#My person Alex just wants nothing to go wrong for ONE CYCLE

[doublegoblin]

Song to OC

Rules: Assign a song that fits the vibe of your OC.

Thank you to @asterhaze for the tag! This is certainly an interesting one!

Whoms't've to no pressure tag: @angie-j-kay @randomstupidchaos @conkers-theficwriter @hallwriteblr

I'll be going through the songs for Alex the POV character from Rituals and Red Tape. With a little bonus at the end~

Try to not take the lyrics too much into account, as is for the vibe!

Okay so I'll be honest and say I had not seen what the english for this song was until just recently (like putting this together recently) and dang, the lyrics fit the vibe more than I thought they would ^^;;.

What I had in my mind original was, well, and opening to a show. The first big bass hit would have been a big stack of paperwork being placed on Alex's desk. Then just like a montage of stuff.

Really they want to just exist in this world with no issues, but, other dreamers make problems and so they need to fix those problems; otherwise they risk a talking to by Dave, oh and reality would come undone too so that wouldn't be great either.

The vibe I try to go for with Alex is an overtired and burnt out office worker/park ranger kind of thing.

Now don't get it twisted though, they may be tired and burnt out but they are not going to let their team down. During their most difficult times they look back on everything, everyone that is counting on them and they rise to the occasion. They also use this past knowledge and experience to try and uplift those around them so they don't sink. In a place where time doesn't matter, the body you are in is just a vehicle to experience the world, and you are so removed from your waking self you are an entirely different person; it's can be taxing to always pick yourself up and keep going. Eternity is a really big thing.

No big text for this, just the vibe of when Alex first came to the dream reality. This band also has a song that was the inspiration/unlocked the writer block, for the final confrontation of the book~

NOW FOR BONUS

Dave-

You go into your boss' office for an employee review. It's a gray coast line, obsidian pillars start to rise from the ocean, and the sky break open. You forgot your employee handbook, what do you do now?

[stupidlittlespirit]

Cutie patootie again 🥺🥺

Lmao I'm sorry I'm always bringing Ford discourse but like !!!!! You're one of the only people online who like sees the bad in every character!! So many fans have been saying how Stanley has never done wrong and fuck Ford but like it's only cause Stanley is a guy who shows very obviously he loves his family and we got 2 whole seasons with the guy

This is probably why I really am hoping Alex gets the go ahead with a sequel! Stan and Ford show to flesh out their relationship more. Like I know Stanford really shows his feelings in the journal but I swear most of people's literacy is fucking dead 😭😭😭 showing will probably be a lot better than telling

I guess I feel really bad for Ford cause he's a victim who isn't uwu I am traumatized. Like there's NOTHING wrong with traumatized people being very teary eyed and soft spoken individuals. Fuck it honestly that's me to a fucking t. But other victims are rude and they do get angry easily. Ford reminds me a lot of Steven from the Haunting of Hill House. They just express their grief and trauma in a much more anger and sarcastic emotional response than others. And like it pretty much confirms in the Book of Bill that Stanford was gonna keep the book a secret also!! He says at first it's to protect his family but later admits it's because he still feels shame in having Bill trick him. In believing all of his lies. He still feels shame for almost causing the apocalypse and letting his pride separate from his brother for 40 years at this point!! Idk idk I'm rambling again but I honestly really love characters like Ford that show that victims don't always act the same but they deserve just as much respect and love all the same. They deserve a second chance and they deserve to be happy. 💜

No it's okay anon! I love having these conversations! I'm sorry it took me so long to answer, I've been really busy.

I have no idea if any of this makes sense but I hope it does because it's taken me like 2 and a half hours to write....

TL;DR - In my opinion, the entire show is about cycles of abuse. Ford and Stan are both imperfect victims for different reasons. They suffered abuse differently. Don't look at and judge them from the place that they start at: Do it from where they end up.

TW: Abuse, suicide, discussion of personal irl abuse.

All below the cut:

You're right about us having more information to work with with Stan v. Ford, but I also think people have a tendency to put Stan on a pedestal because he is, ultimately, the more relatable twin. Not many people are on Ford's wavelength in the sense of intelligence (I'm certainly not) and I would venture to say not many people fell through a portal and spent 30 thirty years in different dimensions running from/trying to defeat their arch enemy....

Alongside that, the twins experienced abuse and reacted to it very differently, and it can be hard to examine those differences fairly, and to see why both types are as bad as the other, especially because one is more obvious and likeable than the other.

They remind me a LOT of my familial situation in interchangeable ways.

My life ran parallel to Stan's for a long time (ironically enough Gravity Falls came out when I'd just been kicked out of home) and I had a sibling who was the 'golden child' for my family. I was the screw up black sheep and they were the one with potential.

That designation is neither mine nor my sibling's fault. It's the fault of my family for putting those labels on two kids who really had no chance, right from the day we were born, but who were forced to adopt them regardless. I think Stan and Ford are the same.

Where I suffered more direct abuse (physical, psychological etc) because I was reactive and was left in the firing line as the scapegoat (Stan), my sibling was held close by my parents and 'protected' because they were seen as well behaved and offered my parents what they wanted: Someone to control and push for success (Ford). They were still abusing my sibling, just in a different way.

I spiralled and went on to live a life where I was only ever in danger and at risk. I made my peace very early on in life (I think maybe before I was about 10?) that the people who were supposed to love me unconditionally, couldn't stand me, valued me as lesser than my sibling, and didn't want me. But I wanted to Be Somebody and prove my value and worth to everyone else to make up for that, which meant I fell into the wrong hands and did all I could to try and be that ideal for others in the hopes they wouldn't see me as my parents did.

I separated from my family early and went off alone, despite really always being alone, and was 'okay' with that (spoiler, I was not!). I also suffered abuse in the way Ford did and my sibling in the way Stan did to varying degrees too. We're all rarely aligned with one specific character because abuse is, unfortunately, incredible versatile.

My sibling, however, stayed with my mother (our whole family abused us, but I'll stick with parents now because it's most relevant. Our parents divorced when we were young and my dad was our 'primary abuser', but only because he was more blatant with it) and my sibling went to an excellent school because my family saw their potential and submissiveness as an opportunity. A meal ticket.

Their career and life was facilitated because I suppose my family also wanted them to 'make up for me' and get the kid they'd always wanted out of my sibling, which is a lot of pressure to put on a child. They went on to be successful (still are, I'm very proud of them) whereas I couldn't/can't keep a stable job and turned to sex work to survive (there is nothing wrong with sex work blah blah but being forced into it at a young age does have negative consequences, no matter what anyone says).

My sibling was emotionally and psychologically manipulated but also treated in a way that could be misconstrued as being loved. I would think that for them, that was hard to understand that that wasn't truly the case. I think Ford was the same in that respect, especially when he craves acceptance so much.

Those are both types of abuse but in different ways. My sibling lives with the guilt and shame of being 'the one who didn't get it as bad', and can't quite accept that they were never really loved (which is embarrassing to admit and I think/hope they will come to terms with that one for their own sake), and I live with the childish resentment of them being 'the one my parents never wanted' and with the absolute hatred of how unfairly I was treated by people who were supposed to love me unconditionally.

You can see where this is going, right?

Stan and Ford suffered equally in that same way, all throughout their lives in varying ways, and in my other response to you we talked more in depth about how Ford specifically was manipulated his entire life. I think Ford was made to be responsible at a young age and forced to carry this weight on his shoulders, and then as an adult had that insecurity worsened and coaxed by Bill.

Stan deep down knew his father hated him, and despite still wanting his love, eventually knew he wasn't going to get it. I mean, no one even came to his fake funeral for god's sake. Image how that must feel?

Stan grew to spot the signs of abuse and avoid it to the best of his ability. He was still vulnerable of course, but he was more street smart and clued up after a while. He didn't fall for Bill's flattery because he looked at Bill and saw his father. He recognised abuse.

Me and my sibling are the same.

Now, because of the differences in our abuse, my sibling and I turned out to be very different people. They still interact with my family (although they don't enjoy it but do so out of a sense of guilt and duty, and that they have to take care of them). I have nothing to do with any of them because fuck 'em.

I'm very emotional and can be unstable or rude (I have BPD), but love deeply and am sometimes overtly considerate of other people's feelings to my detriment because no cared about mine. I struggle with needing to be loved and being a chameleon who adapts their personality to those around them in order to be most liked and maximise that. I don't have a real identity, just the one I craft in the moment. I even worked/work in sales because having that ability makes it easy to pick up on people's emotional state and manipulate it, for better or worse. I have also done bad things and been cruel to others, I've also had an inflated ego and sometimes still do. I'm the Stan, for the most part, but I've experienced Bill-like abuse too and been the Ford.

My sibling can be spiteful and often acts like the things that happened me didn't actually happen the way I think they did and they minimise my feelings. They struggle to apologise and also behave in a way that is similar to my abusers, but I don't believe they do that maliciously. I think they don't know any better and haven't had the space to mature and come to terms with that. They have a bit of an ego, too. They're the Ford, mostly.

(This isn't to say I'm none of those things, because I can be and my sibling can be all the things I am at times)

I have to remember that they're still in contact with our abusers and were heavily manipulated against me growing up. They still get the Wormtongue treatment, as we said about Ford. They're still affected. They are also the only person I still see because we're in this together and they genuinely love me (as I do them). They're funny and cool and they love as deeply as I do.

My sibling and I, and Stan and Ford, were both raised in the same barn and we're from the same stock; of course we have the traits of our parents. It would be impossible not to. My sibling and I just learn to smother those parts as best we can as we mature and the process of doing so never really ends. I would say I'm a little better at it than my sibling is, but I'm also older and realised my abuse far sooner than they did. I've had longer to come to terms with it, like Stan did.

Stan was aware of his father's abuse much earlier and although I think he struggled to accept it, he eventually realised much sooner than his brother that he was being abused.

Ford wasn't able to mature because he was so busy working and then surviving. He eventually was forced to come to terms with his abuse by both Bill and by others, and it must have sucked to have that realisation so late in life. I have another family member that that exact thing happened to, and the shame we all feel at being taken advantage like that is immense. That's why post-portal Ford is so different in my mind. It breaks or makes you and it is very embarrassing to accept.

But both of them exacted their resentment and sadness and insecurities out on others: Stan literally scammed people out of their money because he wanted to be rich and committed other crimes That's a really bad thing to do!

Yes, Ford was manipulative and tough on others because he'd been taught to be, and I think he truly believed in his youth that he "turned out fine!" (a favourite one-liner of mine from people who are in denial about their abuse) because he couldn't accept it.

It was wrong of both of them to do the things they did, and there is no excuse for it, but we can understand where that behaviour came from if we examine them both fairly.

What matters is that eventually both Stan and Ford matured into people who recognised why they were in the wrong. They stopped that cycle of abuse by finding love and forgiving one another, and by finding their their family.

Stan and Ford were able to redeem themselves. They both have a plethora of faults but an absolute encyclopedia of positives, too. It just took them a long time to unlearn and they have to continue to unlearn those until they die.

All victims are imperfect victims because there's no such thing as a perfect one. Victims carry shame, victims can be aggressive, victims can repeat the mistakes of their abusers no matter how much they think they don't. Maybe they don't respond to their trauma 'the way that they should' (which is bullshit, by the way. There is no right or wrong way to be a victim).

When I suffered (a different, non family related) major trauma, I wasn't believed (by that same friend I talked about in the other ask) because I hadn't, in their opinion, reacted in the way I supposed to react. I wasn't sad enough or traumatised enough, when in actual fact I was all of those things but was too ashamed and afraid to show it to others until it got so bad that I couldn't hold it in anymore. I protected myself through jokes and being blasé about it.

Ford is a great example of a more obvious imperfect victim. He is a product of his environment and he protects his vulnerabilities with egoism. The most egotistical of us are the most insecure.

Stan is also an imperfect victim, just more obviously so. He was portrayed from the start as likeable and funny, but he is the same as his brother.

Initially Stan was as cantankerous and mean as he was silly, remember. But he changed over time. We get to see the toll his abuse took on him because he learned to come to terms with that shame and told the audience about it through his actions and behaviours. We actually saw his backstory in detail and saw how he learned to love the kids. We saw his vulnerability whereas Ford refuses to and struggles to lower that guard and show his soft spots.

Ford is portrayed in a very specific light that I think does him an injustice at times and contributes to the misunderstanding of his personality.

Ford's vulnerability is hard for him to reveal (to those around him and the audience) because he couldn't afford to be vulnerable during his time in the portal or with Bill. Vulnerability kills when you're not showing it to the right people and when he did show his vulnerable side to Bill (he didn't have the answers he thought he was so capable of having and had to swallow that bitter pill and ask for help), he was betrayed and hurt really awfully.

Ford then went on the exact same journey Stan did when Stan was kicked out of home, except Ford was 30 plus and in an interdimensional nightmare instead of the USA. They both suffered. (And also, the US might as well have been a different dimension for Stan at his young age because it was just a foreign to him as space was to Ford. Earth is cruel no matter where you are).

Anyway.... All of that is to say, nobody comes out of abuse clean.

Some of us become unlikeable and unfriendly, and sometimes even abusive ourselves. A lot of us learn to survive in any way we can and sometimes that is at the detriment of others.

But what really matters is how we unlearn those behaviours and how we grow.

Don't look at and judge Ford or Stan from the place that they start: Do it from where they end up.

I'd also like to add that just because you might be a dick, it doesn't mean you deserve to be abused and I see a lot of people say that Ford deserved what he got, and that pisses me off so fucking badly.

Again: disclaimer these are just my own feelings do not come for me thank u

[princessofmerc]

With each passing race I become more and more bitter.

I love Lewis for what he has achieved in the sport, but my goodness his fans put me off. Why do they always have to hate on George for no reason? It’s disturbing and cult like, people can beat your driver.

When he first joined the team I was so excited to see how the move benefited his career, but it’s come to the point where I want him out of it. Time and time again his teammate, team principle and members of the team throw him under the bus time and time again. I hate seeing people who rated him in Williams turn against him.

