#if this ended up in the tags for any of these bands uh. hi <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[stephenbrowning]

sends u an ask. have u listened to any cool music recently? I love reccs :)

first of all, look at me. look at my blog. i am going to tell u to listen to starset.

also here's a mini list of stupidly obscure bands that u should also check out

marquis of vaudeville

el radio fantastique

timisarocker

black angel

[soupbabe]

Old Friend (Bo Sinclair x Male! Reader)

Bo has a bittersweet run in with an old childhood sweetheart.

This idea has been plaguing my mind and notes app for forever, but I'm happy with how it came out <3 fic is inspired by the song Old Friend by Mitski!

Warnings: Mild angst, One sided love, Reader is a father

Tagging: @rottent33th, @slaasherslut

Ever since Bo got the call from Lester, he had to dry his sweaty palms on the rag in his back pocket. The name slipping from the other end of the cellphone hit Bo like a ton of bricks. Memories of sneaking out the house, stolen kisses, and your hands gracefully tracing over his hands brought a smile to his face.

"Y/n L/n, huh?" Bo chuckled at the old, but familiar way your name rolled off his tongue. " Well I'll be damned.. Send him over."

It didn't take too long before he saw the beat up truck, and you through the windshield. You've definitely aged since you were 17. Obviously, but it was a welcomed change to the mechanic's eyes. The tired eyes and scruff was a good look for you. As he made his way over, he saw you get out of the car and reach for something in the middle seat. Getting closer, he stopped in his tracks at the sight of a black, bulky car seat with a child chewing on a silicone ring.

Time really changes people in more than one way, huh.

Despite everything, Bo swallowed his shock and called out to you, "Need any help?" He tipped his hat to you as you nestled the little girl on your hip. You gave a wave and encouraged the baby to say her thanks to Lester before turning to Bo. Laughter rung in Bo's ears, along with your much matured voice. "Nice seeing you too, Bo."

God your smile brought him back 20 years.

He hid his bashful gaze under his hat and gestured to the gas station behind him. "Lester told me about your problem. D'ya mind if we get out of this sun while we talk? I'm sure the lil miss would appreciate it." You simply nodded and followed your friend down the gravel road. You spoke up from behind, "So uh..how's life been treating you?" Bo tucked his hands in his pockets, "Nothin' much, been staying back in Ambrose for a while now. How about you?" He forced out a small smirk as he gestured to the 6 month old in your arms. "Find yourself a wife?" "Husband, actually." You corrected with a light laugh. "We found a surrogate to help with our family."

Bo’s smirk faltered, knowing he might’ve been a phase in your life hurt a lot less than knowing you had a life with a man that could’ve been him. "That's great..." he held the door open as watched and you walked in. "So, what kind of car troubles have you been having?" You were taken back by the abrupt topic change, but you brushed it off. Getting back home before dark was best. "Blown tire. My husband told me to keep a spare in the back, but I didn't think I'd actually need it." Your cheeks burned in embarrassment. Bo chuckled, remembering how you'd constantly watch him work on cars for other Ambrose residents. You'd tell your parents that you were just "studying with a friend," but in reality you kept Bo company and would reward him on his hard work.

After telling him about your car, he went down to the basement of the gas station and found the exact spare tire you needed. Though reaching out to grab it, Bo saw his chair in the corner of his eye. You found yourself back to him, back to Ambrose. The man who he shared all of his firsts with, who gave him more love than mama ever could, came back to him like the Lord answered his prayers.

But you didn't come back you, you came back with a different life. The promise ring he once welded for you is now replaced with a wedding band that some stranger bought for you. Unlike then, you're proud to belong to another man. Even though he was barely mentioned, you spoke of your spouse with a level of love he couldn't give you. Hell, you even have a child to take care of.

And while he entertained the thought of keeping you here, he knew you wouldn't be the same man he held onto for years.

Your life was too good for him to keep to himself, to ruin with his own impulses.

Snapping out of his thoughts were you yelling from the doorway, "Everything alright?" You asked. Bo quickly grabbed the tire and hurriedly yelled back. "Yeah. Mind just blanked. Stay up there, I'm coming! " The two men walked out of the station and into Bo's car. Silence filled the ride to your car, except for the occasional directions given to Bo.

As soon as you three made it to the car, Bo got to work changing your tire. The idea of you leaving him again made him feel sick, but having you stay against your will, never loving him back, hurt more. Changing the tire was quick and he avoided eye contact as soon as you came up to inspect the job. "I can't thank you enough, how much do I owe you?" Bo waved it off, "On the house. Just make it home before dark, got it?" His voice was tender and soft. You nodded and surprised him with a hug. "Thank you... y'know I've missed you, Bo. It was nice seeing you again." Bo takes in a deep breath before giving you a pay on the back.

"You got no idea..stay safe, Y/n."

[jo-harrington]

Corroded Coffin Fest - Day 18 - Freak

Summary: Dave's first day at Hawkins High.

Word Count: 961

Rating: T

Warnings/Themes: Friendship, new friends, a bit of self deprecation, teenage angst, typical teenage snark, Freak #3 is named Dave, whats the friendship thing where you think someone's a raging bitch/asshole and then that ends up being your best friend? yeah that...

Check Out the Main Post for @corrodedcoffinfest here! Even if you didn’t start on Day 1, you can still join!

Tagging: @the-unforgivenn at her request.

You can find my masterlist here.

Please do not interact if you are not 18+.

Enjoy!

Here we go again.

Another school, another first day, another fresh start.

Dave's mom loves fresh starts; Dave hates them.

Understandable because he's been the new kid at school at least three other times in his life, thanks to his dad's job. You'd think he'd be used to it now that he was older, but it'd only made him more bitter.

Always having to leave friends behind, leave plans unfulfilled.

Plus he'd been gearing himself up to ask his crush out before they had to move again. He was pretty sure they were gonna say yes too.

He'd spent all summer in some stage of heartbreak.

"You'll find someone new to have a crush on," his mom tried to cheer him up as she drove him to school on his first day. "And making friends again will be so easy! You have such a bright personality Davey."

He sunk further into his seat, pout cemented on his face.

That was the last thing he wanted to hear from his mom.

He felt a little thankful that it wasn't only his first day, but the first day of classes entirely, and that there was such a commotion of traffic between Hawkins Middle and Hawkins High that his mom couldn't get out of the car to hug him goodbye.

Immediately, he realized how much he was gonna stick out at this school. First day of school meant that you dressed your best. For Dave, that was his nicest jeans, his leather jacket, and his favorite sneakers. For everyone else, it seemed like their best meant that they were cut out of sears catalogs and Old Navy window displays and whatever magazines that the popular girls always giggled at over lunch.

He figured...that was what happened when you moved from a bigger city to a suburb in the middle of nowhere like this. But it suddenly put a bitter taste in his mouth and he suddenly doubted that he was gonna find anyone to be friends with.

If only he knew what was waiting for him in first period...

To be fair, when Dave first saw saw, who he later would find to be, Eddie Munson in the back corner of the classroom, his mind immediately thought "who is this douchebag?"

Long hair, perpetual stank face, slumped in his desk so far that you could barely call it sitting, with a long leg stretched across the aisle making it impossible for anyone to sit next to him.

"Guy must think his dick is so big," Dave grumbled as he put as much space between himself and capital-D-douchebag as possible.

Unfortunately for him, they were partnered together for the "ice breaker" by their very chipper teacher.

"Hey, I'm Eddie," the guy greeted immediately, face pulled into a less-than-enthusiastic expression as he moved to the seat beside Dave. "Nice jacket."

"Thanks," he responded blithely with a nod.

It wasn't that he wanted to be an asshole, he just...got the wrong vibe from this guy. Even if Eddie didn't seem all that bad right now--bored more than anything--he knew plenty of people that turned out to be terrible.

But he could try to be a little friendlier.

"Let's, uh, break some ice I guess," he told Eddie with an expectant lift of his brow and they got to work.

The activity on the board--a weird "getting to know you" game of Bingo--was slow to say the least.

Name of your first pet? Eddie never had any pets, Dave had a dog named Rascal when he was younger.

Middle name? Edward Joseph and David Andrew.

Favorite band? "Metallica"

It was said in tandem and both boys did a double take, then Eddie narrowed his eyes.

"Seriously?" he scoffed. "You like Metallica? Name three of their songs."

"What?" Dave's voice squeaked with affront. "Are you kidding me? I don't need to prove myself to you."

That's it, he knew this guy was a dickhead.

"Why don't you name three of their songs?"

The two of them bickered back and forth for a minute, their words lost beneath the din of their classmates chatter, until finally Dave had enough.

"Seriously I know I'm the new kid and everything and I know its not hard to look at me and see that I'm a freak," he put hard emphasis on the word, "but it doesn't mean you need to tease me for the shit I like. Play pretend to get me to trust you and then laugh at me. What's next? You gonna ask me if I like Dungeons and Dragons?"

It was silent for a moment before Eddie leaned over in his seat to dig something out of his backpack. He slapped it right onto the desk in front of Dave.

A beaten old black spiral notebook with a piece of duct tape across the front that said Hellfire in black sharpie.

Dave cautiously opened it to find all sorts of campaign notes and character sheets and scribbles in the margins about this and that. It was like a gold mine. Shit, even his friends back home didn't play DnD with him...

"So..." Eddie sniffed. "Hellfire meets every Friday after school. Still not too sure where we're holding meetings this year. Have to talk to our good old sponsor first. But, unofficially, you're welcome to come sit with us at lunch if you want? See if you wanna join?"

Dave nodded dumbly and then, before he realized it, he was rambling on about his favorite songs from Kill Them All and he and Eddie were on their way to becoming the best of friends.

"It's, uh, nice to meet you Dave," Eddie told him at the end of class.

"Nice to meet you too Ed.

And the rest was history.

[chipistrate]

WELCOME WELCOME!!!

About time I update the intro post Hey Hey! I'm Chipistrate (chip-uh-strate, like chip and illustrate) but you can just call me Chip, I use they/xe, and'm sapphic aroace!

