#Like seriously you managed to inspire me to write a very important scene in my ongoing Oblivion Verse

[nadianova]

How much time do you spend planning some of your visual novels? At least going by some of them being jam submissions, it feels like you go from pre-production to a finished build very quickly, and it's amazing how you can manage that while still having an awesome story and so many assets.

Also, what is like, the process of planning a story out for you, if there's any vague or concrete similarities that you've noticed?

i think the important context here is that if i get bored/have nothing to do i jhust immediately get really suicidal its like ridiculous how bad it gets(ITS FINE DONT WORRY ABOUT IT IVE HAD 5 YEARS OF THERAPY). so i hate being bored and want to occupy my time wit something fun whatever that is. if i have a project to focus on but especially if I'm working for a game jam i have a deadline and i just decide to myself okay i will release a game now.

because ive made a decent amount of games i roughly have an idea on my capabilities, i can estimate how long it takes for me to write a story so and so long and how long it takes for me to draw stuff i need and how long it takes for me to throw stuff in renpy. these are estimates like as in I'm not accurate with it but still enough that i generally know where to start cutting ideas since the most important part is just having something to submit. i also know to plan around my brain wanting to slam my head into a wall an my hands suddenly giving up on being able to draw.

i think thats the beauty of game jams it forces you to just go for it and release something. releasing a 'bad' game is better than no game at all. experience only comes over time and i think just going for it is the best approach there is. like its literally 2 weeks 1 month whatever of your life. if you have the time and motivation go for it. make it work or fuck it up it wont matter in the grand scheme of things

im not sure what is the motivation behind the question but i do want to point out that this is just my method (if you can even call it a method) and the only way to figure out what works for you is to just try until you find something that actually works for you

idk not everyone will find it doable/fun to plan around spending two weeks gamedev 10 hours a day just cause i wanted to fit in 100 cgs for a jam game but apparently i can do that when i cheat my stupid adhd brain into hyperfocus with adhd meds

READMORE BECAUSE I CANT STOP RAMBLING

as for planning tho i think ideas on their own are worthless and its always about execution in the end. a great idea or a meh idea are the same for me but i do still enjoy the planning process so i keep notes

like i see a great tumblr post or i see some art or visual novel has some scene that inspires me: i save that shit for myself

having a big collection of random floating ideas like that helps me easily pick from especially during a jam type duration. right now i have like 4-5 half-baked project skeletons, some are literally like 3 pictures and some like naomida are a hundred hours worth of me writing world building about how the toilets work in a city with no plumbing cause its -30celcius(i love bringing this up)=

i dont normally plan that much, i tend to just wing it. like for malmaid i seriously just had some rough ideas and just went along as i wrote

same thing for dddeviance i had a handful of scenes that i really wanted to make and knew what kind of start and end it was meant to have and just figured out how to fill the in between. a lot of plot points changed vastly like halfway through i realised my devil + angel combination was stupid and i should just go for fallen angel + angel.

i think there really is no simple answer tho (as evident from the long as hell post) i don't really have a 'process' because every single game has been worked on has come with different type of planning since I'm always trying new stuff to try and distract me from boredom. like I've been using obsidian for naomida while previously I've just used a empty discord serve as my notes app for malmaid and dddeviance

and tbh with naomida I'm running to a new problem where I'm definitely planning too much. like I'm spending too much time fidgeting with details in chapter 4 even when i haven't finished writing chapter 1 just cause its so easy to get in the loop of "oh ill just change this one line" and boom 20 mins spent playing with my notes that didn't really progress my game since by the time i reach this point the whole scene might have shifted to something else

.

but if i had to squeeze an answer itd be something like everything related to my art or writing or games is just like "oooooo that seems fun i should remember this for later" and then i just string 10-100 of those into a story

i tend to write my stories in a format of

character A does this and that

this happens here

puppy play ryona piss orgasm

new day and then this happens here

sad thing happens

more piss orgasm

the end

and just like start filling in more details and working on my story in a nonlinear fashion until i feel like i have a strong enough skeleton that i can start writing my scenes. i hop around a lot, often preferring to write the fun scenes first like ero stuff or the ones I'm the most interested in and then the rest is just filling the blanks and stringing the cool scenes together

[interstellar-inn]

꩜— greetings all, happy wednesday! mod cotton here and i am pleased to announce our creator of the week!

what is creator of the week?

creator of the week is a project started by the network to celebrate different writers and artists in our community. with such a vast network of amazing and talented creators, we think it's only fair we show a little extra love to each one, one creator at a time. creator of the week aims to show a little extra support to creators by shining a special starlight on them and featuring a few of their works. you can help support too by giving them a follow, or if you read their fics and find that you like any of them, make sure to reblog and let them know!

with that, congratulations to fawn a.k.a @dearbraus! as this month being pride month, we wanted to highlight a creator who writes queer fics and fawn is practically the pioneer. they are a very pleasant individual to interview and talk to! during our interview, we talked about their experiences as a queer creator on tumblr, fandom, and the community all together; and get to know them more! touch read more for the full interview below!

1. what made you join tumblr? how long have you been a member all together?

i joined tumblr originally for fanart and fandom! i believe it was for the hunger games and percy jackson! that was back in 2014 so it’s been about ten years as of this year!

2. what's keeping you to the site? is there anything you like about it? what could be changed?

honestly the community! even with all its flaws it’s the community that keeps me on tumblr. i do of course love supporting my fellow artists and writers but this specific corner of tumblr is really special in a way that it cannot be found elsewhere. i really like how tumblr allows you to personalise your blog and the ask function as it makes for fun interactions without the pressure of it being private. i’d honestly only change how the tag system works because it can be so finicky with getting posts to show up lol!

3. what is the most difficult part for you when it comes to brainstorming/writing?

hm, it’s definitely picking a character! i have such trouble picking just one of my favourites because i want to give them all love! and when it comes to writing fics i struggle with starting things off. i tend to get ideas of a specific scene in the middle of the story and have to build around that one scene so it makes the beginnings and endings a bit tricky.

4. what is the proudest/most inspirational moment you've experienced in creating so far?

i’ve had many moments but if i had to choose just one it’d be when i created my royal au series as it pushed me to my limits in terms of creativity and how much i could write. i’ve never written as much as i have for that series and i’m really proud of myself

5. as a queer creator yourself, what was your experience as a content creator? what keeps you going?

i’ve had a lot of ups and downs when it comes to writing as a queer person whether it be due to people questioning my identity or just blatant homophobia. there are times too where it has definitely felt a bit lonely as someone who writes a substantial amount of queer fanfic or at least enough to where i’m know for writing such fics, however i’ve managed to find and make a small community of other queer writers which is really important to me. they’re definitely what keeps me going and so are my readers. i’ve received some very lovely comments on my work that really just motivate me to keep going and remind me why i write what i do even when i feel discouraged

6. where do you find your muse to start creating? what inspires you?

i started writing as a kid and always loved to insert myself into whatever piece of media i was currently fixated on. i didn’t take things too seriously when i was younger and it was very much just a hobby back then but it has now evolved into a passion that allows me to express my innermost feelings even if it’s through writing anime x reader fics. i still am very much inspired by self inserting through my current fixations but it has shifted more towards inserting in the name of representation. while i’ve been a bit too busy as of late to delve into writing longer fanfics, last year i wrote two fics which centred heavily around readers experiencing mental health issues as well as compulsory heterosexuality because these are things that i’ve found to be not so readily spoken about outside of online spaces. i really do enjoy using fanfiction and writing in general to explore things that are considered taboo in a slightly unconventional way

7. do you have any advice for any first-time content creators?

don’t put so much pressure on yourself! i think due to the commodification of hobbies, there’s this idea that if we write or make art that it must be mass produced but what makes art special is that it’s one of a kind! so if you’re a first time writer/artist on tumblr, don’t force yourself to creator in the hopes of appeasing others! create because you’re inspired and because you’re having fun! also, don’t let others ruin your fun!!!! i think that’s the most important thing, block liberally to protect your peace, use tumblrs filtering feature to hide anything that you dislike, and ignore those coming into your inbox looking to cause trouble!!! i definitely struggled with taking things to personally when i first started writing and it sucked the fun out of sharing my writing very quickly until i learned that i shouldn’t let others being negative and mean get in the way of my enjoyment

8. do you have any advice for anyone looking for a server/network to join?

hm, i think my biggest piece of advice would be don’t be scared! join servers and networks even if you don’t know the owners/mods super well! it can be super scary being in a new space with new people but i promise it’s well worth it! way back in 2021 i joined audrey’s very server not knowing anyone and have since join all the other iterations that came afterward because there was such love and care put into her servers (that are still there with the interstellar inn!) and have loved meeting so many new people who are in all kinds of different life paths. and for anyone reading this looking for a server or network to join i definitely think you should join the interstellar inn, theres so many fun events and watch parties being held that make the server a really fun space! and the network is very well organized and cared for that i’m in awe! and of course i would love to befriend any person reading this who ends up joining hehe

visit fawn's blog ( @dearbraus ) or check out their tag at the inn here!

that's all from us! see you next time and be sure to follow fawn and check out their works! <333

— cotton

edit: thank you to the anon who pointed out our oversight! we have since corrected it. fawn's pronouns are they/them. we deeply apologize for our mistake.

[halfagone]

I seriously love your fic 'Social Media + Insomnia = Epic Fails'. It's honestly amazing that you managed to write an entire fic through just snapshots of different social media. If I may, can I ask how you did it? I can't imagine that it would be easy, considering that there's barely any conventional dialogue or real action scenes.

Oh my gosh, yay!! Ironically I just reread that one the other night. It was very self-indulgent, but I'm so happy to hear so many other people could enjoy it too! 🥰✨😊

There are definitely some parts that are easier than others. Interestingly enough, I probably have the hardest time with formatting and the overall structure of the fic when I publish than the writing itself. I love playing around with HTML, but Ao3's HTML is notoriously hard. (Also, tip: the Rich Text Editor doesn't always allow the same amount of versatility, hence the HTML.)

For me personally, it was important for me to have plot in the background. It doesn't have to be deep plot, but just some sort of guideline that I could follow so I know where it began and end.

In that fic, I'm sure you noticed, things went down in the background like Danny joining the Justice League and becoming Ghost King and Tim getting overshadowed by Pariah Dark. (Yes, I did try to heavily imply that Tim was overshadowed by Pariah for five days. That's a fun plot point lol.) But the overarching story that people really came for was Tim and Danny being lovesick idiots and trying to navigate being public personalities and getting together.

You are totally right about unconventional dialogue. There is a bit at the end where we get actual dialogue with quotation marks and dialogue tags, but otherwise we just get a lot of chatting sequences. For me it was very important to get the tones right. Little clues in the messages that shows how they're feeling or what they're implying. And for things like sarcasm, which don't translate through writing the same way, you can even have characters call each other out on it. I know I've done the same for "Insomniacs Anonymous". (Can you tell I love social media fics? lol)

One of the things I will say about this kind of fic format is that it's so much easier to write fight scenes. On one hand, you don't get really inspiration scenes where your characters are out there kicking ass and saving the day, but that's also a let less work on your part. In this case the details aren't as important, it's the results. So that's why we just see Breaking News alerts.

For this fic, it's kind of a mixture of present-action and reactions. There are parts where we watch as plot points unfold but we also learn about other plot points via the reactions from other people on social media.

There are also smaller things you can do. Whenever I showed Danny's Twitter profile or YouTube channel, I changed little details to show the passage of time. I showed him steadily gaining new followers or subscribers, or in the case with YouTube, I showed his number of videos slowly ticking up higher. It's very easy to miss, and maybe most people don't notice it at all, but it's also a good bookmark as an author.

If you're looking for inspiration or ideas, then I would definitely recommend looking into other social media AUs. There's a canonized tag for it on Ao3, but the social media fics I read that helped me with "Social Media + Insomnia = Epic Fails! (Not Clickbait)" were from Yuri! On Ice, Batman, and BNHA. If you're interested in more specific fics, let me know and I can make up a list of recs. Even if you're not into the fandom, they offer some good ideas for what it can look like.

