#yes I also called it homophobic when the wilds was canceled

[bigassbowlingballhead]

Terrible, awful, homophobic

#first kill #yes I also called it homophobic when the wilds was canceled #because it is #it just is #like this show was campy like buffy #and the lore #THE FUCKING LORE IS SO FUCKING GOOD

[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

[yourfriendlele]

So... someone sent me this:

 “I really hate ship wars involving a same sex ship vs a straight pairing because of the tendency  for the claims of homophobia if you dont ship the same sex pairing or say there wasnt evidence ( the term shipping goggles exist because there are people who found evidence where there was none for their ship and this applies to same sex ships which are just ships in the end they can be badly written / forced just like straight pairing can be badly written and deserve criticism they deserve equal treatment if criticizing or hate on a het pairing is allowed and doesnt make you a bigot ( hating someone based on sexuality makes  you a bigot regardless power is not required its only required in oppression)  neither does doing it to same sex pairings it doesnt matter that there arent as many   canon   . like with blacksun do you know how many times someone claimed forced het I have seen like in v3″ 

First of all… are you the person who randomily accused me of “making a joke out of real homophobia and turning it into ship wars” and said that i somehow affirmed “gay ships are above criticism” under my comic? And tagged some friends so they could reblog all that bs? And then when i called you out, you deleted the reblog (tho it still exists, people rebloged it)? Is that you?

Second of all, okay…. who said I don’t criticise same sex ships the same way i criticise het ships? No seriously, where did you get that from? Did you just say that out of nowhere hoping people would buy it?

Third of all, ok some people told you bs is forced and…? Listen, i don’t think bs is the devil, it’s cute enough, not my thing, but yeah, i get why people ship it. I also think it’s not that good or the “meant to be/ correct ship” in coparisson to bb… bb has problems with pacing, and de dialogue is definetely not the best, but blacksun does have some moments that are in fact kinda forced, like treating sun following blake in v4 as something cute, when in reality thats creepy as fuck, even when the guy has good intentions. Does everybody need to pretend that was well written? I thought it was bad writing in twilight, and i thought it was bad writing in fifty shades of grey, so yeah, it’s just as bad in rwby dude, sorry. Again, not terrible and unforgivable and im not gonna pretend im better than everyone that like Blacksun bc of that, but yes, i’ll call it forced.

And listen, if you’re telling me Yang asking blake to dance is “shipping goggles” bc “clearly that wasn’t meant to be read as romantic” (even though, yeah, asking someone to dance with you can be considered a romantic gesture irl), but Sun stalking blake in v4 is “absolutely a romantic moment bc he’s a good guy” (which he is, i understand the writers didn’t mean to make him abusive, but still, following someone like that isn’t, and has never been, a romantic gesture), then yeah…. i’ll assume you’re homophobic. Can’t you see the obvious double standard???? Do you want me to pretend i don’t see it?

You don’t have to like the ship, i don’t particurlaly like bs, or arkos or rosegarden, but i see the moments that can be considered romantic. Bb has moments that can be considered romantic. You don’t have to like it to see it.

Also, the absolute bullshit arguments you anti bb guys come at me with makes it even harder to believe you have any decent intentions… ‘oh you watch a show just for lesbians???? sorry some of us care about actual writing!” Oh sorry, i didn’t know me watching the wilds bc of the wlw ship cancelled me reading 1984 bc it’s a literature classic. Lemme ask you something, does me wanting to watch the gucci movie bc i wanna see lady gaga in it also cancel me wanting to watching “us” bc i find Jorndan Peele a wonderful storyteller? 

#bumbleby #honestly fuck off #how am i supposed to take you seriously? #submission

[ragnarssons]

people are fcking wild lmao. calling me a fake activist for not supporting aquaman 2 because of amber turd, saying “you don’t support the pocs working on it”. have you actually watched my blog? do you know my life? i’ve been out there on social medias, supporting ray fisher the whole way through, on instagram, on twitter. i’ve been out there, supporting EVERY. SINGLE. ONE of jason momoa’s projects whether small or big: heck, i’ve paid for stupid apple tv just to watch “see” and i’m among the only 30 people on this website knowing about this show! i’m even gonna pay netflix again just to watch “sweet girl” in august, i watched frontier back when it came out, i watched red road, road to paloma (jason’s movies) and all- HECK I BOUGHT HIS SHOES because i 100% support everything he does for environment and to stop single use plastic. don’t go around and pretend wb doesn’t KNOW what they’re doing by keeping amber heard on aquaman 2: there literally IS a petition to have her fired, with TWO MILLIONS SIGNATURES on it. watch the youtube comment section on every video with her, every aquaman-video related on youtube: THE ONLY THING PEOPLE ARE TALKING ABOUT about this movie (and these movies) is her and how they won’t support another movie with her, and people have voiced it pretty openly. tons of aquaman fans 100% support jason momoa and love him as aquaman, they loved patrick wilson, they loved yahya, and NONE of us want the movie not to exist: WE JUST WANT AMBER HEARD OUT OF IT. that’s the thing: you want to be an activist for the pocs of this movie? well get her out of it, because they will LOSE by having her on it, and neither wb nor amber heard herself will suffer because of it, it’ll be the pocs i’m supposedly not supporting who will suffer the most. for everything they’ve heard from the public, wb KNOWS amber heard is the problem and the only thing people are opposing regarding aquaman 2. nothing else. fans loved james wan’s version, prefered it to what even zack snyder’s showed for atlantis in justice league. fans loved jason’s version of aquaman, he’s got nothing but praise for it. fans all want to see more of black mantha and mostly regretted him not being properly exploited as a villain on the first movie (since y’know, i’m part of the fandom, i actually know that). so no, me, not supporting a studio that has chosen to stand their ground and to stand up for a racist/abusive/homophobic b*tch (and yes, she is homophobic, don’t come at me saying she can’t be because she’s bisexual, there are proofs) who can’t even come at some locations to work (ie: australia), at the expanse of ACTUAL POCS (who will lose a lot of money, maybe credibility for working with her) is not me being a fake activist. yes, amber heard is NOTHING in this movie(s), that’s why it could be so easy to replace her. she’s just there, playing pretty while the actual pocs of this movie carry the movie (jason, yahya, james; all doing an amazing job that already HAS been tarnished by amber heard- as seen again, through social medias and and such). and again, that’s not adressing how she LITERALLY bullied jason momoa through the whole press tour, mocked him and his character and oftentimes said mera was the main character and “the hero”????? (again, everything is out there, on this thing called the internet, do your own research): some examples, her playing the victim because jason “tore her book’s last page” and how her and her fans literally called him an abuser and toxic for doing so, trying to have him cancelled. how she and her mob LITERALLY cyberbullied zoe kravitz (aka jason’s step-daughter, and also a poc) for talking positively about johnny depp. not even gonna talk how she openly mocks johnny depp (let’s still talk about him, no matter what, you are still ignoring THE AUDIO TAPES where she admits to being an abuser- and the other audio tape where we actually hear people - witnesses to the scene - say she cut his fcking finger!) on social media and bullies him (or anyone who stands up against her; even australia’s prime minister, while SHE is the one who comitted a crime in this country!), how, again, we have PROOF that she’s a racist: faked her activism for black lives matter, refers to latinos as “maids”, uses the n-word. PROOF that she’s homophobic: mocking johnny depp for running to his bodyguard, saying he should shag him and such. PROOF and TESTIMONIES that she’s literally The Worst to work with. PROOF and TESTIMONIES that she ABUSED her assistant and stole her r*pe story for clout. PROOF that she used sick kids for clout and didn’t donate ANY money to charities, even tho she kept screaming at the top of her lungs that she did, only to gain popularity and play the selfless victim even more. remember how she became the spokeperson for dv victims, even tho she was charged back in 2009 for abusing her girlfriend? (and again, we have audio tapes where she argues the difference between punching and hitting her husband, while drugging him with xanax but ok) please, tell me again how much of a “fake activist” i am for not wanting to support that woman and the studio that keeps a blind eye to everything she’s done, to her loved ones (yknow, the actual footage that shows that whitney, aka amber’s sister had been beaten by amber), to the public eye, and to her colleagues on the set of aquaman itself?

