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sunflowervolvimp3 · 5 years ago

Text

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)

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red-hot-moon · 3 years ago

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So! The BoB Eindhoven Q&A

Was a blast. The last time I went to one of these was in Bastogne, in 2016, which was a massive event. Hundreds of people, about 20 actors, and just a kind of frantic energy that made me super nervous when we got to pose for photos with the guys. Not so this time. I got there really early and I saw them come in. Doug Allen, Mark Lawrence and Matthew Leitch shook hands with me and introduced themselves. Tim Matthews was there with his twelve-year-old (I think?) son. Everybody just hung out and chatted to everybody before the event began. There were about forty people in the audience. There was a Dutch guy dressed in a paratrooper uniform. Also, for some reason, a US Marine sergeant and his daughter; I guess they were friends with somebody there, but it seemed really random. Everybody applauded when he got introduced. It didn’t impress me that much tbh. *cue Shania Twain*

Sadly Ross McCall couldn’t make it and Mark Lawrence (Les Hashey) had to pull out as well. But the four of them made for a great evening. Matthew Leitch started out asking questions to his castmates and then halfway through the evening the audience could ask questions. I can’t really remember which order everything was said in, so I’ll just list what I recall.

The first question Matthew asked was I think about taking things from the set. Apparently Nolan Hemmings carted away a truckload of stuff (grenades, uniforms, …) but these guys only took their dog tags from their respective characters. Doug Allen had a sweet story about lending his Alton Moore tags to a cousin who did two tours in Afghanistan as a good luck charm; he wanted him to give them back. Lo and behold, the cousin came back, and Doug gave the tags to somebody he knew who had cancer, with the same motivation. He told us she’d just been given the all clear, the cancer was gone, and everyone cheered.

Matthew asked Tim what it was like having to deal with Scott Grimes and Richard Speight all day. Tim grinned and said it was fun, but he couldn’t keep up with them. There was lots of singing apparently, they tried to get a barbershop song into the show but they couldn’t get it in, probably because of the inappropriate (but period-typical!) lyrics.

They talked about casting for a bit, who read for who; Matthew and Mark had read for Lt. Jones, Tim had read for Roe (I think). Doug talked about sitting on a bench in front of the hotel where Tom Hanks was staying in Piccadilly, London, thinking about how his parents had tried to stop him from acting, and thought, if this guy cannot spot any talent in me, I’m giving it up. And of course he could spot talent!

They also talked about what it was like having to play guys who had long been dead when filming started, which was the case for all of them. Mark talked about playing Dukeman, visiting his family in the States, and how he got his army number tattooed on his arm (see the pic below). He then talked about how Dukeman had been a part of his life for such a long time and how lots of things had happened because of him; for example, his wife watched Band of Brothers, fell in love with him and then he married her, had children etc. Awww. On the battlefield tour, which was yesterday, he was going to see where Dukeman had died for the first time in his life.

Tim said he knew very little about Alex Penkala, and more things came to light during filming. Alton Moore had practically no family left and he’d been dead for years, so Doug didn’t have much to go on either. Matthew talked about only learning more about Floyd Talbert as filming got underway. For example, he got a call from Floyd’s brother moments before he filmed the opening scene in Carentan, where he talks to Blythe. (“That’s why I looked so dazed in that scene.”) He also learnt from this brother later on that when The Night of the Bayonet happened, Talbert had a New Testament in his pocket that the bayonet went right through, but stopped just enough so he only got a light wound. Obviously Talbert kept his bayoneted, blood-soaked bible. Matthew said that when he heard that he went ballistic. (“That would’ve been bloody brilliant TV!”)

Matthew had a great Dale Dye story: at some point during boot camp everybody was standing at attention, and Dale Dye had his daughter on the phone and they were all singing happy birthday to her. (Matthew pointed out there were lots of great singers among them, Tim Matthews being one.) And Dye was standing right in front of Matthew when they’d finished and he was basically saying sweet nothings to his daughter, “Daddy loves you very much” etc. So Matthew stands there, slightly slouching, grinning at hearing DD talk like this, and then he hangs up and immediately turns to Matthew and screams in his face, “WHADDAFUCKAREYOULOOKINGATSERGEANTTALBERT?” and Matthew said he jumped about four feet in the air and snapped to attention. I can just picture it LOL.

They talked some more about bonding with each other on the set, and how often they all went out drinking together; so often in fact that at one point they were ordered to start doing runs again because they were gaining too much weight! And Matthew talked about being super hungover at one point, but it was alright, they had put his scene the next day on hold and he thought, they’ll never end up filming that scene anyway. Much to his surprise he got a call that his scene had been ‘moved forward’; it was the scene where Moore talks to Speirs in his office in 10, then Moore leaves and Talbert comes in. The scene where he talks to Speirs was filmed in a different moment, but the part where he comes in, apparently, he said “My face was green, I was sweating, all the make-up was sliding off of my face…” And Doug agreed that he looked green. I went back to watch it and

That man is hungover.

They talked about how sad it was when men got killed on the show and the actors just left overnight. Tim mentioned that they asked him and Richard Speight to go and watch the team blow up the effigies they’d made of them for their death scene. They went down, all jolly, but then they got quiet as they realised damn, this is how they died.

One question from the audience was about who they thought at the time would go on to make it big as an actor. Tim said Eion Bailey, because he was so beautiful. (LOL!) Tom Hardy they agreed had something special, but James McAvoy and Michael Fassbender were a surprise to all of them. They thought the episode leads would make it big for sure, especially Shane Taylor; Matthew said Shane would be the biggest Hollywood star now if he wasn’t also the nicest guy in the universe. They weren’t surprised Michael Cudlitz had made it big either, but Matthew said, if I email any of them to do anything BoB-related, they’ll do it—no question, no matter how famous they are now, they make the time. Doug explained that who gets famous and who doesn’t is a question of luck, for example Fassbender was friends with somebody who happened to put him in two projects that really launched his career, and it just doesn’t happen for every actor.

Doug said that they all thought it would launch their career to have been part of something so prestigious, but obviously guys were rotating in and out all the time, and some of them got to Hollywood before the others. By the time it had finished and he went to Hollywood, and said he had just been on Band of Brothers, people went: Not another one!

There was a question about whether they were aware of the impact the project would have, at the time. Tim said he really didn’t, he’d been an actor for twelve years by then and for him it was something that looked nice on his resume, but his role was relatively small and there was a lot of sitting around in a trench outside so he didn’t feel as involved with the project as some of the others. He later added that events like these though made it clear to him how big it really is and he now feels more proud of having been a part of it.

Then there was a question about which scene made them feel they were doing something big at the time. Mark said the scene with the woman being shaved in the streets of Eindhoven really stuck with him. England was never occupied and so he could never imagine what it was like having to live here during the war; it made him think. He also mentioned when they’re riding on the tank and they give candy to the woman with the shaved head and her baby. I was personally glad he said that because I’m really glad that made it into the show, the scandalous treatment of female collaborators is barely talked about when we in the NL talk about the war.

One question was about how they spent the money they made. Doug Allen went first: new sunglasses, I bought a car then crashed it, lots of booze… Tim agreed; he lived across from a pub at the time. It paid the rent, he said.

Someone asked if there were scenes they’d shot that didn’t make it into the series. Mark said they’d had them digging latrines for ages – in vests too, showing off their arms! – and it didn’t make it, which he was gutted about. (“A waste of pushups!”) Doug talked about a scene too but I can’t really remember it. Matthew said that during Crossroads, when they’re firing on the Germans, he had a magnificent sequence with his M1 – loading, reloading, shooting – until they looked at the footage and it clearly showed that the weapon was firing blanks, not real bullets, so it couldn’t be used. Tim said there was a scene where he was supposed to vomit on the plane, and they’d rigged it so a tube came out of his sleeve and into his hand with like. Chicken soup coming out so it would look real if he had his hand in front of his mouth, but they couldn’t get the velocity of the vomit right and after numerous attempts they just gave up?! Lmao

They talked lots about what they took away from the show; the friendship and the bond between them, and Tim said he was glad it allowed him to meet so many different people from all walks of life.

After the Q&A was over I got my paratroopers shirt signed, and I got pics with the four of them. They were ever so kind and gracious, really lovely guys. I’m kind of gutted I didn’t go on the battlefield tour yesterday, but my energy was so low I didn’t think it was a good idea. This night was amazing though!

I’ve probably forgotten a whole bunch of stuff so I’ll add to this post if I think of more :)

#band of brothers #hbo war #matthew leitch #floyd talbert #tim matthews #alex penkala #mark huberman #william dukeman #doug allen #alton moore #eindhoven #wehappyfew506

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glxssylaufey · 4 years ago

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Mischief Maker - Chapter 2

a/n: i’m sorry this is a bit longer than usual ahh! i also apologize if the writing is a little bad or if there’s any mistakes, i tried my best :) also i apologize if you’re not on the taglist, it didn’t let me tag some of you. anyways, enjoy!

summary: loki x reader ; The time has come to attend Stark’s party. How will the reader handle Loki’s mischief?

word count: 5,156

warnings: mentions of alcohol and drinking, mentions of bullying, language, slightly spicy hehe

taglist: @alex-sulli @delightfulheartdream @mademoiselledubois @destructivebliss @kingtwhiddleston @madcrazy50 @rachel-voychuk

It was no secret that Tony Stark loved to make a grand entrance to everything he does. This morning was no exception. The time was around 8:15 when Tony practically kicked your door down to rip your blinds open. Sometimes you almost felt as if he was just another father figure in your life.

“Rise and shine!” he announced, forcing sunlight into your room. “We have a big day today, Y/N, c’mon!” he spoke as he continued to shake you awake. You lazily blinked open your eyes, groaning when Tony ripped your blankets from you. You already knew what he was here for.

“Alright, whatcha got for me?” Tony asked as he looked for the paintings he had requested the night before. You sighed.

“A headache, that’s what I have for you.” you replied, shoving your face back into your pillow.

“No, you’re not allowed to have a headache.” he simply stated. “Let me guess, you don’t have any paintings picked out?” You sat up on your bed, rolling your eyes when you saw Tony standing in the middle of your room with his arms crossed like a child.

“I can pick some out in literally five minutes, Tony, just let me wake up.” you said waving your hand at him, hoping he’d be satisfied with your answer.

“Yeah? Well make it quick, I don’t have all day.” he argued, walking towards your door. “By the way, breakfast is ready.” Tony said in a sing-song voice before leaving your room. You simply hummed in response, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Today was going to be difficult, you already knew. Even though you were agreeing to spend your time with bidding paintings at the party, you still had your heart set on sneaking Loki in somehow. You were just stumped on how you would get that to happen.

After a morning of much needed breakfast, you got ready to face the day. Tony had asked both you and Natasha to go to the store to pick up a long list of supplies for the party. So there you stood, scanning the store’s large selection of alcohol bottles, not knowing which one Tony would want.

“What does he have on the list?” you ask, turning to Nat. She quickly scanned through the dramatically large catalog and shrugged.

“Just whatever looks good, I guess.” she replied before looking back to the shelves. Without another word, Natasha settled for three huge bottles of vodka. You don’t argue, seeing as you were just as clueless as to what Tony would want. “So tell me, what’s been going on with you?” she asks suddenly. You both proceeded to explore the store for whatever else the list requested.

“Oh, you know.” you paused. “The usual.” What ‘the usual’ was, you had no idea. Your life hasn’t exactly been normal since Thor had brought Loki into the Avengers Tower.

“Like what, painting pretty pictures and babysitting gods?” Nat laughed, plopping a case of Coca-Cola into the shopping cart. You were about to protest against her teasing when you realized that truly was what you have been doing for the past two days.

“Yeah, pretty much.” you admitted with a sigh. Natasha chuckled, before a moment of silence.

“How’s Loki?” she asked suddenly. The question made you tense up. It wasn’t that you hated talking about Loki, just something about him made your mind go blank.

“He’s fine.” you replied plainly. You then noticed Nat raise an eyebrow at you as if she knew that you were hiding something. Which she did, of course. You opted to continue, not seeing a point in lying to your friend or yourself. “He’s not as awful as everyone claims him to be. I think he’s just misunderstood.” you persuaded. Natasha nodded, listening intently.

“What makes you think that?” she questioned. That’s when you realized Natasha only knew the Loki that had invaded New York city, much like everyone else. She only saw the villain of the story and not the god that you saw up on the hill. That’s when you began to pour your heart out.

“Yesterday when I took him outside, I saw a side of him that I don’t think anyone else has seen before. He told me stories about Asgard and it sounded like so much more than just some ancient legend. It seemed so normal. He seemed so normal.” you explained, almost passionately. “I don’t know, Nat. I think he’s actually really sweet.” you admitted. Natasha’s eyes went wide.

“Oh my god, Y/N, you like him!” she gasped. Your heart practically stopped at her accusation. There’s no way that you had feelings for the God of Mischief.

“Oh my- absolutely not!” you stammered. “I’m just simply being kind!” you insisted. You could feel your face burning, undoubtedly displaying your embarrassment.

“Y/N, you cannot like Loki, that’s insane!” Nat declared. You could practically feel the stares from the other people in the store, considering how loud the two of you were being.

“I just said I don’t!” you corrected her.

“But you most certainly are lying!” Natasha accused, halting the shopping cart.

“I’m not.”

“Say that to me with a straight face then.”

“Nat, PUSH. THE. CART.”

“HA! I knew it!”

You both continued to bicker and squabble for the rest of the shopping trip. It wasn’t until you and Natasha reached the checkout line that the childlike arguing returned back to its normal conversational tone.

“Oh god, what will Tony think?” Natasha said with a gasp. You groaned, covering your face with your hands. The longer you listened to her babble on about Loki, the more you realized she could be right. You admit, Loki was a fairly attractive person. Plus his gentlemanly charm didn’t help your case much. Oh, who were you kidding? Loki was downright gorgeous and you knew it. No matter how much you tried to convince yourself otherwise, you knew that you were slowly catching feelings for the god.

“Tony can’t know, he’d have a fit.” you spoke almost in a whisper, as if Tony was listening to your conversation.

“Oh, so you admit it? You do have a crush on Loki?” Natasha asked eagerly.

