#edit: these were my original tags but i hope you are okay and remember you are soooooo so so soo sooo loved by so many people <3

[sunnywalnut]

Today I saw my first Starbucks ad that had careful product placement, no words or obvious promos, and just two people having a good time.

And to that I want to say.

Fuck you Starbucks.

I know what you're doing.

Lost enough money due to supporting Israel that you've finally turned to sneakiness? Your brand suddenly isn't enough to sell? How saddening.

Like I know that brands and businesses do product placement. I know they do ads and promos. I know they do things to show their "customers"(actors) having a good time with their products. That's not just a Starbucks thing.

But what IS a Starbucks thing is the sneaky approach to it now. They were so careful to have the only logos showing being on the cups. It's subtle. And it's definitely on purpose. Trying to get you to crave both the drink and the experience.

BUT HEY.

REMEMBER.

STARBUCKS AIN'T SHIT GUYS.

IT'S BITTER, OVERROASTED COFFEE BEANS IN A CUP COVERED UP WITH ENOUGH SUGAR TO KILL A MAN.

There's no fucking way that you're going to be enjoying yourself while choking down a caramel French toast macchiato that tastes like licking a dirty brick y'all.

Also like. They're supporting genocide, so.

Maybe. Don't fall for the new promos. Okay?

Free Palestine.

EDIT: I have since been informed that the Starbucks brand itself is not complicit in genocide and instead, it is the CEO of Starbucks who is a Zionist. I have since made an apology post for accidentally spreading misinformation in the reblogs and have tagged my sources with evidence. If you can, please do repost that version of this post instead.

I will still be leaving this version of the post (the original) up and unedited, because I do not want to appear as if I am trying to change the narrative in any way or pretending as if what I have said doesn't exist or effect people.

While I am more than a little embarrassed about my initial approach to the subject, I have since learned more proper ways of threading together my thoughts as well as vetting my resources thoroughly. Thank you, and I hope you have a good night/day.

Free Palestine.

#free palestine #free gaza #from the river to the sea palestine will be free #palestine #gaza genocide #save palestine #freedom #gaza #genocide #none of us are free until all of us are free #free rafah #gaza strip #war on gaza #gazaunderattack #palestine genocide #politics #starbucks boycott #boycott israel #boycott starbucks #boycott mcdonalds #boycott

[hwaightme]

Hand hug

(masterlist) (perma-taglist)

🫶 pairing: hongjoong x gn!reader 🫶 genre: fluff, friends to lovers, implied producer/idol joong bc iykyk 🫶 summary: you and hongjoong have many traditions, inside jokes, and stories, but do you really know him like the back of your hand? 🫶 wordcount: 3.0k 🫶 warnings/tags: editing? mayhaps, coffee at questionable hours, food mention, convenience store snaccysnaccs, producer!joong, wholesome joong in a hoodie, rooftops/being on roof, night scenery, very late(early) night(morning) 🫶 taglist: at the bottom of the fic~ 🫶 a/n: @pocketjoong my love, my Sky, my universe, my everything. happy birthday <3 i love you to infinity, and thank you for everything and more! i am wishing you all the best on this amazing day~ and i hope you like this joongie~ <3

Hand hugs. One of the many, many inside jokes and mini traditions that you had crafted together with Hongjoong over the course of your friendship. Or relationship. Or whatever pining for your friend for ages was supposed to be called. You did not mind. At least you got your Hongjoong by your side. Or could you even say that?

While you watched Hongjoong rush down the aisle of the convenience store after he had exclaimed that he had forgotten something ‘essential’, the thought plagued your mind, gnawing on it like a persistent little devil. Just like it had done the last time you two hung out, and the one before that. How would you react if he were to ever date anyone? Get in a relationship? Get married? Would you be okay with being the best friend at his wedding, quietly seething in the corner and wishing that it was you standing next to him? You shrugged to yourself and clutched the basket tighter in your hands.

It was always you and Joong. You knew him like the back of your hand, and he knew you like the back of his. Maybe that was why the hand hugs were so symbolic, transcending their original intent, which was to find a compromise between your desire for oxytocin surges and his aversion to all things physical touch. A simple palm to palm, digits to digits, thumb around the other’s hand. A hand hug. Simple. Sweet. A reminder for both of you that you knew each other, and were living a beautiful life together.

While you were caught up in your musings you noticed your load lightening a little too late - Hongjoong was already on his way to pay, again. With a yelp you started for the self checkout, but he softly nudged you with his hip, a cheeky smile adorning his face while he scanned the items. You pondered if this deserved a joking purchase of something abominably spicy, but decided against it. After all, you would not be able to force him to eat it even if you tried. So you simply held a resting gaze on the methodical swiping and the way in which the items disappeared into Hongjoong’s trusty canvas bag, one after the other. 

It was tattered, showed some darkening at the edges, a couple of loose threads here and there, but Hongjoong would fight you if you were to even dare suggest throwing it away. But you would never even think to do it - after all, the design that it bore was one you two had painted together, a few years ago in the midst of one change after another. It was a depiction of the Earth surrounded by the random favourite things that made the two of you who you were. Pleasant and heart-warming memories. This canvas bag had carried things equally as pivotal to the both of you. It had carried your items when you moved out to begin life as an independent adult (only to have Hongjoong visit you, or you visit Hongjoong so often that you knew no solitude), it had held the equipment and disks owned by none other than your closest and dearest friend as he marched to the studio, dreams stronger than ever, passion and eagerness to achieve in every step. The handles remembered the way in which you would share the weight, one for each person, swinging ever so slightly as you would walk in stride down the city streets wherever your hearts desired. Just like you were doing now, with the snacks and quick meals protected by the sturdy material. In your free hands, you had your ‘cost effective coffees’, as Hongjoong had called them once and the title stuck. This was your favourite kind of two in the morning.

There was only one place where your feet would take you at this hour, and it was the rooftop. Not any kind of rooftop, but the one on Hongjoong’s apartment building, located in a scenic and quiet residential district, a little ways off from the centre of the city, but giving the best landscapes and skyline view of glimmering lights. The walk to his building was silent - there was no need to fill the atmosphere with aimless chatter that would, either way, turn to a hazy, noisy static. You knew what the other was thinking, at least you wanted to pretend you did. You smiled to yourself. If only he was thinking the same as you were in this moment. About the closeness of your hands, about how your heart was pounding in your chest, about how you caught the scent of his cologne that suited him so well when he playfully pushed you. You focused on the dimly lit street ahead, trying to keep your breathing level as you trekked higher and higher up the hill, to your one true paradise.

Thankfully the building was only a few stories high, and did not need too intense of an effort to conquer. At least this was what you told yourself every time before starting on the journey up the spiralling flights of stairs, one step after the other until you were almost out of breath and your legs were just starting to ache - there was your cardio for the next day or so until you would decide to do this all over again. Because this was a small price to pay for the timelessness that you would experience once you got to the top. A click of the key, a turn of the doorknob, and the infinite expanse of the night was surrounding you, and the breeze gently tousled your locks as you stepped out onto the roof, following Hongjoong closely. 

You were not sure how exactly he had managed to convince his landlord to give him the keys to the roof, since it was normally off limits and a mystery even for the permanent residents. Maybe Hongjoong promised to clean and re-vamp the place a bit - which he most definitely did, considering that it now looked like the ultimate relaxation spot, with outdoor fairy lights, plants that did not mind waiting until the next rainfall to be watered, lounge chairs, an antique table that he had picked up at the secondhand market and reinforced to live through the tests of the great outdoors, and some little trinkets that were simply so him that it made you want to burst into tears. He had an eye for design, an eye for expression, and whether he would have liked for you to say this or not, had an eye for love. It was all around you. In everything he had done to the place, in how he treated it, in how he pulled out the chair for you, in how the two of you took a moment to look out into the distance, marking out the local attractions and main highlights of the city before launching into a scavenger hunt through the canvas bag, keeping quiet and feigning obliviousness when your hands brushed once, twice, another time. No, you could never give up this feeling. 

Clinking plastic cups, the lids preventing the drink that was the colour of deep mahogany and the taste of bitter remnants of a campfire, you reclined on your seat and nodded to yourself absent-mindedly, taking a sip. Nothing could be sweeter than this after all. You stole another glance at Hongjoong, who was still wistfully staring off into the distance, caught up in his thoughts. You and him decided to wear your ‘accidentally matching’ hoodies today, in the true free and young spirit of the late night, or early morning, raid on the convenience store. You said ‘accidental’, but was it really when the hoodie was one that he had gifted you for your birthday, and ‘just so happened’ to have a similar one, obviously new? Regarding the piece with a soft smile, you had taken note of how the sleeves of the hoodie spilled just a little bit over his frail, yet elegant wrists, practically transforming into warmers or mittens. Only thanks to the drink which he was cradling in his perfectly manicured hands - with one finger sporting a new coat of nail polish, could you even see his digits in the lulling semi-darkness.

Nothing was being said, and yet a whole universe was passing with every second. In every sigh, twist, tilt of the head, in how Hongjoong flicked through his phone only to put it down and let soft instrumentals twirl from the speakers - a track he was working on, no doubt, in everything that the two of you shared was something you did not wish to even begin to define, out of fear that it would crumble before you. A fragile creature, a precious little bird that cautiously shared its song with the two of you, perched on the echoes of years behind you. Hopping from branch to branch of dialogue and dreaming. The acoustic piece ended, and with it, the birdsong. A trembling flutter of the wings carried it away into your ribcage, and you waited with bated breath for the next moment. Hongjoong set his coffee aside, clumsily pausing the track which had already returned to the intro and was beginning to repeat the first few strums of the guitar chords, and with a timid smile, gazed at you. Expectant. You looked away, trying to find comfort in the glints of distant stars, the hum of traffic miles away and howling of ghostly sirens reflecting off the blanket of deep navy, an onyx-coated purple, and right at the horizon, of stubborn, yet dazed and tired ashen reds and yellows of the urban nocturne. 

“Thoughts?” not liking the sound of his own voice, he cleared his throat after letting the whisper escape him. You paid it no mind, every syllable turning into a stunning creation in your mind. The best the sonorous world could offer. He leaned closer, you could feel it, but you remained how you were, pretending to be transfixed by the starry masterpiece.

“It’s pretty,” you mumbled back, ambiguous. You knew better than to hope that Hongjoong would end the discussion there. Ever since the early days, he would ask you for your reviews, opinions, critiques, input… During nights like these, the most casual get-together could turn into a listening party, with him playing song after song only to stop one midway and start another, worried, wanting to impress you. All the more exciting for you - you could listen forever.

“What is?” he tried again, perching his elbows on the armrest of his chair, to the point where you could sense his presence next to you.

“The tune.”

“There wasn’t one though?” you could imagine his eyes narrowing as he asked.

“I can hear it. And I know you already have one in mind so,” you let your sentence trail off as you took another sip of the cooling coffee.

“Got you. Incomplete, right?” he picked up on your cues better than anyone could. You nodded, humming in agreement with his conclusion.

“Yeah. But I know you considered it.”

“Sure did. What are you piecing together?” he continued, running a hand through his hair, to adjust some invisible strand. A nervous habit. So he could feel it too after all. Unless you were misreading in your recent state of hoping. You chuckled, deciding to not delve further into whether it was at yourself or the evident tension, lifting the cup to eye level to inspect how it caught the fairy lights, revealing various shades of brown, copper, silvery white from the plastic. 

“That one melody from last week. Tuesday, I think it was. The one where you had the synth riff and the humming. And then the lyrical refrain you told me you wrote while waiting for me by the bakery,” he gleamed, soul growing warmer from your recollection. You fiddled with the cardboard holder, Hongjoong’s burning look proving to be too much to handle.

“I swear, you can read my mind,” you could not help but exhale sharply, bemused at the suggestion. If anything, you were convinced of the opposite. There were few times when you were certain of what was going on in Hongjoong’s beautiful mind. Be it a new project or creative adventure that he was embarking on, or an entirely different experiment, or a surprise that you could not even begin to conjure ideas about. He was a mystery, but that was one of the many things you loved about him. Your reaction earned you a raise of the eyebrow and a light tap on your shoulder, making you finally turn towards your friend, only for the intensity of his eyes to be almost breathtaking, “what was that?”

“Nothing,”

“Am I wrong?”

“I mean… you do keep whole albums a secret for… goodness knows how long so…”

“I bet you know what I am thinking now,” his boldness took you off-guard, and you paused. Blinking a couple of times to adjust to the sudden shift in what was between you, so laden with an unspeakable force that you could barely formulate your own response, you regarded his outstretched arm, palm facing you, fingers together, all except the thumb. You squinted in suspicion, but failed to conceal the grin that was creeping onto your features as you moved to complete the hand hug. 

“Kim Hongjoong… what are you plotting?” words failed to leave an impact, it seemed, since your friend merely picked the cup from your hands to leave it beside his at the table. 

Pressing his palm to yours, he concentrated. You could not look away, not when you were going progressively more haywire with each passing second. He was not letting go, thumb beginning to dig into the back of your hand, and his gaze remained trained on you, only you. Right through you and into your heart. He was reading you and seeing your every thought about him - that was how the exchange felt. Hongjoong was picking apart your infatuation, inspecting it, living it. You felt exposed in front of him, and yet he would not allow you to let go. That much you were sure of. Unlike whatever he was mulling over. 

But you did not need to wait much longer for your answer, as, in a split second, your fingers were intertwined and he was pulling you closer and closer to him, his other hand flying to your shoulder to support you and prevent any falls. When you were only a couple of centimetres away, he stopped, as though all bravery had left him temporarily, and his eyes darted from yours, to your lips, back again, anywhere except your face and back to you, now staying. In this eternity of being in one space, sharing the same breath, searching for a future in the decision that was to come, you finally clear that no, you could not see anyone like this. Anyone except your Hongjoong.

“I'd say you can guess… maybe?”

“I don’t think I can,” coy, you responded, much to Hongjoong’s relief. You were you, the one he loved, and nothing was going to change that. This, just like any of the traditions, habits, memories you had made together, was the most natural, and most precious thing in the universe.

“Let me give you a hint,” a whisper, sultry, low was the last thing you heard before your worlds collided, and his lips were moving in a perfect rhythm with yours.

It was like puzzle pieces falling into place. Long lost soulmates finding each other. The sun rising after a thunderstorm. It felt like all the times that had made you and Hongjoong who you were, and who you were going to be. Your hand found purchase on the side of his face, his sharp jawline and soft skin in a stunning harmony against your fingertips. In every sense, it was him, and him alone, and you were blessed by the stars themselves.

Only when you heard the creaking of a chair did you pull away, and glimpsed Hongjoong cursing under his breath and muttering that he ‘hated this thing’ before he stood up, sweeping you away with him. You obliged, longing for his closeness. This was unprecedented, but so, so very welcome. A strong arm around your waist, and a quick push under the chin focusing you back on him, and you were back in bliss, in an entrancing tandem. The kiss was a revival, just like it was a revisitation. It was right. It tasted like the coffee and the late nights, it reminded you of the deep talks and the walks to nowhere and everywhere, it made you yearn for more and yet in the marvellous dance of your lips against his, you found it.

“What am I thinking?” Hongjoong asked as you broke apart, inhales pronounced by the chill of the early hour.

“You are thinking… ‘wow, this is way too close for comfort’,” you jested, chuckling when he scrunched his nose in mock frustration.

“Okay no you definitely cannot read my mind,” he answered, finding your hand once more, and lifting it to his own. Palm to palm. Digits to digits. Thumbs around to complete the miniature embrace. You watched, beaming. 

Hongjoong was closer than ever before, for you and with you, and your heart was about to burst. You regarded him, the love in his eyes and his every gesture as he rocked side to side, just how he knew you liked. Soothing, and always yours. He knew you and you knew him, and at the same time, never failed to find new beauty in one another and details to learn. Masterpieces, forever evolving, you were in this moment together, in this city, on this rooftop, in each other’s arms. Alive and in love. Through the silence, your voice travelled.

“So we are now hand huggers who kiss each other sometimes,” he laughed, breaking into your favourite grin, and leaned forwards until his forehead was against yours.

“Mhm. Sounds good to me.”

🫶 taglist: @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven @cqndiedcherries @uwuheeseungie @cheollipop @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @mingigoo @michel-angelhoe @innsomniacshinestar @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @ssaboala @jaehunnyy @kitten4sannie @maddkitt @lightinyreads @ren-junwrld @burnmepls @pyeonghongrie-main @archivesummer @little-angel-k @marsstarxhwa @/pocketjoong-reads @alyszaen

enjoyed the fic? i would really appreciate any reblogs, comments, notes! much love!

#cromernet #k-labels #kflixnet #hbd sky <3 #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong x you #hongjoong x y/n #kim hongjoong x reader #kim hongjoong fluff #hongjoong fluff #ateez fluff #ateez x reader #ateez #ateez fanfic #ateez au #kpop writers #kpop writing #hongjoong #kim hongjoong #ateez hongjoong #hongjoong drabble #hongjoong imagine #hongjoong scenarios

[allthelittlecreepycrawlies]

Originally another thread for @grtr3's little sangyaoFES, this one got even more heavily edited than the other, with a whole ending added and such. Could be read as a prequel to A Second Glance

Title: The Golden Cure

Ship: pre-SangYao

Tags: Sickfic, Mostly Fluff, Author Has Nothing Witty This Time

------------

His new sect leader had warned him that of all the sect territories, Qinghe Nie's was the coldest when winter hit.

Staring out at the heavy piles of snow as he shivered, Meng Yao thought that Nie Mingjue had still managed to undersell just how cold it could be this far north.

Well, there was nothing else to be done for it. He'd lit both of the censers that had come with the room, had worn the warmest of the clothing he'd taken from the disciple stores he’d been shown, and was wrapped in the heaviest of the blankets he'd been provided.

And still he shivered.

He turned his attention back to his desk, trying to concentrate on the day's unfinished records, but it was only a matter of moments before another set of harsh, chest rattling coughs escaped his mouth.

"Here."

Blinking through watering eyes, Meng Yao found a little golden bear on a stick being held in front of his face.

"What is it?" he asked, hating how rough and alien his voice sounded.

"It's made of salted jin ju paste and honey. It'll help with the pain in your throat," Nie Huaisang said as he laid down a tea tray with more of the bears sticking out of a jar and a pot of tea that had a strong smell of xiangcheng fruit.

Meng Yao took the stick, eyeing the golden bear a little warily, then popped it into his mouth.

The taste wasn't bad. He could see using these for flavoring tea on occasions.

He watched as Nie Huaisang poured them both full cups, and then took notice of the faint tremor in his hands and how pale he was.

Oh. 

Now he remembered overhearing his sect leader discussing winter preparations with the head of the infirmary hall, and one of the topics had been supplies for when his younger brother’s health took a dive "like it does every winter."

Which meant Nie Huaisang probably knew about all kinds of remedies and treatments for bad weather illness from personal experience.

Reassured, he simply rested his too-heavy head on his hand, letting the honey bear slowly melt in his mouth.

"This is your first northern winter, isn't it?" Huaisang asked as he set a steaming cup in front of him.

"Mm-hmm."

"Ouch, and with this one predicted to be especially harsh, too. On the bright side, with how hard you've been working, you should have your core built up enough that next winter will hardly touch you."

Meng Yao took the bear out of his mouth to speak. "If that's the case, why are you so adamant about not improving yours?"

Huaisang rolled one shoulder in a little half-shrug. "Most of my health issues are things I was born with. And some of them a core just can't fix unless I were to break all the way through to immortality."

A fair point, though it made Meng Yao a little morose about his own training goals. He rather hoped that the pain from cold spearing into injuries that had never fully healed wouldn't be on the list of things a stronger core couldn't fix.

"Then I will defer to your medical knowledge,” he said instead of any of those thoughts, pushing his uncertain feelings down deep.

Nie Huaisang snorted, amused. "Medical knowledge, he says. All I know is the stuff healers do to make picky kids not complain about how bad medicine tastes."

Still, the honey bear was helping soothe the roughness all the coughing had left in his throat. "It's good advice all the same. Thank you."

Nie Huaisang grinned at the praise, then motioned to the tea cup he'd set out. "Once you finish a couple of bears and the tea, we're heading to storage to get you some proper fur blankets, okay? Then I'm going to order you some heavier robes. Though… actually…" 

Meng Yao looked up, not liking the frown on Nie Huaisang's face as he tapped his cheek in thought. "Gongzi?" he asked hesitantly around the honey bear.

"You should have had winter clothing and blankets given to you already. Didn't one of the quartermasters talk to you?"

He could tell the truth; that when he’d picked up his first allotment of supplies on being brought to the Unclean Realms, the man who’d handed them over had snidely implied that it was all the generosity he’d be getting from the sect, and anything more would be coming out of his pay. 

While no one had actually made good on that threat, they'd given him enough runaround that he'd learned to stop requesting anything months ago.

He could say so. Nie Huaisang would believe him.

He could-

No. 

No, he wasn’t going to do that. 

Bad enough that there were some who mockingly accused him of hiding behind the sect leader; he didn’t want to give them any ammunition to use against his tentative relationship with the young master as well. 

He bit the last little part of the melted bear off the stick and laid it down. “Things have been busy. We probably just missed crossing paths,” he said.

“Hrm… If you say so,” Huaisang murmured, still looking dubious. “Alright, then. Next time you need something, come to me first, got it?”

“Your brother already disapproves of your spending, gongzi. Won’t he get angry?”

“He complains about inks or aviary supplies, he can’t complain when I’m making sure his best aide doesn’t spend the whole season sick because he’s not been equipped for the weather.”

A fair point. 

He still probably shouldn't be allowing this. While it wasn't the same as Nie Huaisang pulling heir rank on his behalf, everyone in the sect knew he wouldn't personally go commissioning clothing and such for just anyone.

Ah, but that particular ship had already sailed, evidenced by the braids and guan in his hair.

(And the little custard cakes that appeared like magic in his desk drawer on occasion, but no one knew about those besides the two of them.)

And… honestly… a part of him enjoyed the fact that his young master saw him as someone he wanted to spoil. Someone his young master would make the effort for.

He smiled as he reached for the next bear on a stick Nie Huaisang held out to him.

"Very well. I accept your offer."

#mdzs #cql #mostly cql #sangyao #nie huaisang #jin guangyao #fanfic

[veratasswrites]

Cross-Post of Writeblr Intro!

Writeblr Re-Intro

(Originally posted to @directionoftime - just moving my writeblr to this blog!)

Hey Writeblr!! I attempted to join the community a few years back but way too quickly found myself overwhelmed and ended up fizzling out >.> but I'm back now and hoping to make a better (less stressed out) effort! A bit worried I might have burnt-off some of the writeblr folks by just kinda peace-ing out, but I really do hope to make a better go of it this time around and post/interact more often! (I have so many writeblr posts to catch up on, yikes!)

About me: Vera (she/her) I have been writing consistenly for a solid 15ish years now, have a creative writing master's behind me, (and over a million combined words in fan-fic LOL) and finally feel in a creative place where I'm ready to (hopefully) start publishing, in whatever form it takes!

So, onto the point here: Novel Intro!

YES! Some of you (might) remember my novel Sauvarin - well, it's back, babey! And about 95-99% complete!! Currently on my last round of scene-rewrites and line editing before I begin the horrifying task of querying!

Only been ten years in the making, lmao >.>

So, what the heck is SAUVARIN??

TLDR: fantasy post-apocalypse featuring an autistic blacksmith who is utterly oblivious to the local boot-legger Trying Very HArd to be her girlfriend (pray for Yenn, y'all! She is being SO brave about it!) Said blacksmith, Isaura, is instead on A Mission Of Great Importance to inter the ashes of her surrogate father, Soo-young, in his childhood home town. Except, no one's ever heard of this town, the internet's broken, and she accidenatlly discovers that METAL IS LIVING NOW???

Why do all "simple requests" always end up being the most cataclysmic???

Want to know more? Please go ahead, if not, thanks for looking in this far :)

Well, on to major themes and elements! We've got:

NON-DYSTOPIAN post-apocalypse (we're currently living in the dystopia, y'all!), set in the near distant future where the vast majority of humanity has fled climate change to an orbital space station leaving circa 10million people on earth. The endlings determined to protect what they still can, raise their children, protect their towns, and face whatever magic storms come their way. But right now? They have food, they have community, and there's always something silly to laugh at!

It is a LOW-FANTASY, meaning we've got: freaky and intelligent animals! A magic so new to the world, most people don't realise it's possible! The corpse of god! Cool mushrooms! A darkness that watches YOU! Baba-Yaga (she's a scientist now)! Old women who Take No Shit But Absolutely Know How To Harm!

NATURE mutating - what it "reclaims" in some areas, it mutates in others, or simply allows itself to start anew. Nature in this novel is very much embodiying the quote: "you cannot kill me in a way that matters". Freaky deer. Metal predators. Plants that grab onto YOU.

NOBODY WINS, BUT NO ONE LOSES EITHER the head of Department for Zoology took one look at the "provisional government" and just fucked off into the woods (Baba Yaga). "The Hero" of the orbital space station realising what their heroism actually cost the earth in raw materials. The dead are returned, but not to the life they remembered leaving. Sometimes you do, in fact, find the ghost of a child in the woods (it's okay if you are not sure what to do next).

Well, that's probably enough for now. I'll do some character intro posts (as memes!) hopefully over the weekend - it's a fairly big cast with a lot of minor-in-screen-time-but-major-in-plot characters so it'll be a bit of a series, I think.

Any questions? Feel free to ask! But I will be moving all writeblr stuff/posts about this blog over to my new side blog @veratasswrites so if you want to follow the posts, please follow that blog!

I'll tag some of the old writeblrs I'd followed/who were so awesome and welcoming the first time - but if you're not interested or anything I really mean NO PRESSURE!

@ryan-shepard-writes, @writeblrfantasy, @magic-is-something-we-create

Anyone's welcome to be +/- tag list!

Thank's so much for reading! :)



#writeblr intro #writeblr #fantasy writeblr #sauvarin

[khoicesbyk]

The Royal Romance.

Love Everlasting.

A/N: I had a different name and plot for this fic over a year ago. But after being in the RP community for more than a year, I've decided to write the current Royal Life of my favorite OTP.

Rated: Mature (at times can and will be Explicit. I'll be sure to change the rating when and if that happens). | Contains sexual content and strong language. (You know? The usual. Y'all should be used to this from me by now 😁) | Bolded and/or italicized words are conversations and thoughts of the characters. | Main Characters: King Marquise Rys (LI) and Queen Shanelle Miller-Rys (MC) | All Characters and names: (except MC and original characters created by me and/or other authors [their characters have been mentioned and/or used in the story with their permission] ) are property of Pixelberry.

Current Word Count: 19.8 K words. (may be slightly more or may be slightly less. Look, I stop counting after editing and re-editing and driving myself insane. 🤷🏾‍♀️)

If you’d like to be added to my tag list. Just reblog or dm me and I will gladly add you! 😁😘

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TW: murder/execution and blackmail. If you are sensitive to any of those topics do not read any further. if you choose to continue on: THIS WILL BE YOUR ONLY WARNING! READER DISCRETION IS STRONGLY ADVISED!

It's King Liam Appreciation Week! And y'all know me. I am a King Marquise (Liam) Stan! So to publish the latest chapter of Love Everlasting during this week is a MAJOR PLUS for me. I hope you enjoy Part One! 😘

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Chapter 11.) Fate. Part 1.

Shanelle stood beside her husband as he hung up the phone. His Majesty had just issued his first arrest warrant for murder. For his ex, Princess Naya Laurent.

“Are you okay?” she asked him.

“To be honest, no. But I have no choice. She poisoned Tariq.” Marquise replied.

