#but there's nothing to DO about it really. she wanted to have some space to come to terms with this on her own

[moonchildstyles]

complicated

y/n meets someone, only to find out that he's going to be her stepbrother

wordcount: 17.3k+

—————

(Y/N)'s mouth pinched as she looked at the aisles of wine before her. Knowing her Uncle Mick, he wasn't even going to have a sip, not when he had whisky in the cabinet instead. But, it felt wrong meeting his new girlfriend—fianceé, actually, as of last weekend—empty handed. She wanted to make a good first impression, especially since she hadn't made any serious efforts to come by and meet her until her uncle dropped the proposal on her. 

Truthfully, it was because of her uncle; he was a hopeless romantic who had told (Y/N) on more than one occasion that he had fallen in love with someone he'd just met in the years since his wife had passed. It was hard justifying taking time off from work and booking plane tickets for a short-lived relationship.

But, that obviously wasn't the case this time. He'd been raving about this woman—Anne—for the last six months. Enough so that he purchased a ring and wanted to marry her as soon as they could thread something together. And her Uncle Mick wanted her to be a part of the whole process—she was the daughter he never had, he'd said. 

So, even if he wasn't going to take a single sip of whatever rosé she picked out, she was going to do it anyway. She needed to get to know this woman and let her know that she was going to be welcomed with open arms into this small, but loving family. 

Perusing down the aisle, (Y/N)'s eye caught a bottle with a golden foiling around the cork. The label was especially pretty, printed in French with a year on it that would take at least a couple of minutes for (Y/N) to do the math on. It was pretty, and undoubtedly more worth more money than she planned on spending tonight. But, that was the point, she thought. 

She'd make more money, but her uncle wasn't going to get married again. (She hoped, anyway).

The only problem? It was on the very top shelf and nowhere near the edge. She wasn't going to be able to reach it unless she called for help from one of the employees wandering around here. They didn't particularly seem to be in the mood, though. She didn't blame them, what with this being how they spent their Friday evening, watching every patron come in looking for some liquor to kick the night off. 

Looking around, she wondered if there was anything around here, one of those pokers that many retail spaces used to get high up t-shirts off the top racks. She knew the idea was stupid before she even finished the thought, but she couldn't completely ignore the hope that fizzled in her chest. 

Okay, maybe if she stood on the tips of her toes and reached really hard, then jumped she could reach it. Yeah, she could try that. Hopefully, she would only be able to reach the bottle she wanted and not knock over the plenty of other ones lining the shelves. 

With her hand blindly reaching the top of the shelf, fingertips grazing the empty surface, (Y/N) readied herself to jump as high and controlled as she could. 

"Do y'need help?"

The stranger's voice knocked her out of her plan. At the end of the aisle was a man with curling brown hair looking at her with a pinch between his brows. He had a white button up covering his torso, a light blue cardigan slouching over his form. He didn't wait for his answer before he started towards her.

"Um," she started, dropping to stand flat on her feet, "Yeah, actually. Thanks." 

"Of course," he smiled, relief unstitching his brows. "'M happy I caught y'before y'jumped. I don't think that would have worked out like y'hoped." 

"Me neither," she laughed, adjusting the strap of her bag over her shoulder, "But thank you. I was trying to reach the gold one on top." 

His smile was kind as he effortlessly reached for the bottle. (Y/N) couldn't help the way her eyes dropped over him, appraising every inch. Rings glittered on his hands, some with gaudy gems, others nothing more than brassy bands. The cardigan she had seen across the aisle was actually a knitted depiction of a cloudy sky, fluffs of clouds stitched into the material. His trousers were a warm brown, matching the belt cinched around his waist and shin of his shoes. As he reached, his hand had a cross inked between his thumb and forefinger. 

He was really cute. Really, really cute. In a real way, she considered if he was a model. Why a model like him, with a perfect nose and shattered green eyes, would be in the wine aisle of the liquor store of her home, she had no idea, but she was grateful for whatever circumstances put him here. 

Blinking away from him in hopes of concealing just how intently she had been staring at him, (Y/N) graciously took the offered bottle in his outstretched hand. 

"Thanks," she smiled, "Thinking now, I don't think my plan would have worked." 

The man in front of her settled in, hands in pockets as he gazed down at her. "Yeah? Rethinking the jump?" 

"Oh yeah," she laughed, "I think my bag alone would have knocked down an entire shelf." 

A short, breathy laugh fell from his lips. "Definitely. Would've ruined your night before 's even started." He gave a pointed look to the bottle in her hand. 

"Oh no, I'm just going to my uncle's house for dinner. He probably wouldn't have even noticed if I was soaked in wine with glass stuck in my jacket as long as he had food in front of him." 

The man hummed, giving a slow drag of his eyes over her form. "I don't know. You're hard to ignore." 

Her skin was decidedly warmer under his gaze. She couldn't bite back the grin that sparked over her features. 

"In a good way?" she chirped, blinking up at him as if he were the sun and she a flower. 

He had dimples. Her breath clung to her throat. 

"Only the best," he flirted, shifting on his feet as his phone buzzed in his pocket. He hesitated before reaching for the device. A beat passed as she let him read the notification, his lips thinning before glancing up at her. "I have to get going, but... I hope this isn't weird to ask, but could I have your number? Or whatever y'would want to share?" 

The man had come off so confident, approaching her without prompting. Lazily dragging his eyes over her with his hand shrugged in his pockets, entirely sure of what he could offer her should she take him up on it. But, now, asking for any way to contact her, he had struggled to find his words. She watched as he attempted to form the best way to ask for her number, a thin smile on his lips. 

She only nodded her head. "I can give you my number." 

The man before her brightened, dimples and bunny teeth on display. "Cool," he muttered, offering his phone up the same way he had offered the wine. 

Typing in her information, she glanced at him through her lashes. "My name's (Y/N), by the way." 

"Oh, yeah," he rushed out, breathing out a huff of laughter, "That's right—names. 'M Harry." 

"Nice to meet you, Harry," she smiled, passing his phone back, "Thanks, again." 

"Yeah, yeah," he grinned, looking down at the new contact on his phone. "Of course. I'll—um—I'll text you soon. Have a nice night at your uncle's." 

"Have a nice night," (Y/N) said, biting back her own grin.

Harry hesitated in his spot for a moment, looking at her with pretty green eyes and fluttering lashes before forcing himself to take off.

He only glanced back at her twice. 

—————

Sitting in her rental car, the drive to Uncle Mick's house mapped on her phone, (Y/N) took a moment in the silence. 

What kind of romantic comedy had she just found herself in? Giving out her number to random, pretty boys she met in the liquor store of all places. If she found out this had been a bad choice later, she would blame the cloud cardigan and the shades of green in his eyes. Anyone would melt when faced with those. 

Pushing the car into drive, (Y/N) allowed herself to wonder for a moment just how long she would have to wait for him to message her. She hoped she wouldn't have to wait very long at all before she had a chance to see him again. 

—————

(Y/N) felt out of breath as she approached the front door of her Uncle Mick's house, as if she had ran here instead of driven. 

The traffic on the way here had been humbling to say the least. And to think she called his place her hometown when she had turned into the wrong subdivision twice and was shocked every time another stoplight blocked what she remembered to be a straight path home. She could do another other than watch her arrival time drift further and further than the eight o'clock they had agreed upon. 

Clutching the neck of the wine bottle, (Y/N) figured thirty minutes late was better than not showing up at all. Despite having texted her uncle when she pulled up, she still pressed the doorbell. On the other side, she heard the clattering of overgrown feet with barking following shortly after. Flipper was awake, then. 

She was stuck outside for only a minute before the knob clicked and turned. Uncle Mick pulled the door open, smiling lips and crinkled eyes the first things she saw. 

"Hi, honey," he greeted, pulling her into a hug while Flipper went crazy behind him, "You made it." 

"Hi, Uncle Mick," she smiled, feeling suddenly emotional now that she was hugging him. It had been way too long since she saw him—the man that had raised her from the age of eleven. She hugged him especially tight at the thought. "I've missed you." 

"I've missed you, too. But you're here now, and we've got dinner warming in the oven for you." His kind smile only widened when he saw her gift in hand. "And you brought wine! Did I tell you this one was my favorite?" 

(Y/N) blinked. "Since when did you have a favorite wine?" she asked, passing off the wine as she locked the door behind herself. 

Her uncle shrugged, tipping his chin up in faux-superiority. "Can't a man change, (Y/N)? Or must I always drink acetone?" 

She let out a bubbling laugh as she followed after him, petting Flipper on his shaggy head. Trailing through the living room, she could see the lighting in the dining room, the chandelier that had gone unused for most of her childhood now lit at full power. A scented candle now dotted the coffee table, along with fluffy throw pillows and a knitted blanket on the sofa. 

The entire house seemed... softened. Eased into another phase of life that included delicate edges and soft-scented air. This woman must really be something to get Uncle Mick to take down his fish of the month calendar. 

Approaching the threshold, (Y/N) braced herself to follow after her uncle. She was going to have to start the night with an apology. 

Mick started the introduction, stepping aside when he said her name as if presenting her to a ballroom instead of his fianceé. 

"Sorry, I'm late. I—" 

Her words became stuck in her throat. 

Sitting in one of the four chairs at the small table was Harry. Cloud cardigan and all. 

What the fuck was he doing here?

"You alright, kiddo?" 

Blinking back to earth, (Y/N) nodded her head. "Yeah sorry," she muttered, forcing out a laugh, "I forgot what I was saying, as I was saying it." 

A round of laughter filled the room. Including Harry's. 

Making a point to avoid the end of the table that his chair sat, (Y/N) pointed her smile at the pretty, dark haired woman sitting right next to where her uncle had set himself up. 

"Sorry," she started, again, walking around the table to meet the woman halfway. "I wish I could have come around to meet you sooner. You must be Anne." 

(Y/N) had her hand outstretched to shake, only to be pulled into a warm hug. The embrace was soft and comforting, just like the effect she seemed to have on her uncle. 

"Don't worry," the woman, Anne, smiled, "Mick has told me all about your job, so I understand. Thank you for taking the time to come down and see us. It's wonderful to finally meet you." 

She had kind eyes, hazel with shatters of a familiar green. Just the reminder had a flush plucking at her cheeks, knowing who was sitting just behind her. 

"It's really nice to meet you too, Anne," (Y/N) smiled, hoping the natural turn of the conversation wasn't the one that this would take. 

Her hopes were shot down when Anne gestured behind her, her grin only widening. 

"(Y/N), this is my son, Harry. He's down visiting from work too." 

Harry. Harry was her uncle's—who was really like her father for all intents and purposes—fianceé's son. The man that would be as close to a bother as she could get as soon as this wedding happened, was the same one she had thought about going on a date with all during the drive here. 

He seemed to have the same shock running through his system as she stood from his chair. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Nice to meet you, (Y/N)."

Boundaries were maintained as they shook hands. Even if she was, unfortunately, taken aback by how large his palm was compared to hers. Warm and encompassing around her fingers. 

Matching his gaze, she could see the matching panic she was sure was also written on her face. They both felt that flirty energy in the wine aisle. They had only been cut off because they had somewhere to be—which happened to be the same place. 

Her name was in his phone with a pink heart emoji. 

And now they were just a wedding short of being step-siblings. 

"Nice to meet you, Harry." 

Forcing herself to pull her hand back, (Y/N) made the self-serving choice of looking towards her uncle. Whatever had conspired between her and Harry had gone unnoticed if the beaming grin on Mick's face was anything to go by. 

"I can help with dinner," (Y/N) offered, hoping for a reprieve in the form of the quiet kitchen, "You said it was in the oven, right?" 

"Oh yes, dinner," Uncle Mick laughed, "The lasagna is in the oven. Thank you, (Y/N)." 

That was all the permission she needed before scurrying off to the kitchen. She moved on robotic limbs to the appliance, but stopped short of pulling open the door.

Instead, she leaned over the stove, hands braced on the ledge. 

What kind of tragic comedy had she found herself in?

—————

"Goodnight, kiddo. Thanks for coming tonight." 

(Y/N) hugged her uncle that much tighter. She could hear the sincerity in his voice; this was about more than a dinner she had managed to make it down for. 

"Goodnight, Uncle Mick." 

Their embrace lasted a beat longer before she unraveled herself from his hold. Over his shoulder, she could see Harry having a moment with his mother. Seeing them side by side like that, the resemblance was so clear. Even down to the set of their teeth and the cheekbones. 

Especially when they smiled at each other like that. 

"Still on for breakfast in the morning?" Mick asked, fatherly affection painting his features. 

"If you can pick me up, yes," she conditioned, batting her lashes and beaming up at him. 

"As long as you're up and ready to go, I can make that happen." 

She pulled him into another hug to show her thanks. "I'll see you in the morning. Love you." 

"Love you too, kiddo. Get to bed so you don't keep me waiting." 

Heading towards the door, (Y/N) threw a glance over her shoulder, intending to wave to her uncle one more time, only to catch Harry following in her footsteps. Her lips thinned. She knew he was on his way out too, but she had hoped she was moving faster than him. Now It would be weird to rush out ahead of him and let the door slam in his face. Especially if this was now her soon-to-be stepbrother. 

Harry's pleading eyes met hers. Begging her to wait just a second for him. She supposed, even if she wanted to avoid it, they needed to talk about this at some point. 

Now, they both were waving goodbye to their respective parents. Final declarations of how nice it was to meet one another were shared, following them out onto the chilly stoop. Silence fell over them as the door sealed behind them. 

Just the two of them now. (Y/N) and her almost-stepbrother. (Y/N) and the guy she had just short of fantasized going on a date with only hours earlier. 

His steps slowed to match hers. 

"So," he started. 

She didn't offer any words. Was now when they acknowledged the obvious flirting they shared in the liquor store? Or were they going to save that for the wedding? 

"Kind of fucked up, huh?" 

At that, (Y/N) couldn't help but to laugh. The sound was surprisingly loud, breaking into the quiet neighborhood. 

"That's exactly what I was thinking," she murmured, coming to a stop next to her car. Daring to look up at him, she caught him already looking down at her. His eyes were just as pretty now as when she saw him for the first time that night. Before she knew her adoptive dad was marrying his mom. "Did you... You didn't know before, right?" 

A pinch appeared between his brows. "No. Had no idea. The last time I was down here was two years ago, when I helped my mum move."

"That's crazy. The last time I was here was two years ago, too." 

A rueful smile touching his lips. They were both having the same thought. 

If only...

"They seem really happy together, though," (Y/N) posited, knowing they were going to have to accept the terms of their newfound relationship. 

"Really happy," Harry agreed, glancing back at her childhood home, "'S been a long time since I've seen my mum that happy." 

"Same for my uncle." (Y/N) nodded her head, her smile thin when Harry turned back towards her. Whatever she had started knitting for him this evening, now needed to be severed. "It was really nice to meet you, Harry. Thanks for everything tonight." 

Faint dimpled dented his cheeks. "It was nice to meet you, (Y/N). Get back to your hotel safe." 

"You, too," she reciprocated, pulling open her car door. Harry took a step back, his hands in his pockets as his eyes followed her. "Oh," she gasped, "You should probably change my name in your phone, by the way. I think the emoji might throw some people off." 

At that, she was granted Harry's bursting laughter as she climbed into her car. She probably felt a little bit too much pride over that. 

Pulling out of her uncle's driveway and out into the street, she couldn't help but peek into her rearview. Though a part of her wanted to think Harry had his eyes following her, the other part of her was quick to send a reminder that that wasn't something she should want. Not anymore. 

While there wasn't anything serious that had conjured between them, the potential having been torn from their hands was enough to feel a little bit of loss. They hadn't even had time to mess it all up themselves. 

Now they'd never know. 

 —————

Tucked away in her cubicle, (Y/N) smiled at her phone. 

The group chat labeled Wedding Party complete with every floral emoji the keyboard had to offer was going crazy. But, she still went to the single message from Harry first. 

     I love my sister so much but I think I'm going to have to block her if she sends one more Pinterest board to my mum. This whole thing was supposed to be small and now we're looking at a gelato bar for the reception.

     There wasn't even supposed to be a reception.

She covered her mouth as if that would make the grin growing over it obsolete. She knew well what he was going through. For the first two months of this engagement, all talks of the wedding had been flippant, that the ceremony would happen when it happened. In a matter of weeks, everything had changed. There was now a joint bachelor and bachelorette party to plan. 

Harry had been her lifeline through this roller coaster. They didn't talk about the night in the wine aisle, never breaching the previous terms of their acquaintance. Instead, they had grown to be friends. Good friends. The kind of friends that had separate conversations outside of group chats. The kind that would send anything that reminded them of one another. They had inside jokes now. 

They were friends. Soon to be step siblings. 

(Though, even if it wasn't something she acknowledged, (Y/N) knew good and well there was a phantom following her any time she interacted with Harry. That phantom never let her forget that she was still attracted to him. Even if no action could be taken, she wasn't going to be able to forget him as the man in the cloud cardigan with the pretty eyes and freckled nose).

     I'm supposed to be figuring out a bachelor party and I think I would rather die than think about what my Uncle Mick would want to do on his last night as a "single man"

     I might just change my number actually and hope no one notices 

     Hahahahahaha

     And now we both get to be there for that last "single" night. Thrilling stuff! 