“N-no! Well, yes, but you can’t say a word about it!” you pleaded almost in disbelief at what you had just admitted. You had a crush on the almighty Loki and there was no denying it. Natasha simply giggled like a school girl.

“Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” she assured you. Except the way she continued to smile about it the whole car ride home showed that she was going to have a difficult time keeping your secret.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Romanoff, nobody can know!” you suddenly said as she drove the two of you back to the Avengers Tower.

“I’m sorry, I just have to say it.” she started. You shook your head, knowing this conversation wouldn’t end anytime soon. “You should try to make a move tonight.” she suggested, giving you a smug smirk.

“Oh c’mon, you know he’s not allowed at the party.” you claimed. “But I have been thinking about ways to sneak him in tonight.” Natasha mocked a gasp.

“Y/N, how scandalous of you.” she poked fun at you, causing you to giggle. “I must say though, I think you can absolutely do better.” she suddenly stated, making your jaw drop slightly.

“What do you mean?” you asked, slightly put out.

“Loki is a mass murderer!” Natasha indicated. “Not to mention he’s tortured our friends and acts like a complete asshole.” she continued. You wave your hand at her in an attempt to silence her.

“Like I said, he’s changed.” you defended. Natasha didn’t respond, leaving you two in silence. After some time, you thought of your task to sell your paintings at the party. You decided that it could be best if you were to just leave Loki in his room. Plus, it’s not like everything Natasha had said wasn’t true. Perhaps it's for the best that you don’t get too close with the terrorist of New York.

Third Person POV:

Loki watched his brother pace the floor as he sat on the bed, pondering ways to sneak himself into the party. The longer they allowed time to pass by, the more hopeless Loki began to feel.

“We’re short on time brother, this won’t work.” Loki sighed. “I say we just go with my idea.” he suggested. Thor gave him a stern look and crossed his arms.

“Loki, we are not going to tie up one of the party members to disguise yourself as them.” Thor lectured his brother. Loki scoffed at Thor’s statement. After a bit more pacing, Thor snapped his fingers as a scheme formed in his mind.

“But perhaps disguises are not such a terrible idea after all!” Thor quipped with a large grin. Loki raised his eyebrow at Thor, signaling him to continue with his thought. “Think back to when we were children. That trick you always played on me when you would transform yourself into a snake just to stab me.” Thor explained with slight annoyance in his voice, remembering those times of his childhood.

“If you’re suggesting I slither into the event as a snake, I don’t think the midgardians would be too pleased with serpents being let loose in the building.” Loki glared at Thor, thinking it was a poor idea.

“Yes, but that’s only if you are caught.” Thor urged with a devious smile. He knew his younger brother was always up for a challenge and this task seemed perfect for him. Loki gave the thought a second chance before chuckling to himself.

“Excuse me, brother.” Loki sighed, standing up from the bed. “I have a party to attend.”

Stark’s party was full to the brim with people. You had already known ahead of time that the event would be completely packed, yet the amount of people still managed to astonish you. So there you were, greeting people as they walked in. You gave warm smiles and shook hands with the ones who offered it. After some friendly greetings, you were approached by Tony who had ushered you away from the entrance. You expected nothing less from him.

“Alright Y/N, this is your deadline. Where’s the paintings?” he asked, feigning impatience.

“Relax, Tony, I’ve got everything set up by the bar.” you advised him, gesturing towards your stand which displayed the art.

“Oh good, because I’ve already promised like four people that I had museum quality shit here.” he shared quickly, walking towards your platform. You roll your eyes and dramatically sigh at Tony.

“Of course you have.” you said, following him. “Well I suppose I should get to work then.” you said, observing the line of people in front of the small stage.

“Good thinking. Thanks again, Picasso.” Tony thanked you, giving you a quick pat on the shoulder before sauntering over to a large group of people. You took a step onto the platform and strolled over to the small microphone displayed on a stand for you. Everyone took note of your presence and gave their full attention to you. You looked out to the crowd before sighing. As much as you weren’t in the mood to converse with a large amount of people, you always had an open heart for Tony.

“Hello, everyone!” you greeted into the microphone. “My name is Y/N and I am the creator of these paintings presented before you today. Let’s just start with a little bit of browsing, shall we?” you suggested, hoping the crowd would see eye to eye with your proposal. Much to your relief, they did, nodding their heads with agreement. “Great! Bidding will start in ten minutes.” you announced before turning the microphone off. You sighed in relief, happy you had extra time for yourself. In all honesty, you just needed time to get a drink. You were convinced you could never survive a Stark party without some sort of alcohol to give you an extra confidence boost. As you made your way to the bar, you were halted by no other than your friend Thor. He was dressed quite dapper, yet casual enough to give him easy mobility.

“Ah, Y/N! So lovely to see you.” he greeted, with a beer bottle in his hand.

“Thor, it’s great to see you too.” you nodded at him with a cordial smile. “You look striking tonight.” you complimented.

“Oh, you’re too kind. You look very well put together yourself.” Thor chuckled, giving you a friendly wink. You were wearing a nicely fitted red dress that fell right above your knees with lace to give it alluring details. You also wore black heels to give you an extra two or so inches.

“Thank you very much.” you blushed, giving him a curt nod. You began to walk away to retrieve a drink from the bar, but it seemed Thor had different plans. He quickly stepped in front of you, halting you in your tracks.

“One more thing!” Thor announced. “I believe my drink requires a refill.” he explained waving his empty bottle almost nervously. You chuckle lightly, wondering why he was telling you this.

“Are you asking me to get you another beer, Odinson?” you snicker. Thor’s eyes widen as he begins to stammer for the right words.

“No, no! My apologies, I’m perfectly capable of getting my own drink. I’d just like for you to join me.” he specified, gesturing towards the bar, awkwardly smiling.

“Oh!” you exclaimed in delight. You felt having your friend to accompany you would help ease your mind. “I’d like that, thank you.” you said as you started to walk. Thor followed closely next to you with a beaming smile.

Everything was going perfectly.

Once you reached the bar you took a seat on one of the tall bar stools. You were scanning the menu when Thor set his empty bottle on the counter before taking a step away from the bar.

“Please excuse me, Lady Y/N. I believe Stark has called for me.” Thor stated quickly. Confused, you turned to look at the large mass of people Tony was talking to. You could’ve sworn Tony hadn’t even paid attention to anything but his guests. Before you could question anything, Thor had already quickly turned to walk the opposite direction. You sighed, turning back towards the bar when you realized there wasn’t even a bartender to tend to you.

“Well this was useless.” you muttered to yourself. As you were about to stand from your seat, Thor’s beer bottle began to shake. You froze, thinking your eyes were just playing tricks on you. Suddenly, a small snake began to crawl out of the bottle and onto the counter. You gasped, jumping from your seat in shock. Surely you were imagining things. The green scaly creature paused to curiously look up at you then turned to slowly slither down the opposite side of the bar. You approached the bar once more, peeking over the top of the counter to search for the snake. Then with a green glow, the snake quickly transformed into the one and only Loki Laufeyson. He simply sighed, brushing off his gorgeously tailored black suit and looked up at you.

“Good evening.” he greeted casually. Your mouth hung open, completely caught off guard at what you had just witnessed.

“Loki, you- how- you aren't supposed to be here!” you stumbled your words in confusion.

“Yes, but was it not you who said I shouldn’t be cooped up in my chambers all day?” Loki snorted playfully. You had no possible way to protest. Instead you resorted to looking around to make sure nobody was looking in your direction. This earned a barely audible groan from Loki. “I presume you wish for me to change back and slither my way back to my room then?” he questioned.

“No!” you declared maybe a little too quickly. “It’s okay, you can stay.” you said trying to remain calm. Loki smiled at how flustered you were, finding it almost amusing.

“Verywell.” he settled calmly. “Now, my lady, may I offer you a drink?” he suggested with a tone that gave you uncontrollable butterflies. You blushed at his offer with a nervous smile.

“I think a red wine will suffice, thank you.” you replied as naturally as you possibly could. Though of course it was a difficult task trying to keep calm. Loki just nodded and turned to prepare your glass. You couldn’t help but look over your shoulder to be sure nobody was watching you. You knew that Stark practically had eyes everywhere, not to mention anybody could easily take a glance at Loki and recognize him from New York. Because of this, you spoke the first thing that came to your mind.

“Loki, we have to get out of here.” you uttered straightforward. He paused pouring your glass of wine to give you a puzzled look. “Tony is bound to realize that you’re here. Plus the bartender could come back at any moment.” you told him, quickly standing to your feet. Loki just nodded before setting the wine bottle down with a slightly disappointed sigh.

“Lead the way then.” Loki said almost in a testing tone. Without another word, the same green glow from earlier masked over his body and changed him back into his serpent form. Loki snaked back into the beer bottle that he had once emerged from, hinting for you to carry him as Thor did. You grabbed the bottle from the counter and turned to walk from the bar. Where you were headed was beyond you. At this point, you were simply just trying to get away from the crowd of people. As you walked, you looked down at the empty beer bottle to be sure Loki sat comfortably in his glass container. He simply looked up at you and poked his tongue out at you in response. As a result of not watching where you were walking, you ended up walking right into a woman’s body, nearly knocking her over. You gasp, taking a step back from the mystery person.

“I am so sorry!” you exclaimed before quickly looking down into the beer bottle to affirm Loki was okay. Though what you were not expecting was a familiar voice to respond to your apologies.

“Well would you look at who it is.” the woman spoke with a chuckle. “You were always quite a clumsy girl.” she remarked. When you looked up to identify the woman, you couldn’t help the gasp that escaped your mouth.

“Alice Weaver!” you exclaimed. You didn’t know who to expect the woman to be, but it certainly wasn’t her. Alice was a girl you had met back in highschool. She had insisted on devoting her teenage years to making yours miserable. It had started when her boyfriend at the time had broken up with her and he attempted to use you as a rebound. Her jealousy for you has been undying ever since.

“It’s so nice to see you again, Y/N!” she grinned, her shrill voice dripping with sarcasm. “How have you been?” she asked.

“I’ve been fine, thanks.” you said, shifting from side to side. You made an attempt to walk past her, but of course she quickly stepped in front of you before you could make any distance.

“Oh good!” she quipped as she looked you up and down. She then caught sight of the beer bottle in your hand. “I never took you for a beer drinker, though.” you panicked a little, hoping she wouldn’t see the small snake hiding inside of it.

“It’s for a friend.” you quickly whipped up an answer. Alice scoffed.

“That’s what they all say, isn’t it?” she questioned, keeping her seemingly sweet smile on display. You gritted your teeth. In all honesty, you were still in shock that she was even here in the first place. “Anyways, I’m sure you’ll be thrilled to hear that I’m actually staying at the compound until tomorrow. I’m here to assist Stark on research.” she went on. You listened in disbelief.

“Research?” you asked plainly, your throat running dry.

“Yes of course, I’m studying engineering and physics.” Alice gushed.

“Wonderful.” you spat as friendly as you could possibly muster. You went to take a step and she walked in front of you yet again.

“Oh, Y/N, shouldn’t you be over there bidding those… pictures?” she said, pointing over towards your stand. “Here, I’ll hold this for you!” she said quickly snatching the beer bottle. You gasped trying your best to grab it back.

“Wait, no! Alice, I need that!” you yelped, struggling to grab the bottle back. You were suddenly pulled back from her, leaving you empty handed.

“Y/N, what the hell are you doing?!” Tony whisper-screamed to you, retracting you from Alice. “I have a group of very unhappy people waiting for you. Now stop bugging my student and do your job.” he exclaimed before softly shoving you towards the small stage. Now you were panicking. Tony Stark and your high school nemesis were in possession of Loki and you couldn’t do a single thing about it. So there you were, nervously walking up onto the stage and turning the microphone on.

“I am so sorry for the delay everyone, I ran into some issues.” you spoke to the crowd nervously. “I suppose I’ve kept you all waiting long enough, let’s get started.” you clapped your hands together, trying to seem as normal as possible. As you continued to speak out towards the crowd, you watched from afar as Tony and Alice continued to talk. You could tell by the way the two kept glancing over at you, they were certainly speaking of your behavior. You shakily sighed, going to grab a painting to exhibit it on the easel. Once you were back in front of the microphone you opened your mouth to speak but was abruptly interrupted when you felt something crawl down the back of your neck, causing you to squeak. This earned a suspicious reaction from the people in the crowd. You quickly recomposed yourself when you heard little snake hisses behind your ear. Loki. You were immensely relieved that he managed to sneak out of the bottle. He must have quickly slithered up your arm and up your back when Alice had grabbed the bottle from you. Although you were beyond grateful for his escape, feeling his cold scales on your bare skin made you shutter. You quickly cleared your throat.

“Excuse me, I just am not myself tonight.” you managed to squeak out. “A-anyways, do we have any takers for this piece?” you stuttered out. As you continued to make biddings for your painting, you could feel Loki leisurely slither down your neck and into the back of your dress. You slightly jumped at feeling Loki enter the back of your dress, making your heart race. “Sold!” you nearly barked out, hoping it would get Loki to cease his crawling. It didn’t. He continued down your dress until he rested over the back of your bra. You began to walk as casual as possible to your next art piece. As you bent down to pick it up you felt Loki crawl to the side of your dress towards the cup of your bra. After picking it up, you subtly brushed your bicep over your side, hoping to halt Loki’s movement. With your luck, this seemed to only spur him on. Loki then made haste to sneak into the cup of your bra, causing you to gasp.

“Can we hurry it up, please?” a very impatient man nagged from the audience. You groaned in response, not entirely sure if it was from the man’s remark or Loki.

“M-my apologies, sir.” you apologized, clearly annoyed yourself. “I guess I just have a chill I can’t seem to shake.” you admitted to the audience, but mostly directed towards the small snake currently resting in your bra. You felt him nestled comfortably against your skin, finally stopping to rest. “Next up is one of my personal favorites. Do we have any takers?” you spoke out to the crowd. You continued the bidding, trying the best you could to ignore the fact that Loki Laufeyson, the God of Mischief was presently relaxed in the cup of your bra as a snake. As you continued speaking, you felt him hiss from time to time causing his small forked tongue to brush the skin of your sternum. You swore it made your breath hitch everytime. This continued until every single piece was presented to its new owner. By the end of the night, you ended up with a large amount of cash though you didn’t seem to care much about that. While you granted the very last person your last painting, Stark approached with a drink in his hand. You whined to yourself upon seeing him. You were far too flustered to even deal with his snarky remarks.

