#everyone please tag me on any Albert content

[thetrashbois]

PINNED UPDATED FINALLY

Hey! I'm Spooky! I'm 25 years old, and use she/they pronouns.

I've had this blog for a very long time but it's been very on and off being used, And yet I keep coming back 👉👉

This blog is my vibing place for my self shipping! This can go anywhere from just reblogging my blorbos, to me actually making stuff! Mainly art and writing!

This blog is 18+ only. No minors. I like to keep all my content for this on one blog so that includes more sinful content. Though it will be tagged accordingly if you don't wanna see it! (Tags at bottom!)

I tend to switch around a lot to different fandoms and interests. It's rare I'll stop liking a fandom or character though. I have many Blorbos and the number only grows uwu

I have a lot of mental health stuff going and self shipping is a big coping mechanism for me. ✌️

I'm a system! I don't really plan to talk about it much on this blog, but on the off chance it comes up I'll say it ™️

I have two amazing partners, @calamari-minecraft-corner and @angelover44 . ❤️

My main is @spooookyqueen, I follow from there!

I'm not gonna do a full DNI this time cause I don't have the braincells, and people don't always respect them anyway, but I will set a few ground rules.

Obviously any basic DNI stuff would apply.

I wanna keep discourse of any kind off here for the most part, it stresses me out and if im gonna talk about that sort of thing it would be on my main and not my self shipping blog.

For the most part everyone is welcome here, just don't be an ass or just straight up make me or anyone uncomfortable.

I do on occasion post darker topics here, especially given I like a lot of evil or fake characters. I don't not support anything of the sort irl. This obviously does not include the obvious no-nos.

Anything with dark content will be tagged accordingly. If anyone needs me to add more tags I will gladly do so. And if I forget, please don't hesitate to let me know. (Just don't be rude about it)

I can't promise any form of logic for when I post and what I post. My ADHD makes me a bit all over sometimes so there's no schedule or anything. Sometimes I might not post for a long time, it's really just up to what I see, feel up to.

Asks are always open! Just don't be rude or disrespectful is all I ask. I am just vibing here after all.

I'm not above blocking if y'all can't behave though.

I have many silly aus and such. Sometimes crossovers. What one with a small brain might call "cringe"

Jokes on your cringe culture is dead though and I killed it 💜

FR tho, Were all just having fun here 👉👉

Also sorry for any spelling/grammar issues on here or on any other post of mine, I struggle a lot sometimes with my ADHD since my brain tends to be faster than my hands. And if I don't type quick enough I tend to lose my thoughts

Main Tags I use below, Will add F/O Tags as I go ✌️

General Tags

#Cala my beloved Posts involving @calamari-minecraft-corner

#Katlyn my beloved Posts involved @angelover44

#Suggestive Not quite going into sexual territory but the implication is there

#Sinful Mature content, namely the sexual sort

#My Memes

#My Edits

#My Art

#My Writing

Blorbo Tags

#Wesker or #Albert Wesker Albert Wesker from the Resident Evil franchise & Dead By Daylight

#Eddie or #Eddie Gluskin Eddie Gluskin from Outlast: Whistleblower

#Darkiplier Darkiplier from Markiplier's Ego Videos (Or as I call them the Markiplier Cinematic Universe)

#Damien or #Mayor Damien Damien from Markiplier's Ego Videos (Or as I call them the Markiplier Cinematic Universe)

#Celine or #Seer Celine Celine from Markiplier's Ego Videos (Or as I call them the Markiplier Cinematic Universe)

#Astarion or #Astarion Ancunín Astarion from Baldur's Gate 3

#Gale or #Gale Dekarios Gale Dekarios from Baldur's Gate 3

#Raphael Raphael from Baldur's Gate 3

#Miguel or #Miguel O'Hara Miguel from the Spider-Verse Movies

#Spot, #The Spot, or #Johnathon Ohnn Johnathon Ohnn/The Spot from the Spider-Verse Movies

#Vox Vox From Hazbin Hotel

#Lucifer or #Lucifer Morningstar Lucifer from Hazbin Hotel

Will add more as I go, anyway, thanks for reading ✌️

[elisabeth515]

Thanks! It’s very interesting OwO

(Also look how ironic stuff could be, haha)

Btw I did some (late night) Pinterest browsing again and I found this very cute photo of this couple when they were engaged in 1900🥺

They’re just too adorable please protecc them

@elisabeth515 I hope you don't mind me tagging you, but I wanted to find a source for what I said in my tags (because I legit can't remember how I learned that) so I made a quick search and I'm glad to announce that I hadn't made up that fact and that Queen Marie was indeed Albert and Elisabeth's first shipper:

Albert I and Elisabeth met for the first time in the spring of 1897, on the occasion of the funeral of Duchess Sophie Charlotte of Alençon. Prince Albert was 22 years old, Elisabeth, 21. Her paternal aunt Marie Sophie, wife of Francesco II, the last king of the Two Sicilies, also attended the funeral.

It was precisely the "Queen of Naples" who acted as a proxy between the scions of the two illustrious houses. Several times she facilitated their meetings at Saint-Germain-en-Laye, where she had retired following the death of her husband. Elisabeth and Albert, after their initial love at first sight, also met again at the residence of the Dukes of Vendome, the palace in Rue Borghèse, Neuilly, where the official engagement was celebrated on 30 May 1900.

Regolo, Luciano (1997). La regina incompresa: tutto il racconto della vita di Maria José di Savoia

[sunflowervolvimp3]

42 Hours

Content: an enemies to lovers au in which Harry and Y/N are forced into a cross country road trip to make it to their best friends’ wedding on time

Warnings: language, mentions of nsfw content

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 20k 

A/N: I actually cannot believe that this is finally being posted over almost a month of working on it!! originally, I was going to make this one long stand alone fic, but once I hit 35k with no end in sight, I decided to split it into two parts so that it would be easier to read for you guys.  I’m hoping to have part 2 posted within a week, so keep an eye out for it!! this fic was partially inspired by this post by @avhrodite​ (thank you miss bailey!!) and can I just say that I had so much fun writing it!! I love road trips!! it makes me so sad that I had to split this fic because there are so many fun music scenes in the next part but those will all come in due time!! I would also like to give a big thank you to miss andrea @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy​ and miss alex @darthstyles​ for putting up with me bouncing ideas off of them and for proof reading for me!! and miss andrea again for editing this stunning header pic!! also everyone I tagged is a wonderful writer and if you’re looking for more to read after reading this then I HIGHLY suggest taking a look through their masterlists. and as always, if you like this fic, please like and reblog it!! and shoot me a message!! feedback is always appreciated, not just by me, but by all content creators <3

{masterlist}

also!! if you want to set the mood for a road trip with Harry, here is a link to the playlist that is mentioned and referenced in this fic!!

When she was a little girl, Y/N’s grandmother had told her about Murphy’s Law.  Grandma Sarah’s favourite activity was staring at her granddaughter over the kitchen counter, a knife in one hand and half an onion that she’d been cutting in the other, spouting various wisdoms at the young girl, who would often be sitting and peeling vegetables for her.  The old lady had hoped that, after being lectured enough times on life’s difficulties, Y/N might be able to avoid making the same mistakes that she had made in her own time.  She always had a list of advice that she’d cycle through, as if she were a record on a loop.

“Always look both ways before crossing the street.  Your great uncle Albert didn’t, and he never regained full function of his left hand.”

“Beauty fades, but there’s no shelf life on your mind.”

“The grass is always greener on the other side, so stop staring at it, and focus on taking care of your own lawn.”

All of the advice was, by any accounts, useful for anyone to know, especially a young girl.  Of course, sometimes the advice would get a little scrambled after Grandma Sarah had had a few glasses of wine, but even her tipsy thoughts were useful to Y/N in her later years.  To this day, Y/N still sets a glass of water on her nightstand before going out to a bar, and her hungover self is always grateful the next morning.  And Y/N had yet to find anything that smelled as sweet as a vanilla dabbed behind her ears and on her wrists when she runs out of perfume.  However, perhaps the most important piece of advice Grandma Sarah ever gave her came one afternoon when Y/N was eleven years old, and her older cousin Grace was due to get married the next week.

Grandma Sarah had cracked egg after egg into her mixing bowl, always without getting any unwanted pieces of shell in the egg whites, and gave her granddaughter a long look across the kitchen counter.

“When you get married, Y/N,” She had said, voice firm. “Remember Murphy’s Law.  Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.  When Murphy’s Law comes into play, there’s nothing you can do except roll with the punches.”

Eleven year old Y/N had nodded her head seriously, as she always did when her grandmother told her seemingly important things.  The advice, despite its usefulness, however, didn’t stick around in her head, and Murphy’s Law didn’t cross Y/N’s mind for fourteen years.

It takes fourteen years for Y/N, who is standing in front of a flight check-in at LAX, two large suitcases next to her, one of which contains two gold wedding bands, passport in hand, and a distressed look on her face, to remember the law her grandmother had once told her about.

“When you get married, Y/N…anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.”

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Y/N pushes the echoing words of her grandmother out of her head. “I’m sorry, just—” She gives a pained smile to the lady working the check in. “Can you explain that to me again, please?”

The lady also takes a deep breath, the smile on her ruby tinted lips just as pained as Y/N’s. “There’s a storm system moving through Utah and Colorado.  These systems have the potential to become tornadoes, and because of that, the conditions for flying are too dangerous right now, so all flights through that area are grounded until further notice.”

“So my flight is cancelled?” Y/N holds up the ticket in her hand that’s stamped with LAX – JFK. “This flight, this flight to New York, which is nowhere near Utah—that’s cancelled?”

The check-in lady, whose name tag reads Brynn, gives another tight smile. “Yes, ma’am.  It’s cancelled.”

“Okay, no, I’m sorry, Brynn, but that doesn’t work for me.” Y/N shakes her head fiercely as the manic rush of emotions through her begins to set in.  The denial, she finds, keeps the oncoming panic at bay, and so she decides to focus on that to ground herself. “My best friend is getting married in the Catskills in one week.” Y/N holds up one finger, as if her words are hard for Brynn to understand. “That’s one week from today.  I’m the maid of honour.  I have to be there to help organize, keep her calm, and make sure she actually makes it down the aisle, because—between you and me—she’s got some commitment issues—” The more Y/N speaks, the more her panic begins to spill out in her words, like a dam with a leak that’s about to burst. “And she forgot the goddamn wedding rings, so I have those too, and I just—I really need to get to New York, like, now. Right now.”

Y/N finally pauses to take a sharp breath, and Brynn, who had been waiting for her to finish, speaks again, her voice flatter than before.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, ma’am, but as I said, all flights are grounded right now.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, Y/N takes another deep breath.  Roll with the punches, her grandmother had told her.  What else is there to do? “Okay.” Y/N is careful to keep her voice in check when she speaks again. “Alright.  Do you know when they’ll be ungrounded?”

“As I’ve said,” Brynn’s smile is more of a grimace now, and Y/N knows that she’s treading on thin ice. “All flights are grounded until further notice.  We’re not sure when we’ll be able to open them again.  It could be a day, or it could be five.  If you’d like, I can put you down on a list to be called when flights are available again, but I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

“Let’s do that, then.” Y/N relents in a tired voice, already making plans to pick up a coffee on her way back to her apartment.  In the back of her mind, she begins to wonder if she has any Baileys Irish cream liqueur left in her kitchen cabinet—and if 8:30 A.M. is too early to be drinking Baileys with her coffee.

…

It takes Y/N two cups of coffee with Baileys (it had been 10 A.M. by the time she arrived home, thanks to L.A. traffic, and she had decided that 10 A.M. was a fine time to drink when one’s flight gets cancelled indefinitely) to work up the courage to call Jo and tell her that she isn’t sure if she’ll be able to make it to the wedding.

Josephine Waters, or Jo to anyone who doesn’t want to get punched in the arm, has been Y/N’s best friend since the girls were five years old.  They became fast friends on the first day of kindergarten, as Jo liked how Y/N could already colour inside the lines, and Y/N liked how Jo tackled a boy who tugged on Y/N’s pigtails.  From the very beginning, the two were a perfect match for each other; where Y/N was reserved, Jo was wild.  Where Jo was disorganized, Y/N was focused.  Each girl balanced the other in the most natural way, and it’s this fact that Y/N and Jo credit for the two of them staying friends for twenty years. As they grew up together, they grew together, taking the very best traits from the other and using it to help themselves develop.  Y/N had been the first person that Jo came out to, confessing to her best friend during an eighth grade sleepover in a quiet and nervous voice.  To Jo’s pleasure, Y/N had been completely supportive, and returned the favour from the first day of kindergarten by punching a boy in the nose for calling Jo a homophobic slur.  Jo helped Y/N through her parent’s divorce.  Y/N helped Jo manage her ADHD.  Jo talked Y/N through discovering her bisexuality in university. Y/N answered every 3 A.M. phone call to comfort Jo after a panic attack.  In every sense of the word, the two girls had been there for each other.

And now Y/N is going to miss Jo’s wedding.

The harsh realization digs a pit in her stomach as she opens her phone and clicks on Jo’s name.  It’s noon in L.A., which means it’s 3 P.M. in New York time, and Y/N knows Jo will answer.  She always does.

Sure enough, after three short rings, Jo’s voice chirps through the phone. “Hey, Y/N!  Has your flight landed already?”

“No, there’s—there’s been an issue.” Y/N downs another gulp of her coffee, wishing she had added more Baileys when she had the chance, and clears her throat before continuing. “There’s, um, a storm in Utah, and apparently it’s bad, and so all flights from L.A. to New York are grounded until further notice.”

Jo makes a scoffing noise, and Y/N can practically picture the indignant look on her face that she’s seen so many times before. “That’s ridiculous.  Did you tell them that New York is nowhere near Utah?”

“Uh huh.”

“What about that my wedding is in one week?”

“I told them that, too. Brynn didn’t seem to care.”

“Bitch.” Jo mutters under her breath. “Okay, just wait a second, Laure just walked through the door, so I’m putting you on speakerphone—”

Y/N hears rustling on the speaker, as well as muttering in the background as Jo speaks to her fiancée, and then Jo’s voice is back, sounding slightly more distant.

“Okay, so I told Laure what happened—”

“That’s awful, Y/N.” Laure’s voice is laced with stress, and Y/N can only imagine how much anxiety this information is adding to her already full plate. “They won’t tell you when flights will be leaving again?”

“Nope.” Y/N pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her free arm around them, leaning her head against the back of her couch.

“Okay, well, planes aren’t the only way to get here.” Laure says, always the more rational out of the two. “Maybe a car—?”

“Y/N doesn’t have one.” Jo chimes in, a hint of teasing in her voice, despite the serious problem that’s in discussion. “She’s scared of driving—”

Y/N sits up, an indignant look on her face. “I’m not scared of driving!” She says hotly, setting her empty coffee mug on the table with a thud. “I just hate L.A. traffic, and honestly, there’s no point!  I can walk to work, and Uber anywhere else I need to go!  A car would be completely useless to me!”

“Except now, when you’re about to miss your best friend’s wedding.” Jo points out. “What about renting one?”

Y/N sighs, her moment of indignation already fizzled out. “I tried that already.  There’s nothing available for a cross country trip.”

“And the drive is so long.” Laure murmurs, and Y/N knows it’s more for Jo’s benefit than hers. ���It’s over forty hours.  She can’t do that by herself; it’s not safe.”

“But—”

“Look, Jo, don’t worry about this, alright?” Y/N cuts across her best friend’s anxious voice, assuming her usual role of protector. “I’ll figure this out.  I promise you; I will make it to your wedding on time, looking pretty in my dress, and with your wedding bands.  I promise.”

“We’ll keep thinking about it and see what we can come up with.” Laure promises through the phone, her voice sounding further and further away. “This is just—it’s a bump in the road, but it’s fine.  We can work around this.  We’ll find a way.”

…

The way that Laure finds for Y/N pounds on her door at 7:30 A.M. the next morning.

Y/N, like any exhausted and stressed out adult who has already begun her ten days of vacation time that she booked off for the wedding, is fast asleep in her bed when she hears the knocking.  The loud noise pulls her out from her dreams abruptly, and she cracks one eye open, squinting through the sunlight that’s lighting up her room.  When the knock echoes through her apartment again, she pulls herself from her sheets with a groan, grabbing her robe from the back of her door and tying it around herself as she makes her way to the front hallway to yell at whoever has the audacity to wake her up.

When she opens the door, Harry Styles is peering down at her with an irritated look on his face.

“Took you long enough, Y/N.” He rolls his eyes as he speaks, finally stepping back from the door that he had been pounding on a moment ago. “Are you ready to go?”

Y/N rubs her eyes, suppressing a yawn as she does so. “Styles, I have no idea what you’re talking about.  What are you doing here?” She demands.  She doesn’t have the energy to deal with him right now, she thinks, let alone the mental capacity to listen to anything he has to say.

Harry crosses his arms across his chest, and it’s then that Y/N notices the duffel bag strewn over his shoulder. “It’s a forty-two hour drive from L.A. to the Catskills.” Harry’s eyes scan over Y/N’s appearance, the very corner of his strawberry pink lips twitching, and Y/N tightens her robe around herself with a glare.

“A drive?” Y/N asks, uncertainty growing in her voice as she crosses her arm over her chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Your flight was cancelled, right?” Harry’s voice grows more impatient as Y/N’s half asleep brain struggles to piece together what’s happening. “So was mine, so I decided to drive to the wedding, and then Laure called me last night, begging me to take you with me.” He shrugs a bit, fixing his sunglasses on top of his head as his jade eyes scan over her appearance one more time. “Not my first choice of road trip partner, but I don’t think the best man can say no to bringing the maid of honour.  And splitting the cost of gas will be nice.”

“Okay, wait, I…” Y/N’s finally coming out of her fog of exhaustion, and the newfound clarity of her mind is causing a newfound pit to develop in her stomach. “Laure and Jo didn’t tell me any of this.”

“Well, I expect they’re a bit busy, given that they’re getting married in a week.” Harry adjusts the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder with a sharp sigh. “Look, are you ready to go or not?  It’s over a five day drive, so we need to leave as soon as possible.”

“I—yeah—” Y/N nods before taking a hesitant step back from the doorway, positioning herself to the side so that Harry can get by her. “I just have to get dressed and grab a couple last minute things, so…come in, I guess.”

Harry flashes an insincere smile to Y/N as he steps into her apartment, his eyes darting around at the furniture and home decor.  Y/N watches as his gaze lingers on her library of books, her yellow bicycle leaning against the wall, and every other little touch of herself that she likes her home to have, and she can see the judgement that’s clearly apparent in his eyes.

“You can sit, if you want.” She mutters, turning on her heel to go back to her bedroom. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

The first thing Y/N does when she shuts her bedroom door behind herself is assess the situation in the analytical way that usually calms her.  Alright.  So a road trip across the country isn’t exactly ideal, and a road trip across the country with Harry Styles is even less ideal.  But, at the present moment, being stuck in a car with Harry seems to be the only sure way that she’ll be able to make it to Jo’s wedding on time. And for Jo, Y/N would put up with anything.  Even Harry.

As she rummages through her drawers for some leggings and a tank top, Y/N wonders what she could have possibly done to bring this much bad karma into her life.  While she gets dressed, her mind flickers back to Murphy’s Law, how everything that can go wrong will go wrong, in the worst possible way, and then she thinks about being in a confined space with Harry for five days, and—yeah.  That seems to be the worst possible thing she can think of.

Y/N remembers the first moment she’d met Harry seven years ago, and the unfortunate circumstances under which that meeting had happened.  Jo and Laure had just barely met back then, and Jo had begged Y/N to come out on a double date with her and “this really hot girl from my women studies class who I’m, like, 83% sure swings my way.”

Y/N had groaned at that comment, flopping back on her bed in the tiny dorm that she and Jo shared. “No! I have an essay due in three days that I haven’t even started!”

Jo rolled her eyes as she flopped down on Y/N’s bed as well, ignoring her own half-made bunk that was across the small room, favouring her best friend’s bed like she always did. “We both know you’re not starting that essay until the day before it’s due, and that it’s just an excuse because you don’t want to go!”

“I don’t want to go.” Y/N had agreed with a sharp and fervent nod.  She shut her laptop and pushed it to the side of her bed, knowing from experience that she wasn’t going to be able to focus and argue at the same time. “Why would I want to hang out with a complete stranger while you make googly eyes at a girl from your class?”

“Okay, first, I don’t make googly eyes.” Jo made a face at that comment, nudging Y/N’s calf with her own foot. “And second, he’s her best friend from high school, and he’s coming to visit all the way from London!”

“So?  He’s still a stranger!” Y/N pointed out, her eyes drifting to the sticky note covered novel beside her.  She picks it up and begins to flip through the marked pages as she speaks. “Knowing where he’s from doesn’t change that!”

“It should, because he’s only going to be here for a week, and Laure almost cancelled the date because she doesn’t want to miss spending time with him—” Jo grabbed one of Y/N’s pillows and tossed it at her arm, knocking the book from her hands. “Focus! So I said that he could come, but she said that she didn’t want him to be left out, so I said that I happen to have an incredibly beautiful and witty best friend who would be able to entertain Harry while we all hang out together.”

Y/N inhaled deeply as she gave Jo a withering look. “Did you already tell her I’m going?”

Jo, in return, gave Y/N her most dazzling smile. “Yes.  We’re meeting them for dinner at 7.”

Y/N shakes herself from her memories as she runs to her bathroom to toss her toiletries back into the bag she’d taken them out of the day before, working as quickly as she can. It does her no good to think of Harry in the past, she thinks, because the present Harry is currently sitting in her living room, probably snooping through her stuff, and the longer she takes to get ready to go, the more he’ll go through.  Not that there’s anything incriminating in her apartment, really—or at least, nothing incriminating in her living room.  When Y/N makes it back to her bedroom, however, to quickly zip up her suitcase, she does make sure she grabs her favourite vibrator from the box under her bed, tucking it between her half-folded underwear.  If she’s going to be gone for a week, she’ll need something to help her relax.

Within a few more minutes, Y/N is repacked and ready to go.  Her hunter green bridesmaid dress is carefully arranged on the very top of her clothes in her suitcase, all of her makeup and toiletries are packed inside, and Jo and Laure’s wedding rings are secured in little velvet boxes stashed between her socks.  As far as physical preparedness goes, Y/N is ready to go on a coast to coast road trip. As far as mental preparedness goes, however…that’s the thing that Y/N’s not quite sure about.

…

“What are you doing?”

Y/N glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, her hand still half stretched out to the radio dials in his car.  Although Harry’s green eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, and his face is turned towards the long road in front of them, he still somehow manages to catch her motions, and it irritates her to no end.