Mercedes won’t win championships any time soon and I want George to have the opportunity to do so. I can’t remember the last time I watched a race live. You know RB are gonna win the rest. Maybe next year will be better.

Lewis is a great driver. But he needs to realise that he's not going to lose by losing out against George. George was better all weekend the result may not show this in points but anyone who really watches knows. He may even be a great person. I'm personally getting the ick from the people he surrounds himselves with but let's be honest. They're all privileged and rich. Even Lewis as the only black driver. As the most succesful driver.

His fans are an abusive bunch of shit. And I mean that. With Max I didn't say a lot because I personally didn't see a lot of abuse that wasn't a direct reply to racism. And both sides were wrong. With Nicky it was unwarranted. The FIA and Red Bull are so much more to blame and for Nicky to hire security to protect his girlfriend (because he was scared of something happening to Sandy more than himself). They're visibly sending out "kill yourselves" to people. To minors. And no their excuses mean nothing. Not if we're already back to part two of the vicious cycle of dealing with team Lh. Tomorrow they'll pretend nothing ever happened.

Honestly Lewis, as long as he continues glorifying his fans the way he does and giving people the reason to believe they are right and they have nothing to fear. I'm through with him. I'm not claiming there aren't assholes along the George Russell fans. Even Alex Albon fans can get it wrong sometimes. Being a Lewis fan doesn't make you an asshole. As much as being a George fan doesn't make you a racist or fatphobic and stuff. And I'm aware that just because there are black sheep in every section of driver fans and it's generalising to claim there'S an issue with Lewis fans that I amd oing what I'm condoning.

Maybe it's being friends with someone who claimed "yeah okay that's bad but I got one hate anon by a George fan so both sides are bad". But I'm bitter. In 2021 y'all wanted him what are you so afraid of?

George showed a lot more this weekend than any driver did the whole year. He can drive on the same level as the world champions on the grid. He is the driver to look out for. He makes these mistakes and never makes them again. He takes responsibility (other than others who blame their team, the wind, George Russell, Oscar Piastri, the sun, the moon and the stars). The pace he's been showing. He's going to be a problem to so many drivers in the future. And I guess that's the issue

As for the team. I feel like something shifted today. It's small. It's maybe just a different twitter admin. Who knows. (But for Shov to not even mention Lewis). Maybe I'm delulu. But at the end of the day I don't think George should go elsewhere. Not because he couldn't outdrive any driver in their current team, which I believe firmly he could. But because I'm not sure if the teams that could help him succeed would let him. Other than maybe Williams, who after the European stretch is over are probably going to go back to the back of the midfield because that's what happened 2020,2021 and 2022. No other team would let him grow as much as Mercedes. What use is a Red Bull seat if you aren't allowed to beat Max Verstappen?

So yeah. I feel like a lot of the leading engineering voices in the team are more neutral than, say Toto. Which makes sense. Lewis had a massive impact on the success of Mercedes. But let's not forget that without a team like Mercedes Lewis wouldn't have had the success he had as well. Mercedes is one of the best teams on the grid as much as we sometimes hate it. They can win championships in the future and I feel like the people who matter know they can do it with both Lewis and George. And that George is their future.

Mercedes can be a shit place but unless Williams turns it around for the 2024 season it is the best place for George to be.

[evermorehqs]

CATCHING MY BREATH, STARING OUT AN OPEN WINDOW

Megara Morales is based on the Meg from Hercules. She is a 29 year old cursed human, Wonderland dancer, and uses she/her pronouns. She has the power of misfortune. Meg is portrayed by Priscilla Quintana and she is taken.

CATCHING MY DEATH, AND I COULDN’T BE SURE

If there’s one thing Meg hated in the world it was entitled men and being treated like a damsel in distress. Alright, that’s two things but she hated them both equally and unfortunately she was pretty sure she was cursed with a horrible fate to always be surrounded by them. It would take a lot longer for her to realize that her feeling was more accurate than she could have ever imagined. Misfortune followed Meg through her life like a twisted guardian angel, moments turning sour just before she could grasp the happiness she so desperately craved. And she did crave it. Ever since she was a little girl, there had been a small hole in her, one that could have been healed had her trust not been broken again and again and again. But she never gave up trying, not until she’d crossed paths with Hades. It was a hard lesson to learn but it finally stuck. Trusting anyone was a trick. Falling love was a waste of time. Believing that things could be better was delusional. Thinking you had any control over your fate was laughable. The only person Meg could rely on was herself and everyone else was simply a distraction, something that could and would disappear with the snap of someone else’s fingers. Was she bitter and jaded now that her life was in the control of someone else? Absolutely and there was nothing wrong with her carrying that bitterness around with her all wrapped up in a sarcastic comment.

Life had been a drag for years, a constant cycle of her hopes getting up when they shouldn’t before being dashed. Over and over and over again. Then some kind of miracle happened. Hercules showed up and started to change the course of her life, against her will at first, but things were actually going a lot better than they ever had. Finally there was hope that her curse had been lifted, that she’d be able to live a normal life. But she should have known better. Hope was what killed you. When Meg woke up in Evermore she remembered nothing. Nothing at all. The feeling of being lost and alone wasn’t a new one but she didn’t know that. It was a blank slate in a form of a double edged sword, she couldn’t remember her curse or her brief happiness that came right before waking up in the town. She was still the same sarcastic, independent, hardheaded woman she always was, finding a job at the burlesque club while she figured out what to do with her freedom. A freedom she hadn’t realized had been outside of her realm of possibility in her life before showing up here. Maybe this was a miracle after all...but considering her distrust of the world that still lingered, she knew something was off. There was something going on in Evermore but Meg wasn’t sure if that was something she wanted to stick her nose into.

I HAD A FEELING SO PECULIAR

❀ Zachary Binx: There aren’t a lot of men in her life that haven’t been grade A assholes but there’s something about Binx that she trusts. Maybe it’s his protective nature but she can’t help wanting him around

❀ Alexandra Casoy: Alex is pretty cool in Meg’s eyes - a tough woman who knew how to protect herself but was still able to have fun and enjoy life without regretting it. That was the kind of person Meg wanted to be

❀ Gaston Thoreau: Meg has a deep-rooted hate for this man and she doesn’t feel the need to explain it or justify it. You have eyes, don’t you? He’s misogynistic and an asshole, just like every one of her exes

THAT THIS PAIN WOULD BE FOR EVERMORE

[thewoesoftime]

Working through my obsession with being loved and fomo

If you want to be a good writer, you really do have to write. So goes the logic for literally everything else you want to do but there seems to be a crucial gap between me and writing - dreadful isn't it. I probably need some direction, I'll do exercises and things. I think first I should prioritise this because, for one, its dreadfully therapeutic and unfortunately, annoyingly, works really well to alleviate some stress and cut off vicious cycles of thinking. Here's what I was falling into - it was a bloody insta post from alfie, him and taylor and andrea and probably miriam all of them having a great time, I am muting all of them (I can't presently do taylor but i will when she posts) oh and tina just all of them cause i just watch their stories and pity myself about them not liking me and about taylor being a prick to me and how if i had gone to uni with them this year probably maybe i would be a part of all this. I need to be able to move on, and sometimes i feel like I have but I also have all this pent up emotion, Idk i guess i'm just not used to it and its a fact of life that sometimes people just don't like you anymore or don't want to be your friend or don't have energy or care about you or maybe never did, but it is very hurtful what can I say. There are so many other cool people and I am going to make great friends of my own when I go to uni but gosh darn what a stress. Anyway I think that whenever one of them posts something I watch it and feel bad about myself and I really have to let it go because that's a self destructive behaviour and all it does is feed the demon inside that wants to know what they're doing and all that. God its dreadful. I look forward to not caring, and obviously being abandoned makes you romanticize it. God am I to her what alex is to me? what an embarrassment, I look  forward to the day I don't care. I made Sara my friend, she likes me, there really is nothing wrong with me. Andrea was never that great of a friend, I don't really even like Alfie, and Taylor I loved dearly, though she is very flawed. So it is fine to not be a part of it, Taylor was hurtful and when I get the chance to talk to her I will, but I shouldn't have to be fixated on this. I should allow myself to be free from concern about this.

Oh now the Nick complaints, Nick has been ignoring me completely going on two weeks now and more or less ignoring me before that. It makes me worry there is something wrong with our friendship or that whatever I may have done to Taylor she's told him about and now he doesn't love me. It's probably not that. I think Nick is just not that great of a friend, as in I love and adore him, but he's not able to be there you know ? He's in his own world, he's not reliable, and he's busy, he has work, and he's not a bad person and he's not a bad friend to have , and maybe he can give it to other people in a way he can't give to you! Maybe its true! But my anxiety about being loved and being loved the most shouldn't dictate how I feel about my friend. I need to understand that he is who he is, that there are circumstantial factors, but you have to understand who people are by what they show you, and what Nick shows me is that when he's there, he's there and it's amazing, but when he's not he might not be for a while. And also he has a boyfriend, but Nick is Always going to have a boyfriend, that's part of who he is, so I can love him, but I can't expect him to be the friend that's gonna show up in the day to day. John is my day to day, Alejandra is, and part of that is also who you're close to geographicaly and what your relationship has been through in the past. Jaya and I can have that patchy communication and it's wonderful, Ella and i have more time under our belt. So it's upsetting that he won't make you a priority as you do him but you gotta know this is part of who he is, and part of who he is, also, is not being very well i suppose in various ways and this is how he protects himself in many ways.

You see isn't it great to work through these things, what I need is a new institution where people are trying to make friends, the french course would be a great shout, honestly I think I might be up to it at this point, I need to book things and not just speculatively look, I also think I really need to drop the social medias, if I were living my dream life right now what would I be doing? I'd be writing and winning competitions and jobs, and I would have a girlfriend, and I would hang out with my friends all day. That's another thing being on this year is teaching me, not having to feel in demand all the time. What I loved about school and going out, at least in part, would be the performance of the thing, I want to feel wanted and seen and cool and loved and respected, so living with only my own eyes to watch me is a weird thing to go through. (Important to note also that there were so many days at schools that I wasn't in demand, that my friends wouldn't hang out with me, that I didn't crash into anyone or make them laugh, and actually I think a lot of the anxiety I have about these daily interactions is that feeling of giving a performance and wanting to impress). You see the writing really helps unravel my brain.

Well there you are, I'll see you tomorrow, I'm taking the apps off my phone and today I am trying to commit to asking myself to live my dream life.

[alexracheltravel]

Day Two: Good Ol' Northern Vietnam

Day two began quite early and this time, it was by choice. We had a big tour ahead of us. The hotel breakfast has been excellent so far and today was no exception. Pho bo for Alex and pho ga for Rachel. We included a healthy side of fruits as well.

Our tour bus picked us up at 7:45. His name was Phuong but he said, call me Happy. He used that word, happy, many times. Emphasis on language made it stick in our minds. It was a tad corny, silly, but his charming personality allowed us to power through the two hour trip out of the city and into Ninh Binh, in North Central Vietnam.

Hang Mua - the dragon mountain. 500 stairs and no elevator, cable car, or anything like that. What a climb. The viewpoint had two statues: one of Buddha, and the other of a stone dragon. Alex climbed all the way up to touch the dragon - a sign of good fortune, or so says the man who used the word happy in every other sentence. At the top we could see the river with mountains and if we turned around we saw the city of Ninh Binh.

Around noon we went to a buffet lunch, which was nothing we want to write more about. But we did get to chat with some of our tour companions, including two other Americans who just so happened to reside in Sunnyside, Queens.

At the restaurant we picked up some bicycles and we rode to the original capital of Vietnam. By original we mean a thousand years ago. The former site of the palace of Dinh Bo Linh. The cycling was not too hard but the bicycles were pretty beaten up, and the seats were fixed low for a shorter Vietnamese size. We still strolled through to view a temple, and gaze upon older architecture including stone "dragon beds."

After the temple visit, it was time for our boat ride, which we both would agree was the highlight of the excursion.

Trang An. We took a boat with our fellow New Yorkers for a two hour ride gazing in awe at limestone mountains, spying distant temples and navigating through caves. We didn't do any of the navigation, however - that was our boater - an unnamed older Vietnamese lady. It was a terrific trip, with mountains that could truly split clouds and inspire dreams. The caves were gorgeous and sparkled when we waved the light at it. You can thank the calcium deposits for that. 

With all that traveling, we passed out on the bus ride home. For sure.

We got home, grabbed our jackets and grabbed some dinner at a recommended pho spot. That's right. Two bowls of pho in one day. And we gotta say: it was terrific.

But that wasn't all. We ended our night by going to Vietnam's premier craft beer tavern. American style craft beer, mixed with Vietnamese flavors like passionfruit, guava, jasmine. This spot was on par with all the New York breweries and we made sure that we'd visit their Ho Chi Minh City location. Speaking of Ho Chi Minh City, that's where we're headed tomorrow. It was a sad goodbye to Hanoi but we can't stay in one place forever.

Total distance: six miles walked, three miles of cycling, and 34 flights of stairs.

Rachel: What a day. I feel like we saw so much and I'm filled with excitement and exhaustion. Where to even begin?

Alex: How about our new friends and neighbors? We met a couple who live in Queens and spent a decent amount of time with them. A very long boat ride. We talked a lot. How do you feel about them?

R: They remind me of a younger us.

A: Really?

R: Kind of! But they were different in that they are both in law school and both are more scared of the world that we ever were. And that's saying something for me.

A: I'd rather be on the boat with them than the Austrians who arrived late, got on the wrong bus at one point, coughed the entire time (I think he has asthma, not sick) and were generally not the vibe. What part of your body is most sore?

R: My thighs from the 500 very large steps that we did to get to a really incredible view.

A: Not gonna lie, at one point I was kind of worried you were really not doing well.

R: Well after nine miles yesterday, and still battling jet lag, the struggle is real.

A: The two bowls of pho didn't cure jet lag? We talked about this aloud but our hotel has really good breakfast. The pho was just as good in our hotel as in the best pho spot in Hanoi.

R: With a line to prove it!