“How can you be sure?” Shanelle asked.

Marquise sighed deeply.

“Trace amounts of Cantarella were found in the tissue sample collected,” he replied.

“Cantarella?” she asked.

“It's a type of poison that is identical to arsenic. Allegedly, it was used back during the time of Pope Alexander VI,” he replied.

“It's scary that you know that.”

Marquise shrugged. 

“I have to know it. I studied poisons, remember?”

“I stand by my statement. Thank you very much.”

“Besides, it's been banned in Cordonia since the 1600s.” 

“Why?” she asked.

“Because it's part of why Queen Kendra was killed,” he replied.

“There's a story there.”

Marquise settled into his chair. 

“In its purest form, Cantarella is a powerfully potent tranquilizer. If it's burned and then inhaled it can leave you comatose. If it's ingested it slowly poisons your bloodstream and causes organ failure. When King Fabian found out that it was burned the night his aunt was killed, he banned it from the realm except for a small sample. He wanted it to be studied so a cure could be made. But as I said, that was centuries ago.”

“Okay well, that explains how she got her hands on it. Her dad was a King right?” she asked. 

Marquise shook his head no. 

“King Elgin never knew about it,” he replies.

Marquise sighed.

“This is about to be a PR nightmare.”

“Why? You have evidence that she killed her husband.” 

“I have an autopsy report that shows the poison was in his system when he died, yes. But now I have to prove where she got it and how she used it to kill him. Not to mention I also have to figure out why she killed him.”

Shanelle wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders.

“It's a tall order but we will get it done.”

Marquise shook his head no.

“I will get it done. You're not getting involved in this.”

“It's cute that you think you have a choice in the matter. Per the law, Your Majesty, any time a noble is accused of a high crime like murder, their trial requires BOTH the King and Queen to sit at the head of parliament as the case is being heard. But only the first reigning Monarch can hand down the fate of said noble. So whether you like it or not, I’m in.”

Marquise groaned. 

“You have a grudge against Naya. Your being there could make you look biased.”

Shanelle rolled her eyes.

“I know how to compartmentalize my personal feelings towards her so they don't get in the way of the trial thank you very much.”

“I'm not saying that you don't. What I’m saying is that knowing you and your history with her, you wouldn't necessarily be entirely fair to her. She at least deserves a fair trial. Unless you want us to be seen like the former Monarchs.” 

Shanelle sighed.

“Okay fine, I see your point. But I promise that I can and will take whatever personal feelings I have toward Princess Naya out of this situation for the good of the kingdom and this trial.”

Marquise raised an eyebrow.

“Swear to it.”

Shanelle groaned.

“I swear to you my King, I will be fair and honest during her trial.”

Marquise nodded.

“Good. Now the arrest warrant should be here soon. So get ready for a media circus.”

“Yay!” Shanelle deadpanned. 

There was a subtle knock at his door.

“Come in,” Marquise announced.

An attendant dressed in black and silver entered the room carrying an envelope.

“Apologies my King but I have the arrest warrant. All that is needed is your and Her Majesty’s signatures.”

“Very well.”

The attendant opened the envelope and placed the warrant on Marquise’s desk.

“Well, this is it. Are you ready?” Shanelle asked her husband.

Rather than answer, Marquise set his jaw and then signed the warrant before handing the pen to Shanelle. Once she signed her name, he took out his small jar of clay and sealed the warrant before handing it back to the attendant.

“With this now signed warrant, you are to arrest Princess Naya Laurent at her home. You will not disturb anyone within her house or duchy. Is that clear?” Marquise asked the attendant.

“Yes, my Liege.” the attendant replies.

“Good. You have your orders.” 

With a curt nod, the attendant left the room as quietly as he came. Marquise let out a breath he’d been holding in.

“I can tell this is affecting you,” Shanelle said to him.

Marquise shook his head.

“Of course it is. Naya may be a lot of things but a murderer?” he asked.

“She's been spiraling for years, Marquise,” Shanelle replies. 

“This is true. Which is why this is so bizarre. Tariq made a deal with me to keep her out of a dungeon. Not because he had to but because he loved her. He knew that if the court found out she tried to kidnap you, it would ruin both of them. It doesn't make any sense why she would kill him. He's the reason she has any freedom.”

“It didn't make any sense when she tried to kidnap me all those years ago but still she did it.”

Marquise ran a frustrated hand down his face. 

“Look. I'm not the only one with a history with her. You have a history with her too. Yours is more intimate but still. At the end of the day, we have jobs to do. This trial is happening. Her murder charge is real. So we both need to compartmentalize our personal feelings about her and remember the facts. She murdered her husband and we need to find out why.” Shanelle said to her husband.

Marquise took a deep breath. 

“I know. I'll be fine.”

“Good. When will the trial start?” Shanelle asked.

“Ideally I want to start it as soon as possible. But I’m thinking after Khari starts school Friday,” he replies.

“Okay. Do I need to do anything?” she asked.

“No. My advisors will convene the Heads Of State. And Carlo will get to be a prosecutor.” he replies. 

“Carlo?” she asked.

“Yes. Whenever a noble is on trial for a crime like this the Keeper is the prosecutor,” he replies.

“And realistically what will we do?” she asked.

“As heads of the Monarchy and Parliament, we will get to ask both the prosecution and defense questions about evidence, witnesses, dates and times, that sorta thing during the trial. And once both sides have rested, the Parliament will convene and decide whether or not to convict or acquit. If she is convicted, it's up to me to decide whether or not she lives or she dies.” he replies.

“So basically I get to be Briscoe and you get to be Green?” she asked.

“No. This is not an episode of Law And Order! Besides you’re Green. I'm Briscoe. Thank you very much.” he replies.

“Why do you get to be Briscoe?” she asked. 

“Because he was the senior detective. And since I am the King…”

Shanelle sucked her teeth.

“Yeah yeah.”

“When was the last time a trial like this happened?” she asked.

Marquise thought for a minute. 

“I'll have to check with Carlo but I believe it was when my great-grandfather Leonidas was King. One of the nobles at that time was accused of spying on the Crown for another kingdom during WWII.”

“Wow!”

“So get ready my love. We're in for the trial of the century.”

The next few days were a whirlwind for the couple. Starting with their daughter finally starting school. And Her Majesty was anything BUT okay. She dreaded having to take her baby to her first day of school but she knew she had to. As they walked Khari to her class Shanelle’s emotions weren't having it. And Khari noticed.

“Now Mommy,” Khari said as she took her mother’s hands, “promise me that you'll be okay while I’m at school today.”

Shanelle wanted to die. She didn't want to let her baby go.

“…I promise,” she said sadly to Khari.

“Don't be sad Mommy! You still have Daddy.”

Shanelle’s bottom lip just quivered. 

“Mommy I gotta be a big girl now. Right Daddy?” Khari asked her father. 

“That's right my love. You’re a big girl now. Mommy knows that.” he replied.

“See Mommy?” Khari asked.

Shanelle whimpered and finally swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Okay, baby. Have fun at school today.” Shanelle finally spoke.

Khari hugged her mother. 

“I will! I gotta go! I love you! Byeeeeee!” Khari said before she took off to her class.

That's when Shanelle broke and Marquise had to drag her back to their car.

“Myyyyyyyyyy babyyyyyyyyyyyyy!!!!” Shanelle cried as they rode back to the palace.  

When they finally got back to the residence Marquise just looked at her. 

“Jesus Christ woman!” Marquise said before shaking his head, “And you have the nerve to always call me overdramatic. She's fine. We knew this day was coming.”

“That doesn't mean I like it!” she snapped at him with tears in her eyes.

He sighed then led her to a bench where they sat down and pulled her close as she cried. 

“I know you don't,” he spoke softly

“I don't like her not being with us. We are where she's safe. If anything happens to her—” she tried to say before her words were choked off by a sob.

“Shhhh! It's okay. As much as we hate it, my love, we can't stop her. She's a big girl now. She's ready to grow. She's ready to step out into the world.”

“You probably think I’m being ridiculous.” 

Marquise shook his head. 

“Not entirely. You’re a mother first and foremost. Your first instinct is to protect. And no one has protected our daughter more than you. No one has nurtured her more than you have. But she's more than just the Crown Princess of Cordonia who goes to ballet, voice, dance, painting, and piano lessons. While she succeeds at all of them she's ready to be around kids her age. She's ready for sleepovers and friends. The things we had as kids. Well, you more than me but I digress. She's ready to show the world who she is and who she can be.” 

Shanelle nodded her head. 

“I just love her so much that I…” she trailed off to get a hold of herself.

“Khari knows that. She knows that you're proud of her. And that you want her to do her best. That's how we've raised her to be.”

Shanelle smiled softly. Marquise kissed her forehead.

“Now dry your eyes. Because she’ll be home soon with a whole bunch of stories.”

A few days later, the couple were deep in conversation about their daughter's birthday party.

“While Khari’s at school, you and I can talk about the logistics of her birthday this year.”

He led Shanelle to a side garden where breakfast was waiting on them.

“Way ahead of you. It's happening at the winery.” 

“Wonderful!” 

“Sir. You will not be drinking at my daughter's birthday party.”

Marquise pouted. 

“I don't need your big ass hobbling around the winery drunk.”

“I beg your pardon madam! I will have you know that I can hold my liquor!” 

“Funny how you couldn't hold it that one time we were hosting a state dinner.”

Marquise made a face. 

“My drink was spiked!”

“That's funny. Because mine wasn't. And we were drinking from the same wine bottle.”

Marquise grumbled. 

“What is this giant teddy bear grumbling about now?” Margo asked as she stepped into the garden.

“Watch your tone or you'll be out of a job woman!” Marquise warned.

“Hah! You fire me now and you'll be a headless King by the time the Princess gets through with you.” Margo shot back.

“She doesn't get a say.”

“Hmm, I don’t know about that. One look at her and you'll fold like a cheap ass lawn chair.” 

“What are you implying, my Queen?” he asked.

“That you’re a pushover for your daughter and that you’ll be even worse when the twins get here,” Margo replied.

“She's not wrong.” Shanelle piped up.

Marquise groaned.

“Had I known you two would constantly gang up on me I wouldn't have gotten married.”

“But you did. And now you’re stuck with us.” Shanelle said.

“So get used to it, Your Majesty.” 

Marquise groaned as Shanelle and Margo laughed. 

“If I didn't love you two as much as I do.”

Just then an attendant dressed in black and silver entered the garden.

“Pardon the interruption, my Liege, but I have news for you.”

“Go ahead,” Marquise said to the attendant.

“The arrest warrant for Princess Naya Laurent-Miller has been carried out.”

Marquise nodded. 

“Where is she now?” Marquise asked.

“She is being processed before she is to be placed in a dungeon,” the attendant replied.

“Instead of a dungeon, keep her under heavy guard at one of the safe houses in the city center. Do not tell her husband anything about her whereabouts until the start of the trial.”

The attendant nodded.

“Take great care, do not let a word about this slip. Is that clear?” Marquise asked.

“Yes, my King.” the attendant replies.

“Good. Now you have your orders.” 

“By your command, my Liege.”

The attendant bowed to Shanelle and Margo.

“My Queen. Madam Geaneaux,” he said to them before leaving. 

“Naya? Arrested?” Margo asked. 

“Yes,” Marquise replied.

“Whatever for?” Margo asked.

“Murder,” he replies.

Margo gasped loudly.

“Murder?! What in the world?!” 

“Of Tariq.” Shanelle piped up.

Margo looked at Marquise. 

“I thought Tariq died of organ failure.”

Marquise shook his head no.

“That's what we all thought. But something always nagged me about the suddenness of his death. So I had his body exhumed and had an autopsy done. Turns out that he was poisoned.” 

“Poisoned?! My God! With what?” Margo asked.

“Cantarella,” Marquise replied.

Margo’s eyebrows shot up.

“Impossible. Cantarella has been banned since the time of your ancestor King Fabian. It is said that he kept a small sample of it hidden when a cure for the poison couldn't be made or found. But no one is supposed to know where he hid it.” 

“Well somehow it was found and used. And now we have a murder trial to prepare for.” 

Margo shook her head. 

“Lord Tariq was pretentious as all hell I'll admit, but that's no reason to poison him. It just makes no sense.”

“Well, we'll find out why she did it next Wednesday. That is when her trial will begin.”

Margo nodded.

“Very well, Your Majesty.”

Marquise nodded to Margo before looking at his wife.

“In the meantime, I have a meeting with Carlo about the trial that I can't miss. While you have a checkup to get to. I'm sorry I have to miss your appointment.”

“It's okay. I probably shouldn't have scheduled it at the last minute.”

“You'll call me if you need anything, yes?”

“Yup. Margo will go with me so I'll be fine.”

“Alright. I'll see you both later.” 

With a sweet kiss to his wife, His Majesty was off to meet with his cousin. When he got to his office, Carlo was waiting.

“Good morning cousin. I hope I wasn't keeping you long.” Marquise said in greeting.

“Not at all, my King. I had just gotten here maybe 5 minutes before you.” Carlo replied.

“Please have a seat so we can get started,” Marquise said as both took their seats.

“Well, this is quite the predicament we find ourselves in, cousin. Charging a noble, much less a female noble at that, with murder is highly unorthodox.” Carlo said to Marquise.

“I understand. But I can't just ignore the fact that a man was killed with a poison that has been banned for centuries.”

“What poison?” Carlo asked.

“Cantarella. It was found in a tissue sample that was taken when I had Lord Tariq Sauvageon’s body exhumed.” Marquise replied. 

Carlo nodded.

“And you think that Naya used it to kill her husband?” Carlo asked.

“Yes, I do,” Marquise replied.

“But why?” Carlo asked.

“That's for you to find out, Carlo. After all, you’re the prosecution,” Marquise replied.

“Very well. I will finish preparing my opening statement and I will see you Wednesday, Your Majesty.”

Marquise nodded. 

“I just have to ask Marquise. Given the history she has with you and your wife, can you and Shanelle be impartial?” Carlo asked.

“Of course. This is a serious charge, Carlo. I don't have time to be emotional about Naya. I am a King. I have a job to do and a responsibility to uphold.” Marquise replied.

“Very good. I shall take my leave now. I'll see you Wednesday.” 

Marquise watched Carlo walk out before getting on with his day. He had just finished lunch when there was a knock at his door. 

“Come in,” he called out.

When he looked up, a group of guards walked in escorting Naya with them.

“The prisoner as you requested my King.” the lead guard announced. 

“Thank you, gentlemen.”

Naya sat down across from Marquise with her chains making a loud clunking sound.

“Those won't be necessary.” Marquise indicated to the chains around her wrists and ankles. “I trust the Princess isn't stupid enough to try me.” 

With a curt nod, a guard unlocked the shackles. 

“Thank you. That will be all.”

The guards left the room, leaving Marquise alone with his former love.

“Well you certainly know how to make life difficult don't you?” he asked Naya.

She remained silent. Just glaring daggers at him. Which made him chuckle.

“The silent treatment eh? Very well. We’ll play this your way.” 

Marquise dialed a number on his office phone.

“Yes my King?” a voice answered.

“Get in contact with Donnie Brine. Tell him to go ahead and run the story.” 

“Yes, Your Majesty.” 

When Marquise hung up the phone, Naya had a terrified look on her face. 

“I suggest you start talking, Princess.”

“I've done nothing wrong!” Naya blurted out.

“I didn't know murdering your former husband was considered doing nothing.” 

“Murdering my former husband?! You're insane Marquise! I would never kill Tariq!” 

“Then explain to me how Cantarella got into his system.”

“What did you say?” she asked sheepishly.

“Cantarella. I take it that it's ringing a bell?” he replied.

He watched Naya shift in her seat uncomfortably. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Yes, you do.”

“No, I don't. As far as I'm concerned this whole situation was orchestrated by your wife as a witch hunt!”

That's when Marquise presented Naya with the autopsy report. 

“Then explain this.”

Naya went pale as she read the report. 

“This is your only chance, Naya. What happened?” he asked.

Naya looked at him trying not to be scared out of her mind. 

“How did you…”

“You're not saying anything.”

Naya remained quiet. 

“Have it your way. Guards!” he called out.

“Wait!” she blurted out.

“Are you ready to talk?” he asked.

Naya nodded her head yes.

“Start talking.”

He watched her hang her head with tears. 

“I…I…I didn't mean it.”

“You didn't mean what?” he asked.

“I didn't mean to kill him! I swear!” she replied. 

“You expect me to believe that you poisoned him accidentally?” he asked.

“I didn't know it was poison until after he died. The original coroner's report confirmed that it was Cantarella that killed him. I knew that if you, his parents, or anyone else found out I’d be screwed so I begged the coroner to change the cause of death on the report.” she replied.

Marquise shook his head.

“You killed an innocent man Naya. I can't overlook this.”

Naya scoffed. 

“My late husband was a lot of things. Innocent was never one of them.” she sneered.

“What are you talking about? He loved you.”

“That's what he wanted people to think. In reality, I was just a trophy to him. A reason to elevate him and his parent's station. I was nothing more than a glorified contractual obligation.”

Marquise shrugged. 

“You agreed to the betrothal Naya. You were even given a chance to back out of the marriage before you got married.”

“And what good would that have done me?! It wouldn't have erased my father's debt and it wouldn't have brought you back to me so what other choice did I have?” she asked.

“If you were that unhappy why didn't you ask for a divorce?” he replied.

“I tried! I begged Tariq for a divorce. I even told him that I wanted nothing from him. I just wanted our marriage to be over but he said no. He was going to make sure that I kept up my family’s end of the agreement. I even went to your father and asked him to grant me a divorce on the grounds of irreconcilable differences and even he refused. He said, while he understood why I wanted a divorce, it was none of his or the Monarchy’s business to get involved in our personal affairs.” she replied. 

“You could've come to me.”

Naya scoffed.

“Oh please! You would've been no better than King Constantine. Besides, you've had your head way too far up your commoner wife’s ass to care about me.”

“If you're trying to be funny, you just failed.” 

“There was nothing you could do for me.”

“For the record, had you come to me I would have granted you your divorce if you were that unhappy. But it's not just the divorce that you wanted. You wanted the divorce and you wanted me to leave my family for you.” 

Naya looked down at her hands.

“We should still be together. We belong together,” she whispered.

“For the love of God! Let it go Naya!”

Naya went to say something but instead suddenly clutched her stomach.

“Are you sick?” he asked.

Naya shook her head no. 

“When your guards came to arrest me, I had just gotten back from my doctor's appointment.” 

“Okay and? What does that have to do with this conversation?” he asked.

“I had a blood test done. And it confirmed that I'm pregnant,” she replied.

Marquise looked at her skeptically.

“You're lying.”

“I'm not lying!”

“Then why am I just now hearing about this?” he asked.

“Because you have me charged with murder Marquise!” Naya replied.

Marquise raised an eyebrow at her. 

“Naya, where did you get the poison?” Marquise asked.

Naya swallowed hard. 

“Answer the question Naya.”

“I don't have to tell you anything else,” she replied.

“Is that your final answer?” he asked.

“Yes. I no longer wish to speak with you without my legal counsel present,” she replied.

“Very well,” he said to her before calling out to the door. “Guard!” 

The guards entered the room.

“Take the prisoner back,” Marquise instructed. 

Just then Marquise’s phone pinged. 

“Well now you've just made front-page news,” he said as he showed her the headline that was going across his phone. “Also since you claim to be pregnant, you have 24 hours to produce proof of this pregnancy.”

“How the hell am I supposed to do that?” Naya asked.

“That sounds like a you problem not a me problem. Get this woman out of my sight,” he replied.

Marquise watched his guards escort Naya out of his office. 

As Naya was escorted out she ran into Shanelle as she was coming back from her appointment. 

“Hello, Princess or should I say, soon-to-be former Princess?” Shanelle said to Naya.

“Go fuck yourself, Your Majesty!” Naya sneered. 

“Why do that when I can fuck the man you'll never have?” Shanelle asked smugly. “Get this bitch outta my palace!”

Shanelle watched as Naya was hauled away before walking into her husband’s office.

“You met with the suspect without me?” Shanelle asked.

“Yes,” Marquise replied.

“What did she tell you?” Shanelle asked as she sat down.

“Nothing outside of the fact she claims she's pregnant,” he replies.

“Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Naya?! Your ex?! Is pregnant?!” Shanelle asked 

“That's what she told me,” he replies.

“Geez!”

“She has 24 hours to prove it though.”

“If she actually is pregnant God help us all.”

Marquise nodded as she joined him behind his desk. 

“Indeed. How was your appointment?” 

“It was good. She decreased my blood pressure meds and increased my potassium and iron intake. She said my levels aren't where she wants them to be.” 

“You're not anemic are you?” 

“Yes. Because this pregnancy is more than one baby, anemia is to be expected.” 

Marquise nodded.

“That means you need more iron in your diet, my love. I’ll call the kitchens to make sure that you are given more iron-rich foods.” 

“Yes, Mom.” 

He cut his eyes at her. 

“Don't get smart with me.” he snapped at her. 

“Ooh! Someone’s in a mood today.”

Marquise sighed. 

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you.”

“You can make it up to me by buying me a Birkin.”

“I take it back,” he muttered. 

He placed a hand on her belly. 

“And how are my little ones?” he asked.

“Still playing too damn much. They're not in position!” Shanelle complained. 

Marquise tapped a finger on her stomach. 

“Hello, my little ones. I'm not sure if you can hear me but Daddy needs you two to do him a big favor. I need you both to prepare for your debut. That includes the two of you getting into your birthing position. Daddy can't hold either of you if you two aren't in position.”

Shanelle laughed. 

“You love talking to them.” 

“Of course. It helps in their development before birth. Besides, I like hearing my own voice.”

“Gee! I hadn't noticed.”

Marquise snickered. 

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” she asked.

“Prepping for the trial,” he replied.

“Since you met with her, do you still think she did it?” 

“Yes, I do. When I asked her where she got the Cantarella she clammed up.” 

“She could be protecting someone.”

“That's the problem. She is protecting someone. And since she wants to protect whoever this person is, she can go to the dungeons for them.”

Shanelle had never seen him have this much conviction.

“You sure are confident.”

“I have to be. I don't have time to let her tears sway me.”

“Very well. I won't keep you long. Besides, I have to go pick up your daughter from school. I'm sure she and her friend will have a lot to say about their day today.”

The record in Marquise's head stopped. 

“Friend?! What friend?” he asked.

“You know her cute little friend Xavier. The one she always walks out with,” she replies.

“He is not her little friend.”

“Stop being jealous.”

Marquise gave his wife a lopsided look.

“She does not have a little friend!” he said through gritted teeth. 

“Poor Papa Bear. Can rule a kingdom but can't let his baby girl go.” 

“I said what I said!” he said emphatically.

Shanelle shook her head with a chuckle. 

“I'll see you later babe.”

“Uh-huh. I'll see you later.”

Marquise watched his wife walk out of his office before he went back to prepping for the trial. Later that night after prep for the trial and family time with his sweet girl, His Majesty was coming out of the shower with a million and one questions that had no real answers. 

It started to remind him of the first time she snapped.

The kingdom was abuzz for their new King and Queen. They had just returned to Cordonia after being married. They were greeted by fanfare and many were excited to get a glimpse of their new Monarchs. After meeting with the Parliament and establishing the new Monarchy it was time for the newest Royal Couple to host their first state dinner.

The palace was alight with activity. Many spent days preparing for the dinner. None more than Marquise. He had done these in his sleep but his new bride had not. And he was excited to show her what life as a reigning Queen was really like. The day of the state dinner was a busy one for the couple. But they handled it beautifully. They were almost ready to debut but something was missing for Marquise. 

“Okay, so why are we going to the vault?” Shanelle asked as they walked to the vault.

“You'll see in a minute,” Marquise replies.

Once inside the vault, they headed towards the Queen’s section. They were looking for a tiara for Shanelle to wear that night. 

“Look at them! They're all so beautiful,” she said to him.

“Indeed they are. And they’re all yours to choose from. The custom one I had made for your coronation isn’t quite ready yet. So that’s why we’re here. So you can choose one to wear tonight. So take your time but don't take too much time. We do have a debut to make.”

Shanelle shook her head with a smile before she browsed the many tiaras. Each one was unique. Some were simple and others were way too gaudy for her taste. She settled on one tiara that didn't look like the rest. It was studded with diamonds like the rest but this one also had a blood-red ruby in the middle that was surrounded by smaller rubies. 

“I think I found the one I want to wear,” she said to him.

Marquise looked at the tiara in its case with a fond look on his face. 

“Are you sure, my love?” he asked. 

Shanelle nodded her head yes.

“Very well.”

With a snap of his fingers, an attendant opened the case and removed the tiara and the ceremonial pillow it sat on, and presented it to Marquise.

“Thank you,” he said to the attendant as he sat it on the pedestal next to the case. He picked up the tiara with a fond smile on his face as he held it in his hands. 

“This one is my favorite out of all the tiaras,” he said before turning to Shanelle.

“Why is that?” she asked.

Before answering he gently placed the tiara on her head. She turned to the floor-length mirror to the left of her. 

“Because this was my mother’s crown.” he finally answered. 

She looked at him and then looked at her reflection in the mirror. 

“This was Eleanor’s crown?” she asked.

“Yes. It's been in the vault at the main house of my duchy for years. I had it brought to the palace in hopes that you'd wear it one day.” he replied.

Shanelle stared at herself in the mirror. She couldn't believe he wanted her to wear something that belonged to his mother.

“No Marquise I can't. As beautiful as it is, I can't wear this. I wouldn't dare disrespect Eleanor, like that.”

As she went to take it off he stopped her.

“Please don't take it off. I want you to wear it. I want the world to see you wear it. It's a beautiful crown and it deserves to be worn by a beautiful woman. This is one of the many gifts I have for you. I want to see you shine in it. And okay, maybe I wanna stick it to the old codger my mother called her husband.” 

Shanelle looked back at herself one last time before nodding resolutely.

“If it means that much to you, I’d be honored to wear it. Besides, anytime we get to stick it to the old man is a perk for me.” 

“Now you’re getting it.”

He offered her his arm as they walked out of the vault. When they got to the main dining room Shanelle was nervous and Marquise knew it.

“Nervous love?” he whispered.

“That obvious?” she replied.

Marquise kissed her cheek.

“No need to be nervous. Let's take a deep breath, straighten our shoulders, and command the room and those within it the way it's supposed to be.” 

Shanelle snickered.

“You are about to have fun with this aren't you?” she asked.

“Absolutely,” he replied.

With a nod to the guard at the door, the doors opened and the couple made their debut.

“All rise!” the herald announced. “Introducing His Majesty King Marquise Rys and Her Majesty Queen Shanelle Miller-Rys!”

They entered the room to fanfare and with all eyes on the two of them. It was the first time in a long time that Marquise didn't hate hearing his name be announced to a room full of nobles. When he looked out into the crowd he saw her parents as well as George and Margo. Both couples stood proudly as they watched their children, the new Monarchs enter the room. When his eyes landed on the sour faces of his father and stepmother and then Shanelle’s aunt and uncle, he couldn't help the satisfied smirk that crossed his lips.

As they reached the middle of the room, Marquise held up a hand to silence everyone in attendance.

“Good evening one and all! On behalf of my gorgeous wife, I want to say thank you to everyone and welcome you all to the very first state dinner hosted by your newest Monarchs. Now I know that some of you are still getting used to the idea that little ole me has gone from Prince Of North Cordonia to the King Of Cordonia now. But I assure all of you that as your new King, it is my goal to make sure that Cordonia begins to thrive and work for all of us. And now I believe my beautiful wife would like to say a few words.”

Shanelle shook her head before addressing the crowd.

