#Obv I want him to ultimately get through it

[harrygoeswest]

Harry Styles is your sworn enemy. You've decided to take a holiday in the Scottish Highlands, and so has he. And there's only one bed…

~~~

A/N: Hiiiiii! I think I announced this like 3 months ago and never finished it, but we're finally here! I actually really fucking love this story. I've never done this 'one bed' trope before, nor an enemies-to-lovers OU, because EVERYONE loves H man, right? Well, not this YN. And he's not too fond of her either. I'm really excited to share it with you. Again, what started as a one shot grew into a two-parter because I simply cannot contain myself when the ball starts rolling. Anyhoo, to my forever friend @all-things-fic, thank you as always for reading this through and making me snort at your comments and being the ultimate validator <3

Word Count: 13,261 Trigger Warnings: Swearing (obvs), vomiting, bed-sharing with a sexy man

~~~

Rain. Persistent, unabated, never-ending, relentless rain. It was all you’d heard and seen all day and you were sick of it. You’d never really minded it until today, but thanks to one shit-show after another, you were ready to relinquish it. You wanted it gone. Your summer holiday was already off to a bad start.

“Bad day?”

Where to begin?

A cabin in the Scottish Highlands had sounded like the perfect escape for a four-week break away from the city. You had work to do, deadlines to meet, but at least you could do it without being interrupted. Without the sounds of pedestrians and car horns and wayward seagulls and bike bells. Yep, the Highlands still sounded perfect, but the endless string of catastrophes made you wonder if it really was perfect or rather just a ridiculous indulgence.

No. You deserved this break. Bad day or not, the holiday was needed.

When your brother had told you a year ago that he’d bought a holiday home in the Highlands you hadn’t exactly been surprised. He and his wife had been talking about it for years, and he’d finally earned enough money through his music career to be able to do it. Sadly, with your own deadlines and packed schedule, this was the first time in said year you’d been able to find time to go.

Apparently the all-knowing entity in your life had other plans.

You were supposed to come by plane first thing this morning, but your car had broken down on the way to the airport and you spent 3 hours waiting for the AA to rescue you. You had then managed to rearrange your flight to a later one, but because of the weather, all other flights out of Bristol had been cancelled for the day. You then spent a ridiculous amount of money on a 10 hour train from Bristol to Inverness with a change at Edinburgh in between, and were now forking out on a taxi to take you the rest of the way.

At that particular point in time, a cabin in the middle of nowhere seemed like a dreadful fucking idea.

“Could say that.” You managed weakly.

The driver chuckled to himself and you tried not to squeal. “Nearly there now. Fifteen minutes or so.”

There is a God!

Forty-five minutes later he finally stopped in the middle of a single track road. Your eyelid had been twitching for half that time, and a headache was forming in your left temple.

He turned over his shoulder and flashed a grin. He was missing an incisor and three of his other teeth were gold. “This is as far as I can get you. Cabin is at the top of that hill.”

You gave him a look, then peered out the window. All you could see was rain and mud and a black night. “What hill?”

“You’ll find it. Fare is sixty.”

“Sixty quid?”

He nodded. “Scottish if you’ve got ‘em. I’m a collector.”

“We agreed on forty. And no, I don’t have any bloody Scottish notes.” A Scottish man collecting Scottish money! On what planet?!

“No, sixty.”

You muttered expletives under your breath and shoved the money at him over his shoulder.

“Y’alright gettin’ your own case, love? Don’t really want t’ get wet.”

“Un-fucking-believable.”

In the shittiest, snappiest manner you could muster, you got out of the car and retrieved your luggage from the boot, slamming every door you touched. The driver immediately pulled off once the boot was closed, pipping his horn.

“Wanker!” You yelled after him.

Finding your bearings, you located the ‘hill’ he’d been talking about, forcing down your frustration at the size of the damn thing as you started up the pathway. You dragged your suitcase behind you through the mud, grateful it had a hard and waterproof plastic exterior. At least after all this you’d be able to take a shower and change into clean clothes.

It took you an embarrassing amount of time to reach the cabin, thanks to not only the rain but also the brutal wind. When you finally reached the porch you fell onto it, greeted by the most intense relief you’d ever felt. You took a minute to recover from your exercise, and then fumbled around on the dark porch for the stone your brother had left the key under.

“Aha.” Delighted when you found it, you pulled the key out of the rock and shoved it in the door, unlocking it.

Heat floated over your body, as did warm, homey light. Weird. Why were the lights on?

Then did your eyes land on the thing that was most definitely out of place. 

A loud, shrill scream ripped from your body.

A man was in the cabin. A naked man. Mostly. The only thing saving him and you was the towel wrapped around his waist. Shiny back, muscly arms, damp neck, wet hair. At the sound of your wail he turned around, equally as alarmed.

“What the-?”

In his panic, the grip he had on his towel slipped, and you were given more of an eyeful than you ever bargained for. 

You screamed again and reached for the closest thing to you, then lurched it across the room at him. Then your brain caught up with you, and you pulled the door closed again, separating you from him. You were back outside in the cold.

That man wasn’t just anyone. He’d never been just anyone. He was your sister-in-law’s friend. He was your brother’s boss, to a degree. He was your worst fucking nightmare rolled into physical human form.

He was Harry fucking Styles.

This was officially the worst day of your life.

“No, no, no, no, no.” You repeated, over and over again as you paced the porch, head in your hands. You knocked into your suitcase multiple times and it ended up falling down the porch steps into a muddy puddle. You tripped over a loose piece of decking at least twice. You caught your hip on the porch bannister, too. But none of it registered with you while your brain cycled between images of Harry’s naked back and his large appendage.

How could this be happening? What had you done to deserve such a catastrophic start to your holiday? You couldn’t stay here. Not with that man. That man that you hated, and who hated you in return. This was a disaster.

You dug your phone out of your sopping handbag. No signal. 

“Oh, come on.” You hissed.

Stubborn as always, you tried to call your brother anyway. Repeatedly. Twenty times, at least, each one failing to connect. You couldn’t even leave a voicemail. You raised the phone to the sky like it was baby Simba. Still nothing.

“Fuck!”

The door swung open, and Harry said your name in a low grunt.

You swivelled, glare like a dagger. “You. Why the fuck are you here?”

“Why am I here?” He scoffed. He was clothed now, in a t-shirt and jogging bottoms. “Why are you here?”

“This is my brother’s cabin! I have a key! He said I could stay here!”

“Well, guess what?” He leaned forward, arms crossed. “Holly said I could stay here, too.”

You wanted to throw your phone at his stupid face. “Fucking great.”

“There’s obviously been some misunderstanding.” He straightened.

“You don’t say…” 

His gaze narrowed. “You’re impossible.”

“At least I’m not the one who’s stupid enough to state the obvious.”

You turned away again and tried your brother one more time. The beep beep beep that told you the call had failed yet again had your stomach in knots.

“There’s no phone signal here.”

“Yes, thank you. Just go back inside.”

“No.”

“For the love of Christ, why not?”

“I’d rather see what you’re going to do with yourself.”

You turned another glare on him. “Oh, I’m so glad that the shitty situation I’ve found myself in is entertaining you, Harry. Please, mock me some more. The resulting anger might actually take the chill out of my fucking toes.”

He looked like he was about to open his mouth, but you didn’t let him.

“You know, this really has been the day from hell. It’s been a categorical disaster from start to finish, and finally getting myself here only to find you, of all people, really is the cherry on top of my whopping slice of shit pie. So please, do me this one favour, and sod off back inside.”

His jaw ticked, and he emitted a low growl before he slammed the door of the cabin and left you in the cold, wet night.

A sob wracked through you, and you flopped down on the top step just to let your body deflate for five minutes. It was so cold you were shivering. Your clothes clung to your body like sheets of ice, your lips were cracked, and a bite ate away at your toes.

You knew you couldn’t do much tonight. You’d have to wait until tomorrow, for when the storm hopefully passed, and you could call your brother to give him a gobful and then walk into the village to find a B&B or cheap hotel. You hadn’t forgotten that your train ticket was a set day return for four weeks’ time. You’d just have to wait until Harry was gone before you took your time to enjoy the cabin like you’d planned.

When you finally calmed down you dragged your suitcase out of the mud and dropped it on the driest part of the deck. You dug around for the jumper you’d brought with you and pulled it over your frozen torso. You also took your shoes and socks off and put two clean pairs on. Once you were wrapped back up in your coat, you settled on the armchair that was the least wet and tried to go to sleep.

After five minutes or so, the cabin door creaked open again.

“Come inside, please.” Harry’s voice was void of any emotion.

“No.”

“You’ll get sick if you stay out here.”

“Rather that than share a bed with you.”

“And you think I want to share a bed with you, either?”

“Then we’re both on the same page. I’m fine out here.”

“You are not fuckin’ fine out here. It’s shitting it down, for fuck’s sake, you could get a flu. Or worse.”

You hadn’t opened your eyes so you had no idea what his facial expression read. “I’m surprised you give a shit enough to care.”

“I don’t particularly, but I like your brother and I don’t want him thinking I didn’t at least try to get you to be sensible when it’s fucking biblical outside.”

“I’ll pass.”

Harry took a deep breath, and he muttered, “Bloody insufferable woman,” before he slammed the door again.

You snuggled further into the chair, shoving your hands under your face. You thought that would be the end of it, but no more than thirty seconds later the door swung back open. You pretended to ignore him, expecting a verbal taunt. Instead, all you got was scuffing noises.

Pushing down the urge to growl like he did at you, you squeezed your eyes shut and faked indifference at his huffy grunting. Until he dragged you out of the chair and hauled you into the cabin in three easy movements.

“What are you doing?” You demanded, scowling at him as he locked the door behind you.

“You can be as stubborn and petty as you like about this, but you are not staying outside in the rain. End of story.”

“I was fine!”

“You were not fine.” He folded his arms again. “Look at you, for fuck’s sake. You’re about five seconds away from catching hypothermia. You think I want that on my hands? You, of all people, needing my attention every day for the next five weeks? I don’t, by the way. I came here for a holiday, too.”

“I didn’t bring myself here to be a God damn burden to you, Harry. Don’t flatter yourself.”

“Why don’t you go and get in the shower, and maybe you’ll calm the fuck down.”

You inched closer to him. “Oh, I’m sure you’d love that. Me, following your orders like some sycophant.”

He took a step closer to me. “I would, actually. It might make you somewhat tolerable.”

“Get fucked, Harry.”

“Sounds like you need that more than I do.”

You produced a noise somewhere between a grunt and a squeal, and shoved at his chest once before you stalked away. “Prick.”

He hummed, entertained. “Try not to think about mine while you’re in there. I’m sure the sight of it has left you with enough to be desired.”

Too tired to argue with him anymore, you threw your middle finger at him over your shoulder.

Whether you’d been forced inside against your will or not, you really did want a shower before a permanent chill settled over you. You turned the water on and let it run hot. The second it swilled over your body you let out a helpless moan. 

You stood stoic underneath it for an indeterminate amount of time, just willing your body to warm up. The day washed away from you, worries temporarily forgotten while you soaked up as much heat as you could. Oh, it was glorious. A shower had never been so rewarding.

After a while you realised you didn’t have any of your shower stuff with you, still locked in your suitcase, and you let out a huff. You surveyed what Harry had brought with him and spent too long debating whether it was socially acceptable to wash using your mortal enemy’s shower gel. You decided against it and would properly wash in the morning.

Taking another ten minutes, you decided you were ready to face Harry again and whatever bollocks he might throw your way. You found a towel and gave your hair a dry, then wrapped it around your body. You hadn’t thought this through in your desperation to get away from him.

You stepped out of the room with purpose and marched over to where Harry had abandoned your suitcase after dragging it inside earlier, and carefully picked your way through it to find your pyjamas and toothbrush. Without giving the man even the slightest glance, you locked yourself back up in the bathroom to change and clean your teeth.

“Forget your clothes?” Harry asked at your second reappearance.

“Why ask a question you already know the answer to?” You gave a roll of your eyes.

He sat straighter in the armchair he was settled into, “Why answer a question with another question?”

You ignored him. Instead you gave yourself the opportunity to actually take in your brother’s second home. You realised it was tiny. Like Tiny Home tiny. When he said he’d bought a cabin you thought he meant something like a chalet. But no, this was small. A kitchenette had been built into the right-hand wall by the front door with a fridge, a two-plate hob and a stainless steel sink. Two armchairs sat either side of a small birch table, and a double bed at the back of the room with a cherrywood wardrobe. A woven rug gave the space a homey feel, balancing the bare oak that gave foundation for the rest of the place.

A sinking feeling buried in you when you realised there wasn’t a sofa.

You rubbed a hand into your cheek, feeling slightly cheated by your brother and his wife. 

“You look like you’re about to pass out.” Harry said into the quiet, all malice and jest lost.

“I feel like it.” You admitted, turning your stare on the bed. “I’m just tired.”

He cleared his throat and stood. “I sleep on the left.”

You refrained from giving him another eye roll and instead focussed on settling down. You left your phone on the dining table, plugged in to charge overnight, poured a glass of water which you drank in one long swig, and then returned to the bed.

“What are you doing?”

Harry had settled on the left side of the bed but with his head at the foot and his feet at the top. If he slept on the left, did that not completely defeat the purpose of his claim?

“Top and tail.”

“Yeah, no. Absolutely not.” You shook your head.

“Why not?”

“I am not giving you the opportunity to stick your foot in my face at any given point in the night.”

He kissed his teeth and sat up with a scowl. “Woman, you have got some major fuckin’ trust issues.”

“With you I do, absolutely.”

You waited until he was in bed the right way up before you slipped in yourself and turned the light off. The room was cast in darkness and your eyes struggled to adjust. You faced away from Harry on your side, wriggling to find a comfortable position, and you could hear him doing the same.

His foot was definitely on your side of the bed so you kicked it away. He then tried to take the covers off you, but you were quick to snatch them back. He let out a deep sigh.

“Can I have some of the quilt, please?”

“You’ve got some.”

“I have none.”

“Bullshit.”

He ripped the covers away again, and you fought the urge to squeal.

“Give some back.”

“You have some.” He said in the same tone you had.

“Harry.”

“What?”

“I’m cold.”

“You’ve just spent an hour using up all the hot water so I refuse to believe that.”

“What is your problem?”

“You are.”

You grit your teeth. Folding your arms, you scooted as close to the edge of the bed as possible without falling off. Arguing with him was fruitless, it just left you angry and wired.

Tomorrow, you resolved to find somewhere, anywhere else to stay. For now, you’d try to sleep uncomfortable and coverless.

~

Had you slept?

No.

For hours you’d imprisoned yourself on the edge of the bed, cold and coverless, hugging yourself in an attempt to keep warm, and squeezing your eyes closed just praying that sleep would come. But it never did. You’d think after the day you had yesterday it would be easy to just drop off. Why would it be that simple for you?

You knew it was light outside now thanks to the inside of your eyelids. You decided then to give up. Sleep wasn’t coming.

As you opened your eyes you realised how close to the edge of the bed you were. At the same time, Harry wriggled again, further onto your side of the mattress, and his knee nudged your backside.

Oh no.

Struggling to find anything to hold onto, your body tumbled over the edge. A panicked yelp tore out of you, followed by a grunt and a thud when you hit the floor.

“Ow.” You whimpered. You’d fallen on your front, knee and toe first followed by your head. You rolled onto your back and held onto your forehead as if it might stop the pounding you felt.

Laughter started, and your eyes flew open to find Harry hovering over the side of the bed, green eyes shining. You were, actually, somewhat offended by how entertained he was. If it was acceptable to hit people, you’d be hitting him.

“You alright down there?”

“No I’m not fucking alright, Harry.”

Your own anger made the throbbing in your head worse so you stayed on your back.

“Alright, was only a question.”

“This is your bloody fault - you’re a bed hogger!”

“Yeah? Well you snore!”

“Considering I didn’t get a single second of sleep last night I don’t know how you’ve landed on that conclusion, and I can only assume you’ve made it up to piss me off.”

“You were snoring.” He said in a flat voice.

“No I wasn’t.”

The throbbing got worse again, so you squeezed your eyes shut and took a deep breath. Then another.

“You’ve hit your head.”

If the thought of rolling your eyes didn’t make you nauseous you’d absolutely do it. “If there was an award for Best Observationist, you’d win it.”

“Do you need ice or something?”

His voice had changed and it somewhat startled you. You peeled an eye open again to find he hadn’t moved - he was still hanging over the bed. His expression, however, was neutral.

“Yes. Please.”

He gave a curt nod and then disappeared. You closed your eyes again, willing the throbbing away.

“There isn’t any ice.”

You refrained from screaming, knowing it wouldn’t do you any good. “Okay.”

“Here,” his voice was much closer, and he gave a little pat to your knee, “this might help.”

Peeling an eye open, he flashed a couple of boxes of painkillers. “Panadol.” Of course the man had branded paracetamol. The 95p boxes of Sainsbury’s own shoved in your kitchen cupboard looked shameful right about now.

“Extra strength. And that rapid relief ibuprofen.”

“You brought painkillers with you on holiday?”

He shrugged. “I’m here for a long time. Hangovers need encouragement to get fucked.”

You raised a sceptic brow. “And here I thought some magical mystery Nutri-Bullet recipe would be your saviour.”