A: For real. And all locals too. But we're leaving Northern Vietnam now. What memories will you take closest to you?

R: The boat ride today had caves. Limestone caves. It really reminded me of my dad and made me miss him a lot but grateful for all he taught me and felt like he was there with us.

A: It was my first thought too. I thought about the last time we went caving in Belize. And we're going scuba diving next week. It's these memories and trips that connect us to the people that we love that make it more special. 

R: So what memories will you keep?

A: Idk, pho?

R: I'm still dreaming about these summer rolls.

A: Next stop is a place that'll feel like summer. Saigon! 

[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)

[lucy90712]

cravings/mood swings (pregnancy series)

Series masterlist

George:

The hormones from pregnancy have made me an entirely different person at times which was a huge shock to both me and George when they first started to hit because I've always been pretty good with my emotions and hormones even when on my period. To me it isn't as bad because I only notice after my mood swings but poor George has to deal with me during.

George came down the stairs after filming a video and came to join me sat on the sofa. I was eating salty crisps (chips) some of which George stole as he sat down, this really set off my hormones for whatever reason and I looked at him with just pure anger that he would even dare to steal my food that I had been craving.

"George what the fuck I wanted those" I almost shouted

"I'm sorry love I didn't mean to I can get you more if you want them" he said panicked slightly

I gave no reaction to what George said as I came down from my rage because I realised I was being way too over the top. I always feel awful when I yell at George because he doesn't deserve it at all but he just happens to be around all the time so he's the one who bares the brunt of all my emotions. I apologised to George and gave him some of my crisps to make up for it and we cuddled on the sofa for a bit.

Later in the evening George was showing me cute videos he has of cat from when he was in his office which were just so adorable and made me so incredibly happy but then the sadness came over and tears started to fall down my face.

"Hey what's wrong?" George asked

"It's just so cute like how can one small animal be so cute" I sobbed

He comforted me and we spent the rest of the evening doing things that didn't provoke any emotions in me.

Dream:

My cravings have been very strong though my pregnancy so far which is a combination of normal things and weird concoctions just whatever I was feeling in that exact moment and I mean that exact moment. My cravings are things that have to be satisfied within the hour or else it's too late and I get over it.

It's about 10pm and I'm just chilling waiting for Clay to get out the shower so we can watch the office together. At that exact moment a craving for pickles came over me, its not a craving I've had before but its one that I know is kind of common. I checked all the cupboards and fridge to see if we had any but we didn't which made me quite sad.

Clay came down the stairs to see me staring at the empty cupboard with a few tears in my eyes. He came over to me looking at what I was before becoming very confused at what exactly was going through my mind clearly wondering if I was going a bit insane.

"Is everything alright?" He asked

"We don't have any pickles" I whined

"Do you want me to go and get you some?" He asked

I nodded my head and we went to the car to drive to the store to go buy pickles mainly because I didn't want to be left alone. Clay actually went into the store while I stayed in the car because he didn't want me getting cold but he soon came back with two jars of pickles just incase I wanted more another day.

Back at home I ate half the pickles in the jar and very much enjoyed it and so did baby which was the whole point of going to get them. I imagine just like every other craving I will get over it and move on to a new one.

Sapnap:

My mood swings have been insane so far during pregnancy like way morse than they would be before my period is due to arrive. I feel so awful that Sapnap has to deal with me because he used to hate it when I got so very emotional before my period and now its constant and like x1000.

I have been slightly more emotional than usual today which has just been ruining my day because I can't seem to get anything done without crying or raging at myself but I've yet to spend much time with Sapnap so he has been spared from my disastrous day so far. This soon changed when he came downstairs and sat with me on the sofa.

He attempted to cuddle with me but something in my brain told me that I didn't want that and I should be mad at him for even trying to be affectionate even though I love him so very much.

"No get off me" I said a bit too harshly

"Oh I'm sorry baby is there anything you want?" He asked trying to be accommodating

I shrugged him off still slightly angry but getting over it very quickly and feeling bad for half yelling at him. My anger soon completely dissolved and was replaced by sadness at the fact that I had yelled and now wanted to cuddle but he wasn't going to want to now right, I mean I've just yelled at him so why would he want to cuddle.

A few tears started to form in my eyes and soon spilled out onto my face wetting my cheeks which I tired to hide by facing away from Sapnap but of course he knows me and tried to see what I was hiding. As soon as he saw I was crying he put his hands on my face to wipe the tears and gave me a kiss.

"What's wrong babe? How can I fix it?" He asked

"I feel bad for yelling and I want cuddles but you don't want to give them to me because I was mean" I explained

"You are so silly of course I'll still give you cuddles if you want them" he said

He pulled me into a big bear hug where we stayed for the rest of the day and night.

Quackity:

I have been having a lot of odd cravings over the past few weeks most of which are completely unnatural and Alex thinks are gross but they actually taste really good. To me at least.

Tonight I was really feeling like eating chicken nuggets with honey, I really wanted to eat it but I was scared to ask Alex to come to the store with me because he would think it was weird and judge me which my fragile little heart couldn't take.

"Alex will you go to the store with me please?" I asked

"Of course love what do you want this time?" He asked

"Chicken nuggets and honey" I whispered

"What was that" he questioned

"Chicken nuggets and honey" I said a bit louder

"That sounds interesting lets go" he said

He grabbed my hand and pulled me up and to the car where we went to McDonald's for the chicken nuggets and then target for the honey before going back home. Alex was interested to try this combination too so the both of us sat down to try it. At first the flavour was really weird but once you got used to it it was really good actually and now I think I'm obsessed and by the looks of things so is Alex because his face looked like he had just had the best thing ever.

Karl:

Oh my has it been a rollercoaster so far, I've been so over emotional and have been craving so many different things it is so hard to keep up with for me let alone Karl.

This morning I was trying to make breakfast and I couldn't open the milk which upset me but then the bowls were up too high so I couldn't reach which made me even more upset but the last straw for this morning was when I had just sat down after struggling with everything and someone rang the doorbell just as I was about to eat the cereal I had really been wanting. I answered the door to collect the parcel the man had before going back to the living room with tears starting to slip down my face.

I'm not sure why I was so upset but I was which stopped me eating my cereal because I was crying which made me cry more because I really wanted the cereal, it was just an awful cycle. Karl walked in as I was staring at my full bowl of cereal sobbing which caused him to run over to see what was wrong.

"Hey hey whats wrong?" He asked

"Nothing is going right and all I want to do is eat my cereal but I can't because I'm crying which is making me more upset" I ranted

"Oh honey I'm sorry how about you follow my breathing to calm down and then eat your cereal ok?" He suggested

He helped me calm down enough to be able to eat my cereal which was kind of soggy by now but I still very much enjoyed it and soon got back to my normal self.

Wilbur:

My hormones are all over the place which normally I can handle but every now and then I get too overly emotional and just cry over random things, this usually happens when I'm alone so I just deal with it myself.

Today Wilbur took the day off from working so he's here to see the rollercoaster that is my day and believe me it can be a rollercoaster. I had a breakdown this morning when doing chores I was unloading the dishwasher and I kept almost dropping everything I touched which made me so mad at myself and really sad at the same time. I just left the room and sat down for a minute talking to myself to sort my brain out then went back to doing chores.

Later in the afternoon we were watching a nature documentary which we do a lot and there was this lizard and her babies that were being hunted by a large bird, I was willing them to get away but the bird caught the babies and the mother got away. This made me so sad that the lizard lost her babies while I was sat there carrying my baby. I started crying thinking about the fact that anything could happen to little bean once their here.

"It's ok love its just natures way" Wilbur said

"But what if bad things happen to bean when their here obviously not like that but anything could happen" I sniffled

"We will protect bean as best we can to stop anything bad happening but for now their safe where they are" Wilbur said

This made me feel better and luckily the rest of the documentary wasn't sad at all and there was some cute moments which made me forget about all my worries.

[shootingstarwritings]

Keepin’ it in the Family

Manfred—Freddy for short—was a young man that spent his life in the shadow of his uncle’s side of the family. Meek, shy, unassuming, and more of an indoors type. “I’m more of a type B kind of fellow,” he would answer whenever someone asked him what kind of person he was. Meanwhile, Daniel Crawford and his son, Alex, were the exact opposite. Tall, strong, and always willing to get down and sweaty in an activity. They often dominated every family gathering and gleefully hogged the spotlight shined on them.

“Did you know Alex got a football scholarship… Daniel bought a second house… oh my gawd, li’l Danny got so buff last year, can’t believe he used to be my younger bro…!” On and on Freddy would hear until he got sick of it.

“Why dontcha join a team or somethin’, squirt?” his cousin Alex teased him while roughly messing up his hair. Although Freddy couldn’t deny his cousin was annoying and far too energetic, he couldn’t bring himself to hate him. There was always an authenticity behind his invites to play football with his friends. He was brutish but kind. That was all.

Freddy’s uncle Daniel was a different story.

On a certain day during a family gathering, Daniel concerned Freddy in a hallway. “Perhaps if you applied yourself more," he once told Freddy, the disdain clear in his voice, "you'd get as far as my boy does in life." The rest of the family was just a few rooms away, but their cheerful voices were worlds away. “But until you do that, I want you to stop spending any time with Alex. Honestly don’t know why he wastes his precious youth on someone like you.”

Freddy didn't respond but nodded while glaring defiantly at the floor. He jumped back as his uncle grabbed him by the throat and forcefully tilted his head upwards. Freddy let out a sharp hiss of pain but prevented himself from screaming.

With a low voice, his uncle Daniel said, “Look at me while I’m speaking, you little shit. Don’t want your mediocrity holding my golden son back. Stay away from him or else.” He punctuated his last words by shoving Freddy to the wall. “Can’t believe you and your father are related to us. Well, guess we know who got the better genes in the family.”

Freddy glared at him as he walked away. It was painful, but he could endure. As long as he lived, he would not let this abuse break him. The day would come when he would prove him wrong.

However, it all came to a head about a week ago, when Freddy announced his plans for a graduation party. Most of the replies in the texts he sent out for his family were some variation of, “Oh, I’m sorry Freddy, but your uncle Danny is planning to celebrate his promotion at work that day. Perhaps you can reschedule.” As always, Freddy remained overshadowed.

“Bastards,” Freddy’s father, a rotund and balding man by the name of Benny, exclaimed as he saw the texts. “Can’t even spare a day for you. It’s always those two pricks.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Freddy muttered, glaring down at the texts on his phone. How often had his family ignored him in favor of those two? How often did his uncle mistreat him to guarantee that his ‘golden child’ Alex would remain as successful as he was? The questions kept echoing in his mind until, finally, he decided to cut this cycle.

“If you want,” his father tried again, “we can spend that weekend just the two of us, son. We can travel and celebrate our way."

“It’s all right, dad. I know exactly what I’m gonna do,” said Freddy as he marched off to his room. He would have to draw up the runes and memorize the incantations before long. By being efficient, he would have the spell all set by dawn’s early light.

However, his father stopped him by placing a firm hand on his shoulder—a rarity. “Hold on son," Benny said in a tender voice. "I understand what you're going through, believe me, I know. I was never the golden child of the family either. Danny made sure of that." There was disdain in Benny's voice that Freddy had never heard from before, but he had little time to dwell on it as his father continued. "But, to me, you'll always be the golden child, Freddy. I just want you to know that." Then, Benny pulled his son in for a hug.

Freddy eagerly returned in, shoving his thoughts of revenge to the back of his mind for the moment. Now, he just wanted to spend time with his father. Dusk came and went, and the two bid each other good night as they settled into their rooms on different floors. With nothing to interrupt Freddy, he set off to work.

It began when he found a book of occult rituals and spells in his father's study. Never had Benny spoken about this to Freddy, and Freddy lacked the courage to confront his father about it. Instead, he took photos of the various pages of spells and tried them out for himself—another reason why he did not want his father to know that he knew. By doing this magic in secret, Freddy could indulge in his fantasies that were now just a spell away. Coaches, classmates, and neighbors all fell to his charms and rituals; fulfilling deviant actions according to his whims.

My father can never know, Freddy thought bitterly to himself as he drew the sigils on his rug with chalk, he’ll never know so he’ll always be proud of me, his pure and hard-working son.

Tonight would be the first time Freddy would attempt the possession spell as well as the first time he broke a rule he had set for himself when he first began to use magic: never involve a family member. Now, he read through the procedure on his phone and prepared to sink into an even deeper level of deviancy. A bit of the text at the bottom of the page was faded, but the instructions were all written out. It’s most likely flavor text, Freddy thought.

This spell would allow the invoker to project his soul towards an unassuming target. From then on, a battle of wills would begin, and the dominant soul would take over the body. The invoker is not guaranteed to be successful. Caution must be exercised, and a strong will is heavily recommended.

It was a frightening thought, but Freddy did not allow that to slow him down. His hands trembled with excitement and his heart raced with pure adrenaline as he pictured his uncle’s sexy yet punchable face.

In the heat of the moment, Freddy cast the spell alongside the rising sun. Once those accursed words left his lips, a sharp and painful sensation spread throughout his body. It was as if his soul was being stretched and twisted, like a rubber band. However, he just gritted his teeth and endured it as he always did. The suffering of a spell or his uncle’s harassment was all the same—nothing he couldn’t handle. However, when the pain continued to grow in magnitude, Freddy was afraid this spell was going to rip his soul in half.

Then came the release—the catharsis. The spell catapulted Freddy’s soul at a speed rivaling that of a bullet train’s. Freddy screamed both in terror and sheer jubilation as his soul traveled through the dawn-dyed sky. Everything, even the sun, was a blurry mess until he arrived at his uncle’s expensive house, where he finally stopped. He was back in control.

Slowly, Freddy glided through the halls of a home that alienated him for most of his life. While searching for his uncle’s room, he stumbled upon his cousin Alex sleeping on top of the covers, clad in just a pair of boxer briefs. Though Freddy intended to keep moving, he remained still and watched his cousin’s chest slowly rise and fall as he slept peacefully.