“First off, good evening everyone! Thank you all for attending this dinner tonight. I know there have been a lot of changes within the kingdom since His Majesty and I were married and we came home. But I promise all of you that these changes are for the greater good of Cordonia for all Cordonians. We have made it our mission to be mindful of all of you as well as the people when decisions are to be made. We want a prosperous kingdom for Cordonia and all of her people.”

Marquise smiled at her before addressing the room.

“Please everyone be seated so dinner can be served.”

As they took their seats, Shanelle noticed the venomous look on Naya’s face. 

“Husband of mine.”

“Yes, my love?” he asked.

“Your ex is giving me the death stare to end all death stares,” she replied.

Marquise groaned.

“She'll get over it. Now let's eat.” 

As they ate, Shanelle couldn't shake the uneasy feeling of being watched. After dinner and dessert, it was time for dancing. The room watched the couple take their first dance as King and Queen. Shanelle still felt uneasy as she danced with her husband and soon her father. And he noticed how troubled his daughter looked.

“Are you alright my darling?” he asked as they danced.

“Yes, Daddy. I'm okay,” she replied.

“Are you sure? Because you don't look okay.” 

Shanelle sighed.

“I think I’m being stalked.”

“By who?” Damien asked.

“Princess Naya Laurent-Sauvageon. Better known as His Majesty's former lover.” Shanelle replied.

Damien nodded his head.

“She's King Elgin’s daughter, yes?” Damien asked.

“Yeah, that's her,” Shanelle replied.

“I grew up with her mother Queen Bernadette. She was on my school’s debate team with me.” 

“What was she like?” Shanelle asked.

“She had her…peculiarities that's for sure. But she was mostly harmless.” Damien replies.

“Yeah well her daughter isn't.”

“I'll speak to Marquise about amping up your security.”

“You don't have to do that Daddy. I'll be fine.” 

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Shanelle replies.

“You can't blame me for being protective.”

Shanelle kissed her father on the cheek.

“I know. I love you.”

“I love you too my darling.”

As that night wound down Shanelle’s feet started to hurt so she stepped out into a side garden and sat down on a bench to rest with the music 

“Ugh! My feet! Note to self: don't wear heels to a state dinner.” she said as she rubbed her aching feet.

“Good evening, Your Majesty.” a voice called out. 

When Shanelle looked up she found herself looking at Naya.

“Good evening, Princess. Can I help you with something?” Shanelle asked.

“Yes, I was hoping I could have a moment of your time,” Naya replies.

Shanelle sized Naya up.

“Sure. What can I help you with?” she asked. 

“Let's take a walk, shall we?” Naya suggested. 

Shanelle looked at Naya sideways.

“Lead the way, Princess.”

The two walked down the cobblestone path toward a small pond.

Naya cleared her throat.

“Now that we're alone, I have a question for you.”

“Yes?” Shanelle asked.

“When are you leaving?” Naya asked.

That question stopped Shanelle in her tracks.

“What do you mean?” Shanelle replied.

“Just what I asked. When are you leaving?” 

Shanelle started to get annoyed. 

“I don’t know if you know this Naya, but I’m not going anywhere. I am the Queen Of Cordonia after all.” 

Naya scoffed.

“Not for long.”

“What the hell are you–” Shanelle started to ask before Naya pulled a knife on her. 

“You crazy bitch! Are you insane?!” Shanelle shouted.

“No. I'm tired. I am tired of you and I’m tired of seeing you with the man that is supposed to be mine. So we are going to take a walk and then you will disappear permanently.” Naya replied.

“I'm not going anywhere with you!” 

“You don't have a choice, Your Majesty.” Naya sneered. 

That's when Naya lunged at Shanelle but she was able to dodge. When Naya turned around Shanelle grabbed for the knife and the two struggled to gain control. Shanelle had just knocked the knife out of Naya’s hands when Naya kicked her in the stomach. Naya had just wrapped her hands around Shanelle’s neck when she was pulled off by Marquise. 

“Guards! Over here!” he shouted. 

A few guards rushed to their King’s side followed by Shanelle’s parents.

“Arrest her now!” Marquise ordered. 

As the guards subdued Naya, Marquise checked on his wife.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“No, I’m not alright! Your crazy ass ex just tried to kidnap and then kill me!” Shanelle said as she tried to catch her breath, “How did you know where to find me?”

“When you didn't come back inside, your parents got worried and they came to me. That's when I had the guards go looking for you. When they heard you shouting they alerted me.”

When the guards presented Naya to Marquise he was furious.

“Get this woman out of my sight!” he hissed. 

“Shall we escort her to the dungeons?” the guard asked.

“Yes. And find Lord Tariq! Now!” Marquise replied. 

The couple and her parents watched as the guards hauled Naya away; that's when Shanelle looked at her father.

“What were you saying about her mother being harmless?” Shanelle asked Damien. 

Later that night while Shanelle was safely with her parents, Marquise was in his office with Tariq.

“My wife did what?!” Tariq asked.

“You heard me. She tried to kidnap and kill your Queen.” Marquise replied.

“Your Majesty, surely there must be some logical explanation for this.” 

“Oh, you want a logical explanation for this? Here it is, your wife is fucking crazy and she will be stripped of her title and lands.” 

“No Marquise please don't do that!”

“You don't get a say in the matter, Tariq.” 

“Your Majesty, I beg you not to strip her of her title and lands. Because doing so would weaken my family’s standing in the court as well as hers. I will do anything to make sure that doesn't happen.”

Marquise looked at him.

“You'll do anything?” Marquise asked.

“Yes, my King! Anything. Just name it.” Tariq replied.

Marquise thought for a moment.

“Here's the deal. You are to go pick your wife up from the dungeons and you two are to never return to my palace unless I send for you both. Also, you are to keep her under lock and key. She does not leave your house and duchy without you at her side. I don’t care if she's going grocery shopping or going to see her father. You will be with her while she is among the populace at all times. If I see her out or if I hear she has traveled outside of your home much less your duchy without you, I will publicly execute you both. Is that clear?” 

Tariq swallowed hard.

“I asked you a question, Tariq.” 

“Yes, Your Majesty. I understand.”

“Good. Now get out!” Marquise hissed. 

Tariq scurried out of Marquise’s office.

Marquise shook his head at the memory as he got ready for bed. 

The next day he and Shanelle were up bright and early. After breakfast with their daughter and getting her off to school, Their Majesties were getting dressed for the trial. Once his regalia was on, Marquise went to check on his wife. She had just finished pinning her hair so that it flowed down her right shoulder when her husband walked in. Because of her being so far along in her pregnancy, she chose to wear a simple olive green Maxi dress.

“You are a vision to behold my Queen,” he said as he walked up behind her. 

“And you are a kiss ass, Your Majesty. But I appreciate the compliment,” she replied as she stood up from her vanity. “Well don't you look official.”

Marquise smiled proudly.

“Like the Kings of old!” he replied.

Shanelle shook her head.

“You're such a dork. Are you ready?” she asked.

“Yes. I don't have a choice not to be,” he replied.

“Marquise look at me.”

Marquise looked at his wife. 

“I know that this trial will affect you. Because as strong and confident of a leader as you are, my King, I know that there's still a small part of you and your heart that still cares for Naya.”

Marquise sighed deeply.

“You're right there is. I will always care for and about her. There's even a part of me that wishes I didn't have to do this. Hell, if I’m to be quite honest with you, I don't want to do this. But she brought this on herself. She forced my hand.”

“I know. And I know you don't like this. I get it but as you and I both know, we have to do things and make decisions that neither of us will like or necessarily agree with. As you've taught me it comes with the territory of being the Monarchs.”

Marquise had a look on his face.

“What is it?” Shanelle asked.

“There's a bug in my ear,” he replied.

“Ew!”

“Not that kind of bug.”

“Then what do you mean?” she asked.

Marquise sighed.

“Something my father said to me years ago,” he replied.

“Oh, dear God! What?” she asked.

Marquise took a deep breath before contorting his face to mirror Constantine’s scowl.

"Pretty soon you'll find out that you can't have it all. You will have to make decisions that you won't like. Ones that will haunt you. And you'll have no one to blame but yourself and that girl you're so in love with."

“A.) don't ever do that again. B.) ugh! What the hell would he know anyway?” she asked. 

“He knew that if something like this were to ever happen, I wouldn't know how to handle it,” he replied.

Shanelle took her husband's hands in hers.

“Stop it. Stop it right now. Connie said that to attack you and shake your confidence in yourself and your abilities as King. Don't you dare let what that old bastard said to you get to you. You are ready. You are willing. And God knows you are able, Marquise. So let's go.”

Marquise nodded his head with a smile.

“Thank you, my love. I appreciate you,” he said before kissing her softly on her forehead.

“You're welcome babe. Now we have a trial to get to.”

“Indeed we do.”

He offered her his arm.

“Milady.”

“M’lord.”

The two walked out of her closet and headed to the northern wing of the palace where the trial is to take place. As they walked, Shanelle got curious.

“Now why is the trial in this part of the palace?” she asked.

“Because this part of the palace stands on top of the old courthouse. It was burned down when the old palace was burned down back in the 1700s,” he replied.

“What a time that must've been,” she said.

“Indeed.”

When they reached the doors of the courthouse, Marquise closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Shanelle laid her head on his right shoulder. He opened his eyes with a smile before kissing her forehead gently.

“Well, this is it. Are you ready, Your Majesty?” she asked.

“Yes, I am,” he replied.

“Then lead the way, my King.”

Marquise squared his shoulders and then nodded to the guard at the door. The herald on the other side could be heard.

“All rise and remain standing for Their Majesties! Introducing His Majesty King Marquise Rys! And Her Majesty Queen Shanelle Miller-Rys!” 

With the announcement of their arrival, the couple donned stoic masks as they entered the room. All eyes were on them as they made their way to their seats. All of the Heads Of State were in attendance as well as Shanelle’s family and Tariq’s family. Once at their seats, Marquise addressed everyone in the room.

“Everyone be seated.”

Everyone took their seats as Giancarlo addressed the room. 

“Good morning everyone. We are here today because one Princess Naya Laurent-Sauvageon-Miller stands accused of the murder of the former Lord Tariq Sauvageon of Duchy Arnaud. Her Highness’s former husband.”

Many in the room started to whisper amongst themselves. As Carlo continued with his opening speech, Marquise looked in Naya’s direction, he watched her have her eyes trained downward.

“You think she's scared?” Shanelle whispers to Marquise.

“She’s terrified. Because I got a look at Giancarlo’s witness list, the original coroner is one of the witnesses,” he replied.

“Does he know that you have the new autopsy report?” she asked.

“Probably not. Because he wouldn't be on the witness list if he knew,” he replied

“Why not?” she asked.

“Because I could charge him with conspiracy,” he replied.

“Really?” she asked.

“Yes. It would be the same as charging him with tampering with evidence in America,” he replied.

“Safe to say she did not think any of this through.”

“That could be a gift for the defense.”

“How?” she asked.

“They could argue that only someone with intent to kill Tariq could pull this off,” he replied. 

Shanelle shrugged. 

“I mean she did hate him.”

“She hated the circumstance she was in. Not him.”

“Then why kill him?” Shanelle asked.

“I guess we'll find out,” he replied.

“One last question, when does this trial end?” she asked.

“It ends when I've heard enough from both sides and I’m ready for the Parliament to vote,” he replied.

Just then Giancarlo had finished his opening statement.

“Thank you, Giancarlo. And now Princess Naya’s legal counsel Lady Stephanie Hellstrom may rise and give her opening statement.” Marquise announced.

Just as Naya’s attorney began their opening statement, an attendant handed Marquise a Manila envelope.

“What's that?” Shanelle asked her husband.

“Let's find out shall we?” Marquise replied.

He opened the Manila envelope and raised an eyebrow as he read the documents within.

“Well, I’ll be damned.”

“What is it?” she asked.

“Naya was actually telling the truth. This is the result of her pregnancy test. It confirms that she is 12 weeks pregnant,” he replies.

“Seriously?!” she asked.

“Read it for yourself,” he replies.

Shanelle read the report and her face soured.

“Dear God! Here comes the Antichrist. Gird your loins, Your Majesty.” 

Marquise rolled his eyes.

“Stop that.” 

“So what happens now?” Shanelle asks.

“Once Lady Hellstrom is done with her statement, we get this trial underway,” Marquise replied.

“And how long will this last?” Shanelle asked.

“No more than 7 days. I'm not about to drag this out for weeks. We still have a kingdom to run.” he replies. 

“Okay. Well, Lady Hellstrom is almost done with her statement.” Shanelle to him.

“Good. Let's get this show on the road.”

Once Lady Hellstrom was done with her statement, Marquise cleared his throat and addressed everyone in the room.

“Now that both sides have given their openings, the trial may commence. Both will present their cases and once I have heard both sides, I will end the trial and the Parliament will convene. Members of the Parliament will then vote to either convict or acquit. Both sides get two days each to present witnesses for questioning and evidence for their cause. Any witness can be called or recalled by myself or Her Majesty at will. The prosecution may now present their case.” 

Giancarlo nodded.

“Thank you, my King. As my first witness, I'd like to call Lord Dr. Bailey Oscar the Medical Examiner of Duchy Arnaud.”

Shanelle glanced at her husband who was stone-faced. Many watched as the elderly man took his seat in front of the King and Queen. 

“Lord Oscar. Thank you for coming this morning. Now you performed the autopsy on Lord Tariq did you not?” Giancarlo asked him.

“Yes, sir. I performed the autopsy.” Lord Oscar replied.

Marquise steepled his fingers together.

“Tell me what was your cause of death?” Giancarlo asked.

“Organ failure. From what I gathered during the autopsy, Lord Tariq's organs had slowly been failing for months.” Lord Oscar replied.

“Could you tell me how a man who was relatively healthy suffered from organ failure?” Marquise asked. 

“Acute organ failure can happen to any one of us my King. But in the case of Lord Tariq, I determined that he had a sepsis infection.” Lord Oscar replied.

“And you know this to be true?” Marquise asked.

“Yes sir. Lord Tariq’s sudden organ failure was caused by a sepsis infection.” Lord Oscar replied.

Marquise nodded. 

“He's lying,” Shanelle whispered to Marquise.

“I know,” Marquise replied before clearing his throat.

“Lady Hellstrom, do you have any questions?” Marquise asked.

“No sir. I am satisfied and confident in his findings.” Lady Hellstrom replied.

“Very well. I have just one request for you, Lord Oscar. Will you take a look at this?” Marquise asked as he handed off the new autopsy report to an attendant standing to his right. 

“Of course my King. May I ask what I’m looking at?” Lord Oscar asked.

“A new autopsy report. I had Lord Tariq’s body exhumed and a new autopsy was done. Can you tell me, Her Majesty, and those of The Parliament what it says?” Marquise asked.

Lord Oscar read the report and his face paled.

“Lord Oscar, what does the report say?” Marquise asked.

“It says that Lord Tariq was poisoned.” Lord Oscar replied.

Gasps were heard throughout the courtroom. 

“Poisoned with what Lord Oscar?” Marquise asked.

“It says here that Lord Tariq was poisoned with Cantarella.” Lord Oscar replied.

“But Cantarella poisoning isn't on the original autopsy report you submitted is it?” Giancarlo asked.

“No sir it's not.” Lord Oscar replied.

“Why?” Marquise asked.

“I didn't think to test him for poisons, sir.” Lord Oscar replied.

“You are the Medical Examiner for Duchy Arnaud, how could you not think to test him for poison?” Shanelle asked.

“Because his body showed no signs of poisoning. I didn't think it was necessary. I've never been wrong, my Queen.” Lord Oscar replied.

“Except for this,” Shanelle said under her breath. 

“Then we have a dilemma, Lord Oscar because one of these autopsy reports is lying. And I need to know which one.” Marquise said to the Lord. 

Lord Oscar fidgeted with his hands. 

“Also you know what the penalty for lying to your King is, don't you?” Marquise asked him.

Marquise watched the Lord swallow hard before hanging his head.

“Alright! Alright! I admit it! The autopsy I submitted nearly a year ago is false.” Lord Oscar admitted.

“Explain,” Marquise said to him. 

“I ran a toxicology screening on the former Lord and I found that he was poisoned.” Lord Oscar replied.

“Then why lie on the autopsy report?” Marquise asked.

“I didn't lie. I just omitted the true cause of death.” Lord Oscar replied.

“A lie of omission is still a lie, Lord Oscar. But my question is why lie at all?” Marquise asked.

“Because I was told to.” Lord Oscar replied.

“By who?” Marquise asked.

Lord Oscar looked nervously between Marquise and Naya.

“By Lord Tariq’s wife. Her Highness, Princess Naya.” Lord Oscar replied. 

“Lord Oscar. How do I or anyone know that you aren't just saying all of this to save your own skin?” Shanelle asked.

“Because I would have everything to lose, my Queen.” Lord Oscar replied.

“What do you mean?” Shanelle asked.

“When Lord Tariq died, Her Highness inherited the duchy. She begged me to change the cause of death. Said that she would lose everything if his true cause of death came out. And initially, I declined to do so, but she said that if she lost everything then she’d make sure that I would lose everything. I couldn't put my family through that. So I went ahead and changed the cause of death.” Lord Oscar replied.

“What were you saying about this being a gift for the defense?” Shanelle asked her husband.

“Thank you for your time, Lord Oscar. You will return the day after tomorrow for the defense to question you as well.” Marquise said to him.

Lord Oscar bowed before taking his seat amongst those in attendance. Shanelle was thankful his testimony took two hours because she was starting to get hungry. 

“Think we can break for lunch now?” she whispered to her husband. “These munchkins are trying to tell me something.” 

“Very well,” he whispered back before addressing the room, “we will take this time to break for a 90-minute lunch. Giancarlo, I expect your next witness at the break’s end.”

“Yes, my King,” Giancarlo replied with a head bow.

Marquise helped his wife out of her seat before they made their way out of the courtroom. As they walked, Marquise shot off a text to have lunch brought to them. They walked to a sitting room with French doors that led out to a small garden. 

“Are you comfortable, my love?” Marquise asked his wife. 

“Yes. This couch is doing wonders for my back. That chair is too hard.” she replied.

“I apologize. Even I forgot how hard those old seats are. I'll have a cushion put in yours so you'll be a little more comfortable as the trial goes on.” 

“Thank you, baby. So when does this trial adjourn?” she asked.

“4:00 pm every day. I'm not about to spend all day staring at Naya shed crocodile tears,” he replied.

Shanelle snickered.

“You are so mean sir.”

He shrugged. 

“If you say so. Now how are you feeling? Anything sore?” he asked.

“No, but I think it's a good idea that I put my feet up,” she replied. 

Marquise tapped the inside of his right thigh so she could rest her feet on his lap. It made Shanelle giggle when he took off her flats and started to massage her feet.

“You and your foot fetish.” she giggled. 

“Look, you have your kinks and I have mine,” he said before kissing the sole of her right foot. “I don't judge you so don't judge me.”

“You are so grumpy! Wait until I tell your daughter how you've been visiting the planet of Grumpola again.”

Marquise rolled his eyes with a smirk. He found the pressure point on her foot and kneaded a circle into it disarming her.

“Oooh!” she cooed.

He watched her squirm in delight before he stopped, causing her to pout.

“Nooooooo!” she whined.

“If you want more of that you'll keep your mouth shut and not tell my daughter anything. Understand?” he asked.

“Yes, Grumpy Bear,” she replied.

“That's Mr. Grumpy Bear to you.” 

This was a side of him that she loved. Many have often assumed that because of his calm nonchalant nature, Marquise is soft. But Shanelle knows better than anyone that that's never been the case. 

He is just as dominant as she is. He's just not outwardly open about it as she is. He has always preferred to be the quiet yet firm and unrelenting type. He always has to keep his emotions in check. And she appreciates that about her husband. It's always what makes him so sexy to her.

#khoicesbyk #choices #choices stories you play #pixelberry #fanfic #choices fanfiction #love everlasting #king marquise #queen shanelle #king of cordonia #queen of cordonia #king and queen of cordonia #black king liam #black love #black marriage #black couple #choices fic writers creations #otp forever #my otp for life #my otp forever #my otp is perfect #otp #my otp of otps #KLAW #kingliamappreciationweek

[kira-nyxie]

I posted 105 times in 2022

That's 105 more posts than 2021!

6 posts created (6%)

99 posts reblogged (94%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@sweetestapplepie

@dramatic-dolphin

@pmseymourva

@annarts05

@sexygaywizard

I tagged 47 of my posts in 2022

#fuck - 7 posts

#creative writing - 2 posts

#no - 2 posts

#banana - 2 posts

#i love this - 2 posts

#tumblr is destroying me - 2 posts

#cursed - 2 posts

#goncharov posting - 2 posts

#nightmares - 2 posts

#oh god - 2 posts

Longest Tag: 58 characters

#an add on to this post that is a real dead honest question

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Oh haha, very funny, Tumblr, VERY FUNNY-

0 notes - Posted November 9, 2022

#4

the underwhelming urge to be high in the ranks with the likes of pukicho

0 notes - Posted October 27, 2022

#3

0 notes - Posted October 15, 2022

#2

The Glory of Word Sprints

So I wrote a short story in like, five minutes and then went back and edited for another fifteen, so yeah:

ORIGINAL (5 Mins):

The unknown stretched out before me. There was nothing but a bright sun over the horizon, a mountain casting a shadow ove r the valley. The valley was full of bodies, and smoke rose above the ground. The smell of the rot hit my nose. I gagged, feeling my stomach heave. I hated the smell of Death. He was a nasty little bugger who levft the wolrd to clean up his mess. I felt a wave of relief pass over me as the soldier behind me put a hand on my shoulder and said, “we got this”. I took a step back, letting the men pass in front of me. They marched in dark grey, solemn as  a funeral procession. I heard a war cry over the ridge behind me, and say the 23rd battalioan come charging over the hill. I shouted for people to get down, but it was too late. The men around me were being mowed down, as gunshot rang out over the valley. I had a panic attack, and dived down into the closest ditch, making it seem as though I had been shot. They’d never know, right? I laid unrestly and felt a sense of terror come washing over my body. I look up adn saw a man there holding a gun. It was over.

EDITED (15 Mins):

The unknown territory stretched out before me, the sunset sending spears of orange rays through the grey overcast. A mountain jutted its shadow over the valley. The valley was full of mutilated, broken bodies and columns of smoke from bombshell craters. The smell of the blood-soaked mud crashed into my nose in waves. I resisted the urge to gag, feeling my stomach churn. I hated the smell of Death. He was a nasty little bugger who left the world to clean up His mess. The soldier behind me put a hand on my shoulder. “We got this, General.”  I took a step back, and felt a wave of relief pass over me as I let the men pass in front of me. They marched in dark grey, solemn as a funeral procession. They were but young men, no more than 20, carrying stretchers and medkits.  Suddenly, a war cry sounded from behind me, and when I whirled around, a battalion of the enemy came charging over the ridge, guns ablaze with leaden ire. “Get down!” I shouted like a madman, but it was too late. The men around me fell, their precious blood staining the muddy ground, gunshots ringing out atop the ridge. I dived down into the closest ditch, hoping to convince the enemy I had been shot. They’d never know, right? I laid restlessly and panted quietly, staying as still as I could until the fire ceased. A man came stepping near me, his brown boots sinking into the mud. I froze as I felt the pressing of the cold, black-powdered metal of the enemy’s revolver against my head. It was over.

This has already increased my imagination. It might not seem like it, but it's certainly there. Just thought I'd share and show you all how easy it is to just WRITE. It doesn't have to make sense at first. Hell, most of it doesn't even have to correspond to one another. Just WRITE. Your imagination will thank you.

1 note - Posted November 2, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Goncharov (1973) Memories

Okay so I just barely remembered I HAVE SEEN GONCHAROV, I was but a wee tot, I must have suppressed it. But does anyone remember that one scene where Ice Pick Joe accidentally dropped the ice pick on his toes when he went to kill Giorno? God damn, best part I say.

2 notes - Posted November 29, 2022

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[spilledkauffie]

Game Night

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader Word Count: 2.2k T/W: fluff A/N: Part 2 of Bingo — a few months later

I am SO SORRY this took me way longer to post than it should have!

Bucky Tag List: @anreeixcobra ❤︎ @tsnelf7 ❤︎ @fandom-princess-forevermore​

It was Friday night, which meant one thing: Game Night. Ever since Yori introduced you at Bingo, you made it a tradition in your relationship to play board games on Fridays. For the most part you kept it to fairly modern games, but tonight was going to be a surprise.

Tonight it was your place, 8 o’clock. Bucky showed up with a six pack of root-beer in glass bottles. You added a few to the fridge as he found his usual seat at your apartment table. He waited for you to round the small apartment’s bar and join him. Sliding the glass bottles across the table to Bucky, you smiled, biting in your bottom lip, as he slid your bottle back, now without its top.

Easily he popped the top off his own bottle with his left hand; it was as he was about to take a sip that he caught sight of your look, “what?” he furrowed his eyebrows, questionably. 

“So. . . tonight,” you tried not to giggle.

“What?” Bucky asked again, this time finding himself following your smile despite his will not to.

“Tonight is going to be special,” you clasped your hands together, “because I found some stuff that’s as old as you.”

“Wow, thanks,” Bucky said sarcastically, taking a sip, shaking his head, blinking softly as he saw you rush to convince him it would be fun. Sighing deeply, he gave in, “alright, what is it?”

“I’ll be right back,” you twirled on your heel and left the room.

Returning to shaking his head and the glass bottle, he paused after settling the bottle on the table. It’d been a long time since anyone cared about anything actually as old as him. He’d been pretty good at keeping up with the times, a lot of things he knew just got an upgrade, but the thought of something from his actual childhood felt a little heartwarming. 

“Okay,” you declared, reentering the room with a stack of vintage boxes in your arms that made Bucky lean back in his chair out of shock, “here we are.” 

His jaw dropped a little at what you had brought out as you set the stack on the table. Watching you take a deep breath and exhale with a smirk, he shook his head, this time silently asking “how?” You set your hands atop the stack, rapping your fingers across the top box as you smiled again. 

Smoothing your hands out across the box top, you cleared your throat, “no peeking,”  bringing Bucky’s attention entirely to you. 

“Option number one,” you held up the rectangular shape with severely faded letters across it, “Scrabble, released 1938.” The box very gently met the table, “option number two,” you looked at him attempting not to giggle as you saw him cross his arms over his chest, genuinely listening to you intently, “Sorry! released 1934, Battleship, original pen and paper game,” you clarified, he lifted his eyebrows, impressed, “and last but not least, Monopoly, released 1935.”

“Wow, you uh- you really did your research,” he commented, looking over the stack of authentically vintage boxes.

“Of course,” you shrugged with a smile, “my boyfriend’s 106, if I want to bring back some childhood nostalgia, that requires some research. . . and late hour ebay bidding in our case.”  

He nodded, a faint smile showing, before it faded with his next words, “I hope you didn’t do too much research on me,” he looked up, hand resting on Monopoly.

You calmly slid down into the seat across from him and stared with a kind smile still on your lips, reaching to touch his hand, you stroked your thumb against his knuckles, “I’m more of a first hand account, direct source, kind of girl when it comes to people,” the corner of his mouth tugged into a smile. 

You knew, just not everything, and he wasn’t sure he was prepared to have another living soul know it all quite yet. Luckily, you were someone who seemed to actually understand that.

“Or,” you announced, lifting a pointer finger, as if requesting a pause whilst you went to a nearby drawer, returning with a much smaller box, “we can get really really old school, even for you” the box met the table top, “standard 52 card deck, English edition, circa 1516. . .obviously not original.”