#tw domestic abuse #anyway bye #amber heard #jason momoa #aquaman 2 #just stfu #don't come and say 'they just want jd to have his career back' bru i don't intend on supporting fantastic beasts and jkr either #and i do believe the potc franchise has been dead for a long time #i've always preferred jd's small movies and i do believe he's happier doing inde movies #but whatever floats your boat #sure #he still has a career and even said he wanted to do music now more than movies #buuuut OKAY

[incarnateirony]

Time for a rant

And some hard fucking truths about this fandom. And shipping culture. And related LGBT issues.

Edit for reblog: Since everybody’s trying to be highkey mad about everything right now, if the cut didn’t warn you, or the title, that this is going to be an unpopular AF opinion you should read all of before jumping to any conclusions, let this edit notice be that. But this post includes a bunch of shit. History I more recently and more fully talked about. The LGBT men I know that won’t touch this fandom with a ten foot pole because of shipping dialogue. And the accidental two season canon Destiel RP troll that we finally snapped and voiced beyond the meta wall from PURE EXHAUSTION.

(related posts in reference: (x) (x) (x) )

we know season great we know season 9 and its potential we know season 10 -- and most of us know its cut scenes humanity, being human, colette, the altar of winchester, the secret admirer, the boyfriends that strapped into the abaddon/colette parallels, all of it we know carver himself wrote the s10 finale and got it to film and then it got cut we know s9 he gave misha a note to play as jilted lovers from the showrunner but then we ask why did this never make it well nobody in fandom was paying attention nobody paid attention to SPN struggling the first seasons nobody paid attention to gamble's era almost getting nuked they all swore up and down this outdated americana show was about to have a queer pairing go canon because, yes, at that point *reads crumbled note* wallpaper

In fact that last one, to this date, no much how much legitimate structural meta or even deadass text current meta fandom breaks down, whether they just study the microcosm of Destiel or the macrocosm of the text with Destiel as a piece of it, can not escape the claims of *reads note again* wallpaper and T-shirts.

one year into Carver who was pulling the show out of the cancellation trashcan and vying for it to continue now that it was on netflix a DUMBASS EXEC wandered into twitter and opted to talk to fans

the goddamn network CEOship had just rotated even

”Well I blame” [disembodied force outside of our own]

no honestly I blame (parts of) pre S9 meta fandom, and I say that as a meta author they had been convincing people of intent for years When these showrunners and even rotating network execs were thrashing for life Like literally even the heads of the CW were changing not even just SPN but some fucking how the “sages” of that era didn’t have any gat damn insight onto how that might influence future engagements So out of the blue a newish network crew gets BLINDSIDED by accusations of queerbait and giant danger articles that are huge PR bombs and it turns into protect the product mode which turned into the new S10 press releases with the spontaneous sexuality field on the characters and half the filmed content ending up on the floor the short end of it is fandom fucked up hard Carver was fighting for them But in result he got a corporate shut down on a product he had ironically exploded globally too well that was earning too much profit too quickly to catch that kind of bad PR Chad Kennedy was a fateful fucking day Ever since then showrunners have had to pitch the idea at corporate when it was a nonissue before And prove why it's a valid move with test groups and marketing You can say "prove it" I really don't have to in this rant, I really do not give a SHIT if you believe me, I don’t CARE if you want to reject what is otherwise logic because I’m not about to throw anybody under a bus I really like not getting people in trouble, but this alone is a glint in the fucking RADAR of how I'm going off.

hell ask yourself why we went from Robbie calling Destiel canon to being eviscerated by queerbait claims because it didn’t fulfill what a specific audience wanted or expected, to deleting his post, to only annual actors free of their contracts daring to talk about Destiel, to corporate shutdowns where it’s crickets until Emily’s return where she’s started YOLO posting about it -- but why, why, why did we go from actual support and discussion to silence that you still rage about

Without the season nine kennedy explosion I'm pretty sure we would have had inarguable destiel canon in season 10 like late s10 Carver passed his torch to Dabb mid S11 where they kept stringing it out and ramping it up within restrictions which is why Dabb runs a very weird fucking line Dabb knows he has no promise of getting it as far as his forebearer wanted or even had written AND FILMED but he will hedge out as many lines, esp with the hand of Berens that Carver originally passed the directorial note with, as he can Wayward was a huge factor in that and tbh my hope died when Wayward died that was a HUGE weight in the network Berens was pulling