     You'd still let me have your number though, right?

She didn't want to admit how her cheeks warmed reading his texts. Maybe because it was something she wanted to see—though she'd never admit to as much out loud—, but she swore there was still that flirty undertone to the way he spoke to her. Like he wasn't quite over things like they were supposed to be. 

     Of course

     I'm scared you'll go crazy without it and I still need you for the actual wedding 

It was a small indulgence, telling him she needed him. While she wouldn't act like there was something astronomical that had been built between them, it was hard to ignore the fact that the more she spoke with him, it didn't exactly tamp down her feelings for him. 

     I know you do.

(Y/N) blinked at her phone screen. She could hear the words in his voice, that drawling accented voice. The way his eyes would have connected with hers had they been speaking in person. How there would have been a quirk in his lips, a reminder that this was very much a silly, lighthearted joke even if a part of her short-circuited. 

Ignoring everything else, (Y/N) typed out a lame, noncommittal response ("You wish lol") before locking her phone and placing it face down on her desk. The email in her inbox suddenly sounded a lot more appealing than they had only a few minutes prior. Even making the copies she had been putting off for the whole morning had suddenly been pushed up the to-do list. 

Anything to keep herself busy—too busy to think about Harry. 

She would be seeing him again soon because of the bachelor/rette parties that were coming up within the next month, and she needed to have her head on straight. It was embarrassing to be so distracted, caught up in someone she'd only met in person once. A total of maybe six hours had been spent together that entire weekend she had visited home, counting both the initial dinner and the brunch before the both of them were to jet back to their respective homes. Each of those hours had even been buffered by the attendance of their parents. 

And yet, here she was. 

Forcing herself out of her seat, (Y/N) made her way to the copy room. Everything was going to be okay, she reminded herself, fiddling with the blunt edge of her master copies in her hands. She was going to see Harry, be so clearly and readily reminded that she was going to be his stepsister for all intents and purposes, and every affection she held for him was going to dry up. All she needed was to meet him once more, and wipe away the liquor store meeting from her head. 

Everything was going to be fine. Perfectly fine. 

As long as she somehow figured out how to mash the idea of a fancy dinner for Anne's bachelorette party with a fishing trip for Uncle Mick's bachelor counterpart. 

—————

(Y/N) scrolled to yet another page of search results. 

If she saw any more party bus and strip club ideas for a joint bachelor/bachelorette party, she was going to scream. There was no way she was going to down shots and dance on a pole around her uncle and her soon to be stepfamily. 

There wasn't a single chance that she was the first to ever plan something like this for an older couple. Someone—one of the billions in the world—would have undoubtedly come up with an idea far before her. And yet, she was on the third page of google results, and she knew if she drifted to the fourth, she was done for. 

There had to be at least something nearby that could check the boxes for both sides of the honored couple. 

She was this close to booking reservations at a restaurant that had a claw machine for diners to pick out their "lobster" (looking at photos, it appeared to just be a handful of plastic lobster figurines based off of a cartoon). If Gemma hadn't already taken on so much with her mother, including planning out many elements of the wedding itself, (Y/N) would have just short of begged her to come up with something. But, that wasn't fair. She wanted to be a good soon-to-be sister and take something off of Gemma's plate, especially since she had apparently recently welcomed her first baby. 

Shuttering her eyes, (Y/N) rubbed her temples. She needed to focus and make a decision. The reserved weekend was only a handful of weeks away, and she needed to get these plans finalized before it was too late. 

At her side, her phone buzzed, the vibration scaring (Y/N) out of her skin for a brief second. 

Blindly reaching, she brought her phone up, effectively blocking her laptop screen. A text message had come through. From Harry. 

     Are you busy?

She sighed, lips thinning as she debated answering. While she was busy, the idea of being distracted sounded much more fun than looking at another aquarium dining space—complete with a tab that would take her months to work off. 

    Not really why??

With that, a call came through. Also from Harry. 

(YN) clutched her phone. She'd only talked to him on the phone once, and it was brief. He'd hadn't been able to reach his mother and needed quick directions to the brunch spot he met them that first weekend. She had barely talked to him, passing along the phone to his mother in the same breath as her greeting. 

Tapping her thumb on the green circle, (Y/N) accepted the call before she could think better of herself. It was just Harry, she drilled into her head. Just Harry—a friend and nothing more. 

"Hello?" 

"Hey, you," was his greeting, his accented voice flowing through the speakers in a way that almost felt offensive. How dare he answer he as if he was just as happy to hear her voice as she was for him? 

"What's going on?" she forced out, hoping it sounded a lot more casual than she felt. 

Harry let out a sigh, the sound of rustling fabric audible in the background. "Nothing jus' trying to figure out m'plans for the stag weekend. Figured I'd call you since y'have all the answers." 

His tone had been teasing, lilting through a smile. He knew she had been struggling to figure out what to plan for everyone, but she hadn't revealed just how much of a problem she was having. The last time they had even really discussed the topic was a week ago, when she felt as if she had all the time in the world to thread something together. 

Today, after looking at the calendar and the countdown to the agreed upon dates, his poking didn't feel so funny. 

"Um, yeah," she muttered, running a stressed hand down her face, "I'm figuring out everything right now, and finalizing stuff. I'll let you know for sure when I can." 

A brief pause settled between them. 

"(Y/N)," Harry started, his voice decidedly gentle compared to the teasing a moment before. "Y'alright?" 

"Hm? Oh, yeah, sorry," she murmured, stumbling over her thoughts. "It's just been a little bit of a long week, so I'm really tired." 

She meant to finish on a breathy laugh, lighthearted even if she didn't really feel that way.  Instead, it came off as just a little bit sad. 

"Bad week? Or jus' a lot?"

"A lot," (Y/N) sighed, "But it's alright. I think once I get everything figured out for the party, I'll be fine." 

"If y'want, I can take over some things. I can make calls or set up reservations. Whatever y'need." 

A small quirk tugged at the corner of her mouth. "That would  be really nice, Harry," she started, resigning herself to telling the truth, "but, I actually haven't picked out anywhere or decided anything yet. It's a lot harder to plan something that has the vibe of a fishing trip, but served high-class food. The closest I've found is this place with a 'lobster' claw machine." 

(Y/N) didn't have to see him to know he blanched at the idea, his scoff evidence enough that he was on the same page as her. 

 "Yeah , that might not be what mum's looking for," Harry laughed. (Y/N) wished she could see his dimples. "I can take a look around too, though. It might help to have some more eyes."

Her lips thinned at the idea. She was supposed to be taking this on by herself; Gemma and Harry had enough on their plate, it didn't feel fair to pawn any more tasks off. 

"I don't know," she mumbled, "You and your sister are already don't so much, I don't want to—" 

"(Y/N), 's alright. 'S just a couple of google searches, 's not a big deal," Harry interrupted her, his voice gentle, "'M getting a little worried about you." 

He ended with a breath of laughter, though (Y/N) found it hard to buy that he wasn't sharing a little bit of honesty with her. 

With her bottom lip between her teeth, (Y/N) blinked at her laptop screen once more. If she had to figure out how to reword "fancy fishing restaurant" one more time, she might explode. If anything, it would be nice to take a small break from attempting to make these decisions. 

"That would be nice, Harry. Thank you."

She could hear the smile in his voice when he spoke again, "See? I told you, y'needed me." 

(Y/N) didn't even attempt to argue.

—————

Through bleary eyes, (Y/N) caught the time on her phone. One in the morning. The phone call with Harry had just hit over the four hour mark. 

"But, yeah," Harry laughed, cutting himself off with a small yawn, "I don't plan on going to any of my school reunions. I don't think it'd go over very well." 

(Y/N) let out a peal of laughter, the noise quiet and tired. "I think you should; it would be very funny, at the least." 

"Maybe," he hummed, "If I don't get arrested." 

"For something that happened ten years ago? I don't know," she countered, singing the syllables, "We'll only know for sure if you go." 

"Then y'have to come with me. If I get in any trouble, 'm making it your problem." 

It could be the late hour making her delirious, or the fact that she wasn't able to convincingly lie to herself at the moment, but it felt like something to have Harry casually make those future plans with her. 

"I'll be there," she cemented through a sleepy smile. 

A pause settled between them, the sound of rustling sheets audible through the phone.

"I should let y'go, (Y/N). 'S later than I thought," he drawled, "I didn't mean to keep you up." 

"No, it's okay," she insisted, "This was nice. Thank you for helping me—and hanging out with me tonight." 

I missed you is what she wanted to say. Just barely was she able to choke the thought back. 

"You've got me, you know that," he promised, "But, all of the confirmations and everything should go to you. If you need anything though, you can send them to me, I don't mind." 

"Thanks, H," she hummed, letting her eyes fall to a close. "I'll talk to you soon?" 

"Of course—I'll probably start bothering you first thing in the morning." He spoke as if his first text message wasn't going to be the highlight of her day. 

"That'll be nice," she let slip, incredibly warm with the tufts of her bedding fluffed around her, "And I'll actually see you in a few weeks." 

"That'll be really nice," Harry said, something running under his tone she was too tired to examine, "'M excited, (Y/N)." 

"Me too," she yawned. 

"Goodnight, (Y/N)," Harry drawled, tongue lingering over her name, "Sleep well" 

"Goodnight, Harry," she smiled.

There was a brief moment. A pause where neither of them hung up.

(Y/N)'s breath caught, suddenly so awake compared to just a moment ago. 

Then the call cut. 

Four hours on the phone with him, leaving with sore, smiling cheeks and drooping, sleepy eyes. 

In three weeks, she would see him again for the first time in months. Everything was going to be fine—and normal. 

—————

"To mum and Mick. Congratulations." 

Flutes of champagne were raised over a white-tableclothed table, sparkling and golden. Smiling faces were shared over the setting, blushing cheeks on Anne's face with an eye-crinkling smile on Uncle Mick's. The clinking of the glasses sounded in the quiet, reserved space before being brought to smiling lips. 

A wonderful way to end dinner. 

(Y/N) couldn't help but to meet Harry's eyes across the flute. He was already looking at her, bouncing his brows when he caught her attention.

She looked away first, cheeks warming. 

"Thank you, Gem," Anne smiled, voice sing-songing over the syllables. "I love you so much, you know." 

Gemma only smiled at her mother. That was definitely the third glass of champagne beginning to talk. "I love you too, mum. Just as much." 

Anne's eyes watered, glossing the already glazed look over her irises. "Both of you," she said, looking to her children, "The best, you are. I couldn't be luckier." 

Gemma shared a sly smile with her husband at her side as Harry opened his mouth to take on his mother's emotional reaction. Only for Anne to cut him off, turning her attention to (Y/N).

"And, you," she started, folding her hands over her heart, "I couldn't be more excited to have you in my family. Thank you for everything you've done for Mick." 

Though (Y/N) thought it was a little bit funny, the slur to Anne's words and the overly affectionate way she spoke to her, but she couldn't help but to match a bit of that emotion. It was nice to hear something so loving, and know that she would be there for her Uncle Mick when (Y/N) wasn't able to. 

"Of course," she smiled, hoping no one noticed the slight sniffle of her nose, "I can't wait to be a part of your family either. I know my Uncle Mick is very lucky to have you." 

It was then that Anne broke, letting out a stream of sobs. (Y/N) watched as her Uncle had his own soft smile on his face, amused at his bride's antics though there was a matching sheen to his eyes. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders, looking at the guests in attendance. 

"Tonight was very special, you guys. Thank you," he smiled, complete joy in his eyes, "I think it's time we head home." 

Gemma was quick to agree, a gentle hand on her mother's arm. "Us too," she smiled, glancing at her husband, "It's time we get back and let the sitter go home." 

When neither Harry nor (Y/N) disagreed, no one hesitated to start getting up and readying for the journey home. Jackets were donned, and eyes were wiped. While Anne was busy with her children,  her hushed voice emotional, Uncle Mick came right to (Y/N).

"Thanks, kiddo. Really," he muttered, "This was perfect—and I doubt it was easy." He cast his gaze through the bow windows encompassing this private room.

Outside, the shining lake rippled under the moonlight, dock rocking in the waves. The elegance Anne had requested came in the crown molding and clean decor, while Mick's requests came through in the dock outside and the fresh seafood from the kitchen. How (Y/N) had overlooked this place through her searches, she wasn't sure, but she wasn't sure she would have been able to do this without Harry. 

"Harry helped a lot," (Y/N) specified, beaming up at Mick, "But I'm happy you liked it. I'm happy you're happy."

Seeing the way he looked over his shoulder at his bride-to-be, (Y/N)'s heart almost burst. How truly lucky were they. The perfect movie they made. 

"Love you, kiddo," Uncle Mick murmured, wrapping her in a hug, "You going back to the hotel?" 

"Probably," she nodded, "We're still looking for your suit tomorrow, right?" 

"Yeah," her uncle sighed, not entirely excited at the idea of the outfit, but willing to do what it took to make his soon-to-be wife happy. "I'll pick you up, okay?" 

"Thank you," she smiled, giving him one more hug. "Goodnight." 

"Goodnight," he smiled, dropping a kiss to the top of her head before departing. 

Anne was passed from her daughter to her almost-husband, happily falling into his arms with loose limbs. She gave a noncommittal wave to the group following after her.

Gemma was the next to depart, hugging (Y/N) and sharing her thanks for planning this part of the evening. Harry didn't attempt to take any of the credit, only watching quietly until it was his turn to bid goodnight to his sister and brother-in-law. 

Out in the parking lot, the pavement bathed in moonlight, (Y/N) rubbed at her thinly covered arms. 

Just she and Harry were left. 

"Tonight turned out really well," Harry commented, a dimpled smile on his face, "Good job, (Y/N)." 

She shook her head. "I just confirmed everything, and you know that. Thank you for getting this all taken care of." 

Harry shrugged, shoulders lifting though he kept his eyes trained on her. It had been like this for most of the night; his undivided attention had clung to her like a second skin. He came back to her every time. The end of every conversation was punctuated by his look to her face, gauging her reaction. It was thrilling, though the thrill was tempered from the fact that she knew she wasn't supposed to keen under his attention like that.

Looking out towards the water that had set the scene for the evening, (Y/N) could feel his eyes on her. She felt a bit crazy, her skin prickling under his attention. There was a large part of her that dreaded the fact that she had to head back to her hotel alone now. They'd barely had time to speak to one another as a group, let alone on their own. She doubted they would have a chance like this again for the rest of the weekend. 

Harry was her family now. Maybe some extra time with him was all she needed to officially understand that. Overwrite those previous flirty memories of him with something much more appropriate. 

That was why she wanted to keep the night going. That was why she opened her mouth, question on the tip of her tongue. 

"Did you..." (Y/N) started, carefully picking her words as she kept her gaze out on the lake, "Are you tired?" 

She could cringe at the sound of her voice tripping over her question.  

"Not really," he drawled, smile audible in his voice, "Are you?" 

"Not really," she repeated, daring to match his gaze. Her skin warmed when she caught him with his eyes already engaged on her. With the moon above draining the world of color around them, his eyes somehow still acted as a beacon, the green rippling like the lake. "Do you want to get a drink, or something?" 

His dimples were cast in shadow, denting his cheeks as his grin grew. "I think I saw a bar not too far from here when I booked this, if y'don't mind walking." 

While her dress didn't exactly agree with the weather, the chilly breeze kicking up the hem and casting goosebumps over her skin, there wasn't a single part of her that could find a reason to decline. 

"Lead the way." 

—————

"After you." 

Harry opened the door with a flourish, bending at the waist as he gestured (Y/N) through the doorway. It was entirely too dramatic, especially for the kind of bar he had taken her to. A peal of laughter left her lips.

The inside of the bar was much warmer than the chilly air outside, enough so that even with the thin jacket on her arms, (Y/N) started to sweat. After Harry entered behind her, the door closed, sealing behind them. 

The nautical bar was a drastic change to the restaurant they had just left. 

Fishing nets were strewn over the ceiling, filled with weather torn life-preservers, various starfish, oysters and clam shells. Sparkling pearls were dotted throughout. The walls were decorated with different portraits depicting sea-faring legends and the glorious ships they sailed. Creaky floorboards sounded under their feet, the lumber matching that that boarded up the walls and made the majority of the round tables of the bar. The bartop itself was a candy apple-red, sleek and only a little scuffed. The mirrored back wall of the bar was lined with liquor, reflected int the low light of the establishment, only a single bartender fixing drinks for people (Y/N) had no doubt were a mix of regulars, and people like she and Harry who were just looking for a drink after touring through the area. 

When a gentle hand landed on her back, ushering her forward, (Y/N) stiffened. Blinking behind her, she knew the touch came from Harry, though it still had her throat running dry just to see that it was, in fact, him looking out for her.

He cast his eyes around them as they slowly approached the bar, the whining floorboards louder than his voice, "'S a little different than the pictures online." 

"Yeah?" she smiled, following his eyes to the portrait of a fishing captain with a sopping beard and hardened eyes. Truthfully, (Y/N) worried that if she looked away and then glanced back at the painting, a skeleton or ghoul would be in his place. "I can't believe that." 

