They could make the other realize how lovable they were. Because they had each other.

#Sanders Sides #Prinxiety #Roman Sanders #Virgil Sanders #prinxiety fic #your validation. hand it over SDLCVFH #ugh bye im gonna cry about this #Virgil's Volumes

[ajbwasntwriting]

Daughter!Reader x Negan, Reader x Daryl: Chapter 5. Secrets hurt

First | Previous | Next

Listen I don’t know why I decided to give each chapter an artsy title I just did. Also as anyone following this may have noticed this story isn’t gonna be regularly updated but rather updated when I have something I’m proud enough to post though I am determined to finish this series, just school comes first. I hope you understand.

I’ll only post more chapters if previous chapters get a good reaction so if you enjoy this please heart it, reblog it, and/or reply to it. Interaction inspires.

if you wish to be added to the tag list please dm me. All chapters can be found under the tag AJ’s Negan’s Daughter AU

The winter continued like that. He’d bring you food and you’d give him goods, even visiting multiple times a week. Sometimes he’d tell you about the stuff, holding up a jar of applesauce ‘from The Kingdom. The guy who runs it used to own a tiger’ or loaf of bread ‘the hilltop grows the grain, but Alexandria makes it.’ You would hum and nod along, knowing he was just trying to convince you to come back. Mainly because he’d ask if you wanted to come back with him and you would be ‘grateful but happy where you are’

You had asked him to start making lists so you knew what to find and you always tried your best to deliver. Cloths, blankets, kitchen utensils, baby bottles-

“Baby bottles?” you asked, pointing at the item on the list. He nodded.

“John and his wife are pregnant and we don’t have enough to go around.” He explained from the comfort of your couch, feet up on the table.

“But you have some?” you continued, not believing what you were hearing “You have...children? As in...babies?”

“Yea. I keep telling you we’re building a society.” he laughed at your bewilderment. “You’d fit in gr-” your mind ran as what you knew was coming ‘Here it comes again. No never works with these people. How do I get him to shut up?’

“Would you like to stay for dinner?” you cut him off, smiling. You turned to your kitchen unit, pulling out a large bot, a can of vegetable soup, and salted beef that Daryl had brought that day. “You’ve brought me so much it’ll probably go bad before I can eat it all.”

In that time he had stood up and walked over to the kitchen, now leaning on the counter. His sudden appearance made you hold your breath “When did ‘get out’ become ‘stay for dinner’?” he asked, seemingly amused.

“When you stopped understanding what ‘I don’t wanna be part of your group’ meant.” You retorted, cutting up the salted beef with a dedicated kitchen knife. “Are you staying or not?” you turned to him, stopping your cuts for the moment. He nodded with a shallow ‘yeah’, making you smile then go back to cutting. You poured the meat and soup into the pot, placing the lid on top. “Some snow on top to water it down and we’ll be sleeping with full stomachs tonight.”

You had him carry some bowls and a ladle up to the roof. Within an hour the fire outside was lit and the food was cooked atop four bricks you were lucky enough to be able to upgrade your cooking fire with, the old lamp now repurposed into a weapon. There was no conversation but you didn’t feel like you needed it. The wind was calm, letting Daryl look out over the city. “Do you know where the museum is?” He asked while you were stirring the soup.

“A couple of blocks down,” you called back. “Why?”

“Me and a few others are planning on raiding it in the summer” he answered, not turning back to you.

That’s when you realised something. You had heard about all these friends. Carol, Michone, Saddiq, Rosita, Eugene, Henry, Ezekiel, Lauren. He’d mentioned them in passing, saying how they made something he brought you or appreciated something you brought him. Yet he always came alone. It would’ve made more sense if Rick was doing these deliveries, you’d met him before the winter. Sure you stitched up his leg.

The two of you were sitting in front of the fire as it fizzled out when curiosity got the better of you. You swallowed the food in your mouth.

“Why are you always here alone?” you asked, he looked up at you from the other side of the fire. “It makes more sense to have people watching your back but for the past month or so you’ve been visiting me on your own. Why?”

“That’s how it is” he scoffed between mouthfuls.

“That’s how what is?” you snapped.

“You’re allowed to be all secretive but I’m meant to have my cards on the table.” he cut back. You thought it over a second, then went back to eating. You both finished up as the fire mellowed, taking your leave back inside. You carried the pot while he held the bowls. Back in your unit, you piled the dishes into the sink.