Bucky chuckled, looking to you, tonguing his cheek, before picking up the cards, “I hate to tell you, but that’s just a little before my time,” he squinted at you, teasingly.

Biting your lip, your shoulders shifted with the giggle that came after his comment, “so, come on,” you sat back down, this time with your elbows on the table and hands laced, to support your resting chin on top of them, “what should I beat your butt in?”

“Oh,” Bucky, attempting to appear insulted, began raising his eyebrows, “you think?”

“Yeah,” you laughed your words while looking at his serious face, “I think, better yet, I know.”

“Well, I don’t know where you get your confidence from. You know you are talking to a local senior Bingo night champion,” he shrugged with a head tilt, as if that was supposed to be a big deal.

“Woooow,” you drew out, smiling uncontrollably.

“But,” he sighed, “okay,” he shook his head once, accepting your challenge, “let’s go, you’re on! Monopoly,” he brought the box towards himself as you set the others on the floor next to your chair.

You watched as he picked up the little metal pieces, examining each one individually. There was an expression you’d never seen before, he was remembering something positive from his past. A memory that sparked a smile that you helped bring about. He surveyed the board, with all its bright colours and familiar street names.

“It’s been-” he paused, looking upward, doing the math in his head, “it’s been 85 years since I played this game,” setting each piece he stopped at the boat, laughing to himself, “you know, Steve used to always be the battleship.” 

A soft smile came across your lips, while you watched him remember exactly how to set it up. You picked the Scottie dog and he picked the vintage race car piece.

“Were you always the race car?” you ventured, wanting to know more about his childhood, you knew he didn’t talk about it often.

“Oh,” he glanced to the piece he had just naturally picked up without a thought, “yeah, well, I think,” he gave a quick, but somber smile, before clearing his throat, and actually looking up, “and my sister, whenever she’d actually manage to get mom and dad to let her stay up with us, she’d always be the thimble,” he leaned back in his chair, smiling, “whenever it was her turn to move she’d put it on her finger and hop it down the street names.” He leaned back to the table, “we never made her go to jail, even if she landed on it, Steve would make up some rule that let her skip it.” 

“That’s really sweet of you guys,” you said, looking softly at his smile.

“Yeah,” he swallowed, “but don’t think you can skip jail,” he changed his tone, preferring not to dwell on the past even if it was positive. 

“Don’t think I’ll be visiting,” you smirk confidently, “better watch out for the money man yourself.” 

“Wow, who is this?” he dropped his jaw, “she’s so sarcastic, does Yori know this side of you? Do you sneak jellybeans under the table or something evil like that?”

Laughing, you took your root-beer, “just give me my $1,500 so the smack down can actually begin.”

Two hours later, after a long battle between Boardwalk, control over the railroads, and many, many visits to jail, you sat back, lips quirked, arms across your chest as your little Scottie sat in jail.

“And three thousand, six hundred, and five. . . I’m sorry, but that leaves you,” Bucky set his elbows on the table, wincing at you, “bankrupt.”

“Fine,” you huffed jokingly, giving your best pout,“you win.”

“Aww, c’mon,” Bucky reached out a hand to touch your forearm comfortingly, accompanied by a smile you couldn’t deny.

“You wanna go again?” You offered seriously, resting your hand on top of his tenderly, happy to see him so happy.

“It was really fun, but let’s play something else, this time you pick,” he offered.

Breaking into a smile, you gave a nod, and he asked what you had in mind. It took a moment, you wanted to make this good, and you wanted to see it be a little more of a struggle for him, if you were honest. 

“You know, I know it’s later than your. . .original timeline, but there’s this fantastic game called Twister,” you smirked, perking an eyebrow to ask if he was up for it. 

“Twister?” He repeated you, tilting his head like a confused puppy, “what’s Twister?”

“I’ll show you, but,” you glanced over to your small apartment living room, “we might need to arrange the furniture a little.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky stood, “I can handle that.” 

Smiling, you stand, “okay, just push it all to one side, I’ll get the game.” 

Ten minutes later, shoeless, you both stood looking over the polka dotted sheet on the floor. Nodding happily to yourself, Bucky shook his head almost in fear. 

“Make sense?” You asked, having just explained the very simple rules, you turned to face him.

“Oh, I’m sorry I asked,” he sighed, shouldering off his jacket and tossing it onto the couch along with his glove, “yeah, it makes sense,” he set his hands on his hips, pondering this new game intently. 

“Okay, you first,” you held up the spinning arrow, and began.

One hand and foot at a time, sometimes struggling to reach the spinner, but you both made it work pretty well. Having kept to one side of the sheet, it came time to get a smidge more twisted.

Bucky managed to keep balanced and spin a green dot with his left arm, conveniently it placed him right over you. As he began to reach for green, he carefully calculated how best to approach the green dot in order to keep his balance. It was a pretty far reach and he’d need to balance himself whilst reaching over you. 

“What’s the matter old man, can’t quite move like you used to?” you shamelessly giggled. 

Raising his eyebrows at your tone, “ohhh, wow,” Bucky said sincerely, finally placing his left arm over you and to a green dot, now above you he tilted his head sassily, “respect your elders.”

His last sentence only made your giggle turn into a genuine laugh. You closed your eyes and threw your head back a little. Admittedly, Bucky thought it was funny too, but he didn’t laugh, he just took in your smile and the sound of your laugh, enjoying every single moment of it.

When you brought your head back up, you were about to respond sassily, but instead you found his lips meeting yours. With a small squeak of surprise, you relaxed into the kiss, glad that he was finally confident enough with you to take a chance now and then. He tasted like vanilla root beer, which mixed wonderfully with the scent of his cologne you were finally close enough to smell. 

It was soft and slow at first, but slowly, with his right hand palming the arch of your back, you eased into his touch, lower back almost meeting the floor as you both sunk down a little. You completely forgot about the game, as you reached your arms around his neck gently. Keeping the kiss close, you felt him hesitate to deepen it, so you gave him a small sign of encouragement, by moving your hand to the side of his neck, naturally bringing him even closer. 

You had no idea how long you’d been there, on that polka dot sheet, but it was such bliss that you didn’t even care. Smiling into the kiss, you felt him smile back. 

Parting, he pressed his forehead to yours, “I win,” he whispered, lips in a smile. 

“What?” was all you could ask, still mesmerised by the kiss. 

Bucky motioned his head to his left arm which happened to have been keeping the two of you steady. . . all the while remaining on the green dot. You dropped your arms from around his neck, to the floor, elbows supporting you as you looked up at him, shaking your head. 

“That does not count, Bucky,” you tried not to smile as he kept his arm as still as possible.

“What? But my hand’s still on green,” he dramatically gestured to it, making you bite your lip to repress a giggle, trying to match his seriousness.

Shoving his chest directly above you, he feigned an ‘ow!’ before you softly pull him closer again.

“If I kiss you are you gonna hit me again?”

You smirk, “I might if you don’t.” 

Bucky smiled, lips almost touching yours, “alright, sorry,” he smiled, voice almost a whisper as his lips brushed against yours, “I’m still learning the rules to this game.”

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[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

[foreverindreamlandd]

Bucky wanted to read her fanfictions and she always declined. So he begged and begged and begged... until she finally gives up and let him read one. 'Cause who could really say no to Bucky making puppy eyes?!

Let me know what you think about it

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plus Size!Reader

WC: 1.5k (I am apparently incapable of writing a drabble)

A/N: Thank you again for another awesome request! I was basically cackling the whole time I wrote it. Want to read about how Bucky and this reader got together? Check out their origin story in my To Be Wanted series! Only warning in this one is the usual swearin’ like a sailor.

----

“See, this is why I always order Thai food. I can never do it justice.” You frown over your wok, mixing the noodles around with a wooden spoon hoping it will somehow make your creation taste better.

“I’m sure it tastes great, doll.” Bucky walks up next to you and grabs a noodle, tilting his head back as he drops it into his mouth.

His eye twitches almost imperceptibly and you groan.

“It’s good,” he coughs out, trying with all of his strength to regain his composure. “I think you just went a little too hard on the chili paste. I can feel my sinuses clearing up though, which is good, right?”

You roll your eyes. “Can you check the recipe on Pinterest again? I swear I put in the right amount.”

Bucky walks over and picks up your iPad. Right as he’s scrolling to find out if you should have used 2 tablespoons or 2 teaspoons of chili paste, a notification banner pops up and he accidently taps it, opening up your Tumblr app.

Omg! This fic is amazing! The way Bucky is there to support the reader. My heart completely melted! Your Bucky stories are amazing, Y/n! <3

Above the comment is a photo of him. It’s a shot from the news where he’s helping a civilian stand up after one of the attacks made by The Red Hand.

“Uh….love? What’s this?” He holds the iPad up to you and you shift your gaze over to him.

You drop the wooden spoon into the wok as all of the blood drains from your face. You’re frozen in place for a millisecond before you pounce on Bucky to grab the device from him. He’s never seen you move so quickly and it catches him off guard.

“Bucky give me the iPad right now,” you fling your arms toward it and he pulls it away, both amused and a bit concerned by your reaction.

“Wait, what is this? Is it something I should be worried about?”

You see a flicker of panic flash in his eyes and you stop flailing. You close your eyes and let out a deep sigh.

“No, I mean, I should be concerned because if you read that I’m probably going to combust and you’re going to dump me and run for the hills.” He furrows his brows in confusion and you slowly lift up your hand. “Can I please have that back before I have a mild panic attack?”

He stares at you, trying to gauge your emotions. All he can see is panic and sadness and it breaks his heart so he instantly gives in and hands you the iPad.

“Don’t worry about it, love. I trust you.” He leans forward to give you a chaste kiss.

You let out a pained groan against his lips and Bucky is once again confused.

“Ughhhh I hate hiding things from you.” You lock your iPad so the screen goes dark. “Okay, fine, I guess this conversation is happening. Remember when we first started dating and I, uh, mentioned I used to read and write stories about….us being a couple?”

Bucky nods, trying not to reveal any emotion to you that might make you spiral into a panic, and you continue.

“Well, that was one of those stories I wrote. I stopped looking on Tumblr basically as soon as I met you because it got all weird and meta and I got super uncomfy by the idea of reading fanfics - that’s what they’re called - about my new friend/now boyfriend Bucky Barnes. And then we started dating and I was all happy and shit and I totally forgot that those fics were still out there. Obviously I haven’t written any since then because that would be weird for...many, many reasons. Someone must have found an old one and commented on it. I’ll delete it. I’ll delete all of them. I swear. I’m so sorry, Bucky. I should have been more on top of this.”

Bucky stares at you, lips pursed and you grimace, afraid of the next words that are about to come out of his mouth.

This is so weird, Y/n. How could you do this?

No wonder you didn’t date anyone before me.

Obsessed much? (Okay, he probably wouldn’t say it like that but STILL).

No, what Bucky said next was much, much worse than what you could have imagined.

“Can I read one?”

Your mouth drops. Closes. Drops again. You blink rapidly.

“I’m sorry, I just hallucinated. What?”

Bucky points to your iPad, a sly grin forming on his face. “I want to read one of your stories.”

You take a step back from him, horror stricken as you pull the iPad closer to you as if you were protecting your collector’s edition of ‘Throne of Glass.’

“Absolutely not.”

Bucky steps forward and you step back. He chuckles. “Come onnn, doll. I want to know what your fantasies were about me before we got together.” He laughs harder as the look of horror on your face grows more manic.

“Bucky, I know you’re a super soldier and could probably punch me into the sun with your metal arm, but I promise I will fight to the death before I let you read one of these fics.”

You and Bucky continue this dance of him stepping forward and you stepping back until you feel your legs make contact with your couch and you fall back into a sitting position on its arm. Bucky uses this opportunity to tower over you, his arms resting on the couch so that you’re pinned between them.

Then, he pulls out the big guns.

His gaze softens, blue eyes shining into yours. His bottom lip puffs out and he gives you the most adorable, sexiest pout you’ve seen in your whole life.

“Please, love?” He says it with a slightly higher pitch, almost like a whine and it still sounds like honey to your ears. He even nudges your nose with his like a freaking sociopath.

Damn.

You close your eyes, let out a breath, then open them back up to him. “I hate you.”

His pout turns into a boyish grin and he gives you a quick kiss. “You love me.”

You groan. “Hopefully you still love me after this, Buck. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You stand and open up your iPad, scrolling through your masterlist and finding what used to be one of your favorite fluff pieces. You begrudgingly hand it to Bucky and he sits on the couch.

Unable to sit still during this agonizing experience, you proceed to pace around your apartment like a crazy person and resort to cleaning the inside of your microwave which you haven’t done in a few months so it’s a good thing that Bucky is reading your fic so that you could get that out of the way. You probably won’t have a boyfriend in a few minutes but at least your microwave will be spotless.

You only steal a few glances at Bucky as he reads, mortified each time as you see his eyebrows move in every possible direction. Up, down, knit together, were they criss-crossed at one point?

Finally, after what feels like the longest ten minutes of your life, Bucky lets out a soft grunt, placing the iPad down on his lap. He looks up to you and you give him a weak smile.

“Alright, let me have it, Buck. Give me your worst. Be honest. Also, I love you.”

Bucky glances down at the iPad and then back at you.

“Well, I have a few questions.”

Your right eye twitches. “Hm?”

“Now that you’ve met me, do you still think my eyes are an all-consuming storm of blue?” You groan. He grins. “Or do you think my jawline was cut from marble created by the gods?”

This time, you breathe out a laugh and you walk over to sit on his lap. You take hold of his chin.

“Bucky, I don’t think I could ever come up with the right words to describe you. The real thing is quite literally a million times better than anything I’ve ever written.”

His eyebrows raise. “That is...probably the best compliment I’ve ever gotten in my whole damn life.” He leans forward and kisses you, and you sigh into the feeling of his mouth on yours, relief flooding through you.

You pull away, eyes skeptical. “So, you’re not thinking about how you can escape and never see my crazy ass again?”

“On the contrary, love, I’m thinking about how I can convince you to buy this gorgeous green dress you apparently wore as my wedding date. The one that showed off your cleavage in a way that made Bucky’s brain melt.”

The two of you burst out laughing and you lightly shove his chest. “Sure thing, Bucko. How about I work on the dress situation and you work on ordering us Thai food so that we don’t lose our taste buds from whatever the hell I just made.”

-----

Thank you for reading! Feel free to check out my other stuff here. :)

Taglist: @ceo-of-daichi @biiskuitx @forgetthisbull @eclipses-and-moondust @abcdefxkyou @jackiehollanderr @billionsofbeans @abitgryffindorky @lovelylostminds @mija-just-breathe @semlohkratz @bratty-longbottom-replies @carrotfantasimp @cremedelabrulee @ant1r3al1ty @th-e-mg@laura-moehrchen @emma-the-duck17 @sunnyjane4 @rosaline-black @parodsal000 @vicmc624 @abrunettefangirlnerd @officiallykuute @edityourwishingwell @mymindslabyrinth

***This was the original tag list for the To Be Wanted series. If you would like to be removed from the taglist for any other stories related to this series, feel free to DM me! And let me know if you would like to be *added* to the taglist for any other future stories featuring these two knuckleheads. :)

#bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #to be wanted #james bucky barnes #marvel #mcu #plus size!reader #plus size #fanfic #fanfiction #sebastian stan #inbox

[mittensmorgul]

For anyone interested in long-term residence in the supernatural fandom, please have some observations I’ve made over the decade I’ve been here. Take it or leave it as you will, but I’ve found all of this info useful over the years I’ve been here.

I wrote this yesterday, and it achieved its mission of identifying the sort of folks who would react negatively to it (i.e. a lot of block lists have been updated), so now that it’s been edited for content, it’s going under a cut (because that is how we do things on tumblr in general, unless we have a deliberate purpose for annoying readers with excessively long text posts) for the sake of people who actually do care about the fandom and its history. If that’s not you or your reason for being here, then keep on keeping on with your own thing, I guess. For those who are interested, there’s a lot of fandom resources some of us have been building for years that you might enjoy knowing about.

First off, I’ve been informed by a few friends who’ve read through this for coherency’s sake that it sort of reads like a *shakes cane from porch* fandom grandma complaint, but honestly... I earned this rocking chair and goshdangit imma rock now. So apologies for any “back in my day” vibes or faint aroma of tiger balm this post might give off. Then again, it’s loosely based on a similar post from 2012 so like... time is a flat circle anyway I guess.

1. There is no such thing as “tumblr famous,” unless you’re referring to the hilarious and delightful fic of the same name (please go read it, you will cackle). Posting Hot Takes for imaginary Clout™ on this site is kind of pointless in the long run. Sure you can post solely for the sake of stirring shit and getting notes, but the majority of the folks who do aren’t long term residents of the fandom. They’re just tourists moving through our little beach town for spring break. If you’re actually intent on moving to this corner of the fandom for an extended stay, please bother to really feel out the permanent residents and understand the culture and general mood of the neighborhood. It bears no resemblance to whatever’s going on across town where all the bars and beach parities are happening, and those loud, drunken revelers are, again, gonna disappear back to their regular lives or on to the next party eventually. That doesn’t mean the fandom is dying, it’s just evolving.

(funny how I had several comments implying that I’m just trying to keep the fandom from evolving with this post, because I sincerely do want the fandom to continue on for years to come, and that is impossible without evolution. We can evolve without self-immolating, though. mostly i included point 1 for an excuse to push ancient but hilarious fanfic on you.)

2. Once you post something here, it’s been unleashed to the fandom winds. You never know where it will end up, or who will comment on it or add to it. Remember that time Misha tweeted the link to the Epic Cockles Love Story post? No? It was wild. That was 2012. They all know we’re here, and how to find us if they want to. Please don’t take it to their doorsteps.

Obviously if someone is being a dick on your posts, please feel free to block them, but the whole entire point of this site is to engage people with your posts. Being big mad that someone reblogged your post with comments or supporting evidence, or happy headcanons or “HECK THIS IS GREAT BECAUSE (insert personal story about their experience or whatever else made them Feel Things about your post)” is frankly ridiculous. If your goal is to avoid any sort of engagement with your posts, then maybe try instagram instead. From what I understand, there is a SPN fandom presence there, and nobody can tarnish your original posts with unwanted commentary. But the ability to reblog with additional commentary is a FEATURE of tumblr that builds community through conversation. Otherwise we’re all just talking to ourselves in a vacuum, and that’s what actually kills fandoms.

(and for the folks who just want to blog how they want to blog and don’t want people to engage on their posts at all, please feel free to block anyone you want, as well... nobody wants to step on your toes, but most of us also don’t want to walk on eggshells wondering if this post is one of the “do not add comments for any reason” sorts of posts, either. This is a huge fandom and most people can’t even begin to keep track of every creator and their url du jour, and what their personal rules might be regarding interaction with their content. Including a “please don’t add comments” note at the bottom of your posts-- and not in your tags that won’t even show up on reblogs, but in the actual body of the post-- would sincerely help avoid any awkward or unwanted interactions, too. At the end of the day, you are in control of your own fandom experience and the block button exists.

For the record, I block zero fandom blogs (which is why I posted this, I wanted it to reach a wide scope... refer to the opening paragraphs as to why).

3. Since this post was partly inspired by a tag I left on that post going around about how “previous tags” mean fuckall on this site (which you can read here), just a reminder that if you like someone’s tags or feel they add value to the post, part of the Peer Review structure of tumblr encourages you to PASTE THEM INTO A REBLOG. If you do this, then at least credit the person who actually wrote the tags! Don’t just copy someone else’s tags into your tags on your reblog of the post without credit either. They were not YOUR tags. (I have had this happen to tag rambles I wrote and someone else got credited with them on a subsequent reblog and it is FRUSTRATING). Just... don’t even bother to write “previous tags” because WHAT PREVIOUS TAGS?! Nobody is gonna bother to chase back the chain of reblogs trying to find where the mystery tags came from, friendos. That way lies madness.

(for the record, since some folks seemed to focus on this point solely, writing “previous tags” on a post isn’t inherently a BAD thing, but for anyone who actually is here for more than one-off shitposting, then it’s sort of a pointless thing in the long run. This wasn’t intended to suggest people who ARE here for one-off shitposting are bad or “doing it wrong,” but for people who might actually want to preserve that hilarious joke or insightful comment. People delete posts and entire blogs all the time around here. Links break. I get that the upcoming generation just shrugs at that and moves on with their lives, but heck... you don’t have to accept that all entertainment is disposable if you don’t want to. There’s a bizarre sort of nihilism plaguing us all about the impermanence of pretty much everything that feels like something we should be fighting against rather than buying into wholesale, even in our escapist entertainment. I’m just exhausted by the complete loss of joy in community.

*shouts from the peanut gallery* IT AIN’T THAT DEEP, JUST GET SOME FRESH AIR AND LOOK AT A PUPPY OR SOMETHING

Yes... yes it isn’t really that deep, but bigger picture in the state of reality we’re all entirely disillusioned with, are we supposed to just give up on everything, including the things we cling to because they bring us a tiny spark of hope that we’re not all just trapped in this dystopian nightmare and things might actually be worth living for?

*peanut gallery clinging to burnt husks of peanuts in a barren peanut field* but this is how we have chosen to cope

Okay... you do you... I feel bad for you but if that’s the case then this post is NOT FOR YOU. AND THAT’S FINE. I honestly do not care if you don’t care! I mean, I’m sorry anyone has to live in a world that drives them to that mindset, but I understand. This post is for anyone who might look at their lives and their choices and think “no wait, I unironically enjoy this and want more from the experience of that enjoyment than I’m currently feeling.” Everyone else can continue with their lives as usual.)

4. CONTENT THEFT IS NEVER OKAY. PERIOD. Things like “credit to the artist” or tagging gifs or images you found on pinterest as “not mine” isn’t actually credit. If you can’t source an image or gif set, DO NOT POST IT! We don’t REPOST (i.e. save an image and then create a new post with it as if it was our own creation). We REBLOG (click the little square arrows and reblog from the actual creator). That goes for gif sets, fanvids, screencaps, meta, fic... everything.

(hopefully everyone here already understands this one, but I felt compelled to include some “these are stupidly obvious” reminders anyway, since this is ostensibly some sort of advice column. This is the equivalent of the warning label on your toaster reminding you not to use it in the bath. Like... duh...)

5. Close kin of item 4 is SOURCE YOUR SHIT. 

(for 100% disclosure purposes, I specifically discussed this one in this specific way because of an influx of anon ask messages I received in the wake of the finale. Literally the inciting incident for creating this entire post was what I can only assume was a joking ask about a comment Misha made at a con years ago. Someone actually bothered to take the time to type out those sentences to me. I have no idea what they were expecting in reply, or what could possibly motivate them to send this comment about something so entirely random from, again, several years ago. Just a joke? No idea, but whatever... it got me thinking that there might actually be people who are new to the fandom who MIGHT actually care about the fandom history, and maybe they just don’t know where to go for that info, or how to even begin searching through 16 years of history for things they might actually find enjoyment in, rather than just hauling random out of context garbage out on main and pointing and laughing about it now. People are actually allowed to care about things. It’s not cringeworthy to actually care about things, and you are not alone in actually caring, and there’s this whole big room over here full of people who are thrilled to share in that with you. This post is intended FOR THOSE PEOPLE SPECIFICALLY, so if that is not you, please just continue walking by.)

Yes, I know lots of y’all are new around here right now, but dredging up stuff from years ago that fandom has completely debunked and presenting it as TRU FAX again is just exhausting. We’re not trying to be party poopers, but seriously, we have seen it all and are mostly done with extinguishing bags of flaming dog poop on our front porches for the umpteenth year in a row. I’ve seen a lot of posts that have the same tone as “I saw Goody Proctor dancing with the devil” or “I heard kylo ren has an eight pack” and just... the information is there for anyone who cares enough to find it.

This goes double for “why is nobody talking about this thing I just discovered while watching the show for the first time?!” And, oh hon, we have talked it all into the ground over the last fifteen years. We’re happy you’re discovering it again, but I promise we talked about it plenty when the episodes originally aired. We have such a rich meta history that lots of us have worked really hard to preserve. I encourage you to seek it out, if nothing else than as historical artifacts. The way we have discussed the show has been a 16-year evolution. People have written literal doctoral dissertations on this show. Your shitposts are fun! We love reliving our own experience through fresh eyes, and seeing your wonder at experiencing it all again for the first time! But y’all didn’t invent this fandom in the last six months, either.

Meta Sources and Minerals provided by our friendly neighborhood fandom archivist, @lets-steal-an-archive

Academic books and articles about SPN 

A collection of Meta Essays going back to s1 and organized by topic (all of this has happened before, all of it will happen again)

SPN Heavy Meta Archive (s1-3)

Mel’s Dreamwidth archive of meta (s1-12)

Oranges8hands Dreamwidth archive of meta (s1-15, with many similar entries to Mel’s... though ymmv on viewpoint in a lot of these too)

Anyone remember Fandom Wank? Not the concept but the actual LJ... No? Okay have a link to SPN topics that ended up there. Through 2013. We have seen so much... including several fandom containment breaches.

for all your art sourcing needs, please see @theroadsofararchive, the repository for so much fandom art.

need to find a gif of something? canonspngifs is a vast repository of gifsets of the entire series. If the gif you want to use in your post happens to be the first gif in the gifset, in the tumblr gif finder thingy just paste the permalink to that post from canonspngifs (which is easily searchable by episode, character, location, situation, quotes, and sometimes even color and clothing items the actors are wearing... it’s really well organized, especially for tumblr >.>) and the first gif will be automatically linked with credit to the gif creator attached. It makes life easy that way. It’s also convenient when trying to remember something specific but can’t remember what episode it’s from. I’ve used the site to jog my memory before going to the superwiki armed with more specific search results to find episode quotes and references. Or sometimes I just scroll through all the nice gifs for fun, too.

Need a screencap of something and know exactly which episode it’s from? Try Home of the Nutty. You might not find the exact screencap you’re looking for, but they have a complete set of caps of every episode, and it’s an incredibly useful resource for quick reference checks and the like. Just give pages a chance to fully load before clicking on the next one. The site is easily overloaded, but it’s still free to use (and again, with credit... Pretty much every screencap on my entire blog is from HotN unless otherwise credited).

As you can see, this is a fandom built on preserving our history. You absolutely are not required to engage with any of this if that’s not of interest to you, but I can only assume that there are people who would be interested in it if only they knew it existed and how to find it. Well, now they do.

6. A few more notes on tags, and how they work on tumblr. The first 20 tags on your ORIGINAL posts are searchable sitewide, so if you want to be able to find something again, tag that thing first before going on general tag rambles. The only place tags on reblogs are searchable is on your own blog. So you don’t have to put 50 tags trying to get a post seen if it’s a reblog. You’re just spitting into the wind at that point. If you have a filing system for finding things again, then by all means add those tags (again, in the first 20, so they’re searchable), but you don’t need to tag a reblog “destiel” and “deancas” and “dean” and “cas” and “dean x cas” or whatever. Pick one for your personal blog’s filing system, that’s all you need.

