#fives be spouting more wisdom
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Fives *holding up a fancy set of dice*: Dice are just math rocks.
Echo *shudders in disgust*: Excuse me?
Fives *unfazed, unaffected, undisturbed*: You are excused.
Jesse *catching a dice Fives threw at his face*: Why are you calling them math rocks?
Fives *throws another dice hitting Kix on the forehead, that falls straight into his caf*: Because they're rocks??? With numbers on them???
Kix *ready for murder*: Fascinating.
Pickup *watching as Kix pours hot caf over Fives hand that threw the dice*: Uhhhh what if the dice are made from plastic?
Tup *watching Fives throw a handful of dice from his belt, only to throw them in Kix's face*: I don't really think that matters.
Rex *walks into the room only to slip on the dice all over the floor*: Agh-!
Hardcase and Coy *keels over wheezing from laughter*
Taglist: @soliloquy-of-nemo @nekotaetae @staycalmandhugaclone @jiabeewrites @sexy-rex
#I'll post more about my OCs- proceeds to never post about them again-#fives no- but yes they are math rocks- but no!#just an average statement on an average day#but here we are#OCs today#fives be spouting more wisdom#arc trooper echo#arc trooper fives#arc trooper jesse#arc medic coy#captain rex#clone pilot pickup#clone medic kix#clone trooper tup#clone trooper hardcase#star wars#incorrect star wars quotes#the clone wars#tcw#clone wars#incorrect clone wars quotes#501st#echo#501st shenanigans#fives#rex#oc coy#oc pickup#kix#tup
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I'm almost done with part 3 of Blacksmith's Daughter.
But I have once more found myself weak against the headcanons and giggling uncontrollably at my own train of thought.
So this time
What would happen if you found yourself with a bag o' weed?
Whatever here we feckinGOOO
Because I Got High
OPLA!Zoro, Sanji, Shanks, Mihawk, Buggy X Reader
Headcanons
NSFW because context and stuff
♫♬Creepin Up The Backstairs - The Fratellis♬♫
Don't just say yes to tease me, do your utmost to please me
I don't mean to be sleazy, being you can't be easy
Zoro
"I mean, I've never tried it, but...."
Never done this before, usually have to have friends to introduce you to this sort of thing, and he was fairly lacking in the friend department until recently.
But basically, the hell with it, why not?
Just watching you roll it up in curiosity and borderline nervousness—
No, he's not nervous, shut up.
First hit and he's trying not to cough up a lung, shoving at you while you giggle about it.
Once it hits, he's in absolute awe of...well, basically everything.
Has never been so relaxed in his entire life what is this sorcery?
Falling back into his favorite hammock and pulling you down with him, just staring up at the ceiling in wonder.
Mentions after several minutes of silence that he can't feel his teeth and then just dissolves into hysterical laughter.
Cannot stop grinning, so comfortable and at ease with everything, kissing at your temple and your neck and pulling you closer against him.
Literally just wants to cuddle at this point, not anything more than that. Just lay there and hold you close, relax, breathe you in and enjoy the warmth and comfort of your body against his.
"....Fuck."
Sanji
"Excuse me, you have what? Oh, this is going to be fun."
He's worked in a professional kitchen. This is not his first rodeo.
Also, hand over the ganja. You're not smoking it, you're cooking with it. Or in actuality, infusing it into butter and cooking with that, to ensure even distribution.
Again. Not his first rodeo. Whatever he does come up with, be it brownies or cookies or are those churros???, you know he knows what he's doing.
Just leaves plates of edibles laid out across the kitchen of the Merry, and no one knows but the two of you.
Luffy eats an entire plate of brownies and is practically in a coma fifteen minutes later, laying sprawled out on the deck and pointing at a cloud every so often to comment on what it looks like.
Nami and Usopp sitting in the corner, alternating between giggling and dying in laughter at the pitiful state of their captain.
Zoro decided he was going to wash dishes for some reason, but you're pretty sure he's been scrubbing the same plate for five minutes.
You and Sanji standing off in another corner, leaning over each other and cracking up at the chaos you have managed to wreak among the crew.
And it gives the two of you the perfect opportunity to slip off to bed, which you definitely don't waste.
As flirty and playful as he is on a normal basis is doubled right now, and whether you're giggling or moaning beneath him, he's absolutely thrilled with the outcome of this endeavor.
"Oh, so much fun...."
Shanks
"Oh, sweetheart, we are going to the moon."
Do you even have to ask?
The second you tell him you found a bag of the green in the contraband hold in the Marine ship you just sunk, he's grinning like an idiot.
Grabbing you, an officer or two, leaving someone else in charge for a while, and you're all smoking out the captain's cabin.
Thirty minutes later, amid the haze of smoke, Benn's sitting in the corner just staring at his hands in borderline terror. No thoughts, just oh dear gods hands.
Yasopp's doubled over the map table, laughing hysterically at something Shanks said five minutes ago.
Shanks has pulled you on top of him on his bed, arm curled around you, kissing you slowly, no worry at all of any other parties present.
But every so often, his head drops down to his pillows, and he spouts off some high-wisdom one-liner, and just stares off into space for a moment in wonder.
"If...if you drop a bar of soap on the floor...is the soap dirty, or is the floor clean?"
Mihawk
"You have what? Why?"
Disapproving stare.
Well, he might have dabbled in his younger years (no it had nothing to do with Shanks quit asking), but not for quite some time.
It dampens his senses, it's not worth the trouble.
But...maybe it wouldn't hurt, just this once.
Ten minutes later, he's laid back across his bed, arm curled around you, completely at one with everything.
Just staring up at the ceiling, thinking.
Everything makes perfect sense, everything is one, and it's just delightful.
If you need advice about anything, now is the time to ask, because all the secrets of the universe are now his.
He has no idea how far gone he actually is and honestly it's pretty hilarious.
Glares at you when you point it out—before giving a snort-laugh and agreeing with you.
It's a rarity that you get to see him this relaxed and unbothered, so enjoy it while it lasts.
Definitely initiate a make-out session; he's going to take it very slow, and very thorough, savoring you even more than he usually would.
"Mmm, you taste divine, little one...."
Buggy
"Are you serious? Oh, hell yes—"
Eyes light up like a kid at Christmas, you have what?!?!
Oh, he's down as a clown.
He literally said that line, and then grinned so hard that you almost don't want to shove him overboard for it.
He's more than prepared to make sure there are munchies available—mainly chocolate, since he has a serious sweet tooth.
Taking a toke and then kissing along your neck, making you giggle.
Unlike drinking, this is a private affair, just you and him. You're the only one who gets to see this side of him.
Making you giggle gives him life, so he's going to be murmuring stupid jokes in your ear in between trying to make you moan, and he'll settle for either.
"Ooh, yeah, that's it, baby—just give me what's mine."
#opla#dracule mihawk#one piece#mihawk opla#mihawk one piece#mihawk#one piece fanfiction#opla fanfiction#fanfic#shanks#shanks opla#shanks x reader#mihawk x reader#buggy x reader#zoro x reader#sanji x reader#buggy opla#buggy fanfiction#zoro opla#sanji opla#one piece shanks#one piece buggy#one piece zoro#one piece sanji#opla headcanons
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Touya being the unofficial relationship counselor among his siblings. They'll rant about and bemoan their relationship struggles to him, not specifically seeking advice but just to vent, only for him to spout some laser-pointed statements at them without deigning them worth his full attention except for when they're being especially annoying and self-pitying. Or dense to their problems.
"Fuyumi, the reason your relationships don't last is because trying to get to know you is like trying to cut a vegetable with a foam knife. Frustrating and gets you nowhere. And you're not fun or sponteanous enough to be a fun fling. I know you're worried your only notable traits is being a stand-in mom, but either get over it or try to develop more of a personality if it worries you so much."
"Natsu, obviously you're having communication issues when you refuse to ever talk about your own problems or gripes. You're not fucking special enough to be ignored by the whole world to justify not talking about your issues. It's fucking frustrating trying to comfort you because of it. Now go call your girlfriend and talk shit out."
"Shouto it sounds like you're used to getting your way in some fashion and having a hard time adjusting to bullheaded stubborness not solving everything. Pull your head out of your ass and the tunnel, Shouto. Also you're emulating father with that pushy behaviour, cut it out."
And during a time they're all meeting up at Fuyumi's place, they ask how the hell he's so good at this. Touya just kinda shrugs and drops an unexpected bomb on the kotatsu they're all huddled around.
"I do have a boyfriend."
Shouto, Fuyumi, and Natsuo stares back at him. Touya stares back, not getting why they suddenly got all quiet, or are looking at him like he's grown a second head.
Then Touya's eyes widen in realisation. "Oh shit, I forgot to tell you."
"Forgot?!" Natsuo exclaims.
"Apparently. Guess that's what strained family relationships does to you."
"How long??" Fuyumi asks.
"Five years, give or take. Took like a year before we made it official."
"Five years?!"
"Where do you think I got all my 'wisdom' as you brats call it from? That's fucking experience talking. And an outsider perspective is way fucking easier when it comes to spotting pitfalls."
"Who is it?" Shouto asks, curious. "Do we know them?"
"Yeah, it's Tenko," Touya answers easily. Then he narrows his eyes. "Wait, did you really not suspect it at all?"
Shouto tilts his head in response. "Why should we have?"
"Not you so much, you were a baby, but Fuyumi and Natsu definitely. I stayed more at Tenko's place than at the house as a teenager and he showed up at the house all the time when I actually was there."
Natso and Fuyumi absorb this, thinking back. Fuyumi rubs the corners of her eyes, messing up her glasses. "Looking back, yeah, now I feel dumb for not noticing."
"You really were together all the time," Natsuo muses, staring at the ceiling as he goes through memories of his brother and his best friend near attached at the hip. Shimura really would just show up at the house no matter the hour. Sometimes Natsuo would wake up and Shimura would be there when he definitely hadn't been the night before. Thinking back, it was always when Touya was feeling especially bad.
"Now I've got something tangible to point at when you all try to claim you're not dense as fuck."
Natsuo thinks back, to Shimura Tenko and his brother, and how Tenko would get this look in his eyes whenever he looked at his brother, how his posture would straighten up from a slouch and tense in what he could with the power of hindsight recognise as protectiveness. All without Touya noticing. And he thinks his brother probably couldn't talk about being dense to them. But then again, he's had what appears to be a stable relationship for five years now.
"Does he still slouch all the time?" Natsuo can't help but ask.
"Nah," Touya sips from his tea cup. "Enough slaps to the ass to make him jerk straight fixed it."
"Bro, too much info."
"I've listened to every single one of you's woes about intimacy, you have no right to complain. Be happy I'm not using it as blackmail."
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So have you thought about the max and Sam vices meeting yet?
Welp, I don’t think it’d be a good thing, that’s for sure! (hi I'm home now and I've been having a lot of fun thinking about this teehee)
I know one thing, if sinful Sam and blissed Max met it’d be really funny and also awful lmao. Like y’all know how bliss Max is, he’d be all maddeningly cheerful and pleasant and sinful Sam would fucking hate that and probably throw him into a wall within seconds of meeting him (*extremely calm, happy-sounding “whee!”*) honestly they make me hope that this is a situation where their normal, non-separated partners are there to prevent a fight and help them out in general, because if not, somebody’s definitely gonna get hurt. Actually it’s more interesting if Hugh Bliss yeeted all the vices out of Max and the virtues out of Sam at the same time just to make things hard for them (and it would also leave the world Blissified for waaaay longer because none of them are going to cooperate easily).
Now let’s see, who makes for interesting interactions…
Temperance and Gluttony would have a pretty short-lived little encounter lmao. Temperance gets about five seconds to approach and be like “Now, Max, you know having that much sugar and carbohydrates at once isn’t good for you—here, I found this healthy snack in aisle 2 that’s much more filling!” And Gluttony’s like “ohhhh you do look like a good snack! Thanks for the offer!” And instantly eats him lmao. Hopefully somebody holding the gastrokinesis talisman gets swallowed later and rescues him hfkdhsjh
Speaking of Temperance, he might be the only one to actually try to put himself and Max back together. Blissed Max and sin Sam both feel kind of free without the missing aspects of their personalities, even though they’d miss them if they had all their wits intact, and all the other virtues and vices are too caught up in doing the extreme of their own thing to worry about coming back together. But extremes are not Temperance’s thing, and it’s freaking him out to be split apart like this, so he’d be all for reuniting everyone. He’d probably try to recruit some of the others to help out, maybe by asking Patience for advice or getting bliss Max on board because he’s just willing to go with the flow no matter what. I’m sure some of the others would also help, like Kindness (to a degree, at least—he doesn’t want to get reunited with the others because he insists he’s got more good works to do) or Charity (who’s very useful if you want him to deliver items or people to various places, you just tell him it’s a gift for someone lmao) and maybe even some of Max’s vices, although most of them seem to just want to do their own thing. I feel like Lust and Greed could be persuaded into going along with the plan if they were promised kisses or riches.