“I should get going,” he said, going to pick up his back.

“Y/N!” you nearly yelled. “My name is Y/N,” He looked back at you incredulously. A tense silence fell over you both “Before this,” you waved your hand to motion to the apartment “I was with a few people...including my father. We managed to secure a building, kept the walkers out but after some time new people arrived and a few of them got...Protective, I guess. Including my old man.” You crossed your arms and leant against the sink, the floor now far more interesting than the man in your apartment. “People died keeping me safe when they didn’t need to, all ‘cause my old man refused to let me help, but we were still bringing in new people but not everyone was helping, either cause they weren’t allowed to or didn’t want to. That caused anger to boil in the group and then...more people died.” Thinking back on the Sanctuary tears began to flow, but your voice didn’t shake and your body stayed firm. “I ran away and I’ve been hiding ever since ‘cause I know they’ll kill me if I’m found.” You finally looked back at Daryl who had been hanging on to your every word. You wiped away your tears. “You said I can’t be secretive, well there it is.”

“I didn’t mean-”

“You don’t wanna go home” you cut him off. “You don’t like where you rest your head, that’s why you’ve been spending more and more time out here with me. I get it.” you pushed off the sink, leaning under it to pick up a jug of water to do the dishes with. “You can leave or you can stay the night. I don’t mind.”

You turned your back on him to focus on the dishes. He picked up his things and left without another word. ‘That’s it’ you thought as you scrubbed the pot, now getting more aggressive with it, ‘you fucked up Y/N.’

The following morning you woke up, opened your bedroom door, and saw a familiar red-neck on your couch. You couldn’t stop the smile that plastered your face, but you did grab some clothes from your closet then went back to your room to dress. This time when you left he was up. “‘Morning” he croaked as he stretched. “This couch was a lot comfier the first time.”

Your relationship continued like that for the next while. He’d visit you more regularly, stay for dinner, and usually, he’d stay for the night. You got tired of the complaints about the couch and cleared out the second bedroom. You liked having him visit and were willing to facilitate it. He’d even begun leaving a few things there. Functional stuff like arrows for his bow and fuel for his bike. You found him some clothes and extra blankets, and a bigger bag to carry stuff home.

You didn’t ask why he didn’t want to be with his people. After keeping everything a secret for so long it didn’t feel right, but you could guess. Between your family and your time in the army, you had developed a skill in reading people, a skill you noticed he also had. Maybe that’s why every second didn’t need to be filled with conversation. Though you wish it was so you could know more. He was kind, there was no question of that with everything he did for you without even knowing your name. Though when he came to your apartment he was tense, and he was never happy to leave. This made you think he was going somewhere he didn’t want to be, but he had to be. He always talked so highly of the settlements, trying to get you back there. He must be going someplace else.

The winter passed, your garden began to flourish again, and the walkers thawed. You thought after the winter Daryl would stop visiting but he still showed up. He didn’t come as often for a time, saying he wasn’t gonna make the trip unless he had enough to offer you. You frowned at this “Do come out” you ordered him. “You’ve got people relying on you. Children and everything and I’m able to find stuff in the city you need.”

“I don’t wanna leave you short. Our deal ya know-”

“Screw the deal, Daryl.” you huffed “You’re my friend and I wanna help you”

“Oh we’re friends?” he commented, with a cheeky smirk “Didn’t you try to kill Rick.”

‘So Tara told them’ you thought. “Yes,” you said “In a friendly way.” normally he wouldn’t find that funny, but these past few weeks escaping away to your hide-out had given him a chance to get close to you. “Come and visit me when you can, please? I got nobody else to steal my food.” That afternoon you both search for some last pieces for Daryl, having to go deeper and deeper into the city. You talked about his group’s plan to go to the museum and raid it for seeds and old machinery. You saw first-hand what a crack-shot he was with his crossbow, you whistled as another went down “Not bad bow-boy. How’d you get so good with that?”

“Before all this” you started, walking ahead to pull the arrow out of the dead one. “Me and my brother, Merle, used to move around a lot. We used to hunt sometimes for sport, sometimes for food, but he’d always make it a competition. Decided to learn a quieter weapon so I could beat that son of a bitch.” Another two walkers approached as he spoke. He shot a bolt through one of them while you took the other down with your knife. “After that, he never helped hunting again”

“Sounds like a sore loser” you commented, pulling the arrow out of the walker's head and handing it back to Daryl. He took it and reloaded the bow.