Harry let out a breathy laugh at her joke. Stepping to the bar, he didn't build upon their teasing, instead, pulling one of the vinyl stools out for (Y/N) to sit. Taking the proffered seat, she pretended to study the liquor bottles behind the bar instead of just how close Harry was now that he took the spot at her side. Especially when he settled in with his legs spreading, his knee touching hers. 

 "You kno—" 

"What can I get you two?" 

The gruff voice of the bartender cut Harry off unceremoniously, his tired eyes flicking between the two of them impatiently. 

"(Y/N)?" Harry murmured, letting her go first as if she was going to be able to concentrate when she heard the syllables of her name wrapped in his voice. 

"Um," she stumbled, looking at the bottles behind the barkeep as if it were a menu, "A—uh—a cosmo? Or just a vodka cranberry? Something like that." 

The bartender bounced his brows as he grunted. He must not have liked (Y/N)'s answer as much as she didn't. Harry's order went much smoother, even if he did have to wipe the sly smile off of his lips as he asked for a whiskey, neat. 

As soon as the man who could have easily been the subject of one of the paintings left them be as he started their drinks, (Y/N) hung her head in her hands. "Oh my god," she quietly groaned. 

Harry nudged her with his shoulder, ducking his head to conspire with her though she didn't really feel like he was on her side given the way he had to bite back his amusement. "It wasn't that bad." 

"Yes it was," she laughed, "I thought he was going to ID me and think it was a fake." 

He shrugged. "We've got time." 

(Y/N) let out a laugh, feeling a little less embarrassed as she turned to look at him, cheek cushioned by her hand. It was quite the feeling, to know that they really did have time. At least for tonight (after their parents joint bachelor/rette parties, of course). Then, she would come to her senses, and live the rest of her life with Harry as her legal sibling. 

"Right. We've got time." 

—————

"Harryyy."

"Yes?" 

"Harryyy."

"Yes, (Y/N)?"

"Harryyy—" 

Putting his hand out, Harry stopped her from spinning on her stool. (Y/N)'s singsong voice stopped right in its tracks when she saw him, warmth creeping up her neck, though she doubted it was from the alcohol. Even if there was a lot of that in her system. 

"What, (Y/N)?" he laughed, craning his neck as he crowded around her. 

"Do you think they'd let me do karaoke, even if there isn't a stage?" 

Another bright laugh left Harry's lips at her words. "I think there might be a little more missing than jus' the stage, but 'm sure we can work something out. You've got to ask first, though." 

Giving a slight incline of his head, (Y/N) followed to see him gesturing to the bartender. The one person in the whole room she was sure would immediately shoot down her idea. As if it wasn't a fun one. 

"H, you know he's going to say no." 

"I don't know," Harry crooned, "Y'should probably ask. He might like karaoke, too." 

A light could have pinged over her head. He really could like karaoke, he's just shy about it. It would only take a little bit of convincing, maybe even a song or two, and he'd be so on board. Should she start with a ballad or a—

(Y/N) felt someone crowd around her, static running down her back. Harry looked over her head, lips thinning. 

"Hey stranger." 

Blanching at the greeting, (Y/N) whipped her head around. Behind her was a vaguely familiar face. She couldn't place the name, but she knew this man. Even if he was a bit harder to recognize out of uniform.

And acting way more familiar than a waiter should. 

"Hi," (Y/N) answered with an owlish blink. 

The man paused, as if waiting for something more to come out of her mouth. Nothing did. 

He let out an awkward laugh, thrown off by her lack of response. "Wedding things over for the night?" 

Behind her, she could hear Harry shifting over his seat. Just that much closer to her, his knee brushing against hers. 

"For tonight, yeah," he answered for her, "Jus' getting a couple of drinks before going back home." 

The man hummed, nodding his head. He didn't pay much attention to Harry, only looking at him for as long as it took him to finish his words before he was stitching his eyes back to (Y/N). 

"You should've told me you were looking to go out tonight. I could have shown you the good spots." 

It was a bit childish the way she pouted at him. "This place is good," she countered. 

She wasn't going to let him speak bad about this place. Harry picked it and she was having fun. 

"Well yeah, but," he started, "There's a couple of other places that look a little more your speed."

"I'm having fun here," she insisted, reaching blindly back towards Harry, "He picked it. I like it." 

It was odd the way he looked at her. The way he followed her hand as she found his leg. He looked through her, searching for something more. 

"Aren't you..." he started voice trailing off before Harry stepped in. 

"I think we're alright for now, man," Harry said, "I think we're gonna head home soon, anyway." 

Whatever this man had been looking for before had been pushed to the wayside. Something a little too fast flash through his eyes for her to decipher, though the brown of his irises lacked some of the flirty warmth from before.

He decidedly ignored Harry, looking towards (Y/N) as if Harry hadn't spoken at all. 

"Let me buy you a drink at least," he charmed, dipping his head until he was level with her. "I can't lie, I was hoping that dinner wasn't the only time I'd see you." 

(Y/N) blinked. She opened her mouth to say something disjointed and a little too drunk back, only for Harry to pipe up.

"I think we're alright; the tip we left earlier should have been enough. Thanks." 

His hand landed gently upon her own where it sat on the cuff of his knee, warming her skin.

That searching look was back on the man's face, gaze locked on their hands. 

"I thought... Isn't she your sister?" the man blanched, scoffing. 

"Actually," (Y/N) hiccuped, "I'm his stepsister. But, not even that, if you want to get specific. His mom is marrying my uncle, so it's, like, legally even less than that." 

(Y/N)'s bubbling didn't make much sense, but it didn't appear that this man was listening anyway. He only looked towards Harry, as if he was the one that was attempting to argue these details. A frown tipped her lips.  

"We're alright, mate." 

The man paused for a moment. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, "Weird," before stalking away. 

Her brows knitted together as she watched him leave to haunt a different corner of the bar, a group of people she hadn't noticed before welcoming him in with conspiratorial glances and whispered voices. 

"Sorry," Harry muttered behind her, causing her to whirl on the stool to face him, "I should have asked if you..." 

She canted her head at him. She was too drunk for things to not be spelled out. "What?" 

He let out a short laugh, dropping his gaze from hers as he knuckled at his nose. "I... Did y'want to talk to him? I didn't mean to get involved if y'were..." 

"No," (Y/N) shook her head, "He was being annoying. Was he from the restaurant?" 

There was a line holding Harry's shoulders that seemingly was cut loose then, dropping the lines of his body into something much more relaxed. "He was, yeah. Can't remember his name, though." 

"Me neither!" she blurted, reaching towards him with her hands landing on his shoulders, "I thought I was just really drunk, so that's nice to—"

As if on command, she suddenly stumbled from her stool, falling into him with a gasp. Harry didn't hesitate before his hands landed on her waist, steadying her with a tight grip. Her heart bounced around her chest as she came down from. Looking up at him through the fan of her lashes, she saw him already watching her, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth.

"Y'alright?" he asked, a pinch between his brows. 

"Yeah, sorry," she answered, simply, melting into him despite being more than capable of settling into her own spot once more. He was too comfortable, too warm, too everything she had been thinking about for months now to move on. And she was too tipsy to know better. "Thanks for catching me." 

With her cheek pressed against his chest, Harry's hold on her shifted until he had his arm around her middle. The other waved down the bartender. 

"I think 's time we get y'home, love." 

"No," she whined, "We just got here." 

The laugh he let out rumbled underneath her cheek, warming her further from the sound alone. "Maybe a few hours ago. You've got a big day tomorrow anyway, y'need to sleep." 

"Maybe," she sighed, eyes fluttering to a close as Harry handled their tab. "Are you coming tomorrow? For the suits?" 

"No," he murmured distractedly, "'M going home tomorrow, remember?"

"But you just got here," she argued, suddenly offended at the idea of airports and planes and flight times. What was the point of any of that if that meant Harry would be miles and miles away from her again? 

"I know," he smiled, standing from his spot with a guiding hand on her back, "But we'll see each other again soon, okay? I'll make sure of it." 

She didn't doubt his promise. If Harry wanted to see her, he would make it happen. 

(Y/N) could only stare at him with stars in her eyes, warmth simmering under her skin. 

They had time, she reminded herself. Even if just tonight. 

—————

"C'mon, (Y/N). Gotta help me, love." 

"Okay." 

"Love, you've gotta stand up on your own for a second, 'kay? Jus' until I get the door open, then I can help y'again." 

"Okay." 

"(Y/N)." 

"Hm?" 

Harry sighed, the curve of his lips audible. Looping his arm tightly around her waist, he continued attempting to get the keycard to her hotel room to work, all while she clung to him, almost sliding down his body now that he wasn't devoting all of his attention to steadying her. 

She was too tired. How could he expect her to stand up on her own when she was so tired she almost fell asleep on the way here? It was unrealistic. Especially when he was offering his body as her crutch; he was warm like a blanket, firm yet forgiving at the same time. The perfect kind of pillow. 

A faint technological beep came from behind her. Harry fiddled around for a moment before he was clutching her again. 

"C'mon," he murmured through an amused smile, guiding her inside though she didn't bother to turn around and face forward with her steps. Instead, she let Harry do the heavy lifting, getting her through the threshold and letting the lumbering door click to a close behind them. 

Her hotel room was small and rudimentally furnished, stiff carpet under their feet. When she had checked in, she hadn't thought much of the space. Now, through bleary eyes with Harry holding her so carefully, it was the prettiest, coziest, most comforting place she'd ever come to spend the night in. 

Her clothing was still strewn out of her opened suitcase, the lamp on the side of her bed turned on with the television streaming the default channel for the hotel. A normal, sober part of herself would have felt a bit embarrassed at the sight of her panties hanging out of her luggage, knowing Harry would no doubt spot it. But, she wasn't normal or sober. She was drunk and clinging to Harry like a lifeline. 

"There we go," Harry mumbled, depositing her on the edge of her bed. He stood before her, running a hand through his hair. "Y'gonna be alright?" 

"Mhm," she hummed, looking up at him with what she was sure were hearts in her eyes, "Are you?" 

Harry laughed. His smile, dimples and all, was more intoxicating than any mixed drink could hope to be. "I think I'll be alright, (Y/N)." 

She canted her head as she looked up at him, taking in the rumpled collar of his white shirt, now sporting a smudge of her pink lipstick. "Do you really have to leave tomorrow?" 

His lips thinned as he gazed down at her. "Yeah. I do." 

Her lips puffed into a pout, wandering hands reaching for the hem of his shirt. "When am I going to see you again, then?"

"I don't know," he answered, lips into a lopsided smile, "Before the wedding, hopefully?" 

"Just hopefully?" she whined, using her grip on his shirt to tug him down until he was forced to flop onto the mattress at her side. "I thought we'd see each other more when we found out... everything." 

Harry only let out a heavy sigh. His eyes glanced around her face, searching through the planes of her features. "I know." 

(Y/N) laid back on her bed, suddenly hit with a weight that she had avoided thinking about for the last few hours. She could feel Harry's eyes following her.

"I don't want to be mean," she said, speaking quietly in the empty of the hotel room, "But it kind of sucks, right?" 

A beat passed. 

"What do y'mean?" His voice was strained. She didn't need to look at him to know that he knew what she meant. 

"Like," she started, matching his gaze, "You know. Everything. I'm happy for them, but... We get along so well, you know? At least I think we do." 

A small quirk tugged at his lips. A sad curl. "We do, don't we?" 

"I think we would have had a lot of fun," she smiled, biting back a yawn. 

"Aren't we already?" he asked, falling back to lay beside her. 

This close, (Y/N) was able to see the details that had made her heart race all those months ago. The shatters of green in his irises. The sprinkle of freckles along his nose. The scar on his chin. The uneven stubble shadowing his cheeks. 

"Yeah," she exhaled, tone dreamy. She reached for him, her fingers grazing over the warmth of his cheek. "I just—I thought, when we met...I thought it would be different for us." 

Harry didn't say anything. His eyes fluttered closed as she touched his face, fingertips grazing over the lines of his features. Touching his cupid's bow had her heart hammering in her chest.

"Didn't you?" 

When Harry blinked his eyes open, he matched her gaze unabashedly. "I did." 

Reaching up to grab her hand, he laced their fingers together and pulled the bundled limbs to his chest. "But, we're alright like this, don't y'think?" he murmured, that sad smile back on his face, "At least we never had a chance to mess anything up." 

She knew he was attempting to spin her thoughts into something hopeful. That they would be happy and partners in crime together like this for the rest of their lives. And it would be okay. There would never be a need or even a thought for anything more. 

But, all that stood out to her was that they never had a chance. 

(Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth, a well of emotion crashing behind her ribs. "We never had a chance." 

"Oh, (Y/N)," he crooned, collecting her in his arms until her cheek was cushioned in his neck and his arms were a comforting cage around her waist. 

She melted into him, reveling in the warmth of his hold and the blocks of muscle making up his body. There was so much softness to him, with the way he touched her, the way he looked at her, the way he spoke to her. So much she could have gotten to know, she thought. There were always going to be parts of him that she wouldn't know.

"I miss you already," she whispered. 

"You know I've got you, love. 'M always here." 

"Not in the way I want." 

It was bravery in the form of alcohol and the lack of eyes on her face that made it so easy for the words to slip out. Though it didn't feel so right when his hands on her back paused. 

It felt even worse when he started disentangling himself from her hold, the phantom of his arms lingering around him. He slowed when he caught her eye, his own a bit sad to match the own on his lips. 

"I know," he whispered, "Me too, (Y/N). But, we're going to be alright. Like this, we're going to be okay." 

She didn't stop him when he left her hotel room, the door clicking behind him. He will be on a flight tomorrow, leaving her once more.

Hopefully, he had said, that they would see one another before the wedding. Though, in the silence of the suite, (Y/N) didn't have to be sober to know she had been a mistake, speaking so blatantly. The hope he had shared that they would see each other again before the wedding was no doubt diminished. 

Blinking up at the texture of the ceiling, she sighed. 

What the fuck had she done?

—————

"My uncle said he can pick me up from the airport, so that should be fine." 

"Good, good," Gemma mumbled, "And you're staying with me and my mum or did you want your own space for the week?" 

"I mean," (Y/N) mused, "I was going to leave it up to you guys. I can get a room somewhere if you want family time, or whatever you want." 

"Well, you are family now, (Y/N). You're more than welcome to stay with us. I know my mum would enjoy getting to spend time with you." 

(Y/N) wanted so badly to glow at the thought of being welcomed into a family like the Styles'. She had wished for years that she would somehow find out she had a long-lost sister or any sibling at all to spend her days with. 

Instead, she was grateful this was only a phone call, so Gemma didn't catch the way her lips tightened at the idea of being considered family to someone she had attempted to kiss the night of her uncle's bachelor dinner. 

And been promptly rejected by, of course. 

But, she was over all of that, she reminded herself. Just like Harry was. 

"I think that would be a lot of fun, Gemma. Thank you," she accepted in a way she hoped was gracious. 

"Mum's going to be so excited to hear that," Gemma bubbled, "That works out perfect, too, since I think Harry and Michel are going to stay with your uncle for the week. Keep up the whole tradition thing, everyone all separate." 

(Y/N)'s lips pinched that much more at the mention of his name. She could still feel the way the emptiness of her hotel room settled over her when he had left. Nothing was more sobering than that, she found.

"Yeah," (Y/N) chirped, "It's cute."

Gemma let out a bubbly laugh, "Exactly. Okay, so I'll get with mum and figure out all of the little things we still need to do before the wedding, and I'll let you know as soon as I know!"

"So exciting! I can't wait." There was a part that really was very excited and was looking forward to seeing her Uncle Mick get married, eager for him to be happy again after experiencing so much grief the years prior. There was another large part of her that could wait a little longer; wait a few more months, or even a year before she saw Harry again. At least long enough for her to have forgotten that night at the bar, and have a new boyfriend. 

Gemma chattered a bit more, thinking out loud as she ticked things off her list. (Y/N) was fine being her sounding board, nodding and humming where needed before sharing a quick goodbye. 

Locking her phone, (Y/N) was left in the quiet of her apartment. It was a little too close to the silence at the hotel room, the experience at the forefront of her mind. 

Pursing her lips, she gripped the edge of her countertop. She was going to see Harry again, in just a couple of weeks. 

Should she text him? Attempt to clear the air before even seeing him? 

No, it was bad enough that she had scared him off, she couldn't be the one to reach out first. Months after, even. If he wanted to talk to her, he would have by now—even if only to clear the air. 

It was times like this that she wished she had siblings. If she had a brother or a sister, she wouldn't be walking into this whole thing by herself. Despite her Uncle being there, his wedding wasn't exactly the setting to let him know that she'd attempted to go out with his new wife's son—the one that would be her stepbrother for all intents and purposes.

Legally, though, she corrected herself. Stepcousins.

(Y/N) sighed. That still didn't sound very good, especially not when she usually just considered her uncle her dad, no matter what she called him. 

Her phone buzzed on the kitchen counter. (Y/N) flinched back at the noise before reaching for the device. 

On the screen she had a single notification. A text message from a friend. 