“You deserve a better father,” Freddy whispered, caressing his cousin’s cheek with his ghostly hand. His voice and touch were nothing more than a chilly breeze on Alex’s bare skin. When Freddy noticed the goosebumps that spread down his cousin’s arms, he drew back and excused himself from the room. His target still needed to be punished.

A few hallways later, Freddy found himself floating above his uncle. Daniel, just like his son, slept above his covers and nearly in the nude to deal with the brutal summer heat. Even so, beads of sweat still glistened in his half-naked, furry body. His breathing was just as peaceful and gentle as Alex's as it passed through his heart-shaped lips. "If only you were as kind as you look while sleeping," Freddy said as he glared down at Daniel. Hatred and lust pushed him forward, and he gleefully enacted his plan.

Having spent quite a long time manipulating the wills of men, Freddy knew that the best way to overwhelm them was to do so post-coitus. “You’ll be my ticket to happiness,” he whispered to his uncle, “you piece of shit asshole.” He began by running his tongue down his uncle’s bare chest, giving the nipple a lick.

The effect was immediate. Daniel’s eyes shot open as he shivered at the paranormal touch. He looked around, perplexed. “What the fuck?” he said.

Freddy snickered at his uncle’s confusion. He pushed his uncle back onto the bed, one hand twirling and playing with his nipples while another teased the bulge hidden by the briefs. “W-Woah, oh shit!” said Daniel, trying to kick his invisible assaulter away to no avail. When the sensation didn’t stop, Daniel attempted to rise only for Freddy to roughly shove him back onto the bed again.

“I’m not done with you!” Freddy roared to his uncle’s terror. The rush of power was intoxicating, and Freddy greedily drank in every pathetic whimper and moan from his uncle. He pulled his underwear off, revealing his uncle’s large hard-on, and threw it to the side. “God, you’re thick,” Freddy moaned as he took his uncle’s cock in his hand. “C’mon, cum for me, old man,” he said as his lips played with the pecs. He continued to mercilessly play with his uncle, humping his body to elicit more of his moans.

“N-No—aahh, mmm! Pl-Please stoooAAAAHH—stop!” said Daniel as he felt his core tighten. Freddy noticed it too and quickly released his uncle from his sexual grasp. “AH! Oh fuck, I’m—ngh!” said Daniel as his abused dick begged for release.

“Not yet, that's gonna be my climax, uncle," Freddy said. To reward his uncle was far more than what the bastard deserved. Instead, Freddy would steal his climax, his body, and his dignity. “You’re mine!” he said, caution be damned as he dove into his uncle’s body.

“F-Fred—OOF!” The sheer force of Freddy’s dive caused his uncle to bounce on the mattress. “Oh FUCK!” Daniel cried out as he felt impossibly full. Two souls occupied the same space, and much like the shifting plates of the ever-changing earth, stress was born of this conflict. Daniel gritted his teeth, even more sweat coating his convulsing body as he attempted to hold onto his consciousness. However, Freddy’s essence continued to spread.

The possession spell operated on a similar concept as ink falling upon a cup of pure water. Slowly, the water would darken as it took on the shade of the ink until it was almost completely indistinguishable from the original ink that tinted—or tainted—it.

Just as the ink colored the water, so too did Freddy’s soul spill and tint his uncle’s very essence—mind, body, and spirit. Daniel, of course, continued to push his nephew’s soul out of him. He kicked at his bed and gripped his sheets so tightly his veins were visible in his arms. Until the very last second, he tried to will his body back under his control. However, he eventually collapsed onto his bed, eyes rolling into the back of his head, and blacked out. His body convulsed for a few more minutes as it took on the last remains of Freddy's essence, before finally quieting down.

Freddy opened his new eyes and immediately put his attention back on his uncle's dick. "Oh god, uncle, you're so sensitive!" he said as he continued stroking himself. “I-I’m CUMMING!” he bellowed as he shot load after load in his new form, seeing white as he fell back onto the sweat-covered sheets. “Oh my god, Danny-boy, I can’t wait to wreck you today.” Freddy would seize the day, and by nightfall, he would make his uncle a shame upon his family.

A few hallways away, Alex had his own visitor.

“S-Stop, uncle!” Alex screamed as the much larger soul of Benny finished entering his younger body. “Y-You can’t—AH! AAAHHH!” He whimpered and moaned just as his father did before collapsing into a mess of convulsing limbs.

Alex blacked out, and his uncle Benny awoke. “God, that felt good,” he said, stretching his new, muscular body. It was pleasurably sore after the workout he gave his unwilling nephew. “Ya got a good lookin’ bod, kid,” he said, grinning as he rubbed his hands down his new form. “But it’s my turn to be the golden child, if only for a day,” he finished, excited to have his hole filled in a day filled with debauchery.

Unbeknownst to father and son, there was more to the spell lost as the ink faded from the page. It read as follows:

Just as the water becomes nearly inseparable from the ink, the souls also become unable to be torn apart. There is no hope for the water to become pure and no hope for the ink to be whole. They are bound together for eternity, as are the souls tainted by the invoker. The invoker’s body will perish upon the spell’s completion, and the invoker will remain in their new body until the possession spell is used again, thus killing the old target.

[ober-affen-geil]

It should come as absolutely no surprise that Malex is the reason I finally have my meta hat on this season so let’s skip the intro and dive STRAIGHT INTO THE GROWTH THIS EPISODE SERVED US HUH?

*Disclaimer that once again, my metas are my thoughts and opinions and nothing else. CW for brief mentions of child abuse and trauma as well as unhealthy relationships. Also a warning that this is going to mention Michael slamming Alex’s car door in a positive light, as well as Alex physically grabbing Michael’s hand to prevent him using his powers. If that bothers you I’m not offended, but this meta may not be for you.*

So a quick recap of my thoughts on Malex, for a post s2/pre s3 summary see here. The main point, imo, that Michael and Alex actually “broke up” (in the sense that any relationship going forward would not happen without real development) was in 2x01 when Michael told Alex he was saying “no” to him because he was tired of being pushed around. This was the start of Michael really breaking their unhealthy cycle of miscommunication and failure to really *talk* to each other. 

In 3x06, we see him stand firm on that when he refuses to let Alex leave without giving him some answers. He can *see* that Alex is blowing him off and this is important to him. So he makes Alex listen to him, forces him to communicate which is really all he wanted to begin with.

He tells Alex “no”.

In this episode that conversation is briefly rehashed, because Alex is doing it again. He isn’t communicating with Michael about why or what his decisions are, he’s just making a broad statement and expecting Michael to do what he says. He’s failing to treat Michael as an equal.

Michael says “no” again. Keep in mind, this isn’t a “no” to be contrary, this is a “no, I need more information than that.” Michael is willing to trust Alex, but Alex is showing Michael he is not willing to do the same. A relationship, of any kind, based on that foundation is not an equal one.

So Alex concedes. He shares his reasoning with Michael, explains his own plan, and off they go with no more pushback. Because again, Michael is not being contrary here. He has every right to know and understand where Alex is coming from and what he’s doing and why and Alex knows it. So when Alex communicates, Michael is pacified. Because it’s all he wanted anyway. It’s the start of truly building real trust between them as equals.

Alex, stubborn as he is, is smart enough to see that too. Because Michael starts getting restless and Alex shuts him down hard. He’s right, and Michael knows it, but he’s not happy about it. So he doesn’t quite give Alex a “no” outright, but Alex can see that he wants to. Michael is not directly pushing, but Alex feels pressure nonetheless.

So he makes a difficult personal decision and opens up to Michael about something more than The Plan. He shares the reason *why* he is so insistent on sticking to it, because he’s seen what happens when the plan goes wrong. This is a huge display of trust on Alex’s part, and Michael immediately recognizes the vulnerability for the olive branch it is.

When we get to the porch at the Pony though, this is where the real growth hits. Because Alex didn’t HAVE to share that information. There was no situational pressure, Michael wasn’t forcing him to communicate with him, there was no real reason he had to tell Michael about the Lockhart Machine. Except that he thought Michael deserved to know.

Alex *volunteers* information and that is the final step they needed to get in sync. ...Except it’s kind of not. Because a relationship is a two way street, and Michael has been growing this episode too. So let’s look at his side.

Michael, outside of Alex, has a real issue with trusting people outside of himself. This is...not surprising given his upbringing, but his renewing of his relationship with Max and Isobel has been helping. So did his relationship with Maria, who gave him her own “no”s about his harmfully independent behavior. Michael has been learning how to lean on other people, to trust in ways both similar and different than how Alex needs to learn as well.

In this episode, we see that in his reactions to Alex. At the truck in the beginning, he concedes the plan to get Max away from Jones to Alex. After getting the details from him, of course, as is reasonable, but it’s still a concession. It’s a “I will let you do this even though I think I could do it myself”. For Michael, that’s progress. 

When they find Jones, Michael makes another concession. Because the thing is, the sword is *right there*. It would be so EASY for Michael to take it like he’d planned. To not have to rely on Alex to help him. And he nearly does it too. But Alex stops him, grabs his hand, and that is ENOUGH to make him stop. There are few things on Earth that could prevent Michael from acting immediately to save his brother, Alex is one of them.

Because Michael knows he’s right. He knows Alex’s plan is more strategic and safer, and has a higher likelyhood of working without anyone dying. It’s still an enormous display of trust for Michael to not react by pushing Alex away from him or arguing with him on the spot.

Again though, like Alex, the real growth is on the porch at the Pony. Alex showed his trust in Michael by volunteering information he didn’t have to. Michael shows his trust in Alex by making his own decision to stay away from Deep Sky.

Alex has already told him he doesn’t want Michael around what he’s doing there, and this episode he tells him why (you are the one piece I cannot lose). Michael understands and respects this, but also understands the impracticality of him wanting to get involved at all. Never mind that Ramos as much as told Alex they were trying to use him to recruit an alien to work on the machine. Michael draws his own conclusions and makes his own choice to step away from Deep Sky. From his mother’s machine.

This entire episode has been the two of them building trust with each other.

Alex giving Deep Sky details to Michael at the beginning says I trust you to listen. Alex sharing his reason for staying on plan says I trust you with my past. Alex telling Michael about the Lockhart Machine says I trust you with my job.

Michael listening to Alex and letting him take charge at the beginning says I trust you to share. Michael allowing Alex to prevent him from using his powers on the sword right away say I trust you with my brother. Michael stepping away from trying to get into Deep Sky says I trust you with my mother.

And finally, at the end, they speak as one:

I trust you with myself

[sunjaesol]

we’re dancing under the rain

canon compliant juke | fluff! | inspiration: rain // ben platt

Julie wondered if one day, she could stop loving. Because damn - it hurt. It hurt to love so much and continuously have her heart be broken. Love and heartache cycled through her life like a never ending train and the girl was in a constant battle of wanting to shut down or give it another chance. 

She always chose the latter, obviously, but that hurt too. The price she needed to pay to have such meaningful friendships. If she didn’t, she wouldn’t have become a family with a trio of ghosts and an adjacent skater ghost. The problem of caring so much was when the heart got involved, when that heart beat a second too fast, too willingly, too adoringly. 

It made her vulnerable, her heart jumping out of her chest to sync with the other person and then getting crushed instead. This time, it cut her particulary deep. 

Nick broke up with her. 

A puffy-eyed Julie sat huddled in the studio under a blanket. He did it during lunch. All of a sudden, he pulled her aside into the hallway, told her they didn’t quite fit together and that it was better if they broke up. He pretended like she had a say in it, though it was clear he already made up his mind. Which was even worse, Julie found. Nick had thought about it before, probably more than once. His words made her feel like a fool. There she was, thinking their relationship was going smooth, getting squashed a minute after that: no, actually, it’s not going smoothly and you’re probably in denial so let’s end it now.

Later, she’d probably thank him for ripping the band-aid. She was now allowed to be heartbroken.    

Outside, rain was slamming against the pavement. That was the only good thing about the situation; the weather deciding to match her mood and mourn with her.

Luke poofed in with his signature grin, lips shaping to blurt out a story and then crashing into a frown when he saw the state she was in. 

“Jules?”

Wordlessly, she covered her tear-stained cheeks with the blanket. She hated it when people - especially Luke - caught her at her lowest. The boys were dead, she couldn't really complain about minor inconveniences when the only reason they were breathing was out of habit. 

The couch dipped at her feet. A careful hand patted her calf. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she mumbled. 

“Yes, cause that’s what I do when nothing’s wrong.” His voice was light, though a keen ear like hers could sense the hint of concern. “I cry.”

Julie huffed, pulling the blanket back to scowl at him. “Nick broke up with me. But it’s whatever because it clearly wasn’t as big of a deal to him as it was to me, so-” Shrugging, she sat upright and wiped her runny nose with the sleeve of her sweater. “It is nothing.”

Her fingers combed through her hair, trying to relieve the heat bugging her skin. God, she just wanted this day to be over with. She didn’t want to rehearse and do homework and eat dinner and pretend everything was dandy. She just wanted to cry and sleep and not have Luke’s stupidly green eyes drown in pity. 

“That sucks though,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”

Her lips rolled inwards, a smile forming despite her mood. “Not your fault.” Their gazes met. It felt new, somehow. “My heart is just… too open, I guess.”

Luke tapped her calf again, mirth lilting his tone. “Still not a bad thing. It was cool in the 90s and it’s cool now. He’s an idiot for not going crazy over it.”

“My open heart?”, she chuckled. 

“Yeah.” A beat. His eyes haven’t wavered. “Or you. In general.”

The smile bloomed to a full grin, a sliver of levity easing the ache in her chest. Why did he always know what to say? Granted, he used to be horrible at cheering her up, when she was fifteen and sadness lingered in her every move, but he got the hang of it after two years. A reassuring kiss on her temple before a stressful gig, a particularly uplifting speech during band circle, a new tune he came up with when he knew she didn’t feel like talking. Her teenage girl melodrama unfazed him. 

Luke met her halfway for a tight hug. It was the most comfortable place to be; her cheek on his shoulder and his arms holding her so securely and how, after all they’ve been through, his 90s cologne smelled like home. 