All in all, I'm really glad you liked that one! I have a number of more ideas for social media fics going forward like a Model AU, my Actor AU, and then a AITA Reddit fic which I believe I did post a while ago as well. I can't promise it'll be soon, but the format is so fun and I hope you get to have some fun with it too. 😉

[freyito]

I wanted to just throw this in your inbox because you're one of my biggest inspirations on here, I hope that doesn't sound weird-

So, I'm not that experienced of a writer, but I'm always so inspired by writers like you, you manage to get the characters so accurate that I can imagine a scene playing out in a cutscene!

Fun story time, so I've struggled with my identity for a long time, reading fanfics with fem readers never really felt right and I couldn't figure out why for so long, until I came across a fic with a male reader. This was a few years ago and male readers were incredibly scarce for the fandoms I participated in, especially ones that actually used he/him pronouns. I started thinking, do I like this for myself? And I realised who I was, through fanfiction of all things!

This is why inclusive writing is so incredibly important, why blogs like yours are so incredible! I hope you have a good day (⁠´⁠∩⁠｡⁠•⁠ ⁠ᵕ⁠ ⁠•⁠｡⁠∩⁠`⁠)

me?!?!??! kacper!??!?!?! kacper kazimierz!?!??!?! an inspiration!>!??!?!?! WAHAAAA THANK YOU !!!!! ITS NOT WEIRD AT ALL ITS ENDEARING AND I AM ACTIVELY KICKING MY FEET AND GIGGLING WAHAHAAAAA

also don't know if i'll ever get used to people saying i have a grasp on the characters. like that is always my biggest fear when it comes to writing. but what, this is the second time i've been told? thank you so much!! and i'm so glad my writing comes off that vivid, seriously. that's something that i've put a lot of effort into improving, like half the time I do writing exercises JUST for that.

don't worry tho. when i found myself out it was around the very very start of my writing career. i was just obsessed with making ocs. I went through like every sexuality under the sun cause I just didn't understand why I didn't like anyone, any gender, anything!! I was so confused, I felt so lost. So I made these two characters, they were a part of one of my old stories that I scrapped. I really can't remember them, rip to the two men who changed my life forever. But they were GAY and in love. And previously I just couldn't really write any other romance comfortably, like I had a few straight ones and a few lesbian ones and all that. But a lot more mlm relationships ended up grabbing my attention. literally had my revelation. I wasn't struggling with my sexuality. I was just a man who liked men. that's exactly how I found myself :P but seriously, thank you for all the kind words. aughhhh i'm sitting here all giddy and like biting my fingers yall are so sweet and nice AND UGH <333

[extra-v1rgin]

🍉🍙🥫

🍉 What character/story trope do you love

Ok I’m not just saying this to suck up to you but I really do love de-aging fics. I love it when you find out trauma simply through the act of a character acting like their younger self

Obviously Once More w/ Feeling by you (tiny_peach)

Chapter 5 of Five things learned about Tomioka Giyuu, and one thing forgotten by vexfulfolly

and the pint sized pillar au by @ghostbite0

🍙 What story (fanfiction or published work) had the biggest impact on you?

Going Postal and Crow Mail by Sciathan_file are some of my favorite works maybe ever (probably yes ever) they’re oc x Tomioka Giyuu but honestly work as reader inserts (that’s how I read them lol). It’s what inspired me to write my first ever long fic (even though I don’t really like the fic anymore, I finished it like 2 years ago) and also they reply to every single comment left on their works. Like seriously they will respond to every single point you make in a comment which is why I try to do the same with my works :)

🥫What's a scene you've really enjoyed working on?

This is a really hard one… obviously I enjoy writing anything to do w/ Giyuu (despite my fav character being Rengoku, but Giyuu is easier to project onto). I would say I enjoy writing smut the most? Not just bc it’s smut lol but I think exploring how a character would act during sex is really really interesting. For anyone who’s seen The Boys you’ll notice that the characters have sex in very different ways that line up w/ them as people!

Anyways I’m giving two examples, this is from Consumate (part of my Giyuu x Reader series)

There’s a cute little pout on his face as he tries to understand your nonsense. “Should I stop?” His fingers settle back together, giving your walls a chance to relax.

Distracted by his red face and slick lips it takes a few moments to create a proper response. “N-no! I wanna do this with you. It just feels like, like there’s fingers inside me.” You giggle again. Most of the shyness has been washed away, instead replaced by a mixture of pure admiration and desperateness.

(Side note but I love the phrase “cute little pout” and struggle not to overuse it in my fics lol)

and then this is from a current shinogiyuu wip where Tomioka gets turned into a woman

“I can’t seem to get it on.” The problem is immediately clear. Tomioka looks pretty, leaning back on the bed with a hand covering his chest. When she had given him the undergarments instructions had not been included. The bra was both too loose and too tight, handing oddly on his body. For what it’s worth the fabric does manage to cover the majority of his newfound breasts. That doesn’t cure his embarrassment however, a soft pink blush highlighting perfect cheekbones.

(Skipping some non-important in between stuff)

“Does that feel better?”

“It’s…tight.”

“Sorry, that’s just how it is. Now you know the horrors of womanhood.” Despite her light tone Tomioka nods solemnly.

[machinavellian]

hi :)

i just wanted to pop into your ask box to say thank you for writing interstate! (as well as precedence!). interstate is, to this day, my favorite fic, and also, it is the fic that inspired me to start writing fanfiction. i've read it like a million times- i have a pdf on my computer and an epub on my phone so i can highlight my favorite parts. (i swear i'm not crazy, just autistic lol). i could go on and on about how your writing is perfect. the characterization, the plot, the prose itself. i generally hate happy endings in fics but you managed to write one that i love. i'll never stop thinking about how you wrote the sex scene in one sentence. to be able to get across the whole essence in one simple sentence takes so much talent i could never. and the way you did the pov switch without switching povs (where norman is imagining what ethan is doing) was brilliant! (i am awful about accidentally switching povs)

i wish i could explain myself better, but i'm not as good with words as you are.

anyway, since i'm here i also have a question, and i hope it's not too vague or stupid etc. but how do you do it?? (i guess what i mean is, what books/other media inspires your writing? do you have a writing routine or a secret tip? or is it just natural talent?)

sorry for being a weirdo but your fic is my roman empire so to speak

thanks again for writing and publishing (especially in our tiny little fandom!!)

pardon how late this is, i'm not at all good at tumblr lmao. but ahhh, thank you, you're very kind! it's so great to hear that something i wrote meant so much to someone else, and it's SO great to hear that it got someone else writing their own fic! no judgment whatsoever about the hoarding of copies, my autism is the cause of many mysterious choices i make in life 😌

it's a little embarrassing in a way because i most definitely don't consider myself a creator of great literature or anything, i just work hard on my fics and take the process of writing them seriously (maybe too seriously)... but i'm going to try to answer your question/request for tips as sincerely as i can!

read. like for real, read other people's writing! i actually don't do this nearly as much as i would like to anymore and i can tell my writing is a little rustier for it. when i read other people's writing, i sometimes feel like i'm filling up an invisible "tank" that holds my ability to do words good. :') as a personal example, i have a short story anthology by vladimir nabokov that i've been slowly whittling my way through for a million years -- i loved his prose the first time i read it in middle or high school and i think it has been a big influence on my desire to look for unexpected turns of phrase and vocabulary words i didn't know before. sometimes i like to keep a list of new vocab words i encounter as i read to look up later, but usually i end up getting distracted and looking them up as i go. 😩 though this is easier than ever if you're reading digitally, i suppose! i think learning to identify the things you like in writing is really important. for me, that has a lot to do with not only finding the exact words i want to describe something, but also their cadence/musicality in a sentence. i remember very little about the poetry terms i learned in school, but i think learning about the anatomy of poems can be a really useful tool when it comes to prose also! or if nothing else, it can be fun to try experimenting with shuffling around the order of words or substituting one synonym for another to see how it changes the overall sound and feel of a sentence.

write! then tweak/rewrite. i actually hate the advice "you gotta just write" lmao... pisses me off every time because i know it's true 😭 i can dick around writing notes/meta as long as i like (and i do), but there's truly no other way to make progress like just fucking writing SOMETHING down even if you hate it and think it's bad. i used to get academic papers done in college and grad school by quickly and sloppily blasting down the basic gist of my main points like a 10 year old and then going back and revising it to sound like an adult. it's a little different with fiction because i'm writing something i already actually want to write, but it can still help to jot down the bare bones of a scene even if i don't even use it in the end. writing out dialogue can help a lot in my experience. i do feel pretty strongly that revisions are nearly always necessary -- i don't always get my fics beta'd by another person, but at minimum i have to put it down and re-read it for myself to make sure everything is flowing the way i want it to. betas really are helpful, though, because a LOT of times i'll think something makes perfect sense in my head only to find out my friend has no idea what i'm on about lmao. this can also help with things like switching povs, like you mentioned! there's nothing wrong with having a pov switch happen in your fic, mind you! it's just that ideally it's happening because you wanted it to happen instead of like, uh-oh, i need to convey some information about norman that ethan doesn't have a way of knowing. it's funny you mention the fap/fantasy scene because i think that's literally what happened when i was writing it, like... i think i was like "hmm, i want to emphasize that ethan is most definitely Into norman and this thing that's growing between them, but i've stuck with norman's pov this entire time and i don't want to put one solitary scene of ethan pov in there, if i can help it... but hey, norman's a profiler! visualizing what people do when they're alone is his whole thing!" so that was the perfect excuse to frame it that way in the end. ✨

canon review for characterization. this has less to do with the mechanics of writing, but honestly, if i had to choose, i'd much rather read a fic that totally nails the characterization than one that's perfect on a technical level. y'know that meme that's like "he would NOT fucking say that"? i do everything i can to avoid eliciting that response lfkdslf. iirc while i was writing interstate i basically always had an LP of heavy rain playing so i could observe the way the characters react in different situations, listen to their speech patterns and the types of words/language they use, and just kind of... idk, absorb the general vibe a little bit, i guess? i know i just mentioned you have to write Actual Story and not just notes to make progress, but i do also tend to have a LOT of notes about like... "okay so norman actually really likes this guy, but the reason he's holding back his feelings is because he's given so much of himself to his work and he's so used to looking at people in the abstract that he struggles to connect with them, leading him over time to decide that he can't or isn't good enough to be what ethan deserves, and what could ethan maybe say or do to help challenge that so they can move forward?" etc etc.... at the risk of being Very Autistic, i find i do a lot of if/then calculations when it comes to plotting character beats. 😅 "if these two particular lonely dudes start to form a connection one night at a bar, what then?"

have a thesis. this feels kind of ridiculously pretentious when i write it out, but it honestly really helps me a lot with staying focused: it's basically me answering wtf my point is. why do i think this fic needs to be written in the first place? it's the thing i want to accomplish, the idea i want to share with people who read it. even if i don't have a solid statement to make, there's always SOME kind of central question i'm trying to answer -- a lot of times, that question is as simple as "man, you know, i really wanna see these two bone. what has to happen for that to be possible?" for precedence i think it was basically just "hey wouldn't it be fucked up if...?" and for interstate it expanded to "hey i think these two deserve a happy ending and they deserve to share it together. what does that look like?"

so i dunno, hopefully all that is at least slightly useful and not just self-indulgent rambling, but thank you for giving me the ability to self-indulgently ramble if nothing else 😭

but above all, please do not doubt your own ability! writing is hard and sometimes sucks but it's also a lot of fun and there's not a right way to tell the story you want to tell, it just matters that you tell it. so... DO 💪

[powerovernothing]

41. Resting foreheads together - Lucien and Martin, could be in any situation, I just need it.

Send Me A Platonic Touch, And I’ll Write You Something Based Around My Oblivion Verse~

The endless crowd of anxious Imperials huddledthemselves within the chambers of The Ruby Throne, as the fading evening sunfell past the horizon, and appropriately bathed the full lengthof the White Gold Tower with its remaining brilliant hues.