I'm at a point where i've conceded to our jane austen novel but want to see how far they take that to completion, though in reality that completion was 13.5/6 that's when I went from like, I passively enjoy and accept this content to screaming into the dumpster it's not the landmark people wanted but story structure wise within how SPN handles it's the sufficient one Recalling Dean's implicative hookups since like season six I mentioned on one hand The fact that they went full circle and bookended it in direct script mirror to Lisa after the S13 lead in would be amply sufficient to het drama and I refuse to enable hets running around the goalpost on queer people I would love better open blunt representation but I also recognize the genre of the show It's something Dean and I struggle with our server actually DeanCas have been canon for a season and a half here but maintaining that without taking a distracting romantic genre tilt or whatever is its own form of challenge We write established relationship openly, without bars, to the point we DMed each other for months like WHEN WILL THEY CATCH ON WTF but the problem, ironically, is that it's so parallel to the show nobody caught on

which really, though it didn't start as a conscious experiment, and was natural tells me everything I need to know even wiping what I knew on production and itk ends even if I just had that it says e v e r y t h i n g I have literally watched people laugh track completely serious content, because it's gay ergo it's funny LGBT people. Shippers.

I wrote subtle lines. They got ignored. I wrote blunt lines. They flew past heads. I wrote lines designed to be overt to the point of painful. They got laughed off. Het culture is a hell of a drug. Both in this RP and in how we interpret romances like DeanCas, even LGBT people and shippers, because people are expecting performative results and statements where either for the former they don't fit the show or genre or for the latter, there's some sort of restriction or imposition but there's authors writing their gay little hearts out and tearing their hair out after.

I've been the author tearing my hair out until I wrote a Cas, explicitly, in a moment, to be as blunt and straightforward and unmistakable as I could, to the point I felt I was bending the character to even make it happen, and debated my options for like ten minutes before doing it, just to free myself of this purgatory. And STILL got a wash of questions wanting me to *confirm* the content they just saw instead of going, gee, that’s PROBABLY WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE.

Dabb is fighting the good gay fight and being woefully under respected for it, with Berens as his copilot, carrying a torch given to him by Carver, but people are too wrapped up in a mix of prior bitterness, performative culture, personal demands and shipping culture to see the forest for the trees, because he's deadass just writing an established fucking relationship but people would rather yell either queerbait or destroying the relationship. PR deadass pitched Absence like a het breakup drama and nobody blinked, just yelled how mean it was

Am I hinging my hopes on hammer-on-head-overt-canon-kissing-scene-DeanCas for the final season, no. Would I be surprised if it happened, knowing the execs? No, beyond breaking past corporate walls fandom dropped like a curtain in S9

But considering how "fuck performative culture" Berens is, as a gay man, fangirls absolutely should not fucking expect that either in even the most wild "the chains are broken, burn it all" method

Every queer man I know ships Destiel. Simultaneously, every queer man I know fucking loathes the sum of shipping culture with a vengeance.

Because it's grossly out of touch with MLM and is mostly WLW people trying to speak for what they think MLM should be when we already pretty much have the MLM right there.

YOU WANNA KNOW HOW THE ACTUAL QUEER MEN I KNOW SEE HOW THIS FANDOM HANDLES DESTIEL DESPITE BEING AVID SHIPPERS WHO SEE IT AS CANON ALREADY AND GET SCREAMED DOWN?

And since everyone likes to imagine the straight male audience as some borg, have a straight male friend exploding when someone called a fandom speakpiece a trainwreck. Bless his heart for not getting what queer or bi really mean situationally but his heart’s in the right place

I’m tired. Tired of trying to illustrate this to an audience I realized I have never once in my life been straight-coded enough to incorporate myself to much less understand the lensing of. Tired of watching queer men that I know who love this shit hide away in the recesses of DMs to hide from conversations lest they be accused of being homophobes or whatever by people refusing to read context, and/or just be smacked down by actual homophobes or just deadass rival shippers that refuse to see anybody be happy with something they don’t like in something that was never realistically a rivalry to begin with, because rivalry implies relative equality-ish and while all ships are equal in fanon, they aren’t necessarily in canon, and despite the thrashing and baying of antis this isn’t and will never just be a “fanon ship.”

Unpopular opinion but the biggest enemy to LGBT people isn't hets, it's the LGBT community, because we're too busy invalidating own own content and creators to make a truly unified front against het culture (or in this case, the network), and waving a flag with a lot of letters doesn't do anything to fix that. Yelling online into tumblr doesn’t fix that. @’ing creatives who have no power in this beyond the option to drop any attempt at queer resonant content cold turkey for you all to yell at them about THAT too doesn’t fix it.

No, yes, DeanCas are perfectly valid as Thebian warriors where one is clearly ace spectrum and the other is bisexualish if repressed as long as they are clearly enamored with and engaged with each other; no, nobody needs to fulfill anybody's migrating quota list when every romantic checkbox has been hit already that would be respected if they're het; would coming out statements in this sort of complicated relationship be great, sure, but they aren't in the kind of show that even addresses that and there's no way to make them even perform as the isolationists that they are without breaking or damaging the characters, not in the public eye, not in a show that hasn't shown a single sexual dean encounter for six-plus seasons for any other reason than to highlight a major traumatic problem in his life. 

No, I wasn’t “hiding my gays.” My gays just didn’t have their bedroom times put on blast while they even openly made comments about the nature of their relationship everybody flagged down because they weren’t making out in front of everyone, even if that hand *did* drag a shoulder too long, even if Dean *Did* inexplicably drag a naked flatlining human Cas into the FUCKING med bay out of the Dean Cave at like 6 AM in the morning. Yes, your dedication to talking down content is that fucking loud even if you don’t realize it.

SPN is never going to be a show where the characters distinctly identify "I'm a nonbinary demiman ace-spectrum demisexual" and "i'm an aromantic bisexual with a female inclination", it's just not, stop trying to make it happen, it isn't gonna happen, realistically they are not the kind of people to engage gender politics, they're just going to be themselves. And it's queer, and it's beautiful. Fandom needs to stop moving goalposts because it's becoming more and more transparent. They just need to __. Go to dinner, check, have lingering touches walking past each other, check, admit love for one or the other, check, watches the goalpost run off into the horizon Kiss, you mean kiss, you want them to kiss, but Dean hasn't had that in how many years and what was the framing of the last moment of that. 