“I’m changing the radio station?” Y/N answers after a moment, giving him a puzzled look. “I don’t know why you listen to this weird oldies station, but—”

“First of all—” Harry’s hands turn the steering wheel slightly to guide his car over the curve of the road, his jaw twitching as a smirk works its way onto his pink lips. “This isn’t a radio station, it’s my Spotify playlist.  I put a Bluetooth connection in Stevie a year ago. Secondly—”

“Stevie?” Y/N repeats incredulously, twisting her whole body as best she can to look at Harry straight on. “You named your car?  You’re one of those guys?”

Harry finally gives Y/N a flicker of a glance, the glare obvious in his eyes even behind his dark sunglasses.  He turns his attention back to the road before replying. “Secondly—” He continues from before, ignoring her comment as his right hand readjusts the gear shift. “Driver picks the music.”

Y/N makes a face, the corners of her lips pulling down into a grimace as she settles back into the passenger seat with her arms crossed. “So we’re just going to listen to ‘Tiny Dancer’ for the entire drive, are we?”

“Not the entire drive, no.” Harry flicks on his turn signal with a ringed hand before shoulder checking to change lanes.  Y/N glances at him, her eyes training on the strained muscles in his neck as Harry continues. “We’ll listen to ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,’ too.”

“Great.” Y/N exhales slowly and presses her head back into the seat’s headrest, closing her eyes as Elton John’s voice continues to float through the speakers. “Really looking forward to it.”

“You know, maybe you should try to sleep.” Harry says, his voice prickled with irritation as Elton John bleeds into The Zombies. “I think you’ll be in a better mood after you take a nap.”

Y/N readjusts her crossed arms as she mutters a short reply. “Don’t tell me what to do.” Still, she shuts her eyes again, twisting her body towards the window in an attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep.  Being in the car with Harry is already giving her a throbbing migraine, and they’ve only been on the road for less than two hours.  Sleeping through most of the trip will probably be the only way she’ll be able to survive it.

Despite that realization, however, her phone vibrates in her lap three minutes later, pulling her away from her thoughts.  Y/N glances down at the now lit screen, catching her bottom lip between her teeth when she registers the name on the message.  Opening her phone quickly, she reads over the reply as a guilty feeling begins to build in her stomach.

BRANT: Hey, what are you doing tonight?  Want to grab some dinner?

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” Y/N’s head snaps back up, her eyes jerking in Harry’s direction.  Like before, he’s watching her from the corner of his eye, catching every one of her movements, and the constant surveillance is annoying to no end.

Harry, it seems, is either oblivious to her annoyance, or is choosing to ignore it. “I asked what’s wrong. You have a weird look on your face.” Harry’s blunt words are accompanied by the sound of him tapping his ring covered fingers against the gear shift. “Everything alright?  Is it Laure and Jo?”

“No, it’s just—” Y/N glances down at her phone again, fingers poised over her keyboard as she crafts a reply in her head. “It’s no one.”

Harry snorts once, a short and harsh sound that grates against Y/N’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “I don’t buy that for a second.”

“It’s no one to you.” Y/N updates her retort, turning her full attention back to her phone. “My personal life is none of your business.”

Y/N: I’m sorry, I can’t!! Caught a last minute ride to New York with somebody.  Maybe once I’m back?

“Personal life, huh?” Harry clicks his tongue once, and the childish noise is even more irritating than his snort. “What, you can’t talk to me about whoever you’re shagging?”

The blunt remark hits Y/N like a shot to the chest, and she sputters for a moment as she struggles to form a response. “I—we’re not—” Taking a moment to gather herself and clear her throat quickly, Y/N avoids Harry’s gaze as her cheeks begin to burn. “We’re not like that. We’ve just…had a few dates, that’s all. There’s nothing…official.”

“You don’t need to be official to have a shag, now, do you?” Harry lifts his hand from the gear shift to fix his sunglasses, settling it back down on his jean covered thigh once he’s done. “If you don’t want to date the bloke—”

“I didn’t say that.” Y/N cuts over him, pulling herself from her embarrassment enough to give him a cold glare. “He’s very nice—”

“Boring, you mean—”

“And I—this is none of your business!” Feeling the flush of embarrassment rise back to her cheeks, Y/N once again turns her attention to her passenger seat window, avoiding Harry’s pressing gaze. “I’m done talking about this.”

Harry gives an indifferent shrug. “Whatever.” He says casually, tapping his finger against his thigh as his shoulders once again lift slightly beneath his fitted black t-shirt. “I just feel bad for the guy, that’s all.”

The comment is bait. And the thing is, Y/N knows it’s bait.  She knows that the only reason Harry is saying it is to get under her skin and keep her talking about Brant, further embarrassing herself in the process. She’s been around Harry enough to know how he works, and she knows that the only reason he would say that is to bait her.  She knows she shouldn’t take it.  And yet—

“There’s no reason to feel bad for him.” Y/N scoffs as she fidgets with the position of her seatbelt, trying to stop the strap from cutting into her chest. “We’ve been talking for a month, and there’s nothing official happening.  Just because you can’t go that long without trying to stick your dick in someone—”

“You have no idea what I can do, Y/N.  Don’t pretend that you do.” Harry’s tone of voice is just as scoffing as hers, his eyes still set on the road in front of them intently as he gives his sharp response. Y/N watches as he shifts the gears of the car and speeds up, just enough to make the engine roar, but not enough to lose control of the car.  Part of Y/N wistfully wishes that he would just slip up and crash the car, just so she wouldn’t have to continue this conversation.

“All I meant,” Harry continues, unaware of the dark daydreams running through Y/N’s head. “Is that I feel bad that you’re clearly not interested in him, which is proven by the fact that you haven’t wanted him in your bed.”

Irritation flares through Y/N’s body again, stronger than the embarrassment of discussing her sex life (or lack thereof) with Harry, and she half considers just grabbing the steering wheel and yanking it into a passing cliff so she can finish them off herself. “For Christ’s sake, Harry, sex isn’t the only way to—”

“I don’t mean actually having it, that’s not a given.” Harry rolls his eyes from behind his sunglasses as he slows down for a curve in the road, his practiced hands once again changing gears with ease. “You don’t have to fuck him.  But you should want to, especially if you’ve had a month of dates, and you clearly don’t want to.”

Y/N doesn’t hide the incredulous stare of disbelief on her face as she turns to look at him. Harry’s face, though turned towards the road still, has a look of amusement mixed with contemplation on it, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control not to smack the expression off of him. Although there’s the ghost of a smirk on his strawberry coloured lips, his brow is furrowed behind his sunglasses, as if he’s thinking hard about the conversation between them.  Normally, Y/N would be amazed that Harry is thinking hard about anything.  However, given that their conversation is apparently turning into whether or not she wants to have sex with someone, Y/N’s not too thrilled about his sudden investment and serious contemplation of the topic.

Shaking her head decidedly, Y/N finally spits out a finishing phrase. “You don’t know what I want.” She says decidedly, reaching into the backseat to grab the sweater she stashed back there.  She clumsily pulls it over her body without taking off her seatbelt.  Harry keeps the AC cranked as high as he can, and she knows that he’ll kill her if she tries to change it. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know more than you think.” Harry counters, the tip of his tongue running along his bottom lip. “And I’m pretty good at reading body language.  You don’t really want him.  He—what’s his name?”

Despite her better judgement, Y/N answers in a flat voice. “Brant.”

The corners of Harry’s cherry lip twitches. “Brant.  Yeah. It’s clear you don’t really want him, and you’re wasting your time.  You’re wasting his time, too.  Poor Brant.”

“Poor—you’re such an ass, you know that?” Y/N’s irritation bubbles over as she gives Harry a nasty look, her hand squeezing her thigh hard in an attempt to ground herself in their conversation. “You can try to pretend otherwise, but you don’t know anything about me, or him, so—”

“You think I’ve been friends with Laure and Jo this long and haven’t learned anything about you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, risking a glance at her as he presses a heavier foot onto the gas. “I told you, I know more than you think, and that includes your type.”

An incredulous scoff leaves Y/N’s mouth, and she shakes her head in obvious disbelief before responding. “My type.  Right. What is my type, then?  What’s Brant like, exactly, since you seem to know everything?”

Harry goes quiet then, his brow furrowing again as he returns his full attention to the road.  With his incessant chatter gone, the only sounds in the car being “Maps” playing quietly in the background and Harry’s ringed index and forefinger tap on the steering wheel.  Y/N breathes out a long sigh of satisfaction as she relaxes back in her seat, her attention turned back to the blurred landscapes speeding by her window.  Finally, she’s managed to get Harry to stop with his ridiculous assumptions—

“You like someone that’s stable and secure, so he probably works in some corporation, or an office job. Majored in business, I’d think, but has a minor in something like mathematics.” The side profile of Harry’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the thought. “He wants to work his way up in the company, but never wants to actually start anything on his own.  He likes the stability of a blueprint. You’re obsessed with punctuality, so he’s probably always on time to pick you up for dates—and he has to pick you up, because you don’t drive—and your dates are never really dates. Dinners, or movies, or something like that, but they never really have that spark.” Harry’s shoulder lift slightly as he continues to make his conclusions. “Which, honestly, is probably a big reason in why you don’t want to fuck him, because as much as you like stability and safety, you also like the idea of a grand gesture, or something like that.  And you probably split the bill a lot at dinner, right?  Because it just seems fair, but really it’s because you know it’s not a real date.  But it passes the time, and he’s nice, so it’s fine.  But it’s only fine.” Harry licks his lips once more as he collects his next thoughts, his teeth catching his bottom lip just barely as his tongue retreats back into his mouth. “And he’s probably already talking about you coming to meet his family for some holiday.  Not in a romantic way, but just because he likes to plan everything in advance to every minute detail.  Just like you.”

Halfway through Harry’s speech, a flush had begun to creep up Y/N’s neck, continuing to warm her jaw and ears before settling on the apples of her cheeks.  She keeps her eyes trained on her window and her mouth pressed into a tight line, refusing to look at Harry and give him any hint of just how shocked she is that he’s guessed so much.

Harry, however, doesn’t plan on letting her get away from his inquisition. “Well?” He impatiently prompts after a moment, and even though she’s not looking at him, she can feel him looking at her, his emerald irises burning into the back of her head. “Am I right?”

“I—” Y/N clears her throat quickly, but her voice is still strained and tight when she replies. “No.”

Harry hums low in his throat, and his voice is laced with curiosity with he replies. “Really?” The irritating tap of his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music continues. “What did I get wrong?”

“He—” Y/N hates the way her skin is burning from his interrogation, how her voice shrinks smaller and smaller the more she speaks.  If Harry knows her so well, then he knows how much she loves being in control, and in this situation, with Harry managing to pull every one of her most secret inner thoughts and feelings out of her without trouble, she feels anything but in control. “He has a minor in accounting, not mathematics.”

The laugh that leaves Harry’s mouth is loud and bombastic, and his whole body curves over the steering wheel as the sound rolls out of him, his eyes just barely managing to stay on the road while his sunglasses slide down his nose. “Right.” Harry says between belly laughs, his voice stretched out in amusement. “But everything else was spot on?”

Y/N keeps her stiff body turned towards the window, refusing to engage in the conversation any further. That doesn’t stop Harry, however, who fixes his sunglasses as chuckles continue to roll out of him.

“I take it back. Maybe he’s the one wasting your time.” His hand runs through his hair lazily, fixing the curled strands that had fallen into his eyes as he laughed. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to sleep with your bore of a boyfriend—”

“He’s stable!” Y/N breaks her silence to protest Harry’s words, her voice heated. “And he’s not my boyfriend.  We’ve been seeing each other, but we’re not—it’s not exclusive, or—nothing serious—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.  It’s fine.” Harry waves off her arguments with a flick of his tattooed hand. “Besides, like you said, it’s none of my business, right?”

Y/N can practically picture what Harry looks like in this moment.  His chestnut curls are probably a mess from fidgeting with them, and his cheeks are most likely rosy beneath his stubble from the peels of laughter that left his equally red lips a moment ago.  Most infuriatingly of all, his dimples are probably present, making little indentations in his cheeks to show how entertaining he’s found embarrassing her. Bastard, she thinks, clenching her fists so hard that her nails dig into her palms, pressing them into her sides beneath her makeshift blanket.

She refuses to let herself confirm if her suspicions about Harry’s appearance are correct, and instead keeps her gaze on the blurred trees whipping by outside her window. “Right.” She mutters, leaning her head against the headrest as she closes her eyes. “It’s none of your business.”

…

As soon as the paint-peeled door to the motel room swings open, Y/N knows that she’s not going to be sleeping soundly tonight.

She’s not sure what her first hint should have been.  Perhaps it was the half-flickering blue and red light of the Motel 6 sign that should have tipped her off, or the front-desk attendant who looked as though he was hiding a few secrets himself.  When Y/N and Harry had first approached the front desk of the tiny, vaguely mildew-smelling lobby, their clothes rumpled from the drive and their attitudes just as bothered, the employee in the Motel 6 uniform had barely raised an eye at them, not bothering to look up from his computer until Y/N and Harry were directly in front of him.

“Hi.” Harry had said, his voice taking on a cautious but polite tone that, Y/N remembers thinking, she would have appreciated hearing throughout their eight hour drive that day. “We’d like two rooms, please—”

“Here.” The attendant’s gum snapped in his mouth as he reached behind himself and grabbed an old key with a flimsy blue plastic tag from a wall of empty pegs. “Queen sized bed, the first door on the left.  It’ll do you two nicely.”

“Um, no.” Harry cleared his throat loudly as he gave a slight shake of his head. “We need two rooms.”

Finally, the attendant looked towards them, his eyes scanning Harry before Y/N.  The latter had self consciously pulled her sweater around her, as there was something in the attendant’s eyes that had bothered her. “Don’t have two rooms.  I got one room left.  Everything else is booked.”

Harry had glanced at Y/N then, and she knew that his thoughts mirrored hers: there was no way that they’d share a queen bed together.  No way in hell.  They’d barely survived eight hours in the same cramped car without one of them driving them off a cliff.  If Y/N had to share a bed with Harry, even for just one night, she’d probably end up smothering him in his sleep before the first snore left his obnoxious mouth.

“That’s really not an option.” Y/N had stepped forward then, crossing her arms around herself as the attendant’s eyes canvassed her again. “Isn’t there something—”

“Look, lady, I’m telling you what’s available.” The attendant’s eyes continued to flicker between her face and her chest, making Y/N’s skin crawl more and more with every word that fell from his gum-filled mouth. “The room might have a pull out chair—some do, but I couldn’t tell you which.  Now do you want to share the room with him or not?  If you don’t want to share, then I could try to find something else for just you—”

Before Y/N had the opportunity to respond to the lewd suggestion, Harry was already stepping forward, his body angling protectively in front of her own.  She watched from behind as his broad shoulders squared beneath his black t-shirt, his shoulder blades flexing as he straightened up to his full height.  When Harry answered, his voice was just as firm as it was dark, lacking its previous polite tone.

“We’ll take the room.” He had said coldly, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet before tossing a few bills on the front desk. “Thanks for the help.”

Yes, Y/N thinks, all of that should have been a sign for the state of the motel room that they now find themselves standing inside.

The same mildew smell from the lobby surrounds them, permeating through every inch of air that Y/N breathes in. Dust seems to coat every surface as well, with thick layers of it covering the decades old TV and stand, the small coffee table, and the ledge of the window to her right.  To her relief, there is a small arm chair in the corner, which must be the pull out that the attendant had mentioned.  However, her relief is short lived when she sees the ratty beige comforter on the bed, and wonders if maybe sleeping in Harry’s car, which she had sworn to him that she didn’t want to do, might have been the better choice.

Harry shuts the door behind them with a firm thud, turning the deadbolt lock before attaching the chain from the door to the door frame. “Let’s keep that locked, yeah?” He mutters, walking to the window and making sure the beige curtains—everything in the room is a sea of beige, like some sort of khaki coloured nightmare—are pulled closed tightly. “I don’t trust that front-desk prick not to sneak in here.”

Y/N nods, fixing the strap of her duffel bag with her overnight clothes on her shoulder.  She’s not quite sure where to set it down, as everything around them seems to have been sitting stagnant and uncleaned for a while. “Yeah. Thanks, by the way.  For that.”

Harry acknowledges her thanks with a small grunt, barely lifting his head to look at her. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Despite her gratitude for his actions, Y/N can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes at his gruff response. “Jesus, can you not just say you’re welcome?”

Harry chooses to ignore her comment, and instead sets his bag down on the arm chair, unzipping it roughly. “You can take the bed.” He says simply, tossing his sunglasses into his bag before pulling out a small bag filled with what Y/N assumes are toiletries. “I’ll take the pullout.”

“Fine.” Y/N reluctantly sets her own bag down on the creaking bed, pulling back the covers to check for anything unsightly.  To her relief, the interior of the bed looks cleaner than the exterior, and she returns the covers to their previous position before grabbing her phone charger from her duffel.

Harry glances at her as she gingerly sits on the bed and plugs her phone into the wall. “I’m going to shower.” He says slowly, as if gauging her reaction to the simple phrase. “Do you, um, need in there, or—?”

“Nope.” Y/N shakes her head, her cheeks flushing slightly as she checks her messages. “You’re good.” She keeps her eyes glued to her phone until she hears the click of the bathroom door behind Harry, signalling that she’s alone.

Taking advantage of what she knows will be a rare moment of solitude over the next week, Y/N changes from her tank top and leggings into her pajamas, wishing that her past self had realized how likely it would be that she’d be sharing a room with Harry. She’d brought exactly two pairs of pajamas with her on the trip, and neither pairs were something she wanted Harry to see her in.  The first pair, a baby pink silk set she’d bought on a whim from her favourite lingerie shop, is eliminated before Y/N even considers them, leaving her with just her usual casual pajamas.  Unfortunately, Y/N’s usual casual pajamas consist of an old sports bra that she’d had since moving to L.A., and a pair of men’s boxers that she stole from an ex in college.  Still, despite her hesitancy, she knows that plaid boxers and a faded grey sports bra are better than pink silk and lace, and she changes into them quickly before sitting cross-legged on the bed and dialing Jo’s number.

Jo, like she usually does, answers on the third ring, her voice extra chipper to compensate for the verbal lecture that she knows is coming. “Hey, Y/N!  How was driving today?”

“It would have been better if I’d known Harry was driving.” Y/N sighs, rubbing her palm over the cold skin of her exposed thigh. “Shouldn’t I have been informed of that decision?”

“It completely slipped my mind, actually.” Jo says casually, and Y/N can just picture her leaning her chin into her palm. “How was the first day?  Are you calling to ask me to help bury his body in the desert?  Because, like, you know I would in a heart beat, but I think it may put a damper on mine and Laure’s nuptials if my best friend murders her best friend.”

“No one’s been murdered. Yet.” Y/N glances at the bathroom door, the sound of the shower echoing through the vents and into the bedroom. “Although a ‘help me hide the body’ phone call may be coming soon.”

“Uh oh.” Y/N hears something crackling against the speaker, and pictures Jo shifting the phone from one ear to the other. “Is it that bad?”

Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose as she contemplates the easiest way to answer Jo’s question. “He’s such an irritating ass.  He really is.” She lowers her voice, but only slightly.  If Harry’s eavesdropping, she thinks, then let him hear.  It would serve him right. “He wanted to pick a fight over every little thing, and he’s so particular about his car—did you know he named it?  He named it, Jo.  He talks about it like it’s a person!”

A loud sigh echoes through the speaker. “That’s really not that weird, you know.” Jo replies in her best peace keeping voice. “And, by the way, did you know that you’re really the only person who finds Harry irritating?  Laure adores him, and I really like him, and everyone who meets him thinks he’s very thoughtful!”

“Then they haven’t been trapped in a car with him and his playlists for eight hours.” Y/N begins to tap her fingers against her knee in a quick staccato pattern. “He practically interrogated me about Brant today, as if he has any clue about the people I date.”

“Did he?” There’s a trace of curiosity in Jo’s voice now, and Y/N can imagine her leaning forward in interest. “What did he say?”

“He said he thinks he’s boring.” Twisting a lock of her hair behind her ear as she speaks, Y/N leaves her hand resting against her cheek. “He was rude about it, too.  I didn’t ask for his opinion.”

“Well, honestly, Y/N…” Jo’s curiosity twists into hesitation. “Brant isn’t exactly the most thrilling person.  You know that.”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, her cheeks flushing for what seems to be the millionth time that day. “I’m aware of that.  But he didn’t need to be so smug about it!”

“Okay, well, what’s done is done.” Jo says as she takes on her mediator persona once again. “So there’s nothing else to do now except go to sleep, get back in the car tomorrow, and continue driving.”

The sound of the shower stream cuts off, leaving just the pitter patter of rain beginning to hit the roof of the motel as ambiant noise. “I guess.” Y/N mumbles, fidgeting with the waistband of her bra. “I’ll talk to you later.  Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

After the line clicks dead, Y/N flops back on the squeaking mattress and begins to scroll through her phone, opening her work email to check if everything is running okay back home while she’s gone.  On top of all this, the last thing she needs is for her work to completely blow up in her absence.  Within minutes, Y/N becomes so engrossed in her phone that she doesn’t even notice the bathroom door creaking open and Harry walking out with just a towel around his waist.

Until she looks up, and then her mind goes completely blank.

Immediately, Y/N feels overstimulated.  There’s just…so much going on that she doesn’t even know where to look first, let alone have the ability to remind herself that she shouldn’t even be looking at Harry like this in the first place.  

Harry’s curls are soaking wet, curling down around his flushed cheeks in a way that, if it were anyone else, she’d immediately describe as attractive.  Droplets of water are clinging to every inch of his skin, his toned and tanned and tattooed skin, that seems to continue forever as her eyes travel down his bare chest, noticing every curve of his muscle.  His jade cross, which is almost the exact shade of his eyes, sits between his pronounced pectoral muscles, moving ever so slightly with each step he takes.  Y/N notices tattoos she’s never seen before, like the giant butterfly across his toned stomach, and—her mind goes blank for just a moment—two vines that are tattooed over his prominent pelvic muscles, which just barely dip beneath the white towel that’s wrapped loosely around his hips.

As Y/N’s eyes glue themselves to the way Harry’s towel is moving as he walks, arousal begins to pool in her stomach, travelling all the way down to her core and back again.  For a split second, she thinks that maybe Harry is right.  Maybe she doesn’t want to fuck Brant, because she knows for certain that she’s never thought about him the way she’s thinking about Harry in this moment.

But it’s Harry, she reminds herself, as she tries to force herself to snap her gaping mouth closed. Underneath all those muscles and tattoos—and there are a lot of muscles and tattoos—it’s Harry, who annoys her to no end, who is one of the most self-absorbed individuals she’s ever met, and who has had it out for her since the day they met.

“Sorry.” Harry’s low accent snaps Y/N from her thoughts and pulls her wandering eyes back to his face. “Forgot my clothes out here.”

“It’s—” Y/N’s voice cracks in the middle of the word, still hyper-focused on just how it’s possible for one person to be as attractive as they are irritating, and she clears her throat before trying to speak again. “It’s fine.”