“You have any brothers or sisters?”

“Nah” you shook your head, keeping a lookout while he reloaded. “My old man said I was a miracle baby. Mom was always sick. They thought they’d never have any. I used to hate it but after hearing how Merle left you in a cell while he ran off with your girl, I’m glad.”

“Ahh, he wasn't all that bad,” he commented, walking alongside you.

“No one is as bad as they seem when you know them. At least that’s what my superior officer said”

That evening he couldn’t stay, but he left with a heavy bag and that made you happy. As the evening descended you went back to your unit. The following week would be quiet since Daryl had his big raid coming up. Though you didn’t realise how quiet until you were in the midst of it.

You had scavenged a few things. At this stage, the apartment building had been picked dry but you had a few children’s cloths and some old bandages from first-aid kits that had seen better days. As usual, you had piled everything in Daryl’s room. As usual, you were reading another book. As usual, it failed to entertain you since you’d read it about three times now. As usual, you fell asleep on the couch, not completely though because you heard the front door open.

You sat up sharply. “Dary-”

Thwack

~ Tag List ~

@softsebastian​

#twd daryl #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #The Walking Dead #the walking dead fanfiction #the walking dead fanfic #twd #twd fanfiction #twd fanfic #twd reader #twd x reader #twd reader insert #daughter reader #negan x daughter reader #AJ's Negan's Daughter AU

[kessielrg]

[Kingdom Hearts] Old Habits, New Reasons

Summary: Three times in which Namine shies away from social functions just to draw, and the one time someone joined her. [oneshot][character study][NamiXi if you really wanna squint][also Namiku if you squint a little less]

Rating: K

Word Count: 3,469 words

If you liked this story, please reblog!

---

Their question had thrown Namine off slightly. She sheepishly looked down at her small sketchbook as if it could answer the question for her. The white page stared back at her in silence.

A part of Namine knew this would happen eventually. There was always that fear that someone would follow her, ask her what she was doing, and then tell her to rejoin the others. But that wasn't what they were asking, was it? They wanted to know why she was drawing. It was a simple question, and it was a bit odd that someone would have lugged a caboodle of art supplies with them to a banquet.

"Well?" the other girl asked. "Is there someone who would get mad you're drawing, even if you did it around your friends?"

"I don't think so." Namine decided, slowly. "But sometimes... it's just easier to draw without other people around you. And sometimes, when people find out that you're good at something, they make you do that something for them. It's not very fun."

"Do you always leave to draw, though?"

At first, Namine wanted to disagree with all her heart. But in introspection, it was more of a vice than she cared to admit. She loved drawing, but didn't like others watching her as she did it. When did that happen, she wondered. That didn't used to be the case...

"Sometimes." Namine finally said. She held her sketchbook a bit tighter before adding, "But only on certain occasions."

"Like?"

Namine looked over at the other girl with curiosity. She was greeted with a look just as inquisitive as her own. Maybe even more so. There was a genuine interest; that much was certain. Maybe there was a budding artist in their midst?

"Well..." she carefully said, moving her sketchbook a bit to flip through the earlier pages, "There was this one time..."

. . .

It was a small comfort that, while she wasn't a Keyblade wielder herself, the others considered her when they all got together. She still made sure that her presence didn't disturb anyone. Being quiet and observant was Namine's most reliable vice. That, and drawing. There wasn't much else she knew how to do. Her time as a Nobody barely ranged a year, and after that she was placed safely inside Kairi's heart until recently. Being a Somebody was... confusing, to say the least.

Being asked to join in on a slumber party with Kairi and Xion had been a surprise- perhaps even more so because Master Aqua herself gave her the invitation. Namine certainly didn't expect it to take place in the Land of Departure either. The world seemed far too grand to her -far too important in the history of Keyblade wielders- that it could be used for anything beyond a training arena. She was proven wrong after entering the Great Hall with Kairi. Aqua had given them a spot in front of the thrones, already decorated with sleeping bags for all four of them and a small assortment of snacks.