SPN isn't about romance. Antis are right in that. But romance exists in SPN and one needs to mind the framework of it to not tilt the entire central focus of a genre show. One can have romance without being about romance, but people need to be conscious of what that means before they advocate about it. When Ruby or Anna were around they were dangerously close to becoming "about romance" which is why there was such a goddamn fit because these women were clearly tailor crafted to be plugged into a light/dark parallel in the back of the Impala

They haven't had a kissing-based romance in SPN for eight years. Ten if you cut past Lisa as a literal prop.

And if we wanna demand creator confirmation before we consider ace-y romances valid we'll talk about the biromantic commentary of S8 or the jilted lovers of S9 or the confirmed parallels of S10 or any of the overt shit after that, which got hit by marketing walls. We had that. They got yelled at for queerbait. Because it didn't hit people's quota. So we yet again hit a wall. Shipping fandom exhausts me. And I say that as a DeanCas shipper

I am literally watching people run their own goalposts around all the goddamn time Cas is so much more than becoming background commentary in the back of the impala like ruby and anna were geared to be He's his own goddamn individual, currently all but free of the wants and lusts of man from food to sleep to drink to urination to sex to PBJ, but deeply enamored -- per actual citation on the S8 DVD -- with humanity by proxy of a man he's given everything for Dean is a complicated individual who is growingly aware of his tug and pull with Cas on all emotional spectrums but has never once cheapened him to just being a sexual tool, reasons of which we can headcanon away, but he's never turned Cas into one of his bad coping mechanisms like Porn Star or Amazon or Deanmon's Fling And those, plus one waitress and a vague strip club incident in grief he came home from, sum up his post-lisa excursions, from a man who used to lay a different woman every episode in early seasons WelCoME to mlm cuLTURE In the actual L for love, not lust because kinda like jensen's headcanon of prostitute Dean there's even a chapter of feeling tossed away that's not what it's a b o u t and never was so performative DeanCas enrages me genuinely And if people have a genuine kink okay I guess but like, admit that's what it is. Otherwise assess the actual state and stasis of the characters in play and the cultural/gender issues involved, because it's soooo often either WLW or straight girls looking at MLM and deciding what they think it should be and it m i s s e s t h e m a r k b y a a m i l e and then the gay dudes hide in nooks or get besgieged by fangirls or are a Ben and avoid fandom entirely best Deans I've ever written with were with gay dudes tbh Kemi got the art of it enough to pre-write some scenes before they ever aired but there's elements that just vanish into the aether with either queer women or straight dudes. Different parts disappear Never had a straight girl write a Dean, don't intend to ever try wE nEed RepResEntAtiOn [sweeps hand at the show] if people stop running their goalposts around to the calls of straight girls, homophobes, and shipping culture it's right there. Is it monumental and groundbreaking, no, but SPN started as an outdated callback piece to begin with and has vaulted into the almost-current, so let's check ourselves in what we expect out of it. It's not gonna be a banner. But it's content actual queer men AVIDLY invest themselves in only to be told it's not enough/whatever in a world where there is dangerously low bi male representation, most is gay male, and most of that is hugely problematic stereotype easily replaced by a rainbow lamp wearing a boa and a sticky note pointing people towards plot. And in generous cases, are like Malec, which are a mix of creepy and stereotype. Yes let's nevermind the ancient warlock drawing the 18 year old dude into the allure of his thick eyeliner and glimmer and spandex pants, nothing to see here folks. but somehow we've reached a point as a culture that the above is considered better than "ageless deity becomes enamored with humanity through bond with one man, falling into him regardless of gender, surrendering all it knows to become like that man and protect that man, and becoming like unto a man, and learning the ways of man, through all classic romantic tropes known to man, and even classic endings and bookends of all romances given to man, only to settle in to a stable relationship baseline with a man, after sharing courtship gifts with a man" just because somebody, some fucking where, in a mix of bitterness, homophobia, and goalpost moving decided "public kiss or it doesn't count" even if we're left to wonder how that timeless thing knew what was under his pillow he kept safe that he came into his room and played him to get after a classic romantic gift.

Stop. It.

Yall may be wanting to victim pose because somebody else convinced you that you were a victim here but I’m a middle aged person willing to view history and accept basic FUCKING responsibility.

Because there’s a distinct fucking difference between “victim blaming” and “have some perspective and some basic adult responsibility in the unfolding of history as it happened rather than reframing it post-event because somebody else convinced you that’s what happened”.

The only people anyone is victims of in this fandom is people they took the word of as gospel without them having any sort of actual developmental insight at the time.

You wanna play victim?

Take it up with them.

As a modern meta author that primarily deals with actual legend and theology mytharc with a side of DeanCas structure I STILL run in to walls from antis erected by the people before me that did, indeed, use the methods they whip up as excuses, so if you’re gonna victim pose, I’m just as much of a victim of those people as you are, difference is I wasn’t enough of a follower to believe them when they preached “performative queer canon gospel to meet fangirl hetnorm performative demands of MLM we mainstreamed into our basic expectations because somebody told us to” at the time or now or ever. 

In fact, here’s the conversation that LED INTO THIS RANT.

CastielToday at 12:27 AM Old SPN has its values in a form of nostalgia or genre-searching it had a sort of drifter grifter americana vibe the later seasons lost

GarthToday at 12:27 AM Ah, early 2000's

CastielToday at 12:28 AM Well it's more than just year it was definitely a genre piece back then

GarthToday at 12:28 AM No, I know, but shows that span a long time you can track in it where you can tell writers styles started clashing in a way

CastielToday at 12:28 AM and that genre was pretty much dead at that point so even when it was new, it induced nostalgia "This is familiar I miss this where did this go" but in being so oldschool as it aged forward it aged worse and worse against the modern and Misha was the first bolt that really sparked a dynamic shift it was a breath of fresh air that carried it through kripke's plan and almost doubled its respective viewership in scale but still kept the old spirit Gamble desperately tried to capture that spirit but did not understand the actual essence of that spirit and budget restrictions didn't help due to twitter buzz she thought that spirit was "just duh brudders" which is dangerously reductionist

GarthToday at 12:30 AM Hey, Misha saved it in more then one way.