Art tag is #Chipillustrates and talk tag is #Chip Chatter

Also currently EXTREMELY fixated on fnaf, so beware the insanity ahead<3 (so sorry to my ahit moots and followers, ily and ahit still I prommy)

Few things of note:

1. I'm 100% a-okay with fanart! 2. I prefer if you don't DM me unless it's urgent or we're mutuals/friends, if you wanna ask a question then my inbox is open! 3. Also; MY INBOX IS OPEN! I like rambling and answering questions and talking about theories and AUs and characters and really just anything fnaf/other interests related, etc. You can plop almost anything into my inbox and I'll most likely answer it! (it can take a bit sometimes, so sorry! I promise I read every ask I receive!) only thing I ask is to not put anything NSFW in there 4. I do take art requests, but there's never a 100% guarantee I'll draw what you ask! (if your a mutual then you can request AU characters and OCs!) 5.I love all of my mutuals and you're all very cool and I love you all very much even if we don't talk a lot!! I always say 'hey' when I see you in my notifs even though you can't hear me 6. Not a spoiler free zone, but I try and tag anything spoilery! 7. I talk in tags a lot 8. the fnaf kids are my favorite fnaf characters so sometimes I might be a little silly about them 9. I'm just a silly goober all around so if joyous whimsy isn't for you then you might not like it here

AUs and art examples under cut to save space

List of my AUs + small descriptions + their tags

-Year 1/#Fnaf Year 1 AU: first year of Glitchtrap/Mimic1 infecting the Pizzaplex, centered around the characters reactions to everything and character dynamics, like Cassie and Dr. Rabbits dynamic and Vanessa getting used to her new job as Head of Security. Same year as Tonys death, and the most interesting new cast member to note would be Lucia; now 21 and part of the Mega Pizzaplex' security team, investigating the strange disappearances that she believes to be connected to the Mimic. -Welcome to Balloon Circus/#Fnaf Welcome to Balloon Circus: 3 star fam return to the Pizzaplex lot 3 years after Ruin to fix M.X.E.S after they suddenly shut down, and upon arrival, instead find a giant circus. There's a big post with a poster and TONS of information here if you're interested!! -Quests Continuation/#Fnaf Quest Continuation: takes place after the Disassembled Ending. Gregory quite literally stumbles into another Pizzaplex unlike the one from SB, now much smaller with uncorrupted animatronics, Bonnie as one of the band members, Foxy still around, and no security guards out to get him. He hesitantly accepts the band members help in finding his old friend, Cassie, so he can be reunited with her and not keep living on the streets, because after finding him for the first time, the band members are VERY adamant that he cannot go back to that living situation, considering the terrible condition he was in. -Endpoint Security/#Fnaf Endpoint Security: Security Breach swap AU featuring newly uninfected Vanessa as the protagonist and a very much so still infected Dr. Rabbit as the antagonist. Vanessa, barely even remembering having this job and now locked in the Pizzaplex until 6am without any of her keycards or tools, is now accompanied by Dr. Rabbit talking to her through her new fazwatch as she goes on a scavenger hunt he set up just for her to find her keycards and tools to help her survive the night until the doors open, though Dr. Rabbit makes it clear that 6am won't be the end of this shift for her. -Back at it again/#Fnaf Back at it Again: Post PQ ending. Vanessa keeps her job as head of security and Gregory takes up an internship as a security guard, position secured by Vanessa’s recommendation, and the two use their job ranks to continue looking into the mysteries of the Pizzaplex and put Mimic to an end once and for all, aaas well as steal whatever they need to take care of Freddy back home when no one's looking. -Painted Tears Trilogy/#Fnaf Painted Tears Trilogy: Silver Eyes Trilogy inspired AU centering around the MCI looking into the disappearances of Charlotte Emily and Evan Afton, two of their now missing childhood best friends.

(Yeah I dunno how to write short AU descriptions, if you want more info about any of these then my inbox is open!)

Here's some examples of my more recent pieces/what you can expect from me when it comes to art:

Tried to keep it simple this time around, Thanks for reading and enjoy your stay!

[ryuichirou]

Replies

Mostly the ones related to our latest posts and that office worker Lilia comic.

Anonymous asked:

Oh is there more prison warden au infos?

Yes! Here is the post with the main info about everyone, but there is a lot of stuff on the prison warden au tag. It’s been a while, I gotta reread it hehe….

irregardlessly-tish asked:

Slowly but sure you have turned me into an OruVil shipper ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Tish! It means a lot to hear that from you hehehe <3

These two are wonderful, I’m happy that more people consider these two as a ship and enjoy their dynamic in general.

blackbutlerfandomnerddomain asked:

TWST OFFICE AU TWST OFFICE AU

YES!! It’s a one-off thing for now though, because we just really liked the idea of Lilia messing with everybody at the office, but maybe we’ll end up with mode stuff for this AU at some point…

Anonymous asked:

Lilia, keep it up. Someone will put your office supplies into jello molds and serve it at the next company picnic.

If there is anyone who is fun/bold enough to do it, it’ll make Lilia very happy lol Finally, at least some of these youngsters know how to have fun.

Anonymous asked:

Lol Lilia holds the record for highest number of HR complaints filed against him. He just never gets in trouble because he also plays in a band with the CEO. "Ahahah! Lilia is just playing pranks! I think it's important to have some fun in the office! It... uh... how was it...? Oh, right! It boosts morale in the workplace! Did I say that right?"

Oh gooood OF COURSE, OF COURSE HE IS THE CEO, THIS IS WHY LILIA GETS AWAY WITH EVERYTHING, HE JUST BEFRIENDS THE RIGHT PEOPLE 😭  And this is 100% truth, Lilia boosts morale tremendously, because now all everyone in the office is united by this feeling of being both slightly annoyed and kind of freaked out by Lilia and some of his pranks.

Sexy secretary Jamil when? I’m asking myself

Anonymous asked:

Office worker au makes me think of them being police officers or news casters. Both can work like some kind of twisted sitcom.

Honestly, Anon, the cast of twst is so good that any type of activity would be fun with them. Police officers, news casters, anything – they have such fun personalities that it’s always perfect for either a sitcom or a thriller, depends on how you look at it lol

They would make such fun news casters though…

Anonymous asked:

When I think of Lilia as a general, this is what comes to mind: https://pin.it/g6i4SPn5C. I’m sorry but this had to happen at least once…

Oh nooo poor Lilia lol His hair just keeps getting attacked… with Malleus setting his bangs on fire once too…

Anonymous asked:

Sorry about the curse asks! I’m told I have a cursed mind 😀

Don’t worry, Anon! I don’t even know which asks are yours so it’s all good lol

Anonymous asked:

I thought his middle name was Leslie 🤨 (Points to anyone who gets this extremely dumb joke.)

Ah yes. Yes, culture… Lilia Debauchery Leslie Vanrouge.

[meraxes-of-new-albion]

Tag games! Thanks for the tag @sparklehoard <333

(readmore because i ramble)

Are you named after anyone?

Yes! my parents are nerds. i got named after a doctor who character.

also trying to decide if i'm gonna use a new name... if i do it'll probably be Best Bland Bioware Man My Beloved

(Kaidan Alenko <3)

When was the last time you cried?

uhhhh.... more recently than usual. couple weeks ago i think? stubbed my toe or something and that's the straw that broke the camel's back, yall know how it is

Do you have kids?

nope! and noooo thank you, if i ever wanted kids i'd adopt a teenager

What sports do you play or did you play in the past?

I'm gonna be That Guy since i was a marching band kid for 8 years. that's some cardio, man.

Do you use sarcasm?

Whaaaaat noooo never (yes constantly)

What's the first thing you notice about people?

i'm a very bad Things Noticer in general so... maybe hair color?

What's your eye color?

That kind of blue-gray most blue eyed people have in my experience

Scary movies or happy endings?

I'm not much for horror but it's growing on me. It has to feel like it's *saying* something, though, i HATE paranormal stuff and mindless slasher flicks. But saccharine endings are no good either. so... i guess happy endings, if you make me pick.

Any talents?

Pedantry? uh. i'm very good at fucking around and still managing to mostly accomplish my original goal. Whether it be crafts or technology or even career stuff, I can usually approximate a result pretty well pretty quickly.

Where were you born

idk a hospital. apparently people actually give a damn about this stuff. there's lots of hospitals in my hometown so idk which one even lmao

What are your hobbies?

god i have SO MANY HOBBIES HELP. sewing. knitting. i weave rugs out of twine i get from work. i play warhammer 40k, and may end up getting into the fantasy side of it (i got an army as a gift for christmas lol). lots of video games (mostly FPS RPGs, and roguelikes, but a bit of everything). theoretically i like baking, although i hate doing dishes and don't own a dishwasher, so i... don't :( OH OH OH i write sometimes too... i never publish anything because i never finish anything but i do like writing

Do you have any pets?

How tall are you?

I HAVE A CAT HIS NAME IS WALL-E AND I LOVE HIM

LOOK AT HIM

5'9, or... ~175 cm

Favorite subject in school?

Biology :) though i don't like the cell stuff, i do better with things i can touch or see without a microscope.

Dream job?

zookeeper :) which i'm doing!!! but like. living wage zookeeper. would be great. with like. yknow. paid time off n stuff. that would be nice.

(don't feel pressured if i @ you <3)

@the-many-children-of-the-void @bonewhiteglory @zumer-feygele @testostergnomes @starspeckledabyss @cuntwrap--supreme and anyone else who wants to :)

[void-botanist]

15 Questions: Horatio

AOM 15 questions continues! Tag: #aom 15 questions

1 - Are you named after anyone? Uh… [He scratches the side of his jaw and smiles.] I don't know. I'm adopted.

2 - When was the last time you cried? Hm. I don't know that either, actually. I just don't cry very much.

3 - Do you have kids? [He shakes his head, still smiling.] No, I don't really want kids.

4 - Do you use sarcasm? Not really. That's more…well, the rest of my family's thing.

5 - What’s the first thing you notice about people? What they're wearing. But I also look out for people who wear watches. I know that two-timers usually don't actually wear two watches, but it's cool, and one day I'm going to see someone doing it.

6 - What’s your eye color? Brown.

7 - Scary stories or happy endings? Hm…happy endings. But how you get to the ending doesn't have to be.

8 - Any special talents? Keeping Winter Band plants alive here in the Summer Band. It's both easier and harder than it seems. I also know all the words to Peregrine because it's my dad's favorite play. That might not be a "talent" though.

9 - Where were you born? Imni, in Kiun.

10 - What are your hobbies? I like going to concerts, and going to the theatre with my dad. Sometimes we'll go up to see performances at the University where Sorian builds sets. I also surf with my sister sometimes. I don't read a lot of books, but I do have subscriptions to a few architecture and travel magazines. Oh, and I have sort of a whiskey trade setup with—well, he's not my brother-in-law, but he kind of is. He lives on Ofain, and we send whiskeys back and forth to try.

11 - Do you have any pets? I have a pet rock that lives with my mothweed in the kitchen, but I'm not sure that's what you were looking for.

12 - What sports do you play/have played? I've played a lot of different sports—not really competitively, but I was on my high school soccer team for a couple of years. I also was my sister's volleyball assistant, so I could probably handle myself in a casual game. And her surfing buddy, like I said. Every time she gets into something new, she drags me along for the ride.

13 - How tall are you? 6' 3".

14 - Favorite subject in school? I would say biology except I only really liked the botany parts. The dissecting-a-frog parts made me want to vomit. No, I think it was actually art. I'm not any good, but I enjoyed it a lot.

15 - Dream job? Exactly what I'm doing right now, running my own live floristry. If I couldn't do this, I'd probably try for a research-related position. Or maybe an admin position with the Aephar branch of the Botanist's Guild.

* two-timers is slang for expat shifters. Their canid transformation cycles are tied to the moon(s) of their home planets.

** surf time

[shaewithyou]

10 - flustered thanks

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"You killed it, dude! I told you it'd be a nice choice to sing that song," Beomgyu exclaimed, pulling poor Huening Kai into a headlock.

The audition was over and we were told they'd contact us once the results for band recruitment has been made. As for right now, the attention was on Huening Kai. "You never told me you could sing that well!" I nudged his shoulders playfully once he was released from Beomgyu's headlock. "I mean, pfft, I knew you were gonna pull something out of your sleeves but 21 Guns?!" I chuckled, unable to hold back the awe I had for him after witnessing him sing for the first time.

Huening Kai's face flushed red, averting his eyes to the ground with a sheepish smile on his lips. "It was nothing," he muttered. "Nothing you say?" this time it was Yuni who yelled, almost offended by Kai's humbleness/shyness. "You literally sang the vocals, backup vocals, the drums, the bass - THE WHOLE ENTIRE THING!" Yuni emphasized her points with dramatic waves of her arms.

"Okay, that's a exaggeration. He only did the vocals," Beomgyu raised an eyebrow at her which ensued the two bickering with one another. Huening Kai chuckled, amused. "Yuni's right though," came my reply but only Huening Kai heard me, turning his attention to me with a quizzical look.

I smiled, "You're talented."

"Oh," he muttered, eyes widened slightly. For a moment, he seemed like he forgot to breath before he composed himself.

"Oh! Yeah. Uh- um, yeah. Thanks," Huening Kai nodded, one hand behind his neck as his neck and cheeks grew redder. Eyes fixed to the ground in a flustered panic.