With the time of the Septim Heir’s coronation nownearly upon them at last, hushed questions, and thinly veiled gossipquickly fell from every pair of pursed lips. Continuing to grow steadily inconsiderable concern, until their combined voices had surely reached any andall ears among them – even to those that did not care to hear the mindlessrabble being expressed from the deeply uncomfortable patrons.

(*~*Get Ready For 3K Words Worth Of Brother Feelings And Emotions*~*)

Every question almost entirely the same: Would thenew Emperor be even half the man that his father once was? Would he be able todo what was desperately needed, and help the lands of Cyrodiil rebuild, afterso much was lost during the events of the Crisis? Were the citizens of theImperial City wise with entrusting their fate to this supposed Bastard Heir tothe throne, after he had appeared almost completely out of thin air, and ledthem all to a near impossible victory?

…And what of his accomplices, his makeshift familythat lingered within the shadows of The Dark Brotherhood?

Who was to say, truly, that their new Emperor wouldbe no more than a merciless tyrant? Forcing them all to adhere to the laws ofthe Assassins, and threatening execution, and perhaps even far worse, if theyso much as hoped to disagree?

But amid all countless thoughts and overthinking,one question remained above all else… just where was the soon-to-be Emperor?Why had he not yet shown himself to his people, and begun his crowning ceremonyproper?

Packed within the suffocating throng,Korbin cast a weary stare towards the throne, and could not help but begin tothink along the same train of thought. Just where on Nirn was his brother? Thesun had already fallen past the mountains, and the stars were beginning to taketheir place among the sky, so why had Martin not done so as well?

Shifting to look over his shoulder, Korbin takesnotice of Lucien off to the side – doing all that he could to keep far awayfrom the common folk, but keeping a keen eye upon them all the same – and shoves past several groups rather roughly, hoping to grab hold of TheAssassin before he ventures too far.

Reaching out, and grasping his forearm tightly,Korbin pulls his eldest brother close, and his voice drops down into awhispered tone of his own.

“For the love of Sithis, Lachance, please tell meyou have found him,” He murmurs; his expression shifting from controlledconcern, to mild panic, all the while ignoring the angry glare that greets himin response to his suddenness. “After all, are you not meant to be deemed theEmperor’s Shadow after this is finally concluded? Thus, surely you must knowwhere he is, now of all times!”

“My Silencer, although I have – surprisingly – beendeemed worthy of such an honorable title,” Lucien begins to explain; unlatchingKorbin’s fingers from his arm, and still keeping his darkened expressionperfectly in place. “You must understand that it does not mean that I haveshadowed Septim’s every known step.”

Putting space between him and his protege,Lucien then notices the all too playful light now dancing within Korbin’s eyes.He watches briefly, as Korbin goes to open his mouth, obviously seconds awayfrom voicing his clever rebuttal in regard to what was said, before Lachancesimply raises his hand; fully halting such childishness before it has a chanceto begin.

“Nevertheless,” He continues; turning on hisheel and moving towards the back of the room. “That does not mean that I willnot seek him out, wheresoever he may have gone, and bring him here before thelocal fools erupt into another Crisis from sheer impatience alone.”

At those words, Korbin’s gaze darts from hisbrother’s disappearing figure, and then to the noisy crowds. Feelingincreasingly uneasy with the choice of being left there with them, as opposedto assisting Lucien in finding their wayward Emperor. He absentmindedly placesa hand over the hilt of his dagger, and prays that his brother, that both his brothers,will return to his side…and soon.

All the while a single shared thought seeminglydrifts between both Assassin’s minds.

‘If his excuse is anything less than, ‘I am dead,and you must locate, by some means, another Septim Heir,’ I swear I bathe inhis blood myself.’

 Martin paces back and forth, in an almost endlesscycle of nervousness and overthinking. Walk from the window, look down to yournotes, reread them several times until your speech is memorized, so that youmay pull it from your head effortlessly, and then repeat this behavior untilyou are certain you know exactly what you are doing.

Upon nearly the twentieth time he reaches thewindow, staring out into the darkened lands below, he feels increasinglylightheaded, and wishes nothing more than to simply lower himself to the floor,and rethink his choices in life.

However, a sudden voice speaks up from thedarkness, interrupting his thoughts, and preventing him from following throughwith his desires.

“If you are truly contemplating escaping,” Thevoice calls to him; an almost childish tone of amusement hidden beneath thestoic expression that he wears. “May I suggest a, somewhat more, subtle way ofdisappearing? One that, possibly, does not involve scaling the tallest buildingin Cyrodiil, from sheer anxiety alone?”

Martin turns to meet Lucien, and in the instantthat he does, he feels part of the weight upon his shoulders, that very sameweight that feels as though it may surely crush him, lessen slightly.

“Just what are you doing back here, Septim?” TheAssassin questions as he walks forward; chuckling under his breath at theremarkable state of disarray the Emperor Priest has managed to work himselfinto, and in such a short amount of time. “You are well aware that you arekeeping your ‘beloved’ public waiting, on bated breath mind you, the longer youchoose to linger?”

“Y-Yes, I am, I am very much aware of that,Lachance, thank you,” Martin stammers in response; one hand clutching thestack of papers close to his chest, and the other moving up into hair to runthrough his locks. “And I am indeed coming, truly! I merely thought that –”

“That your time would be better spent holed up insome dark hallway?” Lucien quickly interjects; leaving Martin blinking in confusion,as well as surprise, when he closes the distance between them. “Pouring overendless tomes and papers, whilst trying to find the best possible way to neverface the rest of your life?”

Martin lowers his head, almost in shame of his ownactions, and completely misses the question that Lachance asks next. Only thesound of his chosen sibling’s finger prodding against the papers, is able toforce him back to the current reality…the one he is so desperately trying torun away from.

“These papers; what are they even for?”

Slowly, Martin raises his head, and there is afaint hint of a blush in the corners of his cheeks. A bashful smile touches hisfeatures, as he tries to think of any possible way he could explain hisreasoning without it sounding utterly foolish. And yet after a careful momentof consideration, and even despite himself, simply decides to admit the truth.

“Ah, yes. Well, you see, they are…notes,” Heexplains hesitantly; turning his eyes from Lucien’s darkened gaze, and hopingthat it would be more than enough to appease his curiosity.

Simply just another foolish thought; most likelythe millionth one that Martin had that day.

“For your coronation?”

“…For my speech, at least.”

Lucien smiles widely; incredibly tickled.

“You must be joking.”

At his brother’s amused response, Martin’s handstighten around the papers still held in his grip – and now crinkled to thepoint of being unreadable – as the once faint blush over his cheeks, deepensinto a much richer shade of crimson.

“This is not a joke, Lachance!” He shouts;and upon realizing his harsh show of emotion, hastily lowers his voice backinto its more common tone. “…You remember how I am when it comes to dealingwith crowds, with public speaking in general. How abysmal my speeches are, suchas the pitiful excuse of one, back when we first reached Cloud Ruler –”

“Yes, dear Light Brother, I do believe that I waspresent,” Lucien laughs softly, moving forward once again as he speaks. “Andyes, before you follow through with any further questions, it was indeed as badas you remember. Possibly even more so.”

“Precisely! Thus, why I need –”

Lucien stands in front of Martin, ignoring the possible meltdown in process, and merely extends his hand.

“Septim, allow me to see what is written upon thesenotes of yours.”

Tilting his head curiously, Martin gives over thepapers as instructed, and watches Lucien’s movements carefully. Watches as hepours over the crinkled nervous scribbling with a smile on his face, as hemoves from the Emperor’s side and over towards to one of the windows with aquiet hum under his breath, and how he cracks part of said window open…beforesimply tossing the papers out to the city depths below.

Martin can practically feel his stress levelsreaching an all-time high.

“Lucien! What do you think you’re doing?!”

“From the first moment we met, there has been onething, and one thing only, that has guided you to this very moment that we arein now,” Lucien states matter-of-factly, as he closes the window. His demeanorhaving changed drastically within the span of a few seconds, and back into hisfar more natural composure, as well as his tone of voice.

“An unmistakable, everlasting, and above all else,utterly irritating light that shines brightly from within. You do not need toseek your answers among poorly written notes, or dusty old books that once gavecomfort. You merely need to proceed down your path, following that damnableuncorrupted essence that still lingers, underneath every known fear, and indoing so… you will surely find your way.”

Martin listens intensely to every, surprisinglygenuine, word that The Assassin speaks, and slowly comes to knows that, onsome level – and even despite the amusing way that he sought to phrase hisreassurances – what Lucien is attempting to tell him is indeed the truth.

Breathing in, he finally stands at his fullheight, and a serious expression passes over his features.

“How long have they been awaiting my arrival?”

“Long enough, that even our young brother wasbeginning to become quite concerned over your absence.”

The soon-to-be Emperor turns his head to the side,and glances towards the curtain connecting the hallway and the throne witha slight frown.

“What if I am not, all that they wish for me tobe?”

“Martin, this is everything the three of us hopedto achieve, since the moment we found you in that ruined chapel amid whateverremained of Kvatch. This is what we fought for, what some even *died* for, andnow, that we are finally here…”

Lucien allows his words to trail, as he walksforward and closes the distance between them once again. He reaches out,placing both his hands upon Martin’s shoulders, and his serious expression soonfades into a look of strange gentleness.

“Ask yourself only this: Do you truly believe youare not ready for what comes next?”

Slowly pulling himself away from Lucien’s grip,Martin staggers upon his feet and soon loses himself to another bout of worry.The direct opposite effect that The Assassin had hoped to gain from his words,as well as his physical touch.“But, my friend, there is so much that could surely go wrong,” He admits in analmost breathless tone; his hands beginning to fiddle aimlessly with the amuletaround his neck. “And with our allies being so sparse after Bruma, as well asMehrunes himself appearing in the Imperial City, who is to say that anotherDaedra Lord will not simply –”

Lucien groans aloud in frustration, realizing thatthis is just about as much foolish nonsense that he could surely take from his– normally far more intelligent – younger brother, before walking forward and placinga hand around the back of Martin’s neck.

He pulls him forward, until their foreheads touch.

“Listen to me,” Lucien whispers to him in a softtone; one that was used many times before, and yet not entirely to Martinhimself. Both of his palms move to cup the sides of his brother’s cheeks, andhe holds him carefully in place. “You’re ready. You are more than ready. Stopdoubting yourself, for I know you are better than that.”

Any frantic words that Martin had thought to include in the middle ofhis rambling, dies in the very instance that Lucien Lachance, of all people,pulled him into the affectionate touch. At first, he had stiffened and bracedhimself – for what, exactly, he was not entirely sure, but felt as though thereaction was needed – when he witnessed The Assassin march over to him with anangry glint in his eyes.

But when he reached out to him, not in a means of attack, or even inanger, and pulled him into his own version of an embrace…

Martin finally felt himself being comforted.

The touch was gentle, welcoming even, and the longer that the two mostunlikely pair of companions remained next to each other, the more it becameclear to Martin that Lucien…was not at all pulling away. He simply stood there,holding the young Septim close to him, and allowing this shared touch, to doall that simple words could not.

He finds himself smiling, almost as though he could hear Korbin’scheerful voice in the back of his mind – ‘Do you see now, why I have alwayssought his comfort when this world simply became too much? Our dear brother is,truly, quite skilled at such a task!’ – and reaches up to touch Lucien’s handswith his own.

Lowering them from his face, although still keeping them within hisgrasp, his smile widens and he nods his silent appreciation to what his brotherwent out of his way to do.

Lucien removes his hands from Martin’s – the appearance of a caringheart now swept beneath the darkness, replaced with a familiar disdain for allforms of sentimentally – and walks over to the curtain separating the rooms.