“Funny.” He muttered.

Huh. How unlike him not to shove a witty rebuttal at you.

“Do you need help getting up or are you just gonna sit on the floor all day?”

Your scowl returned. “I’m fine.”

On shaky legs and with a fuzzy head, you grabbed the side of the bed and hauled yourself up. You weren’t sure if the sudden ringing in your ears was something you should be worried about, but you persisted.

Once sat, Harry handed you the tablet boxes and fetched a glass of water for you while you thumbed out two of each.

“Thank you.” You mumbled.

“Please and thank you in the space of ten minutes?” He goaded. “Sounds like you’ve got a concussion.”

“My parents didn’t raise me in a barn.”

He stood with his broad arms folded across his chest while he watched you swallow down four tablets, face a mishmash of irritation and something else. You refused to believe it was concern so you attributed it to frustration. You were just ruining his holiday the same way he was ruining yours.

You decided to finish the water, and then Harry took the boxes and the glass from you. You laid back down, shielding the room and your eyes with your arms.

“Sure you don’t need a hospital?” His voice was far away.

“Yes. I just need to close my eyes for a bit. I’ll be fine.”

He didn’t answer, and you were thankful. Any more talking and your head might have exploded.

~

You’d fallen asleep. While you hadn’t intended to, you couldn’t help but be grateful for the respite. There was no way you would’ve been able to do anything on zero hours sleep, so a few was better than nothing.

You sat up, noticing that you’d corrected yourself direction-wise on the bed and pulled the covers over you. You must’ve done it subconsciously.

The cabin was quiet. Almost eerily so. There was no sign of Harry anywhere. The only sign that he’d been there at all was his own suitcase tucked away in the corner. No sound came from the bathroom, and all you could hear outside was birds.

Birds. Not rain.

You scrambled out of bed towards the front door and hauled it open, but it was locked. Harry had locked you in. You found the key your brother had left for you on the table and put it to use.

It was glorious outside. Not a cloud in the sky, blue everywhere, green even more so. And it was warm. Summer dress warm. Your feet itched to go outside, but you knew you needed to take it easy. The headache hadn’t completely subsided, but it was tolerable. Barely there. A shower and some food would fix it.

You closed the door and locked it again, determined to start your day. Steadily.

You were about to head straight for the shower when you noticed it. A brown paper bag trapped under a pretty mug, and a jar of instant coffee wedged inside it. The mug lived here - you recognised it from Holly’s old flat. But the greasy brown bag did not. You noticed the letters GF scrawled on the front.

He remembered.

Warning bells started screaming inside your head as you plucked the bag out and opened it up. The smell of cooled buttery pastry wafted from inside, and you pulled out the biggest croissant you’d ever seen.

The message was clear as day. Eat and get some caffeine in you.

This was bad. Angry Harry you could deal with any day of the week at any time of day. You could even cope with jester Harry, because you gave just as good as you got. But this? Base-level concern? It threw you for a loop.

Regardless, you were starving. So you boiled the kettle and made your coffee just how you like it as you tore off pieces of pastry and gobbled it down. While you waited for your coffee to cool once your croissant was demolished, you took a quick shower.

Half an hour later you were out the door and feeling a hell of a lot better than you had done for weeks. You wandered down into the village, the sun a glowing comfort on your bare skin.

You had a mission today: alternative accommodation.

You kept an eye on your phone for patches of signal, and called your brother whenever you found some. He never answered. Part of you wondered if he was ignoring you, and if that was the case you were going to have a very big problem. He only ignored you if he was avoiding you.

And that wasn’t even your biggest problem.

“I’m sorry, we’re full.” The receptionist at the final B&B said with barely an ounce of emotion.

“The sign outside said you had vacancies.”

“I just sold the last one over the phone. Haven’t had time to change it.” She gave me a smile that didn’t touch her eyes.

You fought a petulant sigh. “Do you know where else I can stay? I’ve tried every B&B here and no one has any vacancies.”

“Why don’t you try an AirBnB.” She suggested with a tone dripping in sarcasm. “You young people seem to love those.”

Ah, so this was a territorial issue. You gave her a flat glare and left without another word.

Yet again, you found yourself in a rut. Your good mood had been successfully wiped away. Maybe you would check AirBnB, but the thought of spending another obscene amount on accommodation filled you with a sickly feeling.

Your phone started ringing, much to your surprise. Holly. “Is my brother ignoring me?”

“I don’t know, but if he was, he probably wouldn’t tell me.” She laughed, always a fan of your no-nonsense approach. “I thought I’d call since I haven’t heard from you. Did you make it there alive?”

“Alive is not the word I’d use to describe my current state. It’s also impossible to call someone when the phone signal is worse than a World War II air raid shelter.”

Holly cackled. “You’re such a nerd. What’s wrong?”

“Either you’re playing dumb to avoid my wrath or you’re very stupid.”

She gasped your name but she was most definitely entertained. “What do you mean?”

“Harry is here. Using your holiday home.”

An extended period of silence followed, completed with a breathy, “Oh… shit.”

Oh shit, indeed.

“Well,” she seemed to shake herself, “it can’t be that bad.”

This one was truly off her rocker. “Can’t be that bad? Holly, how many times have you been in a room with me and Harry at the same time?”

“Plenty.”

“Exactly. How many times have we had a fight whilst in said same room together?”

“Almost always.”

“Not almost always, just always. We. Do. Not. Get. On.”

“Oh, babe, I think you’re being a bit dramatic.”

“There’s only one fucking bed!”

Holly went quiet for a minute, and you realised you’d earned the attention of a few passers by. You sat down on a nearby bench, wary of the throb in your head getting worse.

“Are you okay?” She finally asked.

That set you off. You launched into your shitty day from yesterday, from the car breakdown to the taxi driver to hitting your head this morning. Words without breath had never left you so fast and the feeling you were rewarded with after was less than satisfactory. Deflation. Sadness.

“Oh, hun, I’m sorry. I didn’t know he was going.” You were certain she was lying about that last sentence but you didn’t interrupt her. “I’ll get in touch with Harry and tell him to rein it in.”

“I don’t need you to curb the man on my behalf, Hol. I can handle him myself. I just… I really wish he wasn’t here.”

“Do you want me to make him leave?”

A rare sight of guilt crept its way into the centre of your stomach. You battled the urge to say yes, because you knew if Holly asked him to, he would absolutely go. “No… hardly fair. He was here first.”

“Yeah but I bet you would’ve been if all those things didn’t go wrong yesterday.”

You grunted. You were supposed to arrive just before 9am yesterday morning, not close to 11pm. “Don’t make him leave. I’m a bitch but I’m not a complete cunt.”

“You’re not either of those things by any stretch. My friend just happens to know how to really rattle your cage.”

Ain’t that the truth. “I’m trying to find a B&B or something but they’re all full.”

“Oh, please don’t spend more money.”

“I can’t stay in your cabin, Hol. I didn’t sleep last night and that man does not know how to share a queen bed.”

“It’s actually a three-quarter bed.”

“Fuck off.” You groaned.

“Look, we wanted it to be as spacious as possible there. We didn’t anticipate two people who claim to hate each other having to share it. It’s for cuddling.”

That urge to smack someone reared its ugly head. “You’re ridiculous.”

She laughed from the back of her throat, and as irritated as you were it did make you smile. “Take a long walk, babe. If you’re in the village there’s a great ice cream place near the church that’ll make you forget all about He Who Shall Not Be Named.”

You rolled your eyes. “I can say Harry, for fuck’s sake.”

She screamed as if she’d been burned, teasing you.

“Shut up.” You actually managed to laugh. “Fine. I’ll go find some ice cream. But if they’ve got WiFi I will absolutely be looking for an AirBnB.”

She sighed. “Fine.”

“Do me a favour and tell my brother to stop being a wuss.”

“Oh, come on, you know he can’t handle your wrath. You can tell him yourself, anyway.”

You started looking around to see if they’d actually come up and were just loitering nearby to piss you off.

“What?”

“We were going to surprise you but I think you might murder us if we did. We’re on our way to you. My Nanna will be coming, too - we’ve got a table booked at the pub in the village.”

Unbelievable. “You little minx.” 

One of the reasons Holly and your brother bought a holiday home in Scotland was to be able to spend more time with Holly’s family. While she grew up in London and has never left it, her mum’s side of the family are all in Scotland.

Holly giggled, obviously delighted with herself. “Sorry. We’re set to arrive in about two hours.”

“But where are you staying?”

“My Nan’s house.”

“Not got a spare room, has she?” You mumbled.

“I know you don’t mean that, but she doesn’t. We’re staying on her pullout.”

“Damn.”

“We’re gonna go straight there and then come to you afterwards, alright?”

You took a deep breath and stood up from your bench. “Yeah, alright. I’ll see you in a few hours, then.”

“Byeee!”

You were already making a beeline for the ice cream shop by the time she put the phone down.

It was a cute little parlour, like something straight out of a movie. Retro tiles covered the walls and floor in pinks and yellows, two long display freezers to the left full to the brim with every single flavour one could ever imagine. Tables spread across the right and spilled onto the street, and booths in the corner each had a miniature jukebox on top.

“How can I help you?” A man behind the counter asked, dressed in a full uniform complete with the little hat.

“Hi, um,” you gave him the best smile you could, even if you were overwhelmed, “do you have any gluten free cones?”

“Sure,” he gestured to the stand on the top with a variety of cones, from small to ridiculously large in size, “just this one.”

The cone in question was the most pathetic-looking of them all. You did your absolute best to hide your disappointment. “Great, then I’ll have one of those. Chocolate, please.”

“Which type?” He lifted a brow.

You realised then that there were about ten different chocolate flavours. “Er… which is the best one in your opinion?”

That perked him up. He spent the next five minutes listing off reasons why the chocolate and hazelnut flavour was his most popular of all his options.

“I guess that’s the one I want, then.” You forced another smile.

“Coming right up.”

Something made you shiver, but it wasn’t a gust of wind or the freezers you stood by.

“At least try and act like you’re excited about it.” A deep voice murmured, far too close to your ear for your liking.

You practically hissed and took a very purposeful step away. “Jesus, Harry.”

He laughed, but the sound wasn’t spiteful like it usually would be. “Only you could make ice cream seem rubbish.”

“I don’t think ice cream is rubbish,” Was your only retort. You just wished gluten free cones didn’t look so fucking sad.

The owner handed you your cone and you paid him in cash. “Do you have WiFi in here?”

“Sure. Password’s on the wall up there.” He pointed at a laminated sign, and then turned his attention to Harry. “Hey, aren’t you that guy?”

Your cue to leave.

While Harry had an awkward conversation with the parlour owner about which guy he was, you connected to the internet and took a seat on the patio outside with your back to the sun. A satisfied hum left you at the warmth on your skin. You concentrated on demolishing your ice cream before you made a mess of yourself.

Unfortunately, Harry decided today wasn’t the day he was going to leave you alone. He sat down opposite you with a three-flavour cone, the colours unsettlingly unnatural. He looked uncomfortable, and this time it wasn’t because of you.

“What on Earth is that?”

“This is a masterpiece.” At least he could still behave like an idiot even when he’d been ‘spotted’.

“It looks disgusting.”

You watched him with a deep-seated discomfort as he shamelessly licked around his cone. Unfiltered moans came out of his mouth, but you were certain he was acting up for your benefit.

“What flavours are they?” You just had to ask.

“Mint chocolate, bubblegum and ginger.”

“Ginger?” You almost choked on a hazelnut. “Sir, you have a serious problem.”

He laughed again, that same obnoxiously easy sound as before. “Did you just call me sir?”

“I did and I immediately regret it.”

He made a noise, an amused squeak of sorts. “Why did you look so horrified by yours, anyway?”

You shifted in your chair, having just popped the end of the cone in your mouth. You glanced over your shoulder to make sure the owner wasn’t listening, pleased to find him distracted by a large family. “The gluten free options for cones was utter shite.”

“How so?”

“Well, he only had one type, and it was poxy as shit.”

He snorted. “I thought it looked small. I don’t imagine it being a lot of fun.”

You were immediately reminded of the croissant he’d picked up for you. You knew that you needed to say thank you, even if it did feel like taking a punch in the gut. “Thank you for the pastry.”

He paused mid-lick as if you’d just spoken a foreign language. He looked ridiculous and almost child-like, green eyes wide and pupils so narrow thanks to the sun they were barely visible. He rescued a drip before he made a mess. “Welcome. How is your…” he tapped his temple.

“Yeah, better.”

“Good.”

You returned to silence, and you got busy looking for a new place to stay. The options were… lacking. You knew the decision to go away during the school holidays would be a silly one anyway, but you wanted the heat. You wanted a summer holiday. Not a cold and wet one. But at such late notice in an area with limited options to begin with, all that was really left were large houses for groups of ten or places miles and miles away that would cost yet more money to travel to. The only other thing you could think of was buying a tent and pitching up on a nearby campsite, but you fucking hated tents and camping.

As time wore on and Harry’s ice cream disappeared, you noticed him growing more restless. You glanced up a couple of times to find him with his head down, but you eventually figured out the source of his discomfort. He was shooting looks at something over your shoulder while constantly readjusting his ball cap.

You straightened in your seat and twisted yourself slightly to get a better look.

“Don’t turn around.” He muttered without looking at you.

You frowned. “Why?”

He never gave you an answer so you did it anyway. A couple of tables over someone was doing a very bad job at hiding their phone.

For God’s sake. 

“Do you want to swap seats?” You offered.

He gave you a startled look, and admittedly you were surprised at your own suggestion. “No.”

“You sure? The back of your head is way less appealing than the front of it.”

You could see the confusion spread across his face and you wished immediately that you could take your words back. He was too wound up to mention it now, but you knew he definitely would in the future.

“They’ve already got about fifteen minutes worth of pictures, there’s no point moving now.” He huffed and readjusted the hat on his head once more, eyes downcast.

You pursed your lips in thought. After a moment you readjusted your seat so that you were hopefully positioned right in the way. Harry gave you a blank look, eyes still darting to the people behind you.

“Do you want to go?”

“Not particularly.”

You knew what he meant. He shouldn’t have to leave just because other people didn’t know how to behave like normal human beings.

A minute later the table behind you stood and left, so something had at least worked.

“Thank you.” He said it so quietly you nearly missed it. “Your lack of subtlety was almost entertaining.”

You weren’t offended by that. You hadn’t meant to be subtle. “I know we don’t get on but I respect your privacy. You should’ve asked them to delete it.”

“Then it just makes me look like a prick.”

“But you are a prick.”

He broke into another laugh. That laugh that held no malice or spite. The one he’d only debuted today. Then he slid back to stoicism. “I’ll be all over the Daily Mail again tomorrow anyway.”

Something weird happened. Anger materialised in your chest, and it wasn’t an unfamiliar feeling in the slightest. What was unusual was that it came on Harry’s behalf. Usually you felt this way because of Harry, not for him.

You cleared your throat. “It’s okay to tell people to fuck off every once in a while, Harry.”

“Not when you’re me, it isn’t.”

“It is when people don’t know how to set boundaries.”

“Don’t worry about it. Seriously.” He readjusted his cap again and sunk further into his seat. “Not the first time I’ve been spotted on holiday.”

“With a mystery woman, no less.”

He snorted. “Sorry in advance.”

“For what?”

“You’re about to become the most interesting person on the planet. I’d privatise your Instagram.”

“It already is. Nor is it very interesting.”

“Just… I don’t know. I know what they’re like.”

“You think I give a shit what a bunch of people on the internet think about me?”

“I don’t know, maybe.”

“Have I ever given a shit what anyone else has thought about me?”

He tipped his head. “No.”

“Exactly.”

“It’s their boundaries I’m worried about.”

“Don’t be. If those pictures do make it anywhere, I’ll have no problem telling the next person to fuck off if it comes to it.”

The smallest smile tugged at his lips. “Then I really hope for their sake that there isn’t a next time.”

~

You hadn’t left the parlour until you’d come up with a solution to your living arrangement. It took longer than you’d like, but eventually you settled for the only option; in two weeks you’d let Harry have the cabin and move into an AirBnB a few towns over. A bungalow this time with a very big bed. You’d had to fork out a deposit since it was a booking of more than 7 nights, which put another lovely dent in your bank balance. You were really trying not to think about it. 

Harry hadn’t passed comment when you told him. He just gave a blank stare and a curt nod, which was very unlike him. When it came to you, he’d never had any problem parting with his opinions.

You’d been ambushed on your way back to the cabin by your brother and Holly. After changing and freshening up you all walked down to the pub together to meet Holly’s Nanna. You had met her at the wedding but only briefly. Your brother and Holly’s special day had been somewhat dampened by the fact that Harry materialised again whenever you forgot about him and ended up drinking yourself into an early bedtime. The next morning you were rewarded with the worst hangover of your entire life.

Nanna was amazing. One of those larger than life women who weren’t afraid to drop the c word a couple of times without so much as batting an eyelid, and using Malibu as an excuse for a good time. You’d been seated on a round table which relieved you to no end. You were sandwiched between Nanna and your brother which meant there was a decent amount of distance between you and Harry.

“I need you to tell me something.” Nanna patted your arm, giving you her full attention.

It was like being addressed by royalty. “Anything.”