I would feel extremely bad for Sloth if he had to interact with Diligence. That guy sucks. It might be sort of an unstoppable force versus immovable object situation though lmao, he’s like “get up right now we have work to do!! You cannot just lie around all day!!!!” “Sure, whatever. Just gimme five more minutes…” As for why Diligence even wants Sloth to get up and help him, it’s less that he values Sloth’s help and more that he can’t stand seeing people rest for any amount of time eugh. Extreme wet blanket (maybe he springs from the horrible ‘constant productivity’ mentality that capitalism has foisted upon us all, although luckily Sam doesn’t usually seem to struggle with that).
And LMAO I’d love to see Wrath and Patience interact, especially since I established Patience as being inexplicably indestructible. Definitely another unstoppable/immovable situation. Wrath might not care about him initially because he’s sitting still and not very interesting, but the second Patience decides to spout some infuriatingly calm, know-it-all wisdom, he’s made himself a target. Maybe Wrath spends like 20 minutes shooting at him and screaming with no reaction from Patience before he resorts to physical violence instead and just goes to town biting and beating the hell out of him. If he’s really unlucky and gets close enough, Patience might decide to subdue him with a hug, and then he’s just screaming his head off and gnawing on Patience’s arms until he can finally squirm back out. Not sure whether he would just keep trying to kill him because of the challenge or get frustrated and leave to assault somebody a little less bulletproof, but it’d be funny anyhow!
Another interesting one with Wrath would be Kindness, who would probably assume he was having a bad time and try to help him calm down at first, only to of course be shot at immediately. I don’t think the rest of the virtues are bulletproof—that’s just a weird Patience thing—so of course he has to back off, but he might instead try to bring Wrath things to shoot at other than civilians. You know, white collar criminals, unsavory politicians, neonazis, that kind of thing. It’s the same kind of help Kindness always provides; that is to say, it’s technically helpful and kind, at least to someone, but probably morally questionable at the same time. Except for the neonazis. He is objectively correct for that one.
As for the rest of them, obviously there’s no canon versions of Max’s other vices, but I’m sure y’all have seen pikaflute's and lizardtheartist’s excellent interpretations of them! I’m not about to recreate all the same concepts when there’s already such good versions of them out there, so here’s hoping it’s alright with them if I borrow from their ideas just a tad and theorize about what a crossover of all these colorful little guys would look like. (And obviously, @pikaflute and @lizardtheartist, if that’s not cool with y’all just say the word and it’s gone sjfkdlshjklsh. I'm mostly gonna talk abt my guys anyway bc I don't want to step on y'all's toes)
First off, I’m concerned for Envy. I love pikaflute’s idea of him clinging to Sam’s back, but what if this is a world where Hugh Bliss simultaneously ripped out Max’s vices and Sam’s virtues, leaving no whole version of either of them? Then Envy would either have to stick to sin Sam, which I do not recommend at all because his anger management is at an all time low, or he’d have to find a virtue to hang on to. If he gets his pick, I’d recommend Kindness because obviously he’s the most pleasant of them, but Patience also wouldn’t be a bad pick (until Wrath shows up and tries to Thunderdome his ass, of course). I would LOVE to see either of those interactions, tbh. Kindness would be going crazy trying to help him out however he could but not knowing how ;-; oop but I just revisited their concept and saw that Sam showing him kindness is what helps him out so actually that might be a really good match! Idk I’m just a big sucker for the mushy things and Envy’s concept makes me want to squish him like a plushie hfkdhsjhd. Brb I’m gonna go squish my face in my Max plushie instead
Greed and Charity would also be really funny because I feel like they could go in two totally different directions. Like for one thing, Charity could be trying and failing to get Greed to give up his hoard, which would very much sound like a little old grandmother fussing at a fucking dragon. Or on the other hand, since Charity really just wants to give people things and doesn’t seem to mind what they do with them, maybe he just keeps bringing Greed more stuff to throw on the pile lmaoooo. Like as you’re walking around more and more things keep going missing from around the neighborhood and the office is just FULL of all the shit Charity keeps dragging in because “wow he really likes my gifts! That’s awful nice :)” I’m partial to that version if I’m being honest lol
I’m gonna be so real though my favorites are Kindness and Lust and I’m having such a good time thinking of what their interactions with each other’s groups would look like hdjdhjdhd. Kindness is delighted to have multiple of his favorite little guy running around and tries to do something nice for all of them, although the stuff he does may not be nice for bystanders, like catching various criminals just so Wrath can have somebody to shoot at lmao. Maybe he makes Gluttony a nice meal, the effort of which is instantly put to waste when Gluttony swallows it whole and then tries to eat Kindness too. He might bring Greed a nice gift for his hoard or give Sloth a pillow and blanket hehee. But he also has a seventh of his usual brain cells so he keeps getting distracted and running off to help the next Max midway through all of them.
I’d also love to see Kindness interact with lizardtheartist’s version of Pride bc like he’s planning to conquer the world, right? Kindness would be insanely easy to manipulate into helping him with that. He’s just like “oh sure! Anything for my little buddy ^^” and zips off to do whatever fucked up thing Pride asked because sure, he wants to do good deeds and help people but mostly he wants to be kind to every version of his best friend, and that means every single Max vice has total power over him fjdkslgjkslfh. The only thing that would stop him from diligently (lol wrong one) carrying out Pride’s every order is getting distracted by other good deeds to do, especially for the other vices or bliss Max.
Obviously Lust is gonna be thrilled to have more than one Sam around even if some of them aren’t down to do the horizontal tango with him. He’s just like “oh my GOD a million Sams! This is my greatest fantasy!!” A couple of them just turn down his affections immediately, like Diligence bc he’s a dumb workaholic stick in the mud. Or Patience because “there’ll be time later, little buddy.” Humility hides from him because he doesn’t feel worthy of any version of Max. But luckily Lust isn’t completely out of luck—Charity, for example, is happy to give just about anything away, definitely including kisses. Temperance is the embodiment of that DK meme that’s like “you may hit it…ONCE” fjkzjshdjszg. And Kindness is happy to do whatever Lust asks because he LOVES being able to do something nice for someone who actually wants what he’s giving them, but also he’s not great in bed bc he only knows how to give and doesn’t want anything for himself ghhdgsjsg.
And lastly, of course it’d be hysterical to see Lust and Chastity interact. I feel like chastity itself is the act of repressing oneself, but not truly ridding oneself of sexual desire, so you know Chastity still wants some. He absolutely starts sweating buckets the second Lust shows up lmaooo, like he wants Max so bad it makes him not only look stupid, but also feel stupid and ashamed. He is trying so hard to deny it but it’s really fuckin difficult when Lust won’t stop flirting with him. And I feel like Lust can smell that on him the way animals (and probably Max) smell fear, so he’s just poking and prodding and flirting and inching closer until Chastity is genuinely tomato-colored instead of pastel pink. And then I feel like they get found making out in a closet or some shit later and Chastity gets so embarrassed he just squeaks and pops out of existence hdjhdkdhdhsvsn
(also here’s a thing I just thought of now: “Hey chaste me, wanna rub my unicorn?” *Chastity makes a sound outside of the range of human hearing and passes out on the spot*)
And that’s all I got for now! Also to @ar-bi-trary and @gizmo-dgery and @planetlessmoon and pikaflute themself SCREECH thank y'all so much for your sweet tags and thanks again to skeletor for the prompts!!! I have been internally screeching and externally rolling around and kicking my feet in glee at the sight of each and every one of them, god it's so fun to share ideas about these idiotic gay animals heheheheheeee. Also I happen to have another day off tomorrow so maybe I’ll finally get around to drawing these guys then :D ok that's it byeeeee
#also pikaflute if you see this YES ABSOLUTELY YOU MAY HUG ALL OF THEM#not that some of them would like. want to be hugged. but I am their creator and arbiter and I say so#too bad for them lmao#sam and max#sam and max freelance police#freelance husbands#my art#asks#seven heavenly virtues au
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Crewel - Father Figure
Prompt: Yesterday/Today/Tomorrow
Notes: Takes place pre-Twisted Wonderland story.
“Are you gonna be my new father?”
The scissors gliding through the fabric swerved sharply off course. Divus scowled at the crooked line. When his glare didn’t magically mend the fabric, he directed his ire at the little boy standing at his hip. Maddox slowly blinked at him from beneath the brim of his oversized top hat.
When the boy didn’t expand on his question, Divus snapped, “What are you prattling on about today?”
Divus bit the inside of his cheek. Monique had just scolded him that morning for being too snippy with the boutique’s customers. He could easily imagine her indiscriminate temper for snapping at her son.
Maddox barely flinched. He took a step closer to Divus. A little hand reached up to grasp the loose fabric of his pants. “I don’t mind you being my father. Your colors are pretty.”
Divus stared simply because he didn’t know how to respond. Maddox was...strange didn’t sound like a strong enough word to describe him. The boy was only five years of age, yet he gazed up at Divus—who was nearly triple his age—like he had already lived a full life twice over.
Wisdom, Divus had learned in just a few short months, could be found in the most startling places.
“Don’t spout such nonsense,” Divus snapped. Maddox blinked again. He took off his hat and placed it on the edge of the table Divus worked at. His wild curls were as untamed as his mother’s. “I have no desire to be a father.”
“That’s okay,” Maddox said slowly. His dark blue eyes flicked around Divus’s general vicinity. His mother always did the same thing. “Your colors are more like a daddy. Harry’s daddy has the same dark blues and greens.”
Divus’s eyes steadily narrowed. Maddox slowly blinked again. His grip didn’t loosen on Divus’s pants.
Divus clicked his tongue. He dropped the scissors he was still holding and crouched down to the boy’s level. “I’m not becoming your new father. I’m only here to complete my internship. You won’t see me again after I leave in six months.”
As if he hadn’t heard a word Divus said, Maddox lightly slapped his tiny hands against Divus’s cheeks. He solemnly said, “You’re more a papa.”
Divus mimicked Maddox’s gesture, his gloved hands practically swallowing the small boy’s head. “I’m not your papa.”
Maddox squeezed his cheeks together. “Daddy D.”
Divus sighed. He released Maddox to rub the tic at the corner of his eye. He knew he could be a stubborn guy—that bastard Trein had told him so the three years he attended Night Raven College—but trying to reason with a child was like convincing a tree to move to the other side of a forest. Maddox was especially stubborn, and Divus blamed his mother.
“Papa Spot.”
The tic at the corner of his eye spasmed. His palm engulfed the top of Maddox’s head. He exerted just enough pressure to make Maddox’s head bow. “Don’t use that ridiculous nickname your mother created.”
“Puppy Spot.”
Divus applied more pressure to make Maddox bend over. “Definitely not that.” Maddox released a tiny whimper. Divus relented with a short sigh. “If you insist on calling me anything aside from my given name...then call me Uncle Crewel.”
Maddox popped up so quickly, he nearly clocked Divus right in the chin. His dark blue eyes shimmered with an almost crazed glint. “Uncle D.”
Divus sighed. Maddox made a tiny noise when Divus grasped him under the arms and lifted him up onto the table. Maddox scooted to the very edge, grabbing his hat and shoving his head inside it. Divus tapped the brim of the top hat, and Maddox emitted a tiny growl when it covered his eyes. “Are you finished now? I need to complete this coat before I leave today.”
Maddox’s head bobbed up and down. Divus allowed the boy to sit with his legs swinging over the edge of the table while he snipped the fabric into the pattern he desired. When Maddox became impatient with just watching, Divus gave him a few pieces of excess fabric to fiddle with.
He was instructing Maddox on how to properly pin the fabric with short grumbles when he felt a light pat on the back of his head. He turned just enough to glower at the woman standing behind him. Monique’s eyes flicked around him in the same manner her son’s did. Divus glared and ignored the funny flip in his gut. “What do you want?”
If Divus was a more romantic man, he would say Monique’s lighter blue eyes twinkled under the light of the boutique’s workroom. She reached up to pat the top of his head. “Good boy, Spot. You’re starting to understand your bark doesn’t always need a bite.”
Divus snorted and turned away from her, ignoring the room’s sudden change in temperature. When Maddox called him by his new nickname—Uncle D—Monique giggled and gave her son a pat on the top of his hat. “Good boy.”
Divus clicked his tongue and turned away from the giggling mother and son duo. Stubbornness made him ignore the light touch against the back of his shoulder when Monique breezed out the room as suddenly as she had arrived. Later, he swore, he was going to reiterate to Monique his dislike of casual touching. It was unprofessional between an intern and mentor, and it was giving her son the wrong idea.
Besides, this whole scenario they danced around could easily be gone by tomorrow, and he didn’t need the warm fuzzy feeling in his chest haunting him for the rest of his days.