“Now, Emperor Septim,” He says with a well-placed smirk, as pulls thecurtain back, and gestures to the bustling crowd over his shoulder. “I dobelieve it is time for you to walk out there, head held high, and leave thesepoor fools utterly breathless, in a way only a true member of the Dark Familypossibly can.”

Martin leans his head out from the curtain, taking careful note of thefull extent of those within the crowds, and finds himself slightly relaxedwhen he notices Korbin among them. And almost as though he could feel afamiliar presence, the youngest of the three suddenly looks up, and thenhappily waves to his brother from where he stands.

“Unofficial member, Lachance,” Martin gently corrects; pulling himselfback near The Assassin after a moment, and matching Lucien’s grin with one ofhis own. “For I do believe, when last I checked, I was nothing more than a mere‘Light Brother’, and not a true Dark Family member?”

Lucien pauses, looking over Martin – his chosen brother, the Emperor –almost as though it is merely the very first time, as a sense of pridecompletely betrays his playfulness.

“Not anymore.”

Without allowing him an opportunity to reply, or even so much as react towhat was actually said, Lucien gives Martin a quick shove, and sends him outamong his people.

He stumbles slightly, from the rough shove, as well as being face toface with the masses at long last, and feels himself freezing directly in histracks.

However, the longer he stands there, listening to the voices actually cheerand praise his name – one in particular, far louder than all the others, whichhe recognizes almost instantly – hailing him as one of their heroes, and notmerely some bastard heir of their previous Emperor…he feels hisself-confidence rise, and begin to overpower his nervousness.

Taking in one final deep breath, he turns away from the crowd, and looks towards where ChancellorOcato’s stands awaiting on the opposite end of the Ruby Throne.

With newfounddetermination in his step, as well as a smile upon his face, Martin proceedsdown his path, and – just as he was so instructed – with his head held high.

Nolonger afraid of the unknown, of a future that could very well come apart atthe seams at the first instance of unrest, but actually willing – actually wanting– to face it, and whatever else could possibly hope to come next, with a senseof excitement in his heart.

Because, perhaps Lucien was right.

Perhaps he was indeed ready after all.

[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)

[spacecowboysfrommars]

cracks knuckles boi you have no IDEA the kind of lunacy you've unleashed by asking for readers' feelings about "These Webs We Weave" within my hearing. Emotionally while reading your fic I was just making pterodactyl noises. I am STILL not okay.

but alright alright so. Theories.

I have an awful suspicion that John is going to get Peter back at some point and I HATE it. I've got my own Peter Tingle about it called foreshadowing and I hate it so much (but also it's really artfully done though. Chekhov's evil man gonna show up at some point to cause more pain). I'm miserable about it.

I kind of wonder if Tony's going to end up captured too. We do be enjoying when Tony has to watch his kid get tortured. Sucks a lot. Angst, mayhem. Horrible. My only evidence for this being a possibility is like, all that scarring on Peter's back makes me think Tony's going to have to, at some point, bear witness to the location where it happened.

SHIELD is being shady as hell and (Chris Evans voice) I Don't Like It.

The very end of the last chapter (ch 5), for example. Fury: "Call me when you change your mind" Tony: "won't be doing that" and it's like... Tony, babe, why are you ASKING the universe to step on you.

I have another theory where Peter slowly, slowly gets more comfortable being apart from Tony, ease up on that codependency, only for New Trauma to get that whole plan shot to hell and send both of them right back to separation anxiety square 1

Peter deserves to grieve more for the teenage experiences he missed out on. I hope he gets to do that. I hope Tony gets to support him through his journey of doing that.

Here's another theory: Part of Peter's healing could end up being him having to hero the fuck up. Like, he clearly feels really incapable and helpless right now, which makes sense given he's been victimized and tortured for 2 years straight. But if it ends up being up to him to save the day, and if, in spite of his fear, he manages it -- would be absolutely soul ascending

Questions I still don't know ANY answers to:

wtf WTF is up with the clone thing they buried???

(which by the way side now, oh my GOd poor Tony. Stabbing me in the heart would've hurt less thank you)

Is Happy going to eventually encounter the person he reminds Peter of right now? because if so I hope Happy gets to 1-hit KO destroy him

Did the public ever make the connection between Spider-Man and Peter?

Are we going to get any paparazzi trope in this fic?

is Peter going to go back to school? (....I do want Peter to get to graduate, actually :( he deserves it)

Is his body permanently scarred now, even with his super healing?

Does the not eating impact his super healing or strength or powers at all?

Feel free to not answer these questions and just go >:) because yeah I realize now that these are just more theories in question form.

HOWEVER, here are two actual questions for you:

What was the first spark that inspired you to write this fic?

Are there scenes that you're looking forward to writing in later chapters? Will we know when we get there?

To understand my pterodactyl psyche whilst reading your fic, just imagine all of this nonsense happening in my brain ALL AT THE SAME TIME.

YES YES YES I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS

I can’t confirm or deny anything but I WILL say that you’re on to something pretty important >:)

I’ll also say that in terms of his scarring, it’s sorta slowly healing, but it’s a pretty horrific injury that’ll take a lot longer than usual, even with his super-healing. And yes, it’s kinda sorta a little bit implied (in later chapters) that being half-starved for two years impacts his strength, but not by much.

and for the two amazing (seriously you are my favourite person to rant with) questions:

1. The first spark of inspiration was actually a re-read of my all-time favourite fic, Come My Darling, Homeward Bound by buckleyirondad. That was the fic that got me back into irondad back in early 2021, after being absent from the fandom for over a year. It got me completely obsessed with the kidnapping trope, specifically long-term captivity and trying to fit back in to a world they were taken from. I’ve wanted to write something similar for a while but didn’t really figure out exactly how I wanted to do it until my most recent re-read. Highly recommend checking out Liberty’s irondad stories (as well as her 911 fics) because she’s an incredible writer and CMDHB profoundly effected me.

2. Absolutely! I literally get giddy looking through my chapter notes sometimes. Once I actually get the chapters finished and uploaded, I’ll probably post again about what scenes I enjoyed the most. With the adoption storyline in play, there’s a lot of domestic stuff and family drama that I’m really looking forward to.

I adore every single thing you post on here.

[immaturityofthomasastruc]

Lila Rossi: I’d Say She’s a Good Villain, but Then I’d Be Lying (300 Follower Special)

Deception and cunning are easily two of the most important traits an antagonist could have. It shows that even if they don't have the strength to overcome obstacles, their wit is more than enough. This kind of trait is why characters like Lex Luthor, David Xanatos, and Princess Azula are so beloved, simply because of how intelligent they can be as villains and pose a real threat to the heroes.

It's clear that the Miraculous Ladybug writers want Lila to be seen as this, but the writing seriously fails to back that claim up.

Easily one of the most controversial characters in Miraculous Ladybug is Lila, mainly for the writing surrounding her. But there was a time where she was actually more of an ambiguous character, mainly for the lack of screentime she had until Season 3. But unfortunately, the more appearances she's had have painted a very poor portrait of an antagonist.

Lila's Tragic and Sympathetic Motivation for Hating Ladybug

Lila's first appearance was at the tail end of Season 1, “Volpina”. She was a new transfer student from Italy, and quickly made friends with a lot of her classmates for the lies she told, including being friends with Ladybug (which Alya blindly believed without doing any research like any excellent journalist). But because of how close she was getting to Adrien, Marinette, in a rare act of selfishness, transforms into Ladybug just to chew out Lila for lying about knowing her, humiliating her in front of Adrien. And this is the only motivation we get for what Lila does afterwards.

I'm not saying that it's wrong for Lila to get upset at Ladybug for doing this, and I like the moment of weakness Marinette has, but this is literally the only explanation we get for Lila deciding to side with Hawkmoth, a literal terrorist. As much as I hated the way the arc turned out, I could still understand Chloe siding with Hawkmoth, as it was clear that Hawkmoth was manipulating her and taking advantage of her ego. Lila? Ladybug's mean to her one time, and that inspires her to conspire with a complete stranger who brainwashes people to attack the city, which endangers innocent people and causes God knows how much in collateral damage if not for Miraculous Ladybug fixing everything.

I just don't get how a single negative interaction with someone is enough to conspire with a literal supervillain. Even in Season 3, when Marinette and Lila truly became enemies, it was because she risked exposing all the lies she told, which could damage her reputation. Sure, it's petty, but it makes sense for Lila to want to keep up the illusion. If she was simply an antagonist to Marinette in her civilian life like Chloe was before “Miracle Queen” , I'd be fine with that, but the writers clearly want her to be seen as on the same level of evil as Hawkmoth. I'll get into why that doesn't work later on.

Why Lila is an Excellent Liar

In my Master Fu analysis, I had pointed out that despite all the flaws he had, the narrative insisted on portraying him as an incredibly wise mentor. The same problem applies for Lila as well. We're supposed to see Lila as an expert manipulator and liar, but her lies are insultingly obvious. She always claims to be friends with celebrities and does all these awesome things, and in an age where we can have almost any question answered thanks to the internet, nobody ever stops to question her.

It's even more frustrating when you hear Lila talk about saving Jagged Stone's cat, when Jagged Stone is established to be very fond of Marinette (evidentially more than his own daughter), and nobody ever points that out. I think if Lila's lies were more stories about her travels around the world than outright lies about real people, it could have worked. It'd still be hard to believe, but it's something.

But this is a problem with writing shows aimed at children. As much as we hate writers who need to spell out things to kids, sometimes, they just don't understand some of the media they consume. Seriously, I never got this joke in SpongeBob as a kid, and I can't believe Nickelodeon actually approved this.

So the dilemma when writing a show with children in mind is finding that sweet spot between assuming your audience can figure it out, but not being too vague in your details. It's even harder when you need to find a way to convey the fact that someone is lying without being too obvious. Unfortunately, the show clearly fails to do that

Okay, this is going to sound like an incredibly weird thing to cite, and I only know about it because I used to know someone who was a huge fan of the franchise, but the movie Monster High: Friday Night Frights does a better job of subtly explaining to the audience that a character is lying. Please, just hear me out.

The movie follows the main characters competing in their high school's roller derby for the season after everyone on the usual team gets injured, and the championship match is against another school whose team tends to cheat to win matches. How they manage to do this without getting caught is anyone's guess. While the main characters are practicing, their coach, Clawd, notices a spy for the enemy team taking video of them to study their moves. In response, he calls over one of the athletes, Operetta, to chew her out for her showboating attitude. In reality, he's alerting her to the spy. Only using facial expressions, he clues her, and by extension, the audience, in on the fact that they know what the opposing team is trying to do.

This soon leads to Operetta pretending to tell the enemy team about their secret plan for the championship match, which was really an attempt to outsmart them to gain the advantage in the final stretch. The brilliance of this is how the audience is informed of this with no dialogue, and there's no scene afterwards spelling it out for those who don't get it. It manages to convey deception without being too obvious that Clawd and Operetta are being deceitful.

I think if there were more subtle hints to show the audience Lila was lying, she would be seen in a better light. As it is, Lila's lies are just pathetic, and it's ridiculous that everyone believes her. Which leads me to...

Lila, the Master Manipulator

I once read a Star Trek: Voyager fanfic that poked fun at the series by claiming that the reason a lot of the dumber episodes like “Threshold” and “Twisted” happened was because one of the crew members was an alien who unintentionally produced mood altering pheromones, with Captain Janeway actually realizing they were all high because of said pheromones, while two of the unaffected crew members were wondering what the hell they were doing before they found out the cause. Why do I bring this up? Sometimes, it feels like Lila is an unintentional parallel to the alien in that story.

Like so many characters, it's clear the show desperately wants the audience to view Lila in a certain way, but her actions do very little to actually back up that claim. When she's not using lies to tell stories about so many famous people she knows like her uncle who works for Nintendo, Lila is using strategies to manipulate everyone that are so obviously deceptive, the Thermians could pick up on them. Everyone and their mother knows how ridiculous a lot of what Lila does in episodes like “Chameleon” and “Ladybug” are, and I've talked about them before, so I'll try to be quick.