If Harry notices the slip in Y/N’s voice, he doesn’t say anything.  Instead, he just walks to his open bag, locking one hand firmly over his towel as the other searches through his clothes.  He pulls out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, examining them for just a moment before nodding in satisfaction and heading back to the bathroom. Y/N almost swears that she sees him glance at her one last time before he shuts the door, but then she gets lost in the taut muscles of his back, and forgets what she’s thinking entirely.

She’s only just begun to contemplate that maybe she should pull herself together when the door opens again, and Harry exits the bathroom in a way that’s a little more presentable.  His hair is still damp, but his body is dry, proven by the faded Rolling Stones t-shirt that’s now clinging to his arms and the boxers that are hanging low on his hips. His tattooed hips.  His incredibly sexy tattooed hips that could probably—

“What are you wearing?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow at her as he moves his bag from the chair to the ground.  He begins to unfold the bed from the armchair cushions to reveal a creaking twin bed, carefully stretching it out as he waits for an answer.

“I—pajamas.” Y/N glances down at herself self consciously, fixing the strap of her sports bra as she does so. “I just—I didn’t think we’d be sharing a room, so…”

Harry nods tersely as he finishes setting up the bed, his expression unreadable while he walks to the closet and grabs a set of sheets and a blanket. “Cute boxers.” He says casually. “Are they Brant’s?”

Within a flash, the intense rush of attraction and desire Y/N had been feeling is gone, and is instead replaced by the familiar irritation as she watches a smirk grow in the very corner of Harry’s mouth. “No.” She says flatly, turning her attention back to her phone.

“Interesting.” Harry says slowly, laying the sheets and blanket on the bed in a haphazard manner. “Whose are they, then?”

Y/N gets up from the bed and grabs her toiletry bag from her duffel before answering. “An ex.” She says shortly, tucking the patterned bag under her arm. “And why does it matter to you?”

The sound of the rain against the roof and windows gets louder and louder as they speak, and Harry raises his voice to be heard over the precipitation. “It doesn’t.” He shrugs as he maneuvers his lanky body under the blanket without causing the bed to fold in on itself. “Just curious, that’s all.”

“Well, you don’t need to be curious.” Y/N opens the bathroom door, sparing one last withering glance at Harry over her shoulder.  He’s sitting up on the bed with one leg hanging out from beneath the covers as one hand plays with his hair, the other fiddles with a ring on his finger, and the way he looks at her from the corner of his eye lights a fire in Y/N’s chest.  Except she can’t tell if it’s a fire of anger or arousal.  

When she slams the door behind her, it’s her own confusion over that distinction that frustrates her more than anything else.

…

“Took you long enough.” Harry scoffs while leaning against the side of his car, his white t-shirt a contrast to the dust covered body of the black Chevy Impala.  His dark sunglasses are perched on top of his head, keeping his unruly curls out of his eyes, while his arms are crossed over his chest impatiently as he waits for an answer. “I dropped off the keys ten minutes ago.”

By way of explanation, Y/N holds up the cardboard drink tray in her hands, a brown bag balancing in between the two coffee cups. “I was getting us breakfast, Styles.  Calm down.” She walks to the passenger side of the car, opening the door and climbing in one handed. “I figured you’d be even crabbier hungry.”

“You mean you’d be crabbier without caffeine.” Harry retorts, climbing into the driver’s side in one smooth motion. “Here—” He takes the tray from her so she can buckle her seatbelt, carefully removing the two coffees and setting them in the cup holders between them. “Just be careful not to spill anything.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she picks up the coffee closest to her (she’d gotten them both black). “Why? Worried about me ruining Stevie?”

Harry reaches into his pocket, pulling out his keys as he gives her an irritated look. “Yes, actually. I’ve put a lot of work into her.” The car roars to life as Harry turns the key in the ignition, buckling his own seat as the motor warms up. “Adding on two thousand miles to her in five days is already worrisome enough, and that’s not even counting the other two thousand she’ll get on the way back.”

Y/N doesn’t respond to the comment, and instead lets the sound of Harry’s playlist fill the silence of the car as Harry peels out of the Motel 6 parking lot.  She’ll be glad to leave that place behind, she thinks, and focus on finding something better—and more private—for tonight, wherever they end up.

Harry, however, doesn’t seem content with letting silence fall between them. “How did you sleep last night?” He asks after a few moments, one hand on the steering wheel as he takes a sip of his coffee.

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye suspiciously, Y/N reaches into the paper bag and grabs her Danish, taking a small bite before answering. “Not great.”

“Was the bed bad?” Harry asks curiously, his brow furrowing while his eyes stay glued to the road, moving only to glance at the occasion sign directing him back to the highway. “The pull out wasn’t great, but I’ve slept on worse.  I would’ve thought the bed would be better than that.”

“No, it—I mean, the bed wasn’t amazing, but it—” Y/N clears her throat and swallows the bite of pastry in her mouth. “I, uh, I don’t sleep well when it’s raining.”

At this new information, Harry’s eyebrow quirks up, and he risks a look in her direction to attempt to read her face.  Y/N’s own eyes are focused on the Danish in her hands, refusing to meet his gaze as she lifts the pastry to her mouth to take another bite.

“You don’t?” Harry asks after a moment, the confusion in his voice almost visible within the space between them. “But it’s like white noise, isn’t it?  Supposed to be relaxing, and all that.”

Y/N gives a half shrug of her shoulders. “It’s—well, it’s not the rain, exactly, just—what it’s usually paired with.” Y/N hopes that her clear hesitancy to answer will be enough of a signal to Harry for him to drop the subject.  Harry, however, doesn’t seem to pick up on the reluctance in Y/N’s voice; or, at least, he doesn’t care enough to acknowledge it.

“What do you mean, what it’s paired with?” Harry takes a small sip of his own coffee, careful of the temperature of the liquid. “Like…wind, or—?”

Y/N debates back and forth with herself internally, but she knows that Harry won’t drop the subject without getting a satisfying answer. “Thunder.” She answers finally, setting her coffee down in her cup holder before turning her gaze towards her window. “I don’t like thunderstorms, ever since I was a little kid, and when it’s raining, it always feels like thunder is around the corner.  Puts me on edge, like I’m waiting for it.  And I can’t sleep.”

“So you never sleep when it rains?” Harry asks slowly, and the tone of incredulous disbelief in Harry’s voice is enough for Y/N to be able to imagine the expression on his face. His forest green eyes wide, strawberry pink lips agape, brow furrowed in confusion, his jaw slack as he contemplates a response to a grown woman admitting that she’s afraid of thunder. The image in her head is enough to make the back of her neck flush.

There’s a tightness in the back of her throat, and Y/N attempts to clear it again before answering. “Never.”

“Huh.” Harry taps his fingers against the gear shift in succession three times. “You’d hate London, then.”

The casual comment catches Y/N by surprise, but she doesn’t allow herself to lower her guard. “That’s why I don’t live in London.” She mumbles the words as her fingers pick at the napkin wrapped around her Danish. “I picked L.A. for a reason.  It has lots of heat, barely any rain, and I’m reasonably close to Disneyland whenever I feel like I need something magical.” The last part slips out without Y/N thinking, and the flush creeps further up her neck as a surprised laugh leaves Harry’s mouth.

“Something magical?” Harry repeats, new crinkles appearing next to his eyes as he laughs, as if the dimples that crease his cheeks aren’t proof of his amusement enough. “Do you frequently feel like you need something magical?”

It’s Y/N’s turn to give an incredulous look now, her body half twisting towards Harry to observe his confusing reactions. “How did I just admit that I’m afraid of thunder, and the thing you’re focusing on is that I like Disney?”

Harry shrugs at her words, flicking on his turn signal to exit towards the highway. “I don’t know.” He says as he peers over his shoulder to check for oncoming cars. “I mean, everyone has fears.  Not liking thunder isn’t exactly uncommon, you know.  However, hearing that Ms. Serious Type A Perfectionist likes magic—” His grin grows bigger by the second. “Now that’s surprising.”

“Oh, shut up.” Y/N mutters, finishing her Danish in a few more bites.  She waits until she’s entirely finished chewing before continuing the conversation over the voice of Billy Joel coming through the speakers. “Since I’ve admitted something I’m afraid of…” She starts, glancing at Harry from the corner of her eye. “I think it’s only fair that you admit something, too.”

Harry snorts in response, his hand freezing its movement with his coffee cup still half lifted to his lips. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N hums as she slips off her shoes in order to pull her legs beneath her to fold into a cross-legged position on the car seat. “Not so much fun when it’s your turn, huh? C’mon, what’s the Brit scared of? Not enough biscuits for afternoon tea?”

A short and harsh breath of air leaves Harry’s nose, half a snort as he sets his coffee down in his cupholder. “No, actually, diminishing biscuit levels are a low level fear for me.”

“Then what’s a higher one?” Y/N prods, watching as Harry’s neck muscles tense as he shoulder checks to change lanes.  There’s something about the movement that catches her eye, but she can’t quite figure out why—or rather, she can, but she’d rather pretend that she’s unaware.

“Uh…” Harry’s fingers nimbly switch on his turn signal before he transitions to the left lane, his right hand moving the gear shift to its desired place. “Crowds.  I’m not a fan of big crowds, really.  Like when everyone’s pressed together, so tight that you can’t breathe, and you can’t hear yourself think because it’s so loud…yeah. I don’t like that.”

The simple answer surprises Y/N as much as she imagines her answer surprised Harry. “Crowds?” She repeats back to him, a forgotten memory of long gone conversations coming to the forefront of her mind. “But what about, like, concerts and stuff?  Laure always told me when she’d go to shows with you…”

“That’s different.” Harry shrugs as one of his ringed hands comes to his lips, rubbing over them slowly as he contemplates his next words. “I…When I’m at concerts, I always go with someone, and if we’re in the general seating area, where there’s a lot of people, I always stick with them.  Like, sometimes, if it’s getting crowded, or people are pushing, Laure will hold my hand, so…” Redness begins to creep up Harry’s pale neck, staining the tops of his ears a deep berry colour as he trails off.

Not for the first time since their conversation began, Y/N is surprised at how candid they’re being with each other.  As she watches Harry’s blush grow, she feels her own diminish, a physical representation of her trading her embarrassment for something more empathetic.

“I get it.” Y/N says after a moment, once it’s clear that Harry isn’t going to continue. “When there’s thunderstorms, um, I feel better when I’m with someone, or talking to someone. It makes me feel less…”

“Alone?” Harry finishes for her, his eyes flickering from the road to her profile.  His green irises capture hers for longer than they should, his focus completely gone from the stretch of highway for at least five seconds before Harry’s attention turns back to driving. “Yeah.” He says slowly, pulling his sunglasses down from his hair to hide his eyes. “Yeah, less alone. It helps.”

Y/N nods slowly, unable to look away from Harry’s side profile.  It’s apparent that he’s on edge after their conversation, and she knows her body language is the same.  Tight in the shoulders, hands clenched, back rigidly straight.  And yet, seeing her own body language reflected in front of her bothers her.  Part of her wants to reach out and take Harry’s hand, soothe him like Laure does in the crowd of a concert, but she knows that’s ridiculous.  It’s ridiculous, and it’s Harry, and Harry, of all people, does not need her comfort.  Not in the slightest.

She watches as Harry clenches his fist on top of his thigh.

…

“Is this really necessary?” Y/N asks, slamming her car door shut as Harry does the same on the other side of the vehicle.  She leans over the roof of the car, crossing her arms on the cool metal as she tilts her head to the side in an inquisitive manner.  The clouds in the sky are getting darker by the minute, signalling the beginning of the storm that canceled her flight, and the angry black colour above their heads is making Y/N anxious.

Harry, however, seems unbothered by the gathering storm, and nods tersely as he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head before opening the door to the backseat and grabbing his army green jacket. “Of course it’s necessary.” He says, slipping the jacket over his broad shoulders before slamming the door shut and locking the car. “I’ve never been to Utah before.  I want a souvenir.”

“Okay, but—” Y/N follows Harry as he walks towards the dilapidated building in front of them. “Here? Really?  Does this seem like the best place?”

Harry glances at her over his shoulder at her, pausing his long strides to look up at the building he spotted from the highway.  If the chipped grey paint that was once pastel blue and dust-coated windows are any sign, the structure is probably older than Harry and Y/N combined, with a splintered front porch wrapping around its small perimeter.  The building has one faded sign above the door that reads “SOUVENIRS/SNACKS” in hand-painted capital letters, and seems to be hanging onto the outside façade by three small bolts and sheer willpower.  Y/N’s almost certain that she’s seen this exact building in a horror movie before someone gets murdered, and while getting back into the car with Harry isn’t at the top of her list of wants, it’s certainly preferable to getting stabbed to death by a serial killer.

“It’s fine, Y/N.” Harry waves off her concern without a second thought about the appearance of the shop. “If you’re really bothered, you can wait in the car.”

Y/N considers it for a moment, but decides against it.  She needs to stretch her legs, and honestly, Harry seems too trusting.  He probably wouldn’t be able to tell if someone was sketchy until their knife was in his back.  And, seeing as how he has the keys to the only getaway car available, Y/N kind of needs him around without a stab wound carved into his flesh.

“Let’s just get this over with.” She sighs, pulling her own jacket around her tighter as she steps over the worn wooden steps to the door. “We’re on a schedule.”

When Harry pushes open the door, the smell of stale air hits Y/N before anything else.  Despite one open window and a fan in the corner of the shop that’s being used in a weak attempt to circulate the air, it feels like nothing fresh has been in the shop for a while.  Y/N shoots a glance at Harry, caution and warning written all over her face.

While Harry sees her glance, he waves off her concern, turning his attention to the few shelves and wire racks around the small shop that are lined with inventory.  Within a few moments, he’s entertaining himself in the post card section, comparing different photos of the Utah landscape to each other with great care and concern.  Y/N observes him for a few moments before wandering off on her own towards the snack section of the shop.  Although there are a few items that she thinks about picking up, the thick layer of dust over the packaging puts her off from purchasing them.  She grimaces as she continues walking, stopping in front of a tower of silver key chains in the back corner of the shop.  Most of them, she finds, are crosses and bible verses, and all of them give her an ominous feeling in her stomach.  Y/N runs her finger over a miniature silver version of the Ten Commandments, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she does so.

“I think we should go, Harry.” She calls to him without turning around, setting the key chain back down on the rack carefully. “Just pick your post card and—Harry?”

When Y/N turns around, Harry’s broad figure is nowhere to be seen.  She walks back over to the post card section slowly, her brow furrowed with confusion as a knot tightens in her stomach.  Where could he be? She wonders, running her hand along the dusty wire rack in front of her.  It’s not like there’s anywhere for him to go in the small shop, and she would have heard if he left, or if he drove away.

“Harry?” She calls again, her steps slower now as worry fills her voice. “Where did you—fuck—!” Y/N screams as something grabs her from behind, its fingers digging into her sides harshly.  She whips around to find Harry standing over her, loud outbursts of laughter spilling from his strawberry pink mouth at the look on her face.

An indignant flush rushes over Y/N’s face. “You’re such an ass!” She hisses, gripping his shoulders and shoving his laughing frame away from her. “I swear, you’re like a five year old—”

“Did I worry you?” Harry snickers between his words, a wicked look of mischief alight in his dark green eyes. “Were you afraid something happened to me?”

Y/N’s cheeks burn with anger as she turns away from him, crossing her arms defiantly. “No.  I wish something had happened to you.  Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your immature antics.”

Harry’s lips stay quirked up in a smirk as he follows her, his voice falling into a singsong tone. “You were worried.” He insists, chuckles still rolling out of him every few moments. “I could tell.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Y/N snaps at him in an irritated voice. “Just pay for your stupid post card and let’s go.”

“I already did. There’s a sign on the desk saying the clerk is out for lunch, so I left some money.” Harry nods to the small desk in the corner with a few dollars left tucked under the dusty service bell. “I think that’ll cover it, yeah?”

“Whatever.” Y/N can’t resist shoving Harry one last time before walking towards the shop door. “That’s enough.  Let’s go. I want to make it to the motel before the storm hits.”

…

The nice thing about Grand Junction, Colorado, Y/N realizes, is that their motels have multiple single rooms available on short notice.  While she didn’t realize the importance of this fact before this trip started, having an evening of solitude and her own stable space away from Harry for the first time in two days is nothing short of a blessing.

When she gets inside her private motel room, which, while still shabby, is leagues above their previous motel, Y/N locks the door before breathing a sigh of relief.  Just the silence in the room is wonderful, and even though she knows Harry is right next door, having a wall between them is a luxury that she doesn’t take for granted.  When she showers, she doesn’t have to worry about being quick, or toweling off as fast as she can so she can get dressed inside the bathroom without Harry seeing. There’s no need to worry about anyone hearing Y/N sing quietly to herself under the (albeit weak) stream of the shower, nor is there an uncomfortable stick of her sports bra to her back caused by water droplets that she couldn’t reach in her hurry to dry off. And after her shower, with some of the knots from her back finally worked out, Y/N is able to stretch out on the double bed in the center of the room, her phone in her hand as she reaches for the takeout menus stacked on the bedside table.  She peruses the menus available before settling on Chinese takeout, and within five minutes, her order of a two entrée plate and fried rice is on its way.

Y/N sighs gently as she leans back on the pillows, wishing that she and Harry had stopped at a liquor store before coming to the motel.  She knows she could probably walk to one, but now that she’s showered and comfortable, the last thing she wants to do is wander around Grand Junction until she finds a bottle of Moscato.  Instead, Y/N flicks on the TV with a click of the ancient remote, and begins scrolling through the channels until she finds a rerun of Dirty Dancing that’s just starting.

An amused yet wry smile appears on Y/N’s lips.  It’s this movie’s fault that she and Harry are on an impromptu road trip, really. Jo and Laure both loved it, and were insistent that they had to get married at a resort in the Catskills similar to one from the film.  As her two friends cross her mind, Y/N settles into the sheets as Baby begins her narration, contemplating whether or not she should call Jo to check in.  Just as the thought pops into her head, however, the phone rings.

Y/N answers within a moment, not bothering to check the caller ID.  She and Jo had a strange habit of calling each other the moment the other thought of it, and when she raises her phone to her ear, she expects to hear her best friend’s familiar voice reply. “Hello?”

What voice she actually hears, however, surprises her. “Hey, Y/N.  I’m glad I got through.” Brant says easily, his voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “How are you?”

“Brant!” Y/N jerks up in bed in surprise, the remote falling from its perch on her stomach onto the sheets. “I—I’m fine.  How are you?”

“Oh, alright.  Just busy with work, but that’s the usual.” Y/N can practically picture the neutral expression on his face, and how he’d shrug his shoulders as he speaks. “How’s the road trip?  I can’t imagine driving for as long as you have to drive.”

“It’s…it’s alright, yeah.” Y/N speaks slowly as she puts her phone on speaker, balancing it on her knee while her hands begin to fidget with her rings. “Long, but not too bad.”

“Well, that’s good.” Brant clears his throat thickly, as if what he’s about to say makes him uncomfortable. “I miss you, though.  And our weekly dinners.”

A feeling of guilt washes over Y/N.  Truthfully, besides Harry’s inquisition on the first day of driving, Brant has barely crossed her mind.  Granted, he isn’t usually at the forefront of her mind while she’s in L.A., either, but for the last few days, her thoughts have been constantly consumed by the stress of making it to the wedding and her annoyance and frustration with Harry.  

“Y/N?” Brant’s voice crackles through her speaker again. “Are you there?

“I—yeah.” She says quickly, pulling herself from her thoughts. “Sorry, just—long day.  I’m tired.”

“I can imagine.” Brant says sympathetically, but there’s something in his tone that almost sounds patronizing. “Who are you driving with?  Have you been taking turns?”

Y/N pauses the fidgeting of her rings before snatching her phone from its balanced place on her knee. She quickly opens her messages and scrolls to her thread with Brant, searching through the text bubbles for a reminder of what she’d said to him.  Had she not told him that she was traveling with Harry?

Within a moment, Y/N confirms that she hadn’t.  All she had said was that she was getting a ride with someone.  Why had she done that, she wonders?  She’s sure she’s mentioned Harry in passing to Brant at least once.  When she talked about the wedding, probably.  As she thinks about it more, however…what had she told Brant about the wedding?  About Jo? How much does he actually know about her personal life?  Most of their dinner conversations revolve around work, or some book both of them have read.  Had the topic ever come up in detail?

“I’m, um, I’m driving with one of Laure’s friends.” Y/N brings the phone closer to her mouth as her other hand works its way to her mouth.  She begins to chew on a hangnail absentmindedly between her words, something she always does when her nerves begin to get to her.  She can’t count the number of times Jo has grasped her wrist and pulled her hand from her mouth to chastise her about the habit. “We’re…we’re in Colorado now.”

“Oh, Colorado.  That’s nice.” Brant says over the rustling of papers. “Listen, Y/N, I’ve got some work to get back to, but I’m glad we had this talk. I’ll call you again soon.”

“Uh, yeah.  Sure.  I’ll talk to you later.” Y/N nods, and then the line goes dead.  Out of curiosity, Y/N checks the length of the call.  The time 3:09 blinks back at her.

Tossing her phone back down on the covers, Y/N resumes her relaxed position in bed, despite being anything but relaxed after that phone call.  She should feel guilty, she thinks, for not telling Brant about Harry. But then again, what’s there to tell? She said she was getting a ride with one of Laure’s friends, and that’s true.  She hadn’t lied.  And even if Brant did know that the friend is Harry, why would he care?  It’s just Harry.  There’s no reason for Brant to be alarmed, because there’s nothing going on. And she and Brant…Y/N glances down at the call time again.  Things are different between them.  There’s…they’re comfortable as they are, she thinks.  They’re not dating, and they’re comfortable like that.  So there’s no reason to tell him about Harry, because there’s nothing to tell.  Nothing at all.

Y/N refocuses on the TV screen, where Patrick Swayze is dancing in a tight black tank top. Right.  Nothing to tell.

…

When Y/N leaves her motel room the next morning with her bag over her shoulder, Harry is already waiting by his car, leaning against the dusty black body with two coffee cups in his hands.  He’s dressed in another black t-shirt (Y/N wonders just how many identical copies of the same shirt Harry has) with usual jeans covering his long legs.  His curls are tied out of his face with a dark green bandana, and Y/N knows that if his eyes weren’t covered with his black sunglasses, the bandana would make them even brighter than they usually are.

“Hey.” Harry calls to her, extending a ringed hand that holds a coffee cup towards her as she walks over. “I got the coffee this morning.  You drink it black, right?”

Y/N nods as she takes the cup from him, careful not to brush over his fingers with her own. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harry crosses around to the back of the car, opening the trunk with a turn of his key. “Here.” Harry holds out his free hand for Y/N’s bag, taking it from her and setting it down on top of the suitcases in the back. “I got it.”

Y/N regards Harry with a bemused look as she wraps both hands around her coffee cup. “Thanks?” She says again, more questioning this time as she looks at him strangely. “I can do that myself, you know.”