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Another Something-Same U-Imprisonment
In a meadow of tall grass, a young man sat cross-legged, his hands closed over his knees, eyes closed. A storm was brewing in the distance with preternatural black and indigo. A peal of thunder rumbled over the area. A heavy breeze blew through carrying the scent of rain. As the man opened his dark gold eyes limned in green, nine water spouts appeared in a circle in front of him. As suddenly as the columns of water appeared, so did they disappear, leaving nine men standing in their place. The men were dressed in ornate armor of various colors. At the center stood one man dressed in golden armor with draconic designs picked out in silver. To his right was a man dressed in armor of gold, deep blues, and rusty reds. Though his armor was not as ostentatious, his malicious and arrogant nature made it clear that he was the most dangerous threat. By contrast, the five men to the left were dressed more seriously for battle. Their armor, though of varying styles, was in several different shades of blue and green and of a lightweight but strong material that spoke to their efficient understanding of battle. The last two on the far right mimicked this same competent understanding but the arrogance of their compatriots had seeped through. Ornate dragons slithered their way in gold up and down their red and green armor. These sorcerers, the dragon kings of the eastern rivers and seas, stared at the young man seated before them. The sorcerer in gold, the Dragon King of the Yangtze, made to step forwards towards the man, but the sorcerer to his right, the Dragon King of the Huang He, arguably the most dangerous of these sorcerers, threw out his arm in front of Yangtze.
In a gruff, gravelly voice, Huang He muttered, "Hold here." Yangtze's face contorted in anger but he forced the emotion down, allowing Huang He to take the lead. Huang He spoke commandingly to the seated man, "Child, you challenged us to come here and fight to the death. Are you sure you are ready to die?"
The young man replied in a low, clear tenor, "If it is my fate to die this day, then so be it. However, you should ask yourself the same question, Huang He. Are you ready to die this day? Have you made your peace with this world so you may calmly journey into the unknown?" He paused for a few beats before moving on. "You and your brothers have committed many terrible acts. You have harmed the poor and the innocent. You have lusted after glory and power and been ground down by greed. Do you expect to be able to leave here with these deeds unpunished? Or has the punishment already begun? Is it not true that you all have lost the ability to become dragons? Could it be that once you betrayed your wisdom and humility, you lost the ability to become the greatest version of yourself? Either way, I invited you here to meet your punishment, whatever form that may take. Are you ready to face that or have you left something undone that may come back to bite you?"
As the man gave his speech, the sorcerers felt their anger rise and the urge to kill the boy became almost unbearable. How dare he speak to them in this way? Them! The great dragon kings of this age who should be worshipped and revered for their greater wisdom and understanding. These puny people had no vision, no common sense. But the barb about their power to become dragons had struck home. They had hoped that they had been able to conceal this knowledge from everyone, but clearly the absence of their dragon forms had not gone unnoticed.
Huang He, speaking through gritted teeth, replied forcefully, "Enough of this! Prepare yourself, boy, for this fight."
Calmly, the young man responded, "I am ready for what lies ahead."
Enraged, Yangtze broke the line, stepping angrily forward. Magic crackling from his body. "You want a fight, boy? I'll give you one." A shockwave of water burst out from Yangtze's body. The tidal wave of water crashed over the young man where he sat, as Yangtze drowned him in water. Two green lights, like eyes, shone through the dark water. After a minute, the water subsided, leaving the young man seated as he was before. Eyes glowing a deep bright green, the young man dug his fingers into the mud. Eerily, there began the sounds of bending and snapping before dozens of vines and saplings emerged from the ground, entwining and binding the sorcerers in place.
Eyes still glowing, his tenor voice now closer to a baritone, the young man, then known as the Student, spoke resignedly, "I'm sorry that you could not see reason and find your way back to who you were. This is the only way to mete out your punishment."
—
As the Student waited cross-legged in the grassy meadow, Seiriol, the lightning Wild Magicker, stood in the vast downpour that shielded him from view. The thunderstorm brewed and evolved around him, lightning struck so close he could feel his teeth jar from the impact. But Seiriol felt at home in this thunderstorm. It felt like a catharsis. Finally, he could release his revenge on the murderer of his beloved and beautiful wife. If the Student had not approached Seiriol with the plan to imprison the sorcerers, Seiriol was not sure what he would have done. The last year without her had been hell. He had never known anything close to the unremitting pain of losing her, the gentlest and only tree-mover fae. Seiriol regretted that they ever boarded that catamaran. Still, now he would have his revenge. The grief, the anger, the pain fueled his magic. It built into a ball of pure electricity between his hands as he wept and screamed his fury and pain in the massive thunderstorm. Faintly, he heard the sound of the gentle reed instrument of the Natia clan. Seiriol released the lightning and the thunderstorm swiftly followed, leaving Seiriol weeping as he kneeled in the mud.
—
Theia Natia, a spirit walker fae of much renown, blew into her bonded reed flute as soon as she saw the greenery emerge from the ground to hold the sorcerers. Her instrument sang a tale of a soul imprisoned for all eternity, a life of isolation and contemplation to punish wrongdoings. For so bleak a future, the sound was unmatched in its sweetness and beauty. It calmed and prepared the soul for a just fate. She felt her magic take hold of the sorcerers, and was momentarily startled by the feeling of utter wrongness surrounding Huang He's soul. It took forethought and patience to overcome the feeling that something was not quite right so that she could complete her task and not let the others down. As Theia blew the last note, she looked over to her left, anxious to see if her dear friend was able to make it through her own ordeal, the worrisome nagging over Huang He's soul never leaving her.
—
Sila, one of the few stone fae, felt the sweat drip down her brow as she drew the power of stone from the plates of the earth itself. Her eyes had the color and texturization of shale as she pulled hard on her magic. By far, she was the worst off of the four. She had the hardest job to do. She had to prepare the essence of stone to be formed to accept and imprison the souls of the sorcerers. Sila gritted her teeth as she fought the sleepy essence to make it hear her and obey or, at the very least, agree to her wish. She looked over at Theia, her outline blurred by the spirit realm enveloping her, shielding her from the sorcerers. The spirit realm heard and assisted its own with a willingness that Sila envied, though only for a moment because she knew of the toll it would eventually take on her dearest friend. As Sila heard the ending strains of Theia's song, the earth came awake and she sent its essence forth to the Student to shape. Her knees slowly gave way and she collapsed onto the ground, half sleeping as she fell. As Sila's eyes closed in exhaustion, she prayed to every god she knew of that their plan would succeed.
—
The powers of lightning, the spirit realm, earth, and the essence of life itself combined in the Student's vision, the magic colliding and coiling around itself as the Student shaped it. His eyes shone with an intensity that hurt to look at. The sorcerers had felt the spirit realm take hold and, though they continued to rip at and struggle in their bonds that continued to coil and grow around them, a calm acceptance of their fate settled over them heavily, gradually lulling them into a half asleep awareness. As a last effort, Huang He flicked out wildly at the Student, sending shards of river rock and ice towards him, hitting him on the temple, the shoulder, and the abdomen. Still the Student continued shaping the magic. With a final movement, the Student looked up at the sorcerers. The student was bleeding from where Huang He's attack hit him but it only served to make him look more fierce as he turned his gaze upon them. His green-glowing eyes pulled them, making them feel as if they were falling forward into his eyes and then the dark, stony embrace hit them.
The Student staggered as the magic released, hitting the dragon kings and turning them into the very image that had turned their humility into ego and vanity, a dragon made of stone, a remembrance and a warning. The Student sighed as he wiped his face. Looking at his hand, he was surprised by how much blood covered his hand. Slowly, he came awake to the pain, but he pushed it down and out. Physical pain had to wait until he had seen to the others. He turned and walked in their direction, making for Theia in the middle.
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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)
#feedback is appreciated!!#harry styles x reader#harry styles x you#harry styles x y/n#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fic#harry styles imagine#harry styles blurb#harry styles preference#one direction fanfiction#one direction fic#one direction imagine#harry styles smut#harry styles fluff#harry styles angst#enemies to lovers#road trip au#fine line#fine line album#dreamwithharry#42 hours#writing
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300 is an awesome achievement!! Your fics are just out of this world amazing and I keep coming back to re-read them all the time, YES, THEY’RE THAT GOOD 😄 I have a little request for you: it’s from list two in the Misc. category, number 16 “YOU SAID TO BE HONEST STOP HITTING ME!” with F! Reader and Frankie Morales 🥺 I am so SOFT for that man!!!
DIY and Other Disasters
Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!Reader (Established Relationship - Wife!Reader)
Warnings: Fluff. Just fluff, and DIY.
Word Count: 1,043
Author’s Note: I really hope you don't mind me using this as a starting point for some DIY-centric oneshots with everyone's favorite Home Depot Husband. I've recently gotten into furniture building and the learning curve is real. Inspired by a discussion we had about my blog a few months ago about Frankie building you a coffee table, which I will link if I can ever find it again.
Prompt: "YOU SAID TO BE HONEST STOP HITTING ME!"
Summary: After a failed attempt at your first DIY project, Frankie offers some help.
Taglist Form - Masterlist
You woke up early on Saturday morning, dragged yourself out of your warm bed, and headed to Home Depot in Frankie’s truck to purchase everything you’d need. You’d spent the night scrolling through dozens of tutorials before finally settling on an end table project that seemed to coordinate well enough with your current living room furniture.
When you returned home, you found your husband and daughter cuddled on the couch in their pajamas, both with messy hair and bleary eyes, watching cartoons as they ate breakfast.
Normally, you would be right there with them, swaddled in a blanket burrito as you chowed down on a bowl of cereal, but today you were on a mission.
You and Frankie had been together long enough that he no longer questioned you when you dove headfirst into a project like this without warning or sufficient experience. He simply allowed you to lead him into the garage, gave you the best crash course in DIY carpentry he could manage at nine-thirty on a Saturday morning, and turned you loose.
Frankie went back to the living room a few minutes later, returning to his seat on the couch beside your daughter. It wasn’t long before he heard the whirring of saw blades in the garage.
Isabella immediately pouted up at him, an accusing look in her dark eyes. “No fair! Why don’t I ever get to play with the tools?”
“Because Mom knows what she’s doing…” Frankie replied confidently, before adding under his breath, “I think.”
The table was... not a table. It was a few scraps of wood that, when assembled by screws and nails, displayed vaguely table-like qualities.
Okay, sure, the legs were uneven. Measure twice, cut once. Frankie had spouted the phrase like it was sage wisdom, but you were an adult and you knew how to use measuring tape, thank you very much.
Well, apparently not.
And then there was the matter of the mitered corners, which you could clearly see were not forty-five degree angles despite what the saw had told you, leaving your with four pieces of wood that absolutely did not form a shape that looking anything like the Pinterest photos. You’d hammered them together as best you could, but there was no denying the mistake.
“I thought you told me you took woodshop in high school,” was all that Frankie said when you finally dragged him out to the garage to inspect your creation. The seconds seemed to drag on for hours as he slowly circled the sad little end table.
“I did.”
“Then I guess I should have asked, did you pass woodshop?”
“Yes.”
He raised his eyebrows in disbelief, looking from you to the table and then back to you again. “Bullshit.”
“For your information, I was very decent at wood burning,” You told him defensively. The pout on your face would have put Isabella’s to shame, but you couldn’t help yourself. You were sweaty, frustrated, and had more splinters in your fingers than you could count. You needed a nap.
“How were you at geometry?”
“Less decent, but this—“ You pointed to the wonky corners of the table top, “— was not my fault. That stupid, old saw said it was set at forty-five degrees—“
“Hey, leave our tools out of this,” Frankie shook his head. “They’re vintage.”
Vintage was a generous term for the clunky items you’d found in a “fifteen dollars if you take the whole box of crap” deal at a garage sale. They’d been the perfect birthday gift for your new boyfriend at the time, a certain army pilot who had a penchant for tinkering and general handiness, but no real need to invest hundreds of dollars into something he could only use a couple of times throughout the year when not on deployment. A decade later, they were looking a bit worse for wear.
“Well, I don’t understand what I did wrong,” You grumbled.
“Honey, I thought I mentioned that you might need to use the square for those cuts,” He reminded you, holding up the bright orange, plastic triangle that definitely would have given you the perfect forty-five degree cut if you had bothered to use it. “The measurements on the saw are off by a couple of degrees.”
You sighed, taking a step back to inspect the poorly cobbled together pieces of wood you hesitantly called an end table. “Be honest, can you fix this?”
Frankie rolled his eyes good-naturedly, his lips tugging up into a lopsided grin as he leaned back against his truck and crossed his arms over his chest. “Bob Vila himself couldn’t fix that.”
Oh, that smug bastard. He was enjoying this too much. You reached for Isabella’s Disney Princess playball, aiming it at him and throwing. There was no force behind it, but it was perfectly angled, bouncing off the brim of his hat and knocking it off of his head. Without missing a beat, Frankie exclaimed, “You said be honest, stop hitting me!”
“Then stop making fun of me, Francisco,” You countered as you watched him bend down to pick up the hat. “You aren’t being helpful.”
He let out a chuckle, replacing the hat on his head and pushing away from the body of the truck to stand beside you. His arm wrapped around your shoulder and he pressed a kiss to your kiss, making the corners of your lips tug themselves into a smile. “Okay, okay, I’ll be helpful. I’ve got an idea.” You hummed a sound of interest, prompting him to continue.