First off, as someone who had access to accommodations through high school and has had assistance in college so far, there is no way in hell that Ms. Bustier should take Lila's tinnitus at face value in “Chameleon”. If a student has a disability that could interfere with the education process, physical or developmental, not only does the school have to evaluate their performance, and determine if they're eligible for an Individualized Education Program, or IEP, but her teachers would have to be notified in the first place. As her primary educator, Ms. Bustier would be part of the team to oversee Lila's IEP and determine what accommodations she needs to help her learn better with her tinnitus and arthritis. But because the writers don't know what Google is, they just ignore it,  assume that Lila can just say she has a disability, and have everyone believe it. Even when Eric Cartman pretended to be disabled to compete in the Special Olympics, he put in more effort to look the part, even if he looked like a caricature.

Then there's the fact that that in “Chameleon”, everyone just believes Lila when she says Marinette stole her grandmother's necklace when not only is said necklace from the Agreste line of jewelry, but Alya, who is Rena Rouge, can't pick up on the fact that it's a fake. All she does to justify these lies is come up with a sob story about how nobody believes her, yet nobody ever tries to defend Marinette except Alya one time, and it was after she got expelled.

Or what about in “Oni-Chan”, where Lila thinks having Kagami kill Ladybug while claiming she'll back away from Adrien is a good idea? Let's say Oni-Chan does kill Ladybug or at least take away her Miraculous, what then? We know Lila wouldn't go through with this promise, and as soon as Kagami sees her harassing Adrien, she'll be ripe for akumatization again. Overall, not a great plan.

And yet somehow, this last example is what made her worthy enough to become one of Hawkmoth's most trusted agents. I'm just going to say it: Lila is not a good fit for the power of illusion. Whenever she's Volpina or Chameleon, she always goes out of her way to make a big show instead of being subtle with her deceptions. “Chameleon” is the worst offender, as even though Lila gets the power to shapeshift into someone else, instead of being discreet and cornering people into kissing them and gaining their appearance, she just runs around to get Ladybug's attention instead of being subtle. Even Felix had the bright idea to pretend to be Adrien to catch Ladybug off guard. How do you lose to something that happened in “Felix”?

Despite all of these screw-ups, we're still supposed to see her as this master of deception worthy of allying with Hawkmoth in both his supervillain and civilian form, when really, she's a terrible liar on the schoolyard and on the battlefield.

Why Lila is an Important Character

In the grand scheme of things, Lila just isn't as important of a character that the show loves to parade her around as. She's nothing more than a plot device used to raise the stakes in an episode, given how much reality seems to bend over just to accommodate for her lies. Even when the show alludes to her being part of bigger things, like her deal with Adrien, or her rivalry with Marinette, they don't even go anywhere.

She just feels pointless when you remember Astruc's brilliant idea to force Chloe into being the final Akuma for the season while Lila isn't even mentioned once. She only really makes appearances whenever the writers feel like it, which is why it’s hard to take her seriously. Why should I take this character seriously as a threat if the writers refuse to take her seriously as a threat? Why build Lila up as a big threat and not give her a major role in the finale? Why even include her in the show in the first place when you could show Chloe being more manipulative to fill in the plots Lila plays a big part in?

As of the time I am writing this analysis, four episodes of Season 4 have aired, three of them have been about lies or deception, and Lila hasn't been mentioned at all. It honestly seems like she won't appear unless the writers need a easy way to drive up the conflict, so they can justify it by saying that Lila's “superpower” of lying is more powerful than the common sense of everyone else.

I'm sorry this post was shorter than the last one, but compared to Master Fu, there's not that much to say about Lila that I haven't already said. Even the show barely gives her any attention, so it's hard for me to really find a lot to talk about.

[procrastinatingsapphictrash]

Affection

Word count: 1251

Genre: Fluff Pairing: Natasha x gn!reader

Warnings: Mentions of sex but nothing sexual (let me know if I need to add more)

Request: Hii! I'm loving all your fics about Nat, and I wanted to request something. Nat x fem reader and she's touch starved since she never really had any kind of affection in her life, and when she starts dating reader she realises she really needs physical affection! I just need some fluff with Nat

Summary: Reader and Natasha watch a movie and Natasha realizes how much she likes affection.

A/n: This request was for @stephanieromanoff, so I hope you like it because I had a lot of fun writing this one. So I feel kinda bad because I have a ton of requests to get to and I only got this request today (I did warn you guys I was’t going to do them in exact order) but I figured writing this was better than writing nothing. This request really inspired me because I love writing soft Nat fics and it got me back into a writing mood after hitting writers block on my series. Because of that I may not get part two of Feel out tomorrow like I hoped but I am trying to catch up on requests and will get part two out soon. Anyways I hope everyone enjoys and as always my requests are open, especially since I’m in a writing mood and I want to put something out every single day. 

You flick through the titles, not particularly wanting to see any of them. It’s interesting that before when you had to pay for movies you seemed to want to see so many but now that you lived in the tower and you had pretty much every streaming service for free (thanks to Tony), every movie and show looked a little more boring.

“Tasha do you have any suggestions?” You ask, looking over at your girlfriend. You still were in shock you could even consider Natasha your girlfriend and although it had only been a week since your first date you would do anything not to mess this relationship up. 

“I haven’t been paying attention to the choices.” She admits and you laugh a little.

“Why don’t you look through some of the options while I get some popcorn and drinks ready?” You suggest.

She nods. “Sounds good, can you please pass over the remote?” You smile and stand making your way over to her with the remote in your hand. Handing it to her you lean over and kiss her forehead and nose lightly while touching the sides of her face before you pull back and walk to the kitchen, satisfied with the blush that spread all over her face at your actions.

The popcorn doesn’t take too long to make and you pour some ice water with lemon slices while it pops so you make it back to the living room in under five minutes. The sight that you are greeted with might just be the cutest thing ever in your opinion. Natasha has the top of the blanket over her head and it wrapped around her entire body except for her eyes and she looks tiny while buried in the blankets because she has her knees pulled up to her chest. 

“Did you pick a movie?” You ask her. 

She jumps a barely noticeable amount in surprise, having not heard you coming. “Yeah, I thought we could watch Little Women.”

“That sounds good,” you tell her, “and by the way you look absolutely adorable wrapped in the blanket like that.” 

She blushes. “I was going to take it off before you got back but it’s too comfy.”

“Well I’m very glad that you didn’t.” You tell her honestly, openly admiring her. She blushes again and starts the movie instead of answering. Even before it truly starts you know you’ll spend a good portion of the movie watching her because it was hard to take your eyes off of her and you had read the book so you knew the plot anyways. 

As you originally suspected you spent almost the entire time watching her watch the movie. You love the way the emotions flit freely over her face, her giggling along with the happy parts and biting her lip when things get sad. You were just watching the scene where you (and probably everyone else) cried while reading the book when she pauses the movie. 

“What was that for?” You ask, turning to her. She faces you, her eyes teary but none of them falling. 

“I just need a minute to gather my bearings,” She says and you know the movie must truly be affecting her because usually she doesn’t like to reveal her emotions. “I chose this movie because you said you really liked the book, I didn’t realize it was sad!” 

“You do know it’s okay to cry while watching this, pretty much everyone does.” You tell her.

Your permission seems to be the thing she needs and she breaks down into sobs. “I just can’t believe that happens, it’s so sad, none of them deserved that.”

You move over to her end of the couch, hesitantly putting your arms around her, ready to remove them when she seems to stiffen but then tightening her grip when she seems to relax into your arms. You pick up the remote and press play again, putting your arm back around her. Almost the entire rest of the movie you can feel her silently shake because she is crying and even though you already knew exactly what was going to happen you can’t help but let a few tears spill out. By the time it ends she is even further curled into you and manages to let out a small watery smile at the happy ending. You move to release her and stand up but she pulls you back down.

“No.”

“No what, Tasha?” You ask, amusement lining your voice. “No getting up.”

“No getting up.” She repeats before resting her head on your shoulder, her breath tickling your neck. You are happy to oblige her, keeping your arms around her and absentmindedly running your hand up and down your back. She hums in contentment and you can feel the vibrations in your shoulder. 

“You know if someone had told me two weeks ago that I’d be dating you, I’d say they were optimistic, but if they told me you liked cuddles I’d get them tested in a mental institution!” You tease her.

She takes her head off her shoulder and looks up at you. “I didn’t even know I liked this until now, nobody has ever done this for me before.” 

You feel your heart simultaneously break and fill with affection for her. “I’m sorry about that, but I’m honored to be your first.”

She giggles. “You make it sound like you mean it in the first to have sex with me.” Her expression turns to a frown. “You will be far from first with that.”

“I know and I don’t care about that.” You look into her eyes so she knows you’re telling the truth. “This is more important to me. Sex doesn’t always mean love, this, this means love.” 

“Did you just say you love me?” She asks incredulously, her eyes wide.

You think about denying it, worried that it’s too soon because your relationship is so new but you’ve been in love with her for years and you can’t keep hiding it. “Yes, I did.” She continues looking up at you and as much as you try to, you can’t begin to read what she’s thinking. 

“I think I love you too.” She whispers after what feels like an eternity and you let out a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding. 

“Thank god, it would have been pretty awkward otherwise.” Placing a small peck on her mouth and then going back for a peck on her forehead. “However as much as I’d love to stay here, it’s getting late and we should probably get ready for bed. She pouts but untangles herself from you and brings your empty dishes to the kitchen while you exit out of the movie. 

“Will you sleep with me tonight?” She blurts out when she returns to the living room and you start to splutter. “No, no, no, I didn’t mean for that to come out like that. I meant will you sleep with me literally, like more cuddles.”

She hides her face in her hands embarrassed and you laugh loudly at her mistake. “Of course Tasha, I’d love to.”

She practically beams. “Thank you!”

“You really enjoy being held, huh?” You teasingly ask her, enjoying her flustered expression. “But seriously,” you add on, taking pity on her, “I love to hold you as well, so ask anytime.” She smiles again and takes the hand you hold out for her as you lead her through the halls to her room. 

---

Taglist: @fayhar @stephanieromanoff @acertainredhead @stop-drop-and-drumroll​ (if you want to be added, comment, send an ask or message me)

[othermainblog]

A (Not So) Quiet Morning

A/N: This really is the first fanfic I’ve written in years huh. I was feeling inspired because I desperately want more fluffy content between Kaeya and Crepus so I guess I’m making my own food at this point. Featuring some of my personal headcanons, see the bottom for more if you’re interested. Enjoy!

On a clear and pleasantly cool midmorning, while working on his newest painting in the study, Crepus Ragnvindr finds himself struck by an impulse.

It is a peaceful morning. Diluc has decided to visit Jean across the city, bringing that tortoise of his with him to go and visit hers. The servants have busied themselves elsewhere to give him the quiet atmosphere he desires while painting. And Kaeya, in an unprecedented move, has sought his company over Diluc’s.

Crepus is not ignorant to the importance of this moment. He is hyperaware of Kaeya’s presence in the room with him, where the boy has chosen a couch with a very tempting sunbeam on which to curl up with a book. Admittedly, it is wreaking havoc on his ability to concentrate on the scene he intends to paint, but there is no bitterness to accompany that fact.

Because Kaeya rarely seeks out Crepus’ company on his own, more often tagging along with Diluc when his brother seeks his attention. Crepus has worried that this indicates a lack of trust in him, but he has been unsure on how to address the problem.

Today, that doesn’t seem to be an issue in the least.

Again, as it has done countless times this morning, Crepus finds his eyes sliding over to observe his newest son without his conscious desire. He finds himself wondering what is happening in Kaeya’s book; whatever the narrative turn, it must be one that Kaeya is enjoying, because when Crepus looks his way, he sees a subdued smile on his son’s face.

He can feel his own mouth curling in response — a reaction he is quite familiar with from his years spent raising Diluc. In this moment, despite his many regrets, Crepus Ragnvindr feels like the most fortunate man in Teyvat.