“I know.  I’m just trying to be polite.” Harry’s voice takes on its usual bite like he’s flipping a switch. “Is that alright with you, princess?”

Within a second, the familiar irritation with Harry returns to Y/N, and it’s almost comforting to snap back at him in a testy voice. “Don’t call me that.”

Harry snickers under his breath, and although the sound makes Y/N’s annoyance grow, she detects a different tone in it than a few days before.  Before she can place a finger on why it sounds different, however, Harry is climbing into the driver’s side of the car and starting the engine.

The two of them are silent as Harry finds his way back to the highway, and they stay in that silence for the first few hours of that day’s leg of the trip.  As the third hour begins to pass, Y/N is content listening to the throaty and captivating voice of Stevie Nicks fill the cab of the car. By the second chorus of the song, Y/N is humming along quietly, her foot tapping to the same beat that Harry’s fingers are spelling out against the steering wheel.  It’s comfortable, she thinks after a moment.  The silence between them.  It feels different than it did on their first day, when Y/N was questioning her choice to get into a car with Harry and commit to a 42 hour drive. The silence seems to be fueled more by comfort than tension.  It’s…refreshing.

A memory from the first day ignites in the back of her mind, a spark so bright and obvious that she can’t believe it took her so long to see it. “Stevie.” Y/N says suddenly, turning to Harry as a smile spreads over her face. “You named your car Stevie, as in Stevie Nicks?”

Harry laughs, his shoulders moving up and down beneath his black t-shirt from the motion.  One hand lifts from the steering wheel and points a finger gun at her. “Took you long enough.  I was wondering how many days you’d have to listen to my music to get it.”

Y/N gives his hand a light shove. “I was too distracted by the fact that you named your car.” She rolls her eyes, bringing her bottle of water to her lips for a short sip. “I still think it’s weird.”

“It gives her character.” Harry defends himself as he rubs a hand over the steering wheel absentmindedly. Y/N can see the mirth swirling around in his light irises. “A bit of personality.  Just because you don’t value personalities doesn’t mean anyone else doesn’t.”

“I don’t value personalities?” Turning in her seat to stare at Harry head on, Y/N raises an eyebrow in question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just your taste in men, that’s all.” Harry says it casually, like it really can just be a “that’s all��� type of sentence.

Within a heart beat, the comfortable atmosphere in the car turns to ice as Y/N straightens in her seat, her spine tense, tightening every nerve in her body along with it. “What the fuck does that mean?”

When Harry glances at her again, his eyes darken, his guard going up as he senses the shift in Y/N’s tone. “Nothing, just…motel rooms have thin walls.” Harry mumbles, having the decency to keep his eyes on the road as his ears redden slightly. “And from what I overheard, Brant doesn’t exactly seem…stimulating.”

Y/N sputters indignantly for a moment, unable to form a coherent response as anger rises in her chest. “You—” She sucks in a quick breath that hits the back of her throat harshly. “You eavesdropped on me?”

Harry licks his lips once, clearing his throat once before answering.  The tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel has resumed, his nervousness apparent in his movements as well as his facial expressions. “Not on purpose.  I told you, the walls were thin.”

“So put in head phones!” Y/N exclaims, gripping her water bottle so tight that her fingers begin to strain in protest against the metal exterior.  She has half a mind to throw the bottle at Harry in her anger, barely able to talk herself down from the ledge of the idea.

Harry’s posture shifts in his seat as his shoulders square, and Y/N can practically see his defensive side emerge from within his chest. “It’s not like you two were having phone sex.” He rolls his eyes at the idea. “It was the most boring conversation in the world, and lasted, what, three minutes?  Makes you wonder how long he lasts in other ways, doesn’t it?”

“Stop the car.” Y/N’s voice is low and void of emotion as she replies, her body turned back forward in her seat.

“Am I wrong?  It’s not like you know for sure—”

Anger bubbles over in Y/N’s chest, cancelling out any rational thought she has inside her and leaving pure, unadulterated fury. “Stop the car, Harry!  Now!”

Harry half jumps in his seat when Y/N yells, and he quickly jerks the car to the side of the highway without so much as a turn signal.  Pulling her seatbelt off as he pulls over, Y/N is out the door before Harry can so much as put the car into neutral.  While her more rational mind would tell her that she has nowhere to walk to along a highway in Colorado as the sky darkens to an angry black above them, the only thing she’s thinking of is getting away from Harry.  Stupid, self-absorbed, ignorant, and rude Harry.

“Y/N—” The sound of Harry scrambling out of the car and slamming the door behind him pushes her to walk faster. “Y/N, come back—”

Y/N turns around on her heel fast and hard, heart pounding so fast that she thinks it might break through her ribs. “What is your problem?” She hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Why do you insist on being so—so nasty about him?  You don’t even know him!”

Harry freezes where he is as the wind whips his hair around his face, his bandana barely keeping the messy curls in place. “I don’t—” His speech falters, and he sucks in a sharp breath before continuing. “I don’t think I’m being…nasty.”

“Well, you are!” Y/N takes a deep breath in, placing her hands over her stomach as it expands with air.  It’s a trick that Jo taught her back in high school, as a way to ground herself to her body. Feeling the movement of air in and out of her lungs helps calm her, even if by just a fraction. “Brant is just—he’s someone I’m talking to.  We’ve gone on dates, but we’re not dating, and even though we’re not dating, that doesn’t mean that you can insinuate things about him, or eavesdrop on our private conversations!”

Harry’s jaw tenses as he listens to Y/N speak, waiting until she’s finished her speech to respond in a harsh and clipped tone. “I already told you, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. And I’m teasing you.  It’s supposed to be a joke.  Isn’t that what friends do?”

“But we’re not friends, Harry.” Y/N’s voice is flat, the fury in her tone replaced with a hollow emptiness. “We’re not friends.  I don’t need you teasing me about a boy like we’re buddies, or whatever, because we’re not.”

Although Harry opens his mouth to respond, no words cross over the edges of his pink lips.  His jaw tightens even more as he closes his mouth again, and Y/N can see a million things flitting through his green irises, which are getting darker by the moment.  Y/N’s not certain if the darkness is from her words, or the black sky rolling above them that’s sapping the light of day from the atmosphere, and she’s not sure if she can take the answer either way.  Part of her knows that maybe—just maybe—she’s blown this whole thing out of proportion, and maybe she should examine why Harry making fun of Brant bothers her like it does.  It’s not like she’s unaware of his shortcomings, she thinks, but then she wonders why she’s now seeing them as shortcomings, when a week ago, she saw them as positives.  Y/N never has to worry about Brant being too much for her, or forgetful, or scatterbrained—he’s organized, and secure, and stable, and that’s what she likes.  It’s always been what she likes.

Harry’s delayed response tears Y/N from her thoughts. “Not friends.  Got it.” He mutters, rubbing his hand over his stubbled and taut cheeks. “Just get back in the car, then.  Let’s go.”

…

“Hello!  My name is Gracie, I’ll be your server today.” The waitress in the tiny diner smiles at Harry and Y/N, a notepad in one hand and a half filled coffee pot in the other. “Can I get you guys anything to start?”

“Coffee.” Harry and Y/N speak at the same time, each person’s eyes flickering to the other before looking away.  Y/N keeps her eyes focused on her off-white ceramic coffee cup as Gracie fills it, refusing to make eye contact with Harry again.

The last hour has been almost unbearable.  After they got back in the car, Harry had turned off his playlist, and for the first time since the road trip had begun, true silence had fallen between them. Y/N had thought she would like it, but truthfully, it had been the worst thing she’d ever heard.  Every few minutes, she’d hear Harry shift, or sigh, or tap a tense finger against the gear shift, and she wished that she could say something, but she didn’t.  She couldn’t.  She’d been grateful when he wordlessly exited the highway and parked in front of a diner, as the conversations of stopped truck drivers and the clatter of a kitchen was a good distraction from their argument.

A movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention, and Y/N glances up just enough to watch Harry slip a pat of butter into his coffee, stirring the contents of the cup with his spoon until it’s melted together.  She wrinkles her nose in disgust, and almost opens her mouth to make a comment (“Really, Harry?  Just add milk like a regular person, instead of drinking a cup of grease.”), but bites it back before it can fall off her tongue.  They’re not exactly in the position to make quips to each other, she thinks, especially after she told him that they weren’t friends.

Which they’re not. They’ve never been friends; that fact isn’t exactly news.  Not getting along has been Harry and Y/N’s signature since the day they first met. So why is there a pit in Y/N’s stomach that gets deeper every time Harry looks away from her?

The click of heels alerts Y/N of Gracie’s returned presence before her voice does. “Have you two decided what you’d like to eat?”

“I’ll have a turkey club, please, on whole wheat bread.” Harry folds up his plastic menu carefully. “And a glass of water on the side.”

Gracie nods, taking the menu from him before turning her eyes to Y/N. “And for yourself?”

“Um—” Y/N had barely glanced at the menu, too lost in her thoughts to think about it. “I’ll just have a burger, please.  And a water, as well.”

Gracie nods as she writes down the order, taking Y/N’s menu and giving the pair one last smile before disappearing to the kitchen.  A fresh wave of silence falls between Harry and Y/N as each of them sips their coffee, both of them doing their best not to look at the person sitting across from them.

Y/N’s best, however, is not up to her usual standard, as she can’t stop herself from stealing a few quick glances while Harry looks out the window.  He hasn’t shaved in a couple days, she notices, as the stubble on his cheeks and chin is even darker than it was the day before.  There’s a permanent crease between his eyebrows, his face as tense as she’s ever seen it, and a darkness over his whole expression overall. It’s like there’s a new wall up between the two of them, and Y/N’s never felt more detached from him.  Which, honestly, is saying something.

She’s looking back down at her own half empty coffee when Harry finally speaks a few minutes later, his voice just as tense as his expression.

“Shit.” He says in a low voice, and then the next sound Y/N hears is that of someone ruffling through pockets.  

She looks up to see Harry doing just that, his hands digging through the outer pockets of his army green jacket. “What?” She asks, her curiosity outweighing her need to continue the silent treatment. “What is it?”

“I had the vows in my—my pocket, but they’re—” Harry jams his hands inside a pocket sewn into the lining of his jacket, and Y/N watches as his face visibly relaxes. “Oh, thank God. I thought they fell out.”

Harry removes his hand from his pocket, two folded up notes clutched within his hand.  Each one is labeled carefully, one with Jo written in Laure’s neat penmanship, and the other with Laure scribbled in Jo’s quick writing.  

Y/N recognizes the papers immediately.  It’s easy, really, considering the amount of time she spent helping Jo rewrite draft after draft of the same sentiments. “You have Jo and Laure’s vows?” She questions, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Why?”

“The same reason you have their wedding bands.” Harry shrugs as he turns the papers over in his careful fingers, making sure not to crease them. “They forgot them.”

A small smile plays on the edge of Y/N’s lips at the memory of her forgetful friends. “Right.  Of course.”

Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s mouth at the sign of movement, and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth before responding. “Want to take a look?”

“At their vows?” Y/N looks around, as if someone could be watching and monitoring them. “I—that doesn’t seem right.”

“Fine.  Then don’t look at them.” Harry says easily, setting the note labeled Laure on the table between them.  His nimble fingers unfold the paper labeled with Jo’s name as his green irises begin to scan across the sheet. “I’ll read them.”

It only takes a few seconds of watching Harry read over the words for Y/N to crack. “Wait.” She brings her thumb to her mouth, chewing anxiously on her cuticle as Harry quirks an eyebrow at her. “Will you read them to me?”

When she asks, Harry spends so long staring at her that Y/N thinks he’ll refuse.  His jade eyes meet hers with an intensity that almost makes her flinch, but Y/N holds his stare, refusing to be the first to back down. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Harry gives a sharp nod, looking down at the note before he starts to read from the beginning.

“‘My darling Jo’,” He begins, his voice soft and low, his accent thick. “‘It seems so strange that this day is finally here.  I feel like we’ve been building up to it ever since the day we first met, and yet it’s always seemed so far away.  When I was a little girl, I always’…” Harry trails off as his eyes continue to move across the words, and he clears his throat before attempting to continue to read aloud. “‘I always thought that there was something wrong with me.  I thought that the things that I felt, and the way that I loved, was dirty.  I thought it was wrong.  I thought that—that I was going against God, and against nature, and that I was going to be punished for it.  And then I met you’.”

Harry pauses to take a sip of his coffee, and Y/N does the same.  There’s a shine beginning to appear in his eyes, and Y/N recognizes it as the beginning of tears because she feels the same thing brimming in her own eyes. She feels a bit guilty for reading the vows, but reasons that it’s for the best.  If she were to hear them for the first time at the wedding, she doesn’t think she’d be able to keep it together.

“‘The moment I met you, I knew that the way I loved could never be wrong, or be dirty, because I was loving you’.” Harry’s accent grows thicker the more he reads, and although Y/N hasn’t seem Harry in many different emotional states, she can tell that this is a sign of how the vows are affecting him. “‘Being with you could never be wrong, and God could never get mad at me for it, because only God could create someone as perfect as you.  I promise to love you when you wake me up at 3 A.M. because you’ve stolen all the blankets, and I promise to love you at 6 P.M. when you almost burn down our apartment while trying to cook for me.  I promise to support you through everything, listen to your stories, and watch in wonder as you make a difference in this world.  I promise to never let my anger get the best of me, and to always give you the benefit of the doubt.  I promise to love every version of yourself that you grow into, just as I’ve loved all the versions you once were.  I promise to love you in every way humanly possible, and even in ways that aren’t humanly possible.  I promise to love, period.  I’—” Harry’s voice cracks, and he glances up at Y/N as he clears his throat to continue. “‘I love you’.”

Y/N doesn’t realize just how emotional listening to Harry read Laure’s vows has made her until the first tear wells over the corner of her eye.  She turns her head towards the window to wipe it away as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, but from the way Harry is looking at her when she turns back around, she knows that he caught what she was doing.

“That, um—” Now it’s Y/N’s turn to attempt to clear the emotion from her throat. “Wow.”

Harry carefully folds Laure’s vows back up, taking extra care to re-crease the paper exactly how it had been folded. “I didn’t know she…felt like that.” Harry says after a moment, his voice quiet. “Like she was…wrong.”

Y/N, unsure of what to say, just nods while reaching for Jo’s vows in front of her.  Like Harry, she takes great care when unfolding the paper, smoothing it gently between her hands. “I’ll read Jo’s, then?”

Harry nods as he takes a sip of his water. “Sure.”

Y/N licks her lips once, wetting them with what little saliva she has in her mouth before beginning. “‘Laure’,” She starts, emotion already rising up to form a lump in her throat. “‘I don’t even know where to begin.  I’ve tried to write down all the ways I love you a million different times, but I can never seem to find the right words.  The problem is, I don’t think that there is a big enough word to describe what I feel for you.  ‘Love’ is only four letters, and four letters is just not enough to contain everything I feel.  ‘Adoration’ is nine letters, but even that doesn’t come close.  I think the best way I can describe it is ‘permanent’.” Y/N pauses her reading to take a long gulp of water, the coolness soothing the dry and parched feeling in her mouth and throat. “‘Anyone who knows me knows that I have trouble committing.  The idea of having something forever, of being in one place, normally terrifies me. But the idea of having you forever, and being in one place with you forever…that’s all I want.  I want us to be permanent to each other.  Even when we struggle, and we will struggle, I know that we won’t fall apart.  Committing to you isn’t any trouble.  It’s as easy as breathing.  I’m sure of you, and I’m sure of us.  I love you, permanently.  I’ll love you when you’re sick and gross, and I’ll love you when you’re old with a bad hip.” A small laugh falls out of Y/N’s mouth before she continues. “I’ll love you when you haggle at flea markets for the best prices, and I’ll love you when you do something so stupid that it makes me want to tear my hair out.  I love you permanently, and I want all of our family and friends to witness me saying that.  I’ll never back out, or bail, or run away from you.  You’re the one thing in my life that’s never felt hard. You’re my home base, and my north star, and you bring me back down to Earth whenever I need it.  I love you permanently, Laure.  I’ll never stop’.”

As she finishes reading, Y/N folds the paper back up, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand before grabbing the other note sitting on the table.  She pushes them towards Harry, her misty eyes unable to meet his. “Here. Put these away again, somewhere safe.”

Harry takes the vows from her, slipping them back inside his inner jacket pocket for safekeeping. “It’s probably—” He clears his throat once more, and Y/N knows that the vows have caught him in his chest just as they’ve caught her. “It’s probably good that we read them now, so that we’re…prepared for the ceremony.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wraps her hands around her coffee mug, the warm ceramic surface heating her cold fingers. “You’re right.  They really…love each other.”

Harry taps his fingers against the table top, a concentrative and thoughtful expression on his face.  His eyebrows are knit together above his stormy green eyes, and his pink tongue swipes over his pinker lips once before he speaks. “You know, Laure is my closest friend.  I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Immediately registering the tone of Harry’s voice, Y/N’s head snaps up, her own eyes becoming stormy as they meet his own. “Jo would never hurt Laure.” Y/N says defensively, the hairs on the back of her neck pricking up at even the suggestion of her friend hurting someone. “Didn’t you hear her vows?  I’ve never heard her sound so sure of something in her entire life.”

Harry’s jaw flexes at the cadence of Y/N’s voice, and his is just as agitated when he responds. “I’m just saying, if anything ever happened—”

“And I’m just saying, it won’t.” The tension between them doubles as Y/N shoots Harry an icy glare. “Do you just look for the worst in people?  Is that all you do?”

“You think I look for the worst in people?  Really?” Harry barks out a harsh laugh, pressing one hand flat against the table as the other fixes his bandana. “Christ, if that’s what you think of me—”

“Why would I think anything else?” Y/N asks incredulously, tilting her head to the side as she regards him. “All you’ve shown me is—”

“Alright, I have the turkey club on whole wheat, and the burger here.” Gracie appears suddenly to Y/N’s right, her tray loaded with food. “Here you guys are…” She sets the plates down in front of Harry and Y/N, her gaze darting between them nervously as she reads the tension in the booth. “Is…there anything else I can get you two?”

“No.” Harry’s voice is hard. “We don’t need anything else.”

…

By the time Harry pulls the car into a motel just off the highway in Lexington, Nebraska, all Y/N wants is a moment alone.  The strained atmosphere during that day’s drive had been unbearable, and between the anxiety from her confrontation with Harry and the sound of thunder beginning in the distance, Y/N just needs some space to herself to relax and calm down.

Of course, just because that’s what she needs, doesn’t mean that she’s going to get it.  When Harry returns back to the car with a single key in his hand and a sour look on his face, Y/N knows for sure that the universe is against her.

This room, at least, she’s pleased to find, has two actual beds, which are pushed up against the wall perpendicular to the door with a small night table between them.  However, that’s where her pleasure stops, as the click of Harry turning the lock behind her just reminds her that she’s trapped in here, with no chance to get away from Harry, the oncoming storm, or any one of her problems that have developed over the last four days.  The reality of the situation hits her all at once, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control to toss her bag on the bed and walk brusquely to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her before she allows herself to show a sign of her emotions.

The rest of the evening passes in silence.  She showers before changing into her sports bra and boxers, but the amount of exposed skin sends a vulnerable shiver down her spine.  Y/N opts for pulling a sweatshirt over her body, and then sets herself the task of braiding her hair to distract herself.  After that’s done, she busies herself with her skincare routine, taking up as much time as she can in the bathroom before she absolutely has to leave its private interior.

Harry, however, seems to want to see as little of Y/N as she wants to see of him, and pushes past her to enter the bathroom the moment that she steps out of it.  His routine, it seems, is designed to take up just as much time as hers was, because by the time Harry exits the bathroom, the scent of his shampoo trailing behind him, Y/N is already tucked under the covers of her bed, although she’s far from asleep.

In the time it took for her to shower and get ready for bed, the storm had picked up, and the only thing audible in the room was the sound of rain pelting against the roof and window, the wind howling through the trees, and Y/N’s shallow, uneven breaths. She wraps the sheets tightly around herself, pulling them taut to her chin with clenched fists that tighten every time a clap of thunder echoes through the room.  Although she’s turned to face the wall, away from Harry, she can hear his footsteps pause as he gets a glimpse of her shivering form beneath the blankets, and she does her best to will herself to appear asleep.  Breathing in as deeply as her tight chest will allow her, Y/N attempts to even her breathing, forcing her shoulders rise and fall in a way that appears natural and normal.  But all it takes is one clap of thunder for the controlled motion to go out the window.

“Y/N…” Harry’s voice is low, but despite its raspy cadence, it lacks the rough edge that it had earlier. The bed behind her squeaks, signalling that Harry’s taken a seat on the edge of it. “Are you—?”

“I-I’m fine.” Y/N says quickly, pulling the sheets tighter to her chin as another shiver rolls through her body. “Go to sleep.”

There’s another creak of Harry’s bed, and Y/N imagines him climbing under the starched linen covers, his damp curls flopping into his eyes as he lays back on the lumpy motel pillow. The image is almost enough to distract her until there’s another clap of thunder.  The sound seems to shake the motel room, and Y/N can’t stop the small whimper that leaves her lips as her body jumps in response.

“When I was a little kid, my mum took my sister and I to the fair every year.”

Harry’s deep voice cuts over the rain, and Y/N shifts in her bed, turning over to face him.  She keeps the covers pulled up to her chin, but readjusts herself so that she can keep her head on her pillow while looking Harry in the eye. “What?” She asks, confusion audible in her quiet tone.

Harry shifts himself as she does, continuing to move down until he’s completely horizontal, with one hand tucked under his pillow as he speaks. “My mum took my sister and I to the fair.  It came to Holmes Chapel every spring, and there were always rides, and games to play, and so many things to see.  It drew crowds from nearby villages every year, really big crowds, and my mum always held my hand tightly so I wouldn’t get lost.”

“I don’t understand, what—” Another clap of thunder shakes the room, making Y/N flinch halfway through her sentence.

“You’re okay.” Harry says immediately, his calm jade eyes focused on her as the reassurance slips from his mouth.  He waits a moment, gauging Y/N’s body language and waiting for his examination to be positive before resuming his story. “So…my mum always told me not to wander off, but when I was six, I did.  I saw some older kids playing games that I wanted to play, and Gemma was busy playing some sort of game with a ball—I can’t really remember what—and when my mum turned her back, I ran off.”

Y/N’s about to open her mouth to ask why he’s telling her the story when the answer clicks into place in her head.  She thinks back to the conversation in the car the day before, how she told Harry that it helps when someone talks to her to distract her from the thunder.  That’s what he’s doing, she realizes, as she forces herself to focus on his quiet and level voice.  He’s trying to keep her calm, even after everything she said and did today.