“This table really isn’t that bad for a first try. If this whole DIY thing is something you’re really interested in, we could work on it together. I can show you the ropes, get Isabella one of those little plastic tool belts, and we can spend some quality time together as a family… It might be fun. We can start next Saturday, if you want.” There was an excitement in his voice that he tried to hide, but you could see the spark in his eyes. Frankie loved this kind of thing.
You beamed at him, today’s failed project long forgotten and you mind already dreaming up possibilities of what you would create next. “Consider it a date.”
General Taglist: @theravenreads @marshmallowtraver @computeringturtle @maythxthirstbxwithyou @artsymaddie @heythere-mel @jaime1110
Pedro Character Taglist: @pascalisthepunkest @coldlilheart @fuck-goes-on @spideysimpossiblegirl @grogusmum @fangirl-316 @writeforfandoms
Frankie Morales (Triple Frontier) Taglist: @freeshavocadoooo @fangirl-of-randomness @darnitdraco @punkerthanpascal
#frankie morales x reader#francisco catfish morales x reader#frankie morales x you#triple frontier#pedro pascal characters fanfiction
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What About You? What About Me?
Pairing: Zelda Spellman x Reader, Other Character x Reader.
Warnings: Does unrequited love count? Cause that shit hurts.
Co-Writer/Editor: @empatheticroses
A/N: This took a long while mainly because my friend and I had classes up our asses.
You had been pining after her for years. Two, to be exact, but it felt like an eternity with how your attempts to let her know had been disregarded. Specifically, when you would do little things to help her work as the Unholy Choir’s director—bringing her cups of crisp cold water, sometimes cups of hot tea when she had a sore throat. When you would visit the Spellman residence, just to see more of her and to say ‘hi’ to the family, you would help her tidy up, make her drinks, tiny snacks; even helping to clean up after dinner. Your help didn’t go unnoticed by the other residence members, who thanked you with either a hug, specifically a Hilda hug, those were the best or a kind tone of voice.
Whenever Zelda did notice, she would nod and gently pat you on the head. Saying a quiet ‘thank you.’ Perhaps you were petty for wanting more gratitude from the redhead.
Months go by, Zelda was with Marie now, and for a while, you thought you could handle it; and you did for the most part. You were holding it well, all the way up till Hilda and Cee’s wedding reception. After Sabrina had saved the coven from “The Uninvited,” the evening’s festivities continued. Sipping on wine, you innocently looked over, you saw Zelda and Marie kiss, after that, it was over, you had to leave. Tears in your eyes and walking, you accidentally bumped into Hilda. “Darling, what’s wrong?” The blonde asked, her hand gently grasping your forearm. You shook your head, “No, I am fine; I don’t want to ruin your night. I just have to go.” You said, not without looking away at Zelda one last time. Hilda looked at you after you turned your head to her; an understanding look from the blonde was all you needed from her before you left.
Everyone had noticed how you craved the attention and acceptance from the redhead, even her sister. When it came to it, Hilda was your shoulder to lean on when Zelda was seemingly prospering, and you were shriveling, dejection, and hurt filling your soul. When Zelda had married Faustus, you tried your best to support her. Being her friend, you felt you needed it; however, Hilda told you that feeling the way you were, betrayed and hurt, was perfectly fine.
When Zelda had come back from her Honeymoon under the effects of the Caligari Spell, you tried your best to reach her, yet she pushed you away, saying she had always been that way. When she had the spell broken, you were right by her side, placing a hot cup of tea in front of her. You had pushed yourself to dig your happiness’ grave just to please her, your mental and emotional health pushed to the side to prioritize her’s. To say that you were breaking was an understatement. You were already far gone, broken, yet you chose to stay, pampering Zelda as she walked off with another. Hilda held you as you sobbed that night, wailing at the heartbreak that consumed you once more.
Your legs push you to the main foyer of Dorian’s, a quiet ‘lanuae magicae’ leaving your lips as you walk. Your surroundings turn from those of the nightclub to your bedroom; quickly, you move to gather your things, using your magic to finish quicker. Your suitcase, full of your clothes, was ready to be put in your car. Any type of electronic you own is packed separately and carefully. Your bed is stripped of its dark grey sheets and comforter, packed in another suitcase. You were doing it. You were leaving. Finally, after years of pining after Zelda, pampering her every need and want, and your suffering, you were putting yourself first. You decided then and there; you would never let yourself get hurt just to please someone ever again, mainly when they chose not to acknowledge you and your attempts to please them.
Changing your clothes, you place your dress in the suitcase with your clothes, zipping it up and teleporting it to the trunk of your car, your other bags following as well. By now, your trunk and backseat were bound to be full, perhaps even your passenger seat. Walking downstairs, you grab your spare money jar. It was meant for paying bills, but you wouldn’t need to pay them for a while, not until you settled down somewhere else.
Ten thousand dollars in cash, you had ten thousand dollars. That itself was more than enough combined with your current amount in the bank.
With a small sigh, you turn off all the lights with a wave of your hand, and staring back into the darkness of your living room, you shut the door and leave. Your first stop was the Spellman residence. No one would be home, so it was perfect for you to get in, get out, and leave a note for Hilda. An apology. You apologized for so many things in the letter you had no clue what it was about anymore, just an apology, you supposed.
Admitting it hadn’t been hard, but you would miss your chaotic adoptive niece, always causing something to happen in Greendale. Ambrose, still having to help her fix the mistakes. Your little, yet highly elder, nephew. His small spouts of wisdom from all his years of living. Hilda and her kind heart, her ability to calm you down just by existing. And Zelda, there was so much to miss about her, the snooty remarks, the ways she’d reel you in hook, line, and sinker. She was leaving you deft and dim, leaving you to crack and pour.
The letter was addressed to Hilda, and you had hoped that she wouldn’t tell Zelda with the begging inside the note. You hoped she would tell Ambrose and Sabrina and tell them not to let Zelda know. You were moving on. That was that.
What you hadn’t expected when you left and arrived in Scarsdale, a small quaint town outside of Greendale, was to meet a woman. A beautiful, kind, and acknowledging woman. When you had bumped into each other, her coffee spilling all over her, you repeatedly apologized, saying you’d buy her another coffee and pay for her dirty clothes to be cleaned. She nodded and let you guide her to the coffee shop, buying her a replacement drink and a pastry. And then, she asked you on a date. Her name was Edalyn, Eda for short. She was in her thirties, much younger than Zelda, and very foxy. She had bright ginger hair, wild like a lion's mane, yet well kept. Her eyes were very light brown, and in the sun, they were golden.
Eventually, one date turned into two and two into three. Soon enough, five months of seeing each other passed, and you decide to move in together. Eda herself turned out to be a witch.
Yes, it did remind you of Zelda, but you had Eda now. You didn’t need Zelda, and you didn’t crave her affections anymore. You desired Eda’s, and she gave it freely. Whenever you would bring her little snacks or drinks, she would kiss your cheek, take your hand and say ‘Thank you.’
When you would bring her lunch for work- dinner if she stayed later than usual- she would pull you into her lap and nuzzle into your neck, mumbling tiny ‘Thank you’s. Fixing her a bath before bed rewarded you with kisses all over your face, tiny ‘I love you’s leaving her throat. Even if you didn’t do anything for her, she would kiss you, whether it was on your cheek, neck, lips.
This is the affection you always deserved. You reminded yourself.
Eda fixed you, and she said that you set her as well.
This is the affection you deserve.
At night you would cuddle into her arms and fall asleep to the sound of her heartbeat, her chin resting on the top of your head.
You deserve to heal.
Some days, Hilda would apparate to you, checking in on you. She would kiss your cheek and hug you, telling you that when she finished apparating, she would teleport a basket of pastries to you. She would ask you how you were doing if you had met anyone. You told her you had. You told her how happy Eda made you, how well she treated you. Hilda would smile and place her hands on top of yours, “You deserve every bit of affection she gives to you! So long as you return it!” And you did, you told her. Every time Eda would be affectionate, you would be affectionate back. A smile would cross her face, and she would tear up, “May I say something?” You’d nod. “Zelda is… she’s going nuts dear. She hasn’t heard from you, and she thinks you're just ignoring her. Just be careful alright? You know Zelda, she always does something bizarre when she needs an answer.” You had nodded and Hilda frowned slightly, “I have to go now. Sabrina and Ambrose miss you dearly; we all do. And don’t worry, we haven’t told Zelda what happened.” A small ‘thank you’ left your lips, and you smiled at Hilda. “Bring Sabrina next time, okay? Maybe Ambrose if possible.” She would nod, and then, she would be gone.
The next time she visited you, Sabrina was with her, and Eda was home. Hilda approved of Eda quickly and telling you she, as Sabrina would be right back, they disappeared and reappeared, this time there. Hilda’s warm arms welcomed you, and you teared up as you laid your head against her shoulder. Sabrina moved to wrap her arms around you, and she nuzzled into your shoulder.
Tears freely flowed down her face, her brown eyes almost shining. “I missed you, Auntie (Y/N).” A shaky, “I missed you too, kid,” escaped your lips, and you kissed her forehead. You turned your head to look at Eda. “Eda, this is Sabrina and Hilda, Hilda, Sabrina, meet Eda.” Hilda had moved to hug her immediately, thanking her for taking care of you. Sabrina shook her head gently, little chuckles escaping her mouth. After Hilda had finished her ‘thank you’s, she had set out to your kitchen, with yours and Eda’s permission, to cook some dinner.
Sabrina gently put her hand out, “It’s nice to meet you. Auntie (Y/N) talks about you to Aunt Hilda all the time!” Eda chuckled, moving her hand to grips Sabrina’s, “And have I made a good impression?”
“The best.” Sabrina glanced at you. Your hands were busy making the broth for the soup. “Anyone who makes my Aunts happy has my full approval.” A smile graced Eda’s face, and she looked at you. “I make her that happy?” Sabrina Nodded. “Yeah, My other Aunt, Zelda- the one (Y/N) is in hiding from- held (Y/N)’s affection for a long time. One day she had enough and left, finally choosing her happiness and mental health over someone’s Auntie’s. My Aunt Zelda was foolish not to realize what was in front of her all this time, but it’s too late. (Y/N)’s moved on, she’s happy now, and I can’t thank you enough for helping her fix herself, Ms. Eda.”
“Thanks, Sabrina; I’m glad I make her that happy.” Sabrina nodded and walked off to the kitchen, leaving Eda to her thoughts. She never knew how happy she made you and the fact that she knew now? She wanted to give you the best life possible, so she promised herself she would.
Eda’s eyes glanced to look at you as you worked beside Hilda. A smile was plastered on your face, and Eda couldn’t help but smile as well. She walked over behind you, wrapping her arms around your waist and kissing your cheek. She was whipped for you, no doubt.
Another thing you hadn’t expected, after being told that Zelda had no clue you had indeed left, was for her to turn up on your doorstep. She looked paler than usual, her hair was the slightest bit frazzled, and her makeup was much more minimal than usual.
“Thank Hecate. I’ve finally found you.” Blinking rapidly, you open your mouth to speak, “How the hell? How did you find me? Who told you where I was?” Shaking her head, she steps past you into the living room. “No one, but that fact that others knew and I didn’t hurt. Let me guess, and you told Hilda, Sabrina, and Ambrose to hide it from me that you left? Am I right?” A small nod is all you can muster up, eyes glancing up into hers. “Well then, it’s time for you to come home. I’ve realized I made many mistakes when it came to you. You’ve been by my side through everything, and I want you as mine.”
You raise your brows in shock. Is she serious?
“You’re- You’re joking, right?” You say quietly, fists clenched at your side. “No, I’m not. I realized that I’ve been horrible to you. I didn’t even consider your feelings or your mental health; I’m sorry (Y/N).”
A raspy voice calls out to you, “(Y/N), what’s going on, babe?”
Eda!
She rounds the corner and moves to you but stops as she lands her eyes on the redhead. “Who is this?” Closing your eyes tightly, you gently take Eda’s hand. “This is Zelda, Eda. Zelda, this is Eda, my girlfriend.” Zelda’s eyes widen, her hands raise slightly, but she puts them back at her sides. “So you’ve… you’ve taken a lover.” You nod, hand tightening on Eda’s. “Yes, I have.”
A growl escapes Eda’s lips, and she glares at Zelda, “What the hell are you doing here? After everything you’ve done to her, you have some nerve.” Zelda throws her hands up, stepping back slightly, “Trust me, I have no harmful intentions; I just wish to talk to (Y/N).” You place your hand on Eda's shoulder, shaking your head when she looks at you. Now wasn’t the time for Eda to lash out. Truthfully, Eda always had a temper, letting her anger sometimes get the best of her. She was never abusive in any way, instead she tended just to cry or punch a pillow. Her rage was never brought out on you.
“What do you want, Zelda? Why’d you come looking for me?” Zelda gently grabs your hand and moves with you to sit down on the couch. “As I said earlier, I’ve realized how I’ve made you feel. Forgotten, unloved, disregarded: like you don’t matter, but you do, I promise. It took me a while to realize that I’m sorry (Y/N). Please, come back with me, give me another chance, and I promise I will make it up to you. I miss you, darling” A scoff leaves your throat, anger slowly taking over your calm mood.