(this was only added because tagging and searching on this site is so very broken... I get that a lot of folks don’t care about ever searching their own blogs again for anything, so this one only really applies if you do often find yourself trying to find old posts. If not, then it’s not really relevant.  It took me years to work out a decent tagging system, and at the beginning of my time here I never thought I’d end up camping out here for a decade and falling this deep into the fandom, and I regretted my lack of consistent tags only years later when I realized I actually wanted to be able to go back and find specific old posts again. So... for anyone who wants to err on the side of caution, working out a sensible tagging system really helps if you’re here for the long term. I personally tag content by episode, because some of my other general tags are so large as to be practically useless as a search term. But whatever system you choose to file stuff on your own blog, it really only has to make sense to you. And again, if this is pointless advice for someone who has no intention of settling here for the long term. Please feel free to ignore it. I just wish someone had explained it this way to me ten years ago and saved me the hassle of retroactively tagging something like 30k posts... especially now that using the mass tag replacer is the fastest way to get your entire blog deleted... oops? so yeah, don’t use the mass tag replacer either >.>)

7. Tags on Tumblr DO NOT WORK LIKE TAGS ON TWITTER. If you @ someone in the body of the post, it will show up in their notifications (if they’re the sort of person who even checks their notifications... not all of us do. For the record, I generally don’t...), but putting actor or ship names in the tags on a tumblr post does absolutely nothing. It’s not the same as tagging the actor’s twitter account in a tweet. Nobody’s getting notifications about you tagging a post about Jensen here as “Jensen Ackles.” There is a difference. Please learn it. (and don’t take headcanons and ESPECIALLY RPF or otherwise explicit art or fic from tumblr to twitter and tag the actors in it. That’s just... not okay.)

(I have seen the pearl clutchers getting all in a huff about the mere existence of RPF or even explicit content of fictional characters if it doesn’t meet their purity standards, but tagging those things allows people who don’t want to see it to actively avoid that content here. Nobody has a right to tell people their fictional content shouldn’t exist at all, or that creators of that fictional content somehow deserve harassment or threats for having dared to create such “immoral” content, won’t somebody PLEASE think of the children... and no... you do not do that here. Don’t be the problematic behavior you wish to ban from the world. Learn to use tags to protect yourself from, as i have attempted to emphasize here, fictional content you are personally upset by. That’s a you problem, not a problem for the creators of potentially upsetting content that they tag appropriately for.)

8. General formatting stuff: If you’re writing long text posts, visually break them up so people aren’t faced with one long wall of text. The enter key is your friend. Also, if you put long text posts under a Read More break and send people to your blog to finish reading, please ensure that your blog is actually visually accessible (tiny text, or light grey text on a dark grey background, or a visually busy background might be aesthetically pleasing to you but nobody can actually read it. Loads of folks won’t even try. Which is great if you don’t actually care whether people are able to appreciate your content or not, but something to at least consider if you *do* actively want to encourage engagement with your work. Confirm how your blog looks on both mobile and desktop and make sure it’s actually functional in both, too).

And since I mentioned that most of my experience on fandom tumblr has been in the SPN fandom, here’s a bit of a reminder for folks who are new around here. With the reminder that I have been here more than a decade and still feel like a newbie myself sometimes...

This is an OLD FANDOM. There are many, many people who have been at this longer than some of you have been alive. The average age for creators in this fandom is older than you think (I think of my friends in their 30′s as young’ins okay? okay). With that understood, you are responsible for the content you consume and are exposed to. Curate your experience. Ship and let ship. YKINMKATOK. Don’t deliberately expose yourself to content you find upsetting for whatever reason. Tags and warnings are your friends, not targets for you to attack in some sort of purity war. People will ship things you do not like (or in specific ways you do not like), will say things you do not agree with, and will find their happiness in things you abhor. That is not your concern. Find what you do like, and support and engage with it, and ignore (or block, or unfollow) the rest. Tumblr has a feature that lets you blacklist tags so the content you’re trying to avoid won’t appear on your dash.

Remember the paradox of tolerance.

It is not your job in fandom to police how other people enjoy the fandom. It’s not *my* job to police how *you* enjoy the fandom, UNLESS your enjoyment is in actively harming other real human beings in the fandom. If you don’t like their take on the character or the show or the plotlines or their ships or anything else, you don’t need to engage with their posts at all! The necessary corollary to this is that clarifying misunderstandings or correcting factual misinformation is not “policing.” 

(this is where the peanut gallery reminds me it ain’t that deep, and I plead with them to put down the social media and find just one (1) thing to actually believe in in this godforsaken life, find something other than disdain and cynicism and spite to live for. If those things motivate you to find a larger cause for yourself, then great, use them to your advantage, but use them to find something that makes you a better person or brings you a modicum of joy and connection to your fellow human beings despite living in a dystopian hellscape of a world)

I have seen a lot of posts lately that are founded on the sort of authority that comes with “I watched through tumblr for a few months and then watched the last three episodes of the series” and as such are just... missing the larger context of the entire show, and are unfounded entirely in canon. I 100% appreciate the new enthusiasm for the fandom that we’ve been living in here for years, and it’s wonderful to see new people enjoying the thing we love. Your headcanons are valid, you are valid, but recognize that your headcanons aren’t canon. All of us finale denialists have accepted this in some measure, so we feel you. We truly, truly feel you. But regarding actual canon, we have a resource for that: the Superwiki. Learn it, live it, love it, as Metatron would say.

(which you could discover he said in 10.17 Inside Man, thanks to the superwiki! accept no substitutes!)

(and again, there have been people who have been involved in fandom for years who haven’t engaged with canon in years, either! You can play in this universe however you choose, BUT FOR PEOPLE WHO ACTUALLY CARE ABOUT CANON AT ALL, WHICH I AM AGAIN POINTEDLY SAYING MIGHT NOT BE YOU, READER, AND I’M NOT SUGGESTING YOU ARE WRONG FOR NOT WANTING TO ACTUALLY ENGAGE WITH CANON, but if you DO want to engage with canon, please have some useful resources. Why do people feel personally attacked by being presented a list of helpful resources? Absolutely baffling.)

(also: words have definitions. “Canon” is a specific thing, meaning in this case “the finished media product that aired on television.” Anything beyond those limits is secondary canon (think: john’s journal, which is not canon but canon adjacent at best...), word of god (i.e stuff said by the writers and showrunners), or headcanon (which includes actor commentary-- they may have helped create the show with their acting choices and whatever, but they are not in control of the story overall). If there’s something you dislike about actual canon, you can reject it and supplement it with your own theories or preferred outcomes-- that’s basically what fanfic is-- but that doesn’t make your theories canon (much to all our dismay, that’s just not how any of this works. This is not to invalidate how anyone engages with the show or the fandom, just trying to clarify what seems to have been a source of unintentional misunderstandings. Your theories do not have to be “canon” to be legitimate interpretations.)

***I am setting this section apart, and did make a separate post of just this following information, because this is where we go from being relatively chill about different parts of fandom choosing to interact in different ways and you do you and blog however you want, to “hey can everybody please understand that the way you are interacting with this specific material might be harmful for specific legal reasons, and stating that you do not care about the consequences of your actions does actively make you the asshole here...” Okay, now that we have that understood:

The spnscripthunt collective has been steadily acquiring new scripts (which are posted in full on the superwiki for everyone to enjoy, for free). The language around how some folks are talking about these scripts is... concerning. For very real legal reasons, actually, and not because we’re feeling precious about the collection and don’t wike it when meanies use them in shitposts.

-First off, these scripts are not “leaks.” They are all verified and legally purchased (or gifted, in some cases, but still acquired entirely above board. we didn’t whack anyone over the head in a back alley for these scripts, or swipe them out of someone’s trailer on set).

(in case anyone was unaware, these scripts are the copywritten protected property of Warner Brothers. So yes, how we use them and share them with the fandom could have legal repercussions. We present them as a collected resource of fandom history which SHOULD fall under Fair Use doctrine, but this is untested legal water. Insinuating that the scripts are somehow not entirely legally obtained, or that posting them for public access involved less than 100% transparent and entirely legal transactions is incredibly concerning.

Once again for the peanut gallery, if you don’t care about any of that and are just having a good time with it, at least be mindful of the work and expense a large group of people have gone through to acquire and present the content you’re all too eager to exploit for cheap thrills. Some of us do actually care and are not exactly comfortable with the fact that others don’t seem to care about burning it all to the ground. We can’t force you to listen or behave as we’d hope you might, but at least be aware of the potential consequences of your actions. All we’re asking is for you to not be the douchebag who sets the whole neighborhood on fire with your illegal fireworks display. Is that too much to ask for? more on that in a second, first... a psa)

-If you see a script for sale and are unsure if it’s legit (or believe it might already be freely available in our collection), please feel free to ask us for advice. Our goal is to make as much of our fandom history available to the entire fandom, and we absolutely do not want anyone shelling out money for stuff you can already find for free.

(seriously, we’ve seen a bunch of resellers cropping up selling printed versions of the scripts we bought and uploaded for everyone to enjoy free of charge, or scripts that are otherwise of dubious origin. We’ve been at this for years now and know what’s actually out there. We don’t want anyone to fall for a scam if we can help it)

-Also, the usual reminder that the scripts we acquire ARE NOT NECESSARILY THE FINAL SHOOTING DRAFTS. In fact, the majority of scripts in our collection are NOT. Changes are made daily to scripts, even during filming. Comparing a Production Draft (white pages, effectively the first “final draft” of what usually becomes a series of drafts before filming wraps) to a much later revision (say... green or goldenrod revisions, several of which we DO have in our collection for comparison) and how those earlier drafts often differ wildly from the aired version versus how similar a much later green draft is to the aired version, for example, can teach you a lot about the television writing process. The link above to the superwiki scripts page has a nice little explainer about how this process works.

Differences between our posted scripts (many of which are white drafts, aka FIRST complete drafts, which will likely go through multiple rounds of revisions before filming even begins) and the aired version of the show are not all “acting choices” or a director or editor just cutting whole scenes on a whim. It’s insulting to everyone involved in production to suggest that’s the case.

(and yeah, fine... whatever, make any sort of posts you like regarding how those changes came about, but at the very least understand that it’s not actually the truth about how any of this works. Don’t care that that’s not the truth and want to make the posts anyway because shitposting is fun and that’s the extent of your sense of humor? FINE! You’re entitled to do that! But at least you DO know the truth now, and hopefully so do the people who engage with your posts. Deliberate ignorance isn’t cute, smooth lions notwithstanding)

There’s probably a whole other post to be made on fandom tagging etiquette, but again I don’t really use the tags enough to know what’s going on with that whole situation. I’ve also probably left a lot of stuff out, so please feel free to add things I’ve overlooked.

Thanks also to @trisscar368 and @thayerkerbasy for help compiling this, too. They were kind enough to escort me through the park to feed these pigeons. Now I need to take them out for ice cream. :’D

So I guess welcome to the neighborhood. Make yourself at home, but like... try not to trash the place while you’re here. Some of us live here by choice, lol.

#this blue hellsite (affectionate) #fandom problems #kinda wish i'd made this post six months ago but here we are i guess lol #long post #now edited for the people who are actually personally invested in the fandom #thanks for participating in this little experiment and I hope this version is actually informative to those who are interested #meaning there's a lot more links to stuff and explainers and whatnot... #and one last reminder that for folks just swinging through for laughs absolutely none of this applies to you #if you are legit interested in fandom history and preservation as we move to the post-canon world then hopefully this is useful to you

[tocastielandback]

The Prince and the Horse (Bucky Barnes x F!reader)

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x SE Asian F!reader

Word Count: 1965

Description: When you accidentally break one of your prized possessions, Bucky is here to save the day.

Author’s Note: Okay, so this wasn't gonna be my first Bucky story that I'd post, but I wrote this up after the precursor to a pretty shit weekend last week.

Also, there isn't anything in the story that's particularly SE Asian-specific, just the descriptions of reader. However, I have been working on a 40s Bucky fic with a SE Asian F!OC, where I'll get more into it. Fingers crossed I actually finish and post that!

Warnings: some angst, fluff, brief mentions of therapy (for both reader and Bucky) and mental illness (for reader), self-hating thoughts, not beta'd, converted from an OC's pov

Tags: I don't have any MCU fandom friends other than @lokiskitten so I would like to thank them and @mysoftboybensolo for the support and for letting me cry about Bucky to them :')

You had a virtual meeting with a new psychiatrist the next day, which you planned to have in the bedroom you shared with your boyfriend, Bucky.

You won’t lie: you didn’t declutter your space as often as you should.

Whether or not the pile of books and stuffed animals on your desk chair got taken care of depended on if you needed the workspace.

To ease your anxiety, you started sorting things out.

It’ll take my mind off tomorrow and I won’t have to move things around as much, you thought.

First, you did the desktop, putting away the makeup tools and palettes you left lying around into the drawers underneath so only your laptop, jewelry box and pencil cup remained.

The middle shelf—consisting of a small mirror, your contacts case and your skincare products among other things—was your makeshift vanity. Nothing was too out of place, so you skipped that.

At the top, you had crammed as many books as you possibly could, seeing as there wasn’t much space for a separate bookshelf, well… anywhere.

You eyed the ones on your chair, then the ones propped up in a row over your head.

I think I can fit it all on the shelf. The other stuff I’ll toss in the storage bin in the closet.

Settling on the plan, you began removing the knick-knacks lined up along the paper spines.

Your favorite was the music box placed before your special edition of The Little Mermaid. The body reminded you of a cheese wheel—cylindrical with dull edges. At the center on top was a little castle with a tower, where a princess figure sat.

When one wound up the crank, the mechanism allowed, not only the music to play, but the princess to “emerge” from the castle. A prince, which was on a removable horse, circled the castle.

Because you only kept it as decor, you couldn’t remember what song it played, just that it was German in origin.

With one hand, you held up the remaining books so they didn’t fall flat, while the other went to set the music box on your laptop.

“No!” you shouted when the little horse slid off the box and crashed onto the hardwood floor, sending tiny pieces everywhere.

After putting the base down, you got onto your knees and took the horse in your hands.

“No…” your voice got thick with sadness. “No, no, no, no, no!”

You ran your thumb along the nub where the prince’s head had been. The white horse was missing both its ears. Tears fell onto your cheeks.

A whispered “no!” came from your lips when you found the head.

When you picked it up and brought it to your watery eyes, you cried even more. All, except for two spokes of the golden crown had broken off upon impact.

You sat, your back against the bed and your lip quivered.

You felt dumb. You shouldn’t have been crying about such a thing and yet—

“Doll?” Bucky called from the front door.

You gasped and held back your sobs, hoping he would just think you was still asleep and leave.

He’d seen your cry before. Hell, he was bound to since you were mentally ill. But you didn’t want him to stop his day over something so trivial.

You gulped when you heard footsteps come up the hall, nearing the bedroom.

“Doll?” he said again, but in a lowered voice.

His blue eyes fell to where you were on the floor and he dropped on his knees across from you, his hand cupping your cheek.

“Hey, what happened?” he lowered his head a bit to meet your eyes.

You sniffed, brushing off some black strands that got stuck to your other cheek with the sleeve of your—well, his—sweater.

“God, it’s so stupid…” you hissed, more to yourself, then met his gaze. “W-What did you need me for?”

Bucky smiled softly, his hand dropped from your face to cradle your smaller hand.

“I was on my way to the storage unit, but I forgot the keys, so I was going to ask if you’ve seen them,” he explained.

You grinned, brown eyes focused on how warm his hands felt, encasing yours like a hug.

His therapist talked to him about taking up a hobby he could focus on while recovering. He settled on woodworking, renting out a small garage where he set up shop, making everything from your nightstands to a birdhouse for Sam’s sister and nephews.

“Why were you crying, doll?”

You blinked back from your thoughts and looked up at him shyly. His brows perked slightly when you started telling him.

“So you know how I have to see that new doctor tomorrow? I was, like, trying to clean up a little and get ready, to ease my anxiety and all that. B-But when I was moving that” —you pointed to the music box and held out the prince on the earless steed— “I dropped this and it broke…”

Feeling more tears emerge, you ducked your head, nesting it into the crook of Bucky’s neck when he pulled you into his arms. “I know. It’s a stupid thing to cry over—“

“Hey, don’t say that,” he squinted slightly, as if the words actually stung, and looked down at your tear-stained cheeks.

One of his favorite things about you was your apple cheeks. He loved watching them turn pink whenever he complimented you or when you laughed so hard that your sides hurt. He’d rather they get flushed that way, not from upset.

He continued, “If it makes you cry, it’s important to you.”

You nodded and mustered a tiny smile. It quickly disappeared when you felt an onslaught of tears come again.

“I love you, Bucky. You’re always putting up with my outbursts,” you sniffed.

Keeping you in his embrace, he cupped your cheek with his metal hand, swiping at the wet trail.

“I don’t ‘put up’ with you, doll,” he pecked your hairline before leaning his forehead on yours. “I love you. I want to be here. With you. Through everything. Just like you are with me.”

You parted your lips just a little and pressed them onto his.

He returned the kiss, then left one on the tip of your flat nose, one of many features you hated, but was cute in his eyes. “C’mon. We have to find the parts.”

“Oh…” you watched as he gently set you back down on the floor and got up. “Bucky, I could just look for them myself.”

He pretended to think about it and shook his head. “Uh… no. I want to help.”

“But your project—“

“Can wait,” he squatted in front of you again and held his hand out. “Let me see.”

You smiled and this time, it stayed. A sparkle in your eyes shone with awe at him and you showed him the figurine. “They’re really tiny though.”

He carefully examined it, taking note of what was missing. After putting the horse on your desk, Bucky got low on the floor, almost like a push-up position.

You took to searching the other side of the room. You gasped and picked up one of the spokes of the crown.

“So tell me about this,” he asked while he kept scanning the area. “Where’d you get it? Seems like it means a lot to you.”

“I went on a trip to Hawaii some years ago and at this mall, there was a little stationery shop with cards and stuff like snow globes,” you said. “I saw this and I knew I had to have it. Y’know, since I’m a sucker for fairytales and wanting to be a princess and all that.”

Bucky’s smile got softer. “I do know.”

You felt it childish, but in the years you’ve known each other, he never judged you for it so you felt more comfortable showing him your own stories you wrote or talked about your favorite castles.

“Admittedly, I didn’t play it much, but when I dropped it… it made me wish I had,” you used a jewelry dish to gather the broken pieces you found.

Following half an hour of peeking under all the furniture and feeling around the wood surface beneath you, you managed to find all but one piece.

“We make a pretty good team,” you gave him a shy smile.

“We do,” Bucky agreed, then left the room.

He came back with a resealable bag and emptied the tray’s contents into it.

“I’ll take these with me to the shop,” he slid his pinched fingers across the blue horizontal lines and helped you up.

“What? Bucky, I have a hot glue gun,” you reached for the knob of the middle desk drawer, but he held your other hand to stop you.

“So do I. Besides, it won’t take long.”

You eyed the fallen prince, along with the remnants of him and his noble steed.

While you loved Bucky with all your heart and was endlessly appreciative of his help, you thought about how frustrating it would be to glue pieces of minuscule plastic and wood in equally small spaces. There wasn’t exactly much room for error and the amount of hot glue he’d use would dry up in seconds.

He kissed your head. “I’ve got all day, doll.”

You parted your lips and watched him go, this time, the keys to the storage unit in his jeans back pocket.

Was mind-reading a Super Soldier thing?

—

Everything was cleaned up by the time Bucky returned, pizza box in hand.

“(Y/N)?” he called for his girlfriend.

You in turn awoke on your bed, a throw blanket engulfing your body. “Bucky?”

He set the box down on the dining table and went back to your room. He blushed at the sight of you all curled up. You used the base of your thumb to rub your eye and sat up.

“I got pizza. Your favorite,” he leaned on the doorframe, hands in his pants pockets. “And something else.”

You smoothed your hair on the back of your head down and glanced at the clock.

5:03 p.m.

You turned back to him. “What’s the other thing?”

Your mind was still hazy from your nap. You didn’t even remember what you were doing prior.

“Come see for yourself,” he smirked and got back on both feet, heading to the kitchen.

You blinked away the sleep in your eyes and followed him.

On the table was the pizza box and a small paper bag on top.

“Open it,” Bucky, leaning against the counter, bit back a smile.

You dug your hand into the blue tissue paper, pulling out a white gift box wrapped with twine.

You pulled at one end until the bow came completely undone and you placed the string down.

Upon opening the box, your eyes fully opened and a gasp left your throat.

Inside, cushioned by sheets and rolls of black velvet, was the miniature prince and horse—perfectly intact. So perfect, in fact, it didn’t look broken in the first place.

You went to speak when you observed the horse had both ears now, instead of one.

“I used a chunk from what I was making and just painted it,” he shrugged, a lazy grin plastered on his stubbled face.

“Bucky, it’s beautiful…” you lifted your gaze from the horse to your lover.

You went up to him and leaned over to place the figure on the countertop by the backsplash.

When you went to stand up straight again, he held your hands and kissed you softly.

You parted, leading you to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

He held you around the waist and hummed.

“Anything for my babydoll.”

#Marvel #Bucky Barnes #James Buchanan Barnes #James Barnes #Sebastian Stan #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #Bucky Barnes x reader #Bucky Barnes x F!reader #Bucky Barnes x SE Asian!reader #oh hiiiiii #it's my debut! #my fic #my fics #my writing #mine

[lesbian-deadpool]

Saving Rosie

Part One of Two: “I’m Not A Spy.”

Rosie Betzer x Reader

Words: 5,768

Warnings: WWII (and everything that comes with that era), Nazis, spy shit, arguing, alludes to execution, sadness... I think that may be it.

Request: No.

Summary: You save the woman you have grown close to over the past few years you have been undercover as a Nazi general, and now you’re going to save her family.

A/N: Me, still broken after watching Jojo Rabbit almost a year and a half ago?? It’s more likely than you think... so, apparently I write Rosie Beltzer fics now lol

Also, just some lil notes. The reader in this is undercover as a male Nazi general, and they’re not actually German in this fic.

EDIT: I accidentally tagged this as a Natasha fic lmao. I fixed it now tho.

Ko-Fi

Commissions

(Not My GIF)

***

"It's a lovely night for it, huh?"

For what? You weren't 

certain. Maybe it was the full moon. Maybe, it was the clear sky. The deserted streets, perhaps... what loomed in the following days to come.

Or maybe, just maybe. It was the woman by your side.

The woman hummed, a small sweet smile caressing her face.

"One of the better ones we've had in years. Came her strong German accent. A stark difference to yours, considering you no longer had to mask it. Around her, anyway.

Your smile mirrored hers as it brightened.

"It sure is."

"I can't believe it's almost over. And after so long..." she said, while you grunted, sitting down beside her on the small roof over the open attic window. "This unjust war is finally coming to an end."

"Okay, you're starting to sound like my commander now."

Rosie chuckled at your words, moving to softly lean into your side, keeping her head up to continue looking at the bright white stars that littered the midnight blue sky.

"Why do you always insist on meeting up here?" you grumbled, no malice in your voice, "It's a pain in the ass to get up onto the roof, from the outside, y'know?"

"You're a spy, aren't you? Aren't you supposed to be good at this stuff?"

"Oh cheeky," you laughed, lightly slapping the side of her leg, with the back of your hand. Rosie's quiet giggles following your remark, "And I'm an undercover soldier. Those are two very different things."

"Still." She shrugged.

You sat in silence for a small while. Over the few years, you and Rosie had grown close. Meeting up on her rooftop, at the dead of night, where there was no chance of anyone seeing you together, this way, becoming an almost every day occurrence.

You knew you could trust her the moment you first met, almost three years ago. After you had stolen the identity of a Nazi officer, that looked starkly like you. Luckily, there was hardly any information about this person. So, there was less chance for your cover to be blown.

Soon, the resistance that Rosie had been deeply a part of was un-earthed to you, thanks to your informant and the letter she carried. It wasn't long after that you started working with them too. Helping them better than they could ever hope, thanks to the military resources and information you brought.

"What happened to your neck?" Rosie asked, pulling you out from where you were, deep in your memories.

A hand came up to rub at your slightly sore skin.

"My informant can be cruel..."

Rosie cocked a blonde eyebrow at you, wanting an explanation from you.

You sighed, getting ready to tell her.

***

Eyes burned into the woman from all sides as her heels kicked against the polished wooden, yet stained, floor. Her light brown hair shone under the glowing lights, confidence radiating from her just the same.

"Can I help you?" a German Soldier slid in front of her, she had to stop herself from sneering at the man. For both his being a Nazi and his sweaty stench. But instead, she managed a sultry smirk.

"I'm here to see your General," she replied, in a German accent.

"Don't bother," another Soldier, this one drunk and slightly swaying, called over, from where he was pressed into the wall a few feet behind her.

"I don't think your General would take too kindly to you stealing what they paid for."

"They're gonna have fun with you," he replied, blatantly looking her up and down. Like a wolf would, to a tiny bunny, ready to devour it whole. However, the wolf was not a wolf at all, the wolf was, in fact, the bunny, and the bunny was the actual wolf.

She would tear him to shreds, given the chance.

"The General is in the usual room," the original man said, "Fair warning, though. They're not in a good mood today."

The woman began strutting down the hallway, once again. Throwing, "Aren't they always?" over her shoulder once she passed him by.

When she opened the thick wooden door you resided behind, the sounds of your continued groan began pouring through the crack.

"Sometimes I cannot believe that you got this assignment," she uttered in her original London accent, with her back pressed against the now-closed door.

You finished your groan off and took a deep breath before you uttered your reply.

"Luck-of-the-draw, I guess," you spoke from the floor where you lay on your back, with a shrug, "That, or I look strikingly alike the guy who died. The Nazi prick."

She walked over to you, one foot rising to press her heel into your neck, your thyroid resting in the open space of the shoe.

A choking noise sprang from your mouth as you flailed your limbs around gently. You knew that if she were to press any harder, she would surely manage to choke you.

"You're not suited for this job."

The brunette pressed harder against your throat before she released you. Leaving you to turn on your side, coughing and spluttering.

"Well, no shit. I'm a soldier, not a spy."

"You can tell."

"What was that all about?" You motioned to your neck. Red marks already making their way upon the tender flesh.

"We need to make it seem like we are having sex. Remember? I am supposed to be your hooker after all."

"You're a bitch, is what you are."

She scowled at you as you rolled yourself onto your stomach, sighing when you finally got to your feet.

"Where's the update?"

You hummed, almost as if you were remembering what you were here to do. Removing the crystal tumbler from your lips the whisky sloshing around inside. Reaching behind you, you pulled the file from where it was tucked into your pants and under your shirt. Handing it over to her.

"Is this it?" She asked, weighing the file in her hand, "It's very light."

"Yeah, and so's the information swimming around. Unless you wanna hear about the fish Agatha caught last weekend," you snarked back, moving to point at the file with the same hand that held your glass, "There's some good stuff in there. It's not much. But it's good."

"I'll take your word for it."

She tucked the folder into the long overcoat she wore, then you saw her eyebrows furrow.

"Aren't you supposed to take care of that?" She nodded towards the uniform jacket you had thrown across the room not long after you had entered it.

"You sneered at the fore-talked about item.

"I hate it and everything it stands for." You turned back to face her. "As soon as all of this bullshit is over, I'm burning that fucking armband. And then the rest of the fucking uniform."

"Real calm there, aren't you?"

"Don't start shit with me, Hannah." You took a large swig of your drink, almost emptying the glass. "I know that you wish you had somehow gotten this mission. But trust me, you don't fucking want it. The shit I've seen and done. The stuff that I've had to authorise, just to keep my cover. The fucking horror storied these monsters have told proudly, or as if they're fucking jokes." You were panting now. "You don't want that."

You had her startled into silence. Hannah had never expected this to come from you.

"How's the resistance?"

You grunted. Downing the rest of the brown liquor before moving to pour yourself another glass three fingers tall.

"It's going." you gave a heavy nod. "Still trying to spread the word."

Hannah hummed, slowly making her way towards you. Fingers coming up to razzle her hair, and wipe her lipstick, so it smudged onto her cheek.

"How's the blonde?"

"What-?" you were cut off when she wiped the red lipstick on her fingers across your own lips, leaving a smudge like hers there. "Ugh," you groaned, moving away from her palm, only to utter small obscenities and sounds of pain when her lipstick freehand messed up your short, slicked-back hair.