"I've never got to have a proper slumber party before, since it was me and Terra for most of our childhoods." Aqua admitted at some point. "Feels weird having one with you guys now. I feel like a mom."

It was Xion who, without skipping a beat, cheerfully declared, "And you're the best one I'll never have!"

"Xion!" both Aqua and Kairi declared, each with their own level of bewilderment. Namine only offered a stifled laugh. So proud at their reactions, Xion gave them all a smile so big, it almost rivaled Sora's.

After that, they started to talk about various things since they all met together. Apparently everyone's training was going rather well. Kairi was beginning to get a handle of second tier elemental magic, while Xion was working on personal techniques on and off for the past week. It was around this time that Namine politely excused herself from the others. They had been so caught up in their conversation that they didn't even notice.

Namine went to where she and Kairi had placed their personal things to find her caboodle. The caboodle was a neat little box with drawers that opened the same time she opened the lid. She was able to put all her art supplies in it. Most of them, anyway- her normal sketchbook was too large to fit. Instead, she used a smaller pad that was placed where the mirror in the caboodle was. Once Namine made sure she had everything, she carefully found a spot far enough away from the others so she could draw them. It honestly wasn't very far, but it was still far enough away that the other three didn't really notice her. That was fine. If anything, it was perfect.

The sounds of the others almost masked the sound of her pencil against paper. Spending most of her life locked away with nothing but drawing to distract her gave Namine a slight skill in speed drawing. However, she took her time when she started to work on her friends. She wanted as much detail as she could.

But she didn't bother to sketch her own sleeping bag. She tried to tell herself that it was because it ruined the composition. But deep down she knew it was because she didn't fit with the others, and so it didn't need to be included.

Namine finished her drawing without the others ever knowing she was gone. She placed everything back in her caboodle, then went back as Kairi went into a long story about Tidus and Wakka back on the islands. It was nice; the sounds of friendship. Namine had been the first to go to sleep that night.

. . .

At first, the only response she got was a quiet, "Oh..."

"It was a really fun time!" Namine quickly insisted. "And it really was a treat to be included."

"But you drew yourself out."

Namine flinched slightly. "It worked out better that way. From the angle I was at, it would have looked weird because I had the really light sleeping bag, and everything was so dark anyway..."

The other girl only looked more guilty.

"Do you still have the picture?" she wondered.

"I think so." Namine agreed. She adjusted herself so she could better go through her sketchbook before flipping through the earlier pages. "Here," she then offered as she handed it over.

There was a small hum as the other ran her fingers over the drawing. Namine had made deliberate choices in lighting around the three Keyblade wielders- light coming off of them as if they were lighting up the whole room. If you looked ever closer, you could see the detail of the castle's floor, and even make out the silhouettes of the three thrones in the background.

"Does anyone know that you go somewhere away from everyone to draw?" the other girl asked, handing the sketchbook back to Namine.

Namine gave a fond, almost bashful smile.

"There is someone..."

. . .

"There's a lot of people here." Namine noted as she tried to look over the crowd. Riku wasn't making the same amount of effort. Instead, he just casually looked on with a hand at his hip. Curse him being a full head taller than she was.

"Aqua said that Disney Town holds the Dream Festival every year." Riku agreed with a small nod. "Can't be that easy since Queen Minnie has almost been reigning the kingdom alone for the past few years. The effort is definitely amazing though."

Namine agreed with a nod and a small noise of affirmation. Disney Town looked absolutely splendid for the festival. All the colors, and the smells, and the energy was enough to put anyone in a good mood. The grip Namine had on her caboodle tightened slightly. A frown crossed her lips as she considered that there might have been too much commotion. There wasn't a good place to just sit and zone out without some kind of noise maker going off.

Riku must have noticed this. He looked over at her, and quickly saw her firm grip on the caboodle's handle.

"Are you sure you don't want to leave that in the Gummi Ship?" he asked. He even made a mild gesture to the box, which only made Namine hold it closer to her.

"No. I'm going to use it." Namine insisted. "I just... I just need someplace a bit more quiet..."

Riku nodded. He looked up again to see that Queen Minnie had taken the stage. The queen looked as beautiful as always in her formal pink and red ballgown. The jewels on her crown glittered under the multicolored overhead lights. Everyone cheered at seeing her- the love and admiration they had for their leader was enough to be felt from miles away. Minnie was a good queen, there was no contest about that.