His reactions intrigued me but I decided not to say anything - he already seemed like he was struggling with his confidence to sing for this audition so I didn't want to comment further. At least, he acknowledged my compliments I gave him.

"Oh, right!" I exclaimed, having remembered something. Someone. "Taehyun was here while I was on stage earlier," I stated, Yuni and Beomgyu's attention immediately on me. My eyes searched for Taehyun among the crowd who came but found no traces of the blond. "Taehyun? I don't see him," Huening Kai said. Being the tallest among us, he easily scouted the place.

I let out a huff, disappointed that I couldn't greet him properly and curious why he had come. Did he know that I'd audition today, because the only people who knew were these three friends of mine and my brother. "Odd, but never mind," I shrugged.

Huening Kai's eyes lingered on me for a while but he didn't say anything. "C'mon. Let's go, everyone's leaving," Beomgyu said, leading us out of the audition venue.

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-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

taehyun watched her sing. her talent was no doubt honed and her charisma evident. then she pointed at that blond guy she always hand out with. his brows raised, the corner of his lips tugged wider in a grin - interesting, he thought to himself. he left right after her turn was over. after all, his focus was solely on her. for her.

tags list! ❤️:

@yooniiesstuff @hyyhyuka @wonioml

DM me to join the taglist!

A.N: short filler-ish chapter. I've started playing genshin (dottore playable when) ...........I'm not gonna say anything about my hiatus or make any more promises to write new chapters. it's like a jinx whenever I say I'll update because I'll end up not doing it. read at your own risk T-T anyways, thank you so much for reading my story. <3

Note to myself: please proofread, add pics. thx.

[surveillance-0011]

oh geez uh uh any w-3 headcannons????

Yes many tee hee.

Most of these r new/havent said before but I will repeat some for sake of not having to rummage thru tags. ANd the ones rotting in my drafts. Sorry for length i am. not normal about these fish

DJ (they/he?) is nicknamed Faith, and with the og japanese name this nickname would be Chu(ji)

Timpanist (he/it) is nicknamed Val, jpnese version would be Oo(shiki) or just Midori bc that's a bit more presentable name

The Cellist (they/she/he). Uh. I don't have a set nickname for them I usually just call them The Cellist/ cellisake I think they'd be okay with being referred to as that too. I've also called them Algin even tho that's technically not who they are... I've seen Blade as a nickname for them but something like Jr or Kid in reference to the whole "First Child" thing could work. Idk I'm indecisive ig they have a lot of nicknames

They are all ND

The Cellist and Faith started the band and Val joined soon after. Perhaps it makes more sense for it to be the other way around but I feel like with the Cellist being stubborn and more out there with their ideas that they'd initially forgo a more traditional instrument until they realized something was missing.

Val and Faith live together. The Cellist lives alone, maybe nextdoor w/ a lil pulley system between the two houses. Houses made during the Salmon Run are not really meant to be long term so this was meant to be a temporary arrangement to streamline their work but as you can see it's been some time.

Faith finds this nice, they were pretty much homeless and just couch surfing pre omega 3 and ended up moving in w/ one of them in their permanent ocean residences and they decided for the Salmon Run to keep a similar idea

Faith likes a lot of urban, cool culture. Streetwear, graffiti, hip hop and break-dancing... etc etc. They're also very tech savvy. Preferred genres r edm/techno, rap +rnb and punk...

Val enjoys an active lifestyle. Into travel, camping, fishing and more outdoorsy things, working hard, eating well, taking part in festivities and trying to give back to the community when he's not too caught up in his own stuff. Likes traditional salmonid music a lot but also pretty big on grunge and nu-metal

The Cellist likes reading and interacting with art that is like. "good enough" for him. Most of it is confusing or dreary. Likes coffee in the morning and maybe a small glass of scotch on a lonely evening. And being right. As for genres he'll go for whatever he thinks is groundbreaking in specific songs mostly regardless of genre.. but I feel he'd like rock. Probably post punk and more experimental stuff? Maybe folk and some classical music... idk idk!!! If anything it's mostly stuff like Trout Mask Replica...

The Cellist does however claim to not like pop music. This is usually not a lie but. She does actually like some of the Squid Sister's songs maybe even some stuff from OTH or C-Side. She would rather die than admit this.

I do feel like if any of them had to choose a favorite band of the ones we know DJ would choose Dedf1sh or Sashimori maybe C side.. Val would go for bottom feeders and Cellist would say uhh ink theory may be.. it’s good jazz music

Also uh Splatfest teams!

Faith: Scissors, Grub or Fun, Grass, Sweet, Milk Chocolate, Aliens, Gano- Power. and Vanilla!

Val: Rock, Gear, Fire, Spicy, Dark Chocolate, Nessie, Courage, Strawberry

Cellist: Paper, Grub, Water, Sour, White? or Dark. Bigfoot, Wisdom, Mint ChocoChip

They have all physically fought on multiple occasions. There's been at least one near breakup too

The Cellist's dorsal/hair fin is greying, their coloration is also a bit warmer than other salmonids

Val is not completely blind it its injured eye but its vision is fucked. It's also sensitive to light and sensation which is a major reason for the eye patch

They all respect each other as musicians and people and deep down they all care but they really do argue a lot. They're not really people who blend well together at all. DJ rebels against all that is mainstream and all they don't like and even stuff they're more neutral on for the hell of it. They kindof think they're cool for being a jackass but theyve also just become very callous bc they didnt have a choice when they were younger... and they kind of feel like they're still on the defense. Esp since the other two are more experienced and older and tend to treat him like a kid sometimes esp the cellist...

Val means well but he often struggles to take others into account. He's very goal oriented, a one-way track sort of guy who often acts more than a little clueless or even selfish. Not as petty or stubborn as the Cellist but he's got a lot of inertia. That and he's just... kind of shit at socializing in ways that don't piss other people off. Says a lot of accidentally insensitive stuff too. Comes off pretty intense to some as well!! And the Cellist. Well. Stubborn, emotionally repressed, physically and verbally clumsy... they are also a very sensitive person with a lot of emotional empathy where they kind of sponge up whatever vibe they feel, but they don't quite have the ability to act on what they think would make things right!

So yeah they fight a lot between these clashing personalities that bring out the worst in each other and other creative differences. The stress of the job adds to it!

Faith has an older sister. Val has two older brothers and many younger siblings. The Cellist is an only child which is uncommon in salmonid society

Faith is a Goldie, at least partially so. Val is a cohock from a family of steelheads and Big Shots and is extra durable bc of this. The Cellist is a Maws or meant to be one... he either did not complete training or retired due to his clumsiness...

All of them have healthy appetites esp Val and the Cellist

Val and the Cellist have both been in different bands before. Val was in a rock band that only lasted a summer when he was like 17-18 and then was part of a traditional salmonid music ensemble for a couple years before ω-3

As for the Cellist they’ve been through a couple different musical groups. They left most due to creative differences and not getting along with band mates.

This is the DJ’s first like. Band. Before this they just did solo gigs and posted stuff online

[kaelio]

Thorne/Marius :)

'I can make it SO fucked up <3" - again, this is how I roll, even for the ships I consider myself casting in a good light.

'Color me intrigued!' - I am genuinely, sincerely shocked that apparently I am the only person on ao3 who has written this. I absolutely assumed it would be a fringe thing but like, a thing.

'Basically canon to me' - I don't know, in my head it's just a thing! Sure, at the end of B&G, Thorne is tied up in other stuff, but I don't know. I just don't buy nothin's going on there. Straight-up canon in my brain.

'Brb gotta go through their whole ship tag' - their whole ship tag is apparently the one thing I personally am working on.

'I like it in very specific--' - I mean, maybe this shouldn't be highlighted. The scenario is 'them swapping spit literally the first fucking second they run into one another' does this require the 'special scenarios' box idk

'They're sweet' - I think it's a nice ship. They get along! Thorne is a good guest! Marius is a good host! Together they're learning how to enact vengeance for slights centuries past!

'Thematically delicious' - I think that Roman and Viking stuff is thematically fun because both of them are from cultures where if someone expresses a lot of interest there's a huge 'uh-oh' factor and that's literally funny, but also too bad because some history things are cool even if they're also cool to really shitty people. I think they'd bond over this.

'compatible band of freaks' - any functional ship in tvc probably needs to highlight this tbh

if the next box over had 'inherent eroticism of murder' it would be highlighted like hell because I thought that, even though Thorne had his own reasons, it was very considerate of him to do that murder on Marius' behalf.

[mingain]

I posted 776 times in 2022

That's 765 more posts than 2021!

184 posts created (24%)

592 posts reblogged (76%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@fuzzy-melonlord

@dollscircus

@daveyserket

@undeniablyemily

@themonotonysyndrome

I tagged 247 of my posts in 2022

#redacted asmr - 130 posts

#chaos with mingain - 66 posts

#redacted angel - 46 posts

#redacted davey - 44 posts

#redacted david - 28 posts

#redacted unpopular opinions - 24 posts

#redacted asher - 23 posts

#redacted sweetheart - 23 posts

#redacted milo - 22 posts

#redacted babe - 18 posts

Longest Tag: 85 characters

#i’m setting the main character’s mother on fire in the series i’m writing so probably

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Ok, I'm sure it's clear what my opinion on the Caelum controversy is due to me reblogging every post I can telling people not to sexualize him. But, I wanted to make my own post to solidify the fact that I agree that Caelum, as a character cannoically compared to a child, should not be sexualised (nor should any character in any work that is cannonically a child or compared to a child frequently).

If any of my followers or mutuals have a problem with my standpoint on this, unfollow me immediatly. My blog is meant to be a safe place for people and having someone who condones the sexualisation of a childlike character will stop it from being safe.

69 notes - Posted May 7, 2022

#4

I'm convinced that Hux listens to 'Never Gonna Give You Up' unironically and has unknowingly Rick Rolled the whole D.A.M.N. crew on multiple occations when he was playing his music.

I do not take critisism on this.

70 notes - Posted January 22, 2022

#3

Ok, hear me out here, but Angel as a music teacher. 

- They just randomly burst into song at the worst times but it calms everyone around them.  - Has turned up to a pack meeting late with their cello on their back because one of their students wanted help writing a song. - Angel and David running into one of Angel’s students while out together and David getting to see just how much they care for their students. - Angel getting bombarded with presents from students at Christmas and the end of the academic year because their everyone’s favourite teacher. - Angel holding an after school club that they tell the school is “music theory revision” but really, it’s 5 minutes of music theory revision followed by absolute chaos and becomes a band practice. - Angel teaching Sweetheart how to play piano. More specifically, Angel teaching Sweetheart how to play Milo’s favourite song on the piano for a birthday present. (He cried) - Angel with perfect pitch. Just like, “Yeah, Christian, your voice just raised from a C4 to a E4, calm down, Asher was joking.” - Angel performing The Last Of The Real Ones by Fall Out Boy on their anniversary.

Conclusion: Music teacher Angel has my heart.

97 notes - Posted January 2, 2022

#2

More Redacted ASMR Incorrect Quotes.

Note: Some attributes I assigned to the listeners are based off of my OCs for them (Angel and Babe's jobs and where Angel and Sweetheart are from). Also thank you @moonandstarlightsposts for sending me that clip, you saved my ass from haveing a meltdown.

Angel: Vodka time! David: I'm sorry... what? Asher, running into the pack meeting with two bottles of vodka: VODKA TIME!

----------

David: You could've died! Asher: I prefer to call it a vibe check from God.

----------

Lovely: My boyfriend won't stop flirting with me! Babe: My boyfriend won't stop complimenting me! Darlin': My boyfriend won't stop lecturing me! Angel, soaking wet: My boyfriend won't stop pushing me into the goddamn pool!