"What blonde?" you finally managed to ask.

"The one from the resistance. What's her name?" She clicked her fingers together, in realisation, "Rosie."

"Oh! Yeah, she's fine, and so are the kids."

"You seem to be taking a shine to her, from what I hear from the resistance. You and Rosie seem to be something of a dynamic duo."

Suddenly your shirt was ripped open, from the collar to your ribs. Making your eyes widen in shock.

However, you were used to this by now, so they soon returned back to their regular size.

"Yeah, we're friends."

Hannah hummed, something akin to a knowing smirk on her face. As she untucked your shirt.

"I'd keep an eye on her, though."

She opened your pants.

"She's being watched."

Breathless at what she just said, you stood stock still, watching as she walked towards the wooden door.

"Oh." Hannah stopped, her hand upon the handle, pulling some pieces of paper from her pocket and threw them to the floor, "I'll leave you to deliver the bad news."

And with that, she left.

***

You forewent telling Rosie everything from the mention of her.

Thinking it the best if she heard it differently.

"That really sounds like a spy meeting to me," Rosie said with a smirk, knowing it would annoy you to no end.

You closed your eyes before you could roll them into the back of your head. Taking a deep breath, you exhaled, "I'm not a spy."

"So, you've said," she giggled.

"You're drunk," you mumbled to yourself.

"What was that?"

"How are the kids?" you asked, clearly watching as Rosie groaned lightly. Her head down-turned, almost sad looking.

"Jojo's still obsessed with Hitler and everything. And Elsa's doing her best. But I can tell how much this is affecting her. And in what world wouldn't it?"

"She's strong." You nodded. "She'll get through it. We all will."

"And what about Jojo?"

Rosie turned to face you, hair swaying as she did. You could see the glazed look in her eye's, telling yourself to be extra vigilant with the woman upon the roof. You had to make sure she didn't fall off in her drunken state.

"Is he going to be like this for the rest of his life?"

Tears were building in her eyes now.

"Supporting evil dictators, wanting to take over the world, and fill it with hate?"

"No. No, of course not," you whispered. Reaching over, you clasped her cheeks between your rough, war-hardened hands. Wiping away her silent tears. "He's just a boy. A boy who wants to be a part of something, even if he doesn't understand what that is. What monster's he's following. He will realise one day. Trust me."

"I trust you." She nodded. "It just. It's hard. It's so hard. Especially when he plays up, like he did at dinner today."

"He did?"

She hummed with a nod.

"We're low on food right now. I had to go without to feed Elsa. But Jojo, he didn't know, obviously, so he took that too. Then he started arguing about his father-"

You inhaled sharply, shoulders tensing. But luckily for you, she didn't notice your reaction.

"-I yelled at him... we made up not long after, but I still feel awful about it. I'm a terrible mother."

"No, you're not-"

"I am-"

"No. You're not," you said firmly. Grabbing her forearm, gently moving it side to side, to get your point further across, "You're such a caring and amazing person. Your heart is so big and kind. And you're an even better mother. It's like all of that is doubled for those kids."

"Thank you," Rosie whispered, tears in her eyes once again, before she moved to wipe them away.

"Anyway, you're way better than my mother. She abandoned me at a farm. I was lucky a cow didn't shit on me."

She giggled at your little joke.

"I'm so sorry that happened to you."

"There's no need. I wouldn't change it."

Things were quiet for a few minutes when you suddenly remembered.

"Oh!" You reached into your pocket and pulled out three packages, wrapped in brown paper and tied together with string. "I guess it was just lucky that I brought these then."

"What are they?"

"Beef sandwiches, I thought you would like them."

"Oh, you're a lifesaver," she spoke in something close to a moan as she took a bite out of her sandwich.

You gave a small chuckle at the woman seated beside you, "I'd thought you'd say that. I'll have to start bringing food over to these meetings of ours because it's not like I can do it out in the open."

"People would think something was going on between us," Rosie hummed.

"You're right about that. Everyone is so bored around here. Gossip is like their life sauce."

"Would you be surprised if I told you that it was the same before the war?"

"Not at all," you laughed.

Rosie finished her sandwich, and you dreaded what was coming next.

"I need to tell you something," you almost whispered.

She bumped her shoulder against yours when you didn't continue.

"Well? What is it?"

"It... it's about your husband..."

You watched her carefully as you said that, all the while emotions, flew into her while she processed them.

She held back more tears, ones from the look on her face that she had shed more times than she could count. Face contoured into one of concealed pain. Looking away from your gentle, caring eyes while rubbing her hands together.

"He's dead, isn't he?"

"I'm afraid so." You nodded, looking out before you, into the starry night sky.

That's when you felt a tiny jolt beside you. Looking over at the blonde, you watched as a tear trickled down her cheek.

"I'm so sorry," you whispered.

With a gasp and a wet sniff, Rosie wiped her tears away.

"What happened?"

"There was a raid, some members of a resistance was there, your husband included. None of them made it... they saved the people they intended to, however."

She nodded with a sad yet proud smile.

"How long ago was this?"

You swallowed. Hating the words you were about to say.

"A little over a year ago."

You winced when you heard her sobs, ones being held in so hard just so no one could overhear her cries.

And, sickeningly so, the worst thing of all was that you didn't know how to help her.

Placing a hand upon her back, rubbing small comforting circles into her shoulder. Feeling her lean into you, face now pushed into your neck.

"I'm here. Everything's going to be alright."

You left not too long later, after already spending way too much time up on that roof.

Rosie wished you a "goodbye" with the promise that she would be fine. However, she didn't reply to you when you told her not to finish the rest of the wine. That she had been pounding for the majority of the day.

Before you arrived "home" and promptly collapsed onto the bed.

***

The afternoon sun was warm upon your face as you walked the streets of the German town. Watching as children ran around, women worked, and well, gossiped, and Nazi soldiers came and went.

Soon. You thought. This will all be over soon.

That's when you heard the murmured words from the women you had just walked past.

"Yes, the Gestapo. They're here right now."

"Who for?" the other woman asked, voice slightly higher at the aspect of such "juicy" gossip.

Sometimes it surprised you just how detached some of these people were from human lives. But then you took a step back and saw everything that was happening in the world. And you weren't surprised anymore. Just disappointed.

"The traitors wife. Beltzer."

And now you were scared.

"-They should be taking her to the square, right now."

It was like the world had slowed down as you turned to look at them, meeting their curious eyes.

The last thing you heard before taking off at a run towards the town square was a fading, "Like husband, like wife. I guess."

The people you passed by looked at you like you were insane. To see a, what they thought, General, sprinting down streets and panting like crazy, it set them on edge.

But you didn't give a damn about what anybody thought.

You just had to get to the square.

And quick.

***

By the time you got there, you had a light shine over your skin. Thanks to the sweat from both the running you had done and the worry that coursed through you.

"Remove your hands from her," came your faux German accent.

"She is a traitor to the Reich," one of the Gestapo's, seemingly the leader, replied assuredly.

"And what proof do you have of this?"

Rosie was terrified. You could see that as clear as day, no matter how she tried to keep calm. It was written all over her face.

So, you forcefully pushed their hands from the heavily breathing woman and pulling her to stand by your side and away from the group of men dressed in black suits.

"I'll have you know, we have very probable tips from some of the community-"

""Probable"?!" you shouted, causing the on edge woman beside you to jump slightly. To which you pulled her closer to you as a form of comfort. Your hand, coming to rest on her shoulder.

"Yes. Probable. We cannot have risks."

"Well, I say that it is bullshit."

"You have no jurisdiction or authority over our department."

"And I never said I did. I am saying that I vouch for this woman."

"But the tip-off's-" another man began.

"You choose to believe lonely and bored housewives over a General?!" You watched as their faces fell, and they tried to grab onto any straw they could to change your mind.

"There is still a chance-"

"There is no chance!"

"And can you be so sure?!"

"Do you really believe that I, a General, would be with her if you were right?"

"With her?" a third Gestapo asked curiously.

You knew what you had to do to get her back home, safe and away from the men trying to execute and make a spectacle of her. Just like the poor people hanging to your right.

"It means that I have been seeing her. Romantically, if you still do not fully understand, what I mean."

They didn't say anything for a few short moments, only stumbling and stuttering over their own voices.

"So, tell me. Who are you choosing to believe?"

"Uh. Y-You General."

"Good." You nodded once. "Now, I'm going to take her home. Goodbye, gentlemen," you spat. Turning on your heel, with Rosie under your arm, and walking away.

"Are you okay?" you whispered. Not drawing any attention to yourself or Rosie.

"I'm fine. Thank you for saving me," she replied in the same way.

"I wouldn't have done anything else." Your hand slipped down to the blondes dip in her lower back, helping to guide her back home. "Where are the flyers? Did you have any on you?"

"Yes. I threw them down the drain before they could see."

"Good. You did good." A squeeze to her hip before your hand returned to her lower back, just to keep up the appearance of the lie. "They're not gonna find them."

***

Rosie had relaxed more by the time you were at the bottom of her street when you saw a distinctly expensive car parked outside of Rosie's house. A car that everyone knows belongs to that of Gestapo's.

"Is Jojo home?" you asked, just stood there starring at the sight, with Rosie by your side.

"Yes," she husked.

"Shit."

And that's when you both broke out in a run.

You, being faster than Rosie, arrived at the building first. Barging through the door, with her hot on your heels.

Pounding your way up the stairs, only to come face to face with a gang of men, identically dressed to the Gestapo's, you had just saved Rosie from. Along with Jojo and Elsa, in clothes that didn't look like they belonged to her. Not to mention the demoted soldier, holding an identification book.

"What is the meaning of this?!"

"What are you doing in my house?!" you and Rosie said at the same time. Your yell angrier, compared to her more so worried one.

"We are searching the premises," the lead man, who wore round glasses, spoke. Face confused as to why Rosie was still alive. But as soon as he saw the anger chiselled upon your face. He could take a successful guess as to who had stopped the execution.

"Mama, they were just checking Inge's identification," Jojo said as his mother rushed towards him. Her hands, on his cheeks, as she checked him over.

"Oh, yes. Of course." Rosie pulled Jojo along to bring Elsa into her side, just as you had done for her mere minutes ago. "Are you both alright?"

She gained words and nods of confirmation from the two children.

"I think it's time that you all left."

"But-" one Gestapo said, looking to Rosie.

"But nothing," you continued, "I'm sure your associates will fill you in on their mistake. Now, if you are finished, I ask that you leave this house."

"We were just about to, anyway," the leader said, leading the way out for everyone. But not before the ID was handed back to the assumed Inge. With you trailing after, to slam the door behind them.

You turned, leaning your back against the wooden door, sighing deeply.

"Are they gone?" Rosie called down, leaning over the railing, to peer down at you.

The stairs creaked below you, the layer of carpet doing nothing to quiet them. You spoke your confirmation, as you reached her, "They're gone."

The kids looked like they had just been caught with their hand's in the cookie jar.

"So..." the caring woman started, "You two know about each other."

They nodded.

"For how long?"

"A couple of weeks, at most," Jojo said.

"How did you even find out about her?"

"I-I found the hatch-"

"He crawled in-"

"And I found her-"

"He was terrified."

"Was not!"

"Was too."

"Was not!"

"Was too!"

"Okay, enough," Rosie raised her voice, gaining the bickering children's attention.

Taking a breath, she ran her hands through her soft blonde hair.

"And you never told anyone?"

"No." Jojo shook his head. "I didn't want you to get into trouble..." It was at that point, he realised you were silently stood behind his mother, watching as everything unfolded and who you were.

Rosie caught this and looked over her shoulder at you.

"Don't worry," she told both of the kids, crouching down before them. Elsa's face one of mild terror.

This is when it hit you that these kids were exactly that.

Kids.

Kid's that were too scared of their mothers, or motherly figure, scolding them, than the actual, apparent danger that lurked not too far away.

"They're not going to tell anybody. They know. And won't let anything happen. To any of us." she manoeuvred to face you. "Right?"

You nodded. "Absolutely. I will do my best to protect all of you."

"Speaking of." She slowly rose to her feet, walking towards you.

The hand that Rosie placed upon your arm was gentle, almost like she was worried she would hurt you. Fingers curling into the jacket of the uniform you loathed.

"I have to speak with the General. So, you two stay up here. Understood?"

They nodded.

"Good." She pulled you through the open door, but before she could close it fully, her head popped through the door, "Oh. And we're not done yet. We still have a lot to talk about."

Then the door clicked shut.

"You're really good at that."

"What?"

"Being a mother."

"I know. You've told me before."

***

Things had changed rather quickly when you arrived downstairs.

Sat upon the blue cotton cushions of the wooden framed couch. Watching as Rosie paced around in front of you, fingertips rubbing against her full lips, worry etched across her face.

Your eyebrows shot up, and your body straightened when she turned to face you. Arms now down by her sides.

"So, we're together, huh?"

"I'm sorry," you replied, German accent dropped, "But that was the only thing that would get them to back off and drop the suspicions against you."

"I know." She nodded, completely understanding. Before her minimal composure dropped, and the worry came back. "What do we do? Jojo obviously thinks you are a traitor now. What if he tells someone?"

"He won't." You stood abruptly, taking Rosie's shoulder's into your hands, squeezing them gently. "He didn't tell anyone about Elsa when he had so many chances to do so. Hell, he had the chance, not even five minutes ago. But he hasn't said a word, purely just to keep you safe... he doesn't understand that this could hurt him and Elsa too. He doesn't know what's happening."

"But this is different-"

"Yes, it is different. It's better he thinks I'm a traitor, helping his family, than him knowing I'm an undercover soldier."

"You mean a spy?"

"Don't you start with that shit." You pointed at her playfully.

Rosie's smile dropped when a thought popped into her mind.

"Do you think they will still come back?"

"It is possible," you said honestly, "Which is why we should leave as soon as we possibly can."

"And go where?"

"Anywhere that isn't here."

"What do I tell the kids- What do I tell Jojo?" she clarified.

"The truth. You tell them that they could come back and that we all need to leave because we could all be in danger."

With her head in her hand's, the blonde scoffed tearily, "God. This fucking war."

"I know. I know."

You pulled her into your chest, letting her cry into you. Arms wound around your torso tightly.

"I hate it, For so many reasons."

"I know," you repeated again, "I feel the same."

"When will it just end? When will people be safe again?"

Deciding that it would be best to tell her the truth, you said, "I don't know. Soon I hope."

And there you sat, for a small while longer, allowing the blonde to cry into your chest.

***

You had left.

Gone to go gather some of your things, thinking it best to stay with Rosie and the kids while you were forced to stay in town.

All the while Rosie, spoke to the kids about leaving.

"I don't understand why we have to go!"

Was what you were greeted with as you entered the home.

"Because it is not safe for us here anymore," Rosie's voice came, calm but firm.

"But they won't come back."

"That's not entirely true," you spoke, entering the kitchen. Placing the leather bag you carried and the wicker basket upon the small table against the wall, you continued, "There's always a chance, no matter how small."

The young boy watched you silently for a minute. Not knowing what to say.

"Trust me, Jojo. I know how all of this works. I just want to keep you all safe, so does your mother. And this is the best way to do it.2

Jojo sighed.

"Where will we go?"

Rosie looked at you intently when her son asked this, wondering the same thing.

"We'll get out of town first. Then we'll focus on a safe place for us all to go."

"Jojo, would you. Would you go to your room, please?" Rosie asked, "I need to speak with the General, alone."

Just as the blonde boy was about to protest, he was cut off.

"Now. I also have to start preparing dinner."

He huffed and walked from the room, bounding up the stairs rather loudly.

You felt bad for the woman as you watched her grip the sides of the oven, bow her head, and give a great sigh.

"Where's Elsa?"

"She's in her hiding spot." Then she turned to face you. "Y/N, K know that Elsa isn't Inge."

"What?"

"She got Inge's birthday wrong, and he didn't say anything."

Your eye's wandered as you took in the information that was just given to you.

"Do you think he will say anything?"

"I don't know," you said with a shrug, "But I don't wanna take any chances. It's too risky."

"I agree." Rosie nodded once. "So, when do we leave."

"As soon as possible. Tonight if we can. Only pack the essentials. And not yet, we can't raise any suspicions."

Rosie's only reply and indication that she had heard you were a good few nods.

And then.

"What's in the basket?"

"Oh," you said chipperly, "Don't worry about cooking. I brought dinner."

***

Turns out "tonight" wasn't a viable option for skipping town, as with loud, almost deafening sirens of dread filled the sky came the air-raid strike.

"Wouldn't it give us a good cover, though?" Rosie had asked, preparing for bed.

You had resigned yourself to staying over, as a sort of bodyguard, while still in town. And the threat was still very much weighing in the winds.

You looked over your shoulder at her. Being spotted by her through the mirror of her vanity, where she sat. Removing her makeup and then applying some face cream.

"I'm not the only one by a window," you told her. Then moved to peer through the window, at the moving lights in the black, midnight sky. "I'm sure I heard Elsa and Jojo in the attic watching them."

"They are," she confirmed.

"See. We're not the only ones. Too many eyes. A good distraction," you admitted, "But almost impossible. And with two kids added to that? No chance."

A hum came from Rosie.

"So, what are our options?"

With a sigh, you began explaining, "People will be too jumpy tomorrow, so our best bet would be the day after."

The blonde, now ready for bed, came over to you. Moving to stand right in front of you, looking out the window herself.

"Wouldn't it be too risky, staying here that long?"

It seemed it was your turn to hum, shrugging your shoulders.

"I'd rather stay here a few more days than risk it out there. But there is a good side to these change of plans."

"And what's that?"

"Now, we can sneak stuff to the car. And won't risk being caught doing it all at night. That way, all we have to do is get in, then drive off."

"Good plan. Partner," Rosie spoke in a slight mocking about sultry tone. Which only made you roll your eyes good-naturedly.

"Yeah. Yeah. You're welcome."

"Seriously," you halted at Rosie's serious tone, raising your head to peer at her, "Thank you for everything."

"You don't have to thank me." Your lips ticked up in a small smile before you lightened the sober mood and atmosphere. "And you definitely won't be thanking me if I accidentally kick you in my sleep."

Rosie laughed at your words, watching as you said into bed beside her.

"Do not worry. If you kick me, I'll just kick you out of the bed."

"Now that's just rude."

Waking up the next morning was strange for you, to say the least.

With the bright sun shining through the thin drapes, across the cosy room, and onto the bed. Duvet lumpy above your forms.

And then there was Rosie.

The blonde pressed up against your side, head resting on your shoulder, arms curled around one of yours, still fast asleep.

Now that.

That was very unusual for you.

But then again. You were too sleepy to process anything at that moment. So instead, you just watched her breathe soothingly, looking so peaceful by your side, with your eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinted in curiosity.

It was a wonder how someone could look so contest face asleep like Rosie was, with everything that is going on in the world.

The world wouldn't be that way for much longer, you thought, it was only a matter of time before everything was over.

And the same thing could be said for the blonde sleeping by your side.

The wooden door barged open, alerting you fully awake, as Jojo strutted in. Only to stop dead in his tracks at the sight of you. In bed. With his mother.

You could see the slight anger in his eyes, purely out of protection for his beloved mother.

"Good morning, Jojo," Rosie said sleepily as she moved to sit up, looking at the boy with a sleepy smile.

You grunted as she pressed her palm into your abdomen to raise up into a seated position.

"What are they doing here?" he asked, nodding his head towards you.

Rosie looked over her shoulder at you, tired eyes evaluating you. Before she turned back to her son.

"There's something I forgot to tell you yesterday."

You watched the mother and child with slightly wide eyes, not uttering a word, just looking like you wanted to escape this situation.

"What did you forget?"

"The General here-" she patted your abdomen where her hand still resided. "-And I, are seeing each other."

It was a few good long moments as Jojo processed the words. You thought he was going to be angry. It would be natural. You would understand. He was a young boy, one who undoubtedly missed his father and would not be happy with his mother being with anyone else.

But you also had to understand that he idolised you, if only for your -albeit fake- position in the German military.

And yet, you were still surprised and confused by what he said next.

"A lion?"

Rosie smiled brightly, nodding her head, "A lion."

"A lion?"

That was the first thing you said that morning, and it was full of confusion.

But it fell on deaf ears.

Jojo nodded once at his mother before turning on his heel and walking from the room, without saying what he initially came in for.

"What?"

Rosie smiled at you.

"Come on, we should get moving."

The bed shook and bounced as she got up from the bed, preparing to get ready for the day.

"I'm so confused," you almost whimpered, only gaining a soft giggle in return.

***

Permanent Tag List: 

@imnotasuperhero, @veteranwerewolf95, @natasha-danvers, @marvelfansince08love, @higherfurther-romanova, @lesbian-x-blackwidow, @sestra-inestro, @thelastavenger-3000, @mixed-fandom-mess,

SFW Tag list: 

@peggycarter-steverogers, @natalia-quinzel,

(I didn’t know if you guys wanted to be tagged in this, but...)

#original work #original fanfiction #rosie beltzer x reader #rosie betzler x reader #rosie betzler imagine #rosie betzler #jojo rabbit imagine #jojo rabbit

[f3296]

Hi I just feel like I need to ramble and maybe some one else out there feels the same way. So in the AOT I’m not all that big on ships just because shipping really isn’t my thing but I do enjoy it to an extent. I consider myself to be a multi shipper because again the relationships in AOT are so complex and I love all the characters and their dynamics. My biggest “ship” would be Eurihan just because that trio to me is all sorts of fun and I love their dynamic.

But with that being said, I find myself to be drifting farther and farther away from the Eruri aspect just because as I continue to reread the manga and pay attention to the themes of the story canonically speaking I don’t actually see any “romance” between them. The Fannon concepts of Eruri are fun and beautifully tragic with the fan arts and stories especially in modern AU. They are a very attractive couple and I fully understand the hype but canonically speaking I just don’t see it anymore. I love their dynamic as a whole and brings such a complex look to both Levi and Erwins character that their friendship is something to admire.

And with that being said I feel their complexity of characters and their story gets lost within the fandom. I think the term that is used is “shipping goggles” when canon stuff of the original story gets lost or replaced for the sake of the ship. Which in this case I feel happens a lot in Eruri specifically.

Now I really don’t want people to feel I am bashing Eruri. I’m obviously a fan with my own fan art and my interactions with mutuals so please no one take offense. This is just a quirk I have in every fandom when canon material gets lost for the sake of a ship.

Specifically with Levi.

Now I understand my biases consider Levi is my favorite character and I truly Kin him. But when I watch edits or read DJs or even just scrolling through things like tumblr or Twitter I find myself avoiding the Eruri tags because I get so frustrated when all I see if Levi’s entire character being based around Erwin. The concept that Levi is only alive to fulfill Erwins promise or he only fights for Erwin and completely derailing his character to be centered around Erwin is frustrating.

Levi fights for all the scouts since the very beginning. When else first meet him and he promises the dying scout he would eradicate the Titans, this is a shared dream the scouts had and has said he will do what he can for All of them. Not just Erwin.

Now this isn’t to disregard Erwins importance to Levi. Erwin gave him a purpose to live, he was his friend and trusted comrade and felt he was the best for humanity. Erwin is important to Levi no one is saying other wise. He just isn’t the center of Levi’s world.

Levi trusted Erwin because he saw something bigger than himself and Levi wanted to help Erwin get there because Levi himself if a very loving and selfless character. This I find to be so beautiful of Levi’s (and mikasas) character.

When Levi learns the truth behind Erwins actions and his selfish reasons to fight for humanity was for the sake of seeing in the basement really sent Levi into turmoil. (I feel this is WITs fault for not expressing this properly in the anime) this is why he continued to pester and push Erwin to know his motives past the basement, because Levi wanted to believe he was this selfless leader he had been finessed into believing he was (because we can’t forget canonically speaking Erwin is a con man and enjoys gambling which makes him and great leader)

Levi tells Erwin to die so he would continue to go down with the facade he was a selfless leader and to continue to live up to the expectation. Levi accepted this fault of Erwin just as he had accepted the faults of all his comrades and their selfish actions.

Levi was canonically devoted to Erwin, but not in the romantic way.

Erwin also never expressed a “interest” in Levi in that matter outside of their friendship and Levi’s abilities. It also should keep in mind that Erwin was ultimately in love with Marie, and chose not to have a family and a wife (which he actually wanted) to avoid having a widow. We can head cannon all day long about how “he realized in his last moments” or “behind the scenes” or interpreting smart press stories a certain way to fit the narrative but it’s just important to remember the difference between cannon material and your own HCs.

Now I know a lot of people will read this and think “wow a levihan shipper wrote this” and you would be right I also ship levihan as well. And they are also not cannon in a relationship as well but the romantic implications for them specifically cannot be ignored because you don’t like them. Levi and Hange are canonically best friends. They are known as the “abnormals” of the scouts. They know each other the best. Their relationship is so complex it cannot be defined as a friendship. (Even Moblit admits he doesn’t have a bond with Hange like Levi does) and it’s okay if you just see them as friends, and I honestly don’t blame a lot of people who do considering WIT really bit the bullet with missing key Levi and Hange moments to better fit their dynamic (I’ve seen people say they aren’t even good friends and that breaks my heart they are besties )

And honestly why wouldn’t you want to ship levihan? This ship in my opinion is the least problematic with the least controversy to it. It’s comforting and sweet and gives a sense of love and family. It’s literally a best friends-> lovers trope. Their friendship is what makes this ship in my opinion so pure and honestly why I fall in love with it more everyday.

And I know some will say “what about Moblit?” And honestly, it bothers me how much he is used to argue levihan because I ultimately feel his character also gets dumbed down as a default for Hange just for shipping and it bothers me too.

*and honestly guys Hange and Moblit isn’t even that great in a ship since considering Moblit became an anxious alcoholic trying to take care of Hange and Hange would get so caught up with their work they wouldn’t even notice. NOTE: they obviously cared for each other as comrades and Moblit felt Hange was needed for humanities survival and cared for them obviously but just my opinion I don’t see that ship working in my opinion.

But in reality guys, I never saw any of these characters “getting together” because they’re soldiers. Their hearts were dedicated to the cause of saving humanity first so that’s the beauty of AOT and the ambiguity of the characters relationships with one another because ultimately they all have attributes to love and benefit each other. Even with the forest scene and the plane for Levi and Hange, I never expected A “happy ending” for them in the sense of platonic or romantic because that doesn’t fit their canon narratives. Levi was destined to be the last soldier standing and brings the complexity of being the perfect soldier with a human heart.

*though the implication of romantic feelings never being acted on were there because they indeed paralleled with eren and mikasa

Levi’s literally means “attached” he attaches himself to the people he cares about and dedicated his strength and ability to help others gain their hopes and dreams.

Erwin tragically lost his humanity to become the devil for the sake of humanity which ultimately left him fruitless to his venture.

Hange taking on the burden of making the tough decisions and shouldering the weight of the deaths of the soldiers and Erwins legacy left them feeling loss and useless until their sacrifice.

All these characters have such complexity to them, they are all deeper than their fannon ship and should be appreciated and the narrative shouldn’t be shifted for the sake of a ship.

Levi didn’t fight to the end for just Erwin he did it for all of them.

So again, sorry for my rambles and I hope there will be those who read this and understand where I am coming from with this and understand though I will continue to ship all three, it still makes me sad I feel I can’t interact with some without them destroying entire characters for the sake of the ship.