“Congrats, Y/N! You got the job done.” Tony joked. You leered at him, walking off the stage.

“Tony, not now.” you said, trying to walk away.

“Oh don’t be such a sour puss, you got loads of cash.” he continued to provoke. “Hold on, I got one more thing for you.” You felt your body stiffen. You sigh, turning on your heels to face Tony.

“What?” you asked plainly. Tony flashed you a smile as he handed you the drink he had come to you with. Whiskey on ice.

“For you, it’s on the house. Just a ‘thank you’ for tonight.” he said, sounding truly genuine. You couldn’t possibly stay mad at him, even if it was Tony Stark. You took the glass from him and returned the smile.

“You’re welcome.” you smiled. Just as you were about to take a sip of your much deserved reward, you felt Loki abruptly start to move again. He began to creep his way out the side of the cup of your bra, passing into the opposite one. This resulted in a yelp that had been caught in your throat all night, startling Tony.

“Y/N, are you-”

“Loki!”

“What?”

“I have to check on Loki!” you quickly shouted setting the drink down. “H-he’s been in his room all night!” you swiftly made an excuse. Thankfully, your excuse was adequate enough for you to get out of there. You swiftly speed walked to the nearest bathroom avoiding any more interruptions. The quicker you moved, the more agitated you could feel Loki getting. As you made your way to the bathroom you could feel him continue to slither around your bra. Once you finally reached the bathroom you slammed the door shut and pulled the hem of your dress away from your chest.

“OUT!” you screamed. Loki listened, crawling out of your bra and down your leg. Once he reached the floor, his magic glow covered him once more, turning him back into his godly self.

“Well…” he panted, clearly shaken up from how speedy you walked. “Could you have moved any faster?” he nearly growled. You could feel your anger rise and your patience snap.

“How is any of this my fault?!” you shouted at him. “What in the hell were you doing, going into my bra like that?” you asked. Loki rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“Oh my apologies, in case you didn’t notice, I had nowhere else to go!” he snapped back. You loudly groaned as you covered your face with your hands.

“Tonight was a disaster, all thanks to you!” you argued, pointing a finger at him.

“Me?!” he barked, causing his voice to echo throughout the bathroom. You jumped at his sudden loudness. “I put all my efforts in sneaking into this awful party just so I could simply serve you a drink to thank you for your generosity from yesterday.” he spoke loudly, slowly approaching you. His words shocked you. You hadn’t realized that Loki only wanted to attend the event just so he could show you some kindness. Your face fell, almost feeling sorry.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize.” you said in a softer tone. Loki remained irritated, taking another big step towards you so there was almost no more space between the two of you. Your breath became ragged.

“Perhaps next time, at least make an attempt to stay calm and keep yourself from squirming.” he requested bitterly.

“You want to speak about squirming?!” your voice raised again. “How about next time, you don’t go into my bra!”

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic.” Loki rolled his eyes. “Your breath betrays you, Midgardian. If I didn’t know any better, the hitch in your throat would tell me that you rather enjoyed it.” he mocked. You could feel your face burn a bright red, embarrassment flooding your emotions.

“Y-you disgust me!” you spat out. Loki snickered almost as if he was purposely trying to provoke you.

“There it is again.” he pointed out. “You get flustered so easily, it’s almost pitiful.” You remained silent, stunned by his remark. He continued to stare at you, his face dangerously close to yours.

“I hate you.” you whispered. What happened next was completely out of your control. Instead of getting anger out of Loki, your statement sparked something uncontrollable. He swiftly grabbed your hips and crashed his lips upon yours, sealing you both in a passionate kiss. Before your mind had time to register what was happening, he pulled away, removing his hands from you completely. He examined your face, searching for any sort of restraint. Realizing what he had just done, he became worrisome.

“My most sincere apologies, I-” you quickly cut him off, pulling him back into yet another searing kiss. Your heart was pounding out of your chest as the kiss grew hungrier. His hands traveled up to your face to pull you in closer, making your breath quicken. Your mind was racing with all sorts of emotions, but you knew one thing was for sure: you didn’t want this moment to ever end. But it did. You both quickly pulled away from each other when the door to the bathroom swung open. Your head snapped to look at whoever entered the bathroom and your heart sank when you realized who it was. Alice Weaver stood at the door, looking both you and Loki up and down. She laughed in disbelief at what she saw in front of her.

“Am I interrupting something?”

#tom hiddleston #marvel #marvel mcu #loki #loki odinson #fanfic #loki (marvel)#loki fanfic #loki x reader #chapter two #marvel fanfic series #marvel fanfic #loki x y/n #thomas william hiddleston

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sonybees · 4 years ago

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mutuals appreciation post!

i seriously CANNOT at all process this

literally i do not know how this even happened but i am so inexplicably grateful for every single one of you! i love all of you so so much!

i was maybe thinking about making a sleepover but school has been kicking my ass lately so i just decided on making a little mutuals appreciation post! to all my other mutuals, i love all of you so much and i literally want to smother all of you with hugs and kisses. i am so grateful for all of you. thank you.

this might be a little long so it’s under the cut! there might be a lot of mistakes snsjd

@lunaleonorah leo!!! you are an absolute blessing. i love your kindness and the amount of affection you give me literally makes me wanna break down and scream. in a good way of course sjjs. i love our conversations where we just talk about our days and all that. i wish we could always be friends and you can tell me anything you’d like. i love our friendship because we can talk to each other whenever we’d like and will always bring comfort to each other. i always look forward to having conversations with you everyday. ilysm and you deserve the world <3 all the love, pluto.

@gredmforge rory, my wife! i love talking to you about nonsense, it always makes my day and your fun and carefree personality always makes me smile. no doubt that we will be great friends in real life. the little asks you send in my inbox always make me laugh and i’m very excited for whatever future works you have. you always seemed so nice and sweet ever since i first interacted with you and i am so happy that i asked you where you got your memes because look what that got us to! shsjdjd. no but seriously, i love talking to you about our obsessions and just saying hello to each other. ilysm and i hope you always remember that! :) <3

@crookedhag my lovely eliz, i’m too lazy to make another one of those fancy scrolls that i did earlier but that doesn’t stop me from showin gmy appreciation for you. you are such a sweet and amazing person. you are also so talented and i am always so happy to see your name pop up on my notifications. you were always the first one to send me an ask for ask games and you always check in on me and i love you for that. i wish the very best in everything you do. you have great taste in music and i’m starting to think that you’re in every single fandom i don’t know jsjsj. but i love talking to you and ily! mwah! ◡̈

@oldschoolkiddo hero! the first time you ever interacted with me, i already knew that i would love having you around. you are such a fun person and all the tag games that you make and tag me in are always so fun! you are an independent person and i love that so much. you speak your mind and that is so powerful. you are so very sweet and your personality is so fun. i hope that you have many great days in the future and you can always talk to me whenever you need to. let me know if you want a distraction from anything or if you just want to rant, i will be here. ily!

@krasivayadarling my lovely ant! i am so very glad that i built up the courage to say hi to you when you made that post saying you wanted to be friends with new people. you are one of the best people i’ve ever met and you are so sweet, kind, talented, funny, and supportive. i am also so grateful for your support in my fics. you were my first ever supporter and i was really nervous for someone to read my works but you were so nice about it and i love that. i wish you all the best. ily, ant! sincerely, soap.

@whatthefuckimbisexual the loveliest persephone, you are such a bad bitch. JSJS NO BUT SRSLY ILYSM. you are such a fun person and i love how we can relate to each other a lot. i mean, staying up til 3 am and fuck aral pan yk? ejekdj. i really wish you the best in everything and i hope that we can interact more! you are truly one of the most fun and energetic people i’ve ever met and you are so very sweet and funny. thank you for being a great person! all the love <3

@falconxbarnes maddie! you add such a sweet and great person and when you reblog and like my posts, my heart fills with joy! your blog brings me so much comfort and i love our short little conversations. you remind me of going out at 5 am when the sun is almost out. the joy is always evident when that happens just like how i feel when i talk to you! i wish to eat pancit canton with you one day! i really wish you the best in everything and you deserve so many good things. mwah!

@amourtentiaa liane! you are literally so talented and it amazes me every time i read your works. you are so fun and chill and seeing your name always makes me happy! your blog page is filled with so much comfort in my opinion and our first conversation ever was so fun and you are so polite. you also really remind me of the night. i can’t explain why but like i said, you are chill and brings me a lot of comfort! i really love the way you interact with others as you are so kind. i hope you are doing well and always will feel well. ily, yannie!

@puntuations oh my gosh, ysa! you followed me first and i didn’t exactly understand why because you seemed too cool and mature for me djdj. but i am so glad you did and i am so grateful that you’re my friend. thank you for tagging me in dps related things! i really love that and it brings me so much joy. you were always so kind to me no matter what and you are so respectful. i appreciate you and your blog always makes me smile. thank you for being an amazing friend. ilysm, ysa. mwah!

@tofeeltaller joy! you bring me so much joy! sjdndjdn sorry, i had to. you are so so sweet and kind. i was always so scared to interact with dps blogs because they seemed intimidating but so nice at the same time (idk why i’m sorrydhjd), i thought y’all were too cool for me and i didn’t know how to approach you guys but after i got the courage to talk to you, i felt a lot more comfortable. you are so sweet and kind and you deserve so much more blessings. you truly are an amazing person and i hope that your days will get better and better. giving you so many warm hugs and kisses, mwah!

@lolremuslupin dkndkx omg you are so sweet! i don’t interact with you much but we do talk sometimes. i am also very glad that i decided to pm you to try and make new friends and you were so kind about it. you are such an amazing person and i love staying up at 3 am talking to you about random crap. i wish that your life will go well and that you are always safe! warm hugs!

@punkrific soaf, my twin! i really love talking to you and your energy is always so great. you are an amazing and fun person and having a twin like you always makes me feel like the luckiest ever. i am so so grateful to have you as a friend and your dashing personality always gets me. ilysm and i wish you the best! love, the ugly sofia <3

@freddieweasleyswife sweets! i’ve never met someone as sweet and kind as you are. you’re an amazing person and you deserve so much and you are so talented. i wish to write like you one day. my day is always better when I see your name in my notifications being friends with someone as amazing as you are is so great and i wosh to interact with you more. i miss talking to you and you’re always so kind and ready to comfort anyone. ilysm and you deserve the world. sincerely, sweetpea. <3

@sam-winchester-is-my-bitch rae! i love talking to you and seeing your pets! you are so kind, sweet and understanding and you really know how to make me smile. whenever i talk to you, it’s always so wholesome and nice and you give off so much good vibes. you really are like the color yellow to me, sunny, nice, but can be serious at times. but is always ready to cheer someone up. i wish you the best in everything and i hope that we can talk more! all the love <3

@daltonacademia kendi! i know you’re on a short hiatus at the moment but i just had to add you in here. i really hope that you are doing well and i hope you know that your writing is literally one of the best that i’ve ever read. you are so sweet and kind and you always have that little fun and sunny personality and i love talking to you so much. you are so respectful and you deserve so much. i’m sending you all the love and comfort. you are amazing and i hope you know that. stay safe, kendi! i really love that nicknamejsjs

@thatswhywilliamagedlikesourmilk dear! i am so glad that you followed my page and i am so so grateful that i’m friends with you. you are one of the best people ever and you are so so sweet. the most adorable person ever! talking to you feels like hugging a teddy bear and i am aware that that doesn’t make much sense but it just feels so comfy and brings me joy. i really hope that you’re doing well because you also deserve everything! sending you so many hugs <3 mwah!

@fredweasleyismyloverman alex, my dear! you are so kind and nice! i’m really glad i followed you. just a little fun fact, i actually found you through ant or @krasivayadarling . i was reading through some people who she gave ships to and i saw yours and i was like “oh my gosh, this person and i are literally the same.” and i went crazy because it looked almost exactly the same as my description hdjdjd. i’m actually not that sure if it went like that but that’s how i recalled it so i just always remember thatsbns. i literally relate to you so much and your shitposts give me life. you are so wise and amazing and i would love to talk to you more! ily, dear! mwah <3

@daisyyy2516 daze, dear! i am so happy that sab led ke to your page! literally, you are so damn talented and i just cannot i am always so amazed every time you show your works. you are so kind and sweet and such an icon. you bring me so much joy and everything you’ve ever said to me has always been something sweet and funny. ilysm and you deserve the world. i’d like if you dm’ed me once you’ve gotten your work displayed at some huge art exhibition. you are so amazing and i want you to know that. everything will be better. i appreciate you and i am so glad that you are in this world. i love you sm, daze. frd weasley loves you too. all the love and joy, soaf.

@sirlorelai lorie!! you are so nice and kind and sweet. i’m very glad that you weren’t angry at me spam reblogging your postsjsjd. i love our conversations and i wish we could talk more! you are such a kind and funny person and everything you’ve ever done has put a smile to my face. you are so fun and energetic and i love that. i hope that life is going well over there and that everything will be better if it isn’t at the moment. you deserve so much and ilysm, mwah!

@quadrupledeckertaco lorelei, dear! i miss talking to you! i really love our conversations and your soft but fierce personality is so great and it brings me so much joy. your writing is literally so amazing and like i said, i aspire to write like you one day. i miss you so much and i really hope that everything’s well. i wish you the best and sending you so much love, sofia. <3

and to all my other mutuals! thank you! i love all of you so much and interacting with all of you brings me so much joy. thank you for everything. have a great day everyone!

#again i am SO SO SO GRATEFUL #OMG YOU GUYS DONT KNOW HOW MUCH IM ACTUALLY FREAKING OUT I TROED TO BE CHILL ON THSI PSOTJEND #sofia’s got 300 friends!#sofia’s mutual appreciation post #tw swearing #tw food mention

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skitter-kitter · 4 years ago

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Fic Masterlist

Most of my fics are listed here for the sake of organization! (Last updated 7/3/21)

MCYT

New Beginnings

Technoblade (the streamer) is sent into the Dream SMP, and must rely on Dream to survive in this new world. (Set during Tommy’s Exile!) Lots of angst and codependency! There are currently four parts out of this series.