“I hear there’s a story about your brother involving nappies and toothpaste. A serial offence. He won’t tell me and Holly conveniently doesn’t know about it.”

You gave your brother a look.

“Please don’t.” He begged.

“But Nanna asked so nicely.”

“You’re about to embarrass me in front of the man I work for?”

You don’t look at Harry. “It’s not like you haven’t managed that all by yourself on previous occasions.”

“Yeah, don’t stop on my account.” Harry coughed, battling laughter.

“Great, we’re all on the same page.” You grinned. You turned back to Nanna, “Once upon a time, my little brother had to sleep in a crib and wear nappies just like all the other babies. He was cute, it should be said. I have a picture on my phone somewhere of him running around the garden with no clothes on.”

Your brother rolled his eyes and sunk into his seat with a scowl. Holly gave him a patronising pat on the shoulder.

“Anyway, beside the point. Like most toddlers he was an absolute tyrant, compared to me - I was an angel.”

“Hard to believe.” Harry muttered.

“Aye,” Nanna shot him a look. She’d been smitten with him all night until that point.

“Don’t worry about it - we’re in an ongoing feud.” You brushed the matter away and continued with your story. “During his reign of tyranny, he adopted a very obscure but passionate obsession with toothpaste. Colgate Cool Stripe only - no other product lived up to his expectations. It all started when, one day, our mother accidentally used adult toothpaste instead of the toddler stuff. An uphill battle began.

“Any time he had to clean his teeth, he’d try and use Colgate instead of the kiddy stuff, and mum or dad would fight with him until he surrendered in a screaming fit and had a toothbrush forced into his face hole.”

Someone sniggered, and your chest inflated. Making people laugh had always pleased you.

“His addiction got so bad, one night he managed to escape from his cot and into Mum and Dad’s bathroom. They found him on the floor with an empty tube and Colgate smushed all over his cute little face. Hours later he had a terrible accident. I won’t go into graphic detail since we’ve just had our dinner.”

Nanna started laughing, a throaty and hoarse sound. Given the amount of times she’d excused herself for a cigarette, you attributed that habit to the unique noise. “And this happened more than once?”

You nodded. “They tried locking it in the cabinet a few times, but he’d always find it. Eventually they changed tactics and just bought Aquafresh instead.”

Nanna hummed and gave him a pointed look. “I’ve always thought you were a picky bastard.”

“Nanna,” Holly gasped, shaking with laughter. She leaned her forehead against her husband’s shoulder.

“I can’t be that picky if I ended up with your granddaughter.”

Holly threw her hands up. “Does anyone else want to bully me today? Between that and being called very stupid I think I might have room for one more insult.”

“Your shoes don’t go with your dress.” Nanna said.

After a beat of silence, the table erupted into laughter.

The waiter returned to offer dessert, which you would usually forego since pubs rarely tended to offer gluten free choices without putting up a fight. You’d learned to live a sad, dessert-less existence. But everyone else was having one so you succumbed to peer pressure.

“What ice cream flavours do you have?”

“For the sundae?” The young girl asked with a confused frown.

“No, I’m coeliac so I can’t have it.”

“Oh,” her cheeks turned pink, which was not your intention, “sorry. Um, just the usual flavours, then.”

Neopolitan.

“Great, can I have two scoops of chocolate.”

“Sure.”

She was very quick to hurry off. Something bothered you about that whole exchange but you couldn’t put your finger on it.

“Aren’t you bored of chocolate ice cream?” Harry asked, but he was fiddling with his napkin rather than looking at you.

“Never.”

Holly kicked his leg under the table but you pretended not to notice.

After the bill was settled, which Harry tried to sneak off and pay for without telling anyone, you bid goodbye to each other and sent your brother, Holly and Nanna off together in a taxi. The waitress hadn’t stopped giving you wary glances ever since you asked for ice cream, and you still couldn’t place what went wrong. You might have been a little short with her but it wasn’t meant with any malice.

It didn’t really dawn on you what was wrong until you were walking up the hill to the cabin with Harry.

A curdling feeling in your stomach had you feeling very queasy very quickly.

“Oh no.” You mumbled, keeping your gaze on the grass below you. Your vision swung and you struggled to keep your balance.

“What’s wrong?” Harry asked, turning back to you. He’d been a couple of metres ahead of you for the entire walk so you didn’t have to force a conversation.

You sat down on the grass to keep yourself gravitated, but it was no good. You weren’t nauseous because you were dizzy, you were dizzy because you were sick.

You spent the next ten minutes vomiting into the bushes.

Harry had kept a relative distance from you while you were sick, only handing you a bottle of water when you seemed to give up the last of your stomach contents and take a big breath.

“Are you okay?” He asked in a cautious voice.

Unattractively, you swilled your mouth out and then necked the remaining contents of the bottle. “Yeah, fine.”

“What happened?”

“I think something went wrong at dinner.”

“What do you mean?”

You gave him a levelled look, trying to communicate with your eyes. It seemed like a ridiculous idea considering you could barely communicate together with words, let alone silent glances.

“Ah… did it say gluten free on the menu?”

You nodded.

“Did you tell them?”

You shook your head. Sometimes you liked to put faith in humanity and believe you’d be fine putting yourself in the hands of others. When you were dining with practical strangers, making a fuss about your condition made you feel like a twat, so you kept quiet about it. Now you wish you’d said something.

“Are you gonna make a complaint?”

You shook your head furiously and readjusted yourself to sit back on your arse rather than your knees. “Happens all the time, sadly.”

“That girl knew they’d fucked up, didn’t she?”

“You saw that?”

“I saw you looking at her a lot after the ice cream thing.”

You made a strange noise. “It is what it is. I don’t blame her for not saying anything. For all she knows I could be going home unscathed.”

“But you’re not.”

“Don’t worry about it, Harry. I’m not into making a scene.”

“You could’ve been seriously ill.”

“I know that.”

“If you don’t tell them they fucked up, how are they going to know to stop it from happening to someone else in the future?”

You took a deep breath and looked up to the sky. You and Harry had made progress today, on some weird level, but this was not part of that progress. “Fine. I’ll do something about it tomorrow.”

“No you won’t.”

“Leave it alone, Harry!” You finally snapped. “How I handle my health issues is none of your fucking business, especially when you haven’t got a fucking clue what it’s like to have them. Just drop it.”

His jaw ticked. “Fine.”

He disappeared up the hill and into the cabin without so much as another word.

You collapsed onto your back and let a tight sob wrack through you.

You contemplated what the fuck you were doing. This holiday had been nothing but a shit show from start to day 2 and you didn’t want to do it anymore. You should’ve gone home this morning. You’d refused to quit so early on given how long it had been since you had any real time off, but the universe was clearly working against you and you wished you hadn’t bothered.

As it always did, a second round of vomiting ensued, and you were back on your hands and knees hacking up bile while your stomach protested. You cried more as you threw up.

As the convulsions subsided you collapsed onto your back again, but the smell of it was starting to affect you. Slowly, you stood on shaky legs and attempted to make your way up to the cabin.

You hadn’t realised, but Harry was standing at the top of the hill wearing a frown, hands shoved into his pockets. When you caught sight of him you were ashamed. You knew what he’d said came from a good place, but it just really ground your gears when people who had no idea what it was like tried to tell you how to handle it.

He made his way back to you and silently placed his hand on the small of your back. It was warm and unfamiliar, but you couldn’t work out if the trembling from you was because of that or because you were just sick.

“How much more did you see?” You asked, helpless.

He gave you a startled look, like he was shocked to hear you so vulnerable. “Enough.”

You sighed and kept your gaze on the floor, trying not to fall over.

“Do you have any medication or anything?”

You shook your head. “It doesn’t really work like that.”

Once you got to the cabin you headed straight for the bathroom and changed into your pyjamas. You then poured yourself a glass of water and took it to bed with you. You were asleep within seconds.

~

You slept through the night that night. When you woke you felt a shit-ton better than you had the night before, and it left you with a smile on your face. You wriggled your legs and toes underneath the sheets and stretched your arms.

You realised the bed was empty, but when you peeled an eye open it was obvious Harry had slept on his side at some point. You sat up to an empty room. There was no sign of Harry, again.

You didn’t know much about Harry’s daily routine but you would put money on him being an early morning runner. You shivered at the thought.

He appeared whilst you were in the middle of your second round of toast. It was the only thing you could think to try and stomach after yesterday’s disaster. Harry was in regular clothes, not running attire. You owed yourself a fiver.

“Ah,” he paused at the sight of you eating toast, and limply lifted his hand. The same greasy brown paper bag rustled in his grip.

“Don’t be shy.” You patted the table after swallowing your mouthful. “I’ll still eat it.”

“You’re that hungry?”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s what happens when you’re forced to empty your entire stomach contents.”

His nose wrinkled. “Right.”

You took a sip of coffee while he made himself comfortable in the seat opposite you. 

“How do you feel?”

“Well, I slept the night through and didn’t hit my head this morning which is a major improvement on yesterday.”

“That’s something. Do you feel right enough to go out?”

“If I weren’t on holiday I’d be right back to work, Harry. No rest for the wicked and all.”

“Is that a yes, then?” He cocked a brow.

“Yes, Harry.”

“Okay. I was gonna go down to the lake… it’s really warm out.”

“Are you telling me, or is that an invitation?”

He picked his pastry apart. “Both? I don’t know, it might do you some good.”

Concern? From your nemesis? This was bad. “Oh, don’t go coy on me, Harry. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Knew I shouldn’t have bothered.”

“That’s more like it.”

His mouth lifted at the corner for the shortest fraction of a second.

“Is it pebbly or sandy?”

An olive branch.

“Both?”

The worst kind of lake beach, then. “The type that calls for a special type of shoe.”

He grimaced. “I know.”

“It’s fine. We make do.” You pronounced, and stood from the table with your dirty things. “Give me 20 minutes and we’ll go.”

~

“That alright?”

You peered up at the man blocking the sun with a pinched look. He stood before you in a faded white t-shirt and board shorts, holding an ice cream cone with a single chocolate scoop on top.

“As long as it’s the right cone, it’s perfect.”

“I double checked.” He promised as he handed it to you, and then sat with his own.

This was day four on the beach by the lake. While you and Harry spent the time there together, you did your own thing. He spent most of his time in the water like a fucking fish, and you spent yours on a towel with a book and enough food to feed the 5,000.

You’d found a tolerable medium with Harry. In the day you gave each other your needed space, and at night time you tried not to touch each other in bed. Or smother each other. So far it had worked well.

You hadn’t seen Holly or your brother since that night at dinner. They’d actually been visiting for a relative’s birthday party and had already gone home, leaving you and Harry to suffer together.

“I think you’re running low on your special bread.”

You snorted and covered your mouth. ‘Special bread’ made you sound like some kind of escaped lunatic.

“I don’t know why I said it like that.” Harry shook his head. “But the fact remains.”

“We’re running low on a lot.”

“Maybe we should go shopping.”

You groaned. This is what your life had come to: grocery shopping with a celebrity.

“I’ll make it as painless as possible.”

“Where even is the nearest supermarket?”

“I don’t know - I went shopping on the way here.”

“So did I.”

Has there ever been a more ridiculous conversation?

Harry found his phone and checked for signal, soon letting out a soft sigh. “Five weeks without WiFi was a stupid idea.”

“Ain’t that the truth.”

You decided to check a map on the notice board outside the public toilets on the lake site and decided there must be a supermarket in the nearest town. Harry drove you out into the Scottish countryside following his sat-nav’s directions to the closest town.

It was a little odd being in the same car as him. While your brother’s work relationship and subsequent marriage had brought him into your life for many a family gathering, you’d never found yourself in quite such a confined space as this. Apart from the bed situation. You were certain he was being quiet on your behalf, because silence was better than small talk. The decision to go shopping had proven that much.

“Unbelievable.” He muttered the second you entered the supermarket.

You followed his nervous gaze to a man with a camera doing a shitty job at hiding. “Go back to the car if you want to.”

“Hardly fair.”

“Being uncomfortable isn’t fair.” You insisted. “Go take a drive and be back here in half an hour. I don’t mind.”

He sighed and handed you the list you’d prepared before leaving. “I’ll be back.”

“Yes, please don’t use this opportunity to abandon me here.”

He smirked. “Don’t put ideas in my head.” He took his wallet out of his pocket and handed you his card. “Use that.”

You frowned at it, and then him in turn. “I don’t mind paying for it.”

“Pay with my card and then send me half when you find signal or internet or whatever.” He turned away, but threw, “Half an hour,” over his shoulder.

You had to take a moment to collect yourself. Now you weren’t grocery shopping with a celebrity, you were using one’s credit card.

Before you started your shopping, you had one more thing you had to do. Stalking the man who was stalking your reluctant companion was easy because he didn’t try very hard to be subtle. You tapped him on the shoulder.

He spun around with a bewildered look on his face. “Yes?”

“Delete them.”

~

True to his word, Harry returned half an hour later with a confusing smile. “Guess what I found.”

You let him take the bags out of your hands to shove them in the boot of his car. “What?”

“A fucking Costa.”

“No way…”

“Yes way.” He grinned.

“Where?”

“Literally around the corner.” He thumbed in that general direction. “I got two ‘cause I didn’t know which one you liked.”

“As long as it’s got coffee in it, I’ll consume it.”

Sure enough, two starkly different iced coffees sat in the cup holders in his central console. 

“Which one do you want?” You asked. He did buy them after all.

“I don’t mind. You choose.”

“Please pick one.”

“No.”

“Harry.”

“Fine.” He plucked one at random and started drinking as he pulled off. “Happy?”

“Yes. Thank you.” And you meant it, too.

Silence settled between you again as you slurped away at your coffee. It was comfortable this time. You put the window down and stuck your arm out to feel the breeze through your fingers.

“Do you ever wonder how we got so…”

You looked over at him with a curious expression, but he never finished his sentence. “What?”

Harry shook his head. “Never mind.”

“Oh, come on, Harry.” You poked his arm. “You’ve never been one to mince your words in front of me before. Don’t start now.”

His lips twitched with a smile, but it was quickly replaced by something else. A kind of sad contemplation. “I don’t want to ruin a rare nice day.”

Now you were the one struggling to find words. Animosity was just the default practice for you and Harry when you were around each other. After so many years of battling over often ridiculous things, he was right. This was a rare nice day. You hadn’t argued once. Come to think of it, you hadn’t argued at all since the day you were sick. That little spat on the hill was the last one.

But curiosity ate away at you. What was he going to say that had the potential to ruin your good time? Knowing Harry, it could be any number of things.

“I promise I won’t lose my shit if you tell me.”

His face lit up with amusement, but he never laughed. “Shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Right there, in that single moment, you were reminded just why the world had an obsession with the man sitting beside you. Even in the blandest setting, Harry Styles looked like the man who would promise you everything you’ve ever wanted and be able to deliver it to you. The man who held enough charisma both on and off stage for a hundred other men. The man with pretty eyes and pretty pink lips. The man who looked damn good whether he was clean-shaven or harbouring two weeks of scruff like he was now. The man who would spoil you to no end, who would give you a life of comfort and stability, who would drop everything at a second’s notice to be yours. Fuck, he looked like the man who might even die for you.

You’d seen Harry in love and the man gave his whole fucking heart and soul to the person he was with. His inherent attractiveness was just a bonus.

“Tell me, please.” You tried again.

He considered it for a moment, chewing the inside of his cheek. Eventually he sighed, “Do you ever wonder how things managed to get so bad? Between us?”

Ah.

A loaded question, indeed.

“Do you want the honest answer?”

He glanced your way, jaw suddenly tense. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t tend to wonder about it because I haven’t forgotten at all how we did.”

“Walk me through it.”

“Are you sure you want that?”

“I wouldn’t expect anything less from the most honest woman I know.”

You were biding your time, mulling over your response. Perhaps this would ruin your nice day, but this was the most open conversation the two of you were ever going to have. Not talking about it would be both a missed opportunity and a disservice to yourself.

“Okay. You’re not going to like it, though.”

“I didn’t expect to.”

You took a deep breath. “The first time I met you didn’t go at all how I expected it to. In hindsight I guess, to you, I would’ve just been a footnote. Your friends have other friends you probably meet all the time and I was just one of the next hundred. Holly and my brother had only just started dating, but Holly and I got on so well we started doing things together as friends without him. She invited me to lunch with… you know, the usual suspects.”

He nodded once, slowly. The usual suspects he wasn’t speaking to anymore for various different reasons. You didn’t keep tabs on Harry’s life by choice, but Holly and the internet provided more about it than you cared for.

“Maybe you were just young. Or maybe there was something different that I just missed or didn’t understand, but you weren’t at all like I expected you to be. Everyone - my brother, Holly, my parents -, everyone said you were amazing. ‘The nicest boy you’ll ever meet’. And sure, you were nice. Charming, even. And you had everyone’s undivided attention, including Holly’s. And mine. But Holly’s more so.

“That girl loves you. And I watched her love you up close and personal and it was amazing and beautiful and I really wanted her to give just even a portion of that love to my brother. And she did, but it didn’t come without a fight.

“I didn’t care that you spent most of that lunch ignoring everyone else at the table. Or maybe I did. I just knew that you only cared about Holly’s undivided attention and she had no quarrels giving it to you. There was a time I thought you might be secretly in love with each other,” you laughed at the reminder because it seemed stupid now, “but when I brought it up with her she laughed so hard she cried and then pretended to vomit.”