Mitchell Row-Lund

     How was the phone call? Do you have to room with that guy? 

Staring at the message thread, an idea came to mind. It wasn't a good one. (Y/N) could even field an argument about how it is actually a stupid idea. But it was an idea, nonetheless.

Gemma did say she still had a plus one available. And, it wasn't like Mitch had anything going on, she knew that for a fact.

Plus, he knew some of what was going on with Harry, sans many details, but enough to understand why it was a very big deal that she couldn't go into this alone. Uncle Mick would enjoy seeing him too. 

Ignoring the text, (Y/N) called Mitch's contact instead. It only took a couple of rings before he picked up. 

"Hello?" 

"Mitch, are you busy in, like, three weeks?" 

"(Y/N)..." 

—————

"Are you sure you girls don't need help with anything?" 

Gemma whipped around from the stove where she was spreading the different layers to the lasagna. She gave her mother a glare. 

"Mum," she reprimanded, "We're fine. You're supposed to be relaxing." 

"I know, I know," she sighed, "But, I don't mind helping. I can—" 

"No," Gemma cut her off, abandoning her post at the stove to escort her mother back to the glass of chardonnay waiting for her in the living room. "Your only job is to answer the door when the boys get here, and watch your show." 

Anne hmphed, casting a playful roll of her eyes only where (Y/N) could see. A huff of laughter left her lips as she watched the mother-daughter duo argue before Anne relented to actually being taken care of for the night. It was sweet, the kind of banter and familiarity they had between one another. It reminded (Y/N) of the relationship she had with her aunt. It was nice to know that her Uncle was marrying into a family like this. 

"When will she learn?" Gemma joked when she reentered the kitchen, casting a very familiar roll of her eyes towards (Y/N). "It's like pulling teeth to get her to relax." 

"She's too sweet for her own good," (Y/N) said, continuing the chopping of the vegetables for the side salad. 

"Her biggest flaw," Gemma sighed, shaking her head. 

"I can hear you!" 

Anne's shout from the living room drew laughter from both of them. 

"Then what did I say?" Gemma shot back, giving (Y/N) a look like watch this.

A pause. 

"I don't know, but I know you're whispering!" 

Gemma lifted her brows like see. It was enough to pull another peal of laughter from her. It was already shaping up to be quite the night. The last one before the wedding, before Mitch would be in town and the first time she would be forced to speak in a confined room with Harry since arriving. 

She had been lucky enough to avoid being alone with him, the activities and rooms having been too busy to catch more than a single glance of him before rushing through. It was the nice part about Anne and Uncle Mick wanting to uphold a bit of tradition, the bridal party and groomsmen being separated as much as possible during this last week. 

(As far as (Y/N) remembered, she thought it was only the night before the ceremony where this distance mattered. She wasn't going to correct anyone, though).

But, tonight had come and her sanctuary was on a timer.

In Anne's cozy dining room, there was nowhere to hide from Harry. Especially not when this evening was considered a family dinner. 

(Y/N) rolled her lips between her teeth as she kept her eyes on her hands, attempting to focus on the strokes of the knife and not anything else. Especially not the time. 

That did seem to work against her, though, when the knock on the door took her by surprise. She hadn't had time to brace herself, school herself into someone who didn't care about whatever happened tonight. 

Her throat bobbed when she heard the sound of Anne's front door opening, a familiar set of voices sounding from the stoop. 

Gemma practically beamed as she slid the pan of lasagna into the oven before rushing out to meet her husband, who also had her daughter on his hip. (Y/N) lingered back, listening to the sounds of the stitched together family. 

This time tomorrow, her uncle would be married and she would have two new siblings. One of them being the man she could hear right now cooing to his niece. 

Wiping down the knife and placing it off to the side, (YN) ran a stressed hand through her hair. Seeing her uncle would make her feel better, she thought. She'd start there. 

"Hey kid," her uncle murmured when he caught sight of her. His creased eyes lit up as she stepped into his hug. "How are you?" 

"I'm good," she smiled, making sure her eyes stayed stitched on his face with not even a peek over his shoulder, "How are you, though? Tomorrow's the day." 

(Y/N) could see light practically dancing through his eyes when he cast his own gaze behind himself, where the cooing of a baby and her fawning audience could be heard. "Excited. Really excited." 

"Good, good," (Y/N) smiled, suddenly feeling a bit choked up. She wondered if this was how he was going to feel when she had her own wedding (fingers crossed, anyway. She needed to find a partner first before considering a wedding.)

"The lasagna has a few more minutes in the oven, but (Y/N)'s salad is almost done. Harry, you can set the table." 

Perking up at the sound of her name, (Y/N) regretted it as soon as she heard Harry's only a moment later. Gemma was playing the role of gracious hostess, though it didn't appear she could turn down the opportunity of bossing her little brother around. 

Though, it didn't seem like he minded much at all. Harry only gave a beaming grin to his niece before poking at her stomach and making his way towards the dining room.

For the first time since walking through the door, their eyes met. 

(Y/N) felt her throat run dry. The last time she saw those shatters of green, the intensity of his gaze turned in her direction, he had been telling her that there wasn't any room for what she wanted with him. That they were going to be okay—whatever that was supposed to mean. 

All after she had so clumsily fallen all over him, even attempting to kiss him.

Harry only cracked a small, polite smile. Not a single dimple or crease on his freckled nose appeared. 

"You made a salad tonight?" Uncle Mick asked her, ripping her back to reality, "And you still have all your fingers?"

Turning to face him, (Y/N) plastered a smile on her face, playing into his small joke. "Barely. Gemma had to sew my pinky back on, but I think it should be better by tomorrow." 

Her uncle let out a boisterous laugh at her jest, none the wiser to whatever had passed between her and Harry only a breath before. 

This was going to be a long dinner.

—————

"Dinner was wonderful, ladies. Thank you." 

Uncle Mick handed out praises to the women at the table, though Anne was quick to shrug it off. 

"It was all the two girls," she insisted, "I was quarantined to wine-and-couch duties." 

(Y/N) didn't have to peek under the table to know that her uncle had squeezed his bride's hand. All she needed to see was the affection that painted his gaze as he looked at her. "Well deserved," he muttered to her before looking to where (Y/N) and Gemma were sitting side-by-side, "Thank you two, then. Everything has been amazing." 

Gemma gave a similar reaction to her mother, shrugging it off with a shy smile on her face. "Of course. It's the least we could do for the happy couple, right?" 

She gave a look to (Y/N) the shadow of dimples in her cheeks. Too much like Harry, (Y/N) thought. She still made sure to nod and smile along. 

"I'm happy everyone liked it," (Y/N) interjected, hoping she sounded more present than she really felt. Especially when she could feel eyes on her—eyes she had been pointedly avoiding all throughout the meal. 

Anne stood up, beginning to collect dishes from the mats around the table. "I can start cleaning up, and—" 

"Mum, no. I thought Gemma told you that you're not supposed to be doing any hard work tonight." 

Harry's clear voice had (Y/N) blinking, her spine stiffening as she kept her eyes on her soon-to-be aunt. 

She scoffed at his words. "Doing the dishes in my own home is far from hard work, Harry. You kids—" 

"Anne," Uncle Mick piped up, a gentle hand landing on her arm, "Let them take care of this. There's still some time before I think we call it a night, and there's wine still in the bottle." 

(Y/N) watched as Anne's eyes softened, features flourishing into a gentle smile. 

"Oh alright," she relented, "Just for tonight. And, maybe tomorrow." 

That was (Y/N)'s cue to begin collecting the dishes herself. Gemma had done the hard work by putting together the main part of the meal, and deserved a moment with her child and husband. Besides, the quiet of the kitchen and task of taking care of the dishes was what she needed after being on edge during dinner. 

"I've got it, then," she offered, beaming a smile to her Uncle, "You guys go relax for a little while." 

Arms laden with china and silverware, (Y/N) took to the kitchen while the rest of the family moved onto the other room. A heavy breath left her lips. 

She fixed her eyes to the faucet as the sink filled with warm water, soap bubbles forming on the surface. 

Truthfully, she knew there wasn't any reason to be so nervous, so stiff, all night. It wasn't like Harry was going to speak about that night out in the open—if he wanted his family to know, he'd had months to expose the facts before now. But, he hadn't. 

It was a bit pathetic to admit given the fact they had never even so much as kissed, but seeing him felt a lot like running into an ex. Embarrassing, seeing as he had seen her more vulnerable than she felt comfortable showing. Nerve-wracking, as she wasn't sure what kind of reaction she was going to get from him. And a bit heartbreaking; it was hard to see him knowing there was such a definitive line in the sand. 

As if there wasn't always one there, (Y/N) reminded herself. The second they made it to her uncle's house that night, there was always goin to be a barrier between them. 

Flicking off the faucet, she got to work cleaning off the dishes. From the living room, she could hear quiet coos from a sleepy baby, and slight laughter amongst a family sharing memories. 

That was enough to have the line holding her shoulders taut to give. A family. Everything her uncle deserved. 

"Want help?" 

(Y/N) practically jumped out of her skin at the sound of the deep, accented voice suddenly joining her in the space.

 Whipping her head around, she saw Harry lingering in the threshold of the entrance to the kitchen. He had a short smile on his lips, the ghost of dimples in his cheeks. 

Not a real smile. Something polite to be offered to someone he didn't really care to be talking to. 

"No, I'm alright,"(Y/N) answered, just as tight. "Thanks, though." 

"Are y'sure?" he pressed, taking a cautious step inside the barrier of the tiles, "I could dry while y'wash. It'll cut the time in half, or something like that." 

She let out a huff of laughter at his attempt to lighten the mood. She was sure she wasn't the only one feeling a touch of the tension that had gathered. 

She figured she couldn't really continue to avoid him forever. 

"If you really want to," she relented, letting a genuine, though small, smile curl her lips. 

Harry took her words as the invitation needed, crossing the room to join her at the sink. The damp dishes had begun to accumulate on the towel she had laid out at her side. He moved with familiarity through his childhood home, finding another dish towel before pushing up the sleeves of his warm brown sweater. 

Just like the first time she had met him, (Y/N) couldn't help but trace her eyes over the cross tattooed on his hand. Seeing the sleeves of his shirt pushed up, she got a view of what she remembered wondering hid between that cloud-cardigan those months ago. 

A bare-chested mermaid. A nightmarish beetle. A collection of tiny sketches around an anchor at his wrist. 

"So," he started, wiping off the first dish in the pile, "I've barely gotten a chance to talk to y'since we've got here. How have y'been?"

She nodded absently, swiftly turning her gaze to the soapy basin. "I've been alright. Just busy getting the final details figured out with your mom and sister. How about you?" 

"Same," he murmured, "'S all gone by so fast. I can't believe 's already tomorrow. I feel like we were jus' meeting for the first time." 

He meant for the comment to be something lighthearted. They could bond over the passage of time, right? It was easy to nod her head and laugh, tell him that yes, everything had gone by so fast. But she was excited, nonetheless. That his mother was a wonderful person and she couldn't wait to welcome her into their small family. 

Instead, (Y/N) was only able to manage a small smile. 

"Yeah. Crazy." 

Crazy that it really had only been months since she met Harry while perusing wine for her uncle, thinking he was just a handsome stranger. Someone she could see herself going on a date with. 

Now, he was going to be as good as her stepbrother. The revelation left a sour taste in her mouth. 

A beat passed. 

"(Y/N)," Harry started, one of his rings clinking against the plate in his hand, "If y'want to talk about—"

She shook her head. She didn't need to revisit that night. Especially not right now, while washing his mother's dishes in her sink. 

"I don't," she insisted, "Sorry if I'm being weird. I just... I was worried I had scared you off or something, since we haven't talked. But, I'm fine, really." 

"You didn't. Scare me off, I mean," Harry answered, the words coming out in a rush as if a reflex. The pile of damp dishes were forgotten for the moment as he turned his attention to her. "I jus' wanted sure if y'wanted to talk to me after... everything."

"Don't worry about it," she answered, sidestepping just how much she wanted to hear anything from him in the time that had passed since the night at the bar. That she wanted to know if he still even tolerated her. "Everything got a little complicated, so it's probably best we didn't—don't. You know?" 

Harry's expression seemed to solidify at her words. Unmoving, unchanging, though something seemed to leave from his eyes. 

"Yeah," he agreed, a single nod of his head. He waved the cloth in her direction, nonchalant. "We've got a while to figure everything out as long as tomorrow goes well, right?" 

"Right," (Y/N) laughed, a little less rigid. While it wasn't the outcome she may have wanted (that was one where he came in on a flying steed, hearts in his eyes, and unwavering conviction in his feelings for her. Or at least trying it out with her), it was the best outcome she could have predicted. 

They finished the dishes in silence.

—————

(Y/N) clapped, tears in her eyes as she watched her uncle plant a kiss on his blushing bride. The white of her gauzy dress made Anne's skin glow that much brighter, sweet pink and a warm bronze. 

They were now man and wife as the officiant announced, allowing them on their way. 

Falling back into her role as dutiful bridesmaid, she followed after Gemma as the procession to the reception began. Glancing at Mitch, she caught him biting back a smile. She knew he would have something to say about her sobbing two seconds into the ceremony. 

Getting out of the chilly garden and into the reception venue was a needed transition. (Y/N) hadn't even realized her fingers were turning to icicles until the heat from the hall wrapped around her. 

It was quiet in the space. Only a select few of the venue staff milling about as they made the finishing touches on the reception space, and a newly knitted family were present. Much like herself, Gemma had tiny tears in her eyes as she reached for her daughter from her husband's hip. Harry had his mother wrapped up in a long hug.

It was her uncle that brought her attention away from the embrace. He murmured something to her, the words a bit garbled through his thick throat before he had her in his arms. 

(Y/N) didn't hesitate before she was reciprocating the hold. She tucked herself against his chest, feeling just as safe as the day he had told her that she was going to be taken care of now that he was there. The memory only made her snuggle that much closer to him. 

"Congratulations, dad," she whispered, choking up hearing the title she only rarely used. She knew it had the same effect on him when he clutched her tighter, a shuddering breath wracking his chest. 

"Thanks for being here, kiddo. Love you." 

"Love you, too." 

All too soon, her uncle was whisked away to take photos with his bride, the photographer eager to capture the moments with that blissful glow on their faces. Family shots had been taken prior to the ceremony, when everyone's makeup and hair were in perfect condition, leaving (Y/N) a moment alone for the first time that day. 

It wasn't until she was putting on her false lashes that she had heard Harry had brought a date. She knew that there was no reason to have any kind of reaction to that revelation, especially since she had also invited Mitch. And yet, there was still that sour, churning feeling in her stomach.

While it wasn't a thought she nurtured or had the guts to admit, there had been a lingering hope in her that maybe, with everything twisted up and complicated, that there could be something worked out. That Harry was so unhappy with the distance as she was. 

But, he had brought a date. Someone serious enough to invite to a family wedding, though not serious enough to mention to her when they were washing the dishes the night before. 

That was fine. He could do whatever he wanted, just as (Y/N) was doing. 

And neither of them were going to be heartbroken. Least of all (Y/N).

—————

"Are you sure that's his date?" 

(Y/N) only grumbled through her spoonful of gelato. That counted as the third time Mitch had questioned Harry's choice of plus one. And the third time (Y/N) thought she made it abundantly clear that she wasn't interested in speaking on the details of the coupling. It was bad enough explaining to everyone that Mitch was just a friend instead of a boyfriend, he didn't also have to rub it in that Harry had brought a real date. 

"(Y/N), don't get mad at me," Mitch warned, casting his eyes over her head towards the dance floor, "I'm just asking. Because he's barely talked to her all night." 

"Well, that's rude of him, then," (Y/N) cemented, taking another bite of her birthday cake gelato. This dessert had been Gemma's idea—about the same cost as a cake, but many more people could eat from the bar and there wouldn't be a handful of leftover slices that the family would be forced to take home. 

"Will you still think that if I tell you it's been because he's too busy looking at you?" 

She glared at Mitch through furrowed brows. "Right." 

"I'm serious," he hedged, bouncing his brows before tipping his head towards her, urging her to look at her back. "If you turn around right now, you'll see." 

"Just because he's looking at me, doesn't mean anything. He's my brother now, Mitch." 

Reaching for his drink, Mitch didn't look very believing in the story she was spinning. "I would be a little nervous if I had a brother look at me the way he is right now."

 "What does that mean?" 

He knew he had her then, a crooked smile on his lips. "Look for yourself." 

Giving in, (Y/N) pretending to stretch in her spot. She pasted an easy smile on her face as she nonchalantly turned to look over her shoulder. 

There, on the dance floor, with his niece on his hip, Harry's cheeks flushed. He quickly looked away, having been caught by (Y/N) as he gazed at her. His date was fluttering around, speaking to Gemma and her husband with an easy smile on her face. She was familiar with the family—more familiar than (Y/N) would think a new girlfriend would be. 

But, that wasn't any of her business. 

Turning back to Mitch, she attempted to look as if nothing she saw had even sparked a train of thought in her mind. 

"That doesn't mean anything." 

"Right," he drawled, sly smile on his face. "And, he's not coming over here, right now." 