“You’re joking, right? You’ve got to be. Zelda, why do you think I left? I left because you pushed me to the side and treated me like I didn’t matter. You don’t get to make me feel like shit; you don’t get to parade around my house and throw a pity party for yourself. You had every chance to miss me before, miss me when I was at the wedding, miss me when I left early, but you chose to miss me when I moved to Scarsdale and finally found someone that cherished me! Someone that showed me the love and affection I deserved when you wouldn’t do any of that! You have no right to claim that you’re upset when you didn’t notice how much I craved your attention; how much I cried over you! When you married Faustus, when you fell in love with Marie, Hilda held me while I cried because I felt like you didn’t love me. Hilda held me every time I was hurting because of you- and I chose to stay because even though I was in so much emotional pain, I cared about you more than I cared about myself!” Tears come to Zelda’s eyes; her hands clench against her chest.
“So if anything, fuck you, Zelda Spellman, fuck you for thinking you get to march into my life and confess your love. Go back to Marie; maybe she’ll kiss your ass and make love to you.”
Small sobs fall from Zelda’s lips, her form starts to shake, and she wraps her arms around herself. Your eyes widen, and you glance at Eda. “Marie is gone (Y/N).” You look at the broken ginger before you, sighing, “I’m sorry, but this allows you to grow yourself.” You say, looking at her with compassion despite the storm of anger raging inside you. Zelda looks at you and nods timidly, “I...I will let myself out. I hope you have a good life here, thrive the way you deserve, darling.” Zelda says before walking towards the door, and then she leaves. Eda’s hands gently land on your shoulder and you move your hand on top of hers, “It’s over (Y/N), you don’t have to worry about her hurting you like that anymore.” A nod is all you can muster and you turn around, placing your head against Eda’s chest. Small sobs leave your throat, hands gently holding Eda close by her waist. That was it; you had finally put your foot down, finalizing the burned bridges between you and Zelda- and as much as it hurt, you felt better than before.
#zelda spellman x reader#zelda spellman#zelda x reader#Chilling Adventures of Sabrina#CAOS#zelda spellman x mambo marie#hilda spellman#ambrose spellman#sabrina spellman#mambo marie
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Reader’s Corner: Fly Me to the Moon, Meikyuu, and Star Wars: The High Republic: The Edge of Balance
Fly Me to the Moon (Tonikawa), Vol. 7
To no one’s surprise, this lovely manga continues to be sweet and hilarious. Highlights this time include Tsukasa making Nasa do his homework to watch Avengers: Endgame, and the fourth wall-breaking line, “I hope she never reads this manga…” Of note, I felt like this volume had fewer pop culture references than usual (or maybe they were present and I didn’t just recognize them?). Also, volume seven is a little bit more, for lack of a better term, “risqué,” than its predecessors. Not that it’s literally risqué or fanservicey or anything, just that I felt like this volume moves a little in that direction. This manga has always teased readers with seemingly suggestive situations that get comically subverted, but I felt like volume seven edges very slightly closer to actual suggestive situations. It leads me to wonder if the series will end up getting less wholesome at some point; I certainly hope not. On the whole, I didn’t love this volume quite as much as those before it, but it’s still very good, and I will look forward to the next. ~ jeskaiangel
Fly Me to the Moon is published by Viz. Volume 7 releases on September 14th.*
Star Wars: The High Republic: The Edge of Balance, Vol. 1
“The High Republic” is an ambitious series of Star Wars media—YA and adult novels, comics, and now manga—released starting this year and focusing on a time of Jedi prominence, centuries before the events of the Skywalker saga. I’m a bit behind, admittedly, but am excited about the project, which begins with a hyperspace accident that sets the stories in motion. The Edge of Balance is another admirable attempt by the Star Wars brand to be as as authentically Japanese as possible with its manga works, with creators from that country, both of whom I was previously familiar, working with Justina Ireland on this first volume that centers on an event that would seem small in the big picture of the universe’s happenings, as Jedi Knight Lily Tora-Asi assists refugees settling on the planet, Banchii, along with her master, the Wookie Arkoff, her padawan, and two younglings. Although a bit stilted at times, the writers and artist do a lovely job of creating a unsettling tone as the story rushes toward its climax and even past, juxtaposed against the expected “wisdom” of the Jedi that’s frequently spouted, including by Lily, who is a fascinating lead—young, beautiful, calm, and questioning, and the youth aspect that’s emphasized by Lily and the other junior characters. This is meant for middle grade to young adult readers, and as such, it may not provide the fullness that adult Star Wars fans expect, but there is complexity here to challenge adolescents and which satisfied me, and a compelling story that seems to be developing—though having only dipped a toe into the High Republic series before The Edge of Balance, I’m not sure if balance can be achieved without reading some or all of the rest. I have a feeling that the project is an MCU-ification of Star Wars, with The Edge of Balance being an entry point for younger ones. If so, there are worse ways to jump into an exciting new world. ~ Twwk
Star Wars: The High Republic: The Edge of Balance is published by Viz.
The Promised Neverland, Vol. 1-20
Emma doesn’t want any of her precious family to die. Even after her world crumbles, she won’t let this crazy hope be crushed. But can a wish like that guide her in a world where humans are expendable, numbers, resources? A world of evil geniuses with unlimited resources and ancient enemies that defy her understanding? Ever since our writer thathilomgirl recommended it to me in a comment to my very first post at Beneath the Tangles, I had been wanting to read the full original manga of my favorite anime series ever (more so because I think that season two, despite a powerful beginning, lost its pace four or five chapters in). This summer, I finally found the opportunity to do so. I soon forgot that I was reading a black and white comic. The manga has every bit of the power the first season had. The art is amazing. The rhythm is on point. David versus Goliath stories are not uncommon, but few manage to be so horrifying yet adventurous, so clever and poetic, so funny yet so morally serious, so dark yet so full of light. The moment I realized what the pattern of the numbers was, for example, was one of sheer joy that reminded me of reading Sherlock Holmes stories as a teen. In the midst of the interesting twists and complicated enigmas, the characters, old and new, remain as compelling. The story of Emma, Norman, and Ray and the violent clash between hope and a dire world of lies, sin, and demons, remains one of my favorite stories in any genre in its manga form. It is true that, once the world is known, it loses some of its mystery, and I’d say that the first arcs are the strongest. But the rest is also artistically satisfying, intriguing, moving, and unafraid of making tough choices when necessary. And deeply, deeply hopeful. As Norman would say, “Come with me, and I will show you something cool.” ~ Gaheret
The Promised Neverland is published by Jump Comics.
Meikyuu: Labyrinth Kingdom, a Tactical Fantasy World Survival Guide, Vol. 1
We have not yet exhausted the potential for fun twists on the isekai premise. Taiga Andou-Garrett is a half-British, half-Japanese SAS veteran in his mid-thirties, with extensive training and years of special operations experience under his belt. After getting attacked by a bird-man and an eel-man in an airport restroom (really), Taiga finds himself in Million Dungeon, a place that’s sort of like if you crossed Tolkien’s Mines of Moria (there’s even a pseudo-Balrog) with the titular structure of Yokohama Station SF. The entire world has been engulfed by a chaotic labyrinth of caves and tunnels. I was also reminded of Spiderweb Software’s old-school Avernum RPGs, about survival in a vast underground maze. Anyway, Taiga soon finds himself elected king-in-all-but-name of a small band of disaster survivors. Adventures and hilarity ensue. Colorful characters aid him, such as Troach of the Complicated Past, a (former) thief, or Astoria the Wing-Blessed, a knight who livestreams her battles on the magical equivalent of Twitch/Youtube. I had a lot of fun with this volume and will definitely plan to read the next one. ~ jeskaiangel
Meikyuu: Labyrinth Kingdom, a Tactical Fantasy World Survival Guide is published by Yen Press.
In the Clear Moonlit Dusk, Vol. 1
I may have missed out on reading the ever-popular Daytime Shooting Star by Mika Yamamori, but I’m not missing out on the release of her new series, In the Clear Moonlit Dusk. What a refreshing beginning to a new shojo series! Heroine Yoi Takiguchi has been dubbed “Prince” because of her less feminine features and deeper voice. More often than not, she has been mistaken for a boy, but once Ichimura-senpai comes into her life and expresses interest in her as a girl, Yoi might be finding herself in a new relationship for the first time! I feel it’s not uncommon for many shojo heroines to struggle with how they look and/or feeling insecure, but Yoi honestly hits a whole other level in the world of shojo manga! In no way do I meant that as disrespectful to our “Prince” because I found her story to be one of the most realistic views on self-image struggles. I deeply enjoyed the premise of this story and how both Yoi and Ichimura (the hero) are respectful of each other’s boundaries and are willing to apologize for misconceptions they had about the other and/or the way they said things. It was beautiful, and I’m very excited for the next volume because I believe the mangaka is going to be flipping a trope of “destiny” on its head and I am totally here for it! Plus, that cliffhanger of an ending demands I know what happens next! Highly recommend this digital title to shojo lovers! ~ Laura A. Grace
In the Clear Moonlit Dusk is published by Kodansha.*
Batman: The Jiro Kuwata Batmanga, Vol. 3
I have finally finished my readthrough of the BatManga and let me tell you—it was a lot of fun. Volume three continued a lot of where volumes one and two left off with each story feeling like the old, 1960s Batman TV series. This manga was a villain of the week (or two) series and it worked for me. One of the fun parts about this is that you could literally jump in at any time. If your library had volume three and not volumes 1-2, you could jump into it and easily read through and have the same enjoyment. The stories build on one another chapter to chapter, but generally aren’t more than 3-4 chapters in length per arc. The next arc rarely comes back (if ever) to reference previous arcs. Frankly, that’s fine by me. Highly recommend for fans of the original 1960s Batman series and is definitely family friendly enough that my kids may be next on deck to read it. ~ MDMRN
Batman: The Jiro Kuwata Batmanga is published by DC Comics.
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Reader’s Corner is our way of embracing the wonderful world of manga, light novels, and visual novels, creative works intimately related to anime but with a magic all their own. Each week, our writers provide their thoughts on the works their reading—both those recently released as we keep you informed of newly published works and older titles that you might find as magical (or in some cases, reprehensible) as we do.
#Manga#Light Novels#Tonikaku Cawaii#Fly Me to the Moon#Star Wars: The High Republic: The Edge of Balance#The Promised Neverland#Yakusoku no Neverland#Meikyuu: Labyrinth Kingdom a Tactical Fantasy World Survival Guide#Damu Tokushu Butai SAS no Ossan no Isekai Dungeon Survival Manual!#In the Clear Moonlit Dusk#Uruwashi no Yoi no Tsuki#Batman#Batman: The Jiro Kuwata Batmanga#Reader's Corner#Author: Jeskai Angel#Author: TWWK#Author: Gaheret#Author: MDMRN
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Headcanons for 1960s Dallas but they have a pool party at Klaus' house? 👉👈 This is the kind of content I feel like we all need
OMG OMG OMG anon you are absolutely correct we need this kinda content
flowers and fruit! there are a lot of flower crowns made by Allison and Klaus, and they’re joined by Luther who is surprisingly gentle
Luther 100% shows up with barbecue supplies and a dartboard from Elliot’s house
Like, he literally brings a barbecue because Klaus says he doesn’t have one
Turns out he does. F.
He spends like 2 hours making food and it is surprisingly delicious
Klaus gives them all a casual tour of the mansion
“Oh and those are the pools that my spiritual community takes upon themselves to annoy me into blessing” “Klaus those were not coherent words” “Klaus please just say it’s a cult. Please. Cut to the chase.”
“Oh and here’s the,,,swing” [Ben screamingly indistinctly]
Diego either initiates or gets dragged into playing darts by Allison and he promises he won’t cheat so he purposely misses the first few but after giving everyone a false sense of hope he annihilates them completely
There is a lot of yelling after.
Allison tries to organize party games but between the siblings just being the siblings it doesn’t work so she grabs Klaus’s radio and cranks it up (Did. Did radios even exist in the 60s. I am that stupid.)