As Minnie tried to settle the crowd down so she could speak, Riku bent down a bit to quietly tell Namine something.

"There's a sewage grate somewhere behind us. If you take it, there's a gizmo that will lead you up to one of the buildings overlooking the racetrack. Don't know about you, but a good aerial shot might be something to capture for later."

Namine grinned. "Thank you Riku." she said before giving him a small peck on his cheek. The young Keyblade master's face gleamed with a humble blush as he stood tall again, almost as if he had never moved at all. Namine laughed a bit at it before leaving.

Finding, and getting into, the grate had not been an issue. It did take her awhile to navigate the gizmo, though. But it was all worth it once she got to the top of a particular building. Namine let out a soft 'Oh...' of wonder as she sat down near the edge facing the racetrack. Riku was right- this was a good place to work. If only she was able to use larger sketch paper in her travelling kit.

When she was finished, Namine very quickly tried to find Riku again. She shouted his name after spotting him. He barely had time to turn around before she proudly displayed her new drawing to him.

"Do you think Queen Minnie will like it?" she asked, rather breathlessly.

Riku looked at her before looking down at the drawing. He put on a wide smile before telling her, "She's going to love it. It's perfect."

. . .

That story had brought about a rather brighter mood in the other girl.

"Did Queen Minnie like the drawing?" she asked. "You did give it to her after the festival, right?"

A sense of pride welled in Namine's heart, leading her to sit a bit straighter. "She loved it." she grinned. "She immediately had the brooms take it to the gallery to be expanded and mounted. You should have seen the look on Riku's face. He was as proud as I was, and probably more surprised!"

"I could only imagine." the other girl laughed. "Oh!" she then said, "Have you ever gone someplace with a view so nice that you just couldn't replicate it no matter how hard you tried? It's hard to recreate any atmosphere, in my opinion. I wanna know if you ever tried to as well."

Namine let out a soft hum as she thought about it. She let out a small noise of realization when it came to her.

"I did once before, yes." she agreed. "Since Kairi's parents don't mind me staying with them, I was able to join her, Riku, Wakka, Tidus, and Selphie to a beach party they had. It was still summer vacation, if I remember correctly. And Tidus really wanted to have a girls versus boys match..."

. . .

"Head's up!" Tidus shouted before serving the volleyball over the net.

"Cheater!" Selphie shouted back as Kairi managed to spike the ball back. Tidus only gave a rather sinister cackle back. However, at that point, no one was able to break their concentration just to smack talk each other.

Namine watched as Kairi and Selphie worked against Tidus and Riku in a rather well matched volleyball tourney. Wakka wasn't too far away- he had lost a bet earlier and had to make food for everyone. The smell of pineapples and fish hung in the air. It was the warmth of the midday sun that Namine loved the most. The feeling enveloped its way around her like a comforting hug. She let out a soft sigh as she got a bit more comfortable.

The sudden urge to draw made her fingers twitch.

This wasn't a good spot for it, though. She was too close to the others for anything but sand to get onto the paper than color. As much as she loved watching the volleyball match, it was still a bit too distracting. Namine started to get up and casually looked around for a better spot to draw. It didn't take long for her eyes to train to a crow's nest not far from the shore. It was part of a large treehouse that seemed to encompass the island. She looked back at her friends for a moment before quietly leaving them. If anyone noticed she was going, they certainly didn't question her about it.

After getting herself situated at the higher point, Namine found herself gaping at the scene below her. Her friends happily playing on the beach, the light reflections off the water, and even the island holding the paopu tree providing a view so beautiful, so rich, that she wasn't even aware that she was opening her caboodle at first. Seeing the Destiny Islands through Sora's heart was nothing compared to the real thing. Was it possible just to freeze time here and let everything else wash away? She smiled a bit to herself. She did have a way to freeze time, in a way.

The only unfortunate thing was that she wouldn't be able to capture it all. She couldn't encapsulate the smell of the sea, or the sounds of Tidus demanding the girls had leverage over him for some reason. She gave a small smile as she continued to work. Most of her effort was spent trying to reflect the sea around them. A certain impatience came over her as she carefully did each detail. You always had to start with the big stuff, then go down smaller. She was just so eager to capture this moment, anyway she could, that she was always picturing this drawing when it was done.