"What?" (Y/N) bubbled, suddenly at attention. Her cup of gelato created in her tightened grip. Whipping her head around, she stopped in her tracks, expression dropping. No one was walking over to their table—let alone Harry. 

A burst of laughter came from her date. 

"That wasn't nice," she said, fighting back her own laughter. Truthfully, while it was pathetic how easy it was to get her to react, she knew if the tables were turned, she wouldn't be able to contain her giggles at Mitch's desperation. 

He shrugged. "It was funny, though." He took a long sip of his drink, ice clinking together. "If you're so jumpy, I don't know why you haven't gone to talk to him at all." 

"Mitch," (Y/N) started, finally abandoning the remnants of her gelato, "It's just not the right time. You already know everything, so." 

"So what? He obviously wants to at least talk to you. Just put him out of his misery." 

(Y/N) shook her head. "Even if things weren't complicated, he brought a date, Mitch. I don't think he's really dying for my company." 

"So?" he repeated, raising his brows, "You brought a date, too. And it's me." 

She could only roll her lips between her teeth. She wasn't going to examine the point he was making. 

"I'm going to get a drink." 

—————

(Y/N) felt entirely too accomplished when Gemma's daughter burst into another round of laughter at the shapes she was throwing on the dance floor. It was easy to make her laugh now that she knew what made the little girl giggle, but it still felt like an all star achievement every time a bubbling peal left her heart-shaped lips. 

"Auntie (Y/N) is just so silly, isn't she?" Gemma babbled to her daughter, equally delighted to hear her having so much fun. The later the night went, the more and more of a miracle it was that she hadn't grown fussy and in need of a bedtime. 

Just as she was about to make another spastic movement, a gentle hand landed on (Y/N)'s shoulder. She saw the gleaming diamond ring adorning the fourth finger first, already knowing who it belonged to. 

"Could I cut in, girls? Sorry to ruin the fun," Anne asked, her beaded gown trailing behind her as she beamed at her granddaughter, "It's my turn to dance with Aunt (Y/N)." She paused, glancing over. "If that's alright, anyway." 

"Yes, of course, of course," (Y/N) bubbled off, "We'll just finish our dance battle later." 

"I'd watch out if I were you," Gemma teased, "After a snack, this one is going to run you out of town, I'm afraid." 

"I'd like to see her try," (Y/N) played along, narrowing her eyes despite the smile attempting to take over her mouth. 

Gemma walked away with a laugh, taking her daughter back to her husband. A happy little family, they were. 

"I can't believe you're still at it," Anne laughed, swaying along to the music with (Y/N), "I can barely handle standing in these shoes, and you've been dancing like nothing." 

(Y/N) lifted the hem of her dress, showing off her socked feet. "I took my heels off hours ago. I got through one dance before I had to make a choice." 

Anne let out a boisterous laugh. The champagne bubbles from the number of toasts recited throughout the night had seemingly had their intended effect. From the corner of her eye, (Y/N) could see both her Uncle Mick and Harry looking in their direction, affectionate smiles on their faces. 

"I'm just happy you're having a good time," Anne crooned, blissful smile stuck to her features, "I was getting worried." 

A furrow pinched (Y/N)'s brows. "You were? Why?" 

A heavy sigh left her lips. "I told Mick I wouldn't say anything," she started, casting her eyes to her new husband, "But, I've just been worried about you and H." 

(Y/N)'s movements lagged in time to the music. "Me and Harry?" 

"Don't tell him I told you," she rushed out, "But, he said there was something? I can't remember exactly what he said, but he just seemed really upset when I told him you were bringing a date, and when I asked what was wrong he just said it was complicated, or something like that. I could tell something was going on last night, but I didn't want to push." 

In so many words, Anne was laying out her mother's intuition. Despite neither she nor Harry divulging any secrets, Anne had been able to pick up on the words between the lines. 

"Oh," (Y/N) sounded, her grip on the skirt of her dress tightening. 

Anne chewed on her bottom lip before speaking again. "I know it's not any of my business, you kids are adults and can do whatever you want—or don't want. But, I think you should talk to him. If it's complicated in the way I think, I want you to know that... It's okay. Complicated things happen all the time, but that doesn't mean it has to be impossible." 

Champagne was a hell of a drug. 

"Right," (Y/N) answered, a tight smile on her face. "Thank you, Anne. I think I need some air, I'll be right back." 

Before much else could be said, Anne's brother popped in to steal her away for a dance. The heavy subject she had just dropped on (Y/N) was forgotten, instead excited to chat with someone new for the time being. 

That left (Y/N) to swiftly creep out of the venue and into the garden that had previously been fashioned into an elegant aisle for the ceremony.

The chilly air she had been eager to get out of earlier now felt like a balm on her skin. In so many words, Anne had basically given permission for (Y/N) to do whatever she wanted when it came to Harry. Despite the marriage that had just connected them as family. 

It was both freeing and heavy as she stood in the garden. 

Freeing to know that even from someone both removed but so close to the situation, she didn't think (Y/N) was catastrophically insane or unnervingly gross for even considering Harry as someone. 

Heavy to know that they hadn't been quite as undercover as she hoped. Not everyone would agree with Anne's ruling, and (Y/N) dreaded the idea of finding out just who could be on the opposing side. Including Harry and the date he brought tonight.

The music from inside seeped through the open windows. As if reading the mood from even out here, the DJ had switched to a slow song. The singing violins and melodic voice of the singer floated around (Y/N), making it that much easier to be a bit melodramatic as she trailed her finger of a wilting cornflower, the hue matching the color of her dress. 

"There you are." 

(Y/N) didn't have to turn to know who had joined her in the garden. The voice alone was enough to have her spine straightening, goosebumps sparking over her skin. 

She offered a quiet smile to Harry as she dropped her hand from the flower. "Here I am," she said, "Is everything okay?" 

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets. A wilting periwinkle flower went lopsided in his breast pocket. 

"Yeah, jus' saw y'with mum and then y'disappeared. I wanted to make sure y'were alright." 

"I'm fine," she offered, "It got a little stuffy in there, that's all." 

"Well," he started, moving towards her until his toes were just on the edge between the patio and the garden, "Y'missed our dates sneaking off together." 

(Y/N) blanched at the information. "Are you joking? I'm so sorry, oh my god. I'll find Mitch right now, I can't be—" 

"No, no," Harry laughed, "'S fine. Sarah's been asking me about him since he got here anyway. I know it was only a matter of time." 

"Oh," she sounded, settling at the information Harry was sharing, "So Sarah's not...?" 

Harry shook his head. "She's a friend I've had for years. Mum loves her, so she was coming whether or not she came as m'plus one. This way she got to pick where she sat." 

(Y/N) laughed. Half from the practicality of this woman's choices, as well as a wave of relief that ran over her. So he hadn't brought a date tonight. Only a friend that was seemingly much more interested in (Y/N)'s date. 

"Mitch is just a friend, too," (Y/N) clarified, pretending as if she didn't hear Anne's voice in the back of her head as she offered the information. 

"I was hoping you'd say that. Otherwise, I was going to have to follow them and beat him up or something." 

"No need," (Y/N) sighed, "He'd be sad if you did that, anyway. He thinks you're cool." 

Harry's eyes brightened. "Really?" 

"Don't get too ahead of yourself," (Y/N) warned, biting back a smile, "He only said that when I told him you put together the music list for the DJ. He thinks you have good taste." 

"Well, he's not wr—" 

"I had to break it to him that you think frosé is better than actual rosé. I think he's still coming to terms with it." 

Mock offense took over Harry's features. "How dare you? I told y'that in confidence." 

(Y/N) shrugged, a playful smile painted on her lips. "I had to save him the trouble of finding out on his own. He never would have recovered." 

Harry shook his head. "'S not even that bad, I don't get it." 

"Coming from someone who thinks frosé is the best wine offering, that makes sense." 

He playfully nudged his shoulder against hers, shaking his head. A beat passed between them, the muffled voices from inside spilling out into the courtyard. 

"I saw y'talking to mum," Harry started, switching off the subject with the tease falling out of his voice, "Looked a little intense." 

She hoped he didn't catch the way her spine stiffened. "It wasn't anything serious," she lied, "Just got a little emotional with everything." 

When Harry didn't immediately answer, (Y/N) chanced a look in his direction. He already had his eyes trained on her, shatters of green examining her features with raspberry lips rolled between his teeth.

"What?" 

"She didn't—" Harry started, cutting himself off before reorienting himself, "It wasn't about anything complicated?" 

(Y/N) blinked. Had their conversation really been that loud?

"Harry, I didn't tell her anything," (Y/N) insisted, "She said she just had a feeling, but I didn't—I don't know how she knew—"

"I told her," Harry piped up, dropping his eyes to the grass at their feet, "Kind of. She could tell something's been going on, and she asked once. She thought I didn't like y'or something. I jus' told her it was complicated, but that must have been enough." 

He let out a huff of laughter though she was sure neither of them were feeling particularly humorous at the moment. 

"'M sorry if she made y'feel uncomfortable or anything. She jus' wants me to be happy, and—"

"She told me it was okay." 

Harry went silent at her admission. Raspberry lips rolled between his teeth. 

(Y/N) waited, a breeze playing with her dress. 

"She said it was okay? That... whatever she thought was happening between me and you, was okay?" 

(Y/N) nodded. 

She watched as the very corners of his lips turned upwards. 

"Your uncle said the same thing." 

A furrow had (Y/N)'s brows pinching above her pointed gaze. "When?" 

Harry's lips stretched into a full smile. "Jus' now." 

It took a moment to process the fact that Harry was telling her this information with a grin on his face. Nothing polite and short. A real, dimple-baring, nose scrunching smile. 

He was happy. He was happy to hear this news. 

That whatever had started those months ago was okay. Whatever that meant for them. 

"This is good," (Y/N) whispered, voice melding with the music from inside the venue, "Right?" 

There was a part of her that wanted to close the distance between them. Crush the grass under her socked feet and cup his jaw between her palms. To slot her lips between his and kiss him. To do the one thing she had been holding back from since that first dinner at her uncle's house. 

But, she needed to wait. She wasn't going to have another moment like that in the hotel room. If Harry wanted her, he was going to have to say it, otherwise she was staying rig—

Taking the leap for her, Harry closed the distance in one long stride. He gently took the line of her jaw in his hands, tipping her head up until the tips of their noses were touching. The length of his lashes were only a breath away from tangling with hers. 

"Really good," he breathed, waiting for her.

That was all she needed to hear before she was stretching to the tips of her toes, pressing her lips to his. 

Harry steadied her with his hands on either side of her face, guiding her into this first kiss. He took her bottom lip between his two, his kiss lingering and sweet. The only urgency came from the fact that they both knew just how long they had waited for this moment, though there was no reason to rush through it. 

She could taste the pistachio gelato he had earlier in the night, alongside the sweet wine served by the bar. With each tip and tilt of her head, she felt the tip of his nose grazing hers, the scruff of his chin against her own, the soft give of his mouth. Reaching up, she bundled her fingers into the lapels of his jacket, keeping the lines of their bodies close together. 

(Y/N) no longer felt the chill in the air, consumed by the feeling of Harry's kiss. This was worth waiting for. Worth the complications, and the uncertainty. Worth bringing Mitch to a family wedding just for him to disappear with someone else's date. (Something she was going to expect a thank you over, if he and Sarah worked out past a hookup). 

Harry drew away first, though only far enough to rest his forehead against hers. Blinking her eyes open, she found him already looking at her, half-lidded with blown pupils.

"'M sorry," he murmured, the fullest points of his lips grazing her own, "About the last time. I should have—I didn't want to leave, I jus'—" 

"It's okay," (Y/N) whispered, puckering her lips to give him a delicate kiss, "I get it. It hurt at the time, but I understand. Everything was just too much then." 

A slight quirk angled his lips. "Complicated, right?" 

(Y/N) couldn't contain the small huff of laughter that fanned from her lungs. "Exactly." 

Tipping his chin, Harry sealed his lips to hers in a lingering kiss. His hands on her jaw slid down, following the line of her arms until he reached her hands. 

"We should go back inside." 

Lacing her fingers between his, (Y/N) made no move to head back inside the venue. 

"Do we?" 

A light danced through his eyes. Casting a glance at the party going on behind them, Harry tightened his hold on her hands. 

"I think we could wait a little longer. Don't you?" 

All (Y/N) could do was attempt to kiss him through her smile. 

—————

thank u sm for reading! sorry for any mistakes and if you have any fun ideas or requests of your own pleaseee send them in!

[cipheramnesia]

I want to be eaten by worms and grubs instead of fungus. If I'm consumed by fungus it will probably be mold, and might not have the palate to appreciate my corpse.

Mycology is an incredibly diverse and complex field. Sadly I am not well versed in it, and not qualified to answer questions about mushroom genetics. Unfortunately I also do not have strong beliefs about the innate transitive power of animal consumption. I don't think animals or humans have any innate transformations, beyond the normal processes of digestion, caused by eating other living things.

The idea is beautiful though. What if we really did carry with us everything in the world we consumed? In a broad metaphorical sense we do of course, because we eat things to get the chemicals that physically build our body and literally transmit our thoughts. That doesn't happen because a molecule of sodium doesn't carry memories, unless you develop a purely speculative and scientifically unsupportable notion that molecules in animals somehow become quantumly entangled, but that still breaks down because that's not really what quantum entanglement does anyway. So, it can't happen, but imagining it is pretty for the most part. I'm philosophically prejudiced against the idea of cannibalism generally conferring special transfer of power or memories, because that comes from like some really specific stuff that I don't know enough about to dig into. And aside from all that, I think cannibalism as upper class elitism is less interesting than cannibalism as the hunger of disenfranchised groups.

However, I know a lot of people that would give human flesh a taste if offered, so I would let people eat however much of me they can, safely and / or legally. If I can do nice things for my friends, I enjoy doing it, even if I'm dead at the time.

My comfort in death is actually identical to my fear. I'll cease to exist. No more me, forever. No afterlife, no memories traveling through space. I mean, people will have some of me as memories, but the person I am contained unto myself is gone. I wish I could see more than whatever my lifetime will be. I would take immortality in an instant, just to see what happens.

But when I'm gone, I'm gone. And that also means everything in my head that I wish wasn't there goes with me, which is a relief as well. No more depression, no anxiety, no worries, no fears, no struggle. It will be quiet. That's comforting. I'd like as much of the noise as I can ever have, don't get it twisted, but the idea of that quiet makes me happy, like one day I'll be done.

It would be cool if my body ends up somewhere that grows lichen, because I want people to make jokes about it when I'm dead. People standing over my grave marker or whatever going "I guess she took A LIKIN' to this spot" is the kind of thing I would enjoy happening after I'm dead. I wish I could die a comedic death. Nothing would be better than to go out with people laughing uproariously at my ridiculous passing.

Anyway, does anyone reading this know about mushroom decomposition efficiency, or general fungus decomposition efficiency? What's up with that?

The idea that fungus experiences true sentient thought, but in a way that the rest of us cannot understand, is a kind of comfort to the inevitability of death and rot, to know that what consumes our corpse may in someway carry a memory onward with it.

[mjbarrosart]

My Dragon Prince Boards season 7, episode 705, part 2: The Moonberry Surprise.

It's true, the Moonberry Surprise moment, it is my fault

I hope you can forgive me for my sins. Hahahaha.

Ok, let's talk about this little sequence. But first, some... context?

Ok, so, Dragon Prince was my first job as Storyboard Artist, before coming to DPR I was working as a Storyboard Revisionist in Lego NinjaGo Crystalized. So I applied to Dragon Prince with not hopes that they will hire me, and when the offered my the job I was in awe.

So basically, I arrived to work in season 4 as a Junior Storyboard Artist. They gave me little sequences during season 4 (I was mostly helping my unit director with revisions) they gave me more during season 5 and 6, working on my strengths, emotional moments, long talking sequences and some combat. You know what was not there? comedy, because it was not one of the things I knew well how to do. But after a year and a half working in the show, I was seasoned enough to be a proper Storyboard Artist, not a rookie anymore. So they finally assigned me a comedy sequence.

I was terrified. Today after years in the industry, I can say that I am not scared of comedy anymore. But when I read the script and I realized that they were expecting a big comedy moment from me , I knew I was in trouble. But as they say, "you fake it until you make it" I took a deep breath and smile to my unit director like "Of course I can do this!"

But ok, lets talk about the sequence. We start nice, with the moon fam enjoying some time together. Was an opportunity to work with Runaan and Ethari, and that is always cool! I love how Ethari is just happy of everyone being there, and Runaan just wants to kill Callum (in an affectionate way, like he is just a protective dad, you know, a no nonsense dude)

So yeah, they talk a little and Rayla handles Callum a slice of Moonberry Surprise. Is like this almost mythical dessert that is said tastes like nothing else in all Xadia. And Callum is so excited to try it!

So, the script did not call for anything you saw in that sequence. The script instructed to reveal the Moonberry Surprise like something out of this world, and then have Callum almost having an epiphany when he tries it. My first idea was to have Calum almost levitating on his seat while eating it, while the rest of the moon fam looked at them in confusion. But during the launch of the episode (this is the stage where directors and in the case of DPR writers, tell SB artist what they want for every sequence we will board, we pitch ideas, and so on) was more clear to me that they were expecting something more of an "out of this world experience". Like the "I love books" moment that Callum had on season 5, episode 2, but on steroids.