“I don’t look like it now,” A small smile flits across Harry’s blushed lips. “But I was pretty scrawny back then.  And all the people around me were so tall, my eyes were barely level with their hips. Everyone was rushing around, going in all directions, and I kept calling for my mum, but she couldn’t hear me.  No one stopped to help me.  I felt like I was…trapped.  Like it was a huge forest of legs, running all around me, circling me, and I couldn’t get out.  I was probably only gone for five minutes, but to a six year old, it felt like an eternity.  And just something about it…I don’t know.  It changed me.  I still don’t like crowds because of that day.”

Y/N’s shoulders unclench the slightest bit as another gust of wind blows against the window. “That must have been scary.”

Harry’s own shoulders lift in a slight shrug as he shifts the sheet to cover him more. “It was. But I can’t change it.  I just have to deal with the repercussions of it. That’s all a fear is, really.  A side effect.  We just have to deal with them as best we can.”

More thunder booms loudly outside, but Y/N manages to keep her flinch to a minimum, despite her hands curling into fists again under the covers. “Harry…” She whispers his name into the darkness between them, his outline barely visible save for his green eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry about today.”

Harry shakes his head, his damp hair rubbing against his pillow. “You don’t have to apologize.” He whispers back, his tone as gentle as she’s ever heard it. “I was an arse.  I shouldn’t have pushed the topic.”

“I shouldn’t have been so uptight about it.” Rubbing her eyes with one fist, Y/N lets out a low sigh. “I felt so shitty all day because of our fight.  I’ve never…none of our fights have ever made me feel like that.”

“Maybe it’s because…” Harry’s tentative voice trails off, his eyes flickering to the ground for a brief moment before staring back at Y/N nervously. “I don’t know.  I thought we were getting along better.  For a moment, at least.”

“We were.” Y/N’s teeth tug on her bottom lip, and she feels a sudden shyness overcome her at the admission. “I’m sorry I said that we…weren’t friends.  I think…I don’t know.  I’ve been stubborn for so long, but I can see now that you’re different than I thought you were.”

“Yeah.  Me too.  I was wrong, too.” Harry runs a hand through his damp curls, a soft laugh leaving his mouth. “How did we even end up like this?  I barely remember what made us hate each other so much in the beginning.”

“Seriously?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, barely peaking out from beneath the sheets as another clap of thunder sounds. “You don’t remember?”

Harry mimics her expression. “Do you?”

“Yes!  It was the very first night we met.  We had that double date with Laure and Jo.” Shifting beneath her covers, Y/N moves herself into a better position on her side, so she can be more comfortable while still maintaining eye contact with Harry. “And you were rude, and made inappropriate jokes, and you left in the middle of the date to go chat up a sorority girl!”

“Wait a minute, no!” Harry protests the memory, half sitting up in his bed as he speaks. “That’s not what happened!”

“Yes, it is!” A small laugh falls off Y/N’s lips at his indignant reaction. “I remember it perfectly!”

“No, you remember it wrong!” Although a flush creeps up Harry’s neck, there’s an amused smile playing on his lips, a tiny hint of a dimple just barely appearing in his visible cheek. “I was making jokes to try and break the ice, which didn’t work on the Ice Queen, it seems—” Harry motions to Y/N teasingly. “And you’re the one who started talking to some bloke before I started talking to that girl!”

Another clap of thunder echoes through the room, but Y/N hardly notices as she thinks back to the night they met, and who Harry could possibly be referring to. “A bloke—?  He was a classmate of mine!  I had to talk to him!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to enjoy it so much.” Harry grumbles, crossing his muscled arms over his sheets. “I had been so excited when Laure said she had an American girl for me, and then—”

“You were excited?” Y/N asks, her voice laced with surprise. “Really?”

The flush on Harry’s neck works its way to the apples of his cheeks. “Well, yeah.” He mumbles the words as his eyes drop from Y/N’s, slipping both hands beneath his head. “She said that you were funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful—”

“And then you met me, and realized that it was all a lie?” Y/N finishes for him, rolling her eyes in the darkness.

“No.” Harry gives a small shake of his head as his body shifts, the motel bed creaking under his weight. “No, she wasn’t wrong.  You were all of those things.  But I wasn’t, and it seemed like…I don’t know.  Like you didn’t think I was good enough for you.  I couldn’t keep your attention.”

The teasing smile slips from Y/N’s face as she registers Harry’s words. “You thought that I thought you weren’t…good enough?”

The nervousness is clear in Harry’s voice now, even over the pounding of rain against the window. “That’s what it seemed like, yeah.”

“I never—I didn’t think that.” Y/N says slowly, managing to relax her body beneath the sheets as she keeps her focus on the memory of meeting Harry. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there, but that’s because Jo set the date up without telling me.  I thought you were handsome, and I liked your accent, but then you started to act weird, and you started flirting with that girl, so I thought you were an ass.”

“You still think I’m an arse, princess, be honest.” The teasing tone replaces the nerves, and for once, Harry’s joke has the intended affect on Y/N.  When she rolls her eyes again, it’s more playful, and the same tone is in her voice when she responds.

“I told you, don’t call me princess.” She replies, running her teeth over her lip gently. “So…I guess we both kind of fucked up that day.”

“Yeah.” Harry nods, a sheepish smile playing over his red lips. “I guess so.”

“Can we just restart?” Y/N’s voice is small when she asks the question, barely audible over the sounds of the storm raging outside. “Like, all the way from the beginning. No more grudges, no more yelling. Even if it’s just for this trip, for Jo and Laure—”

“It doesn’t have to be just for this trip.” Harry cuts in, his eyes catching Y/N’s again. “We’re going to have to be around each other for a long time.  It’ll be a lot easer if we get along.”

Y/N nods in agreement, tugging down her covers to extend one arm towards Harry.  She makes a fist, holding out just her pinkie finger to him with half a grin on her face. “Truce?”

The space between their beds is small, and Harry’s long arm easily makes it across the no man’s land to meet Y/N’s pinkie with his own.  He loops it together with a smile that matches hers, tired and content and just at the edge of a humble new beginning.  Harry’s response is almost inaudible as thunder booms loudly outside the room, but Y/N can still pick out the cadence of his accent under the noise.

“Truce.”

(pt II)

[justasimplesinner]

UPDATED CHARACTER MASTERLIST & REQUESTING RULES

before i begin, remember not to be afraid to ask about someone that's not on the list darlin'! if i know them, big chances are i'll write for 'em, and if i don't, i'm often willing to do some research!

DC:

anyone. and i mean that literally. just look through my blog, there is so many of them fuckers in here, although i mostly focus on Batman Rogues. but if you've got any niche DC crush, i'm here for you baby (c'mon, i even write for Lobo and Mad Mod, i assure you that whoever your fave is, i'll gladly produce some content for 'em)

i will write for comicverse, arkhamverse (except fucking jervis for obvious reasons), basically any animated/cinematic appearances, telltale games, any type of fuckin' media but no Gotham or Nolanverse

MARVEL:

- Venom/Eddie Brock

- Cletus Kasady/Carnage

- Ultron

- Spawn/Albert Simmons

- Doc Ock/Otto Octavius

- Green Goblin/Norman Osborn

here i mostly focus on the cinematic universe, maybe with the exception of Spawn, Kasady and Osborn because fuck if i don't like interpreting them in my own silly little way based on the comics i've read and old cartoon shows

ARCANE:

yet again, anyone. well, let me rephrase that, anyone that's NOT a minor (and i'm sorry, but i won't write for Jinx, even if she's supposedly 18 in Act III. she'll always be Just A KidTM to me)

GTA V:

throw me a character and i'll probably write for 'em. unholy trinity obviously comes as a given, but i'll even write for bitches like Devin Weston and stuff like that

TEAM FORTRESS 2:

the whole team baby, and let's throw in the delightful Miss Pauling and not-so-delightful Administrator in here because why the hell not

DARKIDERS TRILOGY:

yeah. yeah, why the fuck not. i can try my best to write all of them, since there wasn't many characters i genuinely disliked in the series

ADDITIONAL CHARACTERS FROM RANDOM FANDOMS:

- Maximillian Desoto (The Outer Worlds)

- Jimmy Hall (At Dead Of Night)

- Sundrop/Moondrop (Five Nights At Freddy's Security Breach) don't look at me

- Abe Sapien (Hellboy)

- Cicero (Skyrim)

- *sobbing* Erik Destler (The Phantom Of The Opera)

- and i'll throw in the whole character base for fuckin' Archer since i'm obsessed with that show

and now onto the REQUESTING RULES:

YOU CAN CHECK WHETHER REQUESTS ARE OPEN OR NOT IN MY BIO

i'm pretty content with writing anything and everything, BUT:

- no pregnacy or 'what kinda father/mother would x be' and stuff like that

- minors can appear as background characters (example: Jinx is basically Silco's adoptive daughter and i don't mind including that in any of my writings) but i won't write for them exclusively

- no rape/non-con or yandere (cnc is a whole different thing that i absolutely love, but, as the name suggests, it's CONSENSUAL non-consent, so it's not straight out non-con)

- i don't do ships, only 'x readers'

- please don't send me whole strings of requests - i run this blog alone and that won't change, so there's a limited amount of requests i'm accepting every time they re-open and everyone should have their chance at requesting

- don't want to sound harsh, but if i don't want to write something, i won't. i do always try to answer those asks with an explanation as to why, but sometimes i DO just delete those requests. it's my right as an author, and i won't be sacrificing my comfort just to write something

- and, obviously, don't repost my shit to other sites. i absolutely don't mind people taking inspiration and writing something based off my work (do tag me tho, i'd love to see what you came up with!), but straight out stealing my content ain't on the table

[jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets]

I Loved Him... Once - CH 1

Title: I Loved Him... Once

Author: jiminthestreets-bonesinthesheets

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Pairing: Heid (Aaron Hotchner x Spencer Reid)

Rating: This ones General but eventually as the series goes it will be Explicit

Tags: canon typical violence and gore, eventual smut as the series goes, angst, fluff, pining., its gunna be a slow burn guys.

Summary: A series following the team as they solve crimes and take down the bad guys.

     In Part one of this series, we follow the team as they take down a serial killer that has taken a piece of one of their own. And through it all, Spencer and Hotch come to a few conclusions and realizations of their own.

AO3 Link 

Masterlist

*** My works are not to be posted on any sites without my permission! But comments and reblogs are love! <3 Please and thanks!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 1

Spencer: 

     “What we have done for ourselves alone, dies with us. What we have done for others and the world remains and is immortal.” - Albert Pike

~~~~~~~~~~~ 

     “Fourteen days, fourteen days, fourteen glorious days!” 

     Spencer barely looked up from the book he was reading, sat at his desk, leaning back in his desk chair as Derek Morgan sashayed across the bullpen and perched himself on the corner smiling down at him.

     He opted to ignore the over the top, ray of sunshine, mood Derek was in, and flipped the page of his book. Derek was not giving in, he was not going to be ignored when he was in such a good mood, so he swiftly swooped his hand and stole Spencer's book, eliciting a whine of protest as he sat forward and reached for it. Though he didn't make any more effort than that, he knew very well there was no way he would be able to get the book back from Derek through force.

     “Come on, Morgan, give it back.”

     Derek laughed, his eyes shining with mirth as he kept playing keep away with Spencer, “You really want it back that bad?”

     “Yes, actually, it was just starting to get good!” He made another jolt forward to reach for the book but it was in vain. Spencer’s brain might be fast, but Derek Morgan's reflexes were always faster.

     “Really, kid, you're reading…” He turned the book over and eyed the title with a raised brow, “‘The Art of War’. You planning on taking someone down, Reid?” Spencer just eyed him as he closed the book and tucked it under his crossed arms, knowing full well that the genius would remember not only the page number he had been on before Derek closed the book, but the exact word he had read last. “Now, like I said before, we have fourteen, I repeat, fourteen glorious days of vacation starting right now. And you're telling me that your only plans are to sit here at your desk, at work, and continue reading ‘The Art of War’ instead of going out and doing something, anything, other than that?”

     “It never hurts to educate yourself, Morgan, and yes, that's exactly what I'm telling you,” he replied, a little short, then tried once more to swipe unsuccessfully for his book, “now give me back my book.”

     “Good god, man, live a little, you're killing me.” Derek stood and moved the book even further out of Spencer's reach, so he just huffed and sat back in his chair again. “You don't have any plans? No dates? No trips to exotic lands to meet fine exotic ladies?”

     “When have you ever known me to ever have plans? Or dates for that matter. It's not like girls are exactly lining up to date the lanky, boy genius.”

     “Oh you're much more than that, pretty boy, you know that.” Morgan perched himself on the side of his desk again.

     “Not to mention the fact that seeing this in a bathing suit on a beach full of, more than likely, gorgeous people, is not something that is on anyone's bucket list, I'm positive of that. I'm so white I'd probably end up blinding half the beach with my legs alone.”

     Derek was laughing, near tears at this point, “Oh, come on kid, it can't be that bad.”

     “Oh, it is,” Spencer was slightly laughing at this point too, “I went to a pool party once in university and I was asked to put my shirt back on because the light was reflecting off my skin and ‘hurting people's eyes’... Derek, it was ten at night. My skin was reflecting the pool lights so severely it was hurting people.”

     Derek barked out a laugh so hard he nearly fell off the table and Spencer couldn't help but join him. “So you just need a little bit of sun, cancel out some of the white. Why not come with me to Barbados? Little sand, little sun, and a whole lotta’ fun.” He shot a quick wink at Spencer who just scoffed and looked away. “Give me two days with you on the beach and I guarantee I could get you a couple shades darker, at least.”

     “Oh, yes,” he nodded, smirking, “as well as skin cancer.”

     “I promise I won't let you get skin cancer, but that being said, once we get you all sunkissed and confident, I can't promise I'll be able to keep all those fine ladies off of you.”

     “You're not making this sound any better. Skin cancer, STD’s, and multitudes of random women hanging off of me, no thank you.”

     “Well, if you don't want to be swarmed by the fine exotic women,” he paused, smirking down at a waiting Spencer, “I'm sure I can help you land some handsome exotic men, then. I'm not here to judge. More women for me.”

     Spencer reached to the side and grabbed the small pile of papers that were sitting there, and swiftly smacked Derek on the arm with them, “Get off my desk.”

     “That doesn't sound like a denial,” he ducked as he was swatted at again, “come with me and I promise you'll have a good time.”

     “Go!”

     Derek chuckled once more, before ducking under his own desk to grab his bag, then turned back to toss the book back to Spencer who barely caught it, “My flight doesn't leave till tomorrow night, think about it!”

     “I don't need to, I'm not going!”

     “Think about it!”

     “What's the point anyways!?” He called as Derek was almost out of ear shot, but he continued anyways, “When has vacation ever worked out for us? I'd buy a ticket and pay for a room, and realistically we'll probably end up right back here in two days, four tops!”

     Derek was gone by this point, not having heard most of what he had said, more than likely already knowing that this was probably their reality, but not wanting to have to accept it. Though his complaints didn't fall on deaf ears.

     “Oh, now you've gone and jinxed it. Just know that if our vacation gets cancelled due to a case, I am definitely coming after you first, Reid.” 

     He gazed up at Emily over the edge of his book, having indeed remembered the exact word he had left off on when it was stolen from him, and gave her a playful smirk. “I am only stating statistics. If you factor in every vacation we have had since we started here at the BAU, the odds that we will have a full, uninterrupted ‘fourteen glorious days’ as Morgan put it, are less than ten percent. Eight point five-six-three-two percent to be exact.”

     “God I hate you sometimes,” though she laughed as she said it, “so you really don't have any plans?”

     “I never said I didn't have any plans,” he sighed and closed his book on his desk, resigned to not getting any reading done until everyone was gone, “just because I don't have plans involving a hot beach or women, doesn't mean I don't have plans.”

     “Oh!” She perked up and moved closer, intrigued. “So what kinds of fun are you up to then?”

     “Oh, loads!” He shifted in his chair, moving to lean towards her with his elbows on his desk. “I'm signed up for a lecture series that starts tomorrow, but the one I'm most excited for is a lecture called ‘Synthetic Metals: A Novel Role For Organic Polymers’ presented by Dr. Alan G. MacDiarmid. It's a Nobel lecture all about possible engineering applications for, and the inner workings of, organic and conductive polymers. It sounds completely fascinating! I was also thinking of taking a trip to Colonial Williamsburg. I mean, how amazing would it be to walk the same streets as Thomas Jefferson, or eat in the same place as George Washington! I was also thinking of visiting the Virginia Museum of Fine Arts. They have over twenty- two thousand works on display that are largely focused on modern and contemporary art, especially with a focus on European art after the nineteen hundreds. They are also having a workshop there next week focusing on-”

     “Woah, woah, take a breath,” she laughed a bit, then asked with a hint of concern, “aren't you doing anything that doesn't involve… learning? Like, no info intake, no lecture series, no workshops, just relaxing? Letting your brain just take a break?”

     Spencer pouted his bottom lip in thought then looked back up to Emily, “No? Why would I want to waste two weeks doing nothing when I could spend them increasing my knowledge?”

     “Wouldn't you want to sit back and…” She stared confusedly at an equally confused Spencer, then just shook her head with another laugh, “Nevermind, look who I’m talking to. Of course you would think that spending two weeks learning would be an ideal vacation. To each their own I guess, right.”

     He just nodded, picking his book up again as she moved away from his desk.

     “Well, have fun with your jam packed knowledge filled two weeks, see you in fourteen days.”

     “Or in two to four days. Don't forget the eight point five-six-three-two percent chance that I will see you before-”

     “Blah, blah, blah!” She covered her ears as she walked away from him, “Can't hear you, already on vacation!”

     “Very mature,” though he was smiling, “have fun with your mother.”

     She threw a quick wave at him then disappeared. When she was finally gone, he sat back in his chair with a content sigh. Now that Emily was gone, it was just himself, Rossi, and Hotch who were left in the office, and he knew there was a very low chance that either of them would interrupt him to inquire about his vacation plans. He was finally able to finish his book in peace before catching the last train home. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

     “Knock, knock.” 

     Aaron looked up from where he had been bent over the front of his desk, the pile of papers he had been sorting through covering every inch of it, and towards the door. “David, come in.”

     The man did, eyeing the mess, but merely stood in the middle of the room and tucked his hands into the pockets of his very expensive suit. “Always one of the last to leave, huh?”

     “Has everyone gone?” Aaron asked without looking up this time.

     “Everyone except the usual suspect.”

     “Reid.” Aaron sighed. ‘Not last to leave,’ he thought. Spencer always seemed to still be there, even in the late late hours of the night. After a case, before vacation, even sometimes during vacation. Aaron always felt bad for the man, worried that he was lonely, though nowadays he could relate. 

     “I overheard him talking with Emily and Derek before they left. His most exciting plans seem to have something to do with a Nobel lecture series,” Rossi moved closer, taking up the chair in front of Aaron’s desk, “that kid needs to learn how to slow down and relax, I'm worried he might burn out someday if he doesn't. He should go out, have some fun from time to time.”

     “Well I'm not much better,” Aaron turned, leaning against his desk with his arms crossed, now facing David, “my plans for the next two weeks pretty much consist of staying home, catching up on more paperwork, and if I can swing it with Haley, taking Jack for a few days. If I play my cards right, the park will be the most exciting adventure of my vacation. I'm not exactly going out to paint the town red either.”

     “Yeah, you two are wild,” he drawled with a smirk, “you know, maybe a date would do the kid well. Loosen him up a bit.”

     Aaron eyed him warily with a tilt of his head, seeing right through his attempted ruse, “What exactly are you suggesting?”

     “Perhaps, while you both have the time off, you and Spencer could plan something together.” Aaron closed his eyes with a sigh and shifted, opened his mouth to say something in protest, but David beat him to it, hands up to stop him. “I'm just saying, you're the only two people on the team that aren't out of town for the next two weeks. I’ll be in Italy visiting family, JJ is taking her family camping, Prentis is visiting her mom, Garcia is, quote, ‘on a shopping tour of all the best malls in the northern hemisphere’, and Morgan is hitting the beach in Barbados. That leaves you and Reid. So all I'm saying is that maybe you can stop fantasizing about the kid and actually do something about your infatuation.”  

     Aaron just gaped at his friend, shocked, speechless for the first time in as long as he can remember. “I… how…” Was the only thing he was able to manage to stutter out.

     David just smiled up at him mischievously and stated, “I'm a profiler, Aaron, and a damn good one. I've seen the way you look at Spencer, the way you stick close to him, and it's very obvious you care about him. It doesn't take a genius to figure it out, yet ironically the only one to not have figured it out yet is the only actual certified genius.”

     Aaron still didn't know what to say. He had never told anyone about how he felt about Spencer. It was hardly appropriate for him to attempt to pursue the man considering he was his superior, not to mention older than him. Something that had plagued him since the very day he met the cute, quirky doctor on his first day with the BAU. 

     “I can tell you're over-thinking, Aaron.” Rossi speaking brought him out of his small internal panic and he looked down at him. “What is it? That you're his boss? Strauss?”

     He shifted, crossing his arms impossibly closer to his chest. No point in denying it now. “A bit of both, I guess. Not to mention the age difference between us.”

     “First off, I wouldn't worry about Strauss. If anything were to happen between you and Spencer, as long as you navigate the correct channels and immediately disclose your relationship, sign the proper papers, then there is nothing Strauss can do against either of you or your jobs. As for you being his superior, I wouldn't even give that a second thought. No one on our team would think anything of it, no one would ever even entertain the thought that you took advantage, and neither would Spencer.” David then leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he spoke. “And the age gap, who cares. Love, is love, is love. Take it while you've got it and don't ever let it go. Age is but a number and love knows no bounds.”

     “Very profound of you, David.” He couldn't help but let a small chuckle slip.

     “What can I say, I am the embodiment of love.”

     “Right, and is that why you've been married three times and are on wife number four?”

     They both laughed, hearty and full, and for the first time since they started talking, Aaron found himself feeling a lot lighter. It was nice to finally have someone who knew his secret feelings for the young genius, and be able to actually have someone to talk to and confide in about it. 

     Rossi's phone ringing broke the moment though, and he reached into his pocket, just looking at the screen and not answering. “Well, my ride to the airport is here. I will see you in two weeks, do not call me.”

     Aaron let loose one last light chuckle, moving along with Dave to see him out. With a smile and a pat on the back as they reached the door he said, “I'll try not to, enjoy your time in Italy.”

     “Oh I intend to,” he opened the door, then turned back at the last minute, “but do me a favor will ya. Don't call me, but do call Spencer.”

     Aaron just smiled, gave Dave a small push out the door, and answered, “Good bye, David.”

     Once he was out the door and down the stairs, Aaron closed the door and took a step to the side to watch him cross the bullpen. He gave a quick goodbye to Spencer as he passed, and then he was gone. Then his eyes wandered over to the last person left besides himself, still sitting alone at his desk, leaned back reading his book. He sighed, watching Spencer for a moment longer before thinking to himself, maybe David was right. Why should he worry about all that other nonsense? Besides, he would never know if Spencer felt the same unless he asked.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Aaron finally finished organizing the paperwork explosion on his desk, filing away what was finished and adding the rest to his bag, then was finally able to head out. 

     It had been a good two hours since Rossi had left his office, leaving Aaron with all kinds of things to think about, and the man that those thoughts were all about was still sitting in the same spot he had been in since vacation officially began. Though now, Spencer was already halfway through his second book. 

     As he passed him, the younger man not even so much as lifting his eyes from his book, he said a quiet, “Have a good vacation, Reid.”

     “You too, Hotch,” he answered back, and Aaron just about kept walking, but stopped himself at the last minute and turned back.

     They were currently alone, no one else around but him and Spencer, so now was just as good a time as any. “Reid…”

     At the questioning tone to his name, Spencer looked up at Hotch who was now standing right in front of him, “Yeah?”

     “I… I was…'' Spencer was still looking up at him with concerned eyes, a furrowed brow, and if Aaron was being honest, a super cute frown. Now, what Aaron wanted to say was ‘Spencer, I know that you and I are the only two who will be remaining in town for the duration of our vacation time, and I was wondering perhaps, if you would like to take advantage of the fact and allow me to take you out to dinner tomorrow night?’ But what he actually managed to come out with instead, was a sad and defeated, “I… I just wanted to wish you well. I hope you have a good fourteen days, and I heard you will be attending a lecture series, I hope it's informative.”

     “Right…” Hotch couldn't be certain, but he was sure that Spencer almost looked… disappointed? “An-anything else?”

     “... No, I don't believe so.” And before he could stumble his way through any more embarrassing sentences he quickly said, “Good night,” and left before Spencer could even return the sentiment. Leaving him staring, still confused and a little down, after a fast walking Aaron, not having the courage to even look back as he left.