“Damn,” Harry produced an offended laugh. “Didn’t know I was that repulsive.”

“Anyway, it didn’t stop her from loving you. Never has. Soon after, I spent a week with her and my brother in Spain on some all-inclusive thing. Before you ask, I was forced to go. Being a third-wheel is absolutely not my style.”

He chuckled. “I didn’t think it sounded like you.”

You shook your head. “Not at all. Anyway, I watched Holly send constant photos, messages, gifs, any and all digital media to you while we were on that holiday, cataloguing the entire thing. I don’t think you realise how many times I heard oh Harry’s gonna love this. But what got me is you never replying to her. Not once. Her phone screen was just a sea of blue messages against a backdrop of silence. At one point I considered she’d got the wrong number, but then you texted her the day we left with something really dull and generic and I really wanted to hit you.”

“I don’t remember this at all.” He admitted, face paled.

“That doesn’t surprise me. You’re a busy man. I reminded myself of that a lot to start off with, but the whole thing became a recurring pattern. Maybe you think I’m stupid and it’s a bit of an overreaction for it, but I’m quite observant when I want to be. You’re Holly’s best friend, even if she’s not yours. Every time she says it, it’s like she’s been given the greatest gift in the entire world. And she’s such a bright, incredible person. She’s my best friend. Not just because she’s married to my brother, but because she’s the best person I’ve ever met and nothing will ever change that.

“Over the years I’ve watched countless messages and phone calls from her to you go unanswered, seen her face turn down with sadness when you don’t call her back or text out a reply. She deserves more than that. 

“I’ve noticed you do it to my brother, too. I know he works for you so maybe it’s not the same, but it’s safe to say that in their house, Harry Styles isn’t a name that lights up their phone screens very often. Ever.”

Harry fidgeted a little and cleared his throat. “All this time I thought I’d done something to you.”

“No. Worse. You continually managed to upset my best friend, even if you didn’t know it, and in turn you upset me.”

“Then I’m sorry.”

“It’s not me you need to apologise to, Harry. She’ll never admit that she’s hurt by your silence because she doesn’t want to lose you. This is why we’re so very different. I don’t hang around for people who don’t appreciate the good they have in their life. I’m a good person, and Holly is an even better one. She deserves more than your attention when she’s only sat in front of you.”

“You’re right. I’m an idiot.”

“Yes you are.”

His lips twitched again. “The next time I’m in the village with signal I’ll call her. Promise.”

“Don’t promise me. Promise yourself, and her. One day she might snap and decide she doesn’t want to wait for months at a time to hear from you. Because hearing about you through my brother doesn’t count.”

“I know. I get it, I really do…”

“Good. Now, my turn.” You let out a long breath and turned in your seat. “Why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you-,”

“You called me both insufferable and intolerable in the space of five minutes when I got here.”

“Let me finish.” He said, exasperated. “I don’t hate you, I’m scared of you.”

“Calling someone intolerable because you’re scared of them doesn’t make any sense.”

“Well, let’s put it this way. While perhaps you were right, at first I thought you were just another friend of a friend who’d made an appearance for uncertain reasons, it became apparent very quickly that you weren’t going anywhere. It also became very apparent that you were not my biggest fan. That first lunch was one of a kind because you barely said a word. Every other time after that, which I now realise happened to be family-oriented, you hardly shut up.

“I’ve always noticed it. You command the attention of everyone in the room. You’re a storyteller. You could turn an anecdote about a trip to the petrol station into a fairytale. You give everyone in the room your undivided attention, and when I realised you never gave it to me, well… safe to say I was wounded. Holly talked you up to high heaven. Your brother loves you. My own mother loves you even though we don’t get on.

“There’s something about you. And the fact that the only attention you ever gave me was a dirty look or a snippy remark made me petty. So I started giving it back, and I think the more I did it, the more I lost sight of the kind of person you actually are, because I only focused on the side you showed to me.”

He turned into the driveway of the cabin, and you thought he was done. But when the engine shut off, he said one last thing.

“In one of your many little outbursts you said I’ve got a severe case of oosoom syndrome. I never bothered to look it up because I didn’t want to know what kind of idiot you thought I was, but it’s just clicked.”

“Out of sight, out of mind.”

He nodded and turned to you with a calm gaze. “I get it now.” He wasn’t just talking about the idiom.

“Good.”

~

The rain was back and heavier than ever. The ground surrounding the cabin was a swamp, the hill that led down to the village was indiscernible thanks to the downpour, and the day was dark and moody. Inside the cabin it was muggy and humid and you felt ridiculous sitting at the dining table in a vest and denim shorts, but you were.

Harry sitting opposite you looked more rugged than usual. His hair was pulled back with a clip, his stubble was shifting into a beard and his clothes were wrinkled.

“Hmm…” He gave an obnoxious tap on his chin.

You rolled your eyes and sunk into the seat. “Just put me out of my misery and show me your cards.”

He laughed, peering at you with a lightness in his eyes that was so unfamiliar it almost had you shell shocked. “Fine.” He placed his hand on the table showcasing his win.

It was day three of this charade. It hadn’t stopped raining and all you’d done was cycle between card games and Monopoly. He always won. You were so fed up of him winning that this was the last straw.

You stood and swiped his hand off the table so that they landed in a flurry on the wooden cabin floor. 

“Hey…” he pouted.

“That was childish of me, I’m sorry.” You groaned, and crouched down to pick them up. “I’m so bored, Harry. I think I’m going mad. We don’t even have a TV. We’re in the middle of nowhere with a pack of cards missing the Ace of Spades and Queen of Hearts and an old beat up Monopoly box with half the properties missing.”

He blinked at me. “I know this. I’ve been with you the whole time.”

“Sorry.” You muttered. “When I’m frustrated I just state the obvious.”

“But I thought that was my job.”

You rolled your head back and sighed at the ceiling. “I need to do something. Anything. I don’t want to sit in here anymore. I need air.”

“It’s pissing it down.”

“I’m aware. You have a car… just humour me for a bit. An hour tops.”

“You want me to drive you around for an hour? In a smaller space than we’re already in?”

“Okay, fine,” you sat back down in your chair and attempted to plead with the normal side of him, the non-celebrity side, “what if… when me and my brother were little and we went away with Mum and Dad, if the weather was crap like this we’d get in the car and drive to the nearest supermarket. And we’d have lunch in the cafe and then do a bit of shopping and then come back. And we’d all get one thing to bide the time before the weather got better again. Why don’t we do that?”

A smile was forming on his lips. “You want to try shopping with me again?”

“That prick and his fancy camera won’t be going back there, trust me.”

His eyes narrowed. “Why, what did you do?”

“Nothing you need to worry about.” You patted his hand. “Please, Harry. Rescue me from insanity.”

“Fine, but only ‘cause you asked so nicely.”

“Yay!” You stood and clapped your hands together. “I’m gonna change.”

Half an hour later you were back at the supermarket in the town over and ready to find as much new entertainment as possible.

“Do you think we should buy them a TV?” Harry contemplated aloud as he stood in front of a large flatscreen.

You gave him a scrutinous look. “And put it where?”

“Good point.” He sighed. “We’re missing Love Island.”

You barked a laugh and carried it down the aisle with you. “That is not what I expected you to mourn over.”

“I’m full of surprises.”

You found your way to the games and books. “Can we get a jigsaw puzzle?”

“Why are you asking me? Get whatever you want, mate.”

You perused the options with as much interest as a car fanatic in a vintage car garage. “Farmyard or harbour? Or circus? Or mountains?”

“Whichever will keep you occupied for the longest.” He said absently, moving down the aisle to the board games.

The circus one had the most pieces and highest level of difficulty, so you plucked the box off the shelf and followed after him. “Have they got the Game of Life?”

He started laughing but never answered you.

“Oh,” you pouted, tapping the spin-off version that was much shorter and way less entertaining.

“Bop-It?” 

“When I was little I completed that.”

He raised a brow at you. “Can you even complete Bop-It?”

“Yes,” you snatched the box off the shelf, “and I will prove it to you when we get back.”

“We’ll see about that.” He whispered, smirking. “We need an actual board game.”

You gazed over the options with the same level of interest as the jigsaws. “You choose. I’ve picked the last two.”

“Absolutely not, I’ll only pick wrong.”

“What’s your favourite?”

“Cluedo.”

“Then get Cluedo.” You pointed at it and walked away.

Two hours later and three books heavier you were back at the cabin and starting your jigsaw puzzle. You and Harry sat on your claimed sides of the table, box lid propped against the window and a selection of snacks between you.

“Where the fuck is the fourth corner?” You grumbled, digging through the box like a cat in a litter tray.

Harry glanced at the box lid, then at the jumbled selection of tiles, and plucked it out without hesitation. “There y’go.”

You blinked at him. “Is there anything you’re not good at?” You pinched it from him and placed it in the relevant corner. “Thank you.”

“A compliment and gratitude? It is a good day.”

You stuck your tongue out at him.

“I’m not very good at the splits.”

That made you laugh, right from the back of your throat. “Have you tried?”

“Many times.”

“For what purpose?”

“I had a thing for my yoga instructor once and she was convinced I could do it so I kept trying just to impress her.”

“My God, you are a sap.”

“Pathetic, isn’t it?”

“It’s nice to know you failed at something for such a pitiful reason.”

He gave you such a megawatt smile you had to look away. “I’m just like any other boy.”

“I can’t believe you had to try hard to impress anyone. It almost doesn’t seem natural.”

“You make me sound like a robot.”

“I don’t think you’re a robot. I just think sometimes things seem to come a little too easily to you. Skills. Work. Friends. Women. Probably men, too. Some of us have to try really hard to get those things.”

“You have friends. A good job. And I refuse to believe people aren’t interested in you… romantically.”

You lifted a brow at him. “Refuse?”

“Are they not?”

“Have you ever known me to be ‘romantically’ involved with anyone?”

“Yeah, that lad you took to your brother’s wedding.”

Colin.

“He’s gay.”

“Oh.” He scratched his nose. “I wondered why he kept eyeing up one of the groomsmen. Your cousin?”

“Also gay.”

“Have you never had a boyfriend?”

“Not since school, no.”

“Have you… are you… you know?”

You gave him another raised brow. “You’re not seriously asking me that.”

He rubbed his hands down his face and groaned. “I’m sorry. Ignore me.”

“Just because I haven’t had relationships, doesn’t mean I’m a virgin, Harry.”

The tips of his ears turned pink. “I think we’ve gone a bit off track here.”

“You’re tellin’ me.”

He slotted a piece into place next to one of the corners. You slotted another one in after that. The pattern repeated itself, in silence, for the next twenty minutes.

“When do you go to your AirBnB?”

You met his gaze with a calm expression. “Six days. Five nights.”

“Okay.” He said as he stood. “Are you hungry enough for dinner yet?”

“If you are, we can eat.”