Namine had to force herself to stop after an hour. Her hands were starting to hurt, and her stomach was growling for food. She cracked her knuckles, barely relieving the tension in them, before putting her stuff away. There would always be time to clean the picture up later. For now, she needed to rejoin her friends.

. . .

And so, we were brought back to our initial setting- the banquet in Radiant Garden.

Namine had thought at first that this would be the perfect opportunity to work on drawing food. But the actual banquet itself had a lot more activity than she was anticipating. There were too many people at the tables to have space to stand at for a few minutes, and she had tried to get a plate for herself to take elsewhere- the allure of delectable aromas wouldn't let her go far without wolfing everything down. So she decided to get a higher view.

To her luck, there was a balcony overlooking the main area. It wasn't blocked off or anything, so Namine quietly crept her way to the top. She found a place to carefully overlook the area and found herself at awe. Even if she was aware that someone was behind her, she probably wouldn't have known it at first.

"Namine!" a voice suddenly said in surprise. Namine jumped a good foot before turning her attention to the newcomer. She relaxed a little when she found it was just Xion.

"Xion..." the blonde girl sighed. "It's just you."

"Am I interrupting you? I'm sorry. I'm not interested in food, and the boys are really going at it, so I really wanted to do this writing exercise where you describe an atmosphere, and..."

"No, no, no. You're fine." Namine insisted. She moved her stuff a bit before gesturing for Xion to sit down next to her. "Here," she offered, "Sit next to me. The view is nice from this area."

Xion smiled in thanks before carefully sitting down. She looked out over the balcony and gasped.

"You're right, this is a good view!" Xion marveled. Her eyes expanding in wonder. "This is the perfect place for Ebba to plant a listening device onto an enemy!"

"Ebba?" Namine wondered. "Who's Ebba?"

At Namine's confusion, Xion's face lit up in a deep scarlet.

"She's my... I think Pence called it 'self-insert.' It's a character that's based on me, but sometimes has a few differences. I've based most of the stories I write on stuff I did in the Organization. It's helped a lot with trying to cope with it. You know?"

Namine shrunk a little. "Yeah..." she agreed in a tiny voice.

"But it's real fun too!" Xion told her, trying to divert the heavy topic a bit. "I base everyone in story with someone in real life! You should see the guy I based on Xemnas... I do a lot of mean things to him."

Namine let out a small chuckle. But then a thought occurred to her.

"You based the characters in your story on us?"

"Of course I did!" she happily declared, her blush growing a bit, besides. "Roxas is Lucas, Master Aqua is head knight Meikai, I even have Pluto as the brave pup Mercury!"

"Do... Do you have someone based on me?"

Xion paused for a moment. Her face going still. However, just as quickly, her smile came back as wide as ever.

"Not yet, but I can!" she decided. She hummed a bit as she thought it over some more. "But I don't have to if you don't want to. I think I'll call her... Syrena."

"Syrena..." Namine hummed in thought. She then gave a bright smile in appreciation. "I like it."

"Great!" Xion beamed. She let out a rather contented sigh before asking, "What about you? Why did you come here?" She looked down at Namine's sketchpad and art supplies for a moment then added, "Did you come all this way just to draw?"

After some hesitation, Namine told her. Carefully, and in her own time. Xion listened intently- only asking questions when Namine was done relating a certain day. When the subject came back around to where they were, Xion seemed to understand much better.

"I get it now." she said.

"You do?" Namine wondered.

Xion gave a thoughtful little nod before explaining, "It's easier for you to draw when it's more quiet. That was how it was before. I think it's great that you're still drawing, even though you started because you were held hostage by the Organization. But the Organization didn't give you the skill you have, Namine. That’s all your own. Kinda like how writing is my special thing. We have ways to just... be ourselves, you know? It's comforting. It's like knowing that, even though we didn't start out in this world with our own goals or ideals, we can make them on our own now. We're free now, Namine. Free to do whatever we want."

Namine absently hugged her sketchbook. "I like that thought." she admitted. "I never really saw it that way before, either. Drawing is something that I know I can do. Something that won't harm others. But you are right- it's what makes me... me. Thank you."

Xion grinned. A wide, bright grin that could have lit up a room. It gave Namine an idea.

"What does Ebba look like?" she questioned, at the same time she pulled out one of her sketching pencils. "Does she look just like you, or are there a lot of differences?"