~~~~~~~~~~~

     Derek woke for the first time well rested and relaxed. No case to solve, no unsub on his mind, no high speed chase down unfamiliar roads, and no showdown with a psychopath in some dark abandoned warehouse. It was just him, the sun, the sand, and two weeks of relaxing and sleeping late, eating more than he probably should and shoving as much fun into two weeks as was completely possible.

     Now, those were Derek's original plans. The plans he made before he left Quantico, Virginia for the beaches in Barbados. For the all night parties, the beautiful ladies, and the all inclusive never ending free drinks. And yet, here he found himself, within arm's reach of all those things, and not doing a single one of them. 

     Instead, Derek walked down the beach and found an empty lounge chair tucked under a very colourful umbrella. A sprite and lime with ice in hand, he stood and looked out at the calming ebb and flow of the ocean, letting the soft crashing of the waves take over and clear his mind completely. It was nice, the best he'd felt in a long, long time. 

     A volleyball skid to a halt at his feet, covering his toes in warm sand, caught his attention and he turned to face the small group of women off to his side. He kicked the ball back over to them, each one of them very obviously interested in getting to know Derek, even if it were just for one night. But to his own surprise, he found himself flashing a smile and a wave in decline of their invitation to come play, and instead took up his seat in the covered lounge chair. 

     He took a second to breathe in the fresh air, took a sip of his drink, then reached down to the small bag he had tucked under the chair, rifling through until he found what he was looking for. He settled back in the chair, not able to help the smile that spread across his face as he read the title of the book in his hands, 'The Art of War', and settled back to read it with a quietly muttered, "Damn you, Spencer Reid."

~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: So there is chapter 1, chapter 2 to come soon! I’m super excited about this guys XD

And if anyone wants to be tagged for future updates please let me know <3

[simonrriley]

dream boy

request: “Please may you write Trans!Spot getting a binder or getting his hair cut properly for the first time” author’s note: GAY that’s what, also kings of brooklyn in this one cause,,,rave n m.b said to tags: @luv-ya-hun, @and-shes-calling-a-cab, @thatsmycigarbutyoucanborrowit, @piper-koko-barnes-rogers, @heyy--adora, @buttonsdelaguerra, @trans-witch-cauldron   March Third. Spot’s least favorite day and King’s most favorite. Spot’s birthday.

The birthday boy woke that morning to Waterparks blaring in their living room, messy electric guitar following it. King was certainly up and also trying to get him up too.  “Am I the boy you dreamed of?” Echoed throughout their rather small apartment, reaching Spot who was just beginning to sit up in bed. He rubbed at his eyes as he turned to the side and slipped out of bed, making his way to their living room and kitchen combo where the smell of bacon and eggs hit his nose. King had made breakfast for him? Speaking of the taller boy, he hadn’t noticed Spot’s presence in the room yet, too busy staring down at his guitar and trying his best to switch quickly to the correct chords as he played along, hopping and spinning. For a few minutes, he just watched him, observing how he was practically radiating hyper energy and happiness, so in tune with the music. Grinning ear to ear, he quietly snuck up on him, which wasn’t hard, he was sure the people above them could clearly hear the music and guitar. Spot jumped, hopping up onto King’s back and wrapping his arms around his neck, not holding on tightly while his legs wrapped around his torso. He felt King chuckle against him as he stopped playing. “Morning dream boy,” he cooed, resting the bright green guitar against the amp as he moved over towards the couch and gave Spot room to slide off and sit down. 

“Do you know what day it is today?” King asked, sitting Spot down as he turned to face him. No response. “C’mon you gotta know.” Nothing. “Okay of course you know. You just don’t care. Whatever. I’m gonna treat you anyway,” He said with a sigh. “Your breakfast is on the counter. Get ready fast, Jack has decided to invite everyone he has ever met for today. I tried to tell him not to be he’s...fuckin’ Kelly.” Spot laughed, rolling his eyes as he stood up and made his way over to the breakfast bar and sat down. “That doesn’t surprise me, Kelly does whatever he wants,” he muttered as he began to eat while King disappeared down the hall, going to do whatever. He didn’t catch it. The rest of the morning flew by as well as the afternoon as it consisted mostly of the same thing. Friends coming over and giving him gifts and congratulating him on something that wasn’t even a thing he’d done. They all had this same smirk when he’d brought up that King hadn’t given him anything yet. They were up to something.

Once everyone had left, Spot sat against the couch, lazily tuning his new guitar. Apparently Albert, Race, Jack and Jojo had all tipped in to get him a new guitar. It was bright red and it was perfect. He loved it. He named it Brooklyn. 

“Alright,” King sighed, getting up from his spot on the couch. “I guess it’s time for your present,” he said, pretending to sound sad about it. The tall boy glanced over at Spot, who was staring up at him confused, as he opened their supply closet and pulled out a few wrapped boxes and bags. Spot had quickly opened all but one, receiving gift cards, a pair of combat boots he’d been wanting for a long time, they had spikes and a few more inches on the bottom so he wouldn’t be stepped on at any more shows, a new leather jacket and tickets for a concert in the fall. King pushed the last bag towards him, grinning like mad. “Levi, what’s in here?” He asked, slightly worried about the contents of the bag. “Just open it. It’s fine.” With a sigh, Spot began taking out the tissue paper and came face to face with another, smaller bag. And another, and another...and another. Until he was down to the last, very small one. He pulled the blue, white and pink tissue paper out to reveal a small, stretchy, black garment on the bottom. He could feel his heart leap up into his throat. Was it what he thought it was? Hands shaking, he reached in and grabbed it, slowly pulling it out. His suspicions were confirmed when he pulled it all the way out and unfolded it over the bag. A binder. His first, safe binder. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes as he clutched the small garment close to his chest while he tried his best to blink his tears away. He couldn’t cry. Not now. Today was supposed to be a happy day. Or at least that’s what King kept telling him. A small card had fallen out of the inside of the binder and now rested on his thigh. He opened it, carefully reading over the words. ‘Sorry it took so long for you to have one. I hope this makes up for it. Happy birthday mi amor. I love you more than words can say. oh! p.s: you have a testosterone prescription ready at CVS when you are. - dream boy.’

“You’re joking!” Spot exclaimed, dropping the card to the floor, hopping to his feet and charging into King’s already outstretched arms. “How would it be funny, baby?” King asked, holding tightly onto him and pressing a kiss to the top of his head, “I don’t know,” Spot mumbled, silently crying into King’s shirt. “Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. God, you’re the best boyfriend ever.” “Listen, you know I’d do anything for you. This is just that,” King explained simply, picking him up and taking him over to the couch and sitting down with him in his arms. “You really are the boy I dreamed of.”

[vantaenims]

moonlight i. | jimin

pairing: contemporary dancer!jimin x reader

genre: college au | fluff, angst, mystery

word count: 1.3k

warning/s: future depictions of violence.

summary: As if it’s calling you, you followed the sounds of the luring piano inside the auditorium but what’s more alluring is the boy dancing gracefully on the stage, enthralling everyone who dares to watch but you never knew that such ethereal beauty lies within a sense of mystery.

masterlist

all rights reserved © vantaenims - do not repost, translate, or claim as your own.

next>

--

 It’s now or never.

 His mind is wiped from any rationality but was instead flooded with impulsiveness, never once cared or thought about the consequences it might lead to, just the pure thought of ending it was what’s more important.

 Helpless is what he is as he watched the mess unfold in front of him, tears streaming down on his face. He woke up from reality upon seeing his friend kneeling down on the floor as he muttered countless apologies like it would make any difference at all.

 What can he do when what’s done is already done or perhaps what’s gone is already gone?

 Jimin was devoured by his inner demons.

 --

The first week of the second half of the first semester is nothing but a bore considering that the preliminary examinations just ended a week ago. Usually, professors would just give out the exam results to review for corrections and dismiss the class early but disappointingly your World Literature professor is not one of those indolent professors.

 With the light setting dimmed inside the classroom, you try to keep yourself awake as you listen to the analysis discussion of Albert Camus’ Sisyphus.

 You write your name repeatedly on your notebook until you noticed the red string bracelet you’ve been wearing since last night when you found it on the computer desk’s bookshelf while you we’re studying.

 You wore it after asking Jungkook – your roommate – if he owns it, he told you that he doesn’t own such an accessory thus the reason you kept it as yours. Grazing your fingers over the braided knots in the middle, you find it elegant even though it’s just a simple red thread.

 “Since we’ll be covering a lot of topics, I’ve decided that it’d be best to assign every one of you a narrative” your professor said as he took out a mini fishbowl filled with rolled papers.

 “Take one and pass it around” he gave the bowl to the student in the first row. You got one for yourself and pass the bowl, unrolling it you read the scribbled words – Clair de Lune by Paul Verlaine.

 “Okay, now that you’ve all picked a narrative” you glanced up to look at your professor, “I want you to make a report about it, I’ll be posting on the portal what should be the contents and when you’ll be assigned to do the presentation”

 Alright, you take back what you said that your world literature professor is not one of those indolent professors. As expected, she assigned you to do the reporting so she could sit back and just listen; pass your job to the students.

 The class was dismissed, meaning your class is done for the day. You stood in the hallway as you wait for Areum & Daeun to go out of the room. You met them at the start of the school year and they’re literature majors as well who you’ve gotten the chance to be much closer to them attending a university wide welcome party for freshmans.

 “What did you get?” Areum asked you.

 “Claire de Lune by Paul Verlaine and you?”

 “It’s something about rose…” she retrieved the piece of paper from her jacket, “Ah it’s A Rose for Emily by William Faulkner.”

 “Where do you guys want to eat?” Eunha said as she got out of the classroom. You go down the stairs as you were all suggesting where until you decided to eat at a Café, saying that you should treat yourself after a week of examinations.

 But then your phone buzzed, it’s a message from Daeun. She’s a junior student and the Vice President for Internal Affairs of the Literature Department’s organization.

 [Mon, Oct 11, 6:07 PM]

 Daeun: Y/N Can I call you? It’s important

 Before you were even given the chance to reply to her text, your phone went off as you swiped it to answer.

 “Hi Y/N! I’m sorry it’s such a late notice but could you do me a favor?”

 “Yeah, sure, about what?” you said as you momentarily slowed down your pace.

 “Could you please ask them to sign our request letter for equipment to the Facilities Management Office?”

 “I thought you passed it yesterday?” you questioned, you remembered when she dismissed you the moment you asked her if she needs any help in preparing for the General Assembly of your department, you are her Junior Executive after all but instead she told you that she’ll let you know right away if ever she needs one.

 “I’m sorry, I forgot to ask them to sign our receiving copy because I left it in the organization room” she apologetically said.

 “Sure, I’ll drop by the office. It’s in the Fine Arts Building right?”

 “Yeah, it’s right beside the auditorium” she informed you, “Again, I’m really sorry for bothering you. Thank you so much Y/N!”

 You laughed as you quickly dismissed her, saying that it’s your duty to assist and help her anyway. Daeun was really nothing but sweet to you, glad that she’s far from those snobby and bossy student councils you expected.

 You ran up to Areum and Eunha after you ended the call, stopping them to say that you’ll need to pass a requirement in the office, “We can go with you if you want” Eunha said.

 “No, it’s okay I’ll catch after you if I can. I’ll text you?” you bid them goodbye as they told you to meet them at the café if you’ll be able to finish earlier.

 As soon as you enter the organization room, you saw the other junior executives preparing the props needed for the program that’ll be set few weeks from now. Daeun proposed this program because she sees this as a perfect opportunity for all the literature students to bond and at the same time to appreciate their major by performing skits.

 You excused yourself as you get the paper in the table, quickly greeting them encouraging words before you went out to go to the Fine Arts Building which is approximately 10 minutes away from your building.

 Upon entering the building, you were elated to see that they have elevator services not unlike in your building but as you were about to go inside, you were barred from entering by the lady operating it, saying how the school staff are the only ones allowed to use it. Great. You grunted as soon as the doors closed and proceeded to use the stairs instead.

 You were gasping for air by the time you got at the sixth floor, as if walking here in this building isn’t tiring enough. You pushed the door of the office but it did not budge, looking up to see that the lights are off. It’s already closed as it says on the door that it’s office hours is from 9 A.M. to 6 P.M.

 “Really?” you whispered in annoyance, looking at your watch to see that it has only been twenty minutes since closing time.

 Instead, you placed both of your hands on the railings of the wide vast balcony hallway of the building that overlooks the field as you observe the sunset view for a while to rest before you go down the stairs. It irks you a bit how you went all the way here for nothing but the scenic view could suffice, you get your phone to update Daeun.

 [Mon, Oct 10, 6:20 PM]

 You: The office is closed.

You: It’s only open up to 6 PM

 Daeun: Omg I’m so sorry Y/N I thought it was open ‘til 7. You can leave it in the organization room, I’ll pass it tomorrow.

 You: I’ll come back here tomorrow

You: My class ends at 5:45 every Tuesday so don’t sweat it!

 Placing the phone back on your pocket, you walk towards the hallway but immediately stopped when you suddenly heard a music playing coming from the auditorium just when you were about to leave. A sound of piano to be specific.

 You thought that maybe it’s one of the staff from the facilities office, possibly checking the sound system. You let out a relieved sigh, maybe you’ll be able to sign the papers tonight but you didn’t expect to see such view when you opened the doors of the auditorium.

 --

next> 

A/N: This is too short for a chapter but anyways it’s more of an introduction to the whole series. This is my first fic series so please bear with me 🥺 If you want to be tagged, don’t hesitate to reply or drop by my asks. Hope you’ll like this!

[eviltothecore13]

Willsker Ship Week: Rules

(I’m going to put a link to this post in my blog header)

All types of fan content are welcome for this: fic, art, playlists, moodboards, comics, podfics, etc. If you want to make a podfic of an existing fic that you didn’t write, please make sure you have the author’s permission.

NSFW content is allowed but please tag it appropriately.

I expect some content created for this event will contain violence, horror, etc, since after all we are talking about two Resident Evil villains. That’s absolutely fine, but again, please tag appropriately.

This should go without saying, but I’m not going to allow any troll content/content created to bash the ship. This is an event for people who *like* Willsker.

I am also not going to allow explicit under-18 sex. I will be reblogging/promoting all the content created for this event and I don’t want that particular content on my blog. Any other kind of content involving Wesker and Will when they’re under 18 is still allowed, including implied/referenced but non-explicit sex if you want to go that way.

Other than that, all headcanons, AUs, interpretations, etc are welcome. The only requirement is that it focusses on the ship. (You can include other ships as well if you want but Willsker should be the focus).

If you post on Tumblr, please @ me in your post, and tag it Willsker Week, so I can reblog it.

If you post on AO3, please add it to the Willsker Week AO3 collection (which I will make and post a link to nearer the time.)

If you post on fanfiction.net, please make sure to tag it with the ship (as in, putting Albert Wesker and William Birkin in the pairing tags, not just as character tags) and mention Willsker Week in the summary or in an A/N so I can find it and add it to the fanfiction.net collection which I will also make nearer the time.

If you post on Deviantart, please @ me when you post it as I will also be making a collection on there and I can add your work to it.

Feel free to post on several of these sites if you want.

Anyone who is found to be insulting or harassing other writers/artists/fans will not be allowed to take part in the event and their work will be deleted from collections. This event is meant to be fun and is not an opportunity to bash other people’s headcanons, criticise their writing or leave negative reviews.

I’m looking forward to seeing what everyone comes up with!

[carolinesbookworld]

tagged by @kabeswaters and @swellwriting <3

on a scale of 1-10, how excited are you about life right now? 0

describe yourself in a hashtag? very similar to @fortisfiliae #stressedanddepressed

if you could do a love scene with anyone, who would it be? Harrison Osterfield

if your life was a musical, what would the marquee say? prepare for disaster

what’s one thing people don’t know about you? um...idk my boyfriend knows basically everything about me sooooooo

what’s your wake up ritual? wake up, turn off alarm (bc with this at-home learning stuff i’ve been waking up like literally 1 min before my alarm goes off???), text good morning to my bf, snapchat, discord bc moonlit fam talks allll night, tumblr, get out of bed, wash face, get dressed, coffee and breakfast it’s very specific

what’s your go to bed ritual? wash glasses and face bc my skin is soo oily by the end of the day so you best believe my glasses be needing washing everyday, shower, say goodnight to fam, text bf for like 15 mins or until he says goodnight, turn alarm on, plug in phone, go to sleep

what’s your favorite time of day? morning but specifically from 7:30 until 9  

your go to for having a good laugh? FRIENDS as in the show

dream country to visit? Australia bc my dad once got to hold a baby koala there and i wanna do that so bad

what’s the biggest surprise you’ve ever had? so my family moved before my sophomore year so me and my bff started trying to surprise each other whenever one of us came to visit and the weekend of my birthday, she skypes me as she’s walking around what i thought was her house and then i start hearing an echo and next thing i know she’s standing in the doorway of my room and that was pretty much the best surprise ever

heels or flats/sneakers? sneakers converse

vintage or new? new but i love vintage aesthetic i just couldn’t live with it

who do you want to write your obituary? karli @swellwriting bc she is my brain twin and i would be mocking her horrible grammar and spelling from my grave and we would both get a good laugh about it in the afterlife

style icon? the mom i babysit for haha she’s like one of my best friends tho which sounds really weird but it’s true

what are three things you cannot live without? books, dogs, days that are exactly 65 degrees

what’s one ingredient you put in everything? um idk chocolate??

what 3 people living or dead would you want to make dinner for? Sarah J. Maas, Eddie Redmayne, my boyfriend bc i haven’t had dinner with him for 47 days

what’s your biggest fear in life? losing the people i love...and spiders

window or aisle seat? window bc aisle makes me anxious that i’m in people’s way

what’s your current tv obsession? the cw’s nancy drew it’s so good please go watch it

favorite app? instagram, discord, or tumblr, depends on my mood

secret talent? um idk i can draw very realistic portraits of people when i take the time to

most adventurous thing you’ve ever done in your life? okay so technically this wasn’t me who did it but i was part of the adventure. when me and my boyfriend were just “friends” ie. liked each other and knew we liked each other but were too scared to admit it. anyway, we had this elaborate plan to shave our youth group leader’s head if we were able to bring in a certain amount of food for the food drive during vbs week. so yeah we spent like three days planning the whole thing out and then decided to go price shopping at walmart with all of our younger siblings bc we needed supervision or something lol to see how many individual things of food we could buy with $20 each we ended up just getting like 20 huge boxes of ramen and then his sister ended up throwing up so we took her home and then went back to church where my car was parked but instead of turning to get to church my boyfriend decides to go straight through the stop light (it was green okay) and spontaneously drive up into the foothills. well we get to the top of the foothills and we’re at the lake and we all get out to look at the city and my boyfriend claims that we need to document this moment so he takes a selfie with all of us and we somehow ended up right next to each other in it and i only found this out like three months ago (this happened back in june) that he only took the picture because he wanted one of us together in case we didn’t start dating lol so sweet and yeah, that was a very long story but i needed context instead of just saying “yeah we drove up a mountain”

how would you define yourself in three words? loyal, anxious, passionate

favorite piece of clothing you own? this dark coral dress that makes my eyes and hair look really pretty

a must have clothing item that everyone should have? a hoodie

a superpower you would want? i want to be able to project my thoughts into someone else’s mind bc i’m so bad at explaining stuff sometimes especially when it comes to how i feel

what’s inspiring you in life right now? ACOTAR series by Sarah J. Maas, highly recommend

best piece of advice you’ve received? opening up to more than one person is important because if you lose that person then you’ve lost all your support

best advice you’d give your teenage self? the friends who have stuck around this long are the ones you want to hang onto and the ones that you need are the ones you don’t always see

a book everyone should read? The Book Thief by Markus Zusak

what would you like to be remembered for? being a crazy dog mama

how do you define beauty? confidence in yourself and not caring what others think about you

what do you love most about your body? my metabolism

best way to take a rest/decompress? open a window to feel the breeze and listen to Islands by Hey Ocean! which is so calming to me

favorite place to view art? nature or tumblr

if your life was a song, what would the title be? we’re going with a fob/p!atd theme here and calling it “depression screwed me over so i screwed it back and ended up worse off”

if you could master one instrument, what would it be? piano

if you had a tattoo, where would it be? probably on my forearm or by my left hip

dolphins or koalas? koalas did i mention that i want to hold a baby koala

what’s an animal that represents you? great dane puppy ie. very excitable but will also take a four hour nap when tired

best gift you’ve ever received? my best friend made this photo collage for me when i moved that is hanging in my room and it has a bunch of pictures of me and her over the years and i just love it

best gift you’ve given? for christmas i gave my boyfriend a hammock and the bookshelf addition of clue, two things he had no idea i would remember him mentioning and his face was priceless. also i made my mom a cake for her birthday this year and she was so happy and said it made her feel very special <3

what’s your favorite board game? clue or ticket to ride (specifically nordic countries)

what’s your favorite color? currently a pale turquoise

least favorite color? any shade of light brown

diamond or pearls? diamonds

drugstore makeup or designer? drugstore bc i don’t wear makeup enough to validate buying designer, also i don’t really care

pilates or yoga? yoga

coffee or tea? coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee coffee cof-

what’s the weirdest word in the english language? palindrome is wild because it means a word spelled the same way forwards and backwards but it itself is not one such word

dark chocolate or milk chocolate? milk

stairs or elevators? stairs

summer or winter? summer but like, only june

you are stuck on an island, you can pick one food to eat forever without getting tired of it, what would you eat? panera mac n cheese

a dessert you don’t like? red velvet cake which btw is not red-colored chocolate cake as many would have you believe

a skill you’re working on mastering? writing

best thing to happen to you today? i got to put all of my new plants in my windowsill and i named one of them (its name is albert in case you were wondering)

worst thing to happen to you today? idk today’s been pretty good as far as quarantine goes

best compliment you’ve ever received? my boyfriend calls me beautiful all the time and he always reminds me that that is describing looks and personality

favorite smell? coffee or my boyfriend’s sweatshirt for the week after i steal it

hugs or kisses? can i choose both?? depends on my mood mostly but i guess hugs if i just had to pick one

if you made a documentary, would it be about? literally anything relating to the mcu

last piece of content you consumed that made you cry? a court of wings and ruin by sjm

lipstick or lipgloss? lipstick

sweet or savory? sweet

girl crush? literally any female in the teen wolf cast

how do you know you’re in love? hahahaha haha what's love

a song you can listen to on repeat? we fall apart by we as human or uma thurman by fob

if you could switch lives with someone for a day, who would it be? idk my boyfriend probably, this is something we have discussed in depth

what are you most excited for/about this time in your life? for life to go back to normal

tagging @finnofamerica @woakiees @beskarjedi @outerlacy @swanimagines hahahahaha have funnnnn this took me an hour to answer

[jack-kellys]

thank u, next: finale part 1

hey everyone ;)

thank u, next is finally back and this thing I wrote is so long that it's TWO PARTS LONG!! isn't that EXCITING?? (it's only two parts because tumblr won't let it fit but it's fine)

all previous chapters are at the bottom of my masterlist—read for a refresher if ya need lmao it's been a while

here we go!