He gave a stiff nod. “Okay.”

~~~

Part 2

Talk to me?

#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #harry styles imagines #harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles ou #harry styles fluff #harry styles fluff imagine #harry styles fluff imagines #harry styles angst #harry styles angst imagines

[melrosing]

anyway I'm gonna start posting My Own Robert's Rebellion Adaptation ep by ep because.... GRRM's never gonna do it?? I have too much time?? both?? stay tuned

rules are I can fuck with timelines a little as a treat, but not so much that events/character ages & development are changed. so for example Aerys doesn’t actually make Tywin hand till four years into his reign I think, but who actually cares when Jaehaerys died, let’s say it was a little later and that Tywin was made Hand straight off

finally I am picturing a two season show where this one ends w Harrenhal. anyway

Next Part: Episode 2

Episode 1: Aerys' Dad Dies

We open on the body of King Jaehaerys II, lying in state at the Sept of Baelor. There’s a silent congregation standing around him, and closest of all his children, Aerys and Rhaella. Between them stands their young son, Rhaegar

At the King’s council as they discuss next steps from here. Right now, Aerys seems faintly charming, albeit with a jagged edge. There’s mention of Rhaella’s new pregnancy, and a fear that the distress of losing their father might cause her ill health. Everyone wants the transition to Aerys’ rule to be smooth as possible, so he must choose a Hand asap. His council have ideas; Aerys has one of his own 🦁

We are introduced to Tywin Lannister, travelling in a golden coach (obvs) to King’s Landing. With him are Joanna and their year-old twins. Tywin looks pleased with himself; Joanna notes he’s not Hand yet, but Tywin has no doubt he will be

The Lannisters are greeted jovially by Aerys, who is a little too familiar with Joanna, making her, Tywin and Rhaella equally uncomfortable. Aerys is introduced to the Lannister twins (inadvertantly meeting his own future murderer - 🚨 kill bill sirens 🚨 ), and welcomes all. Generally just appears a bit too upbeat for a funeral, because as a human being he is just fundamentally Off

The funeral: burning Jaehaerys’ body in a ‘manmade pyre’. Aerys mumbles they used to have dragons for this, the implication being that there’s something faintly undignified about this for a Targaryen. Rhaella weeps, and Rhaegar stares hard into the flames because he is a weird 👏 kid 👏

Rhaella and Joanna take a walk through the gardens of the Red Keep. Rhaella implies having noticed Aerys’ behaviour towards her, and that she has noticed it before. Joanna quietly asserts that she does not invite it. Rhaella says she knows - Aerys is like that

Aerys and Tywin meet for post-funeral drinks in Aerys’ solar. Aerys comments that he finds Rhaegar kind of strange and bookish, and believes he has too much of his mother in him. More generally, we see both the familiar and the fractious in how Aerys and Tywin engage, and have some sense of the two being childhood friends (insofar as either of these men even know what a friend is ❤️). Aerys offers the position of Hand to Tywin. Tywin plays a little hard to get, but ultimately agrees. A rare Tywin smile is witnessed x

The coronation: Targ aesthetic dialled up to eleven, because I imagine the more insecure Targaryen kings would cling to it in the absence of dragons. Aerys passes the dragon skulls on his way to the throne (some heavy-handed visual foreshadowing by urs truly xo). Watching on are the heads of the greathouses and their young scions: Aerys death stands all about him in the room, even if he doesn’t know it yet. Rhaella too receives a crown, and somehow doesn’t looked thrilled about it

Final scene sees Rhaegar sitting crosslegged on the floor of his bedchamber with a book and a candle, singing a Valyrian song to himself - the words are not translated

#asoiaf #sparknotes robert's rebellion #I wanted the kids from the rebellion at the coronation to introduce them but they’re so young that it’s like #aerys getting crowned in front of a parent and baby group where the babies are his doom

[roobylavender]

hmm this may interest you, do you have thoughts on this subject matter character-wise or in a meta sense?:

https://www.tumblr.com/thecruellestmonth/740875315694501888/batman-turning-points-3-batman-under-the-red

personally i'm not a fan of bruce's disavowal of fatherhood much for the same reasons that i'm not a fan of his installing the good soldier plaque. these to me are both writing choices driven more by writers' desire to explore theoretical concepts than they are driven by a character study of bruce himself. the concept of robin as an occupation inherently equivalent to child abuse is interesting. the concept of wondering what right a father has to children he has adopted towards that end is interesting. that being said, exploring the former concept didn't necessarily demand eliminating robin altogether. exploring the latter concept didn't necessarily demand bruce completely disavowing himself of any accountability. and ultimately both writing choices ignore that a core aspect of bruce's relationships with the robins was wanting to be a good parent, or at the least a good guardian. certainly something more than a mere ally or friend. he took responsibility for these children because he wanted to help guide them towards a certain path in life where they would no longer be ruled by their trauma the way he was and is by his. allowing them to become robin to that end was obv more than questionable, but all too many writers forget and even go so far as to ignore that bruce knew that. he was well aware of his status as an enabler and he eventually hated himself for it deeply. he felt perpetually guilty and reluctant to ask dick for any support once the latter became an adult bc he didn't want to sanction and (in his mind) effectively require dick to do something that would endanger his life on his own orders. he could realistically never stop dick from pursuing vigilantism, but he could at least refuse to ask dick for that commitment any longer so that dick had complete freedom to make his own choices as to the matter. regardless, bruce had to live with the guilt of having enabled the existence of robin to begin with, and he intended to live with that guilt. it was his closest friend and his primary means of survival

if anything, that to me is precisely why his disavowal of fatherhood doesn't make sense. bruce is a poor communicator and he has a tendency to take upon all burdens at the expense of his loved ones feeling like he no longer values them or their support, but that doesn't negate the fact that he's quite hyperaware of his flaws. he's a far more relentless critic of himself than he is of others, and that stems as much from self-righteousness as it does guilt. he's supposed to be better. he's supposed to set an example. he's supposed to do the right thing. he's supposed to save the whole city even if he's only one person. and so on and so forth. bruce is possessive of highly unrealistic expectations for himself bc he's a ridiculously emotional person trying to tell himself to act like a robot. he repeatedly sets himself up for failure and then when he inevitably fails he kicks himself down like a dog. he is essentially a walking man-child simply because he cares too much and that often leads him to make stupid, emotionally driven choices: like taking random children into his home and teaching them how to channel their emotions through fighting crime, because if it worked for him it might work for them too, esp when they've got the added benefit of his supervision and well-intended (albeit awkward) companionship

all of bruce's circumstances and internalizations and traumas point to him taking what i would term excessive ownership of his crimes. he's a self-made pity puddle because he thinks everything is his fault. dick barely having a life outside of vigilantism is his fault. dick nearly falling to his death is his fault. jason failing to properly process his parental trauma is his fault. jason getting blown up by the joker is his fault. i simply cannot imagine a world where bruce isolates himself from caring or from taking the blame because doing the latter has been his modus operandi for so long. it makes more sense for bruce to disavow fatherhood in the specific context of not wanting to take the place that john and mary or willis and catherine will always occupy; it makes less sense for bruce to disavow fatherhood in the specific context of raising and loving dick and jason as if they were his own. it's very much a you don't have to call me dad but when i call you "chum" i mean "son" situation. he's never one to burden others intentionally (although we obv know this rarely plays out the way he wants it to), rather he intentionally burdens himself. that's precisely what knightfall as an arc is stellar at depicting, regardless of the fact that it coincides with the existence of the good soldier plaque. bruce in the aftermath of jason's death has to blame himself excessively because it's the only way he knows how to cope. i've never understood depictions of his grief with an emphasis on jason's share of the blame bc not only is it classist towards jason, it's also inconsistent with bruce's own character and tendency to believe that every bad thing that happens is his fault. it's why i'm not really a fan of gotham knights #43-45. a death in the family makes it clear that bruce blames himself for not allowing jason to have the space and time to process his trauma properly before throwing him into the suit. allowing him to have hope never even comes into the picture

and i'm not sure if anyone has ever considered this, but the disavowal of fatherhood really confuses me when you remember tim exists. why is bruce's disavowal with regards to jason even necessary when the crux of tim's entry into the mythos is precisely the fact that he isn't someone over whom bruce can similarly exercise responsibility and ownership.. it's far more interesting to explore the tightrope bruce walks with that partnership because he's easily in a place to deny responsibility and yet obv he ultimately can't because despite whatever reluctance he expressed initially, he eventually gave in. the tone of the grant/brefoygle run also helps with depicting that dilemma. we're not primarily privy to the bruce of old anymore, who while quiet and awkward nonetheless expressed a capacity for caretaking. there are remnants of that of course (esp after tim's mother dies). but the bruce of the 90s is more imperious and domineering because he's been hardened by trauma. he delivers grand speeches about vigilantism and justice. he sends tim across the pond because he needs proper training. the fact that they're neighbors and get burgers together sometimes doesn't detract from the physical divide present there because tim is ultimately someone else's son and possessive of a life entirely divorced of what he does in the mask. he can walk away without preamble in a way that dick (at least until adulthood) and jason never could. plenty of writers recognized that and personally i believe it's what made the 90s robin run interesting to read, but i also believe writers retroactively projected the necessity of an emotionally distant bruce to that narrative onto the bruce of old. it was progressively rewritten to be a constant rather than a development in the wake of a highly transgressive event. and unfortunately that's tainted every interaction and/or recollection that he has with/of jason afterward

#anyway. idek if this makes sense or feels coherent anymore i'm sorry :/ but the recording was definitely worse #and i also said some things on it that i don't actually think i believe. so #this was definitely a better means through which to organize my thoughts. however well i could #outbox

[singingcicadas]

Headcanons about Drift:

Drift & Rodimus

They trust each other with their lives but they are not (and will never be) completely open to one another. They’re good friends - or as close to a best friend as they can possibly get - but their friendship is ultimately based on mutual need/benefit and most importantly, a mutual agreement to take each other’s facade at face value and not ask awkward questions. No heart-to-heart convos for these guys. No opening up or calling each other out on their bluff. The closest we get to awkward is that scene where Drift comes back from exile and expresses disappointment in Rodimus for not looking for him but in the end that conversation didn't get anywhere. Their trust in each other transcends true honesty, and Drift is willing to overlook a lot of Rodimus' lack of upkeep on their relationship because in the end he believes (and is right to believe in) that Rodimus does feel sorry and does genuinely want him back. His friendship with Rodimus isn't equal but then he isn't looking for equal. He's well aware that Rodimus values him for his yesmanship and for the most part is content with playing that role dutifully. He's well aware that neither of them is exactly the persona they present to the world but is even more aware that it's also impossible for them to separate their mask from their true selves. Every time one of their masks slip, the other politely looks the other way until it's back up again so they can keep playing along like nothing's happened.

(The nature of their relationship is almost the opposite of Drift/Ratchet, which is probably why Drachet became conjunx and they didn't lol.)

Drift & Megatron

Going by the post LL25 parallel universe version for obvs reasons. He's uneasy around Megatron's presence. Whenever Megatron gives orders he's usually quick to obey, gaze averted, no backtalk - or any kind of talk in general. He doesn't like talking to Megatron. Just avoids interacting with him outside of work whenever possible.

Other people assume that this is due to leftover instilled fear from his days as a Decepticon, but as Deadlock he was never known for obeisance. During his time in Megatron's army he was actually one of the few people who wasn't afraid to speak his mind to Megatron or contradict his opinions. The uneasiness he feels now comes from mostly guilt - because even though the Decepticon cause was a scam and Megatron was a shit leader, he still betrayed Megatron first by deserting, then turning traitor. As an Autobot he was free to hate Megatron, which he did, with much justification - but then Megatron turned around and saved his life. It's a debt that he doesn't know how to face, much less repay. Also he knows that the Drift that he is now - eccentric hippie spectralist, Rodimus' #1 cheerleader - is extremely different from the warrior Deadlock that Megatron knew, and that Megatron could see through and rip off his facade in an instant if he so chooses. There's an element of shame in there as well.

They might have talked out their problems eventually, with Megatron initiating the conversation. But somehow I think that Megatron's open heart surgery monologue is as far as either of them is willing to get. It's the kind of thing that can only get buried away by time, which is a good thing that they have forever amounts of it in the parallel universe.

#also I think at least one of the ways he got so rich is by embezzling a generous chunk out of the Decepticon public funds when he left lmao #transformers #idw transformers #maccadam #mtmte #drift #megatron #rodimus

[gold-rhine]

please share correct opinions on alhaitham and kaveh👀

genshin leaks tw i guess. they are both right and they are both wrong actually. like fans will be like omg this ship is canon bc their quest name is "Pride and Prejudice" and then literally not look at what that reference means, as if P&P entire thesis wasn't on how two leads both have to get over their flawed perception of each other and grow personally after admitting their own shortcomings

the whole throughline of them being narrative foils and mirrors for each is like. yes, alhaitham was right about kaveh martyring himself for selfish reasons, and kaveh was so appalled to hear that bc he wants ppl to think he's perfect. which like yeah, was his trauma response mechanism, but no, it doesn't mean it's healthy and shouldn't be challenged. being close with someone doesn't mean they don't see your flaws and think you're perfect, it means they DO see your flaws and love you in spite of them. yes, kaveh has high ideals of combining beauty and practicality and of everyone participating in creation, no, it doesn't mean that him carrying other ppl or people-pleasing at any opportunity is good way to reach his ideals, it obviously doesn't work like that. yes, kaveh is lonely, but he 100% put himself into this position, he has ppl who would be willing to support him, he hangs out with cyno, tighnari, brags about having friends and fans, he's literally akademiya celebrity, he could reach out and ask for help at any moment, but that would ruin his facade of perfect success, so he doesn't. literally he opened up about his problems one time and alhaitham immediately took him in despite their broken friendship. the only reason he doesn't actually own the part of this same house is because he refused out of pride, he obviously wants to feel superior to alhaitham, and he used his social standing and popularity as proof, which is why he's so shocked and dismissive of the idea that alhaitham can have friends or do smth heroic, and now the only way he has left to feel superior is to insist he's better bc he's empathetic, while alhaitham is not, so kaveh keeps falling for every scam despite being a genius. bc he sees this as him being good and that's the last refuge of his ego. tldr great ideals, clown execution

but alhaitham is also performing clown behavior. he's not ambitious like kaveh, yes, but his flaw of pride is in pretending that if he's right he can sound like an asshole. bro has "language is the ultimate tool and weapon" all over his stories, he knows that how you word things fucking matter and he knew that kaveh is fragile about his ego and emotions, yet he didn't try to talk to kaveh on the terms he could accept and help him reach the conclusion, but bluntly poked him into the weakest spot instead. and yes, alhaitham has feelings and they were obv hurt and he's still obv highkey cares and lowkey bitter at kaveh at the same time. fellas, is it rational to meet your worstie drunk and miserable in a tavern, learn he's bankrupt, and immediately take him home as a roommate. and like explain that you don't care about him, but you did it to have another genius through whose presence you can perfect your vision of the world. and then every time you talk you tell said genius that he's devolving into a fungus and shit like that. which is how perfecting a world vision works obviously. yeah sounds very logic, very rational, very objective, and no confused feelings to me.

no, their fight is not bc they have incompatible ideals and can never understand each other. they can understand each other very well, they can't get over their egos. kaveh spent years wanting to take back his words to his father and vowing to never hurt anyone again, yet he refuses to see realize what he said years ago hurt his best friend and he doesn't take it back despite them literally living in the same house and having that opportunity every day. he accuses alhaitham of being an egoist, yet he his own ego makes him pretend to have perfect life and have no problems instead of opening up to ppl. alhaitham accuses kaveh of being irrational and in denial about his true motivations, yet is in denial about his own motivations for becoming roommates, instead facetiously framing it like it was strictly for his own purely academic goals. they are mirrors, but they refuse to actually look at each other.

if hoyo has an ounce of sense, this is obv a setup for character arcs of them growing and getting over their pride and prejudices to be able to work together and combine alhaitham's strategic thinking with kaveh's groundbreaking designs.

#rhine talks #kaveh #alhaitham #rhine character study

[be-my-ally]

The Morning After

I’ve been neck deep in smut and I wanted a short little break, I also was on such a roll with some other things (anons in my inbox - what you want is coming soon I promise) so this is a super short sweet one. A follow on/tidying up the morning after from ‘Do You Mind?’

For the prompt “Are you always this shy?”

warnings: none? I don’t think there’s any anyway - lmk if I’m wrong! oh wait. the tiniest reference to 'leading you on' which is obvs not ok. but makes sense in context.

wc: 1.1k - honestly, I'm just happy there's some words on the page.

as always!! thanks for the support + encouragement @whositmcwhatsit @thatbanditqueen @ellie-24 @vintageshanny @missmaywemeetagain @from-memphis-with-love @powerofelvis

The next morning you wake up with Elvis still clutching at your waist, your head pillowed in the crook of his neck. You blink rapidly into his shoulder, trying to assess the situation. It’s unnerving, that you don’t feel more unnerved - you feel unmoored, uncertain of the day and what it has planned, unsure of how to navigate the situation you’ve found yourself in but ultimately, tucked in Elvis’ arms - you feel safe. Calm even. As you’re letting your mind wander his arm tightens around you, his hand squeezing your hip - you’re suddenly very aware that through the night his too-large-for-you shirt has risen up, leaving your lower half exposed in just your underwear. You wriggle, trying to tug it back down to a more respectable length but pause as his chest rumbles. He does a strange little half-cough, voice remarkably low and growly on the top of your head, 

“Are you always this shy?” You lean back a little to glance up at him, taking in the shadow on his chin and cheeks, barely resisting the urge to run your fingers over it. You’ve never even seen a photo of him with stubble. His eyes are still tightly closed, like he’s hopeful he might not actually have to wake up right now. 

“I’m not shy! I’m just - you’re practically a stranger.” You’re indignant on this point, not wanting him to think you were uncool and inexperienced or a massive prude. His fingers stroke your hip, absentmindedly, as if he has no idea he’s even doing it. He hums back at you, 

“Mmhmm, just a stranger, baby, that’s me.” You can hear the smile in his voice, see it lifting the corners of his mouth. He ducks his head lower, eyes blinking open - you’re taken aback at the blue of them in the hazy morning light, your throat dry with the sudden desire. “Just a stranger.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, gently, and you feel your face flush at the intimacy of the gesture. He pauses momentarily, before pulling his hand away and up to your neck, brushing up the side of your body to cup your face. He bends to press his lips against yours, jumping back like he’s been burnt when you jump in surprise and leap out of the bed. 

He laughs, his head falling back on the pillow as you stand there. “Lord. Normally the girls are desperate to get into my bed, not out-ta it.” You feel awkward, and embarrassed - you hadn’t even really wanted to jump out it was just instinct, it had just happened. His laugh though is infectious, and you find yourself giggling a little too. 