So again love ships not ship wars. That’s the fun part when ships aren’t cannon you can just mix and match whenever you feel like it ❤️❤️

#levihan #I’m only tagging levihan just because I feel Eruris might hurt me lol #erurihan

[americasass91]

Early Christmas Present

Hello Lovelies! Sorry it has taken me so long to participate in this lovely, lovely challenge! Life has been interesting. But here is my first entry for the #merryhoemas challenge! Thank you for hosting this awesome challenge @amythedvdhoarder​ @chrissquares​ @drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @pumpkin-and-pine​ @starlightcrystalline​

I had so much fun with this! I hope to get more submitted for this! I hope you all enjoy it! It stars everyone’s favorite Murder Sweater Daddy, Ransom!

(Although in my story he didn’t murder anyone)

Also I have something to say. I don’t think there is nearly enough Ransom fics out there with a breeding kink so that’s what this filth is. I’m in a mood okay? I need Ransom to fill me up something bad.

Anyways! I hope you all enjoy this! Best wishes and warmest regards to all!

***Edit*** Had to delete the original and post this again because none of the tags were working. Sorry!

Movie Dialogue/Verbal prompts:

“Looks like Christmas came early, huh?”

Gif Prompt Used: #2

Event/Activity prompts:

Watching Christmas Movies

Wearing Christmas themed PJs or lingerie

Rating: Explicit(Do I even need to put this anymore😜)

Words: 2.9k

Warnings: language, breeding kink, Soft Ransom, unprotected sex(don’t be a fool, wrap that tool)

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

You couldn’t help the tears that started welling up in your eyes at the sight of the little pink onesie in your hands. You were currently wrapping a christmas gift for yet another one of your pregnant friends. You feel like that’s all you’ve been doing lately is seeing pregnancy announcements on Facebook and attending baby showers.

It’s something you never thought you wanted. Growing up you just never saw that for yourself. And you were fine with that. But lately you couldn’t help all these feelings you were having.

You couldn’t help but picture what your baby would look like. Maybe your curly hair and your nose. You didn’t really care as long as they got your husband’s beautiful blue eyes.

Your husband. That’s another problem.

You guys had a great marriage, surprisingly full of love and laughs.

The problem was, he didn’t want children either. Like, really didn’t want them. He didn’t have the best upbringing and had never wanted children because of it.

The both of you had this conversation when you were still dating, happy to be on the same page. And at the time you both were. You knew if you brought up wanting a baby it would just upset him. So you’ve been keeping it to yourself for the past few months.

It’s fine, you don’t need a baby to be happy.

“Sweetheart? Where are you?”

The sound of your husband’s voice brought you out of your daydream. You quickly wipe your eyes free of the tears that had gathered and answered that you were in the living room.

He enters and finds you sitting in front of the tree with the onesie still in your hands.

He kneels down beside you and kisses your cheek.

“Another one? Who’s having a baby now?”

You place the onesie in the box and start covering it with tissue paper. “Kate. She just found out yesterday.”

Ransom shakes his head. “Wow. Thank god that’s not us, right?”

He gets up and heads towards the kitchen. He doesn’t see the tear fall down your cheek. “Yeah, thank god.”

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

Later that night you find yourself in bed scrolling through social media. You come across another pregnancy announcement. It’s like they were mocking you. You sign out of your account and throw your phone on the bedside table. You decide to just get comfortable under the covers. You’re facing the wall when you feel the bed dip behind you.

Ransom pushes himself up against you and starts kissing your neck and rests his hand on your hip. You start getting lost in the sensation. He knows just what to do with his mouth to get you going.

“God, baby. I need you so bad.”

With that he pushes his erection against your ass.

That somehow triggers something in you.

You turn around and push him onto his back and straddle his hips. You start grinding down against his hard cock, earning you a moan from him.

“Fuck baby. You need me, too?”

You nod. “Yeah, Ran. Need you so bad. Need you to fuck me and fill me up.”

He smacks your ass and grabs your hips, grinding you against him harder.

“Yeah? Need me to fill that pussy, huh?”

You nip at his earlobe. “Yeah. Maybe you’ll fill me up so good, you’ll put a baby in me.”

Ransom seizes all movement and looks at you wide eyed.

“Why the fuck would I want to do that?” He pushes you off of him and promptly stands up, putting space between you. “You know how I feel about kids. You know I don’t want them. And up until just now, I didn’t think you did either!” He throws his hands up in exasperation.

You don’t know what to say. You knew he might be upset. But you didn’t think he’d get mad. So you just sit up and look at your hands in your lap, doing your best to keep the tears at bay.

“I’m sorry, Ran. It’s just, so many of my friends are having babies lately and it got me thinking. I want that with you. Would it be so horrible if we had one?” You looked at him with what you hoped was a pleading look.

He starts walking towards the bathroom. “It would be the absolute worst thing to happen. You need to get back in the mindset you were in before. Because we aren’t having kids. End of discussion. Jesus, Y/N. Way to ruin the fucking mood.” With that he slammed the bathroom door shut, leaving you to your tears.

🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄🎄

It’s been nothing but tense in your house ever since you brought up having a baby a few weeks ago. Christmas was in full swing. It was only a week away now.

You two had been attending Christmas parties together and acting like everything was fine. But that was a different story once you returned home.

Ransom would retreat to your bedroom and you had started sleeping in the guest room. He didn’t ask you to, but you hated sharing a bed with him when he wasn’t speaking to you.

You returned from yet another party and head to the guest room to change into some cute Christmas PJs you had found. They had Rudolph all over them. Including matching fuzzy socks. They were nice and cozy. Something you were in short supply of these days.

You grab a glass of wine from the kitchen and head to the living room. You decide you want to watch Home Alone. One of your all time favorite Christmas movies. Grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch, you wrap yourself up and settle in.

You get to the point where the Wet Bandits are breaking in, when the alarm on your phone goes off, signaling it’s time to take your birth control. Wow. You didn’t realize it was 11 already.

You head upstairs to your shared bedroom. You open the door and tentatively look inside. You don’t see Ransom. He must be in his study. Good.

You hurry across the room to the bathroom. You grab one of the glasses sitting on the counter and fill it enough for you to take your small pill.

Not even looking, you open the medicine cabinet and grab for your packet of pills. Your hand finds the space empty. You look up and find that they aren’t in their usual spot. You open the other sides of the medicine cabinet and nothing. They were just here last night.

You go to turn to look in the guest bathroom and see Ransom standing in the doorframe. You yelp in surprise and grab your chest. “Jesus, Ran. You scared me.”

He uncrosses his arms and saunters towards you. “Sorry, baby girl. I thought you heard me.” He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you in for a kiss.

It takes you 5 full seconds to realize your husband is giving you the first attention he has in weeks. You quickly reciprocate the kiss, knowing it could end at any second.

He pushes you against the counter and grounds his hips into you. You can’t help but moan into his mouth at the feeling of his erection pressing into your lower belly.

The both of you finally have to pull away for air. He starts dragging you towards the bedroom. Your wits finally come back to you. “Ran, wait. I need to take my pill.” You turn to grab for it and then remember it wasn’t there. You turn back towards your husband. “Did you move my birth control? I always kept it in the medicine cabinet.”

He just smirks and pulls you up against his body once more. “I threw them out.” He moves back in for a kiss but you push him away and blink up at him. “What? Why would you do that?”

He furrows his brows. “I’m confused. I thought you wanted a baby?”

You shake your head incredulously. “Well yeah….but you made it very clear that you don’t.”

He just shrugged his shoulders. “I changed my mind. Looks like Christmas came early, huh?”

You wiggle out of his grasp and push past him to go back into the bedroom.

“We need to talk about this Ransom. You literally pushed me away the last and only time I’ve brought it up. And then you didn’t talk to me for 2 weeks. This isn’t some kind of situation where you’re giving me what I want only to regret it later is it?” You sit down on the bed and look over at him.

He walks over and sits down beside you. He wraps his right arm around you and places it on your hip to pull you against him. He places his left hand on your thigh and starts gently massaging it. Then he presses his lips against your neck and gives it a kiss.

He pulls away to look at you, giving you a genuine smile. “I’ll admit that at first I was pissed that you brought up a baby. I’ve always been a selfish man and I just didn’t want to share you. But then I had a dream. We were in the hospital and you were giving birth. I remember feeling so happy. I was holding your hand and coaching you through the pain. And then our son was born. And they placed him on your chest. You cradled him against you and started crying tears of happiness. Then you looked over at me and gave me a smile that took my breath away. I’d never seen you so happy. It rivaled the smile you gave me when you walked down the aisle towards me on our wedding day.”

He pauses for a minute and wipes away the tears that you hadn’t even realized were running down your face.

“Then I woke up. I laid there and realized I would do anything in my power to make you smile like that for real. I need to see it, sweetheart. And if that means giving you a baby, then so be it. Nothing makes me happier than seeing you happy. I know it  wasn’t originally in our plans, but fuck it. We can make new plans.”

By now there were tears running down both of your faces. You just couldn’t believe what he was saying. You felt like this was your own dream you were going to wake up from.

You both laugh at each other as you wipe away the other’s tears. You then grab his face and pull him in for a kiss. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you as close as he can.

You pull away and give him an evil smirk. “Well then, husband. What are you waiting for?” You lean forward and place your lips next to his ear. “Fuck a baby into me.”

He groans out loud at your words and quickly starts undressing you. You’d never seen him work this fast. You can’t help but let out a chuckle. He stops with his hands on his own pants and looks over your now naked form. “Something tickling your fancy, Mrs. Drysdale?”

You nod your head. “I just don’t think I’ve ever seen you undress us this fast.”

He smirks and continues removing his pants. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this turned on before.”

He then crawls on top of you and begins sucking on your neck. You start whimpering and tug his hair. He pulls away and looks down at you. “No foreplay, Ran. Just need you. Please. Need to feel you.”

He moves his hand down to your folds and finds you drenched. “Jesus, baby girl. You that excited for me to put a baby in you? Yeah you are. Your little cunt needs to be full of my cum, doesn’t it? Greedy girl.”

You grasp a hold of his cock and start pumping him at the pace he’s touching you. He drops his head to your shoulder and groans out your name. “Fuck, sweetheart. You’re gonna make me blow my load before I’m inside you.”

You chuckle and move his cock towards your entrance. “Then fuck me already. What are you waiting for?”

He surprises you and pushes all the way in until your hips are flush against each other. You wrap your legs around his waist instinctually. He leans down for a quick kiss before he raises back up to look at you. “Well, I was trying to bring some romance into the situation. But looks like my little wife doesn’t want that. Just wants to be fucked until she’s full. Right, sweetheart? Until you can’t feel anything else but me inside you.”

Your body shudders at the thought of being so full. You nod your head vigorously and tap your heel against Ransom’s ass, signaling him to move. “Yes! Yes please!”

He smirks and starts thrusting at a slow pace. Slow, but deep. You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a needy kiss. He moans into your mouth and starts to pick up the pace of his thrusts.

Then he pulls away and nips at your ear. “God, I can’t wait to see what you look like pregnant. All round and full with my kid. I can barely keep my hands off you now. You might just have to stay in the house and naked your entire pregnancy so I can get my fill anytime I want.”

You clench around his cock at his words. He just smirks into your neck.

“But my little slut would like that, wouldn’t she? Because even though you don’t admit it, you need my cock as much as I need this sweet pussy.”

You can feel the coil in your belly tightening more and more. You know you’re not going to last much longer. His words are sure as fuck not helping.

You unwrap one of your legs from his waist and plant your foot firmly on the bed and start meeting his thrusts with vigor. You can feel his hips starting to stutter. He’s close too.

“Come on, Ran. Fill me up. I want it.”

He leans up until he’s nose to nose with you. “Yeah, baby? I’m gonna fill you up so good and full that your body will have no other option but to get pregnant. Fuck you’re squeezing me so tight.”

He reaches down and starts rubbing circles against your clit. That did it.

You fall off the euphoric edge with a scream of Ransom’s name. You’ve never come this hard. You’re seeing stars.

Feeling you clench around his cock with a vice-like grip is what pushes Ransom over the edge. He paints your walls with his release as he whispers your name over and over until he’s so spent, he almost falls on top of you. He catches himself at the last second and wraps his arms around you before rolling you both onto your sides.

He pulls you in for a sweet kiss. You can’t help but smile into it, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm.

He pulls back and smiles at you. “Merry Christmas, my sweet girl.”

You beam at him. “Merry Christmas, handsome.”

You tangle your feet with his only to realize you still had your fuzzy socks on. You look down and realize Ransom is in his own pair of fuzzy socks. You start laughing, a whole hearted belly laugh. Ransom follows your gaze and starts laughing himself.

You wipe tears from your eyes and wrap your arms back around his neck. “Eager enough to get me naked but not so eager to lose the socks?” You can’t help but tease him.

He just shrugs and continues chuckling. “Well, you’re always complaining about your feet being cold. I’m just trying to make you happy, dear.”

You both crack up laughing again at that.

Once you both calm down, he places his hand over your belly. “Do you think it took?” He looks up at you hopefully.

You place your hand over his and gaze up at him. “I’m not sure. We should probably keep having sex, you know. Just in case.” You throw him a wink.

He pretends to be offended. “Oh, dammit. I suppose if we have to.”

He pulls you back in for another kiss that is sure to lead you into round 2.

permanent Taglist: @stargazingfangirl18​ @drabblewithfrannybarnes​ @harrysthiccthighss​

#merryhoemas #ransom drysdale #ransom x y/n #ransom drysdale x reader #ransom thrombey smut #ransom drysdale x female reader #Chris Evans #chris evans smut #chris evans fanfiction #Cici91 writes

[misterewrites]

Mystery at the Salt-Irons

Hey everyone! E here with a new chapter! kept you waiting huh? Haha sorry it's been a busy few weeks. Nothing serious but I had to keep starting and stopping this chapter so it threw me off but it's here, it's ready and I hope you enjoy it!

I have some special guests in this story, some ocs made by my friends because you know what I can so I will and honestly, they were really great oc ideas guys. so keep an eye out for @hains-mae and Biz_fantasist  OC(I don’t know if she has a tumblr but it’s late so I’ll edit it later) 

That's it for me! I hope you are all stay safe, keep your loved ones safe, wash your hands, wear your masks, push to give everyone the vaccine cuz this is getting ridiculous. I hope you have a great week, thank you for reading. I deeply appreciate and feel free to share it with your friends, give me feedback. Reblog and comments all that fun stuff! Thanks and I'll see you soon!

Here’s the chapter over at Ao3

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/85394095

Here’s the story from the beginning if you’re curious what this is about

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599756/chapters/75486005

and here’s a list of all my work both original and the various fandoms I write for

https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrE42/works

Summary:  Finnrick is called to solve a mysterious case as per his job as the city's only Private Investigator wizard but as he sinks deeper into the case, the more it seems that something is happening behind the scenes. Of course with an old friend in town and dark magic surrounding the case, Finnrick is as busy as ever. Ain't no rest for the wicked.

-----

The Salt-Iron Flats weren’t anything special on the surface: An unassuming apartment complex on the north side of Newton Haven, the only thing most people remembered about the place was how the price tag hurt their souls.

Of course, unlike the general housing market, the Salt-Irons (affectionately referred to by the locals) actually had a very reasonable reason for fetching such a high rate: The salt and cold iron baked into every single brick that formed the building.

If you weren’t in the magical know, you’d think it utterly insane that you’d be forced to pay such a large amount of cash because some weirdo decided to make a new age artistic statement with bricks. Of course, if you are aware of the greater community at large, you’d knew you were paying the insanely large sum because someone decided to make the Salt-Irons the single most protective location in the city.

Most mortals have forgotten their history, their lore and collective knowledge passed down throughout the generations: Why their ancestors used to place lines of salt in front of the door and windows, why the elders always suggested to the braver, recklessly youthful family members to carry iron whenever they ventured through the wild.

Outer beings were repelled by salt and iron. No one really had an idea why fae, angels and demons weren’t fond of salt or iron and there's been plenty of arguing about the subject but all in all the fact remained they did not do well when faced with either.

That was the main reason Finnrick didn’t find himself in the north side of town often.

Well that and the zealous Gate Keepers. Those guys were freaks but between them and the Salt-Irons being the only supernatural community up here, Finn never got a case from the area.

Until today.

The Salt-Irons were great at protecting you from any outside threats that wished you ill will: It didn’t protect you from anything you decided to bring in with you.

It was five in the morning when Finnrick got the call. The M.R.R.D representative didn’t have much to offer beyond the address and floor but he thanked her all the same.

Finnrick yawned tiredly, stretching the tension out of his neck while he sipped his coffee. He let out a sigh of relief as the sun slowly rose into the sky.

The Salt-Irons was a twelve story tall building painted a ghastly pale green that made Finnrick sick just looking at it.

“People are paying how much to live in that shade? I’d ask for discount if I were them.” Finnrick laughing to himself, making his way into the apartment complex.

Luckily the interior was much nicer than the outside: Everything was well kept and cleaned. Not a single speck of dust in sight and the wooden stairs didn’t creak when Finnrick placed his foot on them.

Which was good given Finnrick needed to go up seven flights of stairs.

Finnrick wheezed a little, wiping the sweat from his brow when he reached the seventh floor. He glanced down the hall one way then the other as he began to search for room 707 which basic deductive reasoning suggested should be around the corner.

Finnrick crushed the empty foam cup and tucked it into his coat pocket as he made his way to 707. It was a simple wooden door and immaculately spotless just like the rest of the place. He rose his hand and gently rapped on the door.

No response.

He frowned, checking if he was still alone in the empty hallway and rose his hand towards the door frame.

His eyes glowed with a blue energy as he whispered softly “Revelis”

The door gleamed with a bluish hue for a moment before fading away without a trace.

No protective spells laced over the frame so the only thing Finn had to worry about now if it was locked.

He tried the knob, unsurprised when it swung open silently.

“It’s not breaking and entering if someone’s expecting you” Finnrick justified to himself as he pushed the door in.

He nearly staggered backwards: The air tasted thick and foul like something had been left rotting inside. His skin prickled with anxiety, a chill running down his spine with each step he took further in.

Finnrick took deep, calming breathes while doing his best to ignore the bitter taste that seem to cling the air within.

He noticed the trail of footsteps, perfectly preserved in what appeared to be black dust leading deeper into the living room.

“Hey da! You here?” Finnrick called out, carefully stepping closer “You and ma still married?”

There was a deep grunt of acknowledgment before a voice responded “Sorry son, we’re divorced now. She got custody of you.”

“Well fuck. I guess I’m going to be eating kale and poorly cooked spinach for the rest of my life.”

Garrus Valka was not in fact Finnrick’s father, adoptive or otherwise. He was actually one of the highest ranked officers of the Magical Rapid Response Department: An elf clocking in at 200 years old with richly tanned skin. His bluish gray hair was slicked back in his preferred style. Garrus’s had his back turned to the detective but Finn knew his sliverish gray eyes were deep in concentration as he took down notes about the surroundings. His beautifully inhuman features were marred with a scar on the right side of his face: burnt skin on his cheek, healed by time and various surgeries. An old war wound though Finn never got the full story.

He was dressed in typical M.R.R.D fashion: Dark blue windbreaker, jeans and a blue shirt with the words “Powered by coffee and spite” splashed across the front. His Winchester rifle was slung across his back, ready for any action that may befall the elf.

“Drift.” Garrus greeted teasingly while offering a hand.

Finnrick gave it a playful shake “Da. So is mom here or she trying to smite pigeons again?”

“THEY TRIED TO STEAL MY HOTDOG!” Garrus’s partner Eden screamed from another room “I SHALL BRING MY GOD’S WRATH UPON THEM!”

“You know when they mean justice.” Finnrick called out “I don’t think they mean against winged rats.”

Eden chuckled darkly “You know not their sins.”

“Okay.” Finnrick nodded despite the fact she couldn’t see him “If you say so. What happened Da? Aside powerful necromancy.”

“Powerful necromancy” Garrus replied cheekily “and missing persons.”

Finnrick rose an eyebrow “Persons? More than one?”

“Two: A father and son. Richard Charles and his son Richard Jr. Recluses it seems. Neighbors hardly saw them. Mostly kept to themselves.”

Finnrick pursed his lips thoughtfully “Any magical abilities?”

“They’re not on records if that’s what you mean.” Garrus answered “Never signed up in the academy, not registered with The Council. If they were practitioners they didn’t tell anyone.”

“So what was the spell? I just smell the remnants of spookiness.”

“Hadn’t noticed the rest of the room huh?”

Finnrick frowned before finally getting a good look at the rest of the room: Every inch of the apartment was blanketed with the same black dust that he found in the entrance way. Inches and inches of the substance and that wasn’t the strangest part.

Everything was bent at different and odd angles: chair with crooked legs, the wall clock warped and twisted, the fridge leaning like someone folded it in half. Floorboard reached for the sky and walls split inward.

There was a common misconception about magic. Most people thought spell casters, especially wizards, could command reality to their wills. That magic was capable of impossible feats and it was as simple as snapping your fingers.

The truth was all magic, ranging from divinity to free range nature, was performed on a micro scale. Practitioners did not alter reality but rather shortcut it. Throwing fireballs was as simple as rapidly heating the air until it combusted. Turning invisible was less about vanishing completely as it was bending the light around you to not be seen. Magic was rooted in reality and imagination. If you had the magical strength to perform the magic, the magic often followed your lead.

Of course there were spells that required much more than magical hand and willpower. Powerful magic, like summoning outer beings or raising an army of zombies, required both time and materials. Magic was like any other energy: you needed enough of it to perform what you wanted. The human body could only generate so much magic without dying and resting was necessary to replace any expended in the use of spells. Materials were guidelines for the spell. Feathers for anything with flight, ash for fireballs etc etc.

The other thing needed was to gather energy and store it for the spell’s use. There were different ways to achieve this: Wands, talismans, potions were basically magic soups. The most efficient way to gather energy was the wizards preferred way: Circles.

Finnrick eyed the room closely this time, murmuring under his breath about angles and trajectory. Garrus paid him no mind, well familiar with the private investigators methods.

“If this went like that” he gestured to the wall clock “and that went here.”

Finnrick glanced about, carefully walking about as if worried he was going to step on a landmine.

“Here.” Finnrick found himself staring at a spot in the middle of the room “Ventus.”

He gestured with a hand and light breeze filled the room. It brushed away some of the dust covering floor, revealing the outline of a half melted metal ring.

“What is it?” Garrus turned curiously

“Spell circle. The source of the explosion. I’m willing to bet it’s custom made. Copper, steel. Maybe some bits of tin couldn’t stand the surge.”

“No iron or sliver?”

Finnrick shook his head “That’s for containing or repelling monsters. Necromancy is more about drawing in the evil entities. Or sucking out life.”

Garrus sighed tiredly “Don’t touch?”

“Only if you want to live to see retirement. Might have some pent up magic ready to blow outwards.”

“Understood. I’ll call in our guys. I’ll let you know if something comes up.”

Finn nodded gratefully while pulling out a vial and motioning to the elf “Mind if I do?”

“Be my guest, you might find something we’d miss.”

Finnrick smiled gratefully before scooping up some of the dust and sealing it within the vial.

“Take care Garrus, stop fighting birds Ma!”

“Flying rats!”

-----

The cafe was lively despite being early but that was no surprise given it was Mother’s. Mother’s was the single best food establishment in all Newton Haven and if anyone disagreed, they were allowed to have their opinions.

They were also allowed to be wrong.

Finnrick paused in the doorway, breathing in the scent of well cooked eggs and sweet lemonade. The pop and sizzle of heated grease brought a sense of comfort to the hard working private investigator.

“Finny Drift!” Maddie Copperstone called from behind the counter “How’s my favorite customer holding up?”

Maddie was 40 years young with tastefully curled dark brown hair. Human, little on the short side but fierce. She wore a simple red blouse and jeans, both stained with flour that the apron around her waist did not prevent.

Finnrick bounced over cheerfully, reaching over the counter to give the matron the biggest hug he could muster “I’m good Maddie. Working a case.”

Maddie’s brown eyes searched his face carefully “You always working Finny. You resting as much?”

“Scout’s honor.”

Maddie let out a disbelieving chuckle “You weren’t ever a Scout.”

“Honorary scout after I stopped that bear from eating them.”

“Thought it was a giant raccoon.”

“Yes but people don’t take giant raccoon seriously. He here?”

Maddie clicked her tongue disappointingly but motioned to the booth at the far end of the establishment “Rest.”

Finnrick rose his hand in surrender “After.”

“Never you mean!” Maddie shouted after him.

Amos Frye hadn’t changed much since last he was roaming around Finnrick’s neck of the woods: Handsome with soft gray eyes that reminded Finn of gathering storm clouds. His long black hair was tied in a messy bun held up by a golden pin, a braided strand hung loosely near his face. His beard was much shorter than what Finnrick remembered though he noted the unkempt split ends indicated that Amos hadn’t trimmed it in a few weeks. His iconic dark red sleeveless jerkin and black jean combination would look ridiculous on a lesser man but had allowed the monster hunter to show off his muscular frame. His brown skin was a bit more pale than usual so no doubt Amos had been operating at night lately.

“Finnrick, you cheeky bastard! I am so glad you came!” Amos beamed happily, his various bangles and bracelets clinking together in equally joyous celebration as the two shook hands.

“Amos! Happy to see you.” Finn beamed brightly as he slid into the booth across his old friend “Why though? Family trouble?”

Amos’s joyfully gleam turned dark for a moment.

“No. Have you…?”

Finnrick shook his head quickly “Not a word. Sorry, I hadn’t meant to…”

Amos waved the apology away “No worries cuz. I understand why you’d think that. Coming across the pond isn’t a spur of the moment thing and Os has always been the black sheep of the family. I suppose no news is good news.”

“Right.” Finnrick cleared his throat awkwardly “So what’s the trouble? I doubt you’d call me up for a nip and chat.”

“Rightly so.” Amos confirmed, reaching into the bag at his side and pulling out a folder “Hunting business as usual cuz.”

That made sense: Amos was the latest of a long family whose specialized business was monster hunting. The Fryes had been striking at things that went bump in the night for centuries ever since the first Frye defended the folk of some underground society.

Amos was an average wizard if Finnrick was being generous. That was not a slight against his old friend, it was a matter of fact: Amos spent most of his time honing the physical aspects of his profession which was obvious given the size of his arms. Any spells he knew were purely for defensive or preventive measures so he often communicated with Finnrick for higher quality and complex spellwork.

Finnrick took the folder from Amos and began pouring over its contents.

Most were quickly scrawled notes Amos had noticed about his quarry: Long sliver hairs, canine in nature. Large paw prints found in the areas it had been sighted, far too big to any natural wolf. Wulfvur and werewolf were hastily written and as quickly crossed out. A pattern of hanging out in wild areas, often forests and swamps.

There were pictures too: flashes of sliver, blurs of fangs and muzzles darting in and out of camera frame. It was always a distance away, sprinting deeper into the wildness. It was hard to tell from the photos but Finn guessed it might’ve been 10 feet tall at the very least.

“Why we hunting wolves now?” Finnrick asked curiously.

Amos flagged down the waitress “Contract given to my pa. It was hanging around the marsh lands of the jolly old isles. Someone wanted it gone.”

Something wasn’t clicking with Finn “and you followed it here? From England?”

“Nah cuz” Amos gave a cheeky grin “I tackled it through a portal and found I illegally crossed into America.”

“Ah.” Finnrick nodded in understanding “Fae.”

“Fae?” Amos frowned thoughtfully “I thought that too but I never heard of any snarling wolfie breaking into homes and snatching out wee younglings in them old folktales.”

“Fae are weird.” Finnrick shrugged “Their whole shtick is not making any sense. I had to expel a cat the size of a bus once. Double decker tall.”

Amos whistled in appreciation as he scratched his bread “So fae. Slippy fellow as you can tell. Whatcha recommend?”

“What’s the contract?”

“Banishment. It’s looking like wolfie ended up in the wrong part of town.”