----------

Babe: Fuck, marry, kill with David, Angel and William Solaire. Darlin', glaring at Babe: Obviously I'm marrying Angel-

----------

Darlin': So... uh... what do you do for a living? Angel: Oh, I'm a music teacher. Christian: Prove it. Play five songs on the piano right now. Angel, ignoring him: As you can see, I have experience with people whose maturity hasn't yet progressed past the age of 13.

----------

Angel: You know, my best friend is a dentist! Babe: Hi? David: Angel, you have the worst oral hygene I've ever seen.

----------

Sweetheart, giving Milo a present: Merry Christmas! Milo: It's June-

--------

Asher: Oh my God, how did you break your foot!? Angel: I kicked a Dalek.

----------

Angel, Babe and Sweetheart, who got sent to the past:

Gabe: Well, who are you 3 in the future? Sweetheart: A department investigator. Babe: An informed unempowered. Angel: Your future child-in-law.

David, from across the room: I'm sorry... his WHAT!?

----------

Darlin': *Walks into a pack meeting and picks up Angel.* David: Tank, put my mate down. Darlin': No &lt;3

----------

David: Everytime you talk, I get a migrane. Asher: And everytime we kiss, I swear I could fly. Angel: Can't you feel my heart beat fast, I want this to last. Milo: Need you by my side!

----------

Asher: Yo, guys, Mozart's fucking dead! Angel: Oh my God! David: Angel, you're LITERALLY A MUSIC TEACHER.

----------

Sam: Do I really have to do this? Angel, Milo and Sweetheart: YES!

Sam: Texas Milo: East Coast Angel: England Sweetheart: And Ireland All: The four hoursemen of "goddamn, they've got a sexy accent".

120 notes - Posted January 26, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

Redacted ASMR Incorrect Quotes... it’s time.

Babe to Angel: If we made a joint YouTube channel, we would just be Unus Annus reskinned. Angel: ...Yes Sweetheart: Can I be jacksepticeye and drop in every once in a while? David: -_- Asher: ^u^ Milo: O_O?

-------------------------

Angel, tired from a long day at work: Kill me. Quinn, from behind a nearby tree: That can be arrainged.

-------------------------

Angel: I think I should go to a chiropractor. Asher: What’s a chiropractor? Angel: My bones go clicky clicky, chiropractor makes my bones go CRACK! David: ... Angel, what the actual fu-

-------------------------

Lovely: *Singing Single Ladies* Vincent: I don’t know how to feel about this.

-------------------------

Sam, walking into his home: Hello? Angel, Babe and Sweetheart: Allow us to introduce ourselves.

-------------------------

On the mates group chat

Sweetheart added SamAngel changed Sam’s name to Southern Tank Driver

Babe: Well, hello there.

-------------------------

Asher: Duck... duck... goose! Tank: Oh, please. Not even I’m that childish. Asher, grow up and play Wolf, Wolf, Vampire. David: *Dies inside*

-------------------------

Angel: MIRACULOUS! Babe: SIMPLY THE BEST! Sweetheart: UP TO THE TEST WHEN THINGS GO WRONG! Tank: MIRACULOUS! Lovely: THE LUCKIEST! David, Sam and Milo: -_- Asher and Vincent: THE POWER OF LOVE ALWAYS SO STRONG!

-------------------------

David: I should have left you on that street corner where you were standing. Angel and Asher, simultaneously: But you didn’t

------------------------

Angel: Hi... David: Hello? Angel: ... My name is Chelsea, what’s your favorite dinner food?

-------------------------

Vincent: Lovely, you seem to use humor to deflect you trama. Lovely: And? You became a flirt to deflect yours.

-------------------------

Angel: Ok, ok, ok, hear me out... *mind goes blank* Asher, Babe, Sweetheart and Milo: *Waiting patiently* David: Angel? You ok? Angel: ... cum.

-------------------------

Lovely: Sam, tell Vincent that I’m mad at him. Sam: You’re literally sitting in his lap. Lovely: Your point?

126 notes - Posted January 6, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[dilemma-danger]

☆welcome to my blog!!!☆

haii :D im ash!!!

my pronouns r he/they/it/bite :3 im also pansexual and a trans guy!

im a high schooler :P

i have tourettes syndrome, epilepsy, mdd, and anxiety

my sideblogs r @clearingthroat (vents/gore), @against-life-as-a-symptom (art, though i also post art here), @d1lemmaaa (kjrp), and @gerard-ways-right-sock (mostly made that bc there's a left sock blog lmao)

im also a therian!!! my theriotypes are a jaguar, a black jaguar, and a northern long-eared bat :] feel free to ask about them!

my blog is matching with my friend, @gay-little-freak!!

i went to one more time tour and saw ptv and blink-182 7/11/24!!!!

free palestine🇵🇸

i lovelovelove music!!! lots of different types!! i have my headphones on pretty much 24/7, you'll never see me with em off hehe

i have lots of favorite bands!! in no specific order, they're my chemical romance, pierce the veil, blink 182, hozier, green day, tv girl, lemon demon, system of a down, slipknot, leathermouth, frank iero, mailpup, salv the dog, s3rl, sodikken, weezer, ghost, femtanyl, insane clown posse, simple plan, fall out boy, and h3artcrush :33

my favorite genres r emo music and loudloudloud stuff that i can blow my eardrums out with!!!!

please send music recommendations x3

my current and past hyperfixations:

fnaf, gore, cannibalism, lobotomies, mcr, olms, plushies, ranboo, dsmp (this was like 4 years ago don't execute me please), furries, dinosaurs, saw (2004)

tags:

#thoughts : my og posts!!

#horny for frank iero : uh. i think this one is somewhat self explanatory :')

#asks : any asks people send me!!! (please send me asks ily)

#me : pics of me :33

i started doing these after i started posting, so its technically not all of my posts.

DNI:

homophobes/transphobes, ableists, zoophiles, racists, incest, and other basic dni. that includes assholes.

other random stuffs!!!

-my favorite color is neon green

-my favorite animals are snakes and olms

-pleaseee use tonetags im really bad at deciphering things lol

-im really cool and a really great guy this is Certified by the Government

-i love to draw and make things!! i make a lot of kandi and cosplays. lmk if you want to see any of my cosplays :3

-i have a youtube channel with 17.8k subscribers!! i dont like giving it out, but dm me if you want it :]

-i collect soda tabs and plushies

pictures of me, my killjoy oc, and blinkies/stamps below the cut!!!

this is me!!!!

my killjoy oc!!!!

DILEMMA DANGER!!! (name by @gay-little-freak :3)

dilemma is mostly based off of me, so we're kinda similar!!

pronouns: he/they

gender: male (trans)

sexuality: panromantic asexual

he lovessss music, and he plays the guitar xP

he wears this a lot!!!

this is what he looks like!!! i havent actually drawn them a full reference yet, i still need to. look out for that!!

i roleplay as him sometimes!!!

whenever a post is him talking, itll be set up like this:

text goes here

-dilemma danger

sometimes it wont have the "-dilemma danger" part, but only if ive already stated it earlier in the conversation :]

he is a MAJOR crash king. he has a singular brain cell and he does not use it hehe

hes got sharp teeth and a dirty blonde fluffy mullet that usually covers his eyes.

he actually is very good at fighting, when he needs to be!!

hes tall and lanky and has a diagonal scar from his cheek to his nose from a clap with some dracs.

he hatesssss firefights and hes not very good at shooting, so he usually carries around a knife! he still uses his gun though, just not often.

he likes zone five the most and is debating finding a place there to live, but he currently lives on the cusp of zone three and four.

he does have a group, but im still developing them :]

BLINKIES!!!

thanks for reading :D this ended up really long hehe

[lex-munro]

[Fateverse: The Traveler] (We’re Not a) Team

you guys You Guys YOU GUYS YOU GUYS

i found it.  eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee =3

i gave the file the wonderfully accurate and unhelpful title of "TEMP," because i was adding its HTML tags and got interrupted.

Wade and Forecaster land in a Titans-verse on their first solo assignment (thanks to Jormungandr’s map).

Warnings:  Dimension-hopping.  An alternate DC timeline based on kind of a mashup of Titans and Young Justice, diverging somewhere in the middle of Titans season 2 and just stealing little tidbits of YJ; as such, contains spoilers for Titans but not for YJ (for example: Hank is alive and Blackfire is still on Tamaran living it up and reforming their objectively gross caste system).  Language: PG-13 (primetime TV plus s*** and f***).

Pairing:  background Dick/Connor (do we still call that rarepair SuperNight, or am I out of date again?).

Timeline:  several years after Titans season 2.

Disclaimer:  recognizeable characters and properties belong to DC, Marvel, WB, et al.

We’re Not a Team

Wade looks around.  An involuntary shiver creeps up his spine.  “Whoa.  I don’t feel right, Effcee.”

~It’s the phase misalignment.  Wades aren’t used to not matching their surroundings.~

“If I’m misaligned, doesn’t that mean I’m damaging the stability of this branch?”

~A little.  But we shouldn’t have to worry about that for a couple of days, at least.~

“Which is when what happens, exactly?  The destabilization gets too bad to fix?”

~Nahhhh.  Usually, local loci—heh, that’s fun to say—will come do some automatic tuning before it gets that bad.~

“Meaning one of this branch’s plot devices is gonna come kill the fuck outta me.”

~Anything sounds bad when you say it with that attitude.~

“Should I have tried to sound more cheerful about my potentially impending horrible death?”

~Always look on the briiight siiiide of death!~

Wade blames his somewhat Pavlovian response to song fragments for the way he automatically whistles along.  “So, where’s that subject shrapnel we’re chasing?”

~Scanning, please wait…  Whaaaaat?~

“What?” Wade echoes.  “What ‘what’?  Q’est ce que ‘what’?”

~Uh.  It’s…you?  But not you-you?  Resonance says it’s a Wade, but everything else is way outta whack.  And we’ve got a Bishop around here, prolly chasing him.  That’s all I got from local residue.  Find me a wifi hotspot, and I’ll see what the Interwebs turns up.~

So Wade heads for the Starbucks he sees at the end of the block.  He gets a triple-shot breve while he waits, and may or may not accidentally hear some radio chatter on a police band about some sports team losing some game.

~Okay, so according to this universe’s version of Reddit, we’re on Young Justice turf.  Let’s see…we got Teen Titans on each coast…we got some celebrity couples…  Nice TikTok vid of the green-haired kid and the goth chick acting out key Disney romance scenes with reversed gender roles…  Oh shit, son!  Not-you is a baby—the most talked-about baby on the planet right now.  Billionaire philanthropist tech mogul Bruce Wayne’s adopted grandkid, Wade Grayson, mysteriously vanished from the public eye one year ago today…  Wade, my guy, baby-you is Dick Grayson’s kid, how freaking awesome is that?~

“Oh, shit—is that where we are?  Damn, son!  His other dad is Superboy.”

~Missing as of yesterday.  The Internet is aflame with conspiracy theories, because of the timing.  Young Justice is poking around…their little Atlantean dude is closest, by my scans.~

“Sweeeet, let’s book it.”

~Nobody says that anymore, Wade.~

Wade chooses to ignore that.  He follows Forecaster’s map a few blocks and into an alley—where some young guy is going waterbender on Bishop.

“You!” Wade and Bishop say at the same time (and possibly with the same level of annoyance).

“Aren’t there any other time-traveling douchebags out there?” Wade complains.

“I was just thinking the same thing about you.”

“And don’t you have anything better to do than twaddle around the Timestream circumventing free will and murdering babies?”

Bishop ducks a spear made of water and says, “That’s a gross oversimplification!”

“Your face is a gross oversimplification!” Wade retorts, and squeezes off a few rounds.

Blocked by the nifty robot hand, but it was worth a try, and it gets the kid an opening to bash Bishop in the face with a hammer.