MimicVerse Knockoffs

A series of stories inspired by Subl1m1nals own series Mimic Verse, wherein an evil version of Technoblade takes his counterparts place. Tommy is the only one who notices Techno’s change in personality, and tries to prove to the rest of their friends that this is not their Technoblade. (Set outside of the Dream SMP!) Lots of angst and hurt/comfort from Subl1m1nal, and a ton of angst and pain from my series.

i will be changing soon

An SCP AU based on the Sleepy Bois Inc. Family Dynamic! Centered on Techno! A fair amount of angst and violence.

certain things will never go back to how they used to be

A fic based around Sam, Quackity, and Dream’s mentality during the first day of Quackity torturing Dream. Angst, with some blood and violence.

phantom home

A character study based around Sam and his relationship with Las Nevadas and Pandora’s Vault. Lots of angst, and some pseudo-fluff.

bodies in the basement

A Sam-centric character study based around his torture of Ponk, Tommy’s death, and his relationship with Quackity. Angst, blood and violence! Read the tags!

refuge

A Quackity-centric fic about 3 times Sam helped Quackity and one time Quackity helped Sam. Lots of angst and violence, but with a happy ending!

indulging in you

A soulmate AU based around Schlatt and Quackity, and the impact that their soulmarks have had on one another. Angst and a character study!

One Day (One Hour)

A Schlatt-centric fic about Schlatt being stuck in a time loop after his death. Lots of angst and manipulation from Schlatt!

the greatest sacrifice

A character study of Skeppy during his day trapped in the Egg, and what caused him to turn so apathetic toward everything he used to love. Angst, hurt no comfort!

A Single Orange Rose

A Fundy-centric fic based around Fundy and Dream’s marriage. Angst with a healthy dose of unhealthy relationships!

our home in hell

A fun fic based around Technoblade and Quackity both being raised in an illegal hybrid fighting ring. Lots of fluff, (because I lost motivation to write the chapter where the angst starts up) but a lot of violence and children getting hurt.

convalescence

A Tommy-centric fic based around five times Tommy got hurt, and the one time someone helped him. A lot of angst with some comfort at the end!

our patchwork family

A fic based on egare’s ( @elpalaccio ) chaos, she politely knocked, based on the mystery of where Tommy was staying while Quackity was dealing with Technoblade. This is a mix of a Tommy and Sam character study, with some angst and humor thrown in!

pawn to e8

A fic based on egare’s ( @elpalaccio ) chaos, she politely knocked, wherein Quackity is a shapeshifter and after the failed execution he is forcibly recruited by Dream. The original has a lot of angst and found family, and my fic carries the angst train by giving Quackity’s POV of his breakdown in chapter 11.

Best Friend

A Glatt-centric fic based around the idea that he’s forgotten his life before death, but unlike Ghostbur he is not remembered for the “good” he did in life. Lots of heavy angst!

evolution of the smartest

A Pokemon AU that centers around Technoblade and his journey to becoming champion!

in my heart, in my hand

A Sapnap-centric fic wherein Quackity has been dead since Technoblade’s execution. Lots of angst and grief and major character death!

open arms

A fun cracky fic based around “what if Quackity proposed to all his enemies (and friends) and they had family reunions every few months”. Tons of fluff and fun! Oh also some Fundy angst lol

you could be happy

A Hogwarts AU that centers around Technoblade, a mis-sorted Hufflepuff, and Dream, a Slytherin, and their quest to find a spell to control others. Angst, with a character getting caught in a blizzard!

three of a kind

A fic inspired by dappledleave’s healing: achieved underground, a Quackity-centric fic based around his time in Pogtopia! Since it’s all Quackity’s POV I decided to do a character study for Schlatt, George, and Fundy from healing. Just some general angst!

your worst fears come true

A Sam-centric fic based around Wilbur’s revival, and Sam’s hesitation to kill the intruder at the time. An exploration of what would happen if Tommy died a second time in Pandora’s Vault. Lots of angst and completely canon divergent.

Love and Loss

A fic based around the theory that Sir Billiam III and Sheriff Sherman Thompson are brothers, and that John John is the Butler! Some fluff and some angst, plus some canonical major character death!

Badlands!Techno

A Techno-centric AU series where Technoblade joined the Badlands after the Red Festival! Mild angst!

heart and soul

A study of Techno’s relationship with the staff of Hypixel. Fluff and found family!

Star Wars

Domir

A fun peek into a “Maul trains Ezra” AU! Lots of angst and canon divergence!

Family Reunion

An AU wherein the Bridger’s take refuge with the Rebellion, after they believe their son has died. After fifteen years, they reunite with their son, who has become Maul’s apprentice in their absence. Lots of angst and feels!

a better version

A canon divergence of the “Visions and Voices” episode wherein Ezra manages to convince Maul to help him save Kanan and Sabine. Lots of angst and canon divergence!

our final night alive

A character study about Maul and Savage and brotherhood. Lots of angst, as is typical with these two.

nobody to love

An AU where during "Visions and Voices” Maul sees Savage’s ghost among the Nightsisters. Fairly short, but lots of angst.

fantasies of a better future

A fic inspired by @doorsclosingslowly ‘s fic Your death is a number but I cannot count that high which is a Savage Lived AU on angst steroids. My fic is an imagining of the reunion between Savage and Maul, before said scene was written! Lots of angst, as per usual.

acidic words

A fic about Dathomirian’s tattoos and how their meanings change in a world filled with soulmate-identifying marks. Some angst!

keep breathing

An AU wherein Ezra is found by the Inquisitors at a young age. Some fluff and angst, and a surprising amount of found family content!

legacy of kings

A fic based around the Haunted Dark Saber Theory (anyone who uses the Dark Saber can see/is possessed by the past users) wherein Maul becomes the Mand’alor, fights his former master, and loses his brother, all in a matter of hours. Mild angst.

standing on forgotten memories

An outsider POV of a Maul getting de-aged fic. Some angst and some vague mentions of Maul’s childhood.

the most honorable thing

A fic about Maul finding his way to the World Between Worlds, and saving his brother. Some angst with a happy ending!

Cardooine Chills

A sickfic with Savage taking care of Maul. Some angst and hurt/comfort.

Marble Hornets

heresy of heresies

Tim timetravels back to his childhood. Angst.

squeeze you empty

An Alex Lives AU wherein Liu Woods finds him in Rosswood Park. Blood, injury, and angst.

handfuls of dust

A sequel to squeeze you empty wherein Masky reunites with Alex. Angst.

who controls the past controls the future

Alex is stuck in a time loop based around the day Tim kills him. Angst and violence.

hold me close

A platonic soulmates AU. Lots of angst.

a smile, a hug

A fic about Masky being the Dad of Slender Manor.

flowers blooming, lungs aflame

Hanahaki Disease is a symptom of Slender Sickness. Angst.

a flare in the night

A fire starts in Slender Manor. Some mild angst.

Creepypasta

time heals no wounds

A fic about Sally and playing with the “a traitor in Slendermansion” trope. Lots of angst.

Harry Potter

just send me home

An AU wherein Harry is a seer working for Voldemort. Lots of angst and violence. Read the tags.

Warriors

Buteo Jamaicensis

A Hawkfrost character study. Heavy angst and hurt no comfort.

hand in unlovable hand

An AU of Into The Wild wherein Firepaw loses to Brokenstar, and is held captive by the Shadowclan leader. The fic is set many, many moons later and deals with the consequences of Firepaw being missing during that time. Lots of angst and major character death.

Déjà Vu

A fun Ashfur character study based around his time in Starclan and how he feels about Hollyleaf and Hawkfrost. Some angst and blood.

Pistanthrophobia

A fic about Hawkfrost being chosen for the New Prophecy quest instead of Brambleclaw. Lots of angst with a sprinkling of Riverclan loving Hawkfrost.

omitted from history

A fic about Feathertail meeting the original founders of the Clans. Some angst and fluff.

Tangled: The Series

Factory Reset

A fic about Varian getting his memory wiped during “Rapunzel’s Return”. Lots of angst.

Weeping Angels

A fic wherein Varian gets trapped in the amber instead of Quirin, and Quirin goes on a quest to the Dark Kingdom to free his son. Angst and emotional hurt no comfort.

love languages

A fic co-authored by my friend i_am_not_a_bird about the soulmarks of Rapunzel, Cassandra, Varian, Eugene, and all of the Brotherhood! Lots of angst, as per usual!

Axiom of Maria

A fic wherein I finally got Moonstone!Cassandra and Varian to team up against Rapunzel after four months of planning. Some angst, but mainly it’s a character study.

Gravity Falls

It’s Called: Freefall

A fic based around a Bill Wins AU, and a Dipper from that universe timetraveling back. Hopefully, to fix things. Lots of angst and violence, some character death.

burn you right up

A fic inspired by Child_OTKW’s Broken and Lost, a fic about Reverse Falls and how Weirdmageddon went in their universe. My fic was my own imagining of their childhood before the fic happened. Lots of angst and unhealthy relationships.

Heathers

Missing: Heather Chandler

A fic inspired by cipherdoodle’s The Ballad of Heather Chandler, my fic is set directly after Heather and JD go on the run and their resulting conversations. Lots of angst.

36 Questions

fondness is just another word for regret

A character study about Jase’s thought process during the two-year time skip. Mild angst.

Pokémon Mystery Dungeon

i’ll be by your side (even in death)

A character study about the relationship between the Player and Partner Pokémon after the Player’s “death”. Some angst and hurt/comfort and complicated relationships.

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haloud · 4 years ago

Text

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 9

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Michael and Isobel reckon with the fallout from Michael’s choices; Maria and Max catch up with him post-recovery.

Excerpt:

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

(Wednesday, 11:00 am)

Michael flipped Alex’s key over and over in his fingers, running it along his knuckles, pressing his thumb into the teeth until they left a locking-imprint on his skin, then doing it all over again. At some point, maybe it would start to feel real, if he reminded himself of the thing often enough.

The repetition and stimulation of the rough teeth, the cool, smooth metal, soothed him as he waited on Isobel’s porch. She’d called him here in the first place, so eventually she’d open the door. Until then, he waited. And as he waited, he thought of Alex, because what else was there to think about these days?

(A thousand things, like Jones and Project Shepherd, Max and Liz, and all the work piling up at Sanders’s, but Alex had a way of blotting everything else out, and, no matter how much his brain tried to get him to feel stupid or naïve or childish for hoping yet again, he was going to let himself bask in that shade for once in his life.)

He hadn’t left Alex’s house, still, except to go to work and get things from his own place. At Alex’s, he was still sleeping in the guest room, the both of them afraid that they’d fall back into their old patterns too fast if they fell right into bed. But during the day they shared that space, a kitchen, a den, existing alongside each other as they read or cooked or composed, and the routine wasn’t so different from the tense and quiet days right after Michael’s injury, but at the same time they were nothing alike, not when each tiny glance could mean so much, not when fingers on the soft rasp of turning pages were fingers he could touch, that could touch him.

Everything was different. It was terrifying, and exhilarating, brand new and nostalgic. It had only been a day; it had only been half their lifetimes.

“Ew, you’re glowing.”

Isobel’s voice started Michael out of his thoughts, and he jumped, shoving Alex’s key into his pocket. She was glaring at him, but still he relaxed, because Isobel’s snark was a form of love and her turning scorn in his direction was a sign things were getting back to normal between them.

“It’s all natural,” he drawled as she stepped aside to let him inside.

“Right. Did something happen, or is this just some lesser known side effect of being brought back from the brink of death.”

“Uh…”

In a way, sort of, if only because Michael’s own stupidity had driven him and Alex closer together, but that wasn’t exactly a direct correlation or anything admirable.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Just…”

He fell silent. How was he supposed to talk about being in love? He’d never done it before, and this was a first he hadn’t anticipated facing.

“Alex and I…” he tried again, but found himself only able to smile, still without words, and he raised his arms in a helpless shrug.

Isobel’s eyebrows raised. “Oh my god.”

“Yep.”

“I’m still pissed at you, but if Manes is making you his side chick after everything, I’m going to rip his spine out through his—”

“Isobel, no! It’s not like that,” Michael laughed, shaking his head.

“Well what’s it like, then? I cannot handle him breaking your heart again when we’re already dealing with Max.”

He replied, “My heart is fully intact,” as he headed in and dropped down on her couch, throwing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect. “No, uh, Alex and Forrest had a fight, which sucked, but it led to us getting a chance to talk more about, y’know, us, and what we wanted, and each other, so…”

“So this is rebound,” Isobel snipped.

“Can you stop?” Michael said, half-laughing. Even her pessimism on the subject of love couldn’t pop the bubble around his heart right now. He patted the couch beside him, and she hesitated for a few seconds with her arms crossed, before capitulating and joining him.

“Oh, fine,” she groused, leaning against the arm of the couch farthest away from where he was sitting. “Your funeral.”

The words landed like a lead balloon, and Michael winced as her face grew stormier.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” Isobel held up a hand in his face. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well, what do you want to hear?”

“An explanation, Michael! What the hell were you thinking? Why would you do that? What if he’d just straight up killed you, did you want us to find your body in a cave somewhere or, or never, blown to smithereens by a man who literally breathes fire! You’re so stupid, and selfish, and—” She cut herself off, furious tears welling in her eyes even as the rest of her face didn’t change.

“I know! I know, you’re right, it was stupid. I wasn’t thinking, or, well, I was thinking, but my head was all messed up.” He rested his forehead in his hands and running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think any explanation is going to make any sense now, out of the moment, but I just…everything was going to shit, and I couldn’t do anything for Max, and I thought Jones might have answers, or could help me unlock new powers like you’ve done on your own. So I could protect everyone.”

Isobel threw her arms up and got to her feet, pacing around the couch; Michael tracked her, anxiety dipping and spiking every time she circled him. Her anger pulsing when she passed behind him made his skin crawl, and he shifted in his seat.