“I think you mean next town over. Fixed a pattern yet?”

“Not yet but I wasn’t looking for one.” Amos admitted “Thought I was tracking some mutant. Fae changes a lot. Magical circles?”

“Easiest way to catch it.” Finnrick agreed “Sliver for sure. Iron would hurt it and based on your files, it hasn’t done anything than thin the local wildlife population. No need to anger mister big bad wolf.”

“Good call. I got some talent to handle a few circles but tracking is not really my speed.”

“I’m on a case but if you swing by the M.R.R.D, maybe they’ll loan you a wizard.”

Amos let out a disappointed sigh “I need to take care this sometime this year Finny. Bloody bureaucracy probably set me back a month at least.”

“There’s always Jaime but she’s pretty busy at work.”

“Jaime huh?” Amos smiled mischievously “I haven’t talked to your sister in a long time.”

“I will curse you.” Finnrick playfully threatened “And not no simple hex either. I’ll make you bald.”

Amos gasped dramatically, clutching at his hair protectively “You wouldn’t dare mate.”

“Shinier than the sun.”

“Okay, okay” Amos conceded “I’m kidding. She’s with Casey anyway. Good couple. Cute couple. He still hopelessly selfless and she still trying to fast track her way to power?”

“Yep.”

“You gonna fix that?”

Finnrick shook his head “It’s their lives. Their choices.”

“Idiots.” Amos chuckled “the lot of them.”

“All you need is love?”

“Spoken true the gospel of my land.”

-----

A few hours later with a brainstorm session completed and a promise to help out the next day, Finnrick left Amos to his work and continued with his own.

It was noon now and as the sun rose high in the sky, Finnrick found himself at the Grimyard.

The Grimyard was the premiere spot for all things magical in Newton Haven: Rows and rows of shops specifically catering to the magic community. The streets were paved with century old cobblestone and the buildings here were various hues of faded brick and mortar. It was easy to get lost in the Grimyard if it was your first time as the Grimyard did not spread out, it stacked downward. Layers upon layers of the Grimyard were actually underground to allow those with issues against the sun to sell their goods and services at all times of the day. Don’t let the dark fool you, anyone with worthy talent or product was here in the Grimyard.

Normally Finnrick would wander around a bit, checking out the various businesses and protective wards around the mile long patch of land but he was on the clock and the sooner he began to figure out what was going on, the sooner he could stop it.

Luckily for him, his destination was right here on the top floor of the marketplace. Specifically furthest back corner.

Knightly Ore was ran by the Knight family. Originally they only sold rare metals and ores which were necessary components for some of the more complicated magicks. At some point the owners expanded into selling more alchemical materials and eventually brewing potions, salves and such for a fee.

Despite decent business, it was the most rundown building in this part of the Grimyard: Broken window shudders with the paint faded down to the original shade when the business first opened decades ago. The humble black door was crooked and creaked whenever it moved

Finnrick knew the owners fairly well but here wasn’t here for them. He was here to see their son.

He pushed past the building, ducking into the alley that led to the lot directly behind the shop.

“Halt!” A voice called out “Who seeks the Brewmaster of the Grimyard?”

“It is I, Finnrick the detective. I got money and I need work done”

The Brewmaster was Theodore Knight, an incredibly talented alchemist who didn’t have the same opportunities Finnrick did: He was pretty tall for his age (14 or 15, Finnrick lost track once or twice) but clearly a teenager given his short lavender hair had a few strands dyed red. His eyes were an unnatural pale blue, paler than the blue of the sky. He wore the usual attire Finn often found him in: A sleeveless dark blue hoodie with a fist sized red gem clasped in front just under his neck and a lighter shade blue t-shirt. He wore black finger-less gloves gripping his brown messenger bag slung around his shoulder. A matching brown pouch hung around the waist of his gray cargo shorts and his brown boots were kept clean despite his place of business was in an alley behind his parents shop.

Theo jumped out from a hidden shadowy corner of the lot “Finn, whatcha got for me now?”

Finnrick reached into his pocket, showing the eager teen the vial that held blacken dust within.

“That’s it?” Theo scoffed, rolling his eyes “I was expecting something…...cooler.”

He took the vial and raised it to the sun. Theo gave it a rough shake and watched it carefully for any properties the strange substance would display.

Theo frowned, clearly unsatisfied by what he saw “You brought me ash? Plain ash? It’s your money but even I think it’s a waste.”

“It’s ash?”

Theo shot the detective a look that screamed how obvious it should’ve been “Yes, ash. Thicker than what I’ve seen but ash all the same.”

Finnrick bit his cheek thoughtfully.

“Look Finn, you know my rates. I dunno what you want me to do but standard fees apply.”

“I’ll paying double.”

The Brewmaster’s eyes narrowed suspiciously “Double for ash? What’s so special about it?”

“Oh nothing." Finnrick pretended to look disinterested “Aside it was taken directly from a crime scene: Necromancy and cast via a half melted spell circle.”

It took Theo a minute to allow the implications of what Finnrick said to sink in. His eyes shifted from suspicion to wild excitement.

“Really?!” Theo clutched the vial like it was his first born child “Necromancy really doesn’t like many alchemy processes. It’s not going to be easy for me.”

“I know right?” Finnrick grinned impishly “It’s almost like I’m going to have to pay double for it.”

“Yeah, you’re gonna have to….” Theo pouted unhappily “Ha freaking ha. Okay smart guy, pay up.”

Finnrick handed over 50 gold. Theo took it eagerly, his eyes lightening up with glee.

Theo paused for a moment, his face turning oddly serious for a teenager.

“It might take me awhile depending on what you want.”

“I want to know what’s in it. Necromancy requires specific ingredients. After that it’ll be easier to track the seller.”

“And the buyer!” Theo blurted out excitedly “Smart.”

Finnrick ruffled his hair playfully “I wish I thought of it. You keep this up and you’re going to run me out of business.”

“I’ll text you when I have something.”

“Pleasure as always Theo.”

“It’s Brewmaster.”

-----

It was 2 in the afternoon when Finnrick made his way back to the Salt-Iron. He stood outside the complex, tossing the remains of his pizza into his waiting maw and crumpling the can of soda he was drinking before tucking into his coat pocket.

“What’s this?” Finnrick asked, utterly confused by the crushed foam cup he pulled from within “Oh right my coffee. I’ve been really at today.”

Finnrick wiped his hands clean and made his way inside the Salt-Iron once more, mulling over the details of the case as he ascended up the stairway.

Blacken ash cast by a spell circle. Both father and son missing with no indication where they went too. Recluses and rarely seen. Necromancy within a threshold.

It was hard to tell how deeply the father and son were involved in spell. Someone who had access to the apartment was behind it no doubt. Spell circles were the most consistent way to cast magic but they took time to build, set and channel energy. You didn’t build a spell circle without knowing exactly what you plan to do with it.

The nature of the magic was also a mystery: Dark magic had various applications and not a single one was good. Finnrick hadn’t much experience with that branch of magic but there was nothing logical about the aftereffects: Ash spread throughout the apartment, clinging to everything like a second skin. There was no signs of an outward blast given that nothing bent in the same direction. Everything in that room decided to twist in whatever wayit felt like. If the spell was supposed to draw in something then chair legs and wall tiles would’ve been pulled directly towards the circle.

“Curiouser and curiouser Alice” Finnrick spoke to no one in particular.

He was on the fifth floor when he noticed something odd.

Finnrick raised an eyebrow as the skies outside the window darken, black and stormy.

A thunderstorm it seems.

Finnrick peered out the window, glancing upwards to see what was going on.

Dark clouds swirled directly overhead. Rain began to lightly drizzle as the skies boomed. Thunder and a moment later lightning trailing across the gathering storm.

A thunderstorm that formed directly above this building.

Without warning.

“Well that’s not ominous.”

Finnrick made the mistake of leaning closer to the window, peering around to see if he could see where exactly the storm was coming from when it happened.

“Watch out below!”

Finnrick noticed three things in that moment: First, was of course, someone shouting to watch out below. Second was the distant sound of claws scratching something wooden, the walls perhaps. Lastly was the thudding of something falling down quickly and towards him.

Finnrick rose his hand, pivoting on his heels in time to see something crash into him.

It wasn’t much of a contest: Both Finnrick and whatever slammed into him broke through the fifth story window and went sprawling into a freefall.

#My story #Mirror's Edge #Original Work #original story

[moved-to-void-kissed]

Split of Twin Flowers

After being rescued from the realm of darkness, Aria seeks a way to give Ves a chance at living her own life, while also continuing to survive in her own right. Aqua brings her to the scientists at Radiant Garden to see if they have a solution, and for Aria to explain her situation, but the only option available may carry some worrying implications.. (3937 words)

Takes place after the ending of KH3. Content warning for mentions of battle scars, talk of a character being possessed, an event comparable to an exorcism (it’s kind of hard to explain in non-series-specific terms, sorry), and rather a lot of self-insert-focused exposition.

(Comments on and reblogs of my work are always okay, and appreciated, but are by no means required. I recommend reading this piece on the original document, but if that doesn't work, a transcript has been copied and pasted under the readmore.)

tag list: @thatslikesometaldude | @garchompp | @beeon | @tex-treasures | @catake | @tartaglialovemail | @catcao | @lilacslovers | @kissofthemoonrabbit | @vilehusband | @dragonsmooch | @childrenofmeyneth | @kalliopi-ships | @blackbirdcrime | @strawberryshipz (to be tagged in what I make, please click here!)

This is a piece I have been working on for a long time, and am very proud of, so I really appreciate anyone who takes the time to read it. I hope it isn’t quite as heavy as the content warnings may possibly indicate. I’m also using it as my post for the twenty-ninth day of sapphic September; there’s just one more to go!

Document transcript:

The door to the laboratory opened halfway, and a young woman tentatively poked her head around it. Upon seeing that she was not interrupting anything, she smiled and emerged more properly, brushing a lock of blue hair from her face.

“Oh, Master Aqua!” The lone scientist in the room smiled warmly as he noticed her. “Thank you for coming. I’m glad to see you’re alright.”

“Thank you, Ienzo.” Aqua replied, even if she did still in fact look rather tired. The long battle to defeat Master Xehanort and the true Organisation still felt fresh in her mind, and although it was a fight that the light had eventually won, it had still taken quite a toll on her. Not only that, but she hadn’t had the same chance to rest as the others - though thoughts of locating Sora still weighed on everyone’s minds, Aqua had been more concerned with finding a way back into the realm of darkness in order to rescue Aria, her partner who she had so unwillingly abandoned..

Now that Aria was finally free as well, Aqua could let herself relax a bit more, and with that lowering of her guard came much contemplation of everything she had gone through.

“Um.. Master Aqua?”

“Ah!”

She’d been staring off into space again, judging by Ienzo’s worried expression half-visible under his hair.

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, don’t worry!” she replied, slightly embarrassed at her lapse in concentration. The young scientist did not look entirely convinced, but he seemed content enough to continue.

“I’m the only one here at the moment, but I should still be able to help with what we talked about over the Gummiphone. Did you happen to bring Aria with you?”

At this, the half-open door Aqua had come through continued to swing open as if of its own accord, only to reveal another young woman entering the laboratory with a somewhat nervous expression. She had clearly been through a lot, and the realm of darkness she had reportedly been trapped in for aeons had definitely left its mark on her; several large patches of darkness could be seen spanning her face and body, with one reaching down her left eye like a melting wound.

“Yes, I’m here..”

Her catlike eyes flickered nervously around the room, and it soon became apparent that what Ienzo had thought was a cape were in fact a pair of black feathered wings, both subconsciously curling around her shoulders. It was only upon recognising that Ienzo was the only one present, and that his initial reaction to seeing her was not as negative as she was expecting, that she was able to relax slightly and explain herself from behind a now-steeled facade.

“My name is Aria.” she said, looking up at the scientist from under her messy blonde hair. “Aqua said you might be able to help me achieve something. Has she already.. told you about, well-”

“We’ve already spoken a little bit using the Gummiphone I was given before, but he said it was best for us to come and talk in person to try and get everything clear.” Aqua stepped in after sensing Aria’s hesitation and took her hand to support her partner. “It’s alright - you can trust him,” she whispered close to her ear.

Trusting only in her love’s reassurance, Aria started to explain her intentions to Ienzo, who seemed content to listen even considering the clear presence of darkness she had; this silent gesture of tolerance was greatly appreciated. She appeared hesitant to reveal much of her true nature as a Heartless, but she did what she could to inquire whether the young scientist knew any way for a heart to be released from its current body and inhabit a different one, allowing the dormant self within the original body to reawaken. Unfortunately, Ienzo remained pensive, even after she had said her part.

“So, you’re looking for a way for a heart to enter a new body? I’m sorry, but.. I’m not sure we’ll be able to help you. Any of the resources we could have used - which is to say, the replicas, they would have been perfect for this - were taken by Roxas, Xion, and Naminé’s hearts.”

“Oh. So, there is nothing you can do?” Aria persisted, but Ienzo shook his head.

Then came a flash of hesitant inspiration.

“Unless..” He trailed off and turned to look down one of the corridors leading away from the main lab space. “Could you two come with me, please?”

“Of course!” said Aqua brightly, as Aria nodded in assent.

==========

The three left the main hub of the laboratory to walk down the corridor, which felt as though it was turning downwards into a basement level of sorts. Once there, they came to a tall door which Ienzo unlocked with some sort of biometric scanner, and this opened out into yet another laboratory space with a similar layout to the first - however, this one seemed in a less presentable condition than the other, and its lack of windows seemed to be what was giving it a more foreboding presence. There was a distinct sense that something bad had happened here, once upon a time.

“After you and the other Guardians of Light helped to defeat Master Xehanort,” Ienzo was saying to Aqua, “we went back to the Keyblade Graveyard to see if there was anything to salvage from the battlefield, and we were able to bring this back with us.”

He gestured to a container at the far wall, in which the two Keyblade wielders could now see a strange white figure suspended inside, resembling a featureless mannequin. It appeared to be dressed in some kind of dark robes, of a dull purple colour inlaid with sharp red motifs, worn over pieces of tarnished metal armour. A number of scuffs and dents littered the otherwise-smooth surface, and Aria could sense traces of a dark presence seeping from the container, despite the blank nature of the figure itself.

“What is this..?”

“This is one of the replicas that Even created, back when he was still Vexen, and a member of the first Organisation.” Ienzo explained. “The first twelve were prototypes, initially abandoned as failures, since they were made before his assistant provided the data needed to perfect them, but.. From what I understand, the real Organisation - which Vexen was also a part of at the beginning - repurposed those twelve into vessels for Xehanort’s heart, as backups in case the people they brought through time fell in battle again.”

“That’s right, I remember fighting these now.” muttered Aqua. “But, didn’t they fuse into one form, eventually?”

“That’s what I thought, too, from your accounts of the situation.” replied the scientist. “I’m not sure if Sora defeating the replicas in battle made them all separate out again, since they weren’t really designed to be fused, or if this one was already too damaged to combine with the others in the first place. Regardless, it was the only one we recovered.”

He now turned to face the blank figure with a concerned expression. “We’ve been running some experiments to see whether it can be repurposed for anything, but.. There’s a lot of darkness still lingering within it, so it wouldn’t be safe for a heart of light to inhabit without risking it also being afflicted by that darkness. And we haven’t found a good way of destroying that darkness without compromising the replica, either.”

“I could sense the dark power when I saw it, so corruption would seem a likely outcome.” Aria mused. “This would also be darkness from Xehanort, so.. it isn’t that surprising that some part of it stuck around. Persistence did seem to be his only worthwhile trait.”

She had crossed her arms in contempt at this last part, but seemed satisfied enough to relax after studying the replica further. “It shouldn’t matter any more than he did in the long run, though.”

“Hmm..” Aqua seemed concerned about the prospect, but was trying to keep an open mind. “What do you make of it, Aria?”

“Well..” She took a moment to examine the figure with an unchanging expression. “The replica body itself has sustained some damage from the fight, but I don’t see why that would affect my ability to inhabit it - it’s just possible that those injuries would reflect in my new appearance, which is.. nothing I’m not accustomed to. And, if the heart within a replica determines its appearance, then maybe what’s left of my heart - or, I suppose, the heart that I once was - would be able to smooth over those gaps. Though, if it’s the latter, that could mean my appearance ends up changing, which.. is not what I want.”

Aqua tentatively nodded, but Ienzo seemed more visibly confused.

“I’m sorry to interject, but- what do you mean by “the heart that you once were”? You’re saying that that’s different to your heart, somehow?”

“..In a sense, yes. How do I explain this..?” There was a slight pause as Aria tried to gather her thoughts, and it was clear she was still trying to think by the hesitant nature of her words that followed. She had seen right through to the heart of the man standing before her, which glowed with a newly-restored lustre. It was a heart that sought to help people, and sought knowledge in order to do that, though there were visible flickers of a long-seated regret present as well. Still, it was a heart that she judged would not judge her, so she decided to provide it with the truth she hoped would sate it.

“Though I look mostly human to you, this- isn’t technically my body, however much I treated it as such. If I were to let go of this vessel, or be driven out from her, you would see me as I really am - a Heartless, a flowering thing. However, Heartless are created when a heart is consumed by darkness, so.. surely the appearance I would take if I were to possess a blank replica would be that of the person this heart - my heart - used to belong to. Only, I don’t- I don’t really see myself as him, or as Ves. I am different, I am my own- well, person, if I can even call myself that. Yet, when I imagine my appearance outside of this vessel, I can only see myself as a Heartless. Does that make any sense?”

“I think I follow..” the scientist mumbled, though his still-furrowed brow seemed to indicate otherwise. “So, you kept your memories of who you were, even after turning into a Heartless? Kairi had implied that the same thing happened to Sora, but.. I’d just attributed that to him turning the Keyblade of heart on himself to free her, so it wouldn’t have happened to anyone else.”

This claim caused Aria to shake her head. “To my knowledge, the method is irrelevant; what matters is the intention. The more willingly a person opens their heart to the darkness, the more of their mind they keep when their heart is consumed, and they become a Heartless. I believe this is what happened with Ansem, though he actively sought after darkness so strongly that he retained a human appearance as well as mind. The emblem on his chest was the only way an onlooker could tell his true nature. When it comes to my original self, he was a Keyblade wielder, very similar to what I know of Sora, but… though he certainly did not willingly or deliberately let his heart be consumed, he was able to accept his fate in his final moments, and that is what allowed the Heartless formed at his demise - so, in other words, me - to retain some semblance of mind and self. Just.. not as much of it.”

“Oh. Yes, I think that makes more sense now. Thank you for the clarification.” said Ienzo. He was writing something furiously in a book that seemed to appear out of nowhere, then became startled when he realised his blunder. In an instant, he opened his mouth to ask something, but closed it with relief when Aria’s expression reassured him she did not mind him making notes about her.

It was Aqua’s turn to speak up now. “It’s so interesting to hear about this from you, Aria - but, I can’t say I’ve seen that kind of behaviour in any of the Heartless I’ve fought before. Had you noticed it at any point while we were in the realm of darkness?”

“Not that I can recall.” she replied. “It isn't exactly that common of an occurrence, considering most people’s disdain for the darkness. And, not only that, but..” She turned away from the other two here, and her next words came much more reluctantly again.

“Before I took over Ves, I remember feeling that I was losing myself - all I was driven by was this desire to be complete again, to be human again, but that was fading away over time. Then, when I found her, I didn’t necessarily feel more human, but what sense of humanity I did have was no longer fading away. So, if I hadn’t found her or someone like her in time, I probably would have lost my sense of self completely, and become just as mindless as most other Heartless are. It’s only thanks to the type of Heartless I became that I was even able to possess her in the first place, and.. I didn’t start to truly feel more like a person until I met other Keyblade wielders, and they interacted with me.”

“I see, I see.. So you’re saying that, in those Heartless that retain a sense of who they were before becoming Heartless, the remnants of normal heart behaviour - of humanity, if you will - have to be nurtured by others in order to be sustained, and will just be lost to the darkness if not actively encouraged?”

“Yes.”

Ienzo paused to finish hastily scribbling this knowledge down in his notebook, then lifted his head in realisation once he had had some time to think. “I think I might remember something of that from the old Organisation, actually.. Though, the memory is very hazy..”

To stop his mind from wandering as it wanted to, he returned to address the matter at hand.

“From what you’ve said, Aria, it does sound like you’d be able to make use of this replica - and you may well be the only one who could. I don’t think there’s any other solution here for you, and.. I say there’s no better way to find out than by experimenting. Give me a moment to get everything ready, and then we’ll be set to see if it works!”

Aria nodded, content with the proposal, but Aqua reached out to take her hand with a worried expression.

“Aria, are you sure you want to do this..?”

“Of course I am, Aqua. This is why I came here.” she replied. Then she hesitated again. “..Why, is there something wrong?”

“Well, no, it’s just-” Aqua took a moment to settle her whirling thoughts, holding both of Aria’s hands in her own now. “I don’t know what’s going to happen when I use my Keyblade on you. I don’t want to hurt you, or even destroy you. And, if something happened with the darkness infecting the replica, then..”

Aria couldn’t bring herself to meet Aqua’s gaze, but it was clear she appreciated the consideration, and did her best to reassure her love. “If I could leave of my own accord, I would have done so by now, but.. we’ve become too intertwined for me to do that myself. And Ves is not quite strong enough to drive me out from within - it’s enough of an effort for her to stay existing in the first place. So.. an outside force seems to be the only way to separate us. And there isn’t anyone I’d trust to wield that force, other than you.”

Despite herself, Aqua couldn’t help but smile at the last admission, and she felt her normal confidence returning. “..Alright then. If you’re sure about this, then.. I’m happy to be able to help.”

The two embraced for a moment, then there was a pause of silence as Aria took a few steps back to stand in the middle of the room. Once Ienzo had brought the replica out of its container, he carried it around to the other end of the laboratory, closer to the other two. Aqua summoned her Brightcrest Keyblade, then slowly raised its tip to be level with the X on Aria’s outfit. She took a deep breath, then pointed the Keyblade directly at her partner, echoing the movement used to open the paths to new worlds.

Aria instinctively flinched when a thin beam of bright light shot forward from the tip of Aqua’s Keyblade, striking her directly in the chest. She was then forced down into a kneel as an aura of pink-tinted darkness began to escape from her body. Her expression was grim, as if she was in pain, but Aqua caught sight of a hint of a smile before the darkness now emanating much more rapidly from her form started rising up to create something above her. It almost completely engulfed her body as if to pull it upwards too, seeming particularly concentrated around her head and wings, before disconnecting entirely to drop a drained figure to the floor. This left a dense collection of dark pink wisps, amalgamating in the air.

Ienzo was now well off to the side, looking rather alarmed, but his expression was replaced with complete surprise when the amorphous cluster of darkness coalesced, giving way to what looked like a floating mass of pink petals. Eventually, it turned around to reveal a large jagged mouth and piercing yellow eyes, staring with an expression he found difficult to interpret. The Heartless stayed floating in place for a moment, as if disoriented, then suddenly appeared to notice Aqua, staring at her curiously.

“Aria..?”

Her tentative call was clearly recognised by the flowering monster, which began to float cautiously towards her. She still had her Keyblade summoned, and her hand was trembling ever-so-slightly - whether with nervousness, uncertainty, or something else entirely, it was impossible to tell. Then, Ienzo stepped between the two and lifted up the replica body, hoping that Aria still remembered the plan.

“Here!”

It seemed the Heartless remained aware, as she moved forwards more purposefully after this, and collided directly with the empty vessel’s centre. A few petals scattered from the force, but it took only a few moments for the Heartless’ form to disappear entirely, appearing to be absorbed into the replica body. This caused another aura of darkness to manifest, enveloping the blank surface of the replica and making Ienzo recoil from the body - but it caught itself as it fell from his grasp to end up kneeling on all fours. A few more moments passed, as the darkness engulfed the entire body in a shell, before gradually dissipating after a few gold sparks were seen being forced out of the system.

The figure that stood up was slightly smaller than the replica had looked in the container, with catlike ears now poking upwards from a fluffy head of golden blonde hair. As she lifted her head, a cluster of cute freckles were seen scattered across her face, though in what Aqua thought was a slightly different arrangement than before. There were other little differences here and there, as well - the shape of her face, the way her hair fell at the back, how she stood dressed in the unfamiliar clothes from the replica in the middle of the silent laboratory.

But all of Aqua’s worries disappeared when the girl standing before her opened her eyes. Neither the bright, empty yellow of the lesser, mindless Heartless, nor a piercing orange like the seeker of darkness, nor even the harsh cold shade between the two that Aria’s eyes had been before, but a warm and resolute amber was the colour that met Aqua’s gaze, and regarded her with a renewed sense of gratitude and love.

“Aria!”

The Keyblade Master ran across the room towards her partner and nearly knocked her over with the energy of her emotions. Aria was nervous, but comfortably allowed herself to melt into Aqua’s embrace, now able to feel the connection between the pair even more strongly than before. Something felt so much more tangible about her presence now, and the relief coursing through her new body was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

“Aqua, it really worked..!” she smiled, speaking in a quiet voice filled with gratitude.

“I’m so glad you’re alright!” exclaimed Aqua, who also had a few tears in her eyes. “How do you feel? Is everything okay?”

“Yes, it’s all fine, I promise.” she asserted. “The replica’s darkness was not organised; it was just remnants that my presence has removed. I feel.. different, but in the best possible way. I could never have done this without you here with me - thank you, so much, for being here..”

She trailed off, still smiling at her partner, and another wonderful moment came and went. Then, a movement from behind Aqua caused Aria’s expression to take on a slightly fearful quality, and she turned her head to see what was happening. The cause of this movement was the figure left behind when Aqua set Aria free, who was slowly trying to get to her feet, her heart’s light flickering nervously. A bright green eye could be seen darting anxiously around the room from under her hair, but she was too weak to properly move, and quickly fell back to the ground again. Ienzo stepped in to support her, and his assistance was clearly welcomed as she was just about able to stand.

“Please take her somewhere she can recover.” Aria requested hurriedly. “After everything I put her through, she needs every opportunity she can to rest and adjust to being herself again..”

“Don’t worry. We have good facilities here.” Ienzo assured her. “Everything will be fine.”

This did little to ease Aria’s guilt, but the gesture was nevertheless appreciated. “Thank you, Ienzo.”

The scientist nodded, and then slowly helped the girl walk to the corridor. She appeared to be very shaken, and was glancing at everything with apprehension and unfamiliarity, but as she turned the corner of the corridor, she looked back at the couple still standing side-by-side, and met the eyes of both her saviour and her prison.

(For all that you have done to me, I know why you do not deserve forgiveness.

But, this is not the first time we have seen each other face-to-face since that day, thanks to that mirror you found in the darkness.

And ever since that moment, you have sought a way to free yourself from me. To let me live the life you once denied me. To break the hold that any other being you’d call your kind would do everything to strengthen.

You calculated the risks, but you still took them - the risk you would lose everything and the one person you cared for, for the sake of me getting to “get rid of you”.

So, who am I to judge a person - the person you have become - by the actions of the creature you once were..?)

A ghost of a smile flickered over her face, and the long-held vessel finally free again spoke of her own accord for the first time since the age of ancient fairytales.

“Thank you, Aria..”

#a call from the void #creations from the void #kingdom hearts selfshipping #this post is okay to reblog! #sapphicseptember2021 #selfship #selfshipping #love: wayfinding waters (aqua) #selfship: survivors of the dark (aqua/aria) #self‑insert: darkness' champion (aria) #and also featuring #self‑insert: ruby in the light (ves) #read the post carefully before opening the readmore please #or opening the document (which is how I recommend reading this one) #I have spent a long time trying to write this piece #i am proud of it