CastielToday at 12:30 AM the brothers were ironic vehicles for that spirit that gave it faces but it was a weird form of american dream that america hadn't realized its dream had warped into 50 years ago the american dream was a 3/2 bed bath and business degree

StarfiraToday at 12:31 AM I don't get how Gamble thought Misha's Cas was expendable. She just couldn't get her mindset out of s1-3 mentality I guess.

CastielToday at 12:31 AM but as that became labored with culture and debt the american dream drifted into freedom, exploration and the road with some sense of familiarity in classics, be it cars or music

GarthToday at 12:31 AM Funny, I can watch some episodes and go "huh... well... it gets better" and that says a lot that I view Se1-3 like that

CastielToday at 12:32 AM Once security was no longer a security, and people became anchored by their illusions of security into desperate survival to maintain that illusion of security, the idea of roadster americana was the new american dream

GarthToday at 12:32 AM Hmmm good point

Aryn Prime #TokenStraight😘Today at 12:32 AM I just looked at spn Facebook comments and geeeezzz

GarthToday at 12:33 AM I keep having to remind myself about a few details outside of SPN because being able to just wait for Netflix to get a new season then rewatch it all from the beginning has made me have a different view then others.

CastielToday at 12:33 AM So especially to the older generation older SPN has a strong nostalgic value you were lik six when it aired so that era is gone to you

GarthToday at 12:34 AM Yeah, 1996 Nov is me

Aryn Prime #TokenStraight😘Today at 12:34 AM One dude on Facebook said he resents that the actors have kids since he heard that part of the reason that it's ending is because J2M want more time with their families Wtf

CastielToday at 12:34 AM Whereas when it first aired

GarthToday at 12:34 AM I first watched when I was 14

CastielToday at 12:34 AM it was reflecting an age lost

GarthToday at 12:34 AM Aryn, wtf?

CastielToday at 12:34 AM to people desperately trying to find it but in reflecting old times it aged very poorly Gamble still didn't understand what made the appeal so regressed it to brothers without that true americana vibe while culling Cas which was a disaster

GarthToday at 12:35 AM See, it's like the same thing on how I can enjoy some older shows while understanding that it no longer works anymore. Older shows don't age well normally. And yeah, Se7 hahahahahahahhahahahahaha man once I stepped back and looked at the details of season 7 during the third rewatch I was like "hmm..... yeah. this sucks."

StarfiraToday at 12:36 AM I graduated high school in 2000 so those of you were kids when you watched SPN make me feel old. LOL

GarthToday at 12:36 AM lmao

CastielToday at 12:37 AM MOOD STAR MOOD

StarfiraToday at 12:37 AM AT LEAST I'M NOT ALONE WITH THESE YOUNG WHIPPER SNAPPERS

CastielToday at 12:37 AM You were probably in the generation that if you had tuned in when it was fresh you would have been like OH I REMEMBER THIS

GarthToday at 12:37 AM LMAO

CastielToday at 12:37 AM I MISS THIS it's not by fluke that Dean's theme song is literally titled Americana

GarthToday at 12:38 AM Ah yes.... the theme song....

CastielToday at 12:38 AM It was a whole beautiful craft

StarfiraToday at 12:38 AM I'm actually in between Dean and Sam's ages

CastielToday at 12:38 AM But it had to get with the times and Gamble took it in the worst direction possible

StarfiraToday at 12:39 AM I was born in 82

CastielToday at 12:39 AM Carver... people have their issues with carver but IMO he recovered the show as well as he could with the plate he was handed in the times he was There were still problems sure

GarthToday at 12:39 AM It's gone through some ups and downs, yep.

CastielToday at 12:39 AM but to boot out of Gamble era into the modern world was no small task The WAY HE HANDLED THE PR he basically was like THAT SHIT WAS A HOT MESS AND I FLUSHED IT but eloquent it was some shit like REWATCHING THE LAST FEW YEARS I REALIZED THAT OUR LORE HAS BECOME A BIT DIFFICULT TO FOLLOW SO I DECIDED TO REVISIT MORE FAMILIAR ELEMENTS

GarthToday at 12:40 AM When the people working on the show go "shit, I forgot to make notes"

CastielToday at 12:40 AM It's not that Carver didn't make notes

StarfiraToday at 12:40 AM Oh man were so ecstatic when Carver was announced as a showrunner. Ultimately, he let me down in s9 and s10 but s8? Season 8 will always have a special place in my heart.

CastielToday at 12:41 AM it's that there was no kind way to voice that Gamble was a disaster He had a three year plan and for reasons™ got even derailed in that plan and half of it ended up in the cut footage Destiel fandom do not like hearing my take about it I'm a shipper but I recognize

StarfiraToday at 12:41 AM Is season 8 perfect? Nope, but I don't think it's easy to describe what breath of fresh air it was after the shit show of season 7 to those who weren't there when it was airing live and binged through it

CastielToday at 12:41 AM yall fucked up b a d nobody will ever own responsibility for it but carver's intent is clear as day on the creatives wall and season 9/10 became a fustercluck as a result I want everybody in this room to think about this from a creatives angle, first carver then corporate Carver said when he joined he had a three year plan with final notes on his desk from the second he walked in the door again he entered in season eight We know what happened seasons eight, nine, ten on screen

GarthToday at 12:43 AM Yeah, Star, I don't have as many problems with the seasons as others do because hello Netflix, but I can see where the issues are after some explaining and some insight into the PR stuff that happened with the fandom points at Min and others like her

CastielToday at 12:43 AM we know season great we know season 9 and its potential we know season 10 -- and most of us know its cut scenes humanity, being human, colette, the altar of winchester, the secret admirer, the boyfriends that strapped into the abaddon/colette parallels, all of it we know carver himself wrote the s10 finale and got it to film and then it got cut we know s9 he gave misha a note to play as jilted lovers from the showrunner but then we ask why did this never make it well nobody in fandom was paying attention nobody paid attention to SPN struggling the first seasons nobody paid attention to gamble's era almost getting nuked they all swore up and down this outdated americana show was about to have a queer pairing go canon because, yes, at that point reads crumbled note wallpaper

GarthToday at 12:46 AM Urgh, gotta go help with dinner prep. Mom doesn't like me being on Discord lately so I'm going to have to cut out now guys. Min, I'll catch up to your info drop afterwards lmao

since that still surprising some people too.