There’s incoherent laughter and dancing to the music
Five sits at a poolside table as they dance with his hands folded, his ankles crossed and his face stern but he can’t help smiling
Vanya comes over and shakes his shoulder and she gets him to stand and move his feet
It’s not much but they all cheer and he is equally happy and embarrassed
You think Five would take off his uniform for swimming? Incorrect
Although to be fair he didn’t know he’d be getting in the water
He’s sitting by the edge of the pool after ‘dancing’ with a newspaper or book of some kind and Ben (obviously invisible) picks it up out of his hands
He’s confused and very annoyed after realizing what happened because Klaus is cackling like a maniac but he still feels so overwhelmingly happy to be with his family
That is, until Ben holds the paper high over his head and then run into the pool
Five doesn’t even realize what’s happening until he’s 4 feet deep in water
Allison tackles Diego into the pool, which leads to a splash fight
It’s going semicasually between Allison, Diego, and somewhat Klaus and Five until they turn around and Vanya just. Has a 40 foot tall wave behind her
They’re so confused and she’s doing her little smirk
“I didn’t tell you guys about this?” “No I definitely do not remember this in the Vanya manual.” “Must’ve slipped my mind”
It’s safe to say the fight becomes a war and Vanya is doing pretty well until Luther literally just drags his hand across the water
They’re all waterlogged for days
they kinda just float around for a while and talk and laugh and are at peace
then,,,oh boy they try to have a breathe holding contest
now idk if Diego’s power of like,,,infinite breath holding will be canon in the show but let’s say it is
it’s the second game he’s won all day and they’re all so confused because they never knew about this??? and then Five decides to loosen up and teleports behind Diego and pushes him back underwater
cue the second splash war
They’re eating the barbecue and someone doesn’t finish their food and Five immediately snatches it off of their plate but doesn’t eat when he realizes everyone’s watching because the years in the apocalypse taught him to never undervalue any meal
Hawaiian shirts. Everyone leaves with a Hawaiian shirt. Tourist shirt? Idk but Diego and Klaus are just throwing them out like “you get a shirt! You get a shirt! Everybody gets a shirt!”
They are pulling shirts out of unholy places
At one point they all run into a member of the cult on the property/outside and Klaus panics and instead of being honest about his family or calling them new recruits
he calls them prophets
and everyone just lets out a deep sigh but they’re panicking and when the cult member asks them for a word of advice, Five steps forward and spouts some words of wisdom, aka lyrics from “Baby One More Time” by Britney Spears
there is mass confusion and he later reluctantly explains that it came out before his jump and he heard it at Griddy’s and somehow remembered it
it’s the happiest they’ve all been in as long as they can remember
this was brutally long and kinda like a crappy fic outline rather than headcanons but tysm for the ask!!! they always make my day:)))
#this is so long oops#i hope u like it anon i feel like it may not be my best#tysm for the ask tho aH#anon#asks#tua headcanons#klaus hargreeves#tua s2#hargreeves siblings#luther hargreeves#diego hargreeves#allison hargreeves#five hargreeves#ben hargreeves#vanya hargreeves#destinys children#TOO MANY TAGS I AM SORRY
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It’s Arrested Development: How ‘High Fidelity’ Has Endured Beyond Its Cultural Sell-By Date by Vikram Murthi
It’s easy to forget now that at the beginning of 2020, before the pandemic had taken hold of our consciousness, for a brief moment, High Fidelity was back. Not only did Nick Hornby’s debut novel and Stephen Frears’ film adaptation celebrate major milestones this year — 25th and 20th anniversaries, respectively — but a TV adaptation premiered on Hulu in February. In light of all of these arbitrary signposts, multiple thinkpieces and remembrances litigated Hornby’s original text on familiar, predictable grounds. Is the novel/film’s protagonist Rob actually an asshole? (Sure.) Does Hornby uphold his character’s callous attitudes towards women? (Not really.) Hasn’t the story’s gatekeeping, anti-poptimist approach to artistic taste culturally run its course? (Probably.) Why do we need to revisit this story about this person right now? (Fair question!)
Despite reasonable objections on grounds of relevancy, enough good will for the core narrative—record store owner seeks out a series of exes to determine a pattern of behavior following a devastating breakup—apparently exists to help produce a gender-flipped streaming show featuring updated musical references and starring a decidedly not-middle-aged Zoë Kravitz. I only made it through six of ten episodes in its first (and only) season, but I was surprised by how closely the show hewed to High Fidelity’s film adaptation, to the point of re-staging numerous scenes down to character blocking and swiping large swaths of dialogue wholesale. (Similarly, the film adaptation hewed quite close to the novel, with most of the dialogue ripped straight from Hornby.) Admittedly, the series features a more diverse cast than the film, centering different experiences and broadly acknowledging some criticisms of the source material regarding its ostensibly exclusionary worldview. Nevertheless, it seemed like a self-defeating move for the show to line itself so definitively with a text that many consider hopelessly problematic, especially considering the potential to repurpose its premise as a springboard for more contemporary ideas.
High Fidelity’s endurance as both a piece of IP and a flashpoint for media discourse is mildly baffling for obvious reasons. For one thing, its cultural milieu is actually dated. Even correcting for vinyl’s recent financial resurgence, the idea of snooty record store clerks passing judgment on customer preferences has more or less gone the way of the dodo. With the Internet came the democratization of access, ensuring that the cultivation of personal taste is no longer laborious or expensive, or could even be considered particularly impressive (if it ever could have been). Secondly, as one might imagine, some of Hornby’s insights into heterosexual relationships and the differences between men and women, even presented through the flawed, self-deprecating interiority of High Fidelity’s main character, are indeed reductive. Frears’ film actually strips away the vast majority of Hornby’s weaker commentary, but the novel does include such cringeworthy bits like, “What’s the deal with foreplay?” that are best left alone.
Accounting for all of that, though, it’s remarkable how many misreadings of Hornby’s text have been accepted as conventional wisdom. It’s taken as a given by many that the novel and film earnestly preach the notion that what you like is more important than what you are like when, in fact, the narrative arc is constructed around reaching the opposite conclusion. (The last lines of the novel and film are, literally, “…I start to compile in my head a compilation tape for her, something that's full of stuff she's heard of, and full of stuff she'd play. Tonight, for the first time ever, I can sort of see how it's done.”) That’s relatively minor compared to the constant refrain that Rob’s narcissism goes uncriticized, even though the story’s thematic and emotional potency derives from what the audience perceives that Rob cannot. To put it bluntly, High Fidelity’s central irony revolves around a man who listens to music for a living being unable to hear the women in his life.
While Hornby’s prose immerses the reader in Rob’s interior monologue, providing ample room for the character to spout internal justifications of his behavior, the novel hardly obscures or conceals this conclusion. Moreover, the film makes it unavoidably explicit in numerous scenes. Rob (John Cusack) triumphantly pantomimes Rocky Balboa’s boxing routine soundtracked to Queen’s “We Are The Champions” after his ex-girlfriend Laura (Iben Hjejle) confirms she hasn’t yet slept with her new boyfriend Ray (Tim Robbins), but doesn’t hear the part where she says she prefers to sleep next to him. When Laura informs Rob that she did eventually sleep with Ray, Rob completely falls apart. In an earlier, more pointed scene, Rob goes out with his ex-girlfriend from high school (Joelle Carter) to ask why she chose to have sex with an obnoxious classmate instead of him. She venomously informs him that he actually broke up with her because she was too prudish, an abrupt, cruel bit of business we actually witness at the film’s beginning. It was in her moment of heartbroken vulnerability that she agreed to quickly sleep with someone else (“It wasn’t rape because I technically said, ‘Okay,’ but it wasn’t far off,” she sneers), which ultimately put her off sex until after college. Rob doesn’t hear this explanation or the damning portrait of his teenaged self. Instead, he’s delighted to learn that he wasn’t actually dumped.
These are evidently low character moments, one’s that are comedic in their depiction of blinkeredness but whose emotional takeaways are crystal clear, and one’s that have been written about before. My personal pick from the film, though, comes late when Rob attends Laura’s father’s funeral. He sits in the back and, in typical fashion, turns to the camera to deliver a list of songs to play at his funeral, concluding with his professed wish that “some beautiful, tearful woman would insist on ‘You’re The Best Thing That Ever Happened to Me’ by Gladys Knight.” It’s a really galling, egotistical moment that still makes me wince despite having seen the movie umpteen times. Yet, it’s immediately followed by the casket being lowered to the ground as Laura’s sobs ring out in the church. In a movie defined by John Cusack’s vocal timbre, it’s one of the few times when he completely shuts up. From two-thirds down the center aisle, Frears’ camera pushes into Cusack’s face until tears in his eyes are visible, but what you really see is an appropriately guilt-ridden, ashamed expression.
However, none of this evidence carries any weight if your objection to High Fidelity is that Rob suffers no material consequences for his behavior. While Rob is frequently called out for his actions, he is never actively punished. He doesn’t, say, receive a restraining order for continually calling Laura after they’ve broken up or end up alone mending a permanent broken heart because of his past relationships. By the end, Rob and Laura get back together and Rob even starts an independent record label on the side. It’s a stretch to characterize Hornby’s High Fidelity as a redemption tale, but it is a sideways rehabilitation narrative with a happy ending that arises at least partly out of mutual exhaustion.
Those two elements—Rob’s asshole recovery and the exhausted happy ending—rarely seem to factor into High Fidelity discourse. Granted, there’s credence to the idea that, socially and culturally, people have less patience for the personality types depicted in High Fidelity, and thus are less inclined to extend them forgiveness, let alone anything resembling retribution. I suppose that’s a valid reaction, one against which I have no interest in arguing, but it’s somewhat ironic that High Fidelity has endured for reasons that have nothing to do with its conclusions regarding inflexible personal principles and the folly of escapism. Both the book and film are specifically about someone who slowly comes to terms with accepting reality rather than live in a world mediated by pop cultural fantasies whose unrealistic expectations have only caused personal suffering. It’s not unfair to characterize this as a fairly obvious epiphany, but considering we currently live in a world dominated by virtual echo chambers with an entertainment culture committed to validating arrested adolescence, it retroactively counts as “mature” and holds more weight than it otherwise should.
Near the end of High Fidelity, the book, after Rob and Laura have gotten back together in the aftermath of Laura’s father’s death, Hornby includes a chapter featuring five conversations between the couple unpacking the state of their relationship. During the third conversation, Rob and Laura fight about how she doesn’t care about music as strongly as he does, catalyzed by Rob’s objection to Laura liking both Solomon Burke and Art Garfunkel, which, in his mind, is a contradiction in terms. Laura finally admits that not only does she not really care about the difference between them, but that most people outside of his immediate circle of two don’t care about the difference, and that this mentality is indicative of a larger problem. It’s part of what keeps him stuck in his head and reluctant to commit to anything. “I’m just trying to wake you up,” she says. “I'm just trying to show you that you've lived half your life, but for all you've got to show for it you might as well be nineteen, and I'm not talking about money or property or furniture.”
I fell for High Fidelity (first the movie, then the book) as a younger man for the reasons I assume most sensitive-cum-oblivious, culturally preoccupied straight guys do: it accurately pinpoints a pattern of music consumption and organizationally anal-retentive behavior with which I’m intimately familiar. I spent the vast majority of my early years listening to and cataloguing albums, and when I arrived at college, I quickly fell in with a small group of like-minded music obsessives. We had very serious, very prolonged discussions filled with impossibly strong opinions about our favorite artists and records. Few new releases came and went without them being scrutinized by us, the unappreciated scholars of all that is righteous. List-making wasn’t in vogue, but there wasn’t a song that passed us by that we didn’t judge or size up. I was exposed to more music during this relatively short period of time than I likely will ever absorb again. Some of these times were the most engaging and fun of my life, and I still enjoy discussing and sharing music with close friends, but I’m not such a true believer to fully feel comfortable with this behavior. It’s not entirely healthy on its own and definitely alienating to others, and there comes a point when you hear yourself the way a stranger might, or maybe even catch a glimpse of someone’s eyes when you’re midst rant about some stupid album, and realize, “That’s all there is of me. There isn’t anything else.”
This is what Rob proclaims to Laura in the conversation when she tells him she was more interested in music during their courtship than she is now. It’s a patently self-pitying statement on his part that doesn’t go unchallenged by her in the moment or bear fruit in the rest of the novel. Yet, it’s this type of uncomfortably relatable sentiment that goes under-discussed. If High Fidelity will continue to have a life well after its cultural moment has passed, then it’s worth addressing what it offers on its own terms. Near the end of the book, Laura introduces Rob to another couple with whom he gets along quite well. When the evening comes to an end, she tells him to take a look at their record collection, and it’s predictably filled with artists he doesn’t care for, e.g. Billy Joel, Simply Red, Meat Loaf. “'Everybody's faith needs testing from time to time,” Laura tells him later when they’re alone. Amidst Rob’s self-loathing and sullen pettiness, Hornby argues that one should contribute in some way rather than only consume and that, at some point, it’s time to put away childish ideas in order to get the most out of life. It’s an entirely untrendy argument, one that goes against the nostalgic spirit of superhero films and reboot culture, but it doesn’t lack merit. Accepting that some values aren’t conducive to a full life, especially when it’s shared with someone else, doesn’t have to mean abandoning interests or becoming an entirely different person. It just means that letting go isn’t an admission of defeat.
It’s why I’ve always found the proposal scene in the film to be quite moving, albeit maybe not specifically romantic. It plays out similarly in both the book and the film, but the film has the added benefit of Cusack and Hjejle’s performances to amplify the vulnerability and shared understanding. Laura meets Rob for a drink in the afternoon where he sheepishly asks if she would like to get married. Laura bursts out laughing and says that he isn’t the safest bet considering he was making mixtapes for some reporter a few days prior. When asked what brought this on, Rob notes that he’s sick of thinking about love and settling down and marriage and wants to think about something else. (“I changed my mind. That’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever heard. I do. I will,” she sarcastically replies.) He goes on to say that he’s tired of fantasizing about other women because the fantasies have nothing to do with them and everything to do with himself and that it doesn’t exist never mind delivering on its promise. “I’m tired of it,” he says, “and I’m tired of everything else for that matter, but I don’t ever seem to get tired of you.”