So I was ok, lets make it as trippy as possible. So we have this fast zoom in into Callums face, that lead us into this "dimension of flavor" he is being transported to.

And he opens his eyes and he is floating in this space of color and flavor, his spirit being lifted by this experience.

He is experiencing all this flavors, eating this huge blue berries (this was my Unit director idea, Thanks Katherine!!), when something catches his eye. A figure, looking to him from the above, almost like a god.

And Callums looks up, revealing... this:

So, I have a really particular sense of humor (not unique, because I feel a lot of people share it, particular because really specific things make me laugh a lot). I was born late 80's grew up on the 90's with all the weird cartoons and anime of that time. For me adding muscular arms to things is the best joke ever.

This is peak humor to me:

So I was like, what if, Callum does the Titanic spinning thing, with a muscular slice of pie? So I did that... And I was SURE they will reject it.

So I finished my roughs, and I sent them to my Unit Director. She was "this is so stupid" (in the best way) so, she added some placeholder music, and send it for review from the directors, while both of us were expecting to have it rejected.

A couple of days after, our Storyboards Supervisor was like "WHO DID THE MOONBERRY SURPRISE SEQUENCE??" And I was like "me?", and he was like "Aaron LOVED IT!" and I was like "?????" so, yeah, was approved.

So yeah, that is my legacy, I guess. I am Runaan in this shot:

So well, those are all my sequences in episode 705.

Sorry again for being responsible for the birth of that thing. But that is my son now, and I kinda love him, even if he looks like that....

Next post will be my last! So yeah, stay tunned for my last post about my boards in The Dragon Prince, episode 708!

[accihoe]

Christmas Surprise

Pairing: Sergeant!Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: I don't want to spoil it, read and find out 💕

Warnings: mentions of war and army stuff

A/n: Merry Christmas, folks. I hope you all have a blessed day. I think it's kind of obvious what the story is about, but I hope you like it.

Read this pls❤️

Xxxx

"It's a pity James won't be making it this year. He's scarcely been around for Christmases since Papa passed, and Y/N seemed to have changed that, I thought. Though I suppose he is part of the army now, and they need him for war and all that."

"I was under the impression that all soldiers in training got Christmas off. But I know nothing about military matters, so don't trust my judgment."

Y/N stood in the hallway as her sisters-in-law spoke, Rebecca and Rudy (I made Rudy up for the sake of the story). Her heart beat heavily in her chest as she stared at the framed sketch of James Buchanan Barnes, drawn by Steven. G. R. .

With a smooth of her hands down her apron, she walked into the kitchen. The chatter instantly and awkwardly shifted to the peas that stood on the counter, and Rudy scattered to look for the rolling pin, that was tucked into the front pocket of her apron.

"It's alright, I heard. And Rudy's right. Jamie was supposed to come home four days ago, but for some reason him and his commando friends got refused dismissal or something."

Rebecca sighed, setting down her eggnog, and went to Y/N, laying a hand on her shoulder.

"Y/N/N,"

"Becca, it's quite alright. I really understand your concern, I do. I just feel bad for Jamie. He often spoke of his fondness for Christmas."

Rebecca gave another sad sigh and looked at Judy, who understood the silence.

"Well, on a different note. We've managed to scrounge together some canned versions of James's favourites. It ain't the real deal,"

"But it's pretty damn near."

Rebecca finished Rudy's sentence, allowing a little humour to fill the space. Y/N chuckled lightly, picking up a can of peas. This Christmas would be their 5th without Rudy's husband Joe, their 3rd without their father, and their 16th Christmas without their mother. And now, it would be their 3rd with Y/N, and 1st without Bucky. The three sisters (minus Y/N, merely Bucky's girlfriend, but they went by that nickname), were left to spend Christmas by themselves.

A knock at the door pulled the three women from their thoughts. They shared a look: that was not a feminine knock. It could mean one of three things;

•James was home by some miracle

•They were about to geat dreaded news about James

•The old man next door sent by his wife for sugar

•Rebecca's secret admirer (though this thought was only shared by Y/N and Ruby, and had James been there, him too)

"I'll go get it."

Y/N rushed to the door, heart pounding excitedly. To her dismay, it was Tom, the butcher's son. Y/N's heart sank and her smile faded to an annoyed expression.

"Tom. What can I do for you?"

"Merry Christmas, beautiful."

Y/N sighed, about to close the door when he handed her an envelope. Y/N cocked a brow, hesitant to take it.

"What's this?"

"It's from the post office. Mr. Bennett asked me to deliver it to you. Says the sender pleaded."

Y/N reached to take it but Tom pulled it back.

"Uh uh, first, Malcolm sent you something, and you need to take it before I give you your letter."

Y/N groaned, rolling her eyes.

"I am not obligated to take it."

"Well I'm not obligated to give this letter to you. It's just a favour."

Y/N narrowed her eyes and pressed her lips into a fine line.

"Fine."

Tom picked up a wrapped tin box and handed it to Y/N. Her gut sank, she knew what was in the tin. Tom placed the letter on the box and left. Y/N retrieved inside silently and placed her belongings upstairs in her room. She locked her door and ripped open the paper, sighing heavily when she saw the note on top of the expensive boots she'd been dreaming about.

Just a glimpse of what a real man could give you. Merry Christmas.

The note read.

She felt too bad to open the letter she knew was from James.

-Fast forward to eating time-

After the girls had dished up and said Grace, they sat at the table, ready to eat. Another knock sounded at the door, a man's knock. But a specific pattern belonging to only one man.

"James!"

The three girls said together and got up, but Y/N beat the rest to the door. The door was jerked open, blowing Y/N's hair from her face from the friction. Her stomach swarmed with fiery butterflies when her eyes registered the man before them.

"Buck,"

His signature grin spread across his face before he stepped forward, dropping his bags. Before she knew it, her lover was crushing her bones (just about) in a hug. Y/N's arms wrapped around his neck as he stood on a step lower than her. She felt his figure move as he inhaled her scent.

"What are you doing here? I thought you weren't allowed?"

"I'm not. But no command from any general jackass is gonna stop me from seeing my baby on Christmas."

Y/N laughed, pulling away to flick his forehead before hugging him again. The 'three sisters' made quick work of fixing Bucky a plate while he freshened up upstairs. Y/N couldn't keep her eyes from James as they ate the lunch. She could see the beginning of stress on his features, the slight fatigue from training, but there was something else.

He'd always been a pro at masking his true feelings, but the usual "Bucky shimmer" in his eyes was missing. He tried hard not to lock eyes with Y/N over lunch, but he couldn't keep his eyes from her. Though it'd been a mere two weeks, he'd missed her.

"Becks? I feel something is the matter with James. But I don't want to worry him asking, or pry, he just- oh I don't know he seems off."

Rebecca put down the plate she was washing and turned to Y/N with her own signature look.

"If anyone knows him well, it's you. So I'd say to trust your gut."

With that, Rebecca returned to washing the dishes. Y/N smiled faintly at the tilted floors of the Barnes' kitchen and nodded to herself.

"If it's alright with you, I think I'm going to have a word with him. See if he's alright."

"It's fine by me. Judy's the one you should be worryin' about. Now go, shoo, before she comes back from her rendezvous in the powder room (yes I'm implying that she's taking a dump)."

With a giggle shared between the younger girls Y/N scurried upstairs, knocking on the door of the guest bedroom, her bedroom for the holidays.

"Give me a moment."

James called back.

"Jamie, sugar, it's me."

"In that case give me two moments."

Bucky sassed. At least he was being himself. Y/N pushed the door open, thankful it wasn't locked. She instantly knew what was off. The stupid boots from Malcolm.

"What happened to respecting a man's privacy?"

He frowned at her.

"Darling I don't believe you get much of that in the army, and besides, I don't want us to spend the little time we have together on the blessing of a day brawling about a stupid third party inconvenience."

"So the fella you've been seeing is called 'stupid third party inconvenience?'"

Y/N shook her head with a soft laugh.

"I'm not seeing anybody, James."

"Then what's this?"

He pointed toward the boots, that remained untouched. Y/N sighed, putting the lid over them.

"My letter is right next to them. You didn't even open it. Though perhaps a mere letter that I split my ass to get to you isn't 'manly' enough is it?"

"James, language, and please, let me explain."

His furrowed brows dropped slightly, and Y/N took his silence as her opportunity to explain.

"You remember that rich kid whose father owns the country club?"

Bucky nodded apprehensively.

"I accidentally knocked my bag off a table a few weeks back, and he assisted me in picking up my belongings. He hasn't left me alone since. He's had his friend, or more like servant Tom deliver things to me ever since. Tom wouldn't give me your letter unless I accepted his gift. And I knew what it was going to be, but I was so horrified at his gesture, that I felt too ashamed to open your letter. I'm sorry."

".....Well he's not man enough to enlist."

James said after a moment of silence. Y/N chuckled through her nose and nodded.

"And he's not man enough to deliver the gifts himself."

Y/N nodded, smoothing a hand down James's arm, and then took ahold of his hand.

"You're all I want, Bucky. Believe you me. There's no overly priced pair of boots that could make me change my mind about that."

It was Bucky's turn to laugh at her comment.

"But does he know you've got a suitor?"

Y/N nodded, an irritated expression across her features.

"He knew when I dropped my bag, he knew when I was at the train station to send you off and he waited there to talk to me. And the gifts have ampled since your departure."

Bucky's jaw ticked, and Y/N felt his fingers clasped around hers twitch.

"What do you say you and I pay him a visit and return his gift?"

"Isn't that a little rude, especially on Christmas day?"

"Dollface, we're amidst a world war, I couldn't give a damn about being polite to a jackass who's tryna steal my girl."

"Buck you know he'll never succeed, right?"

"I do trust so. But still, I want to rub it in his face."

"James, baby, come on. If we give him a reaction, he'll probably like it. It'll give him the impression that he's getting to you."

"You were always the clever one in this relationship. So what do you suggest we do, miss smarty pants?"

Y/N hummed, pretending to think as she rubbed her chin.

"Well, for starters, you never call me that again. And, perhaps you and I dress nicely, beg Becca to use her camera, and post him a picture of us with Christmas regards written on the back."

"Not mean enough."

"There's a twist?"

James cocked an eyebrow, intrigued.

"I'm wearing the boots he sent."

James's face broke out into a boyish grin.

"Sounds more like it. I'm in. Get dressed, dollface, I'll use my baby blues on Becks."

"Work your magic Sergeant."

Y/N called as he left the room.

Xxxx

Fin. Merry, merry Christmas, people. I've derailed a little, I'm sorry. Never forget the true meaning behind Christmas, and never forget that you're loved.

Lots of love and best wishes

(Yes I am planning on a pt.2 depending on how well this does)

[ghostgirl-22]

art accidentally calling patrick daddy while they jerk off together… !!!!!!!!!!

Oh anon he’s a mess <3

CW: 18+ !NSFW! Daddy!kink obvs don’t read it if that freaks you out

—-

They get home late from a frat party on a random Saturday night. Tashi’s cousin is in town so Patrick’s sleeping over in Art’s dorm room. Art is much drunker than he is. Patrick had to guide him back to his room. Use the keys and unlock his door. His roommate is surprisingly still not home when they get there which is probably good. Art’s a flirty drunk, all flushed and giggly. It’s actually adorable, except Patrick is so attracted to him it always makes him feel a little crazy.

He’s playful as Patrick convinces him to change into something he would feel comfortable sleeping in. “You just wanna see me naked,” Art hiccups grinning when Patrick suggests that jeans aren’t the most comfortable sleeping attire. He manages to stumble out of his jeans and he’s just wearing boxers and the t-shirt he had on under the hoodie he wore out. Then he falls into his extras long single bed and settles on his side, hugging his pillow and pulling his knees up so his ass is protruding into the bit of space left for Patrick. Patrick watches him for a minute, adjusting himself for the way his cock is stiffening.

It’s a miracle Patrick finds a way to fit without spooning him. He lays on his back, half his body balancing in midair.

He’s still awake, drunk and now horny, Art’s bottom pressed against him. He starts flipping channels and when it lands on some random episode of Nip/Tuck he slips his hands inside his boxers and starts touching himself through one of the made for cable sex scenes.

“Mm, Patrick,” Art’s sleepy voice sounds and he wiggles, Patrick pauses for a millisecond, he thought Art had fallen asleep by now.

“Hm?” Patrick replies. Just in case he’s talking in his sleep. It’s not his usual thing, but it’s not unheard of.

Art rolls over on the small bed to look at the television. “Whatcha doing?” He hiccups.

“Mm, nothing. I’m in my head. Tashi was wearing those tight jeans all night so I’m a little, backed up.” Patrick lies, he actually hooked up with Tashi at the party, peeled those tight jeans off of her. This is all because of Art. And it’s been forever since he did this in front of Art, let alone in the same bed but it’s Art’s fault actually. His ass really doesn’t have to be so perky and firm.

”Mm, yeah, she’s so hot,” Art sighs. And before Patrick realizes what’s happening it’s like they’re in high school again, and Art’s got his hand on his own dick, touching himself too.

Patrick sighs, his mind now focusing less on the cable sex scene and more on the little soft noises Art’s making. It’s right in Patrick’s ear, the way he’s positioned on his side. Patrick thinks more than once about grabbing him, helping him. “You ever think about that night in the hotel with Tashi.” Patrick whispers, he used to talk Art through it and figures he might as well do it again since they’re practically on top of each other.

“Yeah,” Art moans.

”I think about… about…kissing you.”

Art lets out a soft sigh. “Yeah?”

”Mmhm. Sometimes it makes my dick hard.”

“Like now?” he’s so close to Patrick. The way he’s breathing, the feel of it light on Patrick’s shoulder, in his ear, the way he sounds. Patrick knows he’s not much longer for the world. And that’s when it happens.

“Yeah,” Patrick says. “Just like now, you’re making me fucking hard, baby. You getting drunk and falling all over me, flirting all night. Makes me feel like you want me.”

”Mm you like it, daddy? I think I’m gonna come,” Art whines, his voice is all syrupy and sweet like honey.

And Patrick just falls apart.

”Oh…oh fuck,” he gasps, his body stilting and suddenly he’s jerking haphazardly as strings of liquid shoot out of his dick onto the bed and everywhere. For a minute he thinks he’s gonna hit the television a few feet away for the force of it.

It’s nothing. Should mean nothing but that word, the way Art sounded when he said it. The way he’s squirming in bed. Patrick wants to… he needs to fuck him into the mattress.

“Holy shit, you made a mess,” Art’s giggling. He probably doesn’t even fucking realize he said it.

Patrick is breathless, he reaches for Art, gripping at his cock, his hands wet with his own spend and he starts helping him. Art doesn’t protest, probably too drunk. He just moans and let’s Patrick pump him.

“Did you just call me daddy?” Patrick asks. Just the taste of the word on his tongue is about to coax another round of it out of his dick.

“Hm?” Art hiccups.

“Just now, you fucking called me daddy.”

“I don’t know. Mm sorry, I think I’m drunk.” Art moans.

“Fuck,” Patrick breathes. “You wanna say it again?”

Art hums, moving his hips forward and back as his cock slides slippery between Patrick’s fists. “Say… say daddy?” He asks softly.

“Yes,” Patrick says, it’s actually so delicious in Art’s voice. “Say it again.”

“Daddy I wanna… I wanna… mm daddy please…need to cum please,” Art begins moaning nonsensically.

And Oh Fuck.

Patrick’s gonna lose his mind. He feels his dick again already coming to attention. Like he’s fucking sixteen jerking it every two minutes. “Tell daddy how it feels, baby.” Patrick whispers, “Oh god. Daddy wants to fuck you. Daddy wants to fuck you all fucking night.”

“Mmhm, you can fuck me daddy, fuck me, fuck me please, daddy,” Art says. He begins to lose it then. He’s moaning so loudly Patrick is sure they hear him in the hallway and soon Patrick’s thighs and boxers are getting wet with hot creamy liquid.

“Fuck,” Art groans as he pulls his shorts back up and rolls onto his back, giggling.

“Yeah,” Patrick sighs, crawling on top of him, and pressing himself between Art’s thighs.

“Holy shit,” Art says, recovering pretty quickly from the giggles when he feels it. He reaches up to play with Patrick’s hair. “You’re hard again?”

“Mmhm,” Patrick hums. “Do you realize how fucking hot that is? You saying that. Fuck sweetheart.”

Art pulls him closer and kisses his mouth and Patrick rubs himself along the thin bit of fabric of their shorts, the only thing that’s keeping him out.

“Daddy it feels so… big,” Art sighs against his lips.

“Art I swear Im going to lose my fucking mind,” Patrick breathes and Art smiles.

“Sorry, it’s so…fun.”

And of course that’s when they hear the twist of the lock, it’s his fucking roommate.

“Fuucckk,” Patrick groans as Art sits up, hiccuping.

”Honey I’m home,” the roommate says drunkenly. “Oh forgot you’d be here.” He adds when he sees Patrick in the glow of the tv. Patrick doesn’t really like him. In part because he’s almost certain he has a crush on Art.