[jamilbrown]

Cancel Culture continued

In my previous post I discussed the negatives of “Cancel Culture” and how it affects our society as a whole, and to reintroduce the topic cancel culture by definition is “Cancel Culture” comes into play. Cancel culture is a form of boycott in which someone, typically a celeb, has shared a questionable opinion, or again, has had problematic behavior called out on social media, or in other words the active terminations of someone’s life and or financial status, whether it be because of something someone said or did in the near and or distant past. When looking at cancel culture at face value one could possible say that this would benefit society as a whole because it would show what we value in society and punish those who don’t abide by those values. While yes, this is a valid point to be made about cancel culture, however left unchecked this ideology can become more of a detriment so society rather than positive which is why I for one am against. Referencing my previous post, I briefly mentioned the aspect of the “Mob Mentality” which is where individuals in a society will go along with a belief or wave of information without having a full understanding of the situation at hand, usually carried by the constant flow of information on the internet. This alone, I believe, is the main reason why cancel culture over time becomes a detriment to society.

A prime example of this I can think of would have to be the abomination of a situation that was the Covington Catholic school kid and the Native American man in Washing DC earlier this year. To give some background to the situation, back in January there was video posted online of a group of kids on a field trip, with a good portion of the wearing MAGA hats, and a Native American man beating a drum in their face in what to be some sort of standoff. There was one kid in particular, Nick Sandman, almost face to with the Native American Man who had a very smug smirk on his face in clip and that’s essentially how the storm started. Now the original clip posted online was very short, probably no longer than a minute, however the clip spread like wild fire and the and almost everyone who saw it immediately jumped to the support of the Native American man. Before any more information could come out on the subject almost in mass media outlets swarmed to the topic and wrote articles that painted the kids in the most negative ways possible, remind you that these are kids. Based upon that small video clip posted the amount of information spread around was almost insane, some people were saying that the kids were shouting racist things and things such as “Build the wall”, though later it was proven that no such things were even said. One by one more and more people huddled around this short clip to condemn these kids for there actions without having any more knowledge about the situation, it got so bad to the point that people began doxing the kids, calling for the kids to be expelled from the school, and some even calling for the death of the kids. Now mind these weren’t just your average people saying these things. There was a good amount of “Celebrity”, or for lack of better words higher up members of society saying these things. Now may say that the public reaction is acceptable because when looking at the video for what it the people reaction is justified and to that I do not agree with. Why are we slander a group of kids off of a 30 second clip with no other context, does that really seem fair to immediately try and end these kids lives off of 30 seconds of an out of context clip? The issue with this situation is not the simple  fact that what these people did was inherently wrong, though the doxing and calling for death for a group of kids is completely inexcusable. The issue with this situation is the simple fact that we as a society jumped so quickly to crucify the group of kids without even having the anymore information of the matter at hand other than a 30 sec clip of a kid smirking at a Native American man.

Soon after this entire debacle a long two-hour clip was posted that displayed the entirety of the situation that the short clip of the kids originally displayed. To summarize the video starts it with two separate protest, one for Native Americans and one for a group of Israelites, the group of Black Israelites protesters were from the beginning taunting others in the area while also preaching their beliefs and as the video played on the group of kids in the short clip eventually showed up. In the video you can hear the Israelites call the kids a slew of racist and homophobic phrase, in one instance the kids were called “A bunch of child molesting faggots”. For about an hour the kids were taunted and in the midst of it Philips, the aforementioned Native American man, who was taking part in the other protest walked over to approach the kids and began to beat his drum because he “felt as though he had to do something” in order to “Protect”, as stated by him in a later interview. By the end of the video we very clearly see a completely different depiction of the scenario based on what the original video depicted, and with that so did many peoples and media outlets narrative, however the damage to these people lives was already done. They’ve had their names slandered, locations publicly spread around the internet, and have been threatened with death all because a video of him was taking out of context for the worst. This I believe is a perfect example of Cancel culture being left unchecked, and I’ll reference my previous post again and bring up utilitarian justice. We have increasing tried to exemplify what we value most in society and condemn the what we do not, but in doing so we are only partaking in exactly what we don’t value in society by harming others. On its own cancel culture does not sound bad as a whole for a society because as stated its just weeding out the what we want to represent us as a society, but when we increasingly attempt to do this in the slightest inconvenience that is where we begin to have an issue.

[ixvyupdates]

Roseanne Isn’t the Only One Who Needs to Be Cancelled

America could really use some role models and yet somehow, time and time again, entertainment and media find a way to reinvent and elevate the mean-spirited and the unhinged. Roseanne Barr is no exception. But she’s hardly alone.

Author and poet Maya Angelou famously said, “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”

ABC made the conscious choice not to follow that advice when it decided to launch the Roseanne reboot and while being lauded by many for quickly deciding to pull the plug on the show, it’s hard to defend their decision to hire her—again—in the first place.

Long before her racist tweet about former Obama advisor and friend Valerie Jarrett, Roseanne had revealed herself as someone willing to say hateful—and yes, crazy—things in a public forum. She has been showing us who she is for decades and it’s hard to understand how or why we would elevate her to a place of prominence for any reason.

“Mom, isn’t that the lady who screamed the national anthem, then spit and grabbed her crotch?”

“Why yes, yes it is. And now she has her own show. Again.”

“The people who are upset with NFL players kneeling during the anthem must have been really upset about that, right Mom?”

If only.

The truth is, Barr isn’t conservative or liberal, Democrat or Republican. She is a conspiracy theorist who can’t get enough of Jill Stein one minute and Donald Trump the next and who has no qualms about being unabashedly xenophobic.

Right leaning cable news host S.E. Cupp rightly describes Barr this way:

This is a woman who was an early supporter of Birtherism, has compared Muslims to Nazis, took to Twitter regularly to attack citizens both private and public, floated wild conspiracy theories and bullied Trump opponents with racist, homophobic, and antisemitic insults. She infamously dressed up as Hitler in a photo shoot and posed with burnt ‘Jew cookies’ and has promoted anti-Semitic personalities.

And if her xenophobia wasn’t enough, her conspiracy theories must have been.