This sort of anti-Jerry Maguire line would be callous if Laura didn’t basically say the same thing to him when they got back together. (“I’m too tired not to be with you.”) It’s possible to read this as an act of mutual settling, but I always thought Hornby’s point was personal growth and accepting one’s situation were intertwined. The key moment in High Fidelity, the film, comes when Laura finds Rob’s list of top five dream jobs. (In the book, Laura makes Rob compile the list.) At the bottom of the list, after such standard choices like music journalist and record producer, lies architect, a job that Rob isn’t entirely sure about anyway. (“I did put it at number five!” he insists.) Laura asks Rob the obvious question: wouldn’t you rather own your own record store than hypothetically be an architect, a job you’re not particularly enthused with anyway?
It’s Laura who convinces Rob that living the fifth-best version of your life can actually be pretty satisfying and doesn’t have to be treated like a cruel fate worse than death. Similarly, Rob and Laura both make the active decision to try to work things out instead of starting over with someone else. Laura’s apathy may have reunited them, and Rob’s apathy might have kept him from running, but it’s their shared history that keeps them together. More than the music and the romance, High Fidelity follows the necessary decisions and compromises one has to maneuver in order to grow instead of regress. “I've been letting the weather and my stomach muscles and a great chord change in a Pretenders single make up my mind for me, and I want to do it for myself,” Rob says near the end of Hornby’s novel. High Fidelity’s emotional potency lies in taking that sentiment seriously.
#high fidelity#nick hornby#stephen frears#john cusack#zoe kravitz#90s films#oscilloscope laboratories#musings#beastie boys#music#music movie#vinyl#vinyl film#jack black#tim robbins#adam yauch#vikram murthi#film writing#Film Criticism#hulu#reboot
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JAZMINE HARPER - TV TROPES
manipulative bastard
The Manipulative Bastard is the master manipulator of people, in essence, a character who manipulates others through their emotions, perspectives, psychologies and any other way they can get them dancing to their tune. This is the guy or gal who gets off on playing head/mind games—clever and dangerous and lacking comedic overtones (usually). She always has a plan ready, but rather than do any work, the Manipulative Bastard prefers to play on other characters' emotions and mental states and then watch the victims destroy themselves as they waste their energy on fighting against fake dangers or their friends.
are we surprised? with a lack of loyalty to others, including her own family, jazmine will gladly step on others and use their weaknesses to her advantage to get what she wants. she’s been a manipulative bastard since she was a child, ever since she first discovered how much her mist control could control the perceptions of others. observant and resourceful, jazmine has no qualms using her talents to gain unauthorized information about others and using it for her personal gain. she views people as her pawns, and her selfish way of thinking gives her little guilt about physically or mentally forcing others into submission. this is a trait she’s picked up from her own father, which we will delve into in the next trope.
daddy’s little villain
mention of emotional abuse tw
She's the daughter of an Evil Overlord, who shares her parent's ambition, cunning, and cruelty. She could be anything from a simple Spoiled Brat to an Overlord in waiting. She's also likely to be a Princess (since even villainy is improved with that), although she will still prefer wearing black or dark colors over pink.
jazmine’s mortal father can largely be thanked for the way she is now. from as young as she can remember, he was training jazmine to be a powerful force in both the demigod and mortal world. while he raised her to think she could accomplish anything she worked toward, she was mostly a pawn to satisfy his thirst for power. he didn’t care much for her as a daughter; mostly for what she could do for him. she started to recognize this during her formative middle school years, consequently turning her childhood role model into her worst enemy. when she started rebelling against him and acting out, he sent her away full-time to a camp on the other side of the globe. since then, the issues only progressed, eventually leading to a falling out in which she hasn’t seen or spoken to her mortal family in many years.
this upbringing has fueled her desire to constantly be the best in her fields of expertise, which is partly why she quested for years in hopes of some type of recognition. with the heavily hidden hope that she could one day rub in his face that she had succeeded without him, all her life she has fought to try to ‘prove her worth’ to others despite being the daughter of a minor goddess (or titan). because her father only loved what she could do for him, she places everyone in two categories: the puppets, and the puppeteers.
and she will never be the puppet again.
broken ace
He's tall, charming, strikingly good-looking, well-spoken in five languages, and classically trained in even more instruments. But inside, he's an ugly, writhing mass of self-hatred and Parental Issues. Expect him to have at least one bizarre trait or ability that should not be overlooked, as well as an unhealthy attitude about love, life, and humanity in general. He most likely doesn't have anyone that loves or respects him for what he really is. This may be justified. This character is usually male, but not always. Also, he may just be a perfectionist crumbling under his own standards. The chief difference between the Broken Ace and the usually female Stepford Smiler is that the Stepford Smiler wants to appear normal at all costs, often to the point of hurting herself emotionally (or because she's sociopathic). This guy has the same setup, but is more talented and wants to be the best, loved by all, and accepted.
although the timeline wasn’t as accelerated as she had hoped when she was a child, jazmine was making waves in the world of deities before her last quest against zeus had occurred. now, as a semi-retired quester, she is captain of the football team and starting to make a name for herself in the mortal fields of business and sports. despite the air of nonchalant superiority that she constantly tries to present, she is in a constant state of despair. right when she starts to undergo some development in her relationships with others, they leave, and she is constantly failing her own impossibly high standards. she’s crumbling, and at any point she is ready to run away again.
ice queen
Much like a Tomboy, the Ice Queen is a major character archetype which is somewhat hard to define. Her signature characteristic is that she is cold; the ambiguity comes from what "cold" means. She has a cold heart, a frosty demeanor and very often a resting bitch face; she attracts but will never be wooed. The Ice Queen is considered dangerous to love because she will not (or cannot) love back. She's not much for friendship either, preferring to be alone. Situations where an Ice Queen "thaws" and learns to enjoy the company of others are so common that they have their own trope.
she’s cold and takes no shit. she holds people at a distance, even those that could potentially be considered friends. she doesn’t believe in unconditional love, and she believes that most affection direct toward her is generally a ruse to get her guard down. she’s unnecessarily rude to others, almost relishing in the negative reactions at times, but to her, she’s just keeping it real.
the trickster
A trickster is a character who plays tricks or otherwise disobeys normal rules and conventional behavior. The Trickster openly questions and mocks authority, encourages impulse and enthusiasm, seeks out new ideas and experiences, destroys convention and complacency, and promotes chaos and unrest. At the same time, the trickster brings new knowledge, wisdom and many An Aesop. Even when punished horribly for his effrontery, his indomitable spirit (or plain sheer foolishness) keeps him coming back for more. Tricksters can be anything from gods of chaos, bedeviling heroes for a few laughs, to master manipulators who use cruel ploys and sadistic choices. They can also be heroes (or more likely Anti-Heroes) who make up for a lack of strength or bravery with manipulation, planning, or just plain cheating. The trickster is often a Master of Disguise and may have magical or super-powers. They're often found Walking the Earth.
although this description was much more relevant when she was younger, jazmine has a penchant for drama and chaos. she genuinely has fun engaging in pranks and tricks, and she gladly lifts a symbolic middle finger to authority in any chance that she gets. in middle school, she was nearly expelled from a mortal school because of all her tricks, and she spent a sizable portion of her adult years before eonia traveling and engaging in casual mayhem. when she isn’t getting revenge or fulfilling a paid request, she generally has fun toying with others.
deadpan snarker
A character prone to gnomic, sarcastic, sometimes bitter, occasionally whimsical asides. The Deadpan Snarker exists to deflate pomposity, point out the unlikelihood of certain plans, and deliver funny lines. Typically the most cynical supporting character. In most cases, it is implied that the snarker would make a good leader, strategist, or consultant given their ability to instantly see the flaws in a constructed plan. More often than not, their innate snarkiness is the only thing preventing the other characters from comprehending this for themselves. In other cases, the Deadpan Snarker resorts to sarcasm because they're the Only Sane Man. Tends to be shot a Death Glare when they go too far (and probably isn't without one of their own, either). Note that due to the definition evolving, the "Deadpan" part of the title has gradually become The Artifact and a deadpan delivery is no longer a necessary part of the trope.
jazmine is no stranger to delivering biting remarks coupled with foul language. she’s quick to point out flaws, opting for the brutally honest approach more times than not. she’s aware that her language can hurt others, but she finds it easier to escape the frivolities and get to the point. depending on the person, she exaggerates this trope by trying to draw out a bad response from them, mostly for her own entertainment. people already view her as heinous, so why not embrace the reputation, right?
survivor guilt
death mention tw
You might be the Last Of Your Kind or someone else made a Heroic Sacrifice for you or you lived through a Restricted Rescue Operation, but whatever the reason, you're going to feel a massive sense of guilt.
although the quest with adelphie and celeste was technically a success, with the trident successfully being returned back to poseidon, the team had faced major losses. adelphie had lost her life, and celeste had suffered debilitating injuries. physically, jazmine suffered the least, and it’s a guilt that she continues to carry.
aloof big sister
to the majority of the hecate family, especially @rostameu
He's smarter, stronger, faster, more talented, and more refined than the hero, and — just to add insult to injury — he's probably sexier, too. His only problem seems to be moving his face out of that expression of bored, dignified disdain. And he just happens to be the elder brother of one of the main cast, which often gives them a raging inferiority complex. Will most likely double as the Ineffectual Loner and Noble Demon, thereby running the risk of becoming an Ensemble Darkhorse. May or may not be evil, strictly speaking, but is almost guaranteed to fight against the protagonists at one point, and spout off Cryptic Conversation to prove how much better informed he is. May or may not be a Stealth Mentor and/or consider his younger siblings annoying. Often an integral part of a mysterious organisation, and may be the Enigmatic Minion or even a Hero Antagonist in that case.
OKAY, so the running joke with jazmine is that she dislikes her siblings, which is very true tbh. i’m not going to speak for rostam and say most of that stuff actually applies, but jazmine is very cold toward her younger brother and views herself as much better in every way. with loner tendencies, disdain toward her brother, and shady side hustles, she matches this trope very well, and it was only fitting to add a trope about disliking siblings to jazmine’s task. and yes, she’s technically one of the youngest right now but hush.
#eutropes#( tasks. )#emotional abuse tw#death mention tw#whewww i didnt bother proofreading this but lmk if anything is just ... impossible to read LMAO
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I am not great at theorizing but I would love to hear about your favorite characters from atla!
oh my, i am SO down for this. let me take a look, okay
i wont rank them or anything bc i love them all, but my top five would be uncle iroh, sokka, toph, suki, and azula.
UNCLE IROH. is the story's source of lesson and of wisdom. he is such an icon and he is loved by all istg he is the best man ever i love him so much i wish i was related to him as a niece like zuko or something. he truly is so wise and kind against all.
he is one of a kind, he was such a gem and held a strong view of what was wrong and what was right. i think people underestimate how great of a bender he is, tho. he was a member of the order of the lotus (eyyy the oldies but goldies gang basically lmao) aka the strongest people ever hello?? he represented the fire nation in that group and my GOd is he an amazing one.
he is different from most, because unlike other firebenders, his skills and abilities aren't directly derived from anger and fury. that's why he isn't as hot headed as regular firebenders and even teaches zuko about this (which works bc zuko is considerably calmer later in the series)
and then there is his legacy. mans beat an entire dragon in a battle of flames?? he breathes fire too so that's always the coolest thing ever and his diligence while working himself back to prepare for war in that prison absolutely took me out omg the way he strategizes??? explains why he was a general. he has a heart of gold unlike any.
SOKKA. now for him, i have the biggest amount of respect and adoration for. let's adress the elephant in the room here. he singlehandedly devised a ginormous plan to defeat am empire that has been raising tyranny for over a century. how fucking awsome can one get?? mr sexy brain amirite?
plus, he was completely skilless the first part of the series and his entire growth just blows me away every single time. sure, he had his little boomerang but that was it. after they created gaang tho, his potential was so fully exploited i cant even express how proud i am oml he was diamond in the rough.
he acted so brash and was the comedic relief character a lot of the times, so his subtle feats of intelligence didn't get noticed a lot, but oml the way i am down bad for him. his determination and desperation to become god at a skill is so enjoyable to watch like,,, the piandao episode where he learns how to wield a sword is one of my favorite episodes of all time!! anyways, this is getting alittle long so lets move on to....
TOPH BEIFONG. listen. lis-ten. thats my girl right there. i was eight when i first watched atla and she was twelve and the amount of confidence she instilled in little-me is just- *sobs* (also i realized that she is literlly the only character in this with an official lastname lmfao)
toph is forever going to remain as THAT icon. her mindset is as stable and stubborn as they go because of her earthbending lmao i love how self-assured she is. she is the definition of born into riches, growing to become greatness.
her heritage is not at all important to who she is as a character and most people even forget that she is insanely wealthy because she never mentions it. but anyway that is beside my point idk why i touched on this aspect. moving on!!
i feel like they portrayed her childish nature so well in this series like?? sure, she was the greatest earthbender of all time and still is, she was also a twelve year old tween lmao she was something else istg
and her sass, humor and just her entire attitude was so solid oml she was THAT bitch and i mean it in the most awed way possible. i can talk about her more but imma keep it short for this post's sake.