————

LAST TIME ON TU,N: al and race had their first date, al revealed some of his history, both boys admitted they loved each other (essentially), and race mentioned something about needing to stall....

words: 1527

warnings: cursing, death mention, cliffhanger?? :0

———

Five, Part One

“I think it’s ready.”

Race tilted his head to face his boyfriend as he said this, hands placed neatly over his stomach as he laid on the bed. Race’s quiet demeanor was misleading, as usual—a storm was roaring inside, a hurricane spinning and making his chest tighten in apprehension.

“What’s ready, Al?” Race asked.

Albert turned his head to the side as well, gazing at Race with a new light in his eyes. His smile was so wide and endearing that it nearly broke Race’s heart.

“The apartment, stupid,” Al scoffed. “We fixed it up, cleaned it, I got all the papers ready, my stuff’s all ready…” Al grinned. “I’m ready to move into it.”

And then Race’s heart did break.

Al looked so, so happy. Race knew that for Albert, getting his own place was a bigger milestone than it already would be for the average person. It meant something more than just a second floor apartment—it was a freedom Al had longed for since he was twelve, he'd said. A freedom that would rip whatever freedom Albert currently had away from him.

“You sure, baby?” Race whispered, trying not to let his voice break. “Everything’s done? There’s nothing left to prepare, nothing left to pack up?”

“Nope!” Al shook his head, eyes glinting as he leaned over to Race. “It’s done. Everything’s done. It’s gonna be mine, Antonio. All mine. Just like you.”

He pressed his lips hard onto Race’s, Race eagerly tangling his fingers into Albert’s red hair. Al’s hand was warm against his cheek, his thumb rubbing softly against him despite the intensity of the kiss. Race lost himself in Albert more than usual, hyper-focused on every detail—every freckle, every hair out of place, the feel of his hands on him, the taste of his lips and tongue, every small sound he made. Ironic how Al called him perfect, since the opposite was true.

After a while, Race was tracing his fingers over Albert’s stomach as the man rambled about how he wanted to set up the place, Race nodding every so often.

How Race’s heart shattered for him—this most undeserving man who had been nothing but endlessly interesting and funny and warm to him. Yes, Albert’s infatuation was mostly false, but Race could feel the deep friendly affection Albert harbored for him as well, one Race harbored right back. Only once before had Race let himself do that—in 1905, a boy named Sean Conlon walked into that same apartment door with a skeptical glance and narrowed eyes, and to Race’s dismay, they were friendly as well as intimate. It had broke him then, and it was breaking him now.

Through the rest of the week, it would continue to break him. Race helped Albert move into the place, not allowed to let Al get any suspicions as to why Race might have seemed gloomy. Moving in was tragically fun, the two of them laughing as they dropped boxes, picking up their contents and talking about nothing and everything. Race was surprised at his ability to keep the lump in his throat down enough to even talk to Al. Lucky, too—Albert was rather smart at figuring when something was wrong.

“I think that's everything,” Albert huffed, smiling and wiping his hands on his jeans. “I can't believe it.”

“Neither can I,” Race laughed, shaking his head. “Fast, huh?”

“Yeah, thank God. I thought that was gonna take so much longer. I'd assumed the worst,”

Al shrugged. Then he grinned, doing a small spin with his arms out in the center of the room. “But this is so great! It's all mine, and I'm responsible for it, and I make the rules—well, technically not, but still…”

Albert’s rambling faded away slightly as Race felt something in his chest. A sort of tug, like something was trying to get out of him

His heart stopped. That was so soon. Surely he had a little more time? An hour at least? He still had to tell him everything.

His change in demeanor must have been noticeable. Al was practically scanning him, analyzing anything that could be wrong.

“Babe, you oka—”

“I lied to you,” Race interrupted.

Albert went silent. His head was cocked slightly, that skeptical frown of his making Race’s heart skip a beat, that frown that meant Al wasn't just some pawn in Race’s wretched game.

“About what?” Albert asked slowly, eyes narrowed. A pang of guilt jabbed Race through the ribs as he remembered Al’s shitty past with relationships. This would be one for the books, Race supposed.

“About me. About who I—well, not about who I am. I lied about what I'm here for,” Race confessed.

“About why your mom left you here,” Al concluded. “What you're saying is that you ain't here to protect the people who buy this apartment, like you’d said to me.”

Race couldn't help but be slightly impressed. Albert’s expression remained rather neutral, his actual anger probably fighting with his infatuation with Race. Al was doing a good job at not letting either side win.

“No, I'm not here for that,” Race sighed. He had to get this over with. Maybe it'd hurt less that way. “When my family first moved to New York, my mom was at a loss as to where to go. Not many people just welcomed immigrants like that, y’know? And then we found this apartment. The landlord charmed my ma’s pants off—he was the first nice person to us in the city. But then he changed.

“He stopped caring about us. He didn't get anyone to fix anything when things were broken, no one cleaned anything. He took advantage of the people in this building, knowing no one could go anywhere else. He just took our money and kept the place in shambles. And so I died from the conditions—that part’s true.

“As I was dying—stay with me here, Albie, we don't have much time—my mother cursed me with haunting this apartment, and….making anyone who walks into the door with intentions to buy...instantly fall in love with me. It keeps me alive—the more people, the longer I get to live.”

Race hugged himself, willing the feeling in his chest to wait. Albert looked paralyzed, with fear or confusion or anger Race couldn't tell.

“So...so none of this was real? I-I don't...I don't love you right now?” Al questioned, eyebrows knit together.

“It's real to an extent,” Race explained, his heart cracking as Albert’s face dropped further. “I just...I gave you the initial infatuation, and then amplified the feelings you caught for me.”

“The feelings I caught?” Al scoffed. “Like you don't have them.” Then Albert froze. “You don't have ‘em, do you. You never did. That was just my stupid head telling me that you did, wasn't it.”

Race shook his head wildly. This was going worse than he thought it would. “No! No, Al, I promise you I do. I fell for you, I didn't mean to, but I—”

“Didn't mean to?” Albert seethed. If he was this worked up, time must really be up soon, Race noted sadly.

“It hurts less that way,” Race decided to admit. “I've been doing this for centuries now. My Ma wants revenge for eternity and I'm the pawn she needs to play it out.”

“This is fucked up,” Al said, tone decisive and expression stiff. “You're fucked up. Get the fuck outta my apartment, right now, you lying sonofa—”

“I’m afraid I can't do that,” Race said, the words coming out of him rather than him actually saying them. He was starting to feel a little distant, but he had to hold on. Just a little longer.

Albert’s eyes narrowed. “You're not physically attached to the place. Your words, not mine. Get out.”

“Can't leave this time,” Race shook his head solemnly.

“Then fuck you. I'll leave,” Albert bit out. Approaching the door, he scoffed, “if I didn't fuck a ghost, then you must be a goddamn demon, fucking prick.”

Race didn't say anything—couldn't, rather, as Al tried to open the door. He jiggled the knob a few times, then looked at Race.

“I didn't lock this,” Al stated. His eyes were wide. “Did you?”

“Not exactly,” Race murmured, looking at his feet. “I can't leave, which means you can't leave, either.”

“Race?” Albert breathed, back flush against the door as fear flashed in his eyes. “What are you saying.”

“I’m running out of time,” Race said instead. “I just...I need you to know that I've loved you. I'm in love with you, I swear on my mother’s soul I am. And I'm sorry you have to pay for it. I'm so, so sorry…” He felt tears slide down his cheeks.

“Race, for what?” Albert demanded. “What's- what’s going to happen?”

“I'm not part of what comes next, okay? I don't want this, I don't...want this…please…”

The tugging was too strong. He'd pushed it off for too long; he was out of time. Race felt his mind slip away from him, and then he was gone, torn away from Albert and leaving him to go through what was next alone.

———

haha what the fuck does THAT mean? read part two to find out!

TAG LIST

@suddenly-im-respecsable @cream--rises @bencookisagod @felix-loves-albert-and-ralbert @spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn @stopthe-presses @technically-whizzy @papesdontsellthemselves @starrysence @seasickdolphin @iamliterallyaghost @beep-beep-byler @the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog @thomasbeingthomas @the-king-of-brooklyn @sunshine-e-cigarettes @thebroadwayaesthetic @spot-me50-papes @i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing @iwontfallinlovewfalling @timehops @kingofsantafe @we-dont-sell-papes @eveningpaper @sure-as-a-star @godhatesjordan @awkwardstranger98 @ireallyloveiainyoungwow @big-potato-asshole @have-we-got-news-for-you @bxnesof92 @backgroundnewsies @orollyitsracetrackhiggins @a-most-auspicious-erster @modern-race-owns-airpods @asphodelnerd @infinity-fandom-trash @whateva-ya-want

[neverplannedonnewsies]

Hey, there! I love your writing and I was just wondering if I could request some Buttons content?

Thank you for your patience and support, I hope I did your boy justice!! This was fun to write, I may have to write more for Buttons in the future

Cute as a Button

This turned out pretty good considering I had zero idea where it was going when I started writing it. I also have a headcanon that Buttons is a bit of a neat freak based on the one line I know he says in Newsies (“I won’t be last in line for the tub tonight!”). I had fun with it and I hope you all do too.

Warnings: bad parents and home struggles

Buttons x reader pairing

“Buttons?” you said, coming in the door of the Newises Lodgehouse, “What’re you doin’?”

“What’s it look like? I’m cleanin’.”

“Well, yeah I see that, but why?”

“Because it’s dirty. Now quit askin’ stupid questions and toss me that broom,” he said in a joking manner so you knew he was kidding.

“You know what I mean, Buttons,” you replied, slightly exasperated as you went to do what he asked. “You don’t live here, why’re you cleaning? It ain’t your job.”

“I figured I’d do somethin’ nice for the fellas. Plus I finished sellin’ early and-“

“Buttons.”

He sighed. “Fine, it was cuz I don’t wanna go home yet. My parents have been fightin’ a lot lately and… well, cleanin’ relaxes me. Plus if I’m gonna hang out here I don’t wanna be a burden.”

“Buttons quit sweeping for a second and look at me.” He reluctantly did as you asked and you took one of his hands in yours. “You will never be a burden. None of us would think that for a second. Now if you wanna hang out here and clean while you do it that’s fine. But please don’t feel like you have to.”

“Thanks Y/n,” he said, meeting your eyes with a smile, “Yous a good friend.”

“Thank you. Now, do ya wanna keep cleanin’, or do you wanna help me with a prank I planned for Race and Albert?”

He threw back his head and laughed, “Oh I guess the cleanin’ can wait. What’d you have in mind?”

——

From then on you tried to stick closer to Buttons. You had always been friends, but given what he had told you, you felt as though he could really use someone to rely on. And as you began paying more attention, you started to notice just how strong he truly was. Being the oldest of 8 meant he had a great deal of responsibility and pressure put on him, but he never complained.

One day Buttons showed up to the circulation gate, seeming more frazzled than usual. When you asked about it he tried to shrug it off, butyou pressed him. Seeing your resolve, he sighed.

“One of my sisters is sick, so Ma has gotta take her to the doctor later and I gotta watch the others. Which means not only do I got less time to sell today, but now we also gotta pay for a doc, and it ain’t gonna be cheap.”

Seeing the strain on his face twisted your heart. “Well hows about we sell together today, and when we’re done I’ll come help you watch the kids? If they’re quiet maybe I can even watch ‘em by myself once we get acquainted and you can go sell a few more papes on your own.”

His face brightened with hope but then he said, “Y/n, I can’t let cha do that. You need the money too.”

“Half a day ain’t gonna kill me. ‘Sides we sell more as a team anyways.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, worried eyes searching yours.

“Of course. You’d do the same for me and you know it. So lets get our papes and get movin’.”

Fortunately the headline that day was good and the two of you were able to sell your papers in record time. Divvying up the money, you headed towards the apartment building where Buttons lived. As you approached the building he tried to prepare you for what was ahead.

“Overall they’s all good kids. We’re only watching the 5 youngest cause Ma is taking my second oldest sister to the doctor, and my oldest sister is workin’ at the factory Pa works at. The twins fight quite a bit, and the baby is teethin’, but it varies from day to day-“ as he said this he swung the door open to a small apartment. It was very neat, but you could immediately tell it was too small a place for the family that lived there. Two toddlers tumbled in the corner while a stressed looking woman tried to comfort a crying baby as she stirred something in a pot on the stove.

“Benjamin there you are!” the woman at the stove snapped. “You’re late, I gotta get Rachel to the doctor, she’s about to hack out a lung. Lousy doctor who won’t make house calls…here take Maggie,” she pushed the squalling baby into Buttons’ arms as she went to take off her apron. Her sharp eyes cut to you, “Who’s this?”

“Ma, this is Y/n. She’s a newsie, and she-“

“Oh never mind,” she impatiently snapped, “Lunch is on the stove, take care not to let it burn. I’ll be back later.”

Pulling a tired looking girl off a cot near the door, she hustled her out and slammed the door behind her. Buttons shot you an apologetic look and began to say something when he was nearly knocked over by a small girl slamming into his legs.

“Benny, Benny, Benny!” the little girl yelled with delight.

“Hey Mabel! Careful, don’t make me drop Maggie. Say hi to Y/n, she’s gonna play with us today.”

“Hi Y/n,” she said, smiling at you but still clinging to her big brother for security.

“Nice to meet you, Mabel,” you replied, smiling at the little girl.

“Mabel why don’t you go see what Thomas is up to for a minute? Y/n, would you mind holding Maggie while I get those two off each other?” Buttons asked, nodding to the twins.

Eventually between the two of you, you managed to get everyone to sit down and eat lunch. While Buttons cleaned up the kids played on the floor with a few assorted toys, and you put the baby down for a nap in the single bedroom. Once all the dishes were clean Buttons sank down on the floor next to you where you were watching the kids play.

“Thank you again for doin’ this,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze. “You’ve got no idea how much easier this is with you here.”

“Of course Buttons.”

You there in companionable silence until one of the twin stole a toy from the other and a fight broke out. The noise in turn woke up thebaby, who began crying in the other room.

“I’ll get Maggie, you get them?” you asked, heading to the bedroom. Buttons was already diving for the twins.

“Thank god I got you, Y/n.” He seemed to make this remark off the cuff as he wrangled the screaming twins, but the words made you freeze in your tracks, because you realized at that moment just how much you wanted them to mean something more.

Now was not the time or place to discuss it however, so you cleared your throat and replied, “Always,” before going to rocking the baby.

———

You were lying in your bunk, staring out the window at the moon, when something clattered against the window nearly making your heart stop. Peering out into the moonlit street you saw Buttons standing below your window, and when he saw you looking out he gestured for you to join him. Shoving your feet in your boots you threw on a flannel and went outside.

“Buttons, what’re you doin’?”

“Why’re you always askin’ me that?” he asked with a cheeky grin.

“Cause I’m always wonderin’ what you’re doin’.”

“What can’t a fella ask a girl to meet him out on the street in the middle of the night for no reason?”

“Buttons.”

“Ok sorry,” he said getting more serious, “I just really had to talk to you.”

“About what?”

“Look, earlier this evening things were awful. My parents were fightin’ and the kids were all over each other, and I just was feelin’ like my head was gonna explode. Then all of a sudden, I thought of you, and everything just seemed a little better.”

Your mouth suddenly felt very dry. “Well I’m glad I could help, but why did you run over here in the middle of the night to tell me that?”

“Because I think I’m fallin’ for you,” the words came out in a whoosh of air, “And it’s not just cause you’ve been helpin’ me out lately, or cause you take my mind off my folks. You just, you make me happy – you make me feel like myself. I’m more relaxed around you and I can see things more clearly. But I didn’t realize any of this until tonight and I just couldn’t wait any longer to ask you if you feel the same about me. And I know it’s the middle of the night and you probably don’t -”

Whatever he had been about to say was cut off by you grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him in for a kiss. He was hesitant for a moment until the shock wore off and he pulled you close, stroking your hair back from your face as he kissed you back.

“Definitely feel the same way,” you whispered as you broke apart, resting your foreheads against one another.

“Well that’s a relief. Mabel’s been goin’ on and on about my girl, I didn’t have the heart to tell her you weren’t. Now I guess you are.”

“I am,” you replied with a happy grin.

“Does that mean you’ll let me stay the night? My old man will kill me if he catches me sneakin’ in this late, especially since he didn’t know I went out in the first place.”

“I think I can allow it,” you said, grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the Lodgehouse. “You’ll have to share my bed though, it’s all we got.”

“I can think of worse things to happen,” he replied, placing a kiss on the back of your interlocked hands.

“You’re too cute.”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, shooting you a wink. “Cute as a button.”

Tag List

@my–little–happy–place

@bencookisagod

@thebroadwayaesthetic

@king-of-newyork

@bennie-badeend

@seasickdolphin

@backgroundnewsies

[illegal-spiegel]

about me and my blog

» Welcome!! This here post is to give you more information about me and my blog!! If you have any questions that I didn’t answer, feel free to ask me!! Also, feel free to request anything!! Thank you!! «

If you find anything offensive, exclusive, or anything else, please let me know!! I want everyone to feel welcome and included!! A lot of my posts are from middle school, so I wouldn’t be surprised if there was a lot wrong with them

Before sending me a request, also look here (ignore #6)

pfp was made by @saucy-eggy <3

Join my Discord Server!!

what I write/do:

Texts

Social Media AUs - Snapchat, Instagram, etc.

Headcanons

Reactions

Drabbles

Scenarios

Blurbs

Matchups 

Ask for anything I forgot to put!! Feel free to request any of those!! 

what I don’t write:

I don’t write for the female characters. I have nothing against them but I just prefer not to write about them :) 

inc*st

scat/vomit/piss/etc

character death (unless it turns out to be a dream or smth)

cheating (same thing as I said before)

what animes I write for:

My Hero Academia 

Cowboy Bebop

Bungo Stray Dogs

Jujutsu Kaisen

Kamisama Kiss

Moriarty the Patriot

The Case Study of Vanitas

Haikyuu

Black Butler

Attack on Titan

Soul Eater

Ouran High School Host Club

High Rise Invasion?

Beastars (when I finish it)

Keep in mind that I haven’t read the manga for any of these animes!! If there is someone you want from another anime, then don’t hesitate to ask because maybe I can do it lol

what characters I write for:

MHA - Bakugou, Todoroki, Kirishima, Denki, Deku, Aizawa, Monoma, Tamaki, Shinso, Shindo?, Hawks?, Shigaraki?, Dabi, maybe others who knows at this point 

Cowboy Bebop - Spike and Jet 

Bungo Stray Dogs - Dazai & Chuuya are the main ones I'll be writing for, but I can maybe do others if requested

Jujutsu Kaisen - Itadori, Sukuna, Megumi, Gojo, Nanami

Kamisama Kiss - Tomoe and Akura-ou, will consider others if requested

Moriarty the Patriot - William, Albert, Sherlock, Sebastian, Fred, would consider others

The Case Study of Vanitas - Vanitas & Noé (as a pairing as well), would consider others

HQ - All Karasuno players and Coach Ukai except for Chikara Ennoshita, Hisashi Kinoshita, and Kazuhito Narita. Nekoma: Kuroo and sometimes Kenma. Aoba Johsai: Oikawa and Iwa. Fukurōdani: Akaashi and sometimes Bokuto. Shiratorizawa: Ushijima. Johzenji: Terushima

AOT - Levi, Eren, Armin, Jean?, Connie?, & Erwin? I mainly just write for the earlier seasons though

Black Butler - Sebastian, Ciel, will consider others if requested

Soul Eater - DTK, Soul, Stein

OHSHC - all of the boys except for Honey 

Again, keep in mind that I haven’t read the manga for any of these animes!! Also, I haven’t seen some of these in a couple years, so I might turn down some requests :)

my schedule:

I’m a college student and have a job, so I have a pretty busy schedule. I write when I can but please be patient with me!!

list of tags:

#{insert anime} - whatever anime it's from

#{insert character name} - the character's full name name, sometimes just first or a nickname

#spicy - a warning to viewers that the post is PG-13 and might not be suitable for all audiences. This can sometimes be paired with fanart/fic/character name/etc.

#nsft - this tag is similar to spicy but in the sense that it's fully rated R. Had to start using T instead of W since Tumblr started blocking/deleting posts with NS*W anywhere on it lol

#{insert kink/tw/cw} - if my posts ever have any particular/certain kinks/trigger warnings/content warnings, I will always make sure to tag it appropriately (and if I don't, just shoot me & ask & let me know I forgot)! Please make sure to check tags/warnings if you don't have certain content you don't want to see blocked/hidden!

#{insert genre} - fluff, smut, angst, enemies to lovers, you name it!

#drabble/timestamp/etc. - similar to genre, I always try to mark what kind of post it is!

#fanart - this can be paired with anime name and/or character name!