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” she finally spoke, stopping in front of him.

He kept his head bent forward, staring at his knees.

She continued, “I really don’t. I’ve been trying for twenty-one years, but I still don’t know how to get through to you. How to convince you that you’re not alone, that people want to protect you. To help you. But I’m not Max. I’ve never pushed or pried or fought to cling onto you when you shook us off. I just hung around because I knew you’d always come back.” She took a deep breath. Her voice stayed steady and deliberate. “But Michael, this has gone on for too long, and you went too far this time. You have to let us help you. Otherwise—I don’t know. I just don’t. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Drops of water speckled the tops of Michael’s knees, and he sniffed, swallowed, mouth dry, throat tight and aching. His sister’s gentle hands threaded through his hair, cradling both temples, right hand over Max’s lingering handprint, but no matter how careful that touch was, he flinched.

Isobel tipped his head up so he had to look her in the eye and said, “You’re my brother, Michael. I love you so much. And I would do anything for you, just like you would—and have—do anything for me. But you need to let me! From here on out, I need you to fucking work with me. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Tears trickling down his face and dripping from his chin, Michael nodded, not trusting his voice, and Isobel fell forward, his arms opening up to catch her, and they stayed like that for a long time, Michael rocking her back and forth, her clinging desperately to his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he finally croaked, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or Max. I just, I can’t stop myself, sometimes, I know it’s not an excuse, I know it was stupid, I know—”

“I know,” she interrupted his stream of self-loathing, sitting back to look him seriously in the face. “I was in your head, remember?”

She’d found him beneath a vaulted ceiling, stained glass in shifting, alive, alien colors, walled in with his demons. Defining himself inside the devouring maelstrom by the battles he understood. His whole life, he’d sewed himself back whole, and his work wasn’t pretty, but the patterns made sense, and they kept him sane even when the odds demanded otherwise. The image flashed behind his eyes, but that’s all it was, an image. He shook his head.

“Not really.”

“Well. I didn’t really go snooping, no matter how tempting it was,” she said with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. “But let’s just say…you don’t owe me any explanations you aren’t willing or ready to give. Those belong to you. I know I haven’t always understood that in the past. We both have things to work on, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael rasped, squeezing her tight again. “I…want to work on them with you.”

“Then it sounds like we’re going to be okay,” she softly replied.

(3:00 pm)

Isobel didn’t let him leave the house until both their eyes stopped being red and puffy from crying; It took multiple episodes of some Food Network show he’d never heard of before she agreed to let him out of her sight, and, in deeply un-Isobel-like fashion, she followed him to the door and pulled him into another hug for the road before she let him leave.

The drive from Isobel’s to the Wild Pony wasn’t really long enough to fully ruminate on how bad he must have scared Isobel to warrant this level of reaction. Logically, he’d known, but emotionally it was just beginning to sink in.

Over the past year, he’d been faced with losing Isobel and with losing Max multiple times—had lost Max, in fact. He knew how it felt. Why should the loss of himself be any different to them? In low moments, sure, thoughts shifted beneath the murk of his mind, lurking demons from childhood, that they didn’t need him, they had each other, a more special bond, he was the odd one out, outside, out in the cold. But on the day to day, he didn’t devalue himself like that, not in so many words, did he? But—

To be surprised? That Isobel was afraid, that Max was afraid, that the both of them stood on the precipice of grieving him and had to process the horror of that fall after snatching themselves back at the last minute? It was a slap in the face, a rude awakening. A lesson that for all these years he’d resisted learning.

The first step to protecting those who loved him was to protect himself. He couldn’t keep shelving it as the lowest priority. They were one and the same.

It sounded fake to his own ears, but he’d just have to say it until the lesson sunk in.

With the windows rolled down, the idle breeze tugged Michael’s hair across his face and cooled the late-summer stickiness from his skin. It was just after lunchtime, a little early for Max to be at work, but since he wasn’t at Isobel’s house, it was faster to check for him here than to drive all the way out to his own place.

If there was one positive to his near-death, it was the way Max was invigorated by a purpose. The healing drained him, of course it did; it could have killed him, and that weighed on Michael’s conscience, but afterward, after it worked and he’d pulled Michael back from death, he smiled. He slept. He bustled around Alex’s house babysitting Michael while Alex was at work, and now, with a little distance from fragile death, that didn’t chafe as badly.

Max deserved a better thanks than Michael had thus far been able to render, and with Isobel’s words still ringing in his ears, there was no better time than now.

He pulled up to the Pony, the fairy lights strung across the patio dancing in the wind, the wood of the old building all pale and real in the sunlight. The old, familiar sign above the door was off as long as the bar was closed, but Michael still took a moment to glance at it nice and long, remembering the feel of fixing it under his hands so the whole place felt less liminal, less like a mirror vision of the beating heart that was the Wild Pony glowing under the night sky, lit from within rather than from the sun.

Faint music played as Michael parked and left his truck, so he rounded the corner of the building to suss it out and smiled at what he saw, leaning against one of the trellis supports.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“Oh, you know me.” She gestured vaguely to the arrangement of papers and tucked her feet up beside her, leaning toward Michael, cutting the space between them in half like it wasn’t worth noticing. Some of the tension in Michael’s chest unwound at her ease around him.

“Hustling?” he prompted.

“Yep. I’m just organizing the events I have planned for the upcoming season and making sure I have space set out for scheduling, details, budgeting, the works. High school me would die with envy; my system was never this good when I was trying to study.”

“I’m definitely impressed. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with, anything you need built, or an extra set of ‘hands’ for decorating.”

“How is that going?” she asked, brows furrowing.

“I’m still getting my strength back. Just gotta keep pushing through and hope whatever Jones did didn’t mess me up for good.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.”

Her hand extended but stopped before touching him, until he turned his hand palm-up, asking her to take it. She did, squeezing him.

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “And the TK aside, have any of the other powers cropped up? The light, the teleporting? Those were the ones Alex told me about.”

“That’s all I remember, really. And no. I haven’t even tried, honestly.” He looked at their joined hands, her wrist bare of the pollen bracelet he’d promised her and wasted, thrown away like trash in a corner of Jones’s cave. This is blasphemy…

“Do you think you will? Try?” Maria asked, head tilted.

“I…hadn’t thought about it. Been focused on getting back to square one with the TK, but…”

Was doing more with his powers still an option? Was he willing to try, and fail, and fail again, without folding and submitting to all the voices in his head that told him every failure was proof positive of the erstwhile adage that he was worthless?

“Well, you have time,” Maria said, squeezing his hand again.

“What about you?” Michael asked. “Any visions?”

Her face shut down. She let go of his hand to smooth both hers down her knees then fold her arms around herself, turning her head away. “No. Still nothing. A few dreams, but it isn’t always easy to tell what’s a normal dream and what’s a vision, and with you out of the woods, the most dire ones are already Jossed.”

“What about Mimi?”

“Huh.” Maria pursed her lips for a second, then said, “I haven’t noticed any change in her? But I’ll have to ask and see what she says. I’m not even completely sure our powers work identically, with the things she’s said about being unstuck in time…I don’t always get that same feeling.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Michael promised her. “Even if it means having to go back to Jones and ask what he knows—”

“No!”

She wheeled on him and smacked his arm lightly.

“Absolutely not! Michael!”

“Not alone, obviously!” He defended.

“Not at all. Jesus Christ. I’ll tell Isobel you said that—I’ll tell Alex—”

“Maria, c’mon,” Michael whined, taking her hand again in an attempt to connect them and calm them both down. “I just don’t want to rule out that he’s meddling in more ways than we know. I still think he’s fucking with Max. You deserve answers, if that’s what’s going on.”

“Not at the cost of your life. Not ever. It could be a hundred other things, too. Stay away from him, Michael, I’m serious.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good,” she said firmly, wrapping her arm around his again and leaning into him. He let out a long, slow breath as she relaxed.

“You know, in Jones’s cave…”

“Mm?”

Michael carefully encircled her wrist with his fingers. “I lost the bracelet I made for you. The backup one I promised.”

“Are you feeling guilty about that? Because please, don’t,” she replied, covering the hand on her wrist with her other. “That is the last thing on my mind.”

“But I—”

“Hush. I’m glad you had it with you, whatever happened to it. It’s good that you opted to protect yourself, even if it didn’t work.”

“I thought your powers were offline.”

“The visions, maybe. But I don’t need to see the future to read you, Guerin.”

“You are something else, DeLuca.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“Hey, Maria—oh! Michael!”

The two of them turned toward the backdoor at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Hey, Max,” Maria said. “Is the inventory finished?”

“Yeah, I was just coming to report back.”

“No need to be so formal,” she teased, standing up and brushing dust from the seat of her pants, looking at the papers around her with her hands on her hips. “I was hoping to get your opinion on some plans, Number One, but someone interrupted, so they’re not quite ready yet.”

“Guilty as charged,” Michael drawled.

Max reached out a hand, and Michael took it to humor him, letting him haul him to his feet.

“I’ll let you off the hook this time,” Maria said as she led the way back into the bar, cool and dim in the daylight. “You can sweep up to say you’re sorry.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said, reaching out a hand, hoping he could summon the broom as nonchalantly as he once could. It sat unresponsive until a spike of formless frustration zipped through him, at which point it flew to his hand fast and hard enough to sting his palm when he caught it. Great. Just what he needed right now—puberty flashbacks.

“I need to run,” Maria said, stowing her binder behind the bar. “Late lunch with Rosa. I’ll see you later, Max—Michael, it was so good to see you. Say hi to Alex for me, okay? I know you’re gonna see him before I do.”

She left with a wink while Michael was still pink and stammering. Maybe Alex had told her already—or maybe that was just Maria, putting him so at ease it was easy to forget how much she saw. His chest glowed so warm he couldn’t stop blushing at that casual acknowledgement, that easy validation, that he and Alex—that Alex and he were what they were to each other, now, again.

“Wait, is she talking about you staying over there, or does she mean—dude!” Max grinned ear to ear and bounded out from behind the bar to pull Michael into a back-slapping hug. “Congratulations!”

Old, brotherly habit had Michael squirming out of Max’s affections, but it didn’t dent his exuberance; he retaliated with a swipe through Michael’s hair, making him duck further out of range, huffing and laughing all at once as he tried to fix it again.

“Yeah, um, Forrest and Alex broke up, and then one thing led to another, so.”

“I’m really happy for you, man.”

“I—thanks. I’m…I’m really happy, too.”

The sudden urge to comfort Max gripped him, a strange survivor’s guilt that things would be working out for him and Alex and Max and Liz would still be so far apart. But it wasn’t his place to throw that in Max’s face now, so he bit his tongue and basked in Max’s honest happiness for him.

“Could you feel, uh, any of my emotions through the handprint?” Michael asked. He ran his hand through his hair over the spot on his temple where Jones had held him, erased by Max’s healing hands, then dropped it back to his side abruptly, flexing away the phantom stiffness that still plagued him, that probably always would. He gave it a shake as if to chase away nervous tingling.

“Nah. But it’s not like I’m looking; I respect your privacy, man.”

“’preciate that,” Michael snarked, and Max just shrugged.

“Any particular reason you ask? I don’t need to know what you and Alex are up to,” Max joked.

Michael considered his answer for a little bit as he made his way between the tables. After all, it wasn’t as if this was the first handprint Max had ever given him. The ones on his neck and hand cut off by his death aside, dozens of times over dozens of years, Max had practiced healing on him and they’d explored that connection. Michael was always the guinea pig; he never wanted for injuries to work on, after all.

But there’d been a lot of handprinting over the past year and change. Max felt something from Liz; Liz felt something from Noah; Rosa and Max had a connection strong enough to tether Max to the world of the living. And then there was Michael, with Jones’s voice in his ear, dripping condescending words about his lack of psychic ability being phenomenal, considering.

At various times in his life, Michael had looked up at the stars and wondered in the silence what it was in him that was irreparably broken.

“Just curious. It’s been a while, and all juiced up like I was, I was wondering if anything felt different.”

“Nothing different. Just you.”

Max smiled like that was a good thing, a comforting thing. And you know what? In between the adrenaline of change, good and bad, in between the rock of Project Shepherd and the hard place of Jones, on an afternoon in a closed bar, a home to both of them, alone with his brother, Michael let it be.

He cleared his throat. “Good. So there’s no…interference or anything? Nothing weird lurking around up there?”

“Not that I can tell; Isobel would probably know better than I would. Whatever he did to you was bizarre, man. It wasn’t like the way, uh, the way I’ve killed people before. Or the way Noah killed.”

“I don’t think he was just trying to kill me.”

Michael made his way over to a booth and beckoned Max over; he lingered over his work for a glance at the clock and then came and joined him.

He continued, “He kept going on about teaching and knowledge and this being the wrong way but the most efficient. He knew it would hurt me, but maybe it would have worked better if he did it to someone more, uh, receptive than me.”

“What are you talking about?” Max leaned over the table, brow furrowed. This close up, the dark circles below his eyes were more noticeable. “Michael, what he did to you wasn’t in any way your fault—”

“I know, I know, that’s not what I mean. Just…look, I saw the security footage from Caulfield, from the day of the Valenti incident. The way that alien approached Jim Valenti and put his hands on him was identical to what Jones did to me, and I think maybe that guy was just trying to communicate but it fucked up a human in a way he either couldn’t expect or was too out of it to realize. And, well,” Michael gestured to his own head. “I’m the most human of the three of us up here.”

“I…huh.” Max sat back and drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he processed that. “Well, whatever the case, it proved you and Isobel were right about him. He can’t be trusted. Nobody should have any more contact with him. We’ll start doing our monthly drop offs contactless until we all figure out what should be done with him.”

His voice was firm, businesslike. Traffic Stop Max was Michael’s least favorite version of his brother and he’d hoped that his turn to the civilian would’ve put that guy to rest, but he had a tendency to rear his head in a crisis.

But in this case, he saw through him, and that façade was hiding something.

“How do you feel about that?” Michael asked, leaning back and slouching, reflecting Max’s rigid body language the way he had for a decade, cops and robbers style.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. He almost killed you; we’ll do what has to be done.”