“Thank you,” she mumbled. “Some ghost girl is going to be so happy you’ve had practise dealing with me.”

He snorted. “Ah, yes. My harem of ghost girls. The, uh, market is really big for me.”

It wasn’t something they often discussed. It became clear that the boys weren’t going to cross over any time soon (if crossing over was even a thing, or the thing they thought it would be) and had time to settle into a long afterlife. Willie had been wandering around since the seventies and only now found Alex, so who knew how long Luke and Reggie would have to wait until they met their ghost-mate. It was a sad thought, but at least they had each other and music and the band. 

There was also the minor problem that Luke sometimes had this look on his face, usually fixed on her, that left little to the interpretation. It hasn’t happened in a while, but every so often…

It kind of made her breathless. Whatever. It was dumb. Those feelings have long been buried. The point was that he should look at ghost girls like that - not her.   

(A month after The Orpheum, they sat side by side behind the grand piano as they belted out a new song they’ve been working on, her fingers expertly gliding across the keys and slamming on those that needed that extra power. Julie was fully entranced, head thrown back and smiling through the lyrics as their voices reached a beautiful harmony no one could compete with. The last note drifted across the studio. When she turned to look at him, she expected to see the same grin. Instead, Luke gave her such a tender look, close, and let his doe eyes wander past her nose. Had Reggie not poofed in, she didn’t know if she would’ve had the restraint to not give in. To not be selfish. It was years ago, but she thought about it each time he joined her at the piano. It was the price for friendship, Julie often reminded herself. For an eternal bond.) 

Rain kept drumming into the ground. It sounded like a million ping pong balls fell onto the roof at an incredible speed. 

Luke pulled away and shot a look outside. “Damn.”

“Yeah,” Julie nodded. “I made a deal with God today. If I cry, the world does too.”

He rolled his eyes. “Dramatic.”

The smile stuck to her cheeks. Luke only needed a few minutes to lift her spirits. Tears didn’t even well up anymore. Was that bad? That one the same day, just in the afternoon, she already felt a bit better? She decided to not mull on the why.

“Wanna dance in the rain?”

She blinked. “What?”

He matched her smile, throwing his thumb at the doors. “Do you wanna dance in the rain?”

It was as if her brain wasn’t processing his words. “What? Why?”

“Why not?”, he shrugged. “You feel like shit, it never rains in LA and it’s fun.”

Quiet excitement coursed through her veins, the thrill pushing energy back in her bloodstream. Why not? The expectant twinkle in his eye brought colour to her face, jumping off the couch pulling him up with her. His whooping got her to laugh. It almost surprised her; she hasn’t properly laughed at all today. 

They each pulled one sliding door open, their ears instantly bombarded with noise. It was the hardest downpour of the year! 

“No running for cover!”, he yelled above the loud rushing of rain.     

She stuck her pinky out. “Only if you won’t!”  

And then they stepped in the rain. They were drenched straight away, a squeal erupting from her lips as the coldness crept between her clothes. He laughed, raking his hair back and leaping into a puddle. Water splashed around him. 

His voice bellowed through the sound. “C’mon!”

It spurred her into action, his laugh replaying in her head over and over again, as her head lolled back and began to twirl in circles. Faster and faster, giggles tumbling out as felt herself becoming one with the rain. This was exactly what she needed. A moment of silliness and unconditional joy! 

Luke was dancing like a maniac next to her, feet kicking and arms outstretched. She found herself staring at his profile, how bliss broke the lines in his face and caused a crescendo of glee to overcome him. It was mesmerising. Julie found herself slowing down, taken aback by the hope rising in her chest at the mere sight of him. 

What she hoped for, she didn’t know. (She did. She just couldn’t admit it just yet.) 

As if sensing her thoughts, Luke caught her eye with and yanked her into the dance without a second of hesitation. They spun around, hands intertwined and arms outstretched, daring to see how long they could keep going before one dropped from dizziness. Julie wasn’t afraid though. Luke would never let her fall. 

They let go just as they were losing balance, snickering like fools and trying to find footing again. Julie jumped onto his back, him instantly jostling her around until she got chucked off like a sack of potatoes. Each grin and laugh and crack of thunder mended her heart, slipping the pieces back together and allowing it to bloom once more. Keep on breaking, keep on loving, keep on hoping, keep on hoping for-

Luke locked his hands around the small of her back. “Ready?!”

He didn’t have to ask twice, their steps speeding up as she threw her arms beside her and then, at their fastest, pulled one leg up to swing in his hold. How she didn’t slip on the soaking wet ground was a miracle. 

Julie’s smile rivalled his, grabbing onto the lapels of his shacket to get him closer. He had something else in mind, hands slipping to her waist and launching her in the sky in one fluid motion. It took her breath away, quickly grabbing onto his shoulders and yelling her lungs out. It was just like in her dreams. Was it selfish of her to have yearned for this? 

(She felt it. The way her heart washed away all the troubles, how the numbing cold shrivelled to make place for someone else.)   

They shouted exclaims and curses into the rain. About Nick, about music, about each other, about how fucking unfair life could be, but damn - moments like these were worth the pain.  

Her drenched curls tickled his face, causing him to sputter and attract her focus. Julie looked down at him and didn’t stop the heartstopping smile growing on her face. Oh. 

Her fingers swiped against the planes of his cheeks, his grin beaming up at her and letting the dormant wildfire (snug between her ribs, among the flowers and the lyrics) come alive again. For so long, she hasn’t allowed herself to feel it. But how could she not when Luke propelled her into the storm itself, unify them like the whirlwind of passion they authentically were? 

They were the thunder and the lightning, the silver lining and the punch line - the dancers in the rain. 

He gently set her down, feet splashing. She didn’t let him pull away, instantly wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face into his wet shirt. They smelled like wet dogs and it was better than any perfume she’s ever had. 

“Thank you,” she whispered. 

His head settled on top of hers, cool breath fanning her skin. “I can’t have you down in the gutter, Jules. Ever.”

I love you. “Ever?”

She felt him move, her eyes tilting to meet his. That expression she cherished deeply returned tenfold. His tender smile, the green hooded by shy eyes, an incredulous hitch of the breath. 

Luke nodded, flitting gaze as if he didn’t quite know what to focus on, and carefully brushed a droplet from her cheek. “Ever.” 

(Julie got a cold the next day. It didn’t matter - she had the boy of her dreams to keep her company.) 

Breathe deep, let it wash over you We're slowly becoming lovers I promise you we won't be like the others We won't go running for cover

@blush-and-books​ @bluefirewrites​ @willexx​ @unsaid-emily​ @ourstarscollided​ @sophiphi​ @unsaidjulie​

[kindnessisweakness2]

Delusional - Part 9!

When Delaney woke up she didn't recognize anything around her. One thing she did know is she felt like she had been hit by a truck. Looking around her, the dimly lit room was empty apart from a shabby wooden table a few feet infront of her with a camera tripod placed in the centre. Looking down at the uncomfortable chair she was sat in she silently thanked god she was still in her shorts and Jax’s T-shirt she wore yesterday. As her head pounded painfully she tried to think back to yesterday and how the hell she ended up here. She couldnt remember anything after crying in the bathroom as Jax left. Jax. Oh God. He was probably hauled up with Tara making up for lost time. he probably didnt even know she was gone. Tears welled in her eyes as she realised no one was looking for her. No one knew she was gone. Before she could let herself panic too much the heavy steel door to the right of the room was slammed open. Out walked Kevin and Delaneys stomach dropped heavily. Yes Kevin was weird but he couldnt be the matermind behind this. NO. Delaney was 100% sure there was something else to this. She didnt have to wait long to get her answer either. A few minutes later Alex followed Kevin into the cold room with a video camera held tightly in his hands. Delaney Knew she was right. Her Jaw fell slack as she made eye contact with the man that ruined her life and nearly killed her. The man she was convinced for years she loved deeply. “Hey Babe, Did you miss me?” Alex smirked at the shock that was still clear on he face. “What? W-why? H-how?” Delaney could barley speak never mind stutter the small questions she do desperately wanted answers to. “Oh sweetie ill explain everything dont you worry. But first things first-” Alex raised his finger dramatically and turned to the video camera that now sat firmly on the tripod. Pressing the ON button and connecting a cable it beeped to life. “ I dont think your little Biker Bitch will want to miss out on this.” Before Delaney could say anything a chain was tightly hooked to the handcuffs around her wrists and yanked upwards. In seconds she was hung from the ceiling with her arms suspended above her head. Gasping in pain she clenched her eyes shut tightly. Her shoulders were on fire immediately and her toes barley brushed the damp floor. Glaring at Alex as he came to stand Beside her Delaney scoffed. “So whats the plan? Kill me? Send the video to the club? You know they’ll kill you right? You kill me and Jax will come for your head.” Alex burst out laughing and shook his head. “Oh Baby girl, you’ve grown some balls since you were mine.” Grabbing her face tightly he yanked her forward on the chain so she was closer to the camera. “This is being streamed to the Clubhouse as we speak. Kevin here managed to change the connection at the last beer delivery and you didnt even notice.” Tutting at her sarcastically Alex let go of her face and smiled at her. “Kevin here is a sucker for a pretty face. He fell for you pretty quickly. I find it quite rude you weren’t particularly nice about the gifts he left for you. The notes were me ofcourse. Poor Kevin here doesnt have the same artistic flare as me.” Alex’s smile was sinister as he turned from Delaney to take a Knife from Kevin. Delaney’s stomach turned as he made his way back towards her and grabbed her neck tightly so she couldnt flinch away. The grin on his face made Delaney feel sick as he cut the navy blue SAMCRO T-shirt from her body. She could only hope that whatever it was he had planned for her, he would kill her quick. 

The slamming of the clubhouse door hinted at Jax’s arrival. Half sack had called him to explain what showed up on the bar TV and within minutes every club member and Gemma was crowded around the large screen. Jax’s heart broke as his eyes locked on Delaney’s fearful ones. She was hung from the ceiling in nothing but a black lace bra and black cycle shorts. “So this is what you’ve been planning for the year we’ve been seperated? Finding me a stalker and planning your revenge?” Delaney spat angrily. Kevin stood in the corner just staring ad her as she was suspended half naked in the dirty room and it made her want to vomit. Jax turned up the volume on the TV just as Alex came into view. Looking at his mother Jax’s eyes were on fire with anger. “I thought you said he left her and moved back to England?” Gemma glared at her son. “ And i thought you were meant to be protecting her? You left her and the bastard swooped in and took her! I’m not the only one with some explaining to do am i?!” Jax shook his head and turned back to the screen. Now was not the time to argue with his impossible mother. He needed to focus on finding Delaney. He focused his attention back on the screen just in time to see Alex put the Knife to her neck. “You were mine. You really think i was going to let you go that easy? We would still be together if it wasnt for Jaxon Teller. You didnt care about me anymore once you met him.” Alex Gripped Delaney by the Hair and pulled her head back exposing her neck more. “You’re wrong! About everything.” Gasping in pain as strands of her hair were pulled out by the roots Delaney had to argue. She couldnt let him blame everything on Jax. “You’re just upset you lost your fucking punchbag! You beat me almost every day i was with you for nothing. The day i got that Job at Teller-Morrow was the day i got part of my life back. I wasnt just your housewife anymore. I had my own money and i was saving up to leave you.” Alex stepped away from Delaney his face crimson red with anger, But with tears streaming down her face she continued to tell him the truth. Her Truth. He needed to know just how much of a monster he was. “Then i came home late from a club party late, they’d asked me to work the bar, do you remember? How you accused me of sleeping with every member? How you told me the only thing i was good for was being passed around? That no one would ever want me?! Do you remember Alex? How you beat me so bad my eyes were swollen shut for days. How i was unconscious on our kitchen floor for 2 days. How you stomped on my chest the next morning and broke 4 of my ribs because i physically couldnt get up and make you breakfast! How you made me clean ourhouse on my hands and knees because i was in too weak, in too much pain to stand!” Alex scoffed as Delaney sobbed. “You fucking deserved it! You were sleeping with Teller behind my back! you just wanted to get rid of me so you could be with him. you never paid me any attention and hung around him like a desperate whore. You think i dont remember those times i came to pick you up from work to see you flirting with him right infront of my face. Laughing and Giggling like a teenage school girl! You were practically begging for him!” 

Grabbing hold of the chain Delaney was tied to he spun her around. Delaney knew what was coming next and couldnt help but squeeze her eyes shut in fear. “You didn't waste any time did you you bitch? you got his crow tattooed across your shoulders. Isn’t that how that sordid little club marks women as theirs?” Delaney stayed silent and hung her head as she felt Alex press the knife into the middle of her back where Jax’s initals sat underneath the black crow in flight that stretched across her upper back and shoulders. “Its not like that.” Delaney muttered as tears welled in her eyes. “Oh did he mark you as his then threw you away like the cheap little bitch you always have been? Poor Delaney, no one ever wanted you so you throw yourself at the first man that looks your way.” More tears fell from her eyes as she Shook her head, “You know NOTHING about him. He’s more of a man than you’ll EVER be. He’s a good person, Hes loyal and he would do anything for family. You? Youre a fucking coward.” Alex’s face was like thunder. Pulling the chain hard making her yelp in pain as she was quickly turned to face him he punched her in the face making her swing backwards. Feeling the blood run down her lips Delaney grinned as she met Alex’s brown eyes. “Point proven! You’ll put your hands on a woman but you’d never hit a man. As a Great friend of mine would say you’re a Slimy Wee Bastard.” Her heart clenched painfully as she thought of Chibs he was like a father to her and she wouldnt even get to say goodbye. 