“I wasn’t - I didn’t mean to, I didn’t wanna get up!”  He smiles, eyes crinkling as he leans forward, his hair flopping over his eyebrows, looking like he’d been dragged through something backwards. You know he’s had plenty of women but as you look at him lounging in the bed so casual and carefree you have to wonder how many others he’s allowed to witness him like this. You pull his sleeves down over your hands, shuffling your feet, feeling further embarrassment at the strength of the affection you feel for him at just that thought. “Sorry - I didn’t -“ 

“No, No, I’m sorry - I should’ve checked you were - I shouldn’t have assumed.” You stare back at him as his tone turns serious, breaking eye contact with you to look to the side. 

“I was in your bed. I think it was a pretty safe assumption.” 

“Still I should’ve checked first.” You roll your eyes, slightly annoyed that your rash action was being taken so seriously - 

“Honestly, it’s my fault El, I just panicked for a second. I’m not - not ready to do anything much more than kiss at the moment, didn’t wanna give you the wrong impression. Lead you on.” You walk back over to the bed, his expression turns earnest as he pats the space next to him. 

“I ain’t gonna do nothing but kiss doll, swear it - haven’t got, motor ain’t running yet.” He pauses, as if hearing how that sounds, “Not that - I mean, I’d definitely wait for you to ask for that.” He grins, a mischievous expression coming over his face, curling his lip, “Beg for it.” You roll your eyes, 

“In your dreams.” You expect him to laugh, but he nods instead as if agreeing. You rapidly change the subject before he can say anything, lying back down next to him, “Right then. Kiss me.” This time he lets out another shocked laugh, shaking his head as he rolls over to lean on top of you.

“ ’S not a chore doll, is it? You could sound a lil more ‘nthusiastic!” You laugh, reaching up with a hand to cup his face, thumb brushing over his high cheekbone, the creases by his eye. 

“Kiss me and you’ll see how enthusiastic I can be.” You’re not sure where this confidence has come from, but you know you love the look in his eyes when he thinks you’re funny. He presses his lips to the corner of your mouth and you giggle as he completely misses, ending half on your cheek. He mumbles against your skin, 

“Stay still baby,” He moves to slot your mouths together properly and you immediately surge forward, hungry for it, desperate for it - despite your earlier reservations. You didn’t even think about the possibility of morning breath and you don’t now - opening your mouth, inviting him in. His teeth are catching on your lips nibbling on them and it feels unparalleled to any sensation you’ve ever experienced before. The softness of his famous pout, mixed with the gently harsh stubble on his cheeks, and the tug of his teeth on your soft skin. You pull away, 

“God - Elvis, you gotta, need you to,” You reach for his hand, pulling it to land on your stomach, He looks slightly shocked at your clear desire to have him effectively pin you down. 

“That ok?” You nod frantically, 

“Good god, yes, just, just keep going,” He rubs his fingers in a little circle, just barely tickling before he presses it palm down, resting on you. It’s heat seems to amplify everything you’re feeling - down to the little jolts of arousal when he tugs your lip just right.

 You have no idea if you’re making a noise, no idea if you’re even breathing. All you can feel, see, taste, hear is him. Finally his tongue slips in, you don’t fight him letting him straight in, do what he likes. You suddenly hear yourself the little moans and breathy grunts that you’re letting out when he pulls back enough to let them escape, and you gasp as he presses little wet open-mouthed kisses against your cheek. You’re lost to everything but the feel of him, heat thrumming through you as he captures your lips in his again.

He pulls back and you’re in a daze, unable to do anything but lie there and try to catch your breath, hoping to be left there for eternity. 

#elvis fanfic #elvis x reader #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley x reader #elvis x you #writing prompt game #elvis smut adjacent #this can't even be called smut lite #it's just kissing.

[howlsnteeth]

hi, just wanted you to know that if you ever wanted to like. interest-dump about cotl and your thoughts about the lore/storyline and stuff as ive seen you show in your art, id read PARAGRAPHS. im so curious and love to hear about people's interest in game/story/media lore and the interpersonal relationships within the universe!!! - from an autistic system who has loved your art since like. forever. (u can call us moss)

okay hi moss :3

i'm kind of due for an infodump on my cotl headcanons, so! i'll try be somewhat concise because this is going to be a long post anyway rip. i drew some pictures :D

(i can't really think of any warnings to give outside of usual cotl themes/killed race/dying/blood/etc but let me know)

obviously watching the destruction of your entire race is traumatic as fuck, also because it likely took a few weeks or months to achieve. so they died pretty underweight/weak bodied/pretty shut down. the bishops are gone by the time lamb is revived by toww, and their body hadn't quite made it to a 'body pit' (or food pit). still, they get Their Bell from another of their race on the way out. probably weren't thinking about it too hard and just desperately wanted to grab something while their eyes burned in their sockets and this red crown fit like molded clay in their hand. my lamb has a little notch out of their left ear which was caused while escaping, which ends up never healing because of a few reasons but mostly because i like it.

over the course of the game/story they start to slowly physically change. after revival it takes scars a Long time to fade, considering lamb is technically a walking corpse, and also because of their affiliation with Death (narinder, who has similar i'll mention later). they get dark marked lines under their eyes from that classic 'bleeding eyes' action during rituals/etc. their ears but especially horns get longer and sharper. their way of coping is similar to most lambs, jokes and pulled punches.

by the end of the 'main game/toww fight,' they've already made their choice, and start flexing their control/communication with the red crown itself. it gets harder for toww to view through it, and lamb gets somewhat intoxicated with the idea of an ultimate revenge, having killed all the other bishops. they've done everything they can to stop their cult members noticing signs of weakness, but as things get more stressful this kind of rubberbands around to them seeming extremely unstable. by the time they go to fight toww they're muttering nonstop, barely aware, and also they let their wool get longer and basically end up with a mullet. <3 because it's funny to me

they obviously beat toww and for them it's like a smashing of clarity, like a gripped handle let go, standing up from the river of blood. it's freeing but also the most pain they've ever been in. and instead of killing toww this pit in their stomach spares him. lamb went from a corpse to a god and now, in some sick way, they want to watch a god turn into a living corpse, just like them. because with every other sheep dead, narinder is the only one with a connection to that genocide, the cause of the other bishops doing it.

narinder hates their fucking guts. obvs. he thinks, or knows, that lamb is doing it on purpose. but narinder's body hasn't been normal for far, far too long. even before he was made death (as in artworks i've done with him), his body turned skeletal and rotted away. lacerations open all over his body, but especially down his front torso. when he's first brought to the cult, lamb gives him red robes, also because of this 'problem'. but narinder does every single thing he can against them. he gets white robes and lets them turn bloodied and disturbing to everyone around him.

even washing them stops working, and lamb does resign slightly to letting him sit in his dirty stupid robes. it's the pettiest shit. narinder also keeps his veil, and lamb can't bother with a reason to take it away. let that dumbass keep his yuck robes and veil. you can only stick him the stockade for a week before your other followers get too concerned.

over time, they do end up getting closer, but it comes from a place from both being touched and changed by Death, the red crown, and the choices of the other bishops. it takes a really long time and only after all the other bishops have been recruited (another whole thing). both of them catch themselves enjoying little things, and then having moments of all the pain bleeding through. an example is over time narinder does end up wearing darker robes, but it's fairly gradual. in this piece, it's lamb getting too deep in the countless lives that were taken from their race, triggered by blood (a whole little story thing), and narinder does make the (semi subconscious) choice to wear dark robes.

anyway you're probably looking at that giant shadow in the picture huh. it takes a long time but lamb Does end up truly becoming a bishop.

not 100% done with this design, but it has the basics. their main horns end up breaking off (thinking of a story behind that still). the main thing with them that i really like is they have multiple strings of bells on them. so everyone starts associating the sound of ringing bells as Death. so if you hear them, they're coming for you. that being said, they also have the ability to move completely silently, despite being covered in bells. which adds to the scaring-the-fuck-out-of-everyone factor.

there's a ton more i could get into with the other bishops, ratau, the duck siblings, the crowns themselves, more aym and baal, but i'm probably gonna do more artworks with them so i can talk more then :3 this is already too long lmao

thanks for the ask though!! it's nice knowing people are interested in my stuff :D (it's also worth mentioning that i am also a system and have alters of lamb, narinder, and aym and baal, who all contribute to this stuff)

#barks #cotl #cult of the lamb #long post under cut

[inkykeiji]

What is your Alastor’s goal? Like if the reader became so broken by him would he throw them out? Is he hoping for a balance of obedience as well as disobedience? We all know he gets bored very quickly so I’m wondering what’s your thoughts on this? Where is that fine line between entertaining to boring?

ah okay so!!! beware, i kinda rambled on beneath the read more ahahaha (*ﾉωﾉ)ᵉᵉᵏ

well if i’m going to be completely honest with you, he doesn’t necessarily have an overarching ‘goal’ since i’ve only been writing little fragments of their lives together/their relationship. he has a goal in each piece, obv, and they’re all very simple of course, because more than anything i write for myself and to explore a character i really love in silly lil scenarios my mind creates ehehe. but if i had to give him a larger goal that encompasses all of the fragments, it would be companionship.

as i mentioned in this ask, he’s drawn to reader because of her extreme devotion to him without the need of a contract; how she’s willing to do anything for him, to quite literally be his obedient little pet and always stares up at him with stars of worship in her eyes, all on her own. it’s pure, it’s real, and he loves that. but just because she is unwaveringly subservient, doesn’t mean she is incompetent or unable to do things on her own + be independent. she won’t cling to him unless he wants it.

he does give her tasks to do and hobbies to take up (certain books to read, certain activities to do etc.) because his pet needs to be well-read + intelligent and all of that. she has her own errands + duties to attend to as well, so she’s more than a mindless little doll (because you’re right, he would get bored of that SO fast); it’s more just that she has to be (and is) willing to drop everything for alastor the moment he wants her to—and he is absolutely drunk off of the potent power this grants him. there are an infinite amount of scenarios he can throw her into in order to play with this extreme level of ownership and control, which means he can always find a way to keep things interesting, fresh, and fun.

i write alastor as an extreme sadist and as someone who is only aroused and able to get off on serious sadism, right? her pain (physical, mental, emotional; any kind) is what ‘turns him on’. additionally, we know that alastor is extremely shady and manipulative, and has a bit of a sick, twisted ‘playful’ side to him—with means he isn’t above playing dirty, provoking reader into misbehaving or tricking her into breaking a rule, solely so he has an excuse to punish her or otherwise hurt her. he doesn’t need an excuse, obviously, he knows she’ll ultimately let him do whatever the fuck he wants to her, but it’s more fun when she unintentionally breaks a rule, because there’s an extra layer of psychological pain there; shame and guilt for disobeying her master.

he knows she loves it too, though; she loves playing that foul little game just as much as he does, and she isn’t entirely meek either; she will speak back to him on occasion, will beg him to stop or let some snarky little remark slip (she almost does this in the piece about alastor dressing you in white) or shove at him etc, but it’s really just this messed up little cat-and-mouse routine that comes with the 100% guarantee that she’ll never escape or leave him, no matter what he puts her through or how much she pretends to push back. i mean, she’d have to have some sort of streak of vile wickedness running through her blood to be as insanely attracted to him as she is.

so, really, that’s where the line between obedience and disobedience is drawn; she may be playfully bratty back, but never to the point of actual disrespect, and never for real. she might whine a bit about him intentionally tricking her into breaking rules etc, but she’ll also play up that aspect of guilt etc because she knows he gets off on it, and she gets off on serving + pleasing him.

wHEW okay, hopefully this answers ur questions!!! thanks for taking an interest in my iteration of alastor, that’s really cool and it makes me feel so aaaah happy n warm hehehe <33

#sorry this is a lil messy HAHA but i feel like it answers ur questions!! #thank u again for your ask!! c: #i hope ur weekend is going well! #please stay safe and hydrated <3 #inky.bb #inky.alastor #clari gets mail

[slutforpringles]

I neeeeeeeed your positivity after that reddit post about Marko wanting Sainz in the seat 😭 turns out just skimming reddit without seeing the comments is enough to send me into a spiral tbh

i actually haven't been on reddit in a good few days, because I've been shadowbanned for a week for 'editorialising the title' on the speedcafe article about the Lawson rumours being bullshit, which is weird because every second post is editorialised but who knows. 🤷🏻‍♀️

I swear Marko is doing daily backflips on Daniel, I can't keep up with what his opinion is at this stage. The one positive I can offer you in this regard, is that by the most recent (and reliably sourced) accounts, it seems like Christian has emerged victorious in the Red Bull power struggle. It looks like the thais are backing him to hold ultimate power within the team, so he'll have final say on decisions including about driver lineups (obvs I'm only talking about DR's pov on the situation within Red Bull - this is not a comment on Horner/the situation and I continue to hope that the victim/accuser gets to follow through with her appeal). Daniel is, according to AMUS, Horner's protegee:

#anon ask #daniel ricciardo #dr3

[the-auguer]

I just read The Forbidden Book of Forbidden-ness and HOLY SHIT IT WAS INCREDIBLE. like everyone was so in character, that moment where Asmo's emotional intelligence comes through and he knows exactly what Mammon is dreaming of, and Mammon, our wonderful first man, figuring out that it's not real because he doesn't feel overwhelmingly in love with mc before anything else tips him off, because Mammon may get tricked when it comes to grimm but his feelings towards mc can't be faked or imitated in a dream?? I am in LOVE with your writing

it made me curious what all the other brothers would experience if they were cursed by the book and how they'd wake up, or who would have the hardest time waking up. Levi would definitely be in an rpg game or the tsl universe with mc, he's the easiest one to imagine, but I wonder if Belphie would end up in a dream universe where he never tried to kill mc, like if he had been reminded of ch16 by somethingjust before opening the book and thought to himself that he wished he'd never hurt them

Thanks so much!! That was awesome to hear! I’ve alway been lowkey obsessed with perfect dream worlds and the willpower to reject everything you’ve ever wanted just for the harshness of reality. ig Gravity Falls ruined me.

I never really thought about the other brother’s dream world, other than Levi’s idea of what it would be, tbh.

I kind of really wanted to add them to Mammon’s dream so that it would be harder for him to leave. I played around with the idea of Mammon like, rushing home to tell Lucifer that something is up, and Lucifer pats his head and says he’s so proud of his cute little brother, and did you win big at the casino baby 🥹? Are you hungry? And Mammon obvs flips out. And Lilith is there and alive and everyone’s happy and also him and MC are engaged and gonna be married soon.

I feel like that would have been Mammon’s REAL ideal universe. But hey, I wanted it be a one shot that I could just play with and not a ten chapter, meticulously thought out story the way that would be, so it was scrapped. And I imagine that the other’s ultimate dreams would be much of the same, with Levi’s probably taking place in an RPG like you said, and MC is Henry and they are eternal best friends only, wait, MC just kissed me!!! 🤯❤️❤️

Again, thanks a lot!!!

#augury speaks #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me

[spurgie-cousin]

Hallie made a tiktok about Tim’s proposal to Heidi and she’s been liking comments about Jrod’s behavior and even replied that Jill would get her hands on Heidi’s eyebrows “over my dead rotting corpse”.

I hope her speaking up doesn’t have any negative effect on Tim and Heidi (Jill cutting contact with him after the wedding, not allowing them to see his siblings etc) but after a few months of feud speculations, I’m glad to see solid proof that someone sees right through Jill’s bullshit

I'm just happy that Tim now has someone in his immediate circle who is not a part of the echo chamber his parents have kept him in his entire life. I don't think Hallie's actions alone would get Tim disowned unless he openly agreed with her or something, and then I'd imagine it would be kind of like Olivia Plath's family situation. In Olivia's case, being separated from her controlling family allowed her to have some serious spiritual and emotional growth that ultimately benefitted her, so if that happened I'd hope Tim would follow a similar path.

Obvs I don't want Tim to be separated from his siblings or anything because I know that would be really hard for him, but the thing about parents like Tim's or Olivia's is that they use control to control how their children think. Because they know on some level that the second that the reigns are loosened so to speak, the cat's out of the bag and they'll never be able to gain that complete control back. Tim has probably never gone barely a day without talking to his mom in some way, so I'd be interested to see how a complete separation from her and David and their overbearing nature would affect him tbh.

#timothy rodirgues #heidi coverett #jill rodrigues

[yeetlegay]

Shifting power dynamics in episode 4: a stupidly long meta

I've already talked about episode 4 in two different posts, a vocal analysis for Kinn and an analysis of the ownership/possession motif in eps 1-4. Even with those two posts (which I wrote and posted in the span of like 48 hours, rip my brain), there was still so much that I wanted to talk about in episode 4, so here goes my third meta of the week. Buckle up besties, this is a LONG one.

Disclaimer: I don’t want to get into the whole dubcon discourse piece of this. I get that people have Opinions, but I am here for shenanigans only and I think I’ve answered the amount of asks about it that I really care to. To sum up: I don’t mind dubcon in fiction! I can get behind just about any fictional relationship no matter how problematic as long as they give me a compelling story with compelling characters and the problematic elements serve a narrative purpose and are handled well. Fiction, for me, is ultimately just that: fiction.

With the above disclaimer in mind, this post isn’t so much about power as it relates to consent, but about how power made a pretty dramatic change of hands in this episode, and what I think that means for the story to come. I’ll be focusing a lot on body language, but also on how certain scenes and shots are framed, and referring back to my vocal analysis a lot so I don’t end up just rehashing what I said there. Fair warning, my background is in sociology, specifically micro, so I tend to run away with details when talking about this sort of thing lol.

I talked about this here after episode 3, but as I hoped, that kiss on the pier (which didn’t happen in the book) completely altered the build-up to their first time.

That kiss on the pier is actually kind of genius bc from the preview we know they’re still doing the roofie scene, but by having them kiss before that (albeit a little drunk) they’ve given a totally different context to build from. Kinn and Porsche have already had a moment where they acknowledged their attraction to each other, even if it wasn’t out loud, so it means when that scene does come, it’ll be clear for both of them that even if the drug is affecting Porsche, it’s not actually making him ask for something he doesn’t already want.

This doesn’t take away from the fact that it’s still dubcon. (Again, not getting into it, but wanted to make sure that’s clear.) But it means a lot for how both Kinn and Porsche approach that moment through episode 4.

We open with Porsche waking up the next morning, vaguely remembering a kiss and not seeming bothered by it, more intrigued than anything else. Mirror that scene, where Porsche more or less shrugs off the encounter, with Kinn’s morning. He’s looking at himself in the mirror, lost in his thoughts, conflicted and confused by what happened the night before. We realize later on that some of that confusion is because he gave Porsche an intimacy that he doesn’t seem to give anyone else he’s involved with: a kiss. His internal turmoil isn’t just because he’s attracted to Porsche, which comes with its own problems, but because he wants him in a way he hasn’t wanted anyone in a long time, maybe ever. The kiss, and even the fact that it didn’t go further, is proof of that.

Kinn's body language in this scene is...unusual. When do we ever see his shoulders hunched forward like that, leaning his weight against something? It ruins that perfect, confident posture and makes him look more vulnerable. We're also seeing him shirtless, which obvs yay for Kinn tiddies, but we haven't really seen that a lot from him either. He's always wearing a suit, casual clothes, even a fancy pajama set that makes him look like a sexc grandpa. But we're literally seeing him more or less naked here (the towel doesn't want to be there either, bless it), stripped literally and figuratively. He doesn't look like a powerful and untouchable mafia prince here. He looks conflicted, fallible, and painfully human.