“Uh, it definitely does matter. You’re the closest thing to a next of kin he’s got, as far as we know. If anyone gets to decide what happens to him, it’s you.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Is it? ‘Cause, look, I know I fucked up a lot of stuff running off to Jones half-cocked like I did. I don’t want to set off a chain reaction of more bad mistakes that rips us apart again when we’re just startin’ to…” Michael trailed off with a self-conscious shrug. It was realer than he’d intended to get, but it was the root of the issue, wasn’t it?

Max’s face softened, and Michael slumped lower in the booth.

“You’re not. You won’t.”

“You’re just saying that—”

“Michael.”

That tone was always a coin flip if it’d get right under Michael’s skin or if it’d shut him up. It landed on the second one this time, to Michael’s relief.

Max said, “No chain reactions. What we were doing before wasn’t working, okay? I knew I wanted something from Jones, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach out and take it. All you did was force us to make a choice when I would’ve dug my heels in and not been able to for a long time otherwise.”

“The answers you’re looking for, though, you deserve to look for them if it’s what you need,” Michael forged on, battling his clumsy tongue. “I should’ve said that before. You deserve to know who you are and to learn who that is in whatever way you can. Everybody deserves that.”

“Thank you. I mean that. But I was getting so desperate—the things I was thinking of doing—I scared myself, okay? I didn’t think—I don’t think I am that person. And being this person I am right now and who I want to be right now is more important than any answers about the past, if that’s what it means to find them.”

Michael sat with that, looking Max up and down, sitting with his own feelings as much as Max’s words. Parsing his own reactions to Max was something he took steadier, more carefully than most other things in his life. It was a set of muscles he needed to practice with as much as he needed to get power back to his telekinesis.

“Okay, man. I respect that,” he said finally, leaning over the table to punch Max in the shoulder. Max made a face and rubbed that spot.

“Ow, man, thanks, I guess.”

“Damn, did I get you in your writing arm?”

“Try my drink-mixing arm. If I’m off tonight, I’m ratting you out to Maria.”

Michael let out a scandalized noise and slipped out of the booth.

“Where are you going?” Max laughed, dark eyes shining with life in a way Jones’s never could. For all they were identical, Michael barely saw the resemblance.

“To lay low, what do you think? You’re makin’ me a fugitive.”

“Uh huh. Good luck; you know she’s just going to ask Alex.”

“Damn it. The things I do for love.”

A smile on his own face as soon as he turned his back, Michael was almost at the door when Max called his name and he turned to face him again.

“Michael? Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Asking. Listening.”

Those two words held a lifetime of desperate loneliness between them, and Michael would be sitting with that, too, as long as he was holding it in his head, making it a conscious decision, to do right by his brother.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.

“I wanted to,” Max replied simply.

“Well in that case…I guess you’re welcome.”

Michael’s phone buzzed in his pocket, not the single pulse of a text but the longer jangling of a phone call. He fished it out, smiling when he saw the name, and he didn’t even wait to get privacy from Max before answering.

“Alex—”

“Thank God. Where are you, Michael? Are you okay?”

“Alex? I’m fine, I’m at the Pony, what’s wrong—”

Max hurried to Michael’s side.

Alex repeated, “Thank god. Don’t come home, do you hear me? Do not come back to the house until I give you the all clear. Stay with Max and Maria.”

“What? No!”

But the line cut off midway through his protest, leaving him with nothing but the dial tone.

#my fic #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #malex

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theroguequeenaniki · 3 years ago

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Questions 2009 -> 2021

This is from my Facebook. It popped up on my memories page thing. I originally answered this in 2009 when I was 15, it’s now 2021 & and I am 27, so I’m gonna do it again. Leaving the original answers. Original answers will be italicized. Commentary on the original answers in parentheses & crossed out? Lol. (I’m not gonna tag anyone, but, like, I guess if you want to answer these random questions from Facebook 12 years ago, go ahead lol)

Questions

Can you fill this out without lying? You've been tagged, so now you need to answer all the questions HONESTLY. At the end, choose people to tag. Don't forget to tag me so I can see your answers! To do this, copy this entire message, then go to “notes” under tabs on your profile page, paste these instructions in the body of the note, delete my answers, and type yours. Easy! Next, tag people that you think may enjoy this (in the right hand corner of the app). Click publish (at the bottom). Have fun! :) 1.What was the last thing you put in your mouth? My cup with my Big Red in it The straw to my Kate Spade tumbler to drink my HEB Cola Lol.

2.Where was your profile picture taken? I got it off the internet. it's a random anime girl. My bedroom. 3.Can you play Guitar Hero? Never played it. Probably wouldn't be good at it. Not to good at video games. But I am good at Mario Cart, both 64 and the Wii. plus I'm good at some Sonic games. Still never played it. Idk if I’m any good at Mario Cart or the Sonic games anymore, I haven’t played either in years lol

4.Name someone who made you laugh today? Doctor Who TikTok. My cats.

5.How late did you stay up last night and why? Umm, probably about 10:00 cause it took me forevor to get into bed. Uh..Past 4am. Lol. B/c my sleep schedule is fucked. I was in bed by 3am though, but I was playing games & watching TikToks on my phone. Lol.

6.If you could move somewhere else, would you? Yes. I'd move to either New York or Sweden. I don’t know. Part of me says yes. But part of me says no..b/c even though Texas has it’s faults (a LOT of them), I cannot imagine living anywhere else long-term..

7. Ever been kissed under fireworks? HAHA. Yeah right. I've never even been kissed! Still nope. I have been kissed though. He just didn’t kiss me under the fireworks the one NYE we spent together...

8. Which of your friends lives closest to you? Um, I think R, but D might also. D is accross Stasney from me and R is a couple blocks down (I don’t talk to these people much anymore & I’m not going to share their names on Tumblr) Uh. I think Maybe Raven? B/c they’re the only one who lives in the same city still. But, Sarah might technically be closer distance wise? Hold on. Ok, yeah, Sarah’s closer, even though she doesn’t live in this city anymore.

9. Do you believe exes can be friends? It all depends on the situation.(I totally stold M's answer but it's true) (I don’t talk to this person anymore & I’m not gonna share their name on Tumblr) I mean, yeah. Two of my best friends are each others exes and they’re still friends. I haven’t stayed friend with my ex, but, uh, he ghosted me so? Lol.

10. How do you feel about Dr. Pepper? I love it. I still love it. Lol.

11. When was the last time you cried really hard? I can't remember. I don't think it was that long ago, I had a light cry on Saturday, but I don't remember the last time I cried really hard. When we got back from our trip in July. Had a full on breakdown that night. Overheated all weekend. Overwhelmed. Anxiety. It was not a very good vacation..I cry a lot though.

12. Who took your profile picture? I got it off of google. I did.

13. Who was the last person you took a picture of? Umm, either myself, or one of my family members. Aside from myself. I think my dad, on his phone, b/c there was a cicada on his shoulder and he wanted to ask the family group chat if he could keep it. Lol. I take a LOT of pictures of cats though. Lol.

14. Was yesterday better than today? Hail yes! To much drama today! And I couldn't avoid it cause I was in the middle of it! (Oof, what drama was 15 yo Linda dealing with that she couldn’t avoid? Lol. I mean, I guess, Sophomore year was a bit full of drama lol) Anyway, I mean, they were pretty much the same. One wasn’t better than the other. One wasn’t worse than the other.

15. Can you live a day without TV? yeah. Now Music there is something I can't live without! Yep, Do it almost everyday. Sentiments about music remain the same. Lol.

16. Are you upset about anything? Yes. I'm annoyed about something and it's making me upset. (I assume this has something to do with the the drama mentioned earlier lol) Always. Anxiety & depression are a bitch. My rooms a mess & I can’t get myself to clean it. My shelves are still a mess.

17. Do you think relationships are ever really worth it? yeah. though i havent really had one yet. I mean, yeah. Even though I haven’t had one last, aside from friendships, but they’re worth it.

18. Are you a bad influence? I hope not. If so, let me know.(again I took M's answer but it's true) Probably. Idk. Lol.

19. Night out or night in? Depends on what's going on and how I feel about it. Night in usually. I do like going out sometimes, but, like, to dinner. Maybe a movie or a show. But, you know, we’ve been in a panini press, the only thing I’ve been comfortable doing is going to dinner (fully vaxxed & masked). But I also prefer staying home anyway. (Like I usually just go to dinner with my family lol)

20. What items could you not go without during the day? my computer. my book. my journal and a pen. My phone. My journal (b/c I write in it every night, as a diary, 14yo Linda wrote stories). Uh. I didn’t take food or drinks into account in the og, so I won’t in those. But, yeah. My phone & journal. I can go a day without my laptop if I need to. (Went the whole trip in July without pulling it out, though maybe that’s not a good example since my anxiety on that trip was so high..) I want to say a book, but I’ve been in a massive reading slump so...I wish I read as much as 15yo Linda did..

21. Who was the last person you visited in the hospital? I don't remember. I think it was myself.(if you want to know, ask me in person) I honestly don’t know. I don’t remember the last time I was in a hospital.

22. What does the last text message in your inbox say? "Mrbobbybones: wish ted would finally meet their mother already. geez. get to it. However, I see myself in that character more and more each episode." yeah. That's what it says. It's from Twitter. (Huh? and I can’t even go check b/c my inbox doesn’t go back to 2009 on Twitter?? (I haven’t had my account that long) Wait wait wait just remembered I used to get tweets to my phone as text messages lol)

Facebook messenger: “ Cool” From our group chat. Lol.

From actual text messages on my phone: “ heeey! Just put up the Tuesday PDS just for you it’s a big one.” From Phillip Defranco’s text line Lol.

23. How do you feel about your life right now? I'm loving and hating it. but hey nobody gets out alive right? Uh..I mean. I’m alive. I have WiFi. Food. Family. I haven’t seen my friends in 2 years. (Minus Alex, b/c they were here in July to cat/house sit, but I saw them for like, one night..) There’s a lot that could be better. A lot that could be worse.

24. Do you hate anyone? yes!!! Oof. I mean, kinda.

25. If we were to look in your Facebook Inbox, what would we find? some random conversations. most of my convos on her though have been in chat or through comments. Facebook Inbox is now Facebook Messenger. So you’ll find all my Facebook Messenger convos. Mostly our group chat. And side group chats for secret planning (birthdays & stuff). Plus other chats? Lol.

26. Say you were given a drug test right now, would you pass? I better! (excuse me miss 15yo Linda you absolutely could have passed a drug test you ALSO didn’t drink or smoke or take any drugs lol) Yeah. Absolutely. I don’t drink or smoke or take any drugs so, yeah? Lol.

27. Has anyone ever called you perfect before?

Yes. But I can't remember when... Yeah. Pretty sure.

28. What song is stuck in your head? Gee by SNSD(Girls Generation) They're Korean. A few My Chemical Romance songs

29. Someone knocks on your window at 2:00 a.m., who do you want it to be? EDWARD CULLEN! Joke! lol. No I don't know. If it was Edward, I'd call the cops. whoever it is though better have an explaination or they are gonna get hit in the head with my Book of Shadows. (Maybe I wouldn’t mind Edward at my window though? Lol.) Uh. My friends? Lol. Idk if I want anyone knocking on my window at 2am.

30.Wanna have grandkids before you’re 50? I don't know....... Uh. No? Idk. Most likely not gonna happen.

31. Name something you have to do tomorrow? I can't think of anything right now... Eat. Should probably clean my room.

32. Do you think too much or too little? Way to much! lol. Way way way too much

33. Do you smile a lot? i try to. I think I do. I get told that alot in Theater...

I think so

#questions #throwback #is this a get to know me #idk

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chat-noir-always-here · 4 years ago

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Marinette and Anxiety

First, lets count all the things Marinette has that Adrien doesn’t have:

She has a healthy and positive home environment

Both of her parents are living, active presences in her life

Tom and Sabine love Marinette unconditionally

On top of having loving parents she has extended relatives who care deeply for her

she is allowed to go out and have friends over

going to public school is treated as a necessity rather than a privilege

she has, to some degree, or at least more so than Adrien, knowledge of socializing and is able to perceive signals better

she is on good terms and has a history with almost all of her classmates

she is allowed to explore her hobbies

she is allowed to choose her own occupation

she has the freedom to do whatever she wants with her schedule outside of school and curfew

I could go on but I trust my point is clear? Marinette is blessed with many of the things Adrien has been denied. Worse, everything listed above falls under the category of “normal” “common decency” or “necessity.”

Long post is long and I don’t like cuts because I’ve lost a few posts in the past using them. Please filter the tag “long post” i use it for walls of texts like this one.

But Mari’s life, despite being vastly different and more fulfilling than Adrien’s, isn’t perfect.

In order to understand Mari’s struggles we need to take a look at her history.

We see in Origins that Marinette has been the target of Chloe’s bullying for a long time—three years or perhaps even longer. As is the case with many victims of bullying she lacked the courage and confidence to stand up for himself and more or less suffered in silence until Alya encouraged her to fight back.

Something to understand about bullying: it drastically warps someone’s perspective. Not only in how they view themselves but the people and environment around them. The end result? Some form of isolation and possibly PTSD. Bullying victims tend to be either physically/mentally withdrawn, or both.

Not a lot is known about Mari’s life before the Origins episode, but given that none of her classmates stood up to Chloe except Alya, we can infer that they have grown accustomed to Chloe’s treatment of Mari and are likely not especially close with her at this point in time.

In her “In defense of Chat Noir” video, Toon Ruins states that Adrien isn’t especially close with his classmates yet either, saying he is “that friend that your mutual friends invite along and is just kinda there.” Its not unreasonable to presume that Mari was in that spot before she became Ladybug, befriended Alya, and developed enough confidence to stand up for herself as well as others.

It would also help explain why her friends were so quick to doubt her when Lila accused her in the Ladybug episode. Despite everything she’s done for them between Origins and Ladybug, they simply haven’t been close for very long and as Alya pointed out the evidence “was stacked against her.” Of course Alya and Adrien believed her because they are closer with Mari than practically any of her other classmates.