Back at the Club house the other members of SAMCRO couldnt hide their shock at the revelation that Delaney had Jax’s Crow. “You marked her?” Clay nearly exploded. “You marked her as shes not even your old lady?!” Gemma didnt even jumped to her sons defence as Clay shoved Jax hard. “Its not like that. It just happened!” Jax didnt bother trying to explain. There was so much more they didnt know about his and Delaneys relationship. “But what if she wants to be with another guy? Maybe another member?” Jax lunged for the prospect at the thought of his girl being with someone else. “O-or E-even a-another guy. J-just a normal regular guy?” Juice smacked Half sack around the head for his stupidity as Opie pulled Jax back from ripping the prospect apart. “Can we please focus on trying to find her? Every minute she’s with that psycho is another minute we are closer to him Killing her.” Gemma refocused everyones attention back on the screen trying to find anything that looked familiar in the room. The needed to work out where this Idiot would take her. Jax mentally made one promise as he watched Delaneys terrified eyes. Once he had her safe in his arms. There was no way he was ever letting her go.

[stillbandofbrothersthirsty]

Hii! May I request Heartbeat by Childish Gambino + love at first sight with Malarkey? Thank you❤️❤️

Yesss this song was MADE for my angsty soul! Malarkey and this song...phew, the angst. Thanks the request doll! <3

Who would have thought such a beautiful beginning would lead to such a painful end?

It had been love at first sight. You had caught his eye from across the room and it only took a matter of seconds for you to fall for that boyish smile. He fell in love with your laugh and you became obsessed with counting the freckles on his arms.

You had been different people back then. So full of hope, so full of potential, and so goddamn naive.

Your previous innocence seemed like a joke in the post-war world. You had to laugh at the memory of your childlike professions of love. How stupid they seemed now as you sat on the edge of his bed, pulling on your stockings and hating yourself. You had shared another midnight rendezvous without any intention or hope of reconciliation. After all, you had another man waiting for you and Don was nothing more than a ghost.

You used to consider yourself a good person. But something about him made you lose all rationality. Maybe you could have used your history as justification for your debauchery, but you both knew there was nothing romantic about your situation now. The war had broken Don and he had taken you down with him.

The last time you had truly felt anything was when his break-up letter arrived from Foy. It was the end of the world as you knew it, in the worst of ways. You had heard the news of Skip Muck, Alex Penkala, and Buck Compton from down the grapevine. You wrote to Don nearly every day with any desperate phrase of comfort you could conceive. He gave no response until he decided to end it. At the time, you couldn’t fathom how hollow his friends’ deaths had left him. You couldn’t comprehend how hurt people, hurt people. You had been a fool to think that you would be an exception in the depth of his pain.

Don could hardly look at you when he returned to the states. Part of you had hoped he would beg for you back but of course not, he had made his choice.

Besides, you had moved on. He had broken up with you after all. It was fully within your rights to date someone else; and at first, you were determined to respect your new relationship. But there was no avoiding Don. Every time you saw him your broken heart mourned for what you once had. You were a moth to his lamp if moths were self-sabotaging and lamps glowed dark.

You would be lying if you said you made every effort to resist Don. You would also be lying if you said you were trying to help him. It was clear to both of you that your relationship was beyond repair. And yet, you continued to go back to him time and time again. He had gone from the love of your life to your dirtiest secret.

You would like to say you resisted when he walked past with a scowl at the bar. You really shouldn’t care, especially when you were sitting beside your boyfriend who was ambitious and impressive and everything Don wasn’t. But you hated to think he was upset with you, especially when he had kissed you so sweetly the night before. But this was the cycle neither of you could escape. You were a reminder of everything he lost but couldn't bring himself to say goodbye to. It drove you crazy to see him with his new girlfriend. Surely she didn't make him happy?

At least the feeling seemed mutual. “Still with him?” Don couldn’t resist asking when you approach the bar. He always seemed to be there when your glass was empty. “Let me buy you a drink.” It wasn't a question.

“No, thank you,” you say. But your heart rate picks up just being closer to him. Though you’re looking straight ahead you can sense his amber eyes on you. He’s close enough that you can feel his warm breath on your cheek; it’s intoxicating. You try to remind yourself of how he’s treated you since Foy. From the breakup letter to the harsh words accusing you of not understanding his pain. You never pretended to understand his pain, all you wanted was to work through it together. He never gave you the chance.

“I can’t believe you’re with him,” he chuckles sardonically into his drink.

You can't help but look over at the girl he was with. She was nothing like you, is that what he liked now?

“He’s nice.” Your defense is weak, but that’s because you’re not sold on him either. You had love once, this wasn’t it.

And then he’s pushing the hair back behind your ear like he once did. And you notice the familiar patches of freckles around his wrist; the same ones you would run your thumb over before he ever left for Europe. You forget the glare he gave you when you first arrived at the bar because you can see that smile you fell in love with hidden behind the dark gold of his irises.

The next thing you know you’re lying to your boyfriend about feeling sick. You insist you get can home safely by yourself. Little does he know you’re not going home. Or maybe he is suspicious, but you don’t care, not when Don is waiting in the dark around the corner to take you back to his place.

And then he’s kissing you. And part of you wants to cry, you can feel the tears building but they’re never going to fall. You feel too numb to do anything except drag your lips across his familiar skin. You relish in the feeling of his bare skin against yours. In the darkness, you can almost imagine you’re touching the Don you once knew.

You knew what you were doing was wrong but you had made the accompanying guilt your friend. It was the price to pay to revisit the memory of true love that had been robbed by the evils of war.

[olivish]

Some thoughts about Melanie Cavill and her beautiful mind. 

I agree with others that Mel is neurodivergent/ autistic. I think this helps explain her passion and focus, and also why, in S1, she was so adept at “putting on a mask” and pretending to be someone else. Basically, I think she had been masking in some way or another her entire life, so when the time came to create the “Hospitality Melanie” persona, it was already second nature. 

I think this also explains why it took Melanie so long to see Wilford for the monster he is, and why he was able to control/ manipulate her for most of her life, despite her superior intelligence.  On that note, here are some of my MC HCs (I hope it goes without saying, I don’t mean to imply that anything described below is necessarily an “autistic” trait. This is simply how I imagine Melanie the person, who also happens to have autism.)

1. Before meeting Wilford, Melanie struggled to find her place in the world. She dropped out of high school because she was bored with the lessons and couldn’t be bothered to complete assignments. She had no friends, and most adults wrote her off as a trouble-maker.

Her family was poor, so she “borrowed” things they needed for the farm (some of them rather LARGE things), which earned her a juvenile record for theft. 

2. Because of this, Melanie believed she’d never go to college. That was fine, she thought, she wouldn’t fit in there. She didn’t fit in anywhere. The only person who didn’t make her feel like a misfit was her father, John Cavill, who was a patient man who loved farming, and who taught his daughter everything he knew about the trade. 

It wasn’t long, however, before John ran out of knowledge to share. Melanie was 8 when her father took her to the local library. “So,” he said. “What do you want to know?” 

“Everything.” 

From that moment on, John watched his daughter surpass him in every subject, every field of study. It was hard, not because he was prideful, but because it felt like he was losing her. But not completely. At least, not yet. 

Because for years after that, Melanie would seek her father out, and she’d talk at length about the topics that interested her, and he listened, enjoying her company, even after he ceased to understand a single word that came out of her mouth. 

I mean that literally. 

“Certains nématodes posent problème en agriculture parce qu'ils parasites des plantes ou des animaux d'élevage, mais la plupart stimulent la croissance en améliorant le cycle des nutriments.” “Mellie.” “Oui, papa?”  “You’re speaking French again.”  “Oh. Sorry.” 

3. Melanie’s mother was a different story. Shanon Cavill, nee Shanon O’Connell, was stern, intelligent and, due to an undiagnosed mood disorder, emotionally unstable. She’d lose her temper at the drop of a hat, and although she loved her daughter, she didn’t understand her. Shanon didn’t understand why someone so brilliant was throwing her life away. Dropping out of school, getting arrested, fooling around with boys, and girls, who didn’t care about her, and who only got her into trouble. 

Shanon said many words in the heat of many moments that she could never take back. Foolish. Reckless. Lazy. Quitter. 

The day Joseph Wilford showed up at the farm looking for Melanie, Shanon peered at him through the porch screen door. “Did she steal something from you?” she asked. “Because whatever it is, we can’t pay you back, so you’d best just leave before I let the dogs out.” 

Looking back, Wilford deeply regrets not heeding the lady Cavill’s advice. 

4. Melanie saw Wilford as her missing piece. Melanie always knew she was “bad with people”. To her, human beings were confounding black boxes.  INPUT > [???] > UNEXPECTED RESULT, USUALLY BAD. 

But Wilford. Joseph Wilford was a social magician! She watched in awe. Everyone adored him. He’d tell a joke and everyone laughed. Anything they needed for their work - funding, IP rights, permits, materials, labor - he procured through sheer force of charisma. 

He was just like her, except he had that one missing piece. 

It was the apparent gap in their interpersonal skills that led Melanie to conclude that she could never be a leader like him. That’s why she allowed Wilford to take credit for her work, why she believed him when he said it was better for all involved if she remained a ‘silent partner.’ 

That’s also why she never tried to run Snowpiercer as herself. Despite having all the skills, Melanie couldn’t imagine anyone would follow her leadership. 

(I think she was wrong about that...) 

5. It was Wilford who sent Melanie to college, and it was Wilford who coached her on how to “mask.” As a sociopath, nearly all of Wilford’s social interactions are theatre. They have to be. So when he met Melanie, he immediately saw what her problem was - the silly girl wasn’t acting! 

So he sat her down one day and gave her a gift. “A chess game?” she said. 

“Not a game. This box contains the secret to the universe.” 

She smiled, but he was serious. As Wilford set up the pieces he explained, “This is the whole world. Every type of person you’ll ever meet is here. Pawns, knights, bishops. They all have their rules, their own little scripts. The trick is, figure them out, while revealing nothing about yourself.” 

She didn’t understand, but in time, she would. Wilford taught her how to survive, but not as herself. He taught her to hide, to blend in, and to trust nobody but him. 

And it worked, to a certain extent. Melanie earned degrees from MIT and Yale, graduating with the highest honors, lauded as a prodigy. A recruiter from NASA asked if she’d be interested in applying for the astronaut program. Elon Musk asked the same thing, but he offered more money. 

Melanie could have worked anywhere. Done anything. But she went back to Wilford, partly out of loyalty, and partly because she believed he was the only person in the world who truly knew her, and saw her, and valued her for who she was. 

They weren’t lovers, but Melanie considered him just as close. For many years, he was her one partner and closest friend. 

6. When Melanie got pregnant with Alex, she was afraid she’d be a bad mother. She worried that she wouldn’t have that mysterious ‘maternal instinct’ that seemed to come naturally to other women. She thought maybe she was “broken” in a very particular way and shouldn’t be a parent. 

Those worries disappeared once Alex was born. More than that, Melanie’s deep connection with Alex made her consider that maybe she’d underestimated herself. In motherhood, Melanie found courage. She built stronger friendships with Ben & Jinju, and she began to interact with Wilford on a more equal footing. 

She started speaking up about things she never dared interfere with before. She didn’t like the company’s environmental practices. Their anti-union stances. Their parental leave policies were atrocious. Wilford was beside himself. He didn’t recognize her. He couldn’t wrap his mind around what happened. 

At a loss, Wilford blamed his catch-all word for human behavior that fell outside his bounds of understanding. 

“Sentimentality.” 

7. When Melanie lost Alex, she lost faith in herself. It wasn’t just the grief, or the guilt, though those were enormous. Melanie understood now: Alex was her missing piece. Alex was the one thing that made Melanie feel like she could do anything.

It cannot be overstated what a colossal blunder it was for Wilford to return Melanie’s superpower to her. He thought he was being clever in saving Alex, but from the moment Melanie blew up Big Alice’s connector and Alex gave her that grudging look of respect, all bets were off. 

Melanie remembered who she was. The awakening started with Layton, but it ended with Alex. 

Final thoughts: Melanie’s particular neurology has been a hot-button issue in the past, so I’m a little nervous posting this. Please reach out to me with any comments or concerns. Everything here is written with an open heart in good faith, and while I’m allergic to argument, I am addicted to discussion. <3

[infinity0nh1gh]

Koushi Sugawara x Reader

Angst

~Sugawara's POV~

I am just a fool to keep on chasing after nothing great

There they were right there shining.. perfect... Everything I'm not. Y/N L/N, the definition of perfection. But the thing was that they're my "friend" and I fell into a trap.

You are just a fool to keep pretending that you're loving me

They always tell me that I'm a "great friend", but is it always true? It was getting the best of me every time they told me. It... haunts me. 

I don't know where I'm supposed to go

I hide the fact that I might have a slight crush on them. But, like in a million years I would confess to them. 

Of course, Daichi and Asahi being the only ones that know my crush on them. They'll constantly tease me how I don't dare to confess to them. 

I was sitting in class and I could feel many pairs of eyes staring at me. 'Why are they staring at me' I thought to myself. Oh that's right I'm "friends" with Y/N they're probably jealous that I'm "friends" with them.

'Friends... Friends... Just friends...'

Call me on the phone at three, I talk to you while half asleep

I was trying to pay attention in class, but I was too busy just admiring Y/N. They looked at me, I waved but they ignored me. ‘Did I do something wrong’ I thought to myself. I feel like vomiting right then and there. But something was bothering me. Why was Y/N ignoring me and talking to other people? AH- I DON’T NEED TO WORRY ITS NOT LIKE WERE TOGETHER OR SOMETHING.

~3rd P.O.V.~ 

Next Day 

Y/N has been talking to other people but not Sugawara. Even some of his kohais. Was he worried? Yes. Did he miss Y/N? Yes. Was he desperate? No. Even if he was, he would still respect Y/N boundaries.

Complaining 'bout your mother so I take you to the cemetery

He would always try to talk to them. Sometimes Y/N would respond with small responses and sometimes they would just ignore him at all cost. He would buy Y/N her favorite drink, snack, or food. That's the only time Y/N would talk to Sugawara and act like nothing happened. He would ask his long-time friend, Haruki, but not even she would know how to help with that.

Rant to me I like the sound, I like your voice, I like your mouth

In Suga’s and Y/N’s science class they were desk buddies (A.N.my least favorite types of buddies) That was another chance for him to talk to Y/N. ‘Since we’re partners we have to talk to each other’ thought the setter. But luck is not on his side (A.N. But anime is our side) Y/N would just talk to the other people around them.