“Pffft, water-hammer…  Who said physics isn’t funny?”

“Enough!” yells Bishop, and he does his obnoxious blinding glowworm trick.

When Wade can see again, the creep is nowhere to be found.

“Who the heck are you?” the kid asks Wade.  “And how do you know Bishop?”

“Eh, I’ve had to kill a couple Bishops before.  As for who I am?  Short answer:  good guy.”

“Long answer?”

“Wade Wilson, meta-human Swiss Army Knife and dimension-hopping do-gooder.  I’m pretty sure I’m here to stop Bishop from killing Nightwing’s kid, who is both me and not-me.  Gonna assume at the moment that means my first step is finding and-or rescuing the boytoy.”

“Superboy,” the kid says helpfully.  “Robin and I found a clue and split up, and suddenly I’m facing off with sci-fi-Wilt-Chamberlain.  From what he was up to the last time we saw him, that means I’m on the right track.”

Wade turns a circle.  “In an alley?”

“I’m pretty sure there’s a secret LexCorp lab nearby.”

“Better call the gang, then.  Effcee, anything secret-labby?”

~Like the suspicious amount of shielding on the building to your right?  Hard to tell for sure, but the scans I can get make it look abandoned.~

“Huh.  Guess we don’t need a team, then.”  Wade shrugs, extends a blade, and takes an experimental swipe at the wall of the building in question.  The brick is easy, but he whacks something solid enough that he pulls something in his shoulder.

~Try the eye-lasers.~

“I hate the eye-lasers.”

~You got a better idea?~

“One of the Just Youngins goes punchy-punchy, right?  Whatever the current Wonder Woman equivalent is.  Is it another Wonder Girl, or did they go with something less derivative?”

~Narp.  The current Wonder Girl is a Teen Tighty.  Super-Dad is the team’s punchy-punchy, thus currently indisposed.~

“Stupid useful itchy eye-lasers,” Wade grumbles, and focuses on glaring the wall to death.

“Oh, sh—” Waterboy yelps, ducking behind Wade.

Something heavy falls inside the building.

Hope that wasn’t structural…

Wade kicks down the door he cut into the wall.

“Can we slow down a little?  I called the team, so we’ll have backup in a few minutes.  Martian or Nightwing would be super-helpful.”

“When it looks like we just hit money?” Wade scoffs, craning his neck to survey all the nifty LexCorp doodads.  “How awesome would it be to find and rescue a Superdude without any help from a bat or a bird?  That’d finally get the Water Tribe some respect, right?  I mean, there’s whole universes out there that mock Aquaman as the absolute lamest member of the Justice League.”

“What!?” squawks the younger man.  “After he made a literal dragon out of seawater and crunched a battleship in half?”

“Huh.  He can do that?”

“Yes!  It was extremely badass.  He even did a hair-flip after, and I’m pretty sure half the bystanders swooned.”

“Can you do that?”

“Not that big, but you saw me earlier.”

“No, the hair-flip.”

Damp Scamp, who has very short hair, is Not Amused.

“Kidding, kidding, jeez,” Wade mutters with a grimace.  “Could you have, for instance, seeped the water from these puddles into the mortar of the wall and then made it explode?”

“Yup,” the kid says, clearly not a fan of Wade’s fail-better-faster approach to problem-solving.

D’oh!

“Uh.  Oops?  My bad, yo.”

The current Robin drops into the alley from somewhere (Wade looks up, but there’s no fire escapes or open windows).  “Three questions:  who were you fighting; who’s the new guy; and are we going in, or what?”

“Three answers:  Marxist Baby-Killer; Wade Wilson, big fan of your work; and sure, let’s find some clues to where the baddies stashed Super-Dad.  How do you not know who Bishop is when Sokka over here said you guys have fought him before?”

“That was Bishop?  I was dealing with my own thing at the time—Dick didn’t even tell me it had happened until he’d sent Hank and the baby into hiding and they’d already put Bishop in Iron Heights Prison.”  Robin makes a face that Wade would hazard to classify as thoughtful.  “How’d you cut through the wall?”

“Itchy eye-lasers.  It’s a mutant thing.”

“Hm.  Let’s go.”

A yellow blur resolves itself into a kid with auburn hair and a dorky super-suit.  “Sorry I’m late—pizza craving.  You buzzed, Kaldur?”

“LexCorp lab, and try not to break anything,” Robin says.  He pauses to level each of them with a stern look.  “That goes for all three of you.”

“Have we met?” the new kid asks Wade.

“Wade Wilson, interdimensional bounty hunter, here to unfuck this shit with Bishop and the presumably-super-powered mysterious baby.”

“Wowsers.  I’d try to be skeptical of you, but it’s been that kinda week.  Plus, said mysterious baby has always tickled my brain with questions his dads refused to acknowledge, like, ‘where did this creepy baby come from’ and ‘how can the creepy baby change his DNA’ and ‘why the hell was the creepy baby’s first word “Donna” when I am clearly the superior babysitter’.  Anyway, I’m Kid Flash, nice to meetcha.”

“What do you think Bishop was after?” Aquadude asks as they try to figure out whether anything’s been taken or disturbed.

“Truth serum?” Robin speculates.  “Kryptonite tools?  Some sort of mind-reading device?  Kryptonian DNA tracker?”

“This looks computer-y,” Wade declares, and thrusts Forecaster at a large array of electronics meaningfully.

~Y’know, a ‘please’ would be nice.~

“Please crack into Lex Luthor’s evil network so we can do our job and not get fired on our very first solo mission.”

~Sheesh, you’re so grumpy these days…~

Screens and control panels light up.  Gibberish scrolls by.

~Well, no convenient ‘we got Superboy stashed here’ signs, but logs say ol’ Skywalker came and got a control chip for some doohickey that’s supposed to let you view and record somebody’s memories.  They got some kooky drug that makes people more suggestable, but apparently that adds a risk of brain damage.  Ooh, doesn’t seem to work on Kryptonians, so that’s good news.~

Flash Junior’s comm buzzes, and he answers it.  “Yello!”

~“Nightwing is missing.”~

~Yikes,~ says Forecaster.  ~Guess we know whose memories they’re planning to poke through.~

“That’s pretty terrible news, Meggles,” the auburn idiot relays.

~“My name is not ‘Meggles.’  I have alerted Outlaw, and he has decided to make an attempt to locate Nightwing with Raven’s magic.”~

~Found a map.  Might need a ride.~

“Okay, Mug—Mig—look, Martian, I really suck at pronouncing your name, so I’ll just go with the bastardized American version and call you Megan—we’ve got a couple of leads, too.  We’ll call if we get anything concrete.”  And the Quicksilver knock-off hangs up his comm.

Robin is currently staring at the map Forecaster has projected on a nearby wall.  “I’ll take the west side; you three check the remaining five sites.”

“How come you get a whole side to yourself?”

“Because I’m not as easily distracted as you, Kid Flash,” Robin dismisses.

“Is it ‘cause I’m white?  It’s ‘cause I’m white, isn’t it.”

“What?  No.  Dick and Jace are white.  Rach and Cass are white.  Hell, Clark and Bruce are white.”

“Clark’s an alien.”

Wade puts a hand over the chatterbox’s mouth.  “We probably don’t have time for this,” he interrupts.  “You take the bottom three, if you’re so hot to trot.  Me and Moist Boi can knock out the other two.”

“Transportation?” Aquakid asks.

“Does teleporting make you carsick?”

“I have no idea?”

Wade grabs the kid and fwumps them across the room.

“Oh,” he says in a tiny, awkward voice.  “No, but it’s really rather unpleasant, isn’t it?”

Wade waves a hand.  “Don’t be a wuss.  I’ll drop you at one site and bamf along to do the other one.  Woohoo, teamwork, all right!”

“Go team!” Kid Flash agrees (“We’re on two separate teams, and he’s not a member of either of them,” Robin says, and gets ignored).

“Go team,” Aquabro says with a distinct lack of esprit de corps.

“You would suck at a pep rally,” Wade says, and grabs his shoulder to start chaining teleports.

Five minutes later, he drops off the Liquidator, gets his bearings, and heads for the last site.

“I got a good feeling about this one, Effcee,” Wade says as he stares at a dockside warehouse that basically screams ‘secret lab.’  “You tapped the Justice Scouts’ comms, right?”

~Yeah, but I got no signal on Flasher and Puddles.  Maybe that’s just from getting into secret bases full of shielding.  Or maybe somebody broke their communicate-y bits.  Want I should try Birdy the Third in case of fowl play?~

“Nahhhh, he’s got important shit to do.  Let’s just bee and ee without any bee-ing.  Teleportation is so convenient, even if it makes my bones chilly.”

~Wade.  Fowl.  Fowl play.~

“I’m not going to dignify that with a response.  Get me some scans so I don’t splinch myself.”

~So you don’t splinch yourseeeelf…?~

Wade rolls his eyes.  “Please.”

~Coming right up, O Humorless One!~

“I’ve got tons of humor.  I’m funnier than you.”

~Hah!  Good one.  But hey, once we’re in, then what?~

“So many questions!  I’ll do what Jamie’s best at.  Y’know…all those ‘ain’t nice’ things involving violence and dismemberment.”

.End.

[familyvideostevie]

𝕟𝕠 𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘: 𝕤𝕖𝕡𝕥𝕖𝕞𝕓𝕖𝕣

a farmer's market steve harrington x reader au part 1 [7.2k] | part 2 [8.3k] | part 3 [13.3k] | part 4 [4.6k] | au masterlist

SEPTEMBER

You haven't called home in two weeks. But then again, no one has tried to reach you, either. It took one to drive here and the other you’ve spent settling in. The main house is quiet most of the time, except when Bob turns up the radio as he cleans. If you try really hard you think you can hear the gentle hum of the hives, a soothing buzz that never ceases. Bees are like that: always working, always caring for their queen. Never unsatisfied to do so forever.

"It must be nice," you'd said to Bob when he showed you a piece of comb for the first time. The beekeepers at New-Bee's farm only wear netting on their faces, which made you only a little bit nervous but you'd pushed it down.

"What do you mean?" your new boss asked you.

"To know what your life means," you said softly. A single worker bee crawled onto your hand to explore. Her tiny legs tickled a little. "To know how you're supposed to spend it." Bob gently clapped a hand on your shoulder and smiled at you.

"I think you're going to learn a lot from the bees while you're here. And from this town. If you want to."

And right now you're wondering if you want to. If this hadn't been a huge mistake -- snatching at the vague opportunity your parents had presented after you dropped out of college. To work at and live on a bee farm in Hawkins, Indiana owned by a college friend. To help out for the last few months at the local farmer's market. To see if you can figure out what's next before the goodwill of everyone around you wears out.

It's still a little warm for September. You and Bob had been a bit red-faced unloading the beeswax candles, soaps, and jars of honey onto the wooden stand you're running. You'd reassured him you could handle selling by yourself until he came back to help you pack up when the market ends at 2 pm. The other stands are looking thinly staffed -- school starting has taken away most of the summer hires -- and you see plenty of people your age. A boy with a tangle of long hair and a black bandana around his neck is organizing mushrooms a few stalls over while laughing at something the tiny woman you know to be Joyce Byers says to him. She's got a clipboard in hand and looks very serious. A pretty girl in a Hawkins Band shirt sporting a backwards baseball cap is bickering with another boy whose back is turned to you, but you can see the work gloves tucked into the back pocket of his jeans, his arms straining against his t-shirt as he gesticulates wildly.

You sigh and yawn, checking your watch. 8:50 am. Market opens in ten minutes, and you can already see people milling around on the surrounding sidewalk. It's going to be a long day.