Adrien glaring at Lila when Marinette calls out to him for help. I cannot~~~~

Of course there was another, more obvious reason they doubted her: her feelings for Adrien and how intense she is when acting on them, which as Alya puts it served as her supposed “motive” for “hurting Lila.”

Marinette has often been seen crossing lines that are better off left uncrossed when it comes to Adrien. Her friends, especially the girls, are even somewhat aware of how intense these feelings are. (i.e. Alex’s comment during Gigantitan “Marinette knows a lot about Adrien it’s kinda creepy”).

More often than not, Mari wants to go somewhere mainly for the sake of seeing Adrien. Examples of this are when she’s supposed to wait for Nadja to come pick up her cake and during Simon Says when she is grounded for valid reasons . Often times there is some obligation involved—her promise to show up at Alix and Kim’s challenge and her promise with Nino in Simon Says—but chances are if Adrien weren’t there she wouldn’t want to go so bad (until an akuma showed up that is).

Something to understand about this: Mari has little to no opportunity to see Adrien. Worse, her history of being bullied and her previous status as an “acquaintance” rather than a “close friend” gives her at least some modicum of understanding about his situation. She empathizes with Adrien and cares for him, and is aware of his loneliness. During her life before Ladybug she likely longed for someone who would comfort and console her, and yeah probably found some relief with her mom given how Sabine seems aware of Chloe’s treatment of her daughter.

But Adrien has no one, and knowing that makes Mari all the more anxious when he doesn’t show up for their social gatherings as well as driving her desire to be the source of love and comfort he so desperately needs.

I won’t deny Mari literally breaking the law for Adrien isn’t okay. Sneaking into his home, stealing his phone, and kissing his statue (its a statue in an important museum. Chances are you’re not supposed to touch those, let alone kiss them) are simply NOT OKAY things to do. A lot of this behavior earns her some hate from the fandom and some well-deserved scolding from Tikki. But rather than making me hate her, or call her a stalker, I’m mostly concerned that she doesn’t understand how bad that is.

But Chat Blanc was a game changer. Adrien would NEVER have seen Ladybug in his room if she hadn’t taken her sweet time inspecting his belongings, smelling his pillow, etc. Meaning Adrien could have had her present and not known about Ladybug (he may have been curious as to how Mari’s gift got past security though).

However since Marinette WAS seen by Adrien, he was able to learn her secret identity which led to this:

This is a scenario she never expected. And as she learns this was caused by her own poor judgement, she wastes no time in saving Chat Noir, erasing her name from her gift and allowing Adrien to believe it’s a gift from his Brazilian fan club instead of from her, Marinette.

Chat Blanc was one of the last episodes of s3. Safe to say she probably won’t be breaking into anything anytime soon (theres some debate over the chronological order of the episodes, but if I recall this one takes place either in the last four or five episodes on most lists). She nearly lost her kitty for good after all--that’s not a price she’s ever been willing to pay.

This likely wouldn’t have happened at all except Mari’s life as ladybug has caused her to become accustomed to certain behavior in order to keep her secret. Yeah Mari stole Adrien’s phone right out of his locker—and no that wasn’t okay. But remember when she stole her textbook back from Alya? Taking it right out of her bag when Alya wasn’t looking? Just so you know, in the French version, Mari tells Tikki she wrote her name in that textbook. So her secret identity was in grave danger and she had to act quickly.

You’re damn lucky Alya didn’t crack that book open the minute she got it, Mari.

Anyhoo the point is this: Mari is applying what she has come to know as “acceptable behavior i do to protect my secret identity” to her situation with Adrien and misinterpreting it as “acceptable behavior I do to keep Adrien from possibly rejecting me and crushing my soul.” And in her head, they’re similar even though the consequences of either secret coming out are vastly different.

Really think about the context of that voicemail she sent Adrien—if she had accidentally butt dialed Adrien while taking to Tikki about her life as Ladybug and then had to go steal his phone to keep him from learning the truth the fandom wouldn’t have had nearly as much beef with her over that as she wasn’t the one who created the “secret identities rule.”

The reason the two secrets are equally crucial in keeping, in Mari’s mind, is likely due to her overwhelming anxiety. Which even before she became the Guardian of Paris and then the Guardian of Miraculous she was still an anxious person.

She didn’t have much confidence or even a large support network. But in the span of one day she was entrusted with the safety and well being of every single person in Paris.

She didn’t believe she was cut out for being Ladybug but was denied the option of refusing the position and told to just do her best.

She knew going out she would likely screw up the job and given her task failure wasn’t really an option.

Then her worst fears were realized when she failed to capture her first akuma and many citizens were turned into stone statues. The only way to turn them back was to allow Ivan to be akumatized so she could defeat him and take his akuma. The very knowledge of which crippled her and caused her to give up the ladybug earrings.

She tried to go back to her normal life but couldn’t. Ivan was akumatized, Alya’s life was in danger and Chat Noir was struggling to the point he got captured and needed her help. So she took up being Ladybug again in order to help them.

What was she supposed to do? Watch?

From the very beginning she had no say in the matter. Her life as Marinette wasn’t and isnt easy—she has plenty of her own problems but she was given a Miraculous and basically condemned to being at war with Hawk Moth indefinitely.

Ever give a thought as to why the French government allow these two vigilante teenagers to handle the situation? Because ordinary people can’t. In other words if Mari thought only of herself she would give up the fight and ignore all the ensuing damage. But she can’t. And she won’t. She has a job to do. She could give up her miraculous but that would mean taking the pressure off her shoulders and dumping it all onto someone else just as it was dumped onto her. She cant bring herself to do that and even if she could—who would she possibly give it to?

Just imagining that kind of pressure makes me want hurl from nerves. And as of the S3 finale its gotten worse as she has lost Fu, the person who could give out Miraculouses to other people in case she never comes back one day.

Hawk Moth would win. Game over. That’s what it would mean.

Ladybug and Chat Noir know what Hawk Moth winning would mean better than anyone else does. Of course they won’t walk away from this fight. But that means they have to juggle their double lives until its over, and apparently have to do it again with a second hawk moth later on in the future.

And again, even before all of this Mari had a lot she suffered from. Chloe bullying her, feeling lonely, being clumsy. Clumsiness is mortifying--it truly means suffering. Being the class clutz is like being the class laughingstock. Mari seems to handle it fairly well.

Until she’s around Adrien. I mean look at her!

Poor girl can’t stand looking so uncool in front of her crush. Even though he seems to find her clumsiness endearing.

Going off what was said in my “Debunking: Adrien is perfect” post, Marinette is hyper-sensitive to Adrien’s situation despite not really knowing the full extent of his suffering.

Marinette doesn’t know Gabriel is Hawk Moth either, but she does understand Adrien is lonely, isolated and in need of a source of love and comfort. She also understands to some degree that his heart is delicate, so she constantly handles him with kid gloves and looks on him with a perfection filter. We see how Mari reacts to upsetting Adrien in Malediktator when she softly whispers an apology after Adrien expresses his sorrow over everyone celebrating Chloe’s departure. She seems pained and distraught over causing him to be upset. Thus the reason Marinette calls Adrien perfect isn’t that she never sees any of his flaws--she just cannot acknowledge or process them under these conditions. She’s too busy trying not to hurt him.

Marinette can comprehend Adrien’s situation, couples that with her own past experiences of bullying/ loneliness/ being a clumsy laughingstock. That combined with her love for him and her anxiety-warped common sense, led to the behavior which has earned her some disapproval from the fandom at large.

But really? Marinette’s not a terrible person. Anymore than Adrien is.

Adrien’s sometimes-obnoxious-flirting is brought on by his desire to “not look lame” in front of Ladybug. Ergo, his own insecurities are amplified around her because he too lacks confidence.

Likewise Marinette’s stammering and clumsiness are amplified around Adrien, as is her anxiety and her desire to be cool in front of him.

They both feel they have to prove themselves to the other in some regard. And they both have past and present experiences that have left them hurting and/or warped their judgement in some ways.

This doesn’t make Mari’s irrational behavior any more acceptable than Adrien’s troubles make his leading Kagami on and lying to Ladybug acceptable. It’s not acceptable. But Mari is no more deserving of hate than Adrien is.

They’re just a couple of stressed out kids, folks

#long post #marinette dupain cheng #Marinette #adrien agreste #adrien #miraculous ladybug

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queerchoicesblog · 4 years ago

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Epilogue: Underwater (SC Titanic, Zetta x Adele Series)

As promised, here the epilogue of the Zetta x Adele Series, folks.

This is the very end of a project that meant me quite a lot to me and got me through the last terrible year. Thanks to all those who supported it: hope you enjoyed it and will enjoy this ending.

In case you were wondering, this song inspired the whole series, particularly the last chapters:

youtube

I will skip the tag list for once since it’s pointless anyway.

➡️ Ch. 1, Ch. 2/1, Ch. 2/2, Ch. 3, Ch. 4, Ch. 5, Ch. 6, Ch. 7, Ch. 8/1, Ch. 8/2, Ch. 9, Ch. 10/1, Ch. 10/2, Ch. 11/1, Ch. 11/2, Ch. 12, Ch. 13, Ch. 14, Ch. 15 , Ch. 16, Ch. 17

_________________________

Almost a century after the sinking of the RMS Titanic and to celebrate Canada becoming the first country outside Europe to legalise same-sex marriage, the Canadian Film Institute decided to work side by side with several LGBTQ+ organisations across the world to put together an exhibition focused on the early queer cinema and the many queer stars who were forced to hide their true selves in the Golden Age of cinematography, spanning from 1890s till the aftermath of Second World War. "A testament to the role the LGBTQ+ community played in the history of cinema and that we have always been here, even if people hardly saw us" as a journalist wrote on a queer magazine. After the recent discovery of some private documents, the curators were overjoyed to include an icon of the 1900s - 1910s cinema like Zetta Serda into the retrospective and cast a new light on her extraordinary career sadly soon forgotten after the advent of the sound era. Yet, the silent picture star was mentioned as a model and 'endless source of inspiration" by many queer movie stars like Cary Grant, Katherine Hepburn, Greta Garbo all part of the retrospective. Rumor has it that as soon as she landed in America, Marlene Dietrich demanded his agent a meeting with Mrs King.