#about me & about my/the blog - these are posts giving you updates about myself and my blog

#fav - this is the shit I go bananas over

#self reblog/repost - self explanatory, this is when I reblog my own posts

about me:

Name: Chloe’

Age: 21

Birthday: May 15

Pronouns: she/her

From: the U.S

Fav color: blue or yellow

Hobbies: reading, writing, swimming, binge watching shows, playing video games, other basic stuff like that lmao

Fav genre: smut, romance and coming of age

Some other fandoms I’m in: Voltron and LOZ

My fav animes: Bungo Stray Dogs, Cowboy Bebop, Black Butler, Ouran High School Host Club, Jujutsu Kaisen, Kamisama Kiss, Haikyuu!!, My Hero Academia, Free!, Yuri on Ice, Moriarty the Patriot

My fav kdramas: Something in the Rain and Put Your Head on my Shoulder

other accounts:

Fic recs - @recs-galore

Obey Me!, Genshin Impact, Mystic Messenger, The Arcana - @saeyoungchoismaid

Voltron - @classyklancey

Tv shows, movies, books, etc. - @multifandombookstore

Main blog - @lowkeystan

other social media:

Twitter - @/TartagliasGirly, @/classyklancey, @/spicytodoroniAO3 - @classyklancey

[lovehaswonangelnumbers]

New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/the-spiritual-impact-of-the-aquarius-new-moon/

The Spiritual Impact Of The Aquarius New Moon

The Spiritual Impact Of The Aquarius New Moon

by Edith Boyer-Telmer

Dear Friends, today we are energetically already entering the influence field of the next big stellar event. On February 4th we collectively experience the impact of a New Moon which occurs at 15 degrees and 45 minutes of Aquarius. What better sign to show us the next step we need to take in our creation plan for the Golden Age of Aquarius on planet earth. Being a generally rather analytical energy force the Aquarius New Moon can bring challenges to our emotional body these days. For some of us it might be more complicated to manage our feelings and so it is highly recommended to stick to a regular meditation practice or other centering technique.

Over the past two month we have experienced a lot of intense stellar events and pretty much all of them gave us the personal as well as collective power to set this world profoundly in motion. We can see that in the political and environmental resistance movements all over the planet. The Aquarius New Moon energies are telling us to us all of our potential and truly bring the new forward now.

You can’t use up creativity. The more you use, the more you have. Maya Angelou

If at first the idea is not absurd, then there is no hope for it. Albert Einstein

Innovation is created as a result of constructive conflict. Jeff DeGraff

Innovation only survives when people believe in their own ideas. Levo League

There is another big chance in the air for brand new beginnings on personal level under the light of this Aquarius New Moon. The party animal Aquarius enjoys to be out and about in all social circles these days. It’s a great time for all of us to engage with brand new people and socialize with cycles we usually would not meet in daily life. Especially if you are a highly sensitive person or very empathic being and usually enjoy your time in solitude, I recommend you consciously put yourself out there anyway!!

Telling an introvert to go to a party is like telling a saint to go to Hell. Criss Jami

I might be tempted to socialize more if the conversations taking place around me were half as interesting as the dialogue going on inside my head. Richelle E. Goodrich

They are a very decent, generous lot of people out here and they don’t expect you to listen. Always remember that, dear boy. It’s the secret of social ease in this country. They talk entirely for their own pleasure. Nothing they say is designed to be heard. Evelyn Waugh

Fine, fine, I’ll indulge in this ‘socializing’ thing you always rave about. Katherine McIntyre

Socializing is more positive than being alone, that’s why meetings are so popular. People don’t like being alone. That would be, however, an important skill to learn. Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi

As this whole year 2019 is partially designed in order to teach the collective more details about the possible return to a true brotherhood of man on planet earth, and as the zodiac sign of the Aquarius is also known as the humanitarian character, we can expect to experience magical connections and strong challenges to our current mindset during this New Moon.

We should all lend a helping hand to those in need as we are all brothers and sisters. Catherine Pulsifer

A Brother may not be a Friend, but a Friend will always be a Brother. Thomas Jefferson

We cannot live only for ourselves. A thousand fibers connect us with our fellow men; and among those fibers, as sympathetic threads, our actions run as causes, and they come back to us as effects. Herman Melville

The mystical bond of brotherhood makes all men brothers. Thomas Carlyle Dear Ones, I hope you are all deeply in love with this magical Aquarius New Moon energy field right now and use the impact deeply conscious. Born an Aquarius myself, I definitely can feel the call of brotherhood and collective transformation already floating in the air! Love & New Moon Blessings! Edith

~~~~~~~~~

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[writing4thewoild]

Lean On Me

I tried to write something a little bit more on the angsty side so I hope this is received well.

JackKellyXReader

Tag List: @albertdasillva @brooklyns-here-enthusiast @ben-cook-can-cook

Being a leader is hard. Everyone wants to be the one to make the decisions and lead the pack but no one really considers the hardships that comes with it. The long and sleepless nights, the burden of the consequences when things so wrong, the constant worrying about things going wrong, they all hurt and weigh you down. Yes being leader and being the one people look up is nice but it can also be a heavy burden that weighs you down to the floor.

No one knows of this burden better than Jack Kelly leader of the Newsies Manhattan division. He has so many people to look after and take care of that he often feels overwhelmed. It’s nice that people think of him so highly, especially when society in itself often seems to look down up him and shame him for his financial status, and come to him for help. Yet all the burdens of being a leader still presses upon him. Leaves him staying up at night and thinking and crying until nothing but pure exhaustion pulls him into a dreamless sleep.

The hardest burden for Jack to bear is often the fact that all his friends are poor. He’s not ashamed that he’s a newsie and that he often ends up sleeping on the street, but the fact that his friends have to do that also makes his stomach turn. In his opinion they all deserve so much better. Race deserves nothing but the finest tobacco to smoke, Specs deserves beautiful gold rimmed glasses, Davey deserves a full Ivy League education and unlimited opportunities, Albert deserves a belly constantly filled with gourmet food, and Crutchie, his dear best friend and brother Crutchie, he deserves a peaceful life of contentment and joy along with a beautiful cane plated with pure gold and encrusted in expensive jewels. Yet life is hard and doesn’t care about what people deserve. It doesn’t matter what all his friends that he cares about so much deserve, at the rate that they’re going they will never get it. They are still poor, they are still hungry, they are still newsies.

The harsh reality that life sucks and doesn’t care about the hardships of others often leaves Jack up at night. Staring at the foggy New York sky while roaring thoughts tumble through his head and silent tears slip down his cheeks. He constantly longs for a place where opportunities are equal and life is pleasant. He dreams of a place where the air is clean and fresh and the stars are always dazzling in the sky. Perhaps a place like Santa Fe. The tingling in his feet scream at him to run, to hop onto a train and leave all the pain behind him. Yet he can’t. Because he’s a leader and he needs to take care of the people he promised to lead. He didn’t mind that he had to stay in New York for a while longer but his frustrations still continued to build up. They began to negatively impact his view on things, made him snippy and a little mean.

That all changed when he met you. You weren’t especially rich but you did come from a family with enough money to survive. Compared to the newsies you were incredibly privileged and you tried to use that to help them in anyway you could. As soon as you began to make friends with the boys you began to open you’re house to any of them that had to stay on the streets and offered food and clothes to those who needed. Because if your kindness all the boys quickly to a liking to you. You were kind and warm and didn’t judge them because their clothes were old and raggedy. And you’re kindness didn’t stem out of pity. You didn’t look at them like poor souls that needed handouts to get by, you just genuinely had a kind heart and wanted to see your friends live better lives.

Jack was extremely grateful for you, always trying to show you in the limited ways he could. A wilting flower he picked, a drawing of whatever, a free seat at one of Medda’s performances, whatever he could do to get you to see his gratitude for what you did. You always took his little gifts graciously with a bright smile and a big hug. It didn’t take long for those to become highlights of his day and shortly after one of the reasons his heart hammered in his chest. Just looking at you made his stomach churn with nerves and his face flare with heat. You were just such a special person and to finally meet someone who was willing to not only take care of him but also his friends made him fall head over heels.

He tried to hide his feelings from you but fortunately you weren’t stupid. You saw straight through his cocky facade and saw all of the longing gazes and stammered words. You reciprocated them too. You thought that the infamous Kelly was sweet and kind and charming and wanted nothing but to fall into his arms and to stay there. So after a few months of dancing around each other and cheesy flirting you decided to take a chance and ask him on a date. He said yes. And that was the beginning of a beautiful and fun relationship. Everyday with Jack was a roller coaster and you were always up for a ride.

But one thing you’ve learned since you have begun your relationship with Jack, is just how heavy the burden he carries with him is. How important taking care of his boys is to him and the lengths he would go to make sure they are alright. How much he stresses himself and the boundaries he would push just to be a good friends, to be a good leader. Most times he would vent around you by just telling you what was going on in his head or just sitting in silence and drawing his feelings, the clashes between shades of gray and black with bright pops of dizzying color works just as well to convey his feelings than words. But the first time Jack Kelly ever truly let the stress over take him and broke down in front of you was a moment you would never forget.

It was late at night and both you and Jack and decided to spend the night in his “penthouse”. The stars were shining and the usual hustle and bustle of New York quieted down to a low hum. You had turned over to go to sleep half an hour ago but you still couldn’t sleep. No amount of inconspicuous shifting or counting sheep was getting you any closer to drifting off, you were stuck being wide awake. Everything was going as usual until the sound of a muffled sob broke through the night air. It startled you and left your senses heightened. You didn’t hear anything after, just the continued hum of New York night life. Just as you were beginning to settle again another sob rang out. Then another and another until all you could hear was crying. It broke your heart to hear such desperate cries so you turned around and gazed at the back of your broken lover.

He was sitting on an old crate with his head buried into his hands. His shoulders heaved and shook with every sob making him look more like a small child than a man. You slowly got up from where you were laying and walked over to him. The moment you sat down next to him his head snapped up and his loud sobs quieted to small hiccups. His glassy eyes looked pained and ashamed as apologies for everything began to spill from his eyes. For waking you up, for being too loud, for being bothersome about his problems. You could do nothing at that moment but stare at him in heartbroken astonishment.

“Sweetie, not to be rude or anything but please stop talking”, you hushed him. His mouth snapped shut and his head dropped back down. The small sniffles and hiccups turned to light cries which quickly swirled into a cacophony of loud sobs. The tears in his eyes seemed to pool endlessly and rolled down his flushed cheeks like salty water falls. His hair was sticking up every which way and was beginning to stick to his forehead from the sweat that was beading onto his forehead.

Your lovely Jack was breaking in front of you and you were at a loss of words. You had no words to make things better. You knew exactly why he was hurting and it killed you that there was nothing you could do to make things better. It was just the way life was. There was one thing that you could do though. You could support him.

Gently you pushed his head up and onto your shoulder. His strong chest was still shaking from his cries but his arms quickly went to wrap around you. “Ssshhhhhh, it’s ok. I’m here for you. It’s ok, everything will be alright. You’re doing just fine.” You continued to wishper sweet words into his ear hoping that they would eventually bring some form of comfort to him. “It’s ok, you’re ok. Just lean on me. I’ll be here for you, I will always be here for you. I love you Jack.”

You and Jack stayed like that for what seemed like an eternity before he started to tire out. You softly pulled him towards the make shift bed on the floor and laid him down. His soft hiccups were muffled by your chest and you pulled him close to you. You ran your fingers through his hair, softly lulling him into dreamland. Just before he finally knocked he whispered a slurred “thank you. I love you so much.” You grinned brightly as you looked at your sleeping boyfriend. Even after crying for long periods of time he was still beautiful. Puffy eyes and tear streaked face and all. Just before you decided to follow your lover into dreamland you whispered one last love filled sentence,

“I love you Jack Kelly and I hope that you will always lean on me.”

[porcileorg]

On the ‘Various Others’ initiative in Munich (2019-09-12 – 2019-10-13)

Author: Magda Wisniowska - Munich, September, 2019.

It was Munich Open Art last weekend, opening on Friday. Various Others, a much newer initiative ran alongside.

Various Others is, very simply, about collaboration and exchange. Each space - whether institution, gallery or off-space - belonging to the initiative partners with one from outside, in order to bring new art back to Munich.

For someone like myself, this is interesting. I feel that, in the spirit of Spinoza, anything increasing our power to act, is by large a good thing. And this collaboration certainly does: galleries become more active through working with new partners, the audience becomes more active by having more art to view, the artists are more active by having new exhibition opportunities in a different city. The efforts of everyone involved should be applauded and encouraged, so that this initiative may long continue. 

Content however is a different matter. Obviously no one expects nowadays the kind of complete enlightenment - the ultimate knowledge of a true God - Spinoza would wish for, but too often the conceptual aims behind the work are left unexamined. This has less to do with the art exhibited during the course of Open Art and Various Others, but more with the type of reviews this kind of event attracts. These focus almost entirely on the idea behind Various Others, that is, on how its exchange program functions, why such a program has come to being and how it might be beneficial to those involved. The few that do review the actual shows (Frieze selects five highlights) keep to a bare paragraph each.

Of course, it is not easy to review an event that comprises of, at the very least, fourteen openings on its first night, spread across a modestly sized city, with everything closing at 9 pm. On my walk on Friday I manage to see nine things, which is more than many: the performance by Gregor Hildebrand at the Ludwig Beck department store, the exhibitions at Jahn und Jahn, at Sperling, at Rudiger Schöttle and Knust und Kunz, at Jo van de Loo, at Barbara Gross, at Loggia and at Nir Altman. So what follows will be necessarily a flawed personal account.

Gregor Hildebrand @ Ludwig Beck [click here] At the first point of call, the Ludwig Beck department store, I did not see much of the performance, the store layout allowing a full view only to a privileged few. Those standing between the rows of hip-hop CDs could see more of the (admittedly very photogenic) band members on stage than what was going on with the painting in the corner. As far as I could see, Hildebrand was making one of his magnetic tape type paintings before a live audience. Which seemed to me both very brave and very obtuse, this being perhaps the point, to reveal to the buying public how simple his production process is, a magician who indeed only uses a couple of mirrors to perform his tricks. I could overhear behind me, I never thought it would be so quick and easy.”

‘Computer and Paper' @ Jahn und Jahn, with Galerie Conradi, Hamburg, and ​Kraupa-Tuskany Zeidler, Berlin [click here and here] Onwards south to 'Computer and Paper' at Jahn und Jahn, which despite its somewhat threadbare title is a potentially intriguing group exhibition of six artists. It is part of the Various Others initiative but need not be, the premise of the show strong enough to be expanded and shown in a different institutional context.

Taking an art historical approach, it gathers a small number of works - many, but not all, on paper - to explore the relation between the physical and the digital, as it stands in our post-internet world. At least two sets of paper works, Laura Owen’s small intimate collages and Albert Oehlen’s more formal abstractions, are from the 90s, both artists being some of the first to question their painterly practice in relation to developments in new digital technologies. The work recaptures that moment in time when photoshop was still rare and exotic, a wondrous tool just ready to be discovered. But it does not, indeed it cannot, anticipate the developments that followed: broadband, the rise of social media, smartphones, apps. This task is left to younger and equally prominent artists like Avery Singer. In the large airbrushed paintings she presents at Kraupa-Tuskany Zeidler in Berlin, she considers the impact of new technologies and social media on her own artistic subjectivity. Here at Jahn und Jahn we are offered only small glimpse into her practice with two small early works on paper. A more considered investigation requiring a deeper engagement, comes from Hamburg artist, Thomas Baldischwyler, who presents one installation piece and two collages behind glass. One work uses the Victor Burgin poster, “What does possession mean to you?” together with its double message “7% of our population own 84% of our wealth;” another is inscribed with the graffiti-like slogans “We still control computers, when will computers control us?” and “Rehearsal war and peace. They calculate stock market prices and write poems.” The installation includes the short narrative of how the artist covered his laptop camera with a sticker, and is accompanied by a wooden panel made to look like an enlarged sheet of stickers, complete with its plastic hang tag. There are clearly other references at work, and you want to know how these might connect in some overall critique of capitalism through digital culture, but the work remains - despite repeated viewing - steadfastly opaque.  More accessible, but also simpler in aim, are the utopian/dystopian drawings of Soyon Jung, a mix of etching and Letraset type transfer depicting future ruins of corporate and political headquarters. Equally direct in his critique is Felix Thiele, who showed with Jung as part of the exhibition 'Death Hoax' at Hamburg’s Westwerk. He presents three shiny iPhones replicas with crudely painted apps, a desirable consumer object made useless, but equally desirable as art. 

Augustus Serapinas and Malte Zenses @ Sperling, hosting Emalin, London [click here and here] Up the road at Sperling is the two-person show of Augustas Serapinas, who shows with Emalin, London, and Malte Zenses from Berlin. Serapinas is an exciting young artist, who deals with displacement in a very literal and unambiguous way.  For this exhibition he transported an entire derelict greenhouse from Vilnus back to Munich, and reinstalled it in the Sperling gallery. There is a socio-political element to the work, its attempt to confront the growing gentrification of Vilnus, as well as the need to preserve an ongoing process of destruction, also visible in Serapinas’s smaller framed works, in which plants are preserved in glass at the moment of their turning into ash. In this, his Munich exhibition recalls his earlier one 'February 13th,' where he famously managed to transport several still-frozen snowmen, more or less intact, from Vilnus to Emalin’s London space. In this case too, the work was about the saving of snowmen from destruction, again acting out a kind of preservation by removal. However, the London show seemed more vivid, more visceral in its impact. It makes sense that the press release referred to Julia Kristeva’s definition of installation as something on the verge of the sacred, where it asks us “not to contemplate images but to communicate with beings.” Something is missing from the Munich installation that would allow us to make such a claim of communication with being and I am not sure if it is the lack of smell (surely the greenhouse should smell of weeds and wood rot?), the very uniform indoor lighting or the lack of isolation (the other exhibited work is very close by). In comparison, Zense’s paintings are more difficult to pin down, though their abstract language is also clearly a consequence of a similar process of transposition from one context to another. They trade in displacement, both in a linguistic and Freundian sense of the term, their marks harbouring only an arbitrary relation to what they might stand for as a sign, unconscious desires put to use in the  symbol. They also allude to the process of destruction. The work consists of many layers, each erasing and obscuring a previous one, their final state again preserved in glass. Taken together, the combination of the two practices works on a conceptual level. It is pleasing to consider how one idea, such as that of destruction, shifts from one context and medium, to another, very different one.

Rüdiger Schöttle [link], Jo van de Loo [link], Barbara Gross [link] More centrally, Galerie Rüdiger Schöttle cooperated with ShanghART to show the abstract paintings of Chinese artist, Ding Yi with their signature 'x' and '+' crosses. Jo van de Loo presented the work by one of its gallery artists, Lorenz Strassl together with Monika Michalko from Produzentengalerie in Berlin. Both artists share a certain surrealist, dreamlike sensibility. At Barbara Gross, there were woodcuts and etchings by Andrea Büttner, shown concurrently with the artist’s London gallery, Hollybush Gardens.

'Dark Latern' @ Knust x Kunz hosting Attercliffe™, Sheffield, UK [click here and here] Beautifully selected by Paul Morrison is group exhibition 'Dark Latern' at Knust x Kunz. Among the crowd, one could find the minimalist geometry of Jan van de Ploeg; a black and white graphic drawing by Riette Wanders; a long-exposed, bleak photograph by Dan Holdsworth; slick works by artists with a Goldsmiths connection, such as Glenn Brown, Gerald Hemsworth or Glasgow based Michael Stubbs; Koen Delaere’s texture heavy black canvas; Saul Fletcher’s intriguing little photograph of a row of sticks leaning against a roughly plastered wall; a playful abstraction of Caroline McCarthy; or baroque image of a candle flame by Ralf Brög. All of the work is small and simply hung at eye level, demonstrating that an exhibition could be interesting without any grand curatorial gestures. Tim Etchells slogan, placed centrally in the space, could be the title for the show, and very good title it is: “objects in nightmare arrangements.”

Tramaine de Senna and Nicholás Lamas @ Loggia hosting MÉLANGE, Köln, and Sabot, Cluj-Napoca [click here and here] Another intriguing show could be found close by at Loggia, one of the few off-spaces in Munich that is also part of the Various Others initiative. This too is a deceptively simple two-person exhibition, featuring the work of young sculptors Tramaine de Senna and Nicholás Lamas, in collaboration with Mélange from Cologne and Sabot, Cluj. On first glance the show is almost conventional in its arrangement, a tightly grouped collection of art objects on plinths, even if the plinths are not of the square, white variety. The design qualities of Senna’s work lends the exhibition an arty feel, so that it looks a little like an abandoned surrealist installation, but in combination with Lama’s objects and their mix of the natural and artificial, the overall impression is of a modernist cabinet of curiosities - if such a cabinet was run by a dyslexic alien with a moderate interest in art and a well-established shoe fetish. Objects lose their everyday meanings in the unusual combination produced by Lamas: what looks like fossilised coral, bursts out of a neon blue sneaker, carefully placed on a gently modulating, bent car radiator grill. Cutting across familiar systemic structures in a strongly dialectical way, nature seems to imitate the unnatural, human items, planetary processes.  Senna’s work is more artful in comparison, in that it references other art, design and fashion, with a high heeled shoe at the end of an epoxy clay pedestal or bright leopard print across shaped cardboard hanging on the wall. Hers is the more familiar strategy of recovering unfamiliar meanings from very familiar everyday.  

Eva Grubinger, Timo Seber and Johannes Tassilo Walter @ Nir Altman hosting Galerie Tobias Naehring, Leipzig [click here and here] The last event of the night is Nir Altman’s, another group exhibition where gallery artist, Johannes Tassilo Walter, is partnered with two artists from Leipzig’s Tobias Naering, Eva Grubinger and Timo Seber. Walter presents a new series of paintings, while Naering and Grubinger show older work: Seber, his Slave to the Biorhythm from the Not Fair, Warsaw, 2017 and Grubinger, one piece from her 2018 exhibition 'Steam,' Untitled (Petropawlowsk, Stepan Petrischenko). The combination of artists is clearly a challenging one, as the connections between them are not immediately apparent. Walter’s paintings are very formalist and process based, demanding careful scrutiny and deep engagement. Made with many layers, one has to pay attention to how the different gestures react and overlap each other and then reappear on different grounds. Grubinger’s sculptural work uses formalist devices, but has a much more pronounced conceptual, if not to say political aim. Untitled (Petropawlowsk, Stepan Petrischenko) is one work from a series of four, which imbues its seemingly modernist structures with industrial references to present little-known facts of nautical cultural history, a series of mutinies that resulted in the destruction of a dominant power, in a celebration of individual dissent. Known for his investigations into communication mechanisms of video game culture, Seber presents a set of mirrors suspended from ceiling by thick leather straps, our reflection obscured by prints of germinating seeds and block-like red marks. If there is a reference to mass culture, it is  an obscure one, this work seemingly focussing on the cultural, social and biological construction of the viewer’s self image. Together, the artists not only share a certain formalist sensibility - certainly some of the pairings of red, blue and yellow are very aesthetically  pleasing - but also an interest in the processes of construction, whether this is related to the cultural artefact (Walter), political engagement (Grubinger) or identity (Seber). 

The night ends abruptly, with everyone rushing to the Various Others dinner. I head home too, past the cemetery.