SUKI. my idol right here y'all. this is my og feminist queen right here. badass woman i love her so much. embodies courage, hard work and strength in oneself. man, kyoshi warriors are super awesome i literlly do not have any other words about her other than "woah"
obviously, she couldnt bend at all but growing up on kyoshi island, one made by avatar kyoshi herself by literally parting an entire section of land away to carry them back to make an island by spouting out lava hundreds of miles down the ocean floor is just???? but we aren't here to talk about the blood-thirsty woman rn-
she learned how to deal damage on benders who dared to attack their homeland and she is just- just- idk ugh she is so gorgeous too like?? forget about sokka please, come marry me instead i beg you ;-;
suki is so quick to react to danger and doesn't wait for anyone to save the day. she knows what she can do and she does her best to help ;-; im thinking about that once moment when toph fell into the ocean and suki was the first one to dive right in their to save her while everyone else was just literally standing there lmao even katara who could literally bend water
AZULA. now, this is where shit goes down. i lover her as a character that has been developed to show what a bad childhood environment could lead to in children who are particularly cunning and born a little sharper than others.
azula was a threat to all at the age of fifteen. fif-teen. she was a mastermind in countless incredible plans that overtake populations and she is so incredible quick-witted. perfectly evil for the sake of being evil, but also not at the same time.
the azula we last see in the agni kai between her and zuko, her own bilogical older brother whom she had tormented pretty much their entire life, was the product of accumulated trauma and pressure that she had been subject to ever since she had learned bending fire. blue fire.
she had shown from the start that she was gifted and strong and was on a league of her own compared to other kids. all of her childhood was spent garnering the approval of her father and grandfather who were toxic and evil and bad role models for her. anyone who grows up in bad environments are guaranteed to turn out messed up.
her mother preferred the softer zuko than her sadistic daughter and not receiving her mother's affection enough really showed its consequences in the last few episodes where you get to see her breaking down. she hallucinates about her mother and it was so heartbreaking to watch for me as a seventeen year old. i didn't really get the extent of her pschotic breakdown as an eight year old.
for heaven's sake, she was a devil. idk my thought are so scattered rn but i feel like i can make a post about her complicated character later when i gather my thoughts properly bahaha
tldr for azula: gifted child gone horribly wrong
anyhow, this was super fun omg
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one more blog assignment for school and then im free
Ramblings of a Vet. Omori Fan
I don’t have many ideas so I thought I would give my top five favorite NPCs. Enjoy!
5. This Guy
Yeah that’s literally his name lol. He doesn’t do much but I just like his name. You can find him in Humphrey
4. Mewo
No real reason for this, I just enjoy the cat. She is pretty cool, and what happened to her in the real world is a bit vague. She deserves more screen time than she got, but I guess we must have secrets anyways.
3. Loquacious Cat
This one spouts gibberish and I love it. Give me ur wisdom, oh strange one. Loquacious means talkative, and yeah the Loquacious Cat kinda is? When asked the meaning of life, it responds
"A PAIR OF RUSTY SCISSORS"
And those are words of wisdom that I live by. The only downside with the Loquacious Cat is that it hurts to look at it.
2. Ems
SHE ATE. A WHOLE ASS. CHEESE WHEEL. We love that, that’s great. Her first encounter is pretty strange, and you’ll never see her again if you don’t seek out the golden sandwich doors. But otherwise, based on those minimal experiences, I put her high on the list.
1. Smol
Do I even have to say anything? He is perfect.
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I hope you enjoyed reading my weird blog posts. Omori is really such a fun game, if you haven’t played it, seriously go do that. I have been waiting for this game for several years and now that it’s out, I can proudly say I’m not disappointed. Anyways, I will probably never update this blog series again. Goodbye!
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Test Flight (Part 2/2)
From here.
This one fought me tooth and nail. Three times I started this chapter and it shows.
But many thanks to @scribbles97 for the poke in the right direction and for listening to my whinging.
This fic was for @tinglingsquidsense with the prompt ‘Scott and Butterflies’. I think I probably should have just settled for him lying in a field of flowers and watching the insects doing their pollination thing, but eh, muse does what it likes. Hope you enjoy it anyway ::hugs::
Timeline: Season 2
Spoilers and warnings: Very minor season 3, a little angst and brother butt kicking.
This bit 1699 words. Prompt list can be found here.
-o-o-o-
The wind came up that evening. Not strong, but blustery, enough to cover the ocean in whitecaps and to rattle the palm trees.
Scott emerged from his mandatory confinement just as the sun was making its way towards the horizon. Walking across the comms room to his father’s desk, his whole body creaked.
Being slammed into his harness as Thunderbird Two snatched the pod from its fall hadn’t been fun. He rolled first one shoulder and then the other.
Virgil had been beside himself.
As he reached the desk, Scott placed one palm flat on its smooth surface. Touching it felt like he was connecting with Dad. Like if he stayed in contact with the wood long enough, he could absorb his father’s wisdom through the laminate.
Dad, what do I do?
It was a question he had asked the empty desk so many times.
Two had grappled the pod from the sky before it could hit the ocean and immediately flown back to the Island, gently depositing the crippled flyer on the runway.
His brother then set his ‘bird to a hover and rappelled down to check on Scott.
Virgil had been inconsolable.
He saw the whole incident as a personal failure. He had signed off a test flight that, in his words, could have gotten his brother killed.
Scott just shrugged it off and said it had been fun while it lasted.
The silent aghast in those brown eyes had shut him up pretty quickly. His brother then proceeded to scan him within an inch of his life in the infirmary and on finding the harness bruises had sent him to his room for the afternoon under threat of Grandma.
Scott had been of the mind to ignore Virgil, after all he wasn’t hurt that bad, but there had been something in his brother’s eyes. So, he had complied.
The room was eerily quiet except for the stiff breeze outside. A tap on the desk and his brothers’ locations sprang onto a holographic map. Gordon and Alan were holed up in the theatre and Scott remembered that it was Buddy and Ellie day. A frown and he considered checking up to make sure Alan wasn’t tied to a chair or something.
Brains was in his lab, Grandma was with Kayo in Auckland - they wouldn’t be back until tomorrow. John’s icon sat beside the display with its usual gold flare indicating his presence on Five.
That left Virgil, but really, he didn’t need a map to find his brother. He was exactly where Scott knew he would be.
A sigh and swipe of his hand killed the locator hologram. Edging around the desk he sat down heavily, leant his elbows on the desk and let his head fall into his hands.
His shoulders yelled at him, but he ignored them.
Dad, how do you console a brother who cares too much?
Virgil had been so excited about this new pod design. Brains had put together several ideas, but it was Virgil who chose which one to go ahead with. Scott had found him hovering over the specs for it several times during development. At one point, he had had to drag a dirt coated, exhausted brother away from a discussion with Brains about that exact subject. The man had been dead on his feet after three nasty rescues in a row, but had still found the energy to spout engineering terms all over the room.
The fact that he had then protested by throwing more of those engineering terms at Scott just proved how much he needed sleep.
Scott sighed. His brother was passionate.
Okay, Dad, damage control. He pushed himself up and out of the chair with a godawful creak.
Ouch.
-o-o-o-
As expected, Virgil was down in the hangars. But unexpectedly, he wasn’t working.
Scott frowned as he approached his brother from behind. The engineer was sitting on the hard concrete floor, elbows on knees, head in his hands in front of the remains of the crumpled red-winged flyer.
“Virgil, you okay?”
His brother startled and a pair of strained brown eyes turned to stare at him.
“Fine.” A grubby hand was pushed through Virgil’s hair. An aggravated exhale. “The pod’s a bust.”
“Hey, don’t let one failed test flight get you down. Find the problem, fix it and we can give it another go.”
“Did. Can’t.” Virgil unfolded from the floor and pushed himself to his feet. “The problem is a terminal one. This design is not going to work. And I should have seen it coming.”
Scott blinked. “What?”
His brother began picking up tools and packing them away. “The cahelium thread in the wings develops a charge as it moves through atmosphere.”
“Yes, even I know that.”
“Yeah, well, it couldn’t be discharged safely. Today’s incident fried every computer component in the pod.”
“What?”
His brother glanced at him before returning to tidying up around the wreck. “It’s not going to work, Scott. We’re back to the drawing board.” A clatter as a spanner was dropped. His brother bent to retrieve it.
“Are you sure?”
Virgil straightened and glared. “What? Did you miss the fact I almost got you killed?”
Scott sighed, but then... “Uh, yes, I did. Because I wasn’t in any danger.”
Brown eyes continued to glare at him.
So, he pushed his point. “You think you wouldn’t have caught me?”
“Of course, I could have missed!”
Scott’s snort was pure scoff. “Sure. Say you did. Say there was a micro-chance that your experienced hands slipped and missed and I did fall into the ocean. Gordon would have caught me. That is why we have a team for testing.”
“You shouldn’t have fallen at all! It was an obvious error and I missed it!” Virgil took a step forward. “It was a pathetic mistake!”
Scott stared at his brother. The man was furious, obviously with himself. “What about Brains?”
That made Virgil take a step back.
“You weren’t the only one on this project. What did Brains have to say about it?”
Virgil fell silent and his head dropped to star at his boots. “This isn’t about Brains. This is about me and my screw up.”
“You’re allowed to make mistakes! Dad-“
“Dad didn’t!” Virgil rounded on him. “Dad and Brains worked together on this project and look at all they achieved!” He flung out a hand to encompass the entire hangar. “I’m the only factor in this equation that has changed, Scott. I guess I’m not the chip off the old block I need to be!”
Scott stared at him. “You’re kidding.”
Virgil returned the stare. “What? You think you’re the only one who wants to follow in Dad’s footsteps? I may not be the pilot you are, but he was still my father. I just...wish...” But his shoulders dropped. “You know what, forget it. Forget the whole thing.” Virgil spun around and began to stalk away.
He honestly could not believe this. Scott straightened, projecting his voice. “You’re wrong, Virgil.” Every word reflected his absolute certainty. “You don’t take after Dad.” A swallow. “You’re stronger than that.”
That stopped his brother in his tracks. Virgil turned around to stare at him.
And Scott followed it through. “You take after Mom.”
-o-o-o-
His eldest brother never looked more like his father than he did in that moment. He resembled Jeff Tracy in look, stance and determination. Part of Virgil couldn’t help but react with defeat because he knew it wasn’t in him. He wasn’t Scott. He had at least thought he had his engineering, but apparently, he couldn’t make the grade there either.
But his mother?
He continued to stare at Scott.
His brother clenched and unclenched his fists. “Do you have any idea how much you look and act like Mom?”
Well, yeah, it was obvious...and part of the reason why he was so desperately looking for a piece of his father in him. He held up his hands. “Yeah, so?”
“Do you have any idea how I wish I had a trace of her in me? You look like her, you have her artistic talents...for goodness sake, Virgil, she was an engineer! I look to Dad because he is what I understand, what I’m made for. You? You are Mom.” An exhaled breath and Scott’s tone softened. “Have you ever considered why Dad achieved so much? He didn’t do it by himself. Mom wasn’t one for celebrity, she had her preferences and mostly kept herself behind the scenes...sound like someone we both know?” Scott looked down at his hands before looking back at Virgil, his voice quiet. “I will admit that I follow Dad and I have encouraged all of you to do the same. But Virg, don’t discount Mom’s strength. It’s the same as yours.”
Virgil was still staring. Scott had always been all about Dad. He rarely mentioned their mother. Virgil had assumed it was a symptom of grief and maybe it was, but...something glinted in the blue of Scott’s eyes. His brother managed to straighten even more.
“So, we still need a Mars pod.” He raised an eyebrow. “What does my Field Engineer want to do?”
Virgil couldn’t help but straighten in response. He had always been so proud of his older brother. Had always looked up to him, followed him around like a lost puppy at school. Where Dad was Scott’s hero, Scott had become Virgil’s.
And if Dad was Scott’s hero, then Virgil must be more like Dad.
But he was more like Mom. He remembered soft words, long dark hair and eyes like his own. Her piano which was now his and the help she gave him with his math homework.
Something small bloomed in his chest. He was a Tracy, but he was also a Taylor.
And Taylors were traditionally a stubborn bunch.
He caught his brother’s eyes. “We need a new design.”
“Well, if a butterfly didn’t work, pick another insect.” Scott shrugged. “How about something with a little more speed? Like a wasp or a bee?”
Typical. Virgil felt his shoulders relax just a little and an idea came to mind. Okay. “How about a dragonfly?”
-o-o-o-
FIN.
#thunderbirds are go#thunderbirds#thunderbirds fanfiction#Virgil Tracy#Scott Tracy#nuttys fandomversary
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