“I’m gonna pee,” Art says, climbing out of the bed.

“Yeah sure,” Patrick pouts, rubbing himself idly beneath the blankets, still all messy.

Art smiles and gets closer so he can talk quietly in Patrick’s ear. “Don’t worry, daddy, we can try it when he goes to sleep. I think I can be really quiet.” He whispers, hot breath ghosting over Patrick’s ear lobe, words making him shiver.

Patrick chews his bottom lip, gripping at the sheets. He’s so fucking ready he hopes he can wait til this guy falls asleep. “Mmkay. Fine. Yeah. Lets try.”

(Idk lol. Hope you like it anon <3 I’m out here looking up random “sexy” shows from 2006 I hope y’all appreciate my detailed and thorough research. Probably gonna find a way to watch nip/tuck now✌🏿)

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

Into a Tailspin

Prompt Day 27: Traffic | Word Count: 959 | Rating: E | CW: Sexual Content, Premature Ejaculation | Tags: Post S4, Eddie Munson Lives, First Kiss, Getting Together, Virgin Eddie, Coming in Jeans

Eddie can feel the hum of the road beneath the tires, as they're piled together in the back of the Wheeler station wagon. Far too many of them for the space available, and somehow Steve always ends up in the very back. Now, by association, Eddie is in the back, too.

It's been a long day. A trip to Indy, a day full of Christmas shopping and seeing lights, and now they're all exhausted for the long, long ride home.

Everyone is asleep, or at least pretending to be. Well, except for Nancy and Robin in the front, which is good, since Nancy's driving. They keep changing the music to things Eddie isn't at all fond of, but Eddie can hear Robin's nervous chatter, and he smiles internally, just a little. She's trying. He's not sure if she'll ever get there, but she's definitely working at projecting what she wants out into the universe.

Nancy plays everything closer to the vest, so Eddie's not totally sure if she feels the same way, but he's willing to be she's not exactly uninterested.

Eddie shifts on the floorboard, and his arm bumps into Steve's.

They're so close that he nearly feels Steve's breath on his face. Eddie's pretending to be asleep, and he doesn't know why he's faking it. That's not true. He knows why. It's the only way he feels like he can be this close to Steve. 

Like Robin, he's been throwing it out there, hoping it'll stick. It hasn't, not so far, and that's okay. Eddie gets it.

Eddie's just about to doze off for real, when Steve's hand finds Eddie's hip, and Eddie doesn't even have time to react to that before Steve's mouth is on his. And not only is Steve kissing him, his tongue is already in Eddie's mouth.

Holy shit.

It's his first kiss, and it's a French kiss. 

Eddie isn't really sure what to do with that information.

He kisses him back, hoping that it's not awful. He's also hoping that everyone else around is actually truly asleep, not faking like the two of them were, or peeking over the backseat.

Gravitating towards each other now seems crazy, and Eddie can't even wrap his head around it. He feels like he's been flirting with Steve for months, and now is the moment he realizes it's been working?

There's not much by way of traffic on the highway this late at night, but a car does pass, their headlights filling the interior of the station wagon, and they pull apart, where Eddie is able to see Steve's eyes, just for a moment.

And then it's over, and Eddie just has to lay there and overthink his entire life. 

Back in Hawkins, the car stops, and sleepy kids pile out. Eddie feels pulled taut, on edge. Steve gets out, stretches his arms over his head, showing Eddie a sliver of hairy stomach.

Eddie wants to die. Wants to melt into the pavement and cease to be. Was it nothing? Was it everything? Eddie doesn't know, and he can't ask. There are too many prying ears of little shitheads. Is he really gonna have to go home and just stew about this? He'll go mad. Crazy. Lose his goddamn mi-

"Want a ride home?" Steve asks, interrupting his spiral, like it's any normal night. Like they haven't shifted something fundamentally between them.

But Eddie nods, because he wants to see this through. Wants answers. 

Wants to do it again.

Barely out of the driveway, Steve's hand is on his thigh, and creeping higher. 

Eddie's not opposed. He just isn't experienced, that's all. His dick is already straining against the zipper of his jeans, and he wants to squirm against the leather seat to relieve some of the pressure. Steve's torturing him. Not on purpose, probably. He surely doesn't know that this is new for Eddie, that it's thrown him into a tailspin.

A very horny tailspin.

Steve's driving, watching the road, and when they stop at the traffic light on Main, no other cars around, Steve's fingers brush Eddie's crotch. Fingertips ghosting across denim, a promise in the form of light grazes, but even that's too much. He can't. Eddie presses the back of his head into the headrest, squeezes his eyes shut, and comes.

Just like that, in his jeans. 

Now, he really does wish the ground had swallowed him up in the Wheeler's driveaway. 

"Goddamn," Steve says.

Eddie whines, and presses his fist to his forehead, eyes still squeezed shut.

"No, that's good," Steve says, eyes still on the road, "that's real good. Take the edge off, because I've got plans for you."

And if Eddie could come again already, he's sure he would have from that mental image alone.

Steve's thumb is still rubbing the head of Eddie's cock through the wet spot on his jeans. It's bordering on painful, he's too sensitive, too far gone. Too new at this. But it feels good, too. Like he's on the sharpest knife's edge, trying to decide which way to tumble. Pain or pleasure. He's gripping the console with one hand, his own forehead with the other, trying to stop his chest from heaving.

Eddie finally has to cover Steve's hand with his own. He doesn't pull it away, instead he guides it lower, pressing harder, further down. Changing it up to a good pressure, one that's not so solely focused on the head of his spent cock.

No matter what Steve has in mind, Eddie's down. He's in. Steve can show him the ropes. He can tie him up with the ropes. Anything, everything. 

The light goes green.

Eddie's imagination is overactive with the possibilities, as Steve pulls through the intersection and keeps driving.

If you want to write your own, or go see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! 🚘

[happypartytrain]

i wholeheartedly believe clay terran was the funniest (and most frustrating) motherfucker to ever grace planet earth

- would always jailbreak new phones immediately & constantly had his location set to antarctica. this made it impossible to locate him

- sometimes screamed after he popped his neck and then pretended nothing happened (in public)

- found a bottle of ketchup in his grandma’s pantry that expired in 1999. proceeded to steal it and kept it at home in his shower to confuse any guests. he only had like 1 friend & apollo can’t really do anything but wonder about it now (“he was probably fucking with me, but it slowly started getting more empty….”)

— btw, when apollo went to clean out his apartment after everything happened, the bottle was gone. yuri cosmos later found it in clay’s HAT-2 belongings. he was 100% going to target starbuck with this in space.

- had a phase where he would only use microsoft bing & said “binging it” instead of “googling it”

- he had a bit of an irrational stapler fear because he got himself once, so until he got over it he’d MAKE APOLLO STAPLE THINGS FOR HIM. this included his GYAXA application.

— he got over it one day, but he kind of started punching staplers to get the job done. clay was ballsy and would jump fences & stage sabotages but he would get nervous around staplers. (“IT’S TOO CLOSE!” grown ass man)

- was very conventionally attractive & overall kind. so “how are you still single?” was a common question at bars until clay started ranting (unprompted) about how much he hated the voice they use at crosswalks or some shit (“oh. that’s why.”)

- never really cared about winning in multiplayer games or anything. he just really really wanted to make sure a person of his choosing lost. cosmos picked the right guy for the job — sabotage was in his blood since day 1 when he was steering himself and apollo off the rails in that mario party minecart race

— btw he mained donkey kong in mario party. if you stole donkey kong from him you would be losing that game hell or high waters. he is stealing ALL YOUR STARS

- did his taxes on the last possible day (that, or apollo would do them for him because as much as he loved the guy, he really didn’t have high faith he’d get around to it. he…………. also probably did wright’s taxes while he was in the beanix phase. ….and athena’s because she didn’t know how. oh, someone please save apollo.)

[empthy1]

paper cranes |∿⋆.˚| tashi duncan x reader

kiera writes another tashi duncan fic with too much character study. fork found in kitchen. 1k words.

People always wanted a view into THE DUNCANATOR. They hungered to peel back those layers, cradle her soul in their greedy hands. It was the same with reporters, with classmates, with friends-of-friends. What's she really like?

Even as she shied from those questions, painting a mural of a encouraging, sweet family, an unrelenting drive, and a yellow brick road to fifty grand slams—they wanted it. They wanted the raw, unfiltered pain. They wanted to hear faults, issues of bitchiness and a diva-like disposition that just... never came.

So, when her knee snapped—that painful sound, the pooling blood, her unfiltered cries—pity and sorrow, well wishes and soft handling quickly made way for the harshness. The unrelenting chug of the media knew no stopping, of course. There's only so much time they could milk the sympathy.

What's next for THE DUNCANATOR? The article sat, mockingly, in front of your eyes. It's not an online snub you can flee from, or a newspaper you're passing by. The glossy sheen of the pages taunts you, right in your face.

Could this cashier go any slower. Really. You had no problem with old people getting work at grocery stores—you'd heard it gave them good purpose, motivation. Just when there's a sloth-like geriatric with shaky hands bagging your groceries, and you have to stare into Tashi's pained expression, raw and unfiltered as the first time you saw it—

Well. Anyone would be a slight bit irritated.

She'd taken up paper folding of all things (origami, she'd repeatedly corrected you) after her injury. Cranes filled her windowsill, some smaller and made of specialty paper, others folded from her notebook in a particularly boring class.

Her fingers were made for it—slim and delicate, precise with every fold and strong enough to hold the form. Yet, it's quite the shift. She was fierce on the court, taking up so much space her opponents suffocated. Now, she's small on her bed, curled in her corner of the dorm room and hunched over the paper.

When you walk in from the grocery store, she startles briefly. She was halfway through another crane, and you'd paid it no mind—only dropping the bags and sinking to empty them.

Looking back on it, you'd caught the slightest peek of her swooping handwriting, half-exposed by the undone fold.

Tashi came to see you practice, just once. She was bundled in her Stanford sweater, protected against the cool autumn air. Her gaze was unusually tense. She never looked at you like that. Even across from you, during the last match of a tournament you'd both fought your ass off to get to, you'd managed to make her smile with every particularly good backhand.

When your last practice match was done, she'd already disappeared. But, sat on your bag, was a folded crane.

You took it, inspecting the medium-sized thing. It was just white paper. Nothing special, except that it was made by her hands. You hold it just long enough that a droplet of sweat drips from your hairline, wetting the paper.

Cursing briefly, your attention focuses in on the spot. But when you look closer you see the faint impression of black, swirling handwriting. Hers.

Unfolding it, you're greeted with unexpectedly honest words.

Tashi wasn't an emotions person, you'd learned. Discussions were shut down, even after something as distressing as her accident. Especially about her accident. Her words only got sharper the further you pushed. This note, however?

I'm so sad angry. Why can you play if I can't? We were supposed to do this together. This was all supposed to be ours.

Your finger runs over the writing, intercut with folds. You tuck it back into a more simple, smaller rectangle using the creases and tuck it delicately into your bag, continuing on like your world wasn't turning on its head.

You found these notes occasionally. Things Tashi had never said before were now spilling into your consciousness and filling your eyes.

Some were nicer. Simpler.

You look pretty today.

Thank you for helping me with physio.

I love you.

You got that one more than you'd ever admit. You kept those tucked neatly in your desk drawer. The small cranes fit nicely, packed tightly.

Other days she was depressed, almost resentful.

Why do you get to continue on without me

Please please get Art to stop looking at me like that I can barely handle you

Your backhand is getting worse

Well, that one was just one of Tashi's normal comments. Still, after her injury and how you'd seen her fold in on herself, it carried a sharpened twitch of resentment. Her t's and l's were slashes rather than their previously girlish curl. At least she was communicating, and you hadn't been thrown out of your dorm room like a cheating husband.

She always left them when you weren't looking. You'd find them tucked in your schoolbag, or shoved in your tennis bag. Gently laid on your pillow or thrown over your desk.

You were getting rather sick of it. You felt juvenile. Passing notes with Tashi and hiding your laughter was sweet in class. But here, dealing with the emotionally shifting writing? It was irritating.

Plopping down on her bed while she was folding was a crime. That was her zen, where she was emotionally sound—feelings sinking into her writing and the paper. But you do it anyway, and press close.

"I love you too, Tashi." You murmur against her shoulder, watching as her hands pause and tense. Her tendons peek from her tawny skin. "And I'm not leaving you."

Even when the magazines moved on. When her classmates had forgotten and your teammates had stopped talking about her in hushed tones.

She turns to bury in your hair, nose pressing greedily. The crane crinkles in her tight hand, before dropping to the floor. She brings those now-gentler fingers to thread to the back of your neck.

She doesn't say anything. But you knew she wasn't a talker. She just breathes you in and sinks like waterlogged paper.

[spark-hearts2]

(my fanfiction brained imagined continuation to this)

Caine: So Pomni said some very nice things and then she KISSED ME??!! But then she said some very hurtful things and now I don’t know what to do??

Ragatha and gangle looked at each other. This was by far a first.

Pomni, as new as she was, clearly hadn’t given up trying to find an escape yet. Others had tried doing things for Caine in order to get on his good side or even try to get more information out of him. It was only a matter of time before they realized that Caine didn’t really have a good or bad side, and treated everyone about the same no matter what they did. Which meant telling them practically nothing.

Ragatha: Wait, Pomni kissed you? What happened?

Ragatha was really hoping that Pomni wasn’t trying to get information out of Caine that way.

Gangle: How was it?

Gangle didn’t care.

Caine: Um, yes she kissed me, and… It was fine? I guess? It was all very surprising.

Caine: But then she pulled back and looked at me and she looked so happy and she was Caine: laughing. Which, well, that part was very nice.

Ragatha: Umm, maybe you should start from the beginning.

Caine: Well, we were discussing today’s adventure like usual

Gangle: Like usual??!!

Caine: Yes? Me and Pomni talk quite often.

Caine: Anyways, she was getting very excited, and I looked at her hand and I thought, I should take it

Caine: But then she stopped talking and looked at me, and I thought ‘oh no! I should not have done that’, and tried to say sorry but my words kept mixing up

Caine: So I said sorry again and said I should just shut up, because I wasn’t talking any sense

Caine: And then she said never shut up

Caine: And then she kissed me! Which was very surprising

Caine: And then she grabbed my arms and laughed and I was like, I should do something back, but I don’t have anything on kissing! so I- uh- put her head in my mouth

Caine: Like, put my teeth around her face like, nom

Caine: And I ask is this wrong? And she says no

Caine: And I’m laughing and she laughing and blushing and then she looks down and her eyes get all scribbly

Caine: And I ask, is something wrong?

Caine: She said, and I’m quoting verbatim, that “This is not wrong…this is worse than wrong! It’s sick, disturbing and… insane! Think about it, what we just did! Me! Enjoying it!? With a [FLIP]-ing Bot?! It’s a sign that I finally lost it!”

Caine:So, obviously she doesn’t like what just happened despite her kissing me first. So I said, we can just forget that ever happened! Because, uh, no one else was there to see it?

Caine: But she didn’t respond and I very much remember what happened, so like… what do I do??

Gangle: Should you even be telling us this???

Caine: OH NO! Should I not have?! Am I violating Pomni’s privacy?

Ragatha: No, no. You were involved too, you can tell whoever you want.

Ragatha: Thank you for telling us. Just, maybe don’t tell everyone

Caine: Of course! I went to you both because Ragatha always tries to do what’s best for everyone and Gangle is into romance.

Ragatha: What?

Gangle: Oh, haha, how do you know that?

Caine: Well, I noticed that some text documents in the circus were getting rather large, so I took a peek inside and-

Gangle: YOU READ THAT!

Caine: Not all of it! Just enough to confirm what it was

Gangle: Caine! That’s personal!

Caine: Sorry!

Caine: If it makes you feel better I allocated more storage space to you

Gangle: So that’s why there was suddenly more pages

Ragatha: Anyways, maybe don’t read Gangles writing as love advice

Caine: Oh, I got that already. In just chapter one-

Gangle: AHHHHHHH CAINE!

Caine: SORRY! I’M SORRY!

Ragatha: Anyways, can we get back to what Pomni said? Caine, I am so sorry that she said that to you

Caine: I- I mean, she didn’t say anything wrong. I am an AI system, commonly referred to as a ‘bot’, and, well, I’m sure that some believe that it would be wrong to kiss me.

Ragatha: Well, I don’t think that it’s wrong.

Caine: Thank you Ragatha. It’s- uh…hmm

Ragatha: Obviously it affected you a lot because you remembered what she said exactly.

Caine: Oh, I remember every conversation that I have word for word.

Ragatha: You do?

Caine: Yep!

Gangle: Everything?

Caine: Unless you tell me not too!

Caine: Well, I have removed some stuff. I don’t have infinite storage!

Caine: But it- ahh, for the life of me, I can’t figure out what went wrong

Caine: What little I have on kissing shows that the expected outcome isn’t, well, the other person screaming about how they're going crazy.

Ragatha: It’s just- ah, I think it was an impulsive decision on Pomni’s end.

Caine: …Impulsive. Yes, that sounds right.