Another time, Y/N was on their phone texting someone. Suga out of curiosity saw who they were texting and he was the contact name ‘bae <3’. His heart shattered, he froze up, turned pale at the thought that his crush was taken. Daichi saw him and waved his hand to get Suga’s attention. Suga calmed down but it wasn’t enough to forget what just happened.

~Sugawara’s P.O.V.~

~After School ~

‘Idiot idiot idiot’ I thought ‘Of course they’re taken. Like who wouldn't confess to them first.’ Of course I was heartbroken, but like I what did you want me to feel, happy-happy joy-joy that my crush is dating another person and it��s not me. No. That's what I thought. I asked Coach Ukai if I can skip practice today, he said sure since I looked dead. Haruki asked me if I was okay,I just nodded.

‘He is not okay...” Haruki thought

 I went home very much tired, but not tired enough to go straight to sleep. I just kept on thinking about Y/N. ‘ I should just stop thinking about it’ I thought to myself again for like the 20th time today. I made some little snacks for the team that will cheer them up, especially the first years. I got my mind off Y/N for a good while. I went to bed peacefully.

~Next Day~

Cycling to school at 7:30 in the morning

I was walking to school and accidentally bumped into someone, “Ah I’m very much sorry...uhhh.” I saw Y/N with R/N (Random/Name), they… they were holding hands. ‘So is this the lucky person’ I thought to myself. 

I am still your baby boy I'm stuck in 2013

“Oh! Hey Sugawara.” said Y/N to me, “Ok see later in class R/N” they hugged them. ‘They never hug me like that’ I thought to myself. “what's that you got there Suga?” Y/N asked. I had a bag full of snacks that I totally forgot about. “Oh this..umm.. It’s some snacks for the team.” I told them. “Right, I forgot you were in the team,” Y/N told me, ”Anyways came I have some?” 

Don't understand my body, Washing machine confuses me

‘They didn’t remember I was in the team’ I thought ‘Is it because I’m not in the starting team line up’ I started to think more how Y/N didn’t really remember the things I do. I stared into space until a hand was waving in front of me. 

“So are you gonna give me some or what?’ said Y/N with sparkles in their eyes. ‘Say no, Suga. Say no, Suga’ instead of me saying ‘no’ I said, “Sure, you can have some Y/N” they took some snacks. 

I am such a fool to keep on chasing after nothing great

‘They look so happy’, I thought, ‘But they look happier with R/N. They will never be the same with me.’ 

I knew it. I saw it. I felt it. What was it? A broken-heart. 

Yes, it's simple but did I already expect it. I was never the first option. There was always someone above me, and I knew it. First, on the starting line up, now this I’ve seen too much. Y/N would talk to me..., touch me…, ignore me and I felt it.. Too much.

You are such a fool to keep pretending that you're loving me

~Weeks Later~ 

~Karasuno v.s. Shiratorizawa ~

‘We won… damn’ I thought. I ran to Daichi and Asahi in tears. Everyone was crying, even Kiyoko. I haven’t felt so happy in a long time. 

~3rd POV~

But good things never last…

While everyone was celebrating their win, a curtain person was in the crowd and was staring right down at them. When the team was going to thank the crowd, Sugawara got a glance of Y/N ignoring R/N. ‘Whoa, what happened to them.’ Suga and a couple of the others thought. “I knew this was going to happen..” Haruki silently said. “What did you say?” Coach Ukai asked. “Oh nothing, just something I predicted a long time ago..” Coach Ukai just stared at Haruki with confusion. 

~Later On~

~Hallways~

Sugawara and Haruki were walking to the bus to go back to Karasuno. Haruki stopped walking, so did Suga.”We all saw that, you know.” Haruki stated. They were both staring at each other. “I know that..” Sugawara broke the silence, “But now I might have a chance you think.” When Sugawara finished his sentence, Y/N was walking by themselves. “See in the bus Sugawara.”  Haruki said while walking away from the two.

I don't know where I'm supposed to go

“That was a nice game out there.” Y/N said ‘Even though I barely played a part in it” Sugawara thought. “That Kageyama kid was pretty good with his team.” they said.  ‘Oh did they forget that I play setter as well?’

“You did good as well Suga…” they continued, “But you can do better you know.” 

“Stop… stop… stop… Can you just stop. Stop reminding me that I’m barely part of the team anymore.” Sugawara yelled at them. 

I was such a fool to keep on chasing after nothing great

‘What do you mean ? “ asked Y/N “ Why are you tell-”

“YOU NEVER TELL ME THAT I’M GOOD ENOUGH “ Sugawara cut them off. Y/N was shocked at the fact that they got yelled at by Sugawara, they saw tears in his eyes. 

You were such a fool to keep pretending that you're loving me

“You only use me for your little games “, Sugawara sobbed out, “Do you ever think what your words can do to a person, huh.” Sugawara and Y/N just stood there with mixed emotions. 

I don't know where I'm supposed to go

Sugawara just walked away from Y/N. Y/N just stood there until a person came by. It was Haruki. She said the following words,

“Look in the mirror, I love that boy, don't hurt my dear, don't hurt my joy”

“Well I hope you're satisfied with everything you have caused.” Haruki told Y/N and went to catch up to Sugawara. Y/N just stood there. “So words can hurt as much as fists, huh.” 

~Some Events are Based on Real Life Situations of Mine~

So I have been gone for a while..again. Sorry about that some things came up and it distracted me from art and fanfic. So I hope this made it up for you all. Later, Alex

[stayextrafrosty]

I am Your Future, I am Your Past: Chapter 7

A Roswell New Mexico soulmate AU

Note: This chapter is very Alex and Forlex heavy but I promise it’ll be worth it in the coming chapters

Read on AO3 // Chapter 1

Alex stared at the phone after the line went dead. He felt the sudden stab of pain in his chest. Something was clearly wrong, but he couldn’t just ditch out on Forrest. If there was something life threatening Michael would have said so.

“Everything alright,” Forrest asked? Alex looked at the black screen for another moment.

“Yea. Nothing I can’t figure out later.” He smiled. Forrest hesitated but then grabbed his hand, pulling him toward the doors of the building.

Alex had pointed out that with their combined knowledge from being in the military, an escape room might not be as hard as intended. Forrest insisted that was why they were going at it alone and not with another group. He had rolled his eyes and agreed. Never having done something like this before, he guessed it would be fun just by Forrest’s excitement alone.

“Alright. The rules are simple. You have one hour to make it out of the room. There is no reason to break anything as everything is accessible through clues. Make sure to check everything closely. Feel free to pick up props and move them around. Things such as wiring are marked off with tape, please don’t tamper with it. You will be entering the Area 51 bunker. You wake up after being knocked out in a cell with no windows. Good luck!” The guide led them down the hall and opened a door. She smiled as they stepped inside. She handed a walkie-talkie to Alex. “If you’re really stuck you can ask for a hint. But only three times.”

They stepped into the room, looking around at the walls that had been covered by what looked like the inside of a freight car. Various slogans were spray painted in big red and green letters. ‘We’re not alone!’ ‘They lied!’

Alex laughed at all of it. A mannequin dressed in a marine’s uniform stood motionless in the corner, wrists and legs bound to the wall by chains. He shuddered. If only they knew how real that situation could be. The door clicked shut behind them and the lock thunked closed ominously.

“I never quite understood why these things are horror themed,” Forrest said, looking around.

“Well, why else would someone be locked in a room?” He nodded in agreement.

“I suppose you’re right. Ok. I’ll check the bed, you look though that guys pockets,” Forrest instructed. He didn’t know what he was supposed to be looking for, but he listened anyway.

Walking up to the marine, he noticed it was way bigger than he thought. Alex wasn’t even short but this thing towered over him. He looked around on the outside first, feeling for dog tags or pins. Not that there would be any. His first instinct would always be to identify a body in uniform.

“I found a magnet hidden in the pillowcase. What’d you get?” Forrest stepped up next to him as he located the chain for the tags. Alex pulled them out only instead of the tags, it was a key. The chain had been modified with a clasp to make getting it off easier.

“Any idea where this goes to,” he asked, looking at Forrest.

“You know, for an air force captain you really aren’t observant, are you?” Forrest laughed. There was no malice in his words. “There’s a locked box right here,” he said, grabbing Alex’s hand gently.

He felt stupid. Even if Forrest was just poking fun at him, he should have taken in his surroundings better. Just like he should have at his house. Just like he should have at the barn a week ago. He jumped when Forrest shook him.

“Alex? Are you ok? I said your name a couple times.” He looked anywhere but at Forrest.

“Sorry. Just spaced. Where’s the box?” He pushed past him and crouched down. The lock seemed old, but it could have just been decorated like that. None of this was real.

“Is this triggering something? You can talk to me about the PTSD you know.” He felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He sighed.

“It’s not PTSD. My triggers are a bit more specific.” He looked over his shoulder and up at him. He gave a small smile. He should be trying to enjoy himself. “Thank you though. Now let’s figure this thing out.”

Alex popped the lock open, pulling out an old satellite phone and folded piece of paper. The phone had no batteries in it. Alex turned it over a couple times to look for writing but there was none. He handed it to Forrest before unfolding the piece of paper.

“555 444 4 44 8 7777 666 88 8,” he read out loud. It was so simple yet he couldn’t place what it was referencing. Maybe he was just overthinking it. He could break into heavily secured data bases in minutes but something designed for the general public was tripping him up? He stood to show the note to Forrest. He hardly glanced at it before realization spread over his face.

“You know, you get a little line in between your eyebrows when you’re thinking too hard,” he teased. He reached up, rubbing his thumb over the area on his forehead, forcing Alex to relax. “Think like a normal person instead of an elite hacker,” he suggested, handing the piece of paper back to him.

Alex took a breath and looked again. The sequence of numbers was familiar but not like it was recent. Like it was accessing years old knowledge he had tucked away, not knowing if it would ever be useful again.

“Here. Look,” Forrest said, handing him the phone again.

The numbers had corresponding letters. Years old memories of his first cell phone came rushing back. Hitting numbers one too many times and needing to go through the whole cycle again to get the letter you wanted. And yet everyone still managed to type out whole paragraphs in under a minute.

“I can’t believe I forgot that,” he said, starting to laugh. Taking a closer look, he corresponded the numbers to their proper letter. “L-I-G-H-T-S-O-U-T. Hit the switch.” Forrest smiled and nodded, stepping toward the door.

The room was dark for a moment, but then lines and lettering started to glow. A few UV lights lit the room. Handprints led the way to a spot in the corner behind the bed. They abruptly disappeared three feet from the other wall, hinting at a door. The two of them headed over and felt around for a latch or grip to open it. Nothing.

“Hey, look.” Forrest was pointing at a grouping of paint made to look like someone focused more attention on that spot. He held the magnet up and moved it around that spot. A latch clicked and the door popped open enough for them to grab the edge. Alex rolled his eyes at the trick, but he had to admit, he was having a good time. They stepped into the next room. It looked like a repurposed dentist office.

There was a large box off to the side and a chair with surgical supplies in the middle. There was also a pile of folders and files. The two of them shared a look and grinned.

“Alright. Seems easy enough,” Alex said, feeling more confident and comfortable than he had in a long time.

-

“Ok well we both checked that file cabinet and there was no key in there. I’m telling you, it’s rigged.” Alex laughed at Forrest’s frustration. They had gotten stuck in what they think was the last room.

“I told you to make sure you pulled the drawers all the way out,” he said, smiling.

Forrest shook his head and pulled his keys out of his pocket. Alex had teased him earlier when he showed up at his house in a normal SUV. The van was for ‘special operations.’

“Well, regardless of the outcome, I think we made a pretty good team.” Alex felt the heat rise to his face at no fault of the sun. He nodded in agreement and stepped up to the passenger side door.

“As an apology for being bossy once I figured out what was going on, I’ll buy you a drink,” Alex said, pulling the door open. Forrest grinned.

“Looking to spend more time with me? I’ll take that as a good sign. Planet 7?” Alex tried not to stumble over himself at the mention of the local gay bar. It wasn’t official but it was known to attract those from the community.

“Actually, I was thinking The Wild Pony if that’s ok with you?” Forrest shrugged. Didn’t matter to him.

“You’re buying so I can’t complain.” Alex rolled his eyes and hopped in the car.

It’s not that he was opposed to Planet 7, he just wasn’t sure if he could properly hide from people if he knew them. The Wild Pony was a local’s bar. He knew the crowd and could avoid conversations if he needed to.

And maybe Michael will be there to see you with Forrest…

He shook the thought out of his head. Whatever Michael had wanted to say to him earlier, it had nothing to do with Forrest. That little pang of something earlier was just him feeling guilty about shrugging him off. But he had nothing to feel guilty about. He was free to spend his time with whoever he wanted.

The ride was mostly silence. Just enjoying each other’s company was enough. The radio played softly, occasionally fading out and back in. Alex glanced down at Forrest’s free hand on the arm rest between them. No one could see them in here. It would be ok to hold his hand.

He reached across slowly, first resting his hand next to his. They had only held hands briefly in the escape room. They were soft and steady. Gentle even.

He reached his pinky out, brushing against the side of Forrest’s hand. He saw his head turn slightly but he never looked away from the road completely. Alex moved his hand closer. Then he pulled away. But before he could worry that he had done something wrong, he was placing his hand back down, palm up. Encouraging Alex to take it, a gentle smile settled on his face. Alex couldn’t help but smile too as he wove their fingers together.

He ran his thumb over the back of his hand. The smooth skin was nice, but something felt like it was missing. He found himself wishing there were calluses. That his hand was a bit warmer.

Alex hardly noticed when they pulled into The Wild Pony parking lot. He jumped back into reality when Forrest released his hand to get out of the car. He cleared his throat and climbed out himself. He shoved his hands in his pockets as they walked. A brief moment of confusion crossed Forrest’s face but it was replaced with a smile.

They pushed through the doors and Alex immediately looked for Maria. He watched her as she took inventory of the bar before the Saturday night rush. The bar was still mostly empty.