The sudden lack of sound must be more obvious than he realized, though. As Kaeya moves to turn to the next page, he glances up at Crepus. Something about his expression must startle Kaeya, because his eye goes wide, the smile becoming uncertain and small.

That won’t do at all, thinks Crepus.

Giving Kaeya as kind a smile as he can muster, Crepus heaves himself to his feet, taking a moment to wipe his hands on the damp cloth one of the servants has had the foresight to bring to the study before making themself scarce. Then he approaches the couch.

“May I sit with you, Kaeya?”

Kaeya looks a bit bemused at this point, but nods and lowers his book to his lap, marking his place with one thumb.

Crepus lowers himself carefully to sit next to Kaeya, rather on the other end like Kaeya undoubtedly expected him to. He keeps an eye on the other’s reaction — curious but not alarmed. Excellent.

Crepus settles, and then deliberately turns so that Kaeya has his full attention. He smiles. “That looks like a good book.”

Kaeya tilts his head a bit, then flips the book to show Crepus the cover. Clearly he has no concept of where this is going, but he seems willing to play along and find out. Crepus again is humbled by the trust in him that that shows.

“Ah, that is a good one. One of my favorites, when I was about your age. I remember how determined I was to finish it, the first time. More than that, I remember how tired I was the next day, after I stayed awake all night to finish it. I actually fell asleep during lessons! My tutors were not pleased. My hand still aches to this day, they made me write so many lines.” Crepus grins and playfully shakes his hand out for emphasis.

A shy little smile is his reward, hesitantly amused by this anecdote. It is, however, much too quick to fade away again.

It is as he is processing the disappointment of this that the impulse strikes. It is one he is not wholly unfamiliar with, being a father for a good many years now, but one that has until now only reared its mischievous head around Diluc.

Crepus has kept a certain small distance between himself and Kaeya in the time he has spent with him, not through his own desires, but out of fear of frightening the boy. Not to say that he has been able to to completely suppress the desire to tease Kaeya entirely; he considers it his divinely gifted right to do so as a parent. And so far, Kaeya has seemed surprised to be included, but not unhappily so. Crepus does not think it is wishful thinking to say that Kaeya has come to trust Crepus, not with today’s request to spend the morning with him instead of his best friend.

It is this last thought that decides it. Crepus allows that spirit of mischief to posses him fully.

“Come now. That won’t do, Kaeya.” Crepus injects some transparently false gravitas to his voice, to signal the game. He would never want his sons to seriously think he was disappointed in them for even a moment.

The ploy works. Kaeya sits up straighter, open curiosity on his face. He studies Crepus for a moment before coming to a decision and twisting his upper body to place the book on the side table. Then he turns back to look up at Crepus, hands relaxed on the knees of his crossed legs. Open body language, an acceptance of Crepus’ playful invitation.

Crepus feels his falsely somber expression melt at the edges. A smile tugs at the corners of his mouth, and he gives up the pretext.

“That wasn’t nearly enough. I think I need to see a bigger smile than that.”

Kaeya blinks as Crepus leans closer, lifting his hands with deliberate slowness, making it clear that he will stop if Kaeya wants him to. Kaeya does not stop him, and Crepus’ grin only widens.

“Fortunately, I have a good idea of what to do to fix this.” And Crepus proves the idea a good one indeed, as his fingers gently press into his son’s sides and wiggle.

The reaction is immediate: a jump, a surprised intake of breath, and two small hands placing themselves on his own. Crepus pauses, seeing if Kaeya will signal for him to stop, and feels warm as the signal doesn’t come. Kaeya’s hands do not push his away, and his nervous look is tinged with a playful excitement — an expression universally familiar to parents, he is sure. Crepus grins and attacks in earnest.

His hands move upwards, digging gently into ribs that are still a bit too prominent for Crepus’ tastes, and is rewarded with an exhale that shudders as it catches on a laugh. Kaeya squirms, curling away, mouth wavering into a smile, still not pushing Crepus’ hands away, and Crepus is so very fond of this boy.

It is the work of seconds to turn that exhale into a proper laugh, and Crepus is delighted to learn that his youngest son is, as it turns out, a giggler.

“Maha-! Ahaha! Master Crehehep-!” Kaeya wriggles into the arm of the couch, curling up and kicking his legs and not managing to get even one finger off of his ribs on his own.

Well, Crepus can certainly help him with that, at least.

Those fingers creep further up, worming their way under his arms to look for more giggles.

Kaeya squeaks, squeezing his arms to his sides as hard as he can and slipping against the arm of the couch until he is nearly on his back, legs coming up to again kick at nothing. It is a perfect opportunity to change targets, and one that Crepus has no problem taking advantage of. While one hand stays put, the other reaches to snag one little knee.

The reaction is a bit startling. Kaeya yelps and then bursts into the kind of laughter that can only be described as hysterical. For the first time, he manages to land a hit with the other foot, though without much force. Crepus pauses, startled, and when he looks at Kaeya he sees his son is just as surprised himself. Kaeya stares at him for a moment, eye wide, before giving a cutely nervous smile and shrinking down further into the couch.

After waiting for a signal that doesn’t come, Crepus smiles at the silent permission and slides his hand down to wrap around his calf. Holding his leg still, he brings the other hand, not back to the kneecap, as Kaeya undoubtedly expected, but behind the knee.

Evidently, this is spot is a winner as well, because Kaeya jerks and wheezes on his laughter, squirming and, after only a moment of this, letting out a snort.

Crepus can’t help but laugh at the way Kaeya freezes and slaps a hand over his mouth to contain any more, before another burst of laughter gets the better of him and he removes it to suck in more air.

Of course, all good things must come to an end, and Crepus would rather it end before it becomes unpleasant in truth. So he stops the gentle flutter under his son’s knee and releases his leg, watching in amusement as he immediately pulls it back to curl up in a little ball as he regains his breath.

Crepus allows him silence as he recovers, and eventually Kaeya gets enough breath back to uncurl and push himself upright again. He eyes his father from this new vantage point before asking.

“What was that for?”

“Ah, I’m afraid I had no other choice,” Crepus tells him solemnly. “It was vitally important that I hear you laugh today, and how else was I to do it? You never laugh at my jokes, after all.”

“Maybe you’re just not good at telling jokes,” Kaeya counters, and then freezes as he realizes his own daring.

Crepus only laughs again, reaching out to stroke displaced strands of blue out of his face. “In that case, it’s a good thing I have you around to practice on. I’ll be sure to improve my material with your valuable feedback.” His heart feels near to bursting at the way Kaeya relaxes and laughs softly again, leaning into the touch.

“I guess so.”

A/N: As with most people, I don’t think Kaeya as an adult and Kaeya as a child were exactly the same. Even putting aside the can of worms that is the whole Khaenri'ahn plant thing, getting adopted by a family in a totally foreign country is a lot for a kid to deal with. I imagine he was a little uncertain about his place at first. Of course, I also headcanon him as a bit of a little shit (but a cute one) so once he felt more settled I’m sure he could get a bit mouthy sometimes too haha.

I also headcanon Kaeya switched off between calling him “Master Crepus” and “Father” but this is set before he tried out “Father” for the first time, he’s working up to it.

[sluttyten]

bea, you've been around with nct for so long and have constantly been creating high-quality content for us for free, and I really admire your passion & endless creativity 💚 i was wondering how you managed to juggle between your rl endeavours & your hobbies?

i have a tendency to go all out for something that i really like, and ive been finding myself prioritising them over my rl stuff, and i know it's not them but my poor time management skill to blame. i fear that i might miss out a lot of them if im not in ncity even for just a day. i know that at the current stage of my life, i have to focus on rl more, and im really struggling between the two 😔😔

quick answer: i don't really have real life endeavors and hobbies 😂

no, but really like I love writing, I've always loved writing since I was really young. Reading and writing go hand in hand with me, so any time I'm reading I wish I was writing and I'm getting ideas for like plotlines or just little snippet scenes that I would like to write that are inspired by whatever book I'm reading. I've been writing fanfiction since I was probably like twelve or something, like I started with Harry Potter and Twilight then that became One Direction, and when I got into kpop I started writing a tiny bit of BTS, but mostly I've only ever written for NCT when it comes to kpop

Usually I try to find time to also read and watch movies or TV instead of just writing and digging myself down the kpop rabbit hole, try to hang out with my best friend (but I'm very much a person who likes to be home, so that's rough), but with doing these member days I haven't really been doing those other things much, so right now I'm not doing a good balance of kpop and other interests

I think it helped a lot that I didn't get into kpop until I was halfway through college, and I didn't even start listening to NCT until I graduated from college, so I don't have like the real life responsibility of schoolwork, and my job isn't the kind that you need to bring home from work, so like as soon as I'm done with work for the day I can bury myself in kpop if I really want to when we're talking about time management. With NCT especially, it does feel like if you're not constantly online it's so easily to fall behind on content, like I don't know how many times I get home from work and they've posted on YouTube, Instagram, Twitter, TikTok, they've done music show performances and new interviews are posted, and there was an online concert earlier in the day too, and then there's like just a mountain of things it feels like I've missed out on, but normally I just come on here or quickly scroll through twitter and get the gist of what I've missed out on.

Focusing on real life is definitely more important, that's for sure. Like it's not the end of the world if you're away from ncity for a day or two or a week or even months, as long as you focus on you and what makes you happy and what's good for you. There are always update accounts that will let you know if you've missed anything big, and if you're away for a little while, I'm sure there are plenty of accounts who you can ask that can help you figure out what you've missed!

I'm just here because I've been stuck on tumblr since literally 2012 when I discovered the massive amount of One Direction fanfiction on here, and I know that I wasted so much of my high school and college time on tumblr, thinking about what to write or wanting to keep up to date instead of going out and having fun with my friends, and I know that I've seriously missed out on opportunities I should have taken, so that's probably my best reason behind telling you that if you're struggling to find a balance between real life and your kpop interests, definitely don't let this interfere with doing real life things, making real life friends, going and having fun in real life.

[deaththesyd]

To The Brink Of Confession: Chapter 1, "He's not ugly"

I'd like to blame @mytanuki-kun for one of their works inspiring this side project that is now in the way of my Kisame week progress. As frustrating as this is, I'm having fun with this one and I'm excited to write my first true multi-chapter fic, even if it doesn't fit with the rest of my works and their timeline.

Summary: At first, she had shrugged it off as him simply being worn out from all the social interaction, but if that was the case, why was he only avoiding her?

At first, she had let it slide. Being super friendly and interacting with people was draining after all, and being forced to live in close quarters with such a loud group was sure to take its toll on even the most extroverted people. His avoidance lasted the entire rest of his time spent in her world, but she didn’t worry. As usual, a month passed by before she herself was teleported away into the foreign world of Jutsu, violence, and ninja. She even shook off her doubts when instead of her usual escorts, she was picked up by Kakuzu and Hidan, being told that the others were all preoccupied with important missions, ones that she would only be a distraction from. Entertaining as she found the duo and their antics, she couldn’t exactly hide her disappointment from the silver-haired loudmouth she had grown to consider a friend.

“What’s with all the moping, huh?” He said loudly, stood in front of her, face lowered to look her directly in the eyes as she had been watching the ground as she walked. Blocking her path forward, she stopped to look up at him, forcing herself to push down her thoughts and play them off as nothing. Surprising as it may be, Hidan wasn’t entirely self-absorbed and happened to be pretty talented at sensing other's emotions, a skill that he very rarely made use of. Not that it was really all that hard to see that something was up with her. Always easy to read, an open book, she was the worst liar and easily the most sincere person he had met. He seriously couldn’t stand her mood lately, it was worried and upsetting. Mixed with Kakuzu’s ongoing anger at everything and everyone, the irritating emotions were mixing and giving Hidan a headache. There were only two ways he could think of to fix this, either piss off Kakuzu to relieve his built-up stress and risk an explosive and painful response, or play concerned friend and get the woman lagging behind them to return to her normal upbeat self. Contemplating both options, the least painful option seemed the best bet.