"Hello? Anybody home?" You startle out of your stupor to see the boy with the gloves standing in front of you. He's alarmingly pretty -- messy hair and cheeks dotted with faint freckles, chewed lips pouted as he looks at you with annoyed eyes. His baseball shirt is tucked into his jeans and the gloves are in one hand now, a hand he's settled on his hip like he's about to chastise you.

His name tag is crooked.  It reads Sara's Farm: Steve.

"Hi," you say, a bit dazed. "Can I...help you?"

"Who are you? Where's Melanie?" He sounds impatient and almost rude, glancing over his shoulder as if checking for someone.

"Uh," you point to your own name tag to answer his first question, wondering if he actually cares about the second. "She's back at field hockey. So can I help you...Steve?"

He starts at the sound of his own name before his brows narrow again. He seems to have a very quick conversation with himself before he leans on your stall, his demeanor changing completely.

"Well, she put aside some candles for me. Any chance you can hand 'em over?" It's almost like he's flirting with you, but he's still glancing over his shoulder, his fingers tapping on the wood betraying his impatience. Maybe he's buying them for the girl he was talking to earlier.

"I'm really sorry," you say, bending down to check the crates of glass jars. "I don't know anything about that." You hate to disappoint this cute boy on your first meeting, even if he's not exactly charming you.

He sighs and rubs his free hand over his face. "Look," he says. "Are you sure? You're new, so maybe you just didn't see them, or maybe you're not looking in the right place--"

"Do you want to do my job for me?" you snap. It doesn't feel like he's being rude on purpose, but you're bristling. This is your stall and yes, you're new, but you know what you're doing. Steve throws up his hands and backs away a little.

"No," he mutters. "Sorry. I'll just -- come back later." He turns away without another word and you feel your mouth twist into a frown. Hopefully not everyone is as sour as this guy.

"Harrington, be nice to the new girl!" calls a rough voice. "Don't mind him, he's not usually such a sourpuss." It's the long-haired boy by the mushroom stand. He waves.

"Fuck off, Munson!" Steve sends his middle finger in that general direction and does not look at you.

"Christ," you mutter. But you can't think about it for long, as Joyce unties the thin rope at the entrance and townspeople spill into the square.

It's not a hard job, not really. And you do like talking to people -- hearing about how much they love Bob, love the candles. How they use the honey in their tea or to fend off seasonal allergies. It's nice to have people smile at you, to have their hands brush yours as you take their change. It makes you feel lighter, makes you feel needed. Most people are charmed by your newness, giving recommendations of local businesses to check out and asking you how you like Hawkins, their Midwest kindness making your cheeks ache.

The morning rush dies down a little around 11:30, so you resolve to look for those stupid candles again. Because no matter how unpleasant this Steve Harrington might be, you don't like that he thinks you're bad at your job. And he looked pretty anxious to get his hands on those candles. You search every crate for anything with his name on it until you finally find a small parcel tied with twine and labeled "SH."

"You're welcome," you mutter. A glance at the stalls around you proves fruitful as you get a glimpse of Steve for the first time since this morning. He's standing close to the mushroom stall whispering furiously to the same girl from earlier. You slide out from behind New-Bee's and trot over to where they're standing, parcel in hand.

"She couldn't find the...uh...stuff I ordered weeks ago, Robin. I mean, keeping track of stock isn't hard. I don't know where she came from anyway. Maybe she'll be gone once Bob realizes she's losing stuff like an idiot." The girl -- Robin -- has the decency to grimace when she catches sight of you. You're tempted to drop his candles on the ground right then and there, but you instead put on a smile that your mother once called "extremely unsettling."

"Steve," you say loudly, putting a hand on his shoulder. He's warm through the fabric. He turns, eyes wide. A flush spreads across his cheekbones.

"Uh--"

"I found your things." You make sure to keep your voice sticky sweet. "So sorry it took so long. I'm just so new and stupid." You shove the parcel into his hands, leaning into his space. His pupils dilate and he smells a little like sweat, a little like apples. "You don't know a thing about me," you hiss, "so I think you should go fuck yourself." You flash your teeth at him and turn on your heel. Robin bursts into laughter but you don't look back. Your fingers tingle and Steve's scent fills your nostrils. Why are you getting so worked up over a random boy?

Maybe because you're staring down the barrel of three Saturdays of farmer's markets and you've already made an enemy.

___

By 1 pm you are very hungry.

"Damn," you say to yourself. You'll have to bring a snack next time.

But then, as if by magic, a girl appears in front of the stand. She's young, probably high school-aged, with long hair pulled back in a ponytail. She sports a Sara's Farm name tag that reads Jane.

"Hi," she says. Her eye contact is intense immediately, but something about her makes you smile, even if she works with Steve.

"Hi," you echo. She holds out a brown paper bag. You raise your eyebrows but reach out to take it from her. "Thanks?"

"My dad told me to welcome you," she says. "It's just an apple and a scone we made this morning. I figured you forgot your lunch. Eddie always does." You must look confused at her name dropping, so she points to the mushroom stand first, and then to the white tents where Steve had disappeared earlier. "Eddie. And my dad's farm."

Your chest is doing something messy as you take in that this girl has brought you food. "Thank you," you say, softer this time. She beams at you.

"Was Steve mean earlier?" You open the bag and pull out a gorgeous red apple rather than answer. She huffs. "He's been so rude this week. I think it's because he doesn't know what to get Robin for her birthday." Girlfriend, maybe?

"Candles," you mutter. He must have bought the candles in advance for her. It doesn't make you like him anymore, but it makes you see why he was a little desperate. But he didn’t have to call you stupid.

"So, who are you? Why are you in Hawkins?" the girl asks. You point to your name tag for the second time today. "Oh!" she says, just realizing that she never introduced herself. "I'm Jane, but you can call me El."

"Hi, El." Her question doesn't carry any accusation like Steve's had. She’s genuinely curious with a child-like kindness that makes you want to hug her. "I don’t have a fun story or anything. I didn't want to be where I was, so I thought I'd try somewhere new." You shrug and take a bite of the apple. It's crisp and fresh.

"Maybe you can start making one now that you're here."

"Making what?" You wipe juice from your chin.

"A story."

___

You realize very quickly that you don't have much to do to fill the week. Bob insists that you take a while to settle in before helping out around New-Bee's and he gives you the keys to one of the farm pickup trucks to explore whenever you want. But most of your days during the week are spent wandering the property or taking as long as possible to buy groceries with the money you're being paid -- money that you feel a bit strange taking, considering you're living in Bob's house and only working here because he knows your parents.

But goodwill is goodwill, you suppose. By Wednesday you've made two different kinds of muffins and one loaf of banana bread with a cookbook tucked away on a shelf.

"Not that I'm complaining, but I think it might be good for you to go into town," Bob says through a mouth full of the latter. "Go for a walk in the square. Go to the library! Maybe you'll see some of the kids your age who aren't in school." You smile thinly at him as he whistles his way to the hives. He's being kinder than you deserve, like a cool uncle or something. No one else who works on the property really talks to you.

"The library," you mutter. You could do with something to read. Or at least another place to sit and waste time. You scowl at the idea that you'll run into some other "kids your age" if their name is Steve Harrington, but it's worth the risk because you're so bored.

The parking lot is empty except for some bikes in the bike rack when you arrive. The truck sputters a little when you put it in park and you hop down into a fairly nice day. The chill has finally started to set into Hawkins, the sky a mess of fluffy white clouds and enough sunshine that you shade your eyes.

The front desk is deserted when you go inside. There's a small bell on the dark wood that is begging to be pushed and your hand is midair when a voice comes from your left.

"That never does anything," it says. You turn and see the girl from the market -- Robin -- with a stack of books in her arms. One of them teeters off of the top and you surge forward without thinking to grab it so it doesn't fall. She beams at you. You want to smile back but remember that she's maybe Steve's girlfriend and probably remembers how rude you were on Saturday so you step back quickly, clutching the hardcover. History of Art, it reads.

"Sorry," Robin says. "I've been walking around with all of these trying to find someone to check them out for like, 20 minutes but this place is a ghost town." She plunks her stack on the front desk with a sound far too loud for a library but no one shows up.

"We didn't officially meet," you say, biting the bullet. Steve Harrington be damned, you will not be known as the rude new girl in town. Even to your apparent nemesis's girlfriend. "You're Robin, right? And uh, you might have seen me at the farmer's market? I'm--"

"Oh, I know your name!" She says it with such warmth that you feel the corner of your mouth lift. "How could I forget? You burned Steve better than I could ever hope to. Seeing pretty girls be mean to him is like, the best thing ever."

You can't tamp down your confusion in time and Robin clocks it. Her eyes widen and her mouth forms an "o" before she bursts into laughter. Not just a chuckle, either. She's bent over, hands on her knees, shaking.

"Sorry," you say. This is the loudest you've ever been in a library in your life. "I think I'm a little lost." She straightens and runs a hand through her bob.

"You probably thought I was his girlfriend, right? Everyone does at first." You tap your fingers on the front desk and chew on your lip, nodding.

"I mean, he was buying stuff for you when we met." When he was rude, you don't say, but Robin picks up on the way your shoulders tense because she sighs.

"Yeah, he told me all about that. And he deserved the telling off you gave him!" Robin rings the bell just once, almost absentmindedly. "I feel like I need to apologize for him but he obviously should do that himself."

You huff. "Yeah, well. It's fine if he never does. We don't need to be friends." The thought causes a pang in your chest that you don't totally understand -- maybe it's because this lovely, kind girl is friends with him and that makes you yearn for companionship, too. Maybe it's because when you saw him for the first time you couldn't look away.

"He's a good guy," Robin hedges. "I met him when I started working at Sara's in high school and he's been there like, forever. He worked the market in the summer and then Hopper -- the guy who owns it -- took him on full time after graduation and he moved onto the property. Which is a pretty sweet gig if you ask me because he doesn't have to pay rent and he gets to like, be outside all the time." She sighs, examining her nails as she keeps talking. "I don't know how much you know about the whole thing, since this is your first time here. I mean, we all know about you because Bob told us you were coming and all that. But most of us do summers at the market growing up and maybe a little after when we can. It's just part of the town, part of our lives. Everyone there has a story, you know? And for Steve, the market and Sara's are like, his things." She seems to want to say more but stops herself. "Sorry," she says, a little sheepishly. "I talk a lot."

It must be nice to have a tether like that, you think. To have a place to gather, to know that you can always come back to. Your chest aches again and you blink rapidly, trying to think of something else to talk about. "What are you here for?" you ask instead. Robin takes on your change of subject kindly.

"Gotta rent these for school." She pats the top of her stack of textbooks. "I'm in college nearby enough that I come home a lot. And I forgot to get everything on my course list in time so there aren't enough copies at school. I don't have class today and I drove back yesterday because it was my birthday and Steve threw this party for me and all that stuff, so." She shrugs like it's no big deal.

"Happy birthday," you tell her, and you mean it. She winks at you.

"Thanks for the candles," she says. You roll your eyes but huff out a laugh. "He's really not that great at gifts. Better at doing stuff, you know?" You nod. Robin cracks her knuckles and rings the bell one more time. A woman finally pops out from the hallway behind the front desk as if she's hearing it for the first time.

"Library card, Dolores," Robin says, jerking her head at you. "Then all of these for me." The woman doesn't say a word but holds her hand out for your driver's license, which you pass over.

"You were here first," you mutter.

"Yeah, but my best friend was a dick to you, so." She examines you for a long second and you want to squirm, but you meet her gaze. "You're not bad at your job," she says. "He'll get over himself, I promise. But I hope you like it here and I hope he didn't ruin my chances of becoming your friend."

"I--"

"Here," the librarian says, shoving your license and a plastic card that says Hawkins Library under your nose. You take them from her as she starts to scan Robin's books.