From JJ McCullough at National Review just last month:

Barr has never met a conspiracy theory she didn’t love. She’s a 9-11 truther who believes that “Bush did it,” and she has called the Boston Marathon bombing one of many “false flag terror attacks” perpetrated by the Obama administration to “remove” the Second Amendment. For good measure, she also believes that the old man Bush killed JFK.

ABC knew about all of this before they decided to re-launch the show. So remind me again why we are applauding ABC?

To quote S.E. Cupp:

As risks go, Roseanne came with a ton of them. How did ABC think this was going to go? Suddenly becoming a network star again would put the crazy back in the bottle?… You either knew what you were getting or you hoped no one would care.

But this isn’t new. Keith Olberman was just hired—again—by ESPN. Just after calling the secretary of education a “motherf*****” on Twitter and spending the year tweeting profanity laden rants about the president—and plenty of time before that personally attacking prominent women with whom he disagrees— ESPN decided to bring him back into the fold.

It’s hard to imagine there aren’t more noble and kind people who could do the job better, and with more integrity, than a jerk like Keith Olberman.

This Hate Isn’t New

Many believe that the election of Donald Trump has led to a coarsening of our discourse and an emboldening of those who hold nationalist, nativist, and yes, racist, views. I agree with that assertion.

But we are kidding ourselves if we think that our way of treating one another was anything to be proud of prior to the election of our current president. It was bad then and it’s worse now.

I spent part of my weekend listening to a mother weep over the vile things that were snapchatted to her son over Memorial Day weekend. Anti-semitic, homophobic slurs sent by his teammates. It’s not the first time. And he is certainly not alone. And neither is she.

We know that children are subjected to the pain of bullying, racism, religious bigotry, homophobia and all garden variety forms of cruelty. And we—the grown ups—bemoan all of that, blaming the parents for their children’s ways and the schools for not doing enough.

But what is also right in front of us is that we exist every day in a country whose president, some elected officials, and other high profile folks demean their opponents and critics over their race, their religious beliefs, their nation of origin, and their appearance. Television and radio are riddled with personalities who are paid millions of dollars to insult whole swaths of Americans for their religious beliefs—or lack thereof—or their opinions about everything from police brutality, to patriotism to healthcare.

Hollywood types and White House correspondent dinner invitees love to take sanctimonious swipes at the unenlightened and ordinary but struggle to look in the mirror when they are complicit in protecting—and even celebrating—big time bullies and sexual predators.

No matter how hard we work to shield them, our children are surrounded by influences that mock and disrespect others, social media posts by renown influencers who say and do terrible things, and a culture that is increasingly petty and cruel.

Perhaps in this moment, at least, we as parents can use the example of Roseanne to finally show our children that, yes, there are consequences for the things we say and the way we treat others.

Every single person in media has the ability and opportunity to elevate those who, in addition to their talents, can and will improve the tone and substance of our national dialogue.

Let’s hope they finally do it.

Photo courtesy of ABC.

Roseanne Isn’t the Only One Who Needs to Be Cancelled syndicated from https://sapsnkraguide.wordpress.com

[ixvyupdates]

Roseanne Isn’t the Only One Who Needs to Be Cancelled

America could really use some role models and yet somehow, time and time again, entertainment and media find a way to reinvent and elevate the mean-spirited and the unhinged. Roseanne Barr is no exception. But she’s hardly alone.

Author and poet Maya Angelou famously said, “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”

ABC made the conscious choice not to follow that advice when it decided to launch the Roseanne reboot and while being lauded by many for quickly deciding to pull the plug on the show, it’s hard to defend their decision to hire her—again—in the first place.

Long before her racist tweet about former Obama advisor and friend Valerie Jarrett, Roseanne had revealed herself as someone willing to say hateful—and yes, crazy—things in a public forum. She has been showing us who she is for decades and it’s hard to understand how or why we would elevate her to a place of prominence for any reason.

“Mom, isn’t that the lady who screamed the national anthem, then spit and grabbed her crotch?”

“Why yes, yes it is. And now she has her own show. Again.”

“The people who are upset with NFL players kneeling during the anthem must have been really upset about that, right Mom?”

If only.

The truth is, Barr isn’t conservative or liberal, Democrat or Republican. She is a conspiracy theorist who can’t get enough of Jill Stein one minute and Donald Trump the next and who has no qualms about being unabashedly xenophobic.

Right leaning cable news host S.E. Cupp rightly describes Barr this way:

This is a woman who was an early supporter of Birtherism, has compared Muslims to Nazis, took to Twitter regularly to attack citizens both private and public, floated wild conspiracy theories and bullied Trump opponents with racist, homophobic, and antisemitic insults. She infamously dressed up as Hitler in a photo shoot and posed with burnt ‘Jew cookies’ and has promoted anti-Semitic personalities.

And if her xenophobia wasn’t enough, her conspiracy theories must have been.

From JJ McCullough at National Review just last month:

Barr has never met a conspiracy theory she didn’t love. She’s a 9-11 truther who believes that “Bush did it,” and she has called the Boston Marathon bombing one of many “false flag terror attacks” perpetrated by the Obama administration to “remove” the Second Amendment. For good measure, she also believes that the old man Bush killed JFK.

ABC knew about all of this before they decided to re-launch the show. So remind me again why we are applauding ABC?

To quote S.E. Cupp:

As risks go, Roseanne came with a ton of them. How did ABC think this was going to go? Suddenly becoming a network star again would put the crazy back in the bottle?… You either knew what you were getting or you hoped no one would care.

But this isn’t new. Keith Olberman was just hired—again—by ESPN. Just after calling the secretary of education a “motherf*****” on Twitter and spending the year tweeting profanity laden rants about the president—and plenty of time before that personally attacking prominent women with whom he disagrees— ESPN decided to bring him back into the fold.

It’s hard to imagine there aren’t more noble and kind people who could do the job better, and with more integrity, than a jerk like Keith Olberman.

This Hate Isn’t New

Many believe that the election of Donald Trump has led to a coarsening of our discourse and an emboldening of those who hold nationalist, nativist, and yes, racist, views. I agree with that assertion.

But we are kidding ourselves if we think that our way of treating one another was anything to be proud of prior to the election of our current president. It was bad then and it’s worse now.

I spent part of my weekend listening to a mother weep over the vile things that were snapchatted to her son over Memorial Day weekend. Anti-semitic, homophobic slurs sent by his teammates. It’s not the first time. And he is certainly not alone. And neither is she.