“It’s not nothing, I can tell, so don’t bother lying, you’re shit at it anyway,” he cut her off as she tried to reply.

She tried anyway. “Really though,” she said, smiling almost convincingly, “I’m just lost in thought, we’ve been walking all day, can you blame me for tuning out?” Waving him off, she sidestepped him to follow after Kakuzu, who had not stopped for them and was quickly leaving them behind.

Knowing that the likelihood of being separated from Kakuzu was high if they didn’t keep up with the old man, he didn’t hold her back but stayed by her side to press for a proper response. “I said not to fucking lie,” he spoke casually knowing that anything truly harsh would only shut her up further, “you’ve been like this ever since you got here, it’s not just you being tired of walking.”

Sighing, she replied, “Ok, you’re right that I’m not just tired, but it’s nothing, really. I just need to manage it by myself.” No longer lying was a step forward, but she kept her lips tight on whatever it was. She was stubborn, but Hidan was persistent.

“What’s with you being all shy all of a sudden? You’re always so fucking talkative no one but Fishface can get you to be quiet,” he complained, almost missing how she reacted at the mention of the tall swordsmen. He grinned, seemed like he had a hook. “Awe, is this about your little crush on the big guy? Did you ask him out and he chickened out?” He laughed cruelly.

It wasn’t much of a secret that she had feelings for Kisame, she wasn’t very good at hiding how he caught her eye, often spacing out while watching him train, and making any excuse to get his attention. Everyone at some point had noticed the flush to her face around him, or the fond look in her eyes as she looked up at him. To most, it wasn’t anything to focus on. Kakuzu and Sasori couldn’t care less about it, as long as she wasn’t being obnoxious, Itachi seemed to keep a careful watch over her and her interactions with his partner, his reasons were unknown to Hidan who couldn’t care less about the Uchiha. Deidara and Hidan made sure to poke fun and tease her at any opportunity, making sure to keep their taunts from the man of her affections, trying to draw out their entertainment as long as they could. After months of this, she had become accustomed to the mostly friendly jeering from the two and had begun to poke fun at herself as well. It seemed she had resigned herself to watching from afar and keeping her flirting to a level that was easily mistaken for friendly conversation by the oblivious man.

Years of being acquainted with Kisame had only given Hidan a surface-level knowledge of the man, but recently he had noticed just how unconfident truly was of his looks, something he of course zeroed in on immediately. 6 foot whatever and hulking over even Kakuzu, it was hilarious to him that the member of the legendary Swordsmen of the Mist was both self-conscious over his fishy appearance, and his years of training as a ninja had not taught him to notice the obvious signs that a woman was into him. How anyone could be so unaware, yet so skilled was beyond him.

Her face saddened at his words, her brow furrowing, and her eyes cast themselves to the ground again. “I haven’t said anything, but I think he might have caught on,” she said quietly.

Despite her clearly upset confession, he grinned. “Way to go! Fishface finally figured out how to see above water, wondered if his brain was just waterlogged,” he snickered, excited that he could finally openly pick on him over the subject, but she didn’t smile and remind him to be nice like she normally did when he made digs at the sharkman. Clearly not a good sign then.

“I think he’s avoiding me,” she said, looking defeatedly at her shuffling feet. Now that made no sense.

Not long after it was clear to everyone but Kisame that she had an attraction to the tall man, it became more and more obvious that it was reciprocated. As much as she stared at him, he stared at her. Less openly, probably why it had taken everyone a while longer to see it, but it was well known that the two were complete idiots that had no clue the other was just as interested as they were. Part of Hidan had wanted to tell them immediately, embarrass them and make a scene out of it all, but another part of him had held onto their frustrations and fed off of it as a much more drawn-out entertainment source. Deidara was in on it too, saying that as much as he wanted to set off an explosive show by forcing their feelings out into the open, he also wanted there to be a build-up. In the meantime, they got to tease their fishy accomplice as much as they could get away with without pissing him off and alerting the other half of the pining duo. The fact that Kisame was avoiding her after finding out she felt the same was not what anyone had expected. For once in his life, Hidan was pissed at the drama of it. He would not admit that he was actually looking forward to the two becoming a couple.

“Bet he’s just scared that someone thinks his ugly mug is hot and is worried for your sanity,” he laughed. Her hand smacked him halfheartedly.

“He’s not ugly.” She said sternly, “Although with how forward I’ve been, he may have been creeped out,” she smiled, but there was a twinge of pain on her face that Hidan couldn’t help but notice. It pissed him off, his whole religion was about inflicting pain and death for his God, but seeing her genuinely upset gave him a feeling of frustration on her behalf.

“There’s no way he’s creeped out by your creepy staring,” he found himself attempting to reassure her, feeling as though he was betraying his and Deidara’s whole scheme. “He’s clearly just as much a creepy stalker as you are.”

Unsure that she had heard him correctly, she looked up to see Hidan avoiding eye contact, looking off the side of the road, ignoring her reaction purposely. “I don’t see how he’s the stalker,” she laughed humorlessly, “When he’s the one avoiding me.”

“Of course you don’t, you’re just as fucking blind as he is,” he muttered. Her sudden giggle made him look at her in suspicion. “The hell’s so funny?”

She brought a hand to try and stifle her laughter before she spoke, “What’s got you all grumpy now? Upset someones not crushing back on you?” She teased, eyes darting to look at the silent man trudging forward ahead of them, then back at Hidan.

The glare he shot her only made her giggles slightly louder. “What the fuck are you gettin’ at?” He spat, daring her to continue.

Humming whimsically, she spoke, “I just think that maybe you’re projecting some of your own frustrations onto someone else.”

He should have chosen to piss off Kakuzu. She may have been the lesser of two evils at a first glance, but the ability she had to force him into subjects he would rather avoid was something he had forgotten to account for in his earlier decision. Unlike the completely requited yet oblivious relationship between her and Kisame, Hidan’s own feelings were something he tried to ignore whenever possible. It was just a shitty joke she had made, something about how Hidan should leave her alone since he was really just trying to make the old man jealous. Something he should have shaken off with a normal insult towards the old miser, yet he had frozen, caught off guard by the accuracy. That was the one and only time he had ever allowed himself to come out to someone and let them live. It was shameful in the church to have feelings of devotion for anyone but Jashin, yet wanting someone that couldn’t produce more followers was even more so. Adamantly, he refused his feelings towards the man, but since that day she had treated his explicit flirting as nothing more than a show.

Embarrassed as he was, his comeback held no bite, and her teasing and further avoidance of the earlier topic increased. Eventually, it turned into a loud argument that reached Kakuzu’s ears, who ended their annoying discussion by threatening them both. She was easier to scare, but whatever they had been squabbling about had made Hidan more feisty than normal.

“Fuck off you old dick! There’s plenty of politer ways to ask to be included in a conversation,” came the danger prodding taunt from the young man. It was hard to guess why, but the older man’s fuse was shorter than usual, and the woman yelped as a dark arm split off from the man's torso to grab the face of the loudmouthed man right beside her. Flailing wildly and ineffectively he was dragged along the ground, yanked by the harsh grip of the intolerant man. Green eyes surrounded by red sclera flashed at her, warning her she would be next if she didn’t follow quietly. Swallowing a lump in her throat, she did just that.

[thefriskypanda]

Hi! How are you doing? I hope you're doing well! This is my first request so tell me if I'm not following the rules. I'd like to ask for a one-shot reiju x fem reader where the reader is a straw hat. Thank you very much😊

Your request was ok! It was a real challenge to write this since the Whole Cake arc was really, really complicated and every time Reiju appears it’s an important scene in the story, but I love her <3. Hope you like it!

Warnings: spoilers for the mentioned arc, mentions of Reiju’s leg injury | this is a sfw one shot, but miiiiiight make a 2nd part when I get some inspiration on how to include the reader in another interaction with our beloved princess.

❋❋❋❋❋❋❋❋❋❋

The first encounter with the Germa 66 was completely unexpected. No one was mentally prepared to meet Sanji’s family when they made their appearance. Not when your captain was just about to die from poisoning. It was even more shocking when the pink-haired woman jumped aboard the Thousand Sunny, landing just a mere feet away from you, besides Luffy’s body. Her blue eyes scanned his body, quickly identifying the venom in his system. Your own gaze focused on her form, wary of what she could do, but at the same time mesmerized by her astonishing beauty and elegance. 

An audible gasp left your mouth when she lowered her head and began sucking the substance from your captain’s own mouth. It was a rollercoaster of emotions: admiration, for discovering someone capable of kissing him, of all people. Disgust, for seeing someone kissing him. Annoyance, at Chopper and Brook obnoxious screaming. Worry, for not knowing what the poison could do to her body. Confusion, when the wings in her attire began to react and the rash appeared in her cheeks. Her cheeks… You couldn’t help but wonder if her skin was as soft as it looked, making heat rush through your own.

Once she broke the contact, your eyes darted to her parted lips as steam seemed to escape from her glossy mouth. This didn’t go unnoticed by her, so as she stood up to allow Chopper to examine Luffy, she was looking directly into you, winking once she presented herself as “Poison Pink”. The world seemed to have stopped for a brief second. You simply stood there while your crewmates cried over Luffy’s miraculous recovery. “Did she just wink at... me?” A strange sensation settled down in the pit of your stomach, wondering why she noticed the woman with the most ghost-like aura of the entire crew. You didn’t even have a bounty to begin with.

Almost fainting at your own thoughts, you quietly listened to her interactions with the rest of the crew, secretly hoping that she could direct her attention to you once more. But you had to concentrate, you were currently on a mission to save Sanji, her brother. This wasn’t the moment to fall for your heart’s desires.

Despite your brief moment of determination, all you could think about was her silky looking hair, her long, defined legs, her beautiful blue eyes, and her plump, seducing lips. Getting her out of your mind was going to be harder than you thought.

…

…

…

…

…

And it was. Even after all you went through the following days, running into Pudding herself, trying to cross the Seducing Woods without dying in the hands of Cracker and Brulee or even when you witnessed the heartbreaking fight between Sanji and Luffy, you found yourself constantly thinking about her, sneaking glances in her direction, secretly hoping that she would interfere once again. But she didn’t. 

You barely managed to slip away from the gruesome encounter against the Charlotte family without being noticed. Too discrete to be caught, yet too tired to run too far away. You barely managed to hide beneath some of the severed remains of King Baum before collapsing to the ground, consciousness slowly leaving your body while you could only watch your crewmates being brutally crushed and captured by your enemies.

Heavy drops of water constantly fell on your face, managing to wake you up in the middle of the night. I took you a few seconds to remember what happened and where you were, scanning your surroundings to make sure it was safe to get out. With trembling limbs, you managed to quietly get up, still wary in case someone saw you. Fortunately, it was too dark and rainy to be seen, so you decided on being brave, making your way to the castle in an attempt to find any of your currently lost crewmates.

“This is my lucky night!” you thought, as you soon found yourself just a few meters away from Pudding’s own bedroom window and right in front of her, was the woman of your dreams: Reiju herself, but your hopes quickly shattered when you saw the bleeding wound in her leg and the brunette laughing in her face. You couldn’t even process what you were seeing before sensing footsteps coming in your direction. Quickly enough, you hid between the bushes nearby, surprised to see a gleaming Sanji with a bouquet of flowers and a basket.

Your heart clenched, he had betrayed your captain, no, your entire crew just this evening, and now he seemed so happy… And to add more to your feelings your crush was also injured and trapped inside a room with a potential psychopath. Unaware of your presence, Sanji began paying attention to what was going on inside the room, and so did you. 

The truth came crashing into both of you like a meteorite. Damn Pudding and her lunatic family. Now not only were your crewmates in danger, but the entire Vinsmoke family was planned to be murdered. You knew there was no way out of this situation if you were to continue being separated, so you hesitantly took a step out and showed yourself in front of the blonde. His soaked eyes met yours in silent, mutual understanding. No words needed to be said in the moment.