“Go grab a booth, I’m just going to say hi to my friend,” he said. He nodded and headed in the opposite direction. Alex made his way through the tables to the bar. He knocked a couple times to grab her attention. She turned with a fake smile on her face, ready for whatever customer was going to be there. Once she recognized it was him, it changed into something softer. But something still seemed off.

“Well look who it is. The one who doesn’t return my calls when I think I have a lead,” she joked. Alex smiled at her.

“I’m sorry. It’s been a crazy few days.” She nodded understandingly. To be honest, he just didn’t know what to say to her after Michael’s confession in the hospital. “Can you get me two of whatever the special on tap is?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Two?” Alex looked over his shoulder to find Forrest. He watched him, a sweet smile on his face. Didn’t even turn away when he was caught, making Alex blush. “He’s cute. Just don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” she joked, winking. He rolled his eyes and she pulled out two glasses filling them expertly.

“Did you and Michael find anything? He called me earlier today, but I was busy.” Her smile fell, looking more sad. His eyebrows drew together. What had they found that warranted a look like that?

“Well… we didn’t find anything. I left earlier than planned.” Alex reached for her hands as she wrung them together. What was she nervous for?

“What happened, Maria?” She took a breath and tried to paste on a happier face., like whatever she was about to say didn’t bother her.

“Michael and I… We won’t be working together for a bit.” Alex still didn’t understand. Did they have some sort of argument? Michael would probably come apologize to her before the day was out. She must have seen the confusion on her face. “Alex… we broke up.”

Anything he was going to say left his thoughts in a second. What could have possibly happened that would push them to that? They seemed so happy together. And Maria wasn’t one to give up something she loved so easily.

“What happened,” he finally asked? She shook her head and smiled.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you when you’re not in the middle of a date. Now go have fun.” She didn’t give him time to respond before moving to the other end of the bar to ask a day drinker if he wanted another round.

He grabbed the two drinks and headed back to where Forrest was sitting. He set the beer in front of him.

“Sorry about that.” He looked up from his phone, moving the glass closer to him.

“Don’t worry about it. Things looked pretty intense. Everything alright?” Alex wanted to tell him. But he also didn’t want him to get a bad impression of Michael when he didn’t have the full story.

“She and her boyfriend broke up. She wouldn’t really give me details but I’m sure she’ll tell me soon.” Forrest looked over to the bar. He frowned as he watched her.

“Wasn’t she dating Michael? Ran into her a couple times at the hospital.” Damnit. He remembered.

“Yea. But she made it sound like it was a mutual thing. I don’t think they’re on bad terms. I just wish I knew what happened,” he said, taking a sip from the glass.

“Well I’m sure she’ll tell you eventually.” He reached over to rest a hand on his arm comfortingly. He knew he shouldn’t speculate about what happened between them. But something in his chest told him it might have to do with the curse. And by extension, have to do with him.

-

Michael had paced most of the day since hanging up on Alex. He tried calling Maria, but she never picked up. He needed to do something. Waiting just wasn’t cutting it. He tried triggering more visions by reading that journal front to back.

He didn’t know who those two were. They started as friends and it grew to more. Thomas was forced to present himself as his sister and twin who was often ill. Samuel was a child of the servants. Thomas’ father was a grade-a bastard who needed to control everything. He threatened Samuel’s life more than once. Then it was the Manes family who was supposed to provide the sacrifice for the year. So, the two of them ran away.

“Sounds a lot like the original story,” is what Isabel had said. He was tempted to agree but the original was a princess and a slave. And even if there was the possibility of that being true, he wouldn’t be able to find out. The last entry was the night they ran.

He needed to figure out what Jesse Manes did with those original scrolls. Max refused to let him anywhere near the soldiers that had ambushed them. He said they hadn’t said a word about who they were working for. Michael knew in his gut it was that asshole.

A knock on the wall pulled him from his thoughts. Isabel looked at him sympathetically.

“You’re going to run a hole through the floor if you keep pacing. Instead of overthinking why not do something productive? Give Sanders some extra help at the junkyard. It’ll keep your mind busy.” She stepped toward him to rest a hand on his arm.

“I have to figure this out, Iz. This vision wasn’t like the shared dreams. It felt like a message. This could be what we need to break the curse. I don’t know how yet, but it’s got to be a clue.” He pulled away from her, picking up the journal again, thumbing through it mindlessly. She sighed and took the book from his hands gently.

“Look, I get it. Breaking this curse is the most important thing but you can’t do that if you burn yourself out. Let’s go.” She grabbed him, pulling him out of the study. He knew she was probably right, so he let her pull him along. “We’re going to go get a drink and then you’re going to clean up that bunker for whatever it was you were planning to do down there.”

Michael raised an eyebrow at her. He never told her his and Alex’s plan. Max must have spilled. Damn him. The less people knew what was going on the easier it would be.

“Fine. But let’s avoid The Wild Pony if you don’t mind.” Isabel snorted.

“Please. Even I’m not that cruel.”

-

He didn’t pay attention to the name of the bar they walked into. It was smaller than the Wild Pony, but Isabel had said it was still considered a local’s bar. At least there wouldn’t be any sort of alien hunting enthusiasts.

The colors all over the place made him feel out of place in this cowboy hat and stained jeans. Where in the world has Isabel dragged him? She sat them down in a booth then waved to the bartender and batted her eyelashes. Michael looked between the two of them.

“You know her,” he asked, surprised?

“We hooked up a few times. Let’s just say she was my, awakening?” Michael nodded in understanding. “She’s really cool and nice but it’s not serious.” Alex was his ‘awakening.’ But he seemed to be a lot harder to shake. There was never any ‘just hooking up’ with him.

The waitress came over holding two colorful drinks. Michael rolled his eyes but he could enjoy something like this. The blue and purple faded into each other. He shot Isabel a look.

“Where exactly are we?”

“You weren’t paying attention? Planet 7. The local LGBT bar.” He hummed in realization. That explained all the colors. He didn’t even want to know what the drink he held in his hand was called. Probably some pun on ‘bisexual.’

“Not that I don’t appreciate the change in scenery, but why here?” A mischievous grin settled on her face. “If you say it’s cause you wanna get laid, I’ll just leave now,” he joked. She rolled her eyes at him.

“While that might be nice, no. It’s not why we’re here.” He took a sip of his drink. Rum. It wasn’t his favorite type of liquor but the drink wasn’t half bad. It was certainly fruity.

“You just gunna sit there and watch me chug this or are you gunna tell me why?” She looked around before leaning close.

“Forrest is a regular here. I figured it you wanted more information on the guy…” Michael groaned. He loved his cousin really, but sometimes she was not the brightest. People don’t normally go around talking about other people to strangers.

“Look Iz, I’d rather not think about him at all.”

“I know Max told you to consider bringing him in on the curse secret. Or at least part of it. You should know who the guy is.” He ran a hand though his hair. She was right, but what could he get from these people that he couldn’t get from a quick google search or from Max?

“I can see you doubting my methods but trust me, you can get interesting stuff from the people in town.” He sighed. Might as well let her do her thing. She was the socialite of the family. He waved his hand, signaling to the rest of the bar.

“Well then where do you suggest we start?” An evil grin settled on her face. What was she--?

“Hey Blair, I have a question!” The bartender from earlier returned to the table. Isabel rested her chin on one hand and played with the straw in her glass with the other. “Have you seen Forrest around recently? My cousin here is kinda into him,” she said sweetly. Michael just about choked on his own drink.

“Iz—”

“He was last here a few days ago. Seemed a bit distracted. At least your cousin has good taste. Even though I don’t like guys, he’s always nice to look at. Really sweet too.” She looked over her shoulder at a group and continued, “James might be able to give you more info. They dated for a while, but it didn’t work out. They’re still friends from what I can tell.”

Michael glared at Isabel. She thanked Blair before casually taking a sip from her drink. So what if Forrest was good looking? Even by lesbian standards. Sure Michael wasn’t blind. Maybe he was always focused on Alex that he never thought about it before.

“People here love romance. Everyone’s always trying to set people up. Just for the drama of it all,” she said, laughing at the look on his face.

“So, why’d you throw me under the bus? Why not just make up a person?” He shook his head at her giddy expression.

“Because then it looks like we’re fishing for information.”

“Ok, but we are,” he pointed out.

“But they don’t have to know that. Let’s go.” She suddenly stood, grabbing his arm again. There really was no stopping her if she was determined. “James!” Isabel called as they walked up to the table. The guy that turned was on the muscular side, probably played some kind of sport.

“What can I do for you,” he asked, smiling?

“Blair said you used to date Forrest Long?” Everything about this screamed ‘bad idea’ to Michael. They shouldn’t be prying into his life like this.

“Yes, but why?” He raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of them. Isabel looped her arm through his, pulling him forward.

“My cousin here has a bit of a crush. He’s kinda shy and every time I try to encourage him, he just gets nervous,” she said, stealing his hat that he was trying to hide behind. The blush on his face was definitely noticeable. He hoped this wasn’t what she did to people who had real crushes.

James chuckled and shook his head before taking a sip of his drink. He turned towards them fully for the first time, a knowing grin on his face.

“That guy has always been popular. He’s really great. Thoughtful, caring, always tips more than twenty percent. He’s supportive and crazy smart. He can take a dumb idea and turn it into the best. Probably one of the best relationships I ever had.” He seemed to be smiling at the memories. Michael shoved his hands in his pockets, pretending to be nervous.

“If it was so great, why’d you break up? If you don’t mind me asking…” James shrugged and shook his head.

“There were too many secrets. The nature of his job just made it hard for him to tell me anything. It just ended up getting in the way of our trust in each other. We’re still friends and I wish him the best.”

“But doesn’t he work for the police? In a place like Roswell how many secrets could there be,” he asked? He laughed a bit.

“The police stuff he does wasn’t the problem. It was the other stuff for the military. But let me make something clear. If you’re really into him, go for it. He’s a great guy. And maybe things have changed. Now I can’t tell you everything about him. That takes the fun out if it.” Isabel let out a small giggle and thanked him. Then she was pulling Michael away and back to their little booth.

She plopped the hat back on his head then crossed her arms, just smirking at him. He would admit that knowing he still did work for the military was helpful. But what exactly was his title? He was a weapons specialist for the police but what else?

“Fine. I’ll admit that some of it was useful. But we still need a google search and whatever information Max can get,” he pointed out, fixing his hat.

“Fine, just dismiss my perfectly executed plan,” she huffed. Michael laughed and rolled his eyes.

“Yea about that… Never do it again,” he said. The grin returned quickly.

“No promises,” she said, winking.

-

Alex lost track of time again. He and Forrest had sat and talked through the dinner rush, the weekend drinkers and the bar had started to wind down. Everything was just so easy.

“You did what? How did you get away with that? My second in command would have had my ass for sneaking out,” Forrest exclaimed.

“I told you. I became best friends with my second in command. She covered for me a lot when I wanted to meet up with a guy. Now it was only when we had time off, but she was pretty awesome.” Forrest laughed and shook his head.

“Wish I could meet her. She still in the service?” The smile fell from Alex’s face. He didn’t even know if she was still on this planet.

Staring into the amber of his beer, his thoughts drifted. He doubts she died. An angel can’t just die, right? Forrest noticed his shift in mood. He reached across the table to take his hand, rubbing his thumb over it comfortingly.

“She’s uh… missing,” he said quietly.

“I’m sorry. That can be worse than just being gone.” Alex nodded slowly. He squeezed his hand. “Hope makes everything harder. But we need it just to survive.” A tear slipped down Alex’s cheek. He wiped it away quickly.

Forrest gave him a gentle smile and stood, still holding his hand. He moved to stand in front of him. The raised table and seats made them about the same height this way. He looked around the bar then stepped closer.

Forrest pressed a quick gentle kiss to his cheek. His eyes flicked around the bar, panic settling in this gut. No one seemed to be watching but he couldn’t shake the feeling there was.

Alex wanted to kiss him. To accept the comfort he was offering. But every part of his body screamed to run. To not associate with him until it was safe. He didn’t want him to get hurt. What if his father found out? What if…

“Hey. It’s ok,” he said gently. His smile was sad but understanding. “I’ll drive you home.” Alex nodded and pulled out his wallet, tossing a few twenties down. It was probably too much but he didn’t think about it.

He followed Forrest without a word. Even the car ride was mostly silent. What was he supposed to say now? Maybe he should apologize for the way he reacted? Thank him for the thought anyway?

They pulled into his driveway and he shut the car off. They sat there for a moment. Alex picked at his nails. He took a deep breath.

“Forrest, I—"

“You don’t owe me an explanation. I get it. But if you ever want to get out of that closet, you let me know. I’ll walk you to the door.” He smiled and hoped out of the car. Alex knew he shouldn’t let his father or other past experiences get in the way of this.

What happened with Michael was different. He still felt awful about it, but he couldn’t let that hold him back forever. Thinking of Michael made his chest ache. He knew he needed to find him. The dream had told him so. But was he ready to be found?

He shook his head and jumped out of the car. Hurrying to catch up to Forrest. The motion sensor lights clicked on.

“I had a really nice time today,” he said, pulling a key out of his pocket.

“Likewise. I hope we get the chance to do it again.” Forrest smiled and leaned against a pillar. Alex smiled back, pushing the door open. “I’ll see you around, Alex.” He turned and started back to his car.

“Forrest, wait!” He stopped and turned. An eyebrow raised.

Before he could second guess himself, Alex took his face in his hands and pressed his mouth to his. Forrest ran his hands over his arms, pulling him closer. It felt good, like he didn’t have to worry about anything. But a little voice in the back of his head kept him from lingering too long.

He pulled away slowly, breathing heavy. A small smile sat on Forrest’s face, as though he expected nothing less from him.

“I like you. Just give me a little time,” Alex murmured.

“I’ve got nothing but time. I just hope it doesn’t take too long.” Alex chuckled and released him. He watched as he pulled away, flashing his brights in a final goodbye.

The dull ache settled in his chest. He ignored it only until he made it to his bedroom. It slowly become impossible to ignore. Something wasn’t right. Michael was calling for him.