A curator drove all the way to Montreal to meet the last known heir, a certain Mrs. Julia Nowak, who greeted him on the threshold of a cosy downtown apartment. She offered him a coffee and a slice of a Polish sweet bread: the recipe was a family heirloom, she explained, beaming. She was in her late fifties, a therapist, she said. Her hazel eyes gleamed when she added, in a pleasantly soothing voice that betrayed a hint of excitement: "I must confess I am so incredibly happy that you contacted me about the retrospective. I adore the idea and I will make sure to attend it. Also" she nodded to a wedding picture hung to the wall "did you know that my wife is in politics? She campaigned for the legalisation...yes, Madeleine Fournier: see, you know her! We got married right after the law passed. If anything, your call and project made me twice as happy". She took a pause, smiling over her coffee in remembrance. "Anyway, back to the matter of your visit...yes, as far as I know, I am Zetta's last heir. As you probably know, my family wasn't officially related to her but she stated otherwise in her will". She moved to the couch and gestured the curator to follow her as she opened up one of the boxes and chests piled into the living room and picked out an old album, the leather cover worn at the edges. Dust waltzed in the air as she opened it with caution and gentle care. She showed him a slightly discoloured black and white picture of a young couple kissing for the camera in front of a church. Another wedding picture, from a different era. "Nana Hileni and Papa Maciej's wedding picture. I still remember them even if they both died when I was barely a teen...as if one couldn't bear to live without the other. Or so I like to think. She would help me with the homework, mathematics particularly, and he baked this bread for me till he was too weak to do so. He always claimed that he won Nana's heart with his pastries but she always denied it laughing". She passed another picture of the same couple proudly standing in front of the Nowak family bakery in Hoboken. "Frankly, I believe that Papa's broad shoulders and Marlon Brando smile are more likely to blame for this coup de foudre" she laughed. "And he knew how to deal with her no-nonsense attitude and vice versa. They...balanced each other, if you wish". She picked another picture and handed it to him. A woman was looking down in tender adoration and awe to a baby nestled in her arms looking up at her, outstretching a tiny arm in an attempt to touch her face. "There! This is Dad" she pointed at the baby before turning the picture where someone wrote 'Alex meets Auntie Adele'. Turning it again, she pointed at the woman. "This is Adele Carrem. Or Auntie Adele as I've always heard calling her. Nana's sister and Zetta's publicist and companion" Putting it back into the album, she carefully picked a bunch of other old pictures. "You surely know who this one is" she smiled, handing out the one on top. The photo was rather grainy but you could still recognise the same kid, slightly older, around two, sucking his thumb, cuddled up in Zetta's lap. The actress had aged a little but her features were unmistakable and it was endearing to see her sitting by the fireplace to read that kid with the sleepy face a bedtime story. "Sadly, I have never met them. I wish I did, oh you have no idea...but stories of them lived through in our family" Julia continued. "My Dad loved his Aunties - as he called them - dearly and by what I've heard and read, they loved him in manner as if he was their own. He knew little of them or Zetta's career back then...to him they were just the sweet ladies who would buy him ice-cream in Central Park or take him to see his favourite pictures over and over again at the movie theater. He said he will never forget the afternoons he used to spend with them in a Manhattan cafe that no longer exists around Christmas: Nana and Papa worked like crazy as the festive season approached and the glorious cup of hot chocolate with an elegant puff of cream on top with the Aunties became a tradition to him. He kept it alive somehow as he did the same with me". She handed the curator a bunch of other pictures: Zetta cleaning up Alex's face smeared with jam, the both of them laughing; Zetta posing with Maciej and her Dad at a table in the Hoboken bakery. He eventually mirrored her smile seeing a five years old Alex at the beach all engrossed in building a sandcastle with Hileni and Adele, and he standing at the water edge hand in hand with Miss Carrem, looking out into the distance. "These are family pictures. I'll show you the Zetta's private memorabilia we cherished". Julia searched a little, opening an old chest and handling every item inside with tender care. When she found what she was looking for, she showed the curator an elegant set of smaller boxes containing letters, dried flowers and photos. "I have already received an offer to get these published. I'm still pondering it. Before agreeing, I want to consider throughly if this is a thing they would have wanted, even if they're no longer here" The curator nodded as she kept searching. He skimmed a few letters and smiled as his eyes fall on the photos hidden away in those boxes: the two women sitting together and chatting at Hileni's wedding, Zetta's reading a script, lazily sprawled on a chaise long in her apartment. Some had short lines handwritten on the back, like a promotional picture with "Missing you" written by Zetta herself. The curator showed another to Mrs Nowak: a visibly excited Miss Carrem proudly showing to the camera a document announcing her voter registration. On the back, in Zetta's penmanship: "On the way to vote...my sweet Adele won!". "Oh you didn't know? Auntie Adele was a suffragette! I couldn't believe it when I first heard it! Nana told me that she was in and out jail when they lived in London because of protests. You know, like those suffragettes you read about in history books but less famous. Yet she fought for women's rights and kept fighting for them even in America. She was quite disappointed though by some major decisions of some feminist movements and eventually joined a socialist Union 'more rightfully welcoming working class individuals, immigrants and black brothers and sisters'. It's all in those letters but yeah, you couldn't possibly know. So little is known about her outside family". A little smile drew on her face as she put back the photo. "That photo was taken the day of the first election open to women. I checked the date. I suppose Zetta wanted to immortalise the moment...it was sweet of her, huh? Auntie Adele must have been so proud and overjoyed that day! You know, my Dad was born in 1920 when women's right to vote was legalised nationally and Nana once told me that Auntie commented the lucky coincidence saying she was incredibly happy her nephew would get to live in a fairer world. She was a true force of nature...she never talked much of the sinking of the Titanic just like Zetta and Nana actually but when one day Dad asked...he was barely a child and probably found an old article about the tragedy...Auntie Adele minimised but Nana assured him that her sister saved her life that night, risking her own to go down to the belly of the sinking ship to bring her to safety. Auntie simply shrugged, saying that it was what sisters do and that they made it to the lifeboats only thanks to Zetta, who shouted protests to stubborn officers and eventually found them a spot on a boat. I cannot even bring myself to imagine how scary that must have been: I cried so much when Madeleine took me to see Leo and Kate...to think they were there and it was all real!" She picked a few other objects out the box: a Shakespeare Sonnets book in a leather cover with golden engravings, with a little handwritten dedication 'To Adele, my sonnet 116. Happy birthday! With all my love, Zetta'; old scripts with annotations, a framed photograph of Adele and Zetta slow dancing barefoot in the living room of a gorgeous Long Island mansion. "These have a sentimental value" Mrs Nowak noted, her voice betraying the flicker of emotions as she picked it up. She took a deep sigh and continued. "I remember the day I told Dad I was gay as it was yesterday. We had always been quite close so it came natural to tell him first. We were in his car, he had come straight from college to pick me up at ice-skating practice. I..I dropped it in the middle of a conversation, bracing myself for the worst. I heard so many bad stories about coming out to your parents I was terrified of the consequences but I couldn't hide it anymore. I mean, yes, in public: bullies get even nastier if they know and I didn't want people shouting me "dyke" at school. But I needed to get it out of my chest...with someone at least. He kept quiet for a moment and I felt like drowning in shame. But then he spoke". A nostalgic tender smile formed Julia's lips. "He said he had two amazing Aunties that contributed to make his life a wondrous adventure. It was thanks to them that he, the son of a baker, could attend a prestigious college, for instance: they offered to pay for it without asking a penny back. They also helped him write his first romantic letter to his childhood sweetheart and consoled him when the little girl turned him down. But his Aunties had a secret, he added. He said: to my kid eyes they were no less a couple than Mom and Dad and at home we all treated them in manner but one day Mom made me promise to behave differently when we were in public. In public I would refer to her sister as 'Auntie Adele' but call Zetta by her name. He didn't get it and it took some getting used to. He soon noticed that even the Aunties behaved a bit differently out in the sun: they wouldn't hold hands or use endearing words in the street or when other people were around. They simply behaved like good friends did. He understood it later when he, as stubborn as a mule, asked them directly". Julia gently grazed her fingers on the glass of the framed photograph, caressing it. "And they told me everything, he said. That they were in love, just like mom and dad were, but people out there could be uncomfortable and extremely rude to women loving other women and men loving other men. That they kept their companionship a secret in public because those people had no problems with women being friends and they didn't want to have bad words or worse happening to them. I remember asking him what he thought about it. He smiled. 'I cried. Since Auntie Zetta mentioned people claiming that women like them were sick and would burn in hell, I actually started crying. I sobbed desperately in her arms, crying that I didn't want them to burn in hell, I loved my Aunties and I was happy they loved each other. Eventually they explained me it was just a vile lie spread my malignant people. But I got quite a scare and kept staring at them with puffy red eyes and my face wet with tears for a while. It required lots of cuddling to bring a smile back on my face'. He shook his head, laughing of his endearing naivety. Then he pulled over and looked at me. He continued: 'I still don't get why people keep spreading those mean lies but I know for sure that my Aunties weren't sick and didn't end up in hell and so won't you. Don't believe bullshits like that for a split second, okay? And I also want you to remember that it doesn't change a thing for me and mom too. You will always be my little girl, our little girl and we love you'. We shared a long hug before driving back home. On the way back he insisted to buy my favourite chicken and waffles for dinner, saying mom's veggie soup could wait. For my birthday, a month later or so, he asked me to follow him to the attic and showed me this chest. To meet the Aunties that 'would have surely been there for me'". She tipped away a tear. "I told you I married Madeleine right after the legalisation of same-sex marriages. My wedding was also the last public event Mom and Dad attended together before his health worsened irremediably. He passed away last year". For a moment she looked on the verge of tears but she recovered quickly. "Sorry...anyway, that day Dad insisted on walking me down the aisle even if he was getting weak. He beamed with pride when a friend fixed a rainbow ribbon to his jacket. Later at the lunch he read a speech he had written for the day, his hand shaking. He shared the story of his Aunties. He said that despite the hardships their situation forced upon them, they had quite a happy life together, a happiness carefully hidden from the world. He wished us to find something similar to what they shared without needing to hide anymore. He said Adele and Zetta would have been so happy and proud to celebrate with all of us that day" Mrs. Nowak picked the Shakespeare Sonnet book and gave him a fond look. "He brought this to the wedding. And he read for us the sonnet 116, the one Zetta mentioned in her dedication. You know, the one that starts with 'Let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments..." ----------------------- A few months later the exhibition on old Hollywood queer cinema and artists opened. Each artist had a room that soon filled with a crowd of enthusiastic visitors. In the first half, in a room arranged as a turn of the century nickelodeon with velvet chairs, all the memorabilia of Zetta Serda's public life: panels explaining the various stages of her career and the birth of her myth, promotional pictures of her performances, articles about her and a copy of a gazette announcing her wedding with the director Richard King. On the wall, on a screen her entire filmography rolled up in loop, bewitching spectators after a century. In display cases: the gorgeous sapphire necklace she wore on her last night on the Ship of Dreams and at the movie party of Surviving the Titanic, and a replica of her Cleopatra costume. The aging Queen of Egypt with a tragic love and destiny immortalised by Shakespeare was her last role back on the theater stage before retiring from the scenes. Old scripts with her personal annotation were displayed with photographs taken on sets and mundane events. The wall hosting the motion-picture screen cut the room in half. On the other side, the hidden half of her life. Her life with Adele no one suspected back then. A life kept secret that now unveiled in front of the eyes of the visitors. The curators discovered that finding public pictures of Miss Carrem was nearly impossible, true to the nickname she acquired as time went by: The Shadow. She stayed at Zetta's side until and even after she stopped acting, showing rare loyalty and devotion, but ever surrounded by this mystery allure. No one, even the most stubborn reporters managed to know anything about her and she was soon dismissed as a Titanic survivor, possibly a fan, who worked as Zetta's secretary and somehow gained her respect. Little they knew about the depth of their relationship and what stacks of secret letters and family memories revealed of the life of Miss Carrem. A panel finally told her story and her secret achievements: Adele, or better Adal, kept fighting for a fairer world and society her whole life and marched for women's right to vote on the famous parade in 1915. She also passed the teaching of Edith Garrud to her American sisters. The only pictures of her came from the Nowak family, except for one. The only photograph of a public appearance of Miss Carrem as well as the only known public appearance of Zetta and Adele. An old grainy photo accurately framed showed Adele shaking hands with The Unsinkable Molly Brown on a podium. In her free hand a shiny medal and a few steps behind the mayor of New York. According to the panel, the survivors' committee founded by Mrs. Brown decided to award Miss Carrem a medal for bravery and a generous check "to help her and her sister starting a new life in America". With great surprise, Miss Carrem received the medal and the check, thanked the board but refused the honors. Instead, she asked to deliver them both to the family of a certain Charlie Stoke, a stewart that lost his life in the sinking to save her life and those of many passengers. She added that her friend expressed the desire to study naval engineering one day and she wished that the money kindly offered to her would be enough to establish a scholarship for boys like him across the ocean. In another picture, Miss Carrem and her sister chatted with Moll Brown in company of Zetta. Eventually, other philanthropists and wealthy socialites signed checks for her cause so that the Stoke family received a generous contribution too. And today, as another picture confirmed, the faculty of naval engineering of the University of Newcastle hosts a marble engraving of Charlie Stoke: to his memory a scholarship had been instituted one year after on the anniversary of the sinking. Since 1913 it has been helping students of poor background to get an education and improve their life. Zetta herself became a philanthropist during her Renaissance and ever since. The first act of her new phase of her life was joining the Moll Brown survivors committee to provide help to the second and third class passengers families and survivors. Some said that the tragedy she witnessed touched her heart, other claimed that it was to be attributed to the influence of her publicist. Jokingly, she used to say that after all, she had too much money yet all she could have wished for in her life, so why not doing some good with it? A considerable donation under her and Mr King was received by the main hospital during the Spanish flu pandemic; she was particularly active in providing financial help to struggling neighbourhoods and female education institutions. In the middle of the room, a long glass display hosted the Shakespeare Sonnets opened at sonnet 116 and a selection of the private correspondence between Zetta and Adele. My darling, You will receive this letter tomorrow morning when I'll be already off to Chicago. The suitcases are ready and packed, this is a goodnight note scribbled the night before leaving you to remind you how much I love you and care about you. How much I'm going to miss you even if - thank God! - we won't be parted for long... Do not forget you promised me to write every day! Write to me, Adele, write to me whatever thought crosses that gorgeous mind of you: you know I could you rambling for hours without getting tired of the sound of your voice, of your sparkling wisdom. I wanna know everything. So don't be shy: I'll be waiting your letters with tender impatience. Can't wait to be in your arms once more. Adoringly yours, Zetta - Dear, dearest Zetta, I went to Central Park today with Hileni. It was a gorgeous spring day, sunny, a gentle breeze blowing: 'simply too beautiful to be wasted inside' as my sister put it. Did I tell you that she's still exchanging letters with the delivery boy from the hat shop? I thought they were over but apparently he invited her to the nickelodeon next week. Anyway, walking in the park with her I suddenly realised how I wanted to share that spring wonder with you. When are you coming back to New York? Tell me soon, please. And even 'soon' won't be soon enough: you're always on my mind since you left. But yes, tell me soon so I can make you promise we will go for a walk before the weather becomes too hot. Do you think I can wrap my arm with yours? Is it professional enough for a publicist? Even just for a few steps: oh you have no idea how I would love that! Or maybe you have? I hope so: it'd mean you miss me as much as I miss you when we are apart. Oh, I almost forgot: all settled with that magazine you mentioned before your departure! I negotiated a two pages long interview, plus pictures. And a cover mention. Hope I did well: you have already fired me as your secretary, I must prove you I am just what you're looking for in a publicist... Can't wait to see you again! Loving you always, Adele Only one letter was copied on a panel of its own on the main wall side by side with a blow-up of the picture of Adele and Zetta slow-dancing barefoot and free, for a blessed moment immortalised in a discreet shot. Adele pressing a tender kiss on Zetta's forehead, drawing a soft smile on the acrtress' lips. Many visitors commented it was heartwarming to see such a photograph that conveyed the intimacy and the warmth of affection radiating from the dancing couple. Some said that Zetta was even more beautiful like that: free, hair slightly askew and genuinely happy, loved. What stole their hearts away though was the letter attached to it. It was no surprise that the curators decided to name the retrospective Underwater. Dearest Adele, Forgive me for the tone of this letter. I am writing it down in bed while I cannot sleep and my mind runs back to you as if we could meet halfway between the miles separating us, in a world of fantasy of our own. It's ridiculous how much I miss you! I want you near, I need you near all the time. Take tonight: if you were here with me, I would be heavenly sleeping in your loving embrace. Most unfortunately, you are not and I'm lying here, insomniac, thinking of you. And about my life. No, don't frown. I am not getting all sad again. It's...bittersweet. And - I'll spoil you the ending so you will stop worrying, hopefully - it gets better the more you proceed. Have you ever felt trapped underwater? I did, my whole life. Always hiding, always measuring words, gestures, gazes not to let them see, not to let them know...so little time to go up and break the surface. Drop the mask and breathe. In, out. Once, twice. In my lowest moments I repeated to my myself: how are you gonna survive? One day an acquaintance with a remarkable passion for the sea explained me and the other bored commensals that you can keep someone alive by breathing oxygen into their mouth underwater. Pretty much like mouth-to-mouth resuscitation helps an unconscious person to regain consciousness. I found it interesting but doubted his words. Then I met you, Adele. My dearest, wondrous Adele. And I learnt that yes, you can't breathe if you're constantly underwater...but you won't drown if you have the right person swimming by your side in those deep waters. Put your lips on me, Adele. Touch me, hold me in your arms. And I can live underwater. With your love, I can live underwater. We can live underwater. I love you. I want to cover a full page of these three simple words: I love you. I want to cry them out and entrust them to the winds, to the night. But what for? Who cares if the world knows or not? I'll whisper them over your lips when we will be reunited. So you can breathe underwater. Counting down the hours separating us, my love. Eternally yours, Zetta

#titanic storyscape #sc titanic #zetta serda #adele carrem #zetta x adele #zetta x adele series

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