@luckydragon10 wrote a little meta about the use of mirrors here and even though that post is about a different scene, she brings up the GREAT point that we have yet to see Porsche in a mirrored surface by himself. Kinn, meanwhile, is here in this scene fully exposed, staring directly at his reflection. I'm not a color theory expert AT ALL (that would be @antique-forvalaka) but the gold sconces are very eye-catching here; since gold is the mafia's color, maybe that's a hint as to where Kinn's headspace is at in this moment.

But anyway, my point is that we're seeing Kinn's confusion and inner conflict here very clearly. We see how seriously he's thinking about the previous night, how much it presses on him. That wasn't "just a kiss" for Kinn. The mirror, the body language, the slightly vignetted flashback, the music choice, the lack of clothing, all tell us Kinn is feeling vulnerable in this moment over that kiss. Which by extension tells us quite a bit about how much he feels for Porsche already.

Moving on to the cigarette lighter scene (idk what else to call this lol).

The blocking here is interesting. I don't want to read too much into it, but notice how Porsche is in the foreground, the sunlight angling down from the top right toward him. His hands are crossed in front of his stomach, making him look casual but reserved, as though he's placing a barrier between him and Vegas. He doesn't fully angle his body toward Vegas, just leans his head in a little. Vegas, meanwhile, is standing with his back to the light and is a step or two further away from the camera. He looks physically smaller, which he is, but the shot exaggerates it just a little. He's reaching his whole arm out, staring at Porsche, bringing the lighter right to his mouth, his torso open but angled away a little like Porsche. And the shot doesn't fully capture his body like it does Porsche, cutting off an arm and part of his shoulder.

This shot centers Porsche, makes him look powerful. Everything in the shot leans into him—the lighting, the camera, Vegas himself. He doesn't look like Vegas's equal; he looks like his superior.

I'll also say the optics of Vegas bringing the light to his cigarette is a neat little metaphor for how Vegas not only approaches Porsche with malicious intent (fire is, uh, kind of bad unless it's in a fireplace or a BTS song), but how he also brings conflict to Porsche and sets off trouble between him and Kinn.

(Also once again referencing @antique-forvalaka's incredible color theory series because look at all the green in this scene. Porsche literally has a wall of green behind him, which as noted in her post here seems to indicate danger.)

I told y'all I was gonna dig into this episode, didn't I? 😂

This shot of Kinn feels odd, doesn't it? We're not used to seeing Kinn hide. In fact, aside from that gunfight scene in episode 1 when he (very understandably) ducked behind some boxes to avoid getting shot, I can't recall him ever being an observer or hidden presence in a scene. When he's on the screen, everyone knows it. It's hard to fit his power and charisma into a room.

But here, he looks...small. He's outsized by the rest of the frame, surrounded by (interestingly imo) an awful lot of glass. The plant in the foreground adds to this effect (and once again, it's green!), and even though he's in focus, he still feels almost like part of the background.

Kinn just doesn't do this sort of thing. He doesn't make himself smaller, he doesn't eavesdrop, he doesn't sneak. And yet here he is, trying to be invisible, all so he can watch Porsche and Vegas together, all because he's jealous and out of his depth.

The pool scene is really where we get the first big flashy sign that that something is shifting in their power dynamic. I chose the screenshot above as an example of what's happening here, but I could've picked like 20 different frames that give the same information from a different angle.

Look at their body language first. Porsche, standing tall, shoulders back, looking relaxed and comfortable, if a little annoyed. He's taking up space, arms at his sides swinging a little carelessly as he turns. He's looking at Kinn over his shoulder, body angled away from him, ready to leave, not at all cowed or diminished by Kinn's attempts to scold him. Honestly, he looks like he's only barely stopping himself from rolling his eyes.

Then we have Kinn, one hand in his pocket (does he usually put his hands in his pockets? I feel like I haven't seen him do it very much but no time to go back and comb through 3 episodes to find out), the other hand resting a little awkwardly on the railing. His whole body is directed at Porsche, chin tilted up when he usually keeps it tilted a little down, which adds to his usual aura of understated power. Because of this angle, his figure is much narrower than Porsche's. He takes up much less space in the frame.

Now look at their backdrop. Porsche is standing in front of empty space, buildings framing either side of him but not crowding into his figure directly and making him look compressed. Kinn, meanwhile, is standing almost directly in front of what looks like a skyscraper in the distance, with other slightly shorter buildings closer behind him. The effect is stark when you notice it. He's crowded in, almost dwarfed by that backdrop. He looks even smaller with that tall building stretching over his head.

And I'm not done! I saw some discussion about mirrors and reflections this week, although no full meta posts that I've come across yet (please link if there are any, I'd love to read it!). But look at their reflections in the water in this shot. It exaggerates what we see even further. Porsche is bigger, wider, more clearly defined, while Kinn is smaller, narrower, and and more vague.

That's not even touching on the dialogue, which is a whole thing in and of itself. I talk more about this in my vocal analysis for episode 4, but basically Kinn is messy in this scene. He doesn’t have a plan for what to say to Porsche when he gets there and it shows. He uses filler words, he hesitates, he fumbles for what to say. He calls out after Porsche (”Wait!”) with none of his usual authority or confidence. Kinn is out of his depth. He wants to know what Porsche is thinking about the previous night, but he doesn’t know how to ask. If Porsche’s answer didn’t mean so much to Kinn, he’d have less trouble asking for it. (I’m reminded for some reason of that quote from Emma: “If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more.”)

All of this gives us the overwhelming sense that Kinn is the one standing on sand in this scene. He’s the one floundering, trying to make sense of that kiss, trying to behave like it doesn’t matter while at the same time seeking Porsche out the first chance he gets to talk about it, to determine what to do based on how Porsche is reacting. If he’d already decided to forget the kiss happened or brush it off and move on, he wouldn’t need to talk to Porsche first thing the next morning. He wouldn’t need to couch his questions in vague terms. In doing both of those things, he’s giving Porsche power, power to determine how Kinn feels, how he acts, how he interprets that kiss.

After the scene by the pool, Kinn has his feet under him a little bit. Now he knows where he stands with Porsche. Even if his feelings are still confused and chaotic, they’re his to deal with alone. He doesn’t have to worry about Porsche’s reaction, about how Porsche’s perception of him might have changed. He knows he made himself vulnerable with Porsche through that kiss, and he’s relieved Porsche doesn’t have the memory to turn over in his clever head until he figures out what it means.

So here in the sauna he’s more relaxed, settled back into his skin. That confidence and charisma is back. He fills up the screen, makes Porsche be the guest in his space, even though Porsche was there first. And he wants Porsche to stay, despite how affected Kinn is by him. Simply put, he likes Porsche’s company. He still feels that pull to be around him even if it doesn’t help his feelings resolve themselves.

I go back and forth about the framing in the first part of this scene. Porsche is still in the forefront for the most part, but Kinn is just as much a focus point as he is despite not being centered in the shot. The height of that upper seat gives Kinn an edge. He chose it on purpose, to be above Porsche. He spreads his arms wide and relaxes, but his legs stay crossed as opposed to Porsche, who spreads his whole body wide. Kinn is still, on some level, making himself a little smaller, drawing in, even as he tries to exude his usual controlled power.

And Kinn is the one to look down at Porsche, to start up a conversation, to open up a path for them to talk casually. He’s the one who, almost immediately after that conversation begins, gets down under the guise of adding more water, just so he can sit next to Porsche, be level with him, close to him, equal to him. He’s the one who asks about Porsche’s little brother.

Again, I go into the dialogue more in my vocal meta, but basically what he’s doing, as the scene goes on, is a form of mirroring. This is a way of echoing people’s speech patterns and mannerisms to make yourself seem more likeable to them. It’s a very natural, unconscious social behavior that we do from a young age. The fact that Kinn does it so much with Porsche is telling, because he doesn’t seem to do it much with anyone else. He’s used to being the one everyone else mirrors, being the star at the center of his solar system.

His body language, when he sits down next to Porsche, enhances this effect. His arms are again spread wide, legs uncrossed now, his head turning again and again to look sideways at Porsche, which in the process of trying to appear unaffected, makes him look even more affected. Porsche meanwhile keeps his arms at his sides or bent at the elbows against the upper seat, and he doesn’t turn his torso toward Kinn to talk.

Essentially, Kinn is trying every trick he knows to find intimacy with Porsche, not even physically but emotionally. And in doing so, he’s giving up some of his power. He’s letting Porsche in, despite his rational instincts telling him not to.

And then this dumbass, so easily pulled into Porsche’s orbit despite Porsche doing literally nothing to encourage him, starts nosing around Porsche’s love life. I’m gonna make fun of him for this forever, because it’s just so hamfisted and juvenile. “You being here doesn’t make your girlfriend angry?” “If you were a girl, would you like a guy like me?”

Absolutely humiliating and I hope when Porsche realizes later on what those questions were about, he teases the fuck out of him for it.

But his approach to Porsche, stupid as it is, shows that despite how confident he is in everything else, he’s really kind of shit at communicating in general, and even worse at flirting. He just can’t help himself. He gravitates toward Porsche. Even after seemingly finding some sense of closure on that kiss in the previous scene, he’s still giving into these little urges to know more about Porsche, to poke around for possibilities.

A little note: I don’t have room for a screenshot, but the first shot of the sauna scene has Kinn peering through a narrow glass window into the sauna. It makes him look smaller, surrounded on all sides by a fuckton of wood. I just think that’s interesting.

A second little note: When Porsche is staring at him, leaning in for a kiss to faceplant on his dick, Kinn doesn’t move away. He’s once again letting Porsche lead, hoping Porsche will make his own feelings clear somehow.

So I’m actually not gonna talk about the Kinn/Vegas pissing contest scene because while Kinn and Porsche are both present, I’m more interested in discussing how their dynamic is shifting just between themselves. Kinn behaves differently in this scene, much more like his usual self, because they’re not alone. If you want to hear a bit of my thoughts on the scene though, I do discuss it in my other two ep 4 metas (linked at the beginning of this post) a little more.

But I do want to talk about the scene above. Once again we see Kinn hiding, eavesdropping on Porsche’s interaction with someone else. We see him through all those little flecks of gold (once again, color theory taking over my brain lol) as he listens to Porsche tell Big off.

The thing is, why is he there? Why does he leave that guy (I’m calling him Angel since we don’t have a name for him yet) alone in his room to follow after Porsche? Is he planning on stopping Porsche, and if so, what for? To ask him if he’s okay with Kinn being gay, to scold him, to say it wasn’t what it looked like, or something else?

I don’t really have an explanation tbh, and maybe that’s intentional on the writers’ part. Maybe Kinn just had a gut reaction to follow Porsche, without knowing why. And by following him, once again he’s playing into that power shift, instinctively chasing after him to find out what he thinks and feels, concealing his presence when it means he can watch Porsche and potentially understand him better.

This scene is more about Porsche and establishing his lack of homophobia than moving Kinn in any particular direction, but it still tells us a little bit about Kinn. He hasn’t managed to smother that need to follow Porsche, to hear his thoughts and feelings.

We then jump from the “hiding in the curtains” scene into a scene with Pete and Porsche where Porsche realizes Kinn was the one he kissed. I think it’s interesting that he asks the question “Can two people who don’t like each other/aren’t a couple kiss?” (Something might be getting lost in translation here, as Porsche seems pretty well-versed in casual sex so it wouldn’t make sense for him to clutch his pearls over a kiss between two people who aren’t in love or a couple. I’m wondering if by “like” they just mean “are attracted to” or if it does connote Feels.)

That little scene sets us up for the shirt-off scene (I genuinely don’t know what else to call it lol). I know this has had a lot of people kind of confused and I personally got some questions about it (@ladyoftheinternet and @biochemjess​ are the ones I remember but I may be forgetting someone else).

I don’t know if I have any genius insights to offer lol, but I do think we can chalk up some of the tension in the first part of this scene to just straight-up awkwardness. I mean, the last time they saw each other Kinn just about had his dick in someone else’s mouth. I’d be a little awkward too the next time I saw him, no matter which character I was in that situation.

I do think it’s interesting that Kinn, when he first walks in, is very much inhabiting his usual self-assured, charismatic prince persona. He’s not bothered by Porsche knowing he’s gay, and he’s probably trying not to be awkward about what Porsche saw, so there’s a little bit of cover-up happening here too. I think we may be getting so used to him being different around Porsche, softer, more dynamic, less well-controlled, that when we see him stepping back into his typical aura and mannerisms, it feels wrong somehow, like a kind of tension or stiffness. If you compare the Kinn in the first part of this scene to the Kinn in episode 1, there isn’t much of a noticeable difference.

That’s how we know he’s lying through his teeth and with every part of his body.

I’d love to hear other people’s thoughts on what makes him feel the need to make that shift, to try and regain the upper hand with Porsche. I suspect there are a lot of different contributing factors here, such as:

Porsche saw him a little more vulnerable (crucially, without Kinn’s consent), talking about how he has something on his mind, seeing him shy away from kissing Angel.

He’s approaching Porsche now to inform him he’s been traded back to Kinn. We don’t know how that decision happened or what Kinn did to get him back, but I doubt Tankhun was easy to convince. So some of that emotional/mental journey from the bedroom scene to now might simply be missing.

This scene also reminds me a little of earlier by the pool, when Kinn is posturing and trying to seem nonchalant and in control in front of Porsche, all the while reeling inside. Kinn is a little more secure now, but as he said himself to Angel, something’s been bothering him. He’s just gotten better at hiding it from Porsche.

Interestingly, Kinn is once again approaching Porsche, seeking him out, even as he works to exude that usual power and ease. He enters the scene with the intent to treat Porsche like he would anyone else.

But Porsche isn’t on the same wavelength. He greets him casually, not like his boss, slumping and smiling a little self-deprecatingly, making a joke about Kinn always catching him lately. He’s ready to pick up where they left off in the sauna, comfortable and friendly.

When Kinn tells him to stand up in that firm, controlled tone, you can see the way Porsche shifts into a different mode, basically thinking, “Okay, so it’s like that now.”

When he takes his shirt off (after initially saying no, seemingly moreso out of confusion than anything else), he looks around to make sure they’re alone, but I don’t necessarily think he has Kinn making a pass at him on his bingo card in this moment. Taking his shirt off for his boss would look odd no matter what the context. I personally don’t read too much into it, but others may have more thoughts on it.

I want to talk about the body language here though. Porsche is being...shifty. When Kinn reaches out to touch his arm, he goes with it without resistance, but he can’t meet Kinn’s eyes. He’s looking everywhere but at Kinn’s face. Combine that with how his jaw is working, his torso going a little stiff so even as Kinn pulls him forward, he’s still not facing him directly.

He looks pissed off.

He got comfortable with Kinn, friendly with him, and now after remembering their kiss, he has a better idea of why Kinn’s been so off, even if he’s not really sure if what specifically is going through his mind. So with Kinn treating him like this, with distance and emphasis on the power imbalance between them, it confuses him further. If Kinn likes him, why would he treat him like this? If he wants him, why isn’t he doing something about it?

Porsche is waiting for Kinn to tell him what the kiss meant. And Kinn has been waiting for Porsche to tell him the exact same thing.

Porsche is understandably frustrated, and it shows. He keeps his body angled a little away from Kinn, posture loose and almost confrontational, agitated, his expression tense. He wants Kinn to explain himself, and instead all he sees is the Kinn who kidnapped him from Yok’s bar and choked him in front of a crowd of people to prove a point. He knows that Kinn and the one who kissed him on the pier don’t add up. But he also knows he can’t be the one to bring it up, not with how badly it could go for him as Kinn’s employee.

So he asks the only question he can ask: “If it weren’t for Tankhun, would you have taken me back?”

But let’s talk about Kinn. Like in the pool scene, even though he starts off controlled and distant, it’s an effort he can’t maintain for long. Over the course of the scene, he gradually grows more expressive, gets closer to Porsche, faces him directly.

Pay attention to Kinn’s microexpressions as he delivers the line above. Notice how he leans in. How his brows lift and pull together slightly. He’s stepping into Porsche’s space, putting his full focus on Porsche, speaking softly and almost intimately despite what he’s saying.

This isn’t him dismissing Porsche or putting him in his place. This look? Is him begging. When he says, “To me, all of our people are the same,” he’s not telling Porsche this. It’s more like he’s pleading with Porsche, with himself, for this to be true. He’s not holding power in this scene, despite his best efforts. He’s gravitating toward Porsche, his whole body oriented toward Porsche. He’s trying to push Porsche away, but only succeeds in bringing himself closer.

Porsche, meanwhile, is angled away. He’s keeping a distance that Kinn isn’t, acting almost aloof from him. He’s much more serious and muted in this moment than he has been previously, and even though he’s clearly confused over that kiss on the pier and Kinn’s potential attraction to him, he doesn’t understand his feelings yet, not the way Kinn understands (and continues to deny and reject) his. In this scene, Porsche holds the cards, even if he doesn’t fully know it yet. (He won’t know it until Kinn kisses him again.)

Why this all feels incredibly kinky

This post is getting stupidly long, literally longer than a lot of my college papers, so while I want to talk a little more about the ending, the scene-by-scene stops here. (Sadly I couldn’t even get to the Kinn/Tay/Time scene, but there’s some stuff there that could be unpacked too!)

The sex scene has been turned over and analyzed by a lot of brilliant people here, so I don’t think there’s anything I could say that hasn’t already been said much more eloquently. But I do want to end by thinking about how that sex scene provides a sort of breaking point or climax for the shift of power from Kinn to Porsche in this episode.

Another disclaimer: I’ve dabbled, but I wouldn’t consider myself part of the kink community, so while I do want to talk about what these shifting power dynamics mean in terms of Kinn and Porsche’s building D/s dynamic, I’m by no means an expert so I’m trying to stick to what I know. There are some amazing people on here who are way more knowledgeable about this so if you’ve talked about this or know someone who is, please lmk because I want to read aaaaall the meta on this. @lutawolf has some incredible insights about the D/s dynamic here, and I’m sure there are others I haven’t seen yet. And if there’s anything you see below that is incorrect or off-base, please reply or DM me and I’d be more than happy to delete/edit whatever it is.

It’s pretty apparent that Kinn and Porsche have the beginnings of a D/s dynamic unfolding between them. Kinn is constantly trying to put Porsche in his place, and Porsche is constantly acting out in ways to catch Kinn’s eye and keep his attention. The manhandling in the shirt-off scene, Porsche’s persistent needling about Kinn trading him away, and of course the sex scene itself, where Porsche basks in Kinn’s attention on him, soaking up all those touches and visibly craving that intimacy with Kinn. All of that is giving very kinky vibes and I’m sure it’ll only get more obvious as we go on.

So it might be a fair assumption to make, when I talk so much in this post about how Porsche is the one with the power in this ep, how he’s taking the lead in their relationship while Kinn follows, that I’m rejecting/downplaying that D/s dynamic or even trying to flip it. But I’m actually saying (or at least trying to say) the opposite.