There was a moment of confusion on Xion's face, then a bright flicker of joy. Not a second after, she burst into a long babble about her character. She even used her arms to illustrate certain concepts and mannerisms. Namine laughed, and did her best to keep up. Xion was so passionate about her characters- it almost made Namine jealous. For the next few hours, Namine did a blend of Xion's idea for Ebba, while Xion herself got to writing about how Ebba got to meet a new acquaintance; a mysterious girl named Syrena, who -while mostly shy- was very well loved.

#kingdom hearts #kh namine #namine #kingdom hearts fanfiction #kh fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic #kh fan fic #fan fiction #fan fic #xion #kh xion #riku #kh riku #implied namixi #implied namiku #oneshot #one shot #writers on tumblr #no beta

[borkthemork]

Color Symbolism - How Steven’s Shirts Portray Different Portions of His Life

A quiet musing from last night had me thinking about this and I knew I had to do a bit more in explaining. But basically, throughout the three main SU mediums — the main SU show, the SU movie, and SU Future — we all know the main color schemes Steven adorns himself regarding his star shirts. We have salmon pink, bright blue, and the heavy black he likes to tow around, but looking into the way these colors were implemented is what we will dive into.

Color themes and symbolism are very potent with Steven Universe. From the use of pinks, yellows, whites, blues, and the menagerie of other colors we could think of, Rebecca Sugar and the crew put a lot of deliberate thought into the design, especially on a thematic level.

For Steven, not only do his shirts represent a very iconic symbol towards the show as a whole, but it represents the main arcs and emotional statuses of our main character throughout the show’s running.

Edit (11/30/19): For sourcing, I’ll be putting the links to stuff I’m referring to in my reblogs. However, my post already got hit off the radar because of Tumblr’s broken algorithm, so if you liked this post then I would be grateful if you could help reblog and spread the word as well!

And with that, let’s begin.

Pink - The Arc of Innocence and Nurture

Pink harbors a lot of connotations regarding femininity in Western culture (and even a good load of masculine connotations in Eastern tradition) but it has a lot more than that under its belt.

It represents tenderness, cultivation, gentle love, nurture, safety, optimism, strength, but most importantly the color itself is seen as non-threatening, calming to one’s eyes, inviting to people.

But with this optimism comes the consequences of lack of awareness or vision. How do you think the concept of rose-colored glasses ever came about? It’s always the idealism or ignorance of the person that allows them to not see red flags or the reality of it all.

And with that, we could start connecting this to Steven Universe.

Throughout the five seasons, this boy always had this priority of being involved with the people and figures in his life as a therapeutic role model. He wants to heal the corrupted gems; he sees empathy and nuance in people’s struggles, and this mindset definitely kept going up to the point of CYM and onwards.

He sees the best in people and wants to encourage them to get onto the path of improvement and healing. There’s definitely innocence at the start, even if his life and the show’s antagonists challenged him to the brink.

However, the lack of vision could be found way back to the start of episode one. Season one was a slow burn of information since the POV showed that his family dynamic was never challenged to him because y’know, it’s his family, they’re gems, and they fight monsters. It portrays his mother as an amazing person to his parental figures, a martyr who loved everything and everyone. There doesn’t seem much for him to challenge at the start because that’s what his reality is, his status quo. He never questioned it. Why would he challenge something that he believes is the norm?

Of course, this illusion of a perfect family does get chipped away. With each episode that showed his family as flawed — with the world around him starting to expand more with information, his understanding towards the severity of the situation and what his status is gets questioned.

Steven will continue to keep his cheerful paradigm, but weariness has implanted a seed into him (among many other emotional issues from upbringing, but we’ll talk about that farther along).

Blue - Stability and Tranquility

The contexts for blue could vary a lot. Very polarizing definitions such as the relation to inebriation, water, and everything in between could dampen the straight-forward process on how to analyze the color associations further; it makes sense for this polarization since the use of it in the ancient and contemporary world isn’t rare, particularly in its application towards clothing, art, and other forms of creation.

But what we’re going to focus on is the sky (or light) blue, the one that Steven tows around before and amid the SU movie. It’s a color that’s mainly associated with the sky, hence the listed qualities found.