"No late returns this time, Ms. Buckley," she says. Robin makes a face that says 'who, me’?

"See you on Saturday!" Her words echo behind you as you give her a little wave. Maybe you could be friends with her. And Steve, if he apologizes. And stops being such an asshole. And they're not dating, so Robin wouldn't have vouched for him unless she really meant it. How else are you going to spend the next few months? You can't sit in Bob's house every day. So maybe you need to suck it up and try harder this weekend, try to be nice. But something in you doesn't want to -- something that feels like Steve sees you as an outsider. As someone who doesn't belong at his market, this place that is clearly the center of the community. And the last thing you need is someone telling you that you're not welcome here.

You're so busy thing about Steve fucking Harrington that you don't realize until you're halfway back to the farm that you didn't even check out any books.

__

Unloading everything yourself for your second ever Hawkins Farmer's Market is probably not a good idea. But Bob was stressed this morning because a new queen was being introduced to one of the hives so you told him you had it covered. One box of honey and candles and soap is easy. But by box five? Holy shit, your arms hurt.

You're hauling your last box to your stall when you hear a low whistle from the Sara's Farm tent. You flick an errant piece of hair out of your eyes and glare in that direction only to find Steve Harrington with his arms crossed, frowning. He's in dark blue work pants today and a white shirt with a flannel pushed up to his elbows. And a stupid baseball cap on his head, backward.

"Have you been standing there this whole time?" Your voice is more disbelief than anger. But then he shrugs.

He takes a step forward. "Damn, why didn't you ask for help?" His hands form fists on his sleeves as he looks at all of the stock you've carried by yourself. It looks like his stand is all set up already.

"Don't you know how to put on a hat properly, Harrington?" you snarl, perhaps a bit harsher than you intended. Steve takes a step back and his eyes widen before he turns on his heel without so much as a wave.

You think about saying something else but it's then that you realize your stool is missing. And something in you deflates. Sure, you could stand for the next five hours but who really wants to do that? You look around as if it'll appear by magic, as if it's hiding behind the crates you brought in. But it's nowhere to be found, so you just start to unload, setting up your display and trying not to worry a hole through your lip.

"That looks nice!" Joyce Byers has her hair pulled up in a rather frazzled ponytail but she's all smiles as she compliments your work. "You okay over here?"

You shove down your discontent and nod. Joyce has been nothing but kind so far, coming to check on you at New-Bee's more than once, and she does her best to keep the market well-run.

"Well, actually," you say, grimacing. "I think the stool I had last week has moved somewhere? Would I be able to get another?" Joyce scribbles something on the clipboard she's holding before nodding.

"Oh, of course. I'll have Jonathan find something. Stuff can get moved around when the stalls get put away, so I'm sure it's somewhere!" Movement over her shoulder catches your eye.

It's Steve. Moving your stool behind crates of apples and plopping his annoying ass onto it. You clench your fingers into fists and any goodwill you were considering after running into Robin this week totally evaporates.

Fuck him.

"You okay?" Joyce asks. You blink and smile at her.

"Just a little tired," you say. "I'll be okay standing until Jonathan has a second." Not even a single part of you wants to tell her that Steve took your stool. It would feel like defeat. In what, you're not totally sure. Joyce pats you on the arm and heads off on her rounds.

You sell a few soaps and a very large jar of honey to a strange man called Murray who asks your opinion on wiretapping. He's just left for Rick's Mushrooms when a boy with a mop of hair and kind face approaches carrying two wooden crates.

"Uh, hi," he says. "My mom said to bring you these?"

"Oh thank god," you moan, louder than you probably should. "Jonathan, right?" You step around the stall to grab them from him. He's got a name tag on that says "Byers Flowers."

"That's me. Sorry I couldn't find a stool. But if you stack these it should work." You do as he says and plop down and sigh so big that Jonathan laughs. "Who is watching the flowers if you're here?" you ask. Maybe this boy could be your friend. 

"My little brother, Will." A smile spreads across his face as he keeps talking. "He's better at it than I am, really. Really good at selling people on big bouquets."

"I'll have to buy one sometime," you say, and you mean it. "Thank you for these, really." You kick at the crates with your heels. 

As soon as Jonathan goes back to his job you feel your good mood slowly slip away. Someone must have it out for you because you can see Steve perfectly from here. He hasn't flipped his hat around all day and he's barely using the stool that he stole from you. You watch him flirt with old ladies and girls your age alike, watch him juggle apples for kids and recommend different kinds of tomatoes and potatoes and squash and it makes you furious.

It makes you so mad and you don't dare think about why.

A nice girl your age is admiring some soap when she notices you staring. "Do you know Steve Harrington?" she asks you.

"Uh," you say, embarrassed to be caught. "No?"

"Probably best," she sighs. "You're new in town, right?" You nod. News spreads faster in Hawkins than wildfire. "I've got nothing against him, not really. People change, right? But he was a piece of work in high school. Lots of girls, lots of broken hearts." She shrugs.

"You ever date him?" you ask. She laughs.

"No. Had a boyfriend the whole time. But he's a flirt, that's for sure. I'd be wary, I guess is what I'm saying." She picks up the soap she's eyeing. "Can I get this?"

"Sure," you say, grabbing the purchase pad. "And thanks, I think. But I don't think I'll be going anywhere near him."

"Hi, Brenda," the boy in question interrupts. The girl -- Brenda -- grabs her soap and hands you some cash before grimacing and giving Steve a wave. "Thanks," she says to you. "Hi, Steve." He rocks back and forth on his heels as she walks away, hands in his back pockets. You want to knock the hat off of his head.

"Harrington," you say, sitting back on your crates.

"On a last-name basis, are we?" You cross your arms. He nods to himself before taking a deep breath. "Okay. I wanted to apologize for last week." Your eyebrows raise but you say nothing.

"Well, Robin told me that I was a real dick, and I--"

"Oh, Robin told you," you say, slapping a hand on your thigh. "So you're here because Robin told you to apologize, not because you realized you were an asshole?" Steve looks gobsmacked that you've turned this into an argument, and you’re a little surprised yourself, but you keep going. "Save it, Steve." You say his name like it stings to have in your mouth.

"Woah," he says over you. "What is your problem?"

"What's my problem?" you grit out between your clenched teeth. "My problem is you think you own this place and you make assumptions about people before you know them." Watching him all day has made you like a pipe fit to burst. With loathing, you tell yourself. "And you stole my stool."

"I...what? Your...stool?" he sputters. He takes off the godforsaken baseball cap to run a hand through messy hair before replacing it. "I have no idea what you're talking about." His eyes harden and you realize you've actually pissed him off, maybe for the first time. The smile he sends you is sharp and you don't like it. It makes him less handsome. "Well, I'll leave you to your beeswax. Good luck wrangling those bees, bee girl. Can't be that hard if you can do it."

It's a cutting remark you don't expect. "Bee girl?" you say in disbelief. "I have a name, Steve! What is your problem?"

He starts to walk backwards. "Or should I call you honey?" He ignores your question. "Nah. That's too sweet for you." He barks a laugh at his own joke and it's a bitter thing.

When you're packing up your crates at the end of the market he brings back the stool. It slams on the pavement, startling you into turning around with a yelp. Your mouth tugs into a frown at the sight of him, his hat on the right way this time. He's got that same ice-cold smile on and you fight a shiver.

"Here you go, honey," he says, the word sounding like an insult.

"Go away," you say before you can stop yourself.

Steve just shrugs. "See? Doesn't work too well." He salutes you. You flip him the bird as he turns because what else can you do? Strangle him? If only, you think. If only.

___

The details of your life in Hawkins start to fade into the background. You've been here for over a month and have been at two farmer's markets and you've got hardly anything to show for it. A few arguments and not a single friend to speak of, though there are a few friendly people. And you're hardly friendly these days anyway, still smarting from the argument you had with Steve.

Okay, so maybe he didn't steal your stool. But he was mean to you! And... you were mean to him. What a mess. An embarrassing, juvenile mess.

It only gets worse when you start to see the Sara's Farm pickup truck everywhere. In the parking lot at the grocery store, stopped at the Arcade, just driving through town. You only actually see him once -- heading into Family Video with Robin -- but it makes your cheeks heat and your fingers twitch every time. Why does he get such a reaction out of you? How is one boy single-handedly causing you to become a recluse in your new home?

"I'm sure he's not that bad," your mom says. You've finally caught your parents at home and have spent the last twenty minutes being uncharacteristically detailed about your life. You can't help it -- you just want to talk to someone.

"He's rude," you huff. "He's rude, and everyone knows him and he won't leave me alone."

"Is he cute?" Her voice is tinny through the phone line. You scoff, and she laughs. "Yes, then. Always makes it worse." Your mother sighs. "Maybe you just need more work, baby. Ask Bob."

Bob, who continues to be so kind to you even though you do hardly anything. You know she's right. The whole purpose of this relocation to Hawkins was for you to find something you liked, something you were good at. To figure your shit out and to work hard. To get the ground under your feet again. So you take her advice and see what you can get your hands dirty with. He’s thrilled and soon you find yourself in one of the property sheds.

"It's fairly simple, but you do need to pay attention," Bob tells you. "The other beekeepers and I harvest the beeswax, so it's all ready for you." He gestures to a metal tub covered with what looks like a cheesecloth next to the stove. "I've written out the steps to take for making soaps and candles and everything is labeled."

The small workroom has a kitchen sink and a fridge. The shelves are stocked with lye, bottles of oils, and plenty of pots and jars. "It smells wonderful in here," you say. In truth, it's a little overwhelming but not unpleasant.

"You can make any scent you want, just write it down so we can label it right." Bob gives you a smile. "And be careful with the hot wax. I've burned myself tons of times."

He leaves you to it. You turn on the radio and set it low to keep yourself company. And the work is easy, Bob was right. You decide to make candles first, melting the beeswax on the stove and adding some of the oils to make it smell good. You lay out the jars with the wicks pulled tight across the tops and start to pour.

"Fuck," you hiss. A bit of the hot wax splashes onto your fingertips but you don't drop the pot, instead finishing your pours as your skin throbs. You set the empty pot back on the burner and move to the sink, peeling the now-hard wax off of your skin to reveal a reddening welt.

"Damn." You run it under cool water for a second before steeling yourself to do it again. Because you finally feel useful. And so you do another batch and another. And the next day you try soaps. You put colorful bandaids on your fingertips until your hands look like the rainbow but you get better and you stop getting wax on your skin. And by Friday night, when you and Bob are labeling everything you've made, you feel proud.

"You're going to be selling stock you made tomorrow," he says. "How does that feel?"

You smile and you mean it. "Like I'm doing something right."

___

You've finished your setup early for your third farmer's market and decide to talk a walk around the stalls. There's a jewelry table next to a stall selling loose-leaf tea across from Rick's Mushrooms. A curly head is barely visible over the stall's counter, whoever it belongs to clearly organizing something underneath. You wrinkle your nose at the array of gilled fungi, one of your least favorite foods.

Eddie pops up from his crouch and grins at you. "Hey there new girl." Not your name, but better than bee girl. "Wanna buy some 'shrooms? I'll give you an early bird discount."

"Nah," you say. "Don't really like them." You admire how he's got them all laid out like he's taken care to make the stand pretty as well as thoroughly stocked. "We haven't really met, I'm --"

Eddie says your name, eyes on your name tag. "Talk of the town!"

"Really?"

"Nah," he scoffs. "I mean, I know you're new at New-Bee's. And with Harrington's antics since you got here I'm sure everyone else does too." You scowl at the mention of Steve, who you haven't seen yet. "Oh, looks like he's gotten under your skin!"

"He's everywhere," you grumble. "And he's nice to everyone but me."