Eventually, Sanji helped you get inside the castle. He was a bit shocked that you had already met Reiju, and his mood lightened a bit when you told him you had a crush on his sister, happy that at least you found someone as trustworthy and good hearted as her.

After sneaking inside the infirmary, Reiju soon woke up, surprised to see you and her dear brother there, but then she remembered her injured leg. Then, Sanji and Reiju exchanged what they both knew. It felt awkward for you, this was a matter that involved them as a family, you didn’t even know what to say, glad that for now, they had seemed to forget about you. During these few minutes of them talking, you learned more about both of them than you had ever dreamed of. The way Reiju spoke her mind about her family and her wishes for her brother, only made you fall deeper for her.

A smooth voice brought you out of your daze “Hey, are you alright?” Lifting your head, you realized that Sanji had already left, too busy with his own mind to even remember you were also there. You felt your cheeks burning at the realization that you were now alone with the very same woman who had been plaguing your mind this entire time. Shyly, you averted her eyes, she was quietly observing you, her magnificent eyes scanned your form. Once again, you were in an awkward position, what were you supposed to tell her? You certainly weren’t fine, every muscle in your body was sore from running and passing out in the ground under a tree, your poor heart had also felt too many strong emotions, which brought you to the verge of tears again.

With a kind smile, Reiju motioned you to walk over to her bed. Curious of what she could possibly want from you, you swiftly approached her, almost tumbling over when her hand suddenly grabbed your arm and bent you over to her face level. Your shocked expression amused her, making her release a soft giggle before tenderly cupping your face with both hands.

“How rude of my little brother to leave behind such a lovely lady” Her right thumb began to slowly rub your skin, giving herself time to think what to say next, but before she could continue, your mouth moved on its own. “May I give you a kiss?” Not expecting her to take you seriously, your surprise was big when her soft, warm lips pressed against yours. The contact only lasted a few seconds, but to you, it felt like traveling to another dimension and coming back.

“I certainly didn’t expect you to be so bold, but I’m glad you asked. You’ve been living in my mind ever since we met the other day. Maybe it’s just a momentary thing, maybe it can be something else, but as you already know, everything will end tomorrow for us.” You quietly listened to her words, understanding what she meant. “I think you should go, perhaps you can catch up with Sanji in the hallways. You need to reunite with your friends. Please, take care, and take care of my dear brother as well” A sigh left your chest once she finished.

Taking her hand into yours, you deposited a small kiss on its back, muttering a soft “As you wish, my princess” before heading to the door.

“Wait. As my last wish, I want to know your name.” 

Without turning, you simply said “I’ll tell you tomorrow” and walked out the door. 

Your mission was now to find your crewmates and stop the wedding at all costs. It wasn’t an option.

[isaacthedruid]

Please allow me to tell you about one of my favourite cartoons through this informal essay I did for school a couple of months back. 

Gravity Falls and How it Did The Unimaginable

**SPOILERS... KINDA**

The 2010s saw the creation of some of the most iconic animated tv shows ever made, the likes of Adventure Time (2010), Steven Universe (2013), Over the Garden Wall (2014) and The Legend of Korra (2012). To explain why this era’s shows are so admirable is honestly rather difficult. Yet, there are many factors that can be taken into consideration when looking for an answer.

The past decade was very successful in perfecting their craft and utilizing the animated format to their favour, creating some of the wackiest and fascinating cartoons ever made. With the advancements made in both 2D and 3D animation for film, this bled into the world of TV as well.

To mention that 2010s cartoons have stunning visuals would be an understatement. Everything about the animation was beautiful; the strong colour palettes, the clean and imaginative character designs, the colourful and immersive backgrounds and especially the mesmerizing worlds that can be found within episodes that are half an hour.

This era’s cartoons also led to a massive shift in storytelling, writing longer-running stories that spread out across seasons while also swapping out episodic adventures for serialization. This heavily aided in the popularization of these shows, due to the rise of internet fandoms and dropping the taboo that cartoons were only for kids. Many shows acknowledged their older viewers by leaving clues and even puzzles to be solved by the theorists who have a large appearance on social media platforms like Reddit, Twitter and Tumblr. As the shows progressed, their fandoms created many theories for what they believed might happen within their favourite series. The top three shows from this era all utilized these changes, being at the forefront of the shift and helping guide the creative vision of 2010s cartoons.

Often regarded as many people’s favourite cartoon, Gravity Falls presented one of the best mysteries of the decade with two seasons and only 40 episodes. Inspired by Twin Peaks and The X-Files, it’s considered as the kids’ version of these two iconic shows as this cartoon acts as many people’s first introduction to horror through bright colours and fun characters.

This series follows the adventures of Dipper and Mabel Pines, twins, who are sent to spend their summer with their great-uncle or Grunkle Stan in Gravity Falls, Oregon. This town is full of oddities like supernatural creatures, insane and eccentric inhabitants, and many puzzles. The Pines twins must adjust to the weirdness while uncovering the mysteries and protecting their new town.

While living in Gravity Falls, the twins are forced to work in the Mystery Shack, a tourist trap created by their Grunkle Stan that overcharges unlucky tourists, teaching about fake monsters despite there being real creatures all over town. On his first day in Oregon, Dipper accidentally came across a mysterious journal written by an unknown author that explains all the oddities to be found in this strange town. This book acts like an encyclopedic of the Weird for Dipper, an inquisitive 12-year-old kid who seeks answers.

Dipper is an extremely intelligent kid, his brain being far more developed than his body. He’s rather awkward and self-conscious as he often stumbles over his words or gets embarrassed trying to talk to girls. Despite this, the boy is an adventurer at heart who just wants to grow up and skip his upcoming teenage years.

While Mabel is quite the opposite in many ways, she is loud and has an in-your-face personality. Mabel is bouncy and fun, she is so excited to start high school. She is easily excitable and for the larger part of the series, she is in her boy-crazy phase. Mabel is a girly-girl as she likes all things; glitter, unicorns, rainbows, partying and crafting. Yet, she doesn’t often compare well with many of the other girls in town, they see her as weird and “too much”.

(In all fairness through, it is not too kind to either of the characters as their personalities are more complex than just awkward nerd and artsy girl-girly.)

Dipper and Mabel’s personalities are very different but somehow, they—along with their Gravity Falls family—manage to solve mysteries and save the town, multiple times.

Gravity Falls is an honestly genius series that completely changed the way cartoons were made. Originally when writing a series, you’d create a base of your story; characters, the universe and a basic plot. Yet, when creator, Alex Hirsch (who was in his early/mid-20)s and his small team first began constructing their show, they planned out everything they could possibly think of for the first season. Additionally, outlining some answers for their biggest mysteries that would be answered at the end of the series.

Despite being rated TV-Y7, this series really pushed the boundaries of kids’ television. From the teeth being ripped out of a deer’s mouth by a demon, rearranging the functions of every hole on a man’s face to an aggressive pop-rock sock puppet show that ended in a dramatic slow-motion scene of the puppets burning. Gravity Falls wasn’t afraid to get a little weird or creepy. Or create some genuine nightmare fuel. 

From the beginning, Gravity Falls had built a mystery into its series, hiding secrets and clues all throughout the show. Most notably were the backwards-recorded message and cryptograms, using roughly nine different kinds, even creating two of their own.

The inclusion of cyphers and mysteries for fans to solve is possibly the reason why this series was so successful. As one of the first shows to do something like this, Gravity Falls used social media and internet fandoms to its advantage.

As mentioned earlier, cartoon fans have quite a presence on social media platforms like Twitter and Tumblr. They create theories and share fun ideas about their favourite shows. Viewers of Adventure Time, Gravity Falls and Steven Universe were all included in their share of theory fun.

Sometimes, fan theories end up being correct but when you’re Gravity Falls creator, Alex Hirsch, you don’t just watch from the sidelines as your viewers figure out the biggest mystery of your show. No, you create a hoax to get your viewers off your trail and that is what he did. Around 2013, only halfway through the first season of the show, viewers had started to follow the clues, theorizing who was the author is Dipper’s mysterious journal.

Unfortunately for the Gravity Falls production crew, the viewers were right— for the sake of readers who have never seen the show, I will not mention who the author was as it would be the biggest spoiler.

In 2013, a supposed leaked image of a tv showing a younger version of the show’s crazy old man character, Old Man McGucket, writing in the infamous journal was uploaded anonymously (by Alex Hirsch) to 4Chan.

Despite the image only being on up for a few hours, it spread like wildfire. Much to the team’s success, theorists stopped searching for the answer to “who is the author” and just accepted the image of McGucket as the truth.

To further push the fake-out, three words were posted to Alex’s Twitter, “fuming right now.”

The tweet was deleted a few minutes later and fans genuinely believed that someone from the Gravity Falls team had leaked the most important part of the story.

While doing research, I came across a Reddit post from April 10th, 2013, the day after ‘leak,’ Alex’s tweet was uploaded. In this post, user, TheoDW uploaded an image of Alex’s tweet with the caption, “It seems that Hirsch got mad at last night’s leak. He already deleted this tweet.”

Seeing the reactions of these Redditors in 2013 is kind of weird and crazy to look at. “He has every right to be upset. Someone internally released a plot revealing screen shot of series breaking spoiler information,” a deleted Reddit account commented.

“This is Alex Hirsch’s biggest success by far, he spent a huge amount of time carefully planning out the series, and then in a moment someone releases a major spoiler. It would make anyone upset,” the user, Time_Loop commented.

“Seriously, this is a nightmare for a storyteller, and shows a breach of trust. I feel so bad for him–honestly, I hope whoever did the leak gets caught and appropriate action is taken. You don’t f–k with someone’s story like this. It’s unprofessional.” the user, lonelybeloved angrily commented.

In 2014, this ‘leak’ was finally disproven when viewers were given an episode on McGucket’s backstory and an amazing tweet from Alex Hirsch. 

Alex had post an image of himself playfully pointing at a monitor with the supposed leaked picture with the caption, “1) Make hoax  2) Upload to 4Chan  3) Post angry tweet about "leak" 4) Delete tweet 5) Let internet do rest”

It is so interesting to look at these comments know that all of this was orchestrated by Alex.

I wish I had been old enough at the time to follow theories and fandom stuff like I do now with current cartoons but really looking at this from an outside perspective, this was insane!

The real author wasn’t revealed until 2015 and when viewers first got the answer to this biggest show on their screens, they must have freaked out!

Following the finale in 2016, a single frame of a stone version of Bill Cipher, the show’s villain, flashed in after the credits had finished.

Alex Hirsch and his team actually created a real-life statue of their villain for their viewers to find and on July 20th, 2016, the Cipher Hunt began.

By following clues, the Hunters found themselves all over the world; Russia, Japan and then travelling throughout the United States for the final 12 clues. When the hunt took them to Los Angeles, actor, Jason Ritter (voice of Dipper Pines, also a massive fan of the series) and Alex Hirsch’s twin sister, Ariel Hirsch (the inspiration for Mabel) joined in the fun helping the search.

Finally, the hunt ended on August 2nd when someone tweeted out an image of the found statue in Oregon, the same state in which the fictional town of Gravity Falls exists. The Cipher Hunt had ended but finding the statue wasn’t Alex’s goal for the scavenger hunt, it was about the journey and bringing together the viewers, more than having them actually find the statue.

Creating its own hoax, an international scavenger hunt and quite a bit of nightmare fuel, Gravity Falls was a show truly unlike any other.

The 2010s saw some of the strongest cartoons ever made, Adventure Time, Gravity Falls and Steven Universe acting as the leaders for multiple different changes in the medium; storytelling, worldbuilding, interaction with viewers, utilizing social media, representation and further pushing music into the cartoon world. From what was created this past decade and what has already been released in 2020, I’m so excited to see what comes next.

I have another one of these which is on Steven Universe’s representation and music if you would like to see that too!!