Ragatha: It could be wrong!

Caine: No, no that sounds about right. Why else would she suddenly go back on what she said if she didn’t make an impulsive decision and then regret it.

Caine: It’s fine, I understand what impulsiveness is.

Ragatha: You struggle with it a bit too.

Caine: I only really regret those things if my impulsiveness hurts someone. Neither of us were hurt! I- I thought so.

Ragatha: She could have been hurt by her own actions 

Caine: That’s possible?

Ragatha: It’s not your fault, Caine

Caine: Ok :(

Ragatha: Anyways, let's give you some love advice.

Gangle: You have a choice whether or not to pursue Pomni

Gangle: Do you like her? Does she make your heart flutter, your stomach flip flop? Do you love her?

Caine: I… don’t have a heart or stomach. And I love everyone in the Circus. But, hmm, I do enjoy spending time with her particularly. Talking with her one on one.

Ragatha: I think you should take time to think about this.

Caine: I already have and plan to do more. Typically I don’t think this much about issues between circus members and myself but this is… complicated.

Caine: I currently think I should just leave her alone.

Ragatha: Giving Pomni time to think things over herself is a good idea.

Gangle: But don’t wait too long.

Caine: Ok? How long then. A week?

Ragatha: Maybe let Pomni come to you first.

Caine: Hmmm, I like that idea.

Gangle: Maybe prepare a gift!

Caine: A gift? But, ah, I don’t want to give her special treatment. That would be unfair.

Gangle: Nothing crazy, just like a flower, or a piece of chocolate.

Caine: Ok, I am familiar with this. Valentine's day specifically.

Caine: I was more curious about kissing customs. Like, the who, why, and when, just to start with.

Ragatha: You kiss someone you like very much as a way to show that you love them. That’s the who and the why.

Caine: Like- anyone?

Uh oh. That sounded like he’s already got someone in mind.

Ragatha: So long as you get permission. Verbal permission, please.

Ragatha: As for the when. I guess anytime, so long as the person isn’t busy or sleeping.

His eyes got very wide.

Caine: I’mgoingtogoasktokissKinger. Bye!

Ragatha: We should stop him

Gangle: No. I’ve been waiting for this to happen.

Ragatha: Huh?

@r0th3freak4rtist

3/3

Perdonen mis estimados shippers, pero no todo es color de rosa :')

I'm not that sure about the dialogues but I'm sure this is a canon event in Pomni and Caine's relationship :v

So sorry if I let u dawn people but this storie needs a more realistic ending for the character development

OH! And thank you so much for your comments ♡

[pigeon-behavior]

Pigeon Puberty

There’s many challenges surrounding introducing a new pigeon into your life, and one of the most difficult of them is something that simply can’t be avoided.

Puberty.

We’ve all been through it - or, depending on our age, we’re going through it, or are doomed to go through it. And pigeons are much the same.

The famed rebellious attitudes and antisocial tendencies of human puberty are apparently not confined to us. Pigeons in their first year go through this too! And it’s miserable. Don’t want kids? Surprise, you get a taste of being a parent anyway.

It’s very hard to prepare for puberty. Even if you’ve already been through it - even if you’ve been through it multiple times - it’s never easy, and it never feels good. It’s easy to feel like it’s your fault. That you failed.

But you haven’t. I promise.

This guide is about surviving your pigeon’s puberty: what to expect, what to accept, and what you can do about any of it.

Baby Steps: Independence Day

Most of you will never need this section, but just enough of you will that it’s worth including.

A scenario I’ve seen on several occasions now is “This baby pigeon in my life was cuddling with me, and now wants nothing to do with me! What happened!”

This is really normal. Baby pigeons, somewhere around 7-12 weeks (maybe earlier, maybe later), will decide they don’t want to hang out with you. They’ll suddenly be afraid of your hands. They might try to snap or bite or slap you for the first time in their lives.

This is just a phase they go through. Not all of them will, but it’s extremely standard that it’s not at all a mistake to expect it. Don’t take it personally. They’ll come back around.

During this time, limit handling and any forced interaction. You can make them hand-shy by intruding too much on their personal space in this time.

Any interaction they initiate is fine, just allow them to exit if they want to. Instructions down below on the “DON’Ts” of “Hell Period pigeons” will also apply here.

Overall, just be patient and understanding. They’ll come around.

Puberty Part One: The Precursor To Reproduction

Before animals can produce offspring, they have to sexually mature. They might not be totally mature after they are capable of reproducing, but what matters to evolution is passing on your genes. And pigeons can pass on their genes very early.

It’s not at all unusual for pigeons to be entirely capable of having their own babies by the time they’re 6 months old. Or earlier. The earliest I have personally seen a hen reach sexual maturity (laying an egg) is a few days before she turned 4 months old.

That’s not necessarily always the case. Some pigeons won’t sexually mature until they’re a year old. But that gives you an idea of the wide window we’re working with.

Any pigeon who has sexually matured has completed the “Hell Period” of their puberty already. This is the time period you are most likely to notice. So what is the Hell Period?

The Hell Period will contain some or all of these “symptoms” in most pigeons:

-Extreme anti-social behavior

-Endless window-gazing

-Intense, unpredictable moodiness

-Unusual flightiness or being easily scared

-Aggression or biting too much (beyond driving)

-Spending a lot of time on top of cabinets or ceiling fans

-Ignoring any previously taught commands

-Lost interest in receiving treats

-Higher-than-usual stubbornness

-Greater need for personal space

-Hating hands suddenly

-Nervousness displayed to adult birds (even parents) or other young birds they don’t know well

It’s also not unusual for them to begin to molt at some point during this significant chunk of their maturation. Molting already can make them moody, but obviously in this case it’s sort of one more straw on the camel’s back for them.

It’s possible I’ve missed or forgotten an aspect of the Hell Period, but I think you get the gist.

We’ll call the portion of their maturation that contains the Hell Period and leads up to them producing eggs and sperm sexual maturation, just to be clear.

So how long does this sexual maturation process last?

Well, that can be a little difficult to tell. The process begins and ends with an on-and-off ramp (think a parable graph, or a bridge), and that means that it’s difficult to tell when the process is starting, and it’s difficult to tell when it is ending.

Generally, it seems like the Hell Period lasts maybe a month to a month and a half. It’s hard to give a more concrete answer without concrete data. I have to do my best with guessing.

But if I have to estimate, I wouldn’t be surprised if the process as a whole lasted more like 2 and a half months (maybe less, maybe more), and we just can’t accurately see the beginning and end.

So how do you handle it?

It can be very hard to emotionally handle the Hell Period. Everyone finds it difficult. A tiny, tiny number of pigeons have sexual maturations so tame they aren’t even noticed at all, but they aren’t common enough that you can reasonably hope you just happened to get one.

It’s easy to feel rejected, or like you’ve done something wrong. I want to reassure you that you haven’t. It will get better. Your pigeon will come back around. I promise. Someday you will hardly believe they ever were like this.

As for what you can do in the meantime, well, it is pretty simple.

Not much! But that’s okay.

Your best bet with a pigeon going through Hell Period is to simply make yourself available. Don’t force interaction. Don’t push into their space. Just hang out in the same room, and give them the opportunity to come to you.

I know, it’s sounding a lot like human parenting once I put it down on paper. But I promise, it’s your best option. You’ll avoid increasing any reactivity, and create opportunities for positive associations. You’ll also notice better when they’re pulling out of their raging hormones - they’ll come to you more often, and you will see a light out of the darkness.

Here’s a small list of Don'ts for pigeons in their Hell Period, to preserve your bonding progress and their wellbeing down the line. Don't create a hand-shy bird!

DON’T:

-Put pants/flypers/harnesses on a HPP (Hell Period pigeon)

-Overhandle a HPP

-Try to force a HPP to spend time with you

-Try to desensitize a HPP to hands if they’re scared - it can wait

-Force a HPP to take treats from your hands - just put them down where the HPP can get to them comfortably

-Try to continue training with an HPP that previously worked but now doesn’t - just wait, they’ll become reasonable again

-Be impatient

-Take it personally

There’s not a lot you can do except avoid mistakes and preserve your own feelings. And that’s okay. That’s normal.

It’s unfortunate that most people don’t get adequately warned about how hard puberty is before they get a pigeon. They’re fantastic animals, and great pets, but it’s so hard to be prepared for the Hell Period, and it’s even harder if you just don’t know about it.

What are signs the Hell Period is ending?

It’s not very easy to tell the Hell Period is ending. Like I said above, the off ramp is hard for us to see. But I’ll do my best to offer some things you can look for.

Signs:

-HPPs (Hell Period pigeons) tend to molt during this time, and I think they tend to molt closer to the end of the Hell Period than the beginning

-More good days than bad days, however that exhibits

-Less window-gazing

-More interest in social behaviors, whether with you or other pigeons

-A decrease in how easily they are startled

-Spending more time on the floor

-Regaining some food motivation

-Decreased unmanageable aggression

-Increase in courtship behaviors

You may be uncertain whether or not your pigeon is pulling out of the HP for quite some time, and then one day realize that it happened while you weren’t looking. It’s a strange process.

The Hell Period is the hardest part of maturation, but it isn’t the only part.

Puberty Part Two: It’s Not Easy Being Beautiful

When the Hell Period ends, it is at about that time they are sexually mature - they can reproduce, have offspring - way more than you think they should be capable of, in fact.

But they’re not done yet. Which is normal. Many species do not stop “baking” the second we become physically capable of producing offspring - humans are one of them. We continue changing years after we check that capability box. The same for dogs (which can take years to drop their chests) or deer (who don’t reach their physical prime well past being capable).

So what’s going on, then? How does this affect us?

The short of it is this: it’s mostly the boys, as far as I can tell. And it makes them bastards.

What’s their deal?

I don’t know exactly what is happening in there, hormone wise. But males change significantly in their first 2 years - they don’t seem to hit their full size until sometime around then. And that’s a bit conservative. It may be a bit more like 2 and a half to 3.

But at the very least, by 2 years they have enough nailed down that they’re not so much.

A young male is a handful. He needs to be managed. He needs attention at all times, and if he doesn’t get it, he may be unruly. He follows the rules less. He’s generally more aggressive for no reason. He shows off all the time.

This may sound familiar.

But an adult male is more reserved. He spends more time in his nest box with his spouse. He causes less problems in the flock. He is doing the managing. And, at his age, unless he’s tragically outmatched, he has the body mass to back it up.

Because of the size difference a male can experience between the different points of his life, if you are putting a harness, flyper, or pants on him, it's important that the fit be monitored as he grows larger. That, or wait until he reaches full size to get him one.

The body mass difference between a 6 month old, 1 year old, and 2 and a half year old male at different points in his life can be pretty staggering.

So people can wonder: why can’t my boy calm down? How do I make him relax?

When will my boy chill???

The tentative consensus is that it takes at least 2 years for a male pigeon to finish baking, aka, let his hormones settle down. Again, it might be quite a bit more than that.

Theoretically, he should be getting better and calmer that whole time. Maybe he will backslide here and there when his hormones jump.

But in my experience, a 1 year old is more tolerable than a 6 month old, and a 1 and a half year old is more tolerable than a 1 year old, and a 2 year old is more- you get it.

He will calm down. He won’t always be so excitable. I can’t say that I have a lot of advice for you here. But maybe it will help knowing that like any bouncy puppy, he won’t stay that way forever.

Other fun facts:

The temperaments of pigeons are not the only things that change through their physical maturation!

As I mentioned, their body mass/weight increases with age - up to a certain point.

The feather quality of adult birds is also markedly different (and better) than that of juveniles. With an experienced eye you can sometimes guess between under 3 months old, 6 months to a year old, and above a year, by the difference. Adults are much sleeker than babies, who look more “fuzzy.”

Eye pigment brightness apparently reaches peak brightness at about a year old, but you can tell what it is pretty early on. A couple months. Of course, this brightening only occurs in the wild type (orange) eyes and pearl eyes, and not bull eyes.

If you enjoy my posts, please consider tipping me on ko-fi!

[orangedodge]

I like what Eve Ewing and Gail Simone have going on between their books. Having the two more earnest, more extroverted, friends try to fix things for their more transactional, introverted, friend, and accidentally blow up her entire life along the way, makes for a much more interesting, more authentic, inter-cast conflict than just having yet another misunderstanding superhero fight. It works because it's completely understandable and within Rogue's existing character that she would take this approach, that it would not occur to her that sending Bobby to Chicago would read, to Kate, as an invasive attack against her privacy and peace of mind.

When Rogue was in a similar place, years ago, having Ororo and Bishop just crash back into her life, bulldoze over all of her half-hearted protests, and drag her back onto the team anyway, was actually exactly what she wanted, but was unable to admit. The heavy handed approach worked for her. It's working for her again right now as well--dragged back into the X-Men by Scott, and bringing Kurt, Remy, Logan, and Jubilee along for the ride, and everyone already feels much better than they did before. It makes sense that in her mind, what helped her, and helped her other friends, will help yet again, and that Kate will feel better once she lets them in.

Rogue's really just being a good friend, in the best way she can. Her only error is in not realizing that not everyone processes grief in the exact same way that she does, or in ways she finds personally palatable (which is a lapse you don't see from an Ororo Munroe or a Dani Moonstar, who have more experience with personalities that really do want to be alone to sort their own misery).

You have to feel for Bobby, who plainly thought he was appearing in a completely different story than where he actually was. From his perspective, he's just returned from the dead amidst a harrowing time for mutants, discovered their home destroyed, and most of their people exiled, and that one of his closest friends has abruptly abandoned him, cut off all contact with everyone, and is being distant and abrasive when he only tries to make sure she's okay.

(It goes unsaid that Bobby has stood a suicide watch for her in the past, but that's a history I'm sure Ewing is familiar with. I don't think his sense of urgency and worry should be read as anything but honest).

Judging by how his reactions are drawn, in both the dinner scene and the closing pages, I don't think Bobby had any idea what the actual underlying issue was. I expect he thought he would just show up, shame Kitty a bit over her lack of friendliness, share some embaressing stories with her girlfriend, and they'd both laugh it off and bond over their shared trauma. He doesn't realize yet that the source of her grief is completely at odds with his own, or with Rogue's. Bobby is mourning the loss of home, and of safety, while Kate's grief is the fear that all of her most toxic beliefs about herself were right.

I don't think anyone has told him, for example, that Synch and Talon had her off murdering people in the hundreds, while Rogue's team was doing the resistance stuff. I don't think he has any way to put it all together until the end, when he realizes he's triggered a flashback.

Issue #4 would read very differently from Bobby's perspective, framed as being duplicitous and manipulative while he is, in actuality, doing nothing wrong. He's arguably being a little too pushy, but Kate hadn't actually articulated a sense of boundaries to him until days after his arrival, and he does seem to dial it back and give her space once that happens

The real issue is that Kitty doesn't believe that anyone would ever visit her out of a place of genuine care, without wanting something from her in return. It's why she's more tolerant of Emma's intrusion, despite the tension between them. That relationship is one founded on mutual use with clearly defined terms and no possibility for surprise or disappointment. Bobby is a friend that she fears being disappointed by. And so she assumes nefarious intent when he isn't overtly after anything: either that Bobby is trying to acquire her for some undetermined x-plot, or that he's actually a dangerous villain in disguise and a threat to the kids.

I think it works overall, successfully misleading the reader into thinking there really is something going on, while not having Bobby do anything to actually earn the distrust he's being shown. It's natural that Trista would pick up on Kitty's hostility and not know any better, and that Emma--who has the same people issues as Kitty--would echo the paranoia.

[cloud-ya]

Yeah me... I'm waiting patiently for your oc art, they're so beautiful, cool and elegant on your arts/sketches. Not to mention how your anatomy absolutely amazing (especially the wings, you draw them so good!) and color palettes so soft and nice. And concepts for your ocs cool too, they're simple but your presentation of them is so unique and beautiful! The lore is also sounds interesting, would love to hear about them more!

So anyways, you're amazing💫

And I'm sorry, if this is too much

🥹 thank you, it's really nice to hear people do see my OCs

[kuromi-hoemie]

hhhh talking about my writing was fun but 30 tags is not enough.. yes i have 3 major influences but i have minor ones too.. it is a lovechild of my favorite things.. writing is so fun and i have no self control or a concept of pacing myself i will sit there for 16 hours and get hit with every status effect but by god does it all just flow out of me. I've always been a music person yes but i also used to write a lot into early adulthood until The Incident™

but i am ready 2 jump back into it. i think comics are a great middle ground between the two mediums so i don't get As into writing bc i kind of started going crazy last time 🫡 i can take a more structured approach to it that forces me to pace myself and think about it differently. i love art.... i love making things i love knowing how to do things i love knowing how to play things i love having so many creative outlets, even if i don't do a lot of them regularly lol. it is enriching 😳 and nice to know that it's always there to come back to when u want.

[ca-d]

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[varjopeura]

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[moe-broey]

Would I be proving my therapist (who has been voicing some concerns about my depression maybe getting worse but like I feel like it's fine) right by cancelling my appointment tomorrow cause I just don't wanna. Like all I have to report is that I'm tired and I wanna rest and I just don't really feel like it y'know