Power in D/s is extremely layered and complicated. It’s not just about who’s in control of a scene or who takes the tangible lead or who’s on top or who’s giving orders etc etc etc. Power is ultimately, I would argue, in the submissive’s hands for the simple reason that they are the one consenting and submitting to control, and that consent can be withdrawn at any time. It’s a power exchange, yes, and of course has to be mutually consensual, but a good Dom sees control as a gift rather than a right, and understands the value of the trust and vulnerability being given to them. They pay attention to the sub’s needs (physical, emotional, mental) and base their actions around ensuring those needs are meet. It’s a big part of why submission can be so empowering, because at its core it means willingly surrendering control to someone else.

That’s all to say that while Porsche may hold more power in this episode and Kinn less, it’s a part of that early, unspoken negotiation of boundaries. Kinn doesn’t want to overstep. He’s giving up some of his power to Porsche, albeit not entirely realizing it, because he wants Porsche to set his limits, to determine where they go after that kiss. Kinn is already so confused by his own feelings, so out of his depth, that if he’s going to move forward, he needs Porsche to tell him how to do that.

It’s really…he’s just a really good Dom imo. (Or will be when he fully gets his shit together.) However you feel about that scene at the end, you can tell that Kinn is trying very hard to respect Porsche’s boundaries. He immediately withdraws his hands when Porsche slaps him away. He gives Porsche space while trying to take care of him because even if Porsche is flirting and openly making a pass at him, he has no way of knowing if it’s just because of the drug in his system or if it’s something he actually wants. He only gives in after Porsche brings up their kiss, because that’s what he’s been trying to ask for the entire episode. He realizes that Porsche is asking him for this fully aware of what they did, fully aware that it’s why Kinn’s been acting so strangely, and fully aware, finally, that he is the one holding all the cards right now.

And Kinn caves.

That’s what the entire episode has been building up to through this shifting power dynamic: Kinn being vulnerable, having his weak points poked at literally and figuratively. In this scene, he lets go, taking back some of his power just by virtue of being honest with himself and with Porsche for the first time.

I don’t think this shift will last long. I think, especially as we get into episode 5, that power is going to snap back hard in Kinn’s direction as he tries to regain control of his feelings and push Porsche away. I wouldn’t be surprised if what Porsche goes through in the next episode looks a lot like a prolonged, brutal subdrop, exacerbated by the trauma of what Vegas did.

Again, I’d love to read some more meta on this from people in the kink community, and if you do see anything above that is wrong/needs clarification, please let me know.

***

Okay, I really think I’ve rambled on WAY too long at this point. This is an absolute monster of a post that totally got away from me and I hope the other episodes are a little less interesting because the amount of thoughts I have about episode 4 is kind of bananas. Please feel free to add your thoughts because I know there’s still SO much stuff I missed and I’d love to hear everyone’s interpretations of what went down (the meta this week has been crazy and yet somehow I still need more 😭).

#kinnporsche #meta #HOW did I write that many words this is so dumb

[roipecheur]

ok so this is long so obv it's your prerogative to ignore if you want! i have kind of a random question for you about frank and his characterization in the netflix verse if you're interested (no pressure if you aren't). first of all, i want to preface this by saying that i do love frank and find him fascinating but one thing i find kind of interesting is the show's attitude toward his wife maria and the way frank interacts with children/the memory of his children and wife throughout daredevil and the punisher. because i see him characterized as a good dad and husband a lot and the thing is that it seems almost unintendedly implied that he...wasn't? in a really interesting, fun way that i don't think was entirely on purpose. and i think that this reading actually adds a lot to frank's feelings of guilt and loss and regret (i also think it ties in really well with the concept of frank's ability to be read as a repressed bisexual or gay man). it's like the more i learn about frank's marriage in snippets from the show the more i wonder if it was destined to fail naturally anyway, like there was a major disconnect between frank's fantasy of his own family while he was away and the actual reality of being a husband and father. this isn't to say that i think frank didn't love his family because it's clear he did, or that his ptsd and prolonged absences didn't have a huge impact on his actions and abilities off-duty. ultimately tho it kind of seemed to me that there is this underlying implication of friction between frank's nature, his choices, and his family life. and yet frank clearly does fundamentally crave connection and kindness, and i think he truly was happy with his life, but his relationship to being soft/soft things in general is labyrinthine and full of pit falls. he all but says that he kept choosing to go back to war. and i wonder if it was actually enough for maria, diegetically. also this may be an unpopular opinion and also possibly sacrilegious to say in the Loving Frank Castle Community but his interactions with children in the netflix verse will sometimes get uncomfortably violent and while i really truly don't think frank is abusive in that way ever, it does make me question his functionality as a parent. anyway, these are just some thoughts i had while rewatching the punisher and was wondering if you had a different perspective, especially as someone who has written multiple stories where frank finds love again with matt, someone who is uniquely suited to satisfy both the violence frank surrounds himself with and the softness frank often finds himself attracted to

I have it on my eventual comics to-read list to go through all of Frank's 616 appearances and make a post about his characterization re: the war, its impact on is psyche, and his relationship with his family. But that will be a much longer post, and this has sat in my ask box long enough, so let's get to it.

I had major issues with the last Punisher run specifically because it retconned Frank's backstory so he was always destined to become the Punisher and would have left his family to do that anyway even if they had lived. To me, it completely removes the significance of both his time in the Marines and his family's death, and those two things together are like the sum total as who Frank is as a character. If the Punisher isn't a character who got so fucked up by the Violence of War that creating a new war and never-ending cycle of violence became his only response to grief, then what is the point of him?

Earlier comics, imo, actually go too far in the other direction. In the Punisher and Punisher: War Journal runs from the late '80s, Frank was a decorated war hero with nothing wrong with him until that day in the park where his family got murdered. In 616, they died because they stumbled on a mob-style execution, and Frank subsequently enacted revenge on any "criminals" that he could find. His comics in that era especially feature a hyperbolic version of gangsters, drug runners, and dangerous characters waiting on every corner. Frank can't go for Chinese food without stumbling across another criminal plot and more targets for his vigilante justice.

This is of course not unusual to comics in general; wandering around the streets looking for crime and finding it nightly is a premise of most "street-level" superhero comics. It's what keeps Daredevil in business as well as Batman and co. over at DC. This is definitely also copaganda--and it's amusing to me that the Punisher has become a police symbol when Daredevil comics simp way harder for the cops--but the Punisher in the late '80s and early '90s has a more explicit and conservative bent. Criminals get away from cops who are incompetent or drowning in red tape, or they go free due to lenient courts. When they do, they inevitably go on wild crime sprees that prove they were always irredeemable and were always going to hurt and kill more "innocent" people. Frank takes care of this by stopping them permanently--which, it's implied, should have been done a long time ago.

(Not necessarily by cops, though. Cops who take on Frank's brand of justice are not portrayed well in comics, which is an interesting phenomenon that deserves its own post.)

Essentially (getting to the point), this older version of Frank is portrayed as having an extreme, but not completely unreasonable, view on dealing with crime. It's the world that has something wrong with it more than Frank having something wrong with him--though it's not that he's never criticized or forced to ask whether he's doing the right thing. This Frank also frequently expresses conservative views. Before casting was finished for the 1989 movie, fans wrote in with who they'd like to play him. A popular choice was, I shit you not, Ronald fucking Reagan.

Honestly...I think what they did Netflix!Frank is a vast improvement over both late '80s/early '90s and current 616. In the cemetery scene in DD S2, he talks about how he came back from the war depressed and clearly had no support or even the language to describe what he was experiencing--"Do you ever get tired, Red?" We meet Schoonover, the guy who taught Frank "one shot, one kill" and knew him before he ever held a gun. There's this glimpse of Frank before the war and this implication of how it changed him that we don't get in 616. Yeah, the 2022 Punisher run had flashbacks to Frank's childhood, but only to show that he was always violent and destined to become the Punisher...which I've already said I think is stupid. Schoonover also provides testimony at Frank's trial where he talks about the "heroic" act of killing like 50 men in one night overseas, and the line from that to the criminal act of killing a similar number of people on American soil practically smacks you in the face. Rather than a random mob killing, it was Frank's own fellow Marines who helped kill his family. The war literally followed him home.

The war fucked Frank up. It taught him violence and made him a very efficient killer, and the Punisher would not be possible without that background, no ancient demons or evil priestesses necessary. He also, and I think this is equally important to his character, deeply and unequivocally loved his family. That doesn't mean he was good at loving his family. I do think you're right in that he had an idealized version of them after their deaths, and that he could be violent to or around his children. Violence in the name of "disciplining" a child is also heavily normalized in our society and violent "discipline" is also used in the military, so I don't think it's beyond the pale to imagine Frank resorting to this, especially in anger. I don't think he beat his kids, and even if he didn't hit them at all, I think he definitely would have screamed and slammed things around in a way that would have been traumatic in its own right.

But I do think he loved Maria and his children, and I don't think he would have ever willingly left him if they had lived. It's possible Maria would have left Frank or threatened to if it got bad enough--but I think if she didn't get through to him before that, the threat of divorce would convince him it's serious, and he'd do whatever it took to save his marriage. In short, I think Frank's life was split between love/comfort/home and pain/violence/war, and he lost the first thing entirely when his family died. I don't think their deaths just gave him an excuse for what he was going to do anyway. It's a better tragedy if Frank did have a chance of getting better and was climbing up towards the light, hand over bloody hand, and then lost that in the most horrible, violent way possible.

Could he be bi or gay? Marvel has teased at him liking men--there's that one Wolverine comic where Frank's got male pinup magazines, and there's whatever the fuck this is. However, my interpretation is that he definitely did love and was in love with his wife. I think that if Frank realized he was attracted to men while in the Marines, he probably compartmentalized it as something he didn't have the time to worry about, and then he met Maria and got married. That repression could have resulted in some stress compounded with the cocktail of other issues swirling around inside Frank's head, but I really don't see him as the sort to agonize about that in particular.

Frank is a complicated character, and like many long-term comics characters, there are different versions and retcons of him. There is also only so far Marvel writers can criticize the military or combat the genre's inherent copaganda, even if they wanted to. You can have corrupt cops and corrupt military officials for the heroes to fight, but you can't criticize the system overall or show that the only solution is to tear it all down. You can use Frank as a critique of how the military works and the damage it does and how it fails veterans--but you can only take it so far. That often leaves us with stories that fall short of the themes and messages they're trying to get across, and leaves us the work of reading between the lines.

#asks #frank castle #this took literally months to answer but my life was insane this year sorry ✌

[steveharrington]

with the full knowledge that they probably won’t get the best endings bc the duffers don’t know what to do with their own characters, what would your ideal endings be for the st main characters? or like at least the ones you care about? like in an ideal world

this is so fun i’m gonna do as many as i can think of <3 i don’t think the duffers are gonna do a Huge time jump at the end of the series (i could b wrong) so i’m just gonna base these on like roughly anytime in the next year after s4

steve: ideally steve would not be in a romantic relationship and completely satisfied with this outcome. i’m not saying he should like Never get his little domestic dream but i think he needs some time to focus on himself instead of constantly weighing his self worth based on whether or not he’s romantically valued. i also think it would be nice if he found something that gave him fulfillment whether it be a specific job or hobby or even just like continuing to be best friends forever with robin <3

robin: i wouldn’t mind if she ended up with vickie because i genuinely like the way their relationship has been set up, but if she was single by the end too i’d be okay with that. mostly i want robin to get out of hawkins and meet other gay people and find a community where she doesn’t feel like an outsider. maybe make some weird art. and to continue being best friends forever with steve <3

nancy: i’m begging on my hands and knees for nancy to end the show single. i think she gravitates towards relationships because they feel safe to her, but she’s ultimately unsatisfied because she has goals and aspirations that don’t necessarily fit with steve/jonathan and i think she needs to just focus on herself without having to factor someone else into the equation. i think she should go to school for journalism, maybe start some kinda nonprofit, and help barb’s parents get their house back after murray SCAMMED their asses

jonathan: honestly i just want jonathan to have like….someone who acts as a consistent emotional support. doesn’t matter who it can be argyle it can be nancy in a platonic sense i just want him to be given the space to express his feelings without them always taking a backseat to someone else. i think a fun career for him would be music journalism

argyle: we don’t know shit about his personal life or his background but i just want him to be able to return to his life pre-vecna without too much trauma <3 like obv i want that for everyone but argyle especially is so happy go lucky and it would be so sad if he lost his vibes

max: god please i just want her to be happy and have peace. i want her to stay with lucas, romantically or platonically idrc i just want them to be Together in some sense and i want her to feel safe and happy that’s all i ask

lucas: same as above AND i want lucas to get to fully explore his identity with actual genuine support from his friends. i can see him going through high school trying a little bit of every club and hobby and group and i want him to just like grow into himself and have the freedom to do that <3

dustin: again happiness and safety PLEASE also idk how to explain this but i want dustin to like…lower his guard. i feel like in s1 & 2 he was much more trusting and had more faith in people vs s3 & 4 where he’s just constantly assuming that his friends are like incapable of doing anything? i know it’s just bad writing for bad jokes but i’m choosing to believe it’s his defense mechanism and his way of dealing with trauma by being like “well luckily i’m a genius and i’ll fix everything >:)” and i want him to like let go of that and be more carefree again

el: again this applies to all of them but for el especially i want her to have stability and to feel safe. i want her to get the family and home she craves so badly with joyce and hopper and jonathan and will, and i want her to get to try things out and shape an identity kinda like lucas. i want her to have a little bedroom where she can try out new hobbies and not have to worry about packing up because someone died again

mike: honestly this is the toughest for me to envision and i don’t really know why? like obv i want him to be happy feel safe etc but i can’t think of anything like Concrete for mike’s ending that i absolutely want to see. maybe just permanently reunited with his friends idk

will: i want willy b to feel comfortable and find joy in being gay and also come out to joyce <3 and maybe hopper <3 idk i want will’s story to go back to his family, the way it started, and for him to realize that he’s still very young and mike’s feelings don’t have to determine his personal happiness and i feel like the best way for him to reach this conclusion is just by knowing that his mom and brother will always have his back

erica: ugh god i want her to like finish middle school unscathed 😭 the writers ignore her feelings so much so it would be nice if for Once they let her acknowledge what she’s been through maybe via a conversation with lucas. idk why but out of all the characters i can really See erica getting therapy skdndnc like i think she’d enjoy it <3

joyce: lord idk i want joyce to somehow know with certainty that everything is Over and that she doesn’t have to be on alert anymore. that’s probably not plausible given the nature of the story and the fact that she’s naturally always going to look over her shoulder BUT i would be ecstatic if the ending somehow gave her this 100% surety that it was officially over

hopper: i just fucking want him to be el’s dad man <3 i want him to take her fishing and get her a pet cat and help her with homework at the table and do a bad job wrapping presents on her birthday like i just want him to live out the rest of his life with his #1 priority always being el <3

murray: in jail for scamming the hollands out of their house

#this is longggg sorry i have a lot of thoughts #i don’t Think i forgot anyone but it’s late and i kept getting distracted while writing this so i may have #answered #anon #long post

[roobylavender]

in terms of character deaths i know youve spoken about bruces death but who else do you think will also pass for a reason other than old age and how will they die? in my head everyone lives (except technically jason who then obv gets revived) in order to see bruce die because i want them to grapple with that <3 but thinking about a batkid dying early as well is too painful…. even though its definitely more realistic

i'm sure this is a severely unpopular opinion but if we're talking about the bats specifically i think for jason's death to have any kind of gravitas it has to be the only one of its nature. which is to say that it has to be the defining moment for bruce through which he realizes he can't prioritize the emotional whims of a child over their actual safety. and i think that's still something you can rationalize tim's subsequent indoctrination—for lack of a better word—within bc at the moment tim becomes robin it's not that bruce doesn’t recognize that tim is delusional—he does—but that everyone around him believes tim is rational in comparison. which is a bit silly bc anyone looks rational compared to bruce following jason’s death. he’s in a crazed state of grief letting himself get beat up all around town. and obv that situation changes over time and bruce processes his grief about jason and his own inability to save people, and that presumably sets him up to be.. somewhat more sensible. enough that he starts to visibly care about the impact of being robin on tim's personal life regardless of how the latter actually reacts to that interest (eg blowing up at bruce when he tells steph his secret identity). in an ideal world that leads to a tim retirement arc bc there really is no way to rationalize him being robin. he doesn't need to be robin. that's never been true. the takeaway from his 90s arc regardless of however chuck dixon (or anyone else) wants to rationalize it is unmistakably that entrusting robin to a kid as some kind of legacy deal that comes packaged with being batman is absolutely absurd and it has to end. permanently. that much i agree with starlin on albeit for obv wildly distinct reasons and to different ultimate effect

but to circle back to the original point. all of this is to say that i don't think tim should die, nor damian, nor cass, nor steph, nor anyone really. cass and steph i don't treat the same as robin bc there are very distinct reasons as to why they do what they do. spoiler is to steph the way robin is to dick in that they are distinct identities birthed of their own experiences (which is why i am personally neither a fan of steph being robin nor batgirl). cass is a legacy character in the truest sense of the word in that it's less about trying to stick someone into a mold where they won't fit (robin) and more about truly rising to the occasion of espousing the same principles and values as your predecessor bc of shared experiences and subsequently birthed ideology. there's not really a narrative purpose to killing either of them if that's understood about their characters

the idea of bruce dying an early death stems from the fact that he carries too much of the burden on his own shoulders and it is realistically not possible for him to do that forever. it’s likely denny o’neil understood as much when he posited the idea. but the kids’ circumstances should be different. in an ideal world where the purpose of the batman mythos isn’t to drive its every character into an inescapable prison of everlasting trauma, there's every reason that the kids should get to live in comparison. and if anything an early death for bruce should only emphasize on that further, bc they won’t make the same mistakes he did

#i will say outside the scope of the kids i do like the idea of talia dying. like with the romeo and juliet symbolism #but other than that i don't think it's really necessary for anyone #outbox