”Light (sky) blue: peace, serenity, ethereal, spiritual, infinity (The origin of these meanings is the intangible aspects of the sky.)” -Color Matters

Jill Morton, a color psychologist, also states that the color has a connection to conservatism, passivity, security, and introversion (which are important for later).

For now, let’s talk about Steven and his main goals.

Steven, throughout his two years of intergalactic diplomacy, became focused on bringing about a new form of Homeworld, cited in the game as him deteriorating the former authority doctrine and allowing people to do activities that aren’t limited by their former caste system. And with this, he brings forth the aim of peace and tranquility.

Cue the events of SU the Movie. Now at 16, Steven has been hinted to have never had full-on rest for the past two years he’s been doing his duties to the Era 3 reformed Homeworld. In his announcement, he declares that he wants to finally go back now that everything with the former empire is stable enough for them to function without him.

His main goal now is to relax, have time for himself, and gain his “happily ever after”. And we all know that this attachment to this idea will be played out for much of the storyline, to where it becomes one factor for him in a whole slew of others that prevents him from channeling his gem capabilities.

The catalyst towards him returning is through the concept of change, the ability for him to grow and adapt even throughout the trauma and pressure; Steven, in this movie, however, didn’t realize this because he was already at a state of his life where he just wanted a break from the morphing status quo. He wants a moment to himself, away from the anxiety of responsibilities placed on his shoulders at the age of bloody 14, and overall, just allowing himself to be a kid again.

Yet, even with him helping Spinel and returning life back to the Earth’s poisoned areas, Steven admits to the prospect of never having a happily ever after, and that he’ll “always have more work to do”.

This is where the color of his shirt changes, and with it, the break of Steven’s ideal stability.

Black - Aggression, Power, and Death

But with the expectation of stability for Steven’s life crushed after the events of the movie, I found it very interesting that his blue shirt wasn’t seen or even used anywhere from the stills and trailer shots we’ve seen.

This could be a deliberate usage on Rebecca’s part to discern SU Steven, SU Movie Steven, and SU Future Steven, but I’d like to believe that in-universe, Steven’s wanting to change into black-colored apparel is a mental choice on his part. For black, in color psychology, is a color that protects...and conceals.

“In color psychology this color gives protection from external emotional stress. It creates a barrier between itself and the outside world, providing comfort while protecting its emotions and feelings, and hiding its vulnerabilities, insecurities and lack of self confidence.” -Empoweredbycolor

A great deal of SU content creators have pointed out that Steven, for the entirety of his own life, has been brought up with the idea that emotional vulnerability, no matter how potent or minuscule, can become a weapon or a pain for not only their own being but for the people around them.

I can’t delve too much into it, sadly, but I will link to posts that commentate more on this in my reblogs.

His upbringing has brought him to the paradigm of repression, where his own priorities and needs are swept to the side for other people — even extending to the whole body of Homeworld because of the way he handled his diplomacy. He had to solve other peoples’ problems; he placed himself rock bottom in importance, and now he’s suffering the consequences for it.

Out of all the pieces of symbolism here, black is the most void and mysterious because of its absence of color. It’s used a good amount of the time as a motif of authority, power, and fear, but the ones I’d like to hone in on are death and the concept of being overwhelmed.

Now, we have no clear indication over how the series will go but hear me out. I don’t think a physical death would apply in this situation but more of a metaphysical death — a death of one’s current self.

We find Steven at a crossroads: it will bring his personal imbalance out in the worst ways, and through the fact that the sypnosis foretells of him handling powers uncontrollable by his cognition, then we know that this is a force that’ll bring him into strife over who he is and what he wants.

What does he truly want for his future and how will he come about it?

In Joseph Campbell’s template called The Hero’s Journey, a hero’s death has to come about by a new revelation, a new form of meaning and objective than what they originally intended. The death of one idea will then lead to the true answer, something new the character hasn’t explored but wants to explore since the concept’s been there from the beginning, yet needed a push for it to be unveiled.

”Black is the end, but the end always implies a new beginning. When the light appears, black becomes white, the color of new beginnings.” -Empoweredbycolor

If Steven has been chasing for a happily ever after for most of his life, then a paradigm shift will have to occur.

He must face the brunt of his problems, and in this, he’ll find the answer.

#steven universe #suf #steven universe future #steven unvierse analysis #su #bork speaks