Eddie hums, tucking his hair behind his ears. "Well, we've all got good sides and bad sides, sweetheart." He seems to eye how you take the pet name, but from him it feels friendly. "Harrington is used to this place. He's known it for years, worked summers here since he was in high school. I think he's unsure how to deal with a new girl."

"That's what Robin said." You rub your arms a little against the morning chill, your bandaged fingers throbbing dully. “But I heard he was…different in school?” Eddie whistles long and low, crossing his flannel-clad arms. He’s wearing silver rings on almost every finger and he’s got dirt under his nails, you notice. 

“Total douchebag. I probably shouldn’t tell you this, but he started at Sara’s because he got community service hours for vandalism or something. Took the fall for some shit his asshole friends did.” Eddie shrugs. “But it did him good. Less of a douche after that. And how he’s pretty close to being a good guy.”

You drum your fingers against your thigh and wince, forgetting they’re blistered. There’s a story there and despite yourself, you want to know more. "I just don't get why he's so hot and cold with me."

"Probably bothers him that you don't like him very much." Eddie's got a sly smile that looks suspicious.

"Well, if he was less of an asshole maybe I would!" He laughs at you, not unkindly.

"Okay, sure. It'll be an interesting end to the season!" He cracks his knuckles. His next words are softer, more earnest. "You ever want to hang out, let me know. I know it’s hard to be new somewhere."

__

The market goes by as usual. Every time you sell a bar of soap or a candle that you made it's like the slight throb of your fingers ebbs for a moment. You tell a few mothers that you made them yourself and they fawn over you. But even so, there's a whisper in your head that you haven't seen Steve all day. Is he working today? He doesn't seem like the type to take time off.

You realize that you've spent so much time thinking about Steve Harrington that you could be considered obsessed. You've only really spoken twice as it is, and neither time has been pleasant. But there's something about him.

Maybe that something is how he sidles up to stand next to you behind the New-Bee stand with an expression so worried you don't refuse him. There's a part of you that never wants to refuse him, a part of you that is tired and lonely after three weeks without friends. You let that part take over for today with Eddie’s words top of mind, let him stand next to your stool with his hands in his pockets.

"Do you ever actually work, Steve?" you ask, his first name rolling off of your tongue in your tired tone. "Seems like you come to bother me a lot."

"Hi," he says softly. He doesn't take your bait. "Uh, what happened to your hands?" He juts his chin at the bandaged fingers in your lap. They've felt tender for the last few hours.

"If I tell you you'll just make fun of me." You huff. "Bee girl is so bad at her job she burns her fingers, or something."

"C'mon, now." His concern doesn't fade but it hardens. "I'm trying to be nice. I'm here to apologize, actually. Though I'm not sure what I'm apologizing for."

You cross your arms and study him as if you could discern his intentions from his soft yellow sweater, his belted jeans, his mussed hair. He looks so lovely you could scream. "I burned them making all of this." You gesture to the candles and soaps around you. Steve steps up to inspect them, closer than you were that first day when you cussed him out. His arm brushes yours and he gently traces the outline of a comb-shaped soap you'd made.

"These are pretty," he mutters. Your mouth falls open.

"Are you being nice to me?" He scoffs and...is he blushing?

"Robin told me to --"

"Oh, Robin told you. Again." Steve scowls at you but it's got less heat than last week.

"Fine. I thought I'd try to be nice to you." He runs a hand through his hair, eyes on your hands. "Just for today, though," he says, teasing. "Since you're injured."

Maybe it's your hands hurting or Steve's light tone or the things Eddie said this morning, but you can't find it in yourself to argue with him. "Okay," you say instead. He looks a little surprised.

"Okay," he echoes. "Uh..." Clearly, he didn't think he'd get this far. You smile a little and let him waffle for a topic of conversation. "Did you meet Jane?" he settles on.

"El? She brought me lunch the first week." You haven't spoken with her since, but she waves at you whenever she runs back and forth across the market doing whatever her dad needs -- you haven't met him, either, but you expect you will eventually.

"She told you to call her that?" Steve asks, sounding surprised.

"Yes?" Have you messed up somehow and soured this remarkably pleasant conversation already?

"Damn." He laughs a little. "She wouldn't let me call her El until I'd worked at Sara's full time for three months." You watch to see if this will make him sour, if you need to queue up a barb, but he seems incredulous rather than mad.

"Hey, listen," he says. "I wanted to ask you --"

"You don't work here!" Four teenagers have appeared in front of the stall and Steve's easy expression turns to a scowl.

"Good to know you've been paying attention, Henderson." Steve's voice isn't cruel, though it is annoyed. You wonder what he was going to ask you. "What do you want?"

"We're here to see Will but thought we'd meet the chick you won't stop talking about first," says the only girl, her fiery hair in a braid down her back. She eyes your reaction to her words as you send Steve a confused look.

"Sorry, what --" Steve doesn't look at you.

"Alright, alright, that's enough. Go bother someone else." They don't move and Steve sighs like a put-upon parent. "Fine. Meet the biggest pain in my ass: Dustin Henderson, Mike Wheeler, Max Mayfield, and Lucas Sinclair."

"Hi. Are you all...students?" They stand close like kids who've been together a long time, used to orbiting each other's space.

"Juniors," Lucas says. "We haven't been to the market in a few weeks because we're working on college applications."

"You're old," Dustin says. Steve swears softly next to you. "Do you know anything about college?"

"Um, no." You fiddle with the sleeve of your flannel. "Well, a little. I went but I dropped out.” You feel Steve turn towards you but you don't look.

"Ask Nance when she's back next time, yeah?" he says. Mike smacks his own forehead.

"Shit, I didn't think of that. My own sister!"

"Go take that big brain of yours to bother Will, okay, shitheads?" Max nods at you and tugs Lucas away by one hand, Mike's jacket sleeve in the other.

"I'm gonna...go," Steve mumbles, stepping out from behind the stall without another word. You don't realize that Dustin hasn't left until he speaks again.

"You don't look mean," he says. He crosses his arms like he's looking at a puzzle.

"Excuse me?"

"Steve is probably so obsessed with you because you're like, really pretty. But he won't admit it."

"Oh, so he's pulling my pigtails because he likes me?" you grumble but your face feels hot. "How mature of him." You don't really believe it. Dustin must be willfully misunderstanding Steve's complaining. Plus, he's a heartbreaker, right? Not someone you'd want to be involved with, no matter how nice he is to look at. No matter how good some people say he is.

"He's just a bit of an asshole sometimes," Dustin says fondly. "Don't hold it against him."

"I've heard that before," you say. "Why is he friends with a bunch of high schoolers? No offense." Dustin grins and you see that he's got almost perfectly straight teeth under braces.

"None taken. He was...kind of our babysitter? But now we're too old for that so we just hang out with him because he needs more friends."

"Wow," you say. "Harsh." But you're smiling. You don't want to find the story endearing but you do and it makes you sad more than anything. To see these kids so obviously bonded to each other and their older friend. In another life, you'd wonder if there was something going on here that made them this way, that made this town so close. But as it is, you feel the ache in your chest that's been bothering you for years -- since you went to school, since you left, since you arrived in Hawkins. The ache that wakes you every day, that feels like a bruise in your chest when you fall asleep.

The ache that disappears when you talk to Steve but returns full force as soon as he walks away. 

tags: @cheerupbarry @srrybutno @97soroka @sunlitide @gloryofroses19 @carpediem1219 @themarvelousbee @sunshinehollandd @katsukis1wife @imherefortea @spideyboipete @lonelywidow @louderfortheback @actual-mom-steve-harrington @steveharringtonscarkeys @pennyllanne @ducky-is-dead-inside @ih3artcry1ng @escape-in-time-x @sea040561 @manyfandomsfanvergent @blandyton @liberhoe @annaisweird

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[moonlit-void-to-the-far-unknown]

The Trailer cats.

A/n: uh I sent an anon to @stranger-nightmare about Eddie being a cat guy and then wrote a probably pretty shit lil thing. I’m rusty on writing so forgive me but uh enjoy?

So it’s under a read more but uh yeah all the cats are named after bands and artists Eddie likes so yay

Jagger tended to come and go as it pleased, the little black fluff ball most times sleeping on the munsons porch couch. Most mornings Eddie would walk out, his back back over his shoulder, his metal lunch box in hand, leaning down to scratch the cats head as he passed

“Later Jagger.” a soft meow followed in response.

Eddie learned of the many cats that seemed to wander around the trailer park, some had tags, some seemed to stick around one trailer, and then there were ‘Eddie’s cats’

Four or five random cats that seemed to flock to him, it started with Jagger, then one morning Jagger had a friend, a small grey looking thing with a half gnarled ear, he called her iron maiden, her snarled face and gnarled ear making him think of the zombie mascot on his iron maiden cassette covers. She never looked it but she was a cuddler, often when Eddie would have the windows and doors opened, maiden would be perched on Eddie’s lap as they sat in bed, Eddie’s hand lazily scratching and petting the cats fur as he re-read the hobbit for the millionth time, often talking to the cat and getting small mews in response.

Then came the trio of kittens in the thunderstorm months of April and may, Eddie had found them soaking wet and meowing helplessly under his trailer steps. Well he couldn’t just leave them outside. So he called Dustin asking what 3 pretty young kittens needed. Dustin had offered to come over and take them off his hands if he wanted, but Eddie just sighed

“Nah kid, I’m used to cats around here, so they just need to get dry and they’ll be good, think I have like something in here to feed them. Thanks kid”

He had spent the night with three kittens tucked into him, their soft purrs seemingly lulling Eddie to sleep.

You had found him the next morning still asleep, his gaggle of kittens resting on his chest.

You had gone and bought kitten food for them and both you and Eddie spent the morning arguing names for them. settling on, Jett, tallica, and wasp.

Eddie and you sat on the couch the three babies sitting on Eddie’s lap as you both argued over which song each cat had the energy of, when Jagger and maiden slowly clambered up the steps, jumping up next to you, your hand instinctively reaching over to scratch maiden behind the ears

“Right maiden you think Jett has ‘bad reputation’ energy right? Yeah see Maiden agrees with me” Eddie sighed watching jagger jump up next to him, sniffing the small cats in his lap, the seeming older cats parental instincts coming out as he leaned over licking each cat a few times.

It wasn’t until the kittens got bigger that you and Eddie realised, Jett, tallica and wasp were in fact the kittens of maiden and Jagger, seeming the pair of now bonded older cats still had it going on for the other.

It was a few months later during a hellfire game that it reached Eddie that the five cats were not yours and his alone. Dustin had began setting up the player pieces and dice when he asked about his cats

“My cats? You mean the trailer park cats?” Dustin had looked at him eyebrow raised

“Uh, Eddie I hate to break it to you, but those are yours and Y/Ns cats.” Eddie had rolled his eyes leaning back in his DM throne. Thinking about it he never saw the group of 5 go more then a few feet away from his trailer at any given time, often they would stroll in and out of the open doors or windows, many nights ending up at the end of the bed as you and Eddie slept. He realised then

“Fuck me, we have 5 cats” Dustin laughed nodding at him.

“Yep congrats. I would look into fixing the trio you don’t want to any uh royal family business”

Eddie found you curled up with the gang that night on the porch, a book in your hand, the other idly moving between the cat pile around you. Smiling to himself, maybe he didn’t hate the idea of having a gaggle of cats, nah, he didn’t mind at all.

[sunflowervolvimp3]

42 Hours

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

Warnings: language, mentions of nsfw content

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 20k 

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

{masterlist}

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uh huh.”

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

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

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

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

“Okay, so I told Laure what happened—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But—”

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

“What are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Boring, you mean—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Love you, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Harry mimics her expression. “Do you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Truce.”

(pt II)