We know that children are subjected to the pain of bullying, racism, religious bigotry, homophobia and all garden variety forms of cruelty. And we—the grown ups—bemoan all of that, blaming the parents for their children’s ways and the schools for not doing enough.

But what is also right in front of us is that we exist every day in a country whose president, some elected officials, and other high profile folks demean their opponents and critics over their race, their religious beliefs, their nation of origin, and their appearance. Television and radio are riddled with personalities who are paid millions of dollars to insult whole swaths of Americans for their religious beliefs—or lack thereof—or their opinions about everything from police brutality, to patriotism to healthcare.

Hollywood types and White House correspondent dinner invitees love to take sanctimonious swipes at the unenlightened and ordinary but struggle to look in the mirror when they are complicit in protecting—and even celebrating—big time bullies and sexual predators.

No matter how hard we work to shield them, our children are surrounded by influences that mock and disrespect others, social media posts by renown influencers who say and do terrible things, and a culture that is increasingly petty and cruel.

Perhaps in this moment, at least, we as parents can use the example of Roseanne to finally show our children that, yes, there are consequences for the things we say and the way we treat others.

Every single person in media has the ability and opportunity to elevate those who, in addition to their talents, can and will improve the tone and substance of our national dialogue.

Let’s hope they finally do it.

Photo courtesy of ABC.

Roseanne Isn’t the Only One Who Needs to Be Cancelled syndicated from https://sapsnkraguide.wordpress.com

[ixvyupdates]

Roseanne Isn’t the Only One Who Needs to Be Cancelled

America could really use some role models and yet somehow, time and time again, entertainment and media find a way to reinvent and elevate the mean-spirited and the unhinged. Roseanne Barr is no exception. But she’s hardly alone.

Author and poet Maya Angelou famously said, “When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.”

ABC made the conscious choice not to follow that advice when it decided to launch the Roseanne reboot and while being lauded by many for quickly deciding to pull the plug on the show, it’s hard to defend their decision to hire her—again—in the first place.

Long before her racist tweet about former Obama advisor and friend Valerie Jarrett, Roseanne had revealed herself as someone willing to say hateful—and yes, crazy—things in a public forum. She has been showing us who she is for decades and it’s hard to understand how or why we would elevate her to a place of prominence for any reason.

“Mom, isn’t that the lady who screamed the national anthem, then spit and grabbed her crotch?”

“Why yes, yes it is. And now she has her own show. Again.”

“The people who are upset with NFL players kneeling during the anthem must have been really upset about that, right Mom?”

If only.

The truth is, Barr isn’t conservative or liberal, Democrat or Republican. She is a conspiracy theorist who can’t get enough of Jill Stein one minute and Donald Trump the next and who has no qualms about being unabashedly xenophobic.

Right leaning cable news host S.E. Cupp rightly describes Barr this way:

This is a woman who was an early supporter of Birtherism, has compared Muslims to Nazis, took to Twitter regularly to attack citizens both private and public, floated wild conspiracy theories and bullied Trump opponents with racist, homophobic, and antisemitic insults. She infamously dressed up as Hitler in a photo shoot and posed with burnt ‘Jew cookies’ and has promoted anti-Semitic personalities.

And if her xenophobia wasn’t enough, her conspiracy theories must have been.

From JJ McCullough at National Review just last month:

Barr has never met a conspiracy theory she didn’t love. She’s a 9-11 truther who believes that “Bush did it,” and she has called the Boston Marathon bombing one of many “false flag terror attacks” perpetrated by the Obama administration to “remove” the Second Amendment. For good measure, she also believes that the old man Bush killed JFK.

ABC knew about all of this before they decided to re-launch the show. So remind me again why we are applauding ABC?

To quote S.E. Cupp:

As risks go, Roseanne came with a ton of them. How did ABC think this was going to go? Suddenly becoming a network star again would put the crazy back in the bottle?… You either knew what you were getting or you hoped no one would care.

But this isn’t new. Keith Olberman was just hired—again—by ESPN. Just after calling the secretary of education a “motherf*****” on Twitter and spending the year tweeting profanity laden rants about the president—and plenty of time before that personally attacking prominent women with whom he disagrees— ESPN decided to bring him back into the fold.

It’s hard to imagine there aren’t more noble and kind people who could do the job better, and with more integrity, than a jerk like Keith Olberman.

This Hate Isn’t New

Many believe that the election of Donald Trump has led to a coarsening of our discourse and an emboldening of those who hold nationalist, nativist, and yes, racist, views. I agree with that assertion.

But we are kidding ourselves if we think that our way of treating one another was anything to be proud of prior to the election of our current president. It was bad then and it’s worse now.

I spent part of my weekend listening to a mother weep over the vile things that were snapchatted to her son over Memorial Day weekend. Anti-semitic, homophobic slurs sent by his teammates. It’s not the first time. And he is certainly not alone. And neither is she.

We know that children are subjected to the pain of bullying, racism, religious bigotry, homophobia and all garden variety forms of cruelty. And we—the grown ups—bemoan all of that, blaming the parents for their children’s ways and the schools for not doing enough.

But what is also right in front of us is that we exist every day in a country whose president, some elected officials, and other high profile folks demean their opponents and critics over their race, their religious beliefs, their nation of origin, and their appearance. Television and radio are riddled with personalities who are paid millions of dollars to insult whole swaths of Americans for their religious beliefs—or lack thereof—or their opinions about everything from police brutality, to patriotism to healthcare.

Hollywood types and White House correspondent dinner invitees love to take sanctimonious swipes at the unenlightened and ordinary but struggle to look in the mirror when they are complicit in protecting—and even celebrating—big time bullies and sexual predators.

No matter how hard we work to shield them, our children are surrounded by influences that mock and disrespect others, social media posts by renown influencers who say and do terrible things, and a culture that is increasingly petty and cruel.

Perhaps in this moment, at least, we as parents can use the example of Roseanne to finally show our children that, yes, there are consequences for the things we say and the way we treat others.

Every single person in media has the ability and opportunity to elevate those who, in addition to their talents, can and will improve the tone and substance of our national dialogue.

Let’s hope they finally do it.

Photo courtesy of ABC.

Roseanne Isn’t the Only One Who Needs to Be Cancelled syndicated from https://sapsnkraguide.wordpress.com