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#like my commitment issues activate if i call it that too early
strawberry-jan · 6 months
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I wrote an endnote to one of my fics that ended up being so long and spoiler-heavy that I had to exile a big chunk of it to my tumblr - so here you go: a big ol' Effort Post about the history and fictional history of your guy and mine, Ishin Wagi.
If you haven't finished Ishin, you probably shouldn't click to read the post under the cut, as it contains big endgame spoilers.
In contrast with Inoue Genzaburo — who’s portrayed in Ishin and other media as a serious, level-headed sort of guy — Serizawa Kamo was a heavy drinker with an infamously short temper. He was born in Mito and, like Sakamoto Ryoma, he was a member of the goshi class, though it should be noted that the extreme discrimination that we see Ryoma experiencing in-game is pretty specific to Tosa’s goshi; Serizawa wasn’t particularly poorly off. Also like Ryoma, Serizawa was involved in shishi activities: he was a member of the Tengu Party, an anti-foreigner political group whose members committed various acts of violent rebellion, including the 1860 assassination of Ii Naosuke (a high-ranking official in the Tokugawa shogunate whose death comes up in letters that you can find in Ishin Kiwami). Serizawa didn’t participate in the assassination, but between his ties to the Tengu Party and an incident in which he executed several of his subordinates for no good reason, he ended up in prison, where he assumed he’d be executed in turn. While there, Serizawa was said to have written a poem with his own blood on a piece of scrap cloth: “In the snow and frost, the plum blossom is the first to bloom in brilliant colours; its fragrance lingers even after the petals have scattered.”
In late 1862, Serizawa was released from prison. By early 1863 (and here I’m skimming over a lot of historical context) Serizawa had joined up with Kondo Isami as a member of the Mibu Roshigumi: the precursor to the Shinsengumi, so called because they were a bunch of ronin whose headquarters were originally in Mibu. They worked under the patronage of the Aizu clan; one of Serizawa’s brothers may have had connections to the clan, which Serizawa and Kondo might have leveraged to gain support for their organization. As a commander, Serizawa was kind of a disgrace by most accounts: among other offenses, he was responsible for wrecking a restaurant in a drunken rage and destroying a silk merchant’s shop with a cannon. Most importantly for my purposes, he was allegedly the man who picked a fight with a bunch of sumo wrestlers in the streets of Osaka.*
Serizawa was murdered in 1863, and there are various theories as to why. It’s popularly assumed that the guy was just a huge bastard who was too out-of-control to hold down his job, and that Hijikata and several other members of the organization killed him accordingly. Another theory that you’ll see sometimes is that while his familial connections were useful, Serizawa himself was a liability whom his companions discarded as soon as they felt secure in doing so. Under this theory, the issue wasn’t so much that he was badly behaved (though this probably didn’t help); it was more that he had his own little faction of men who went around looking down on the others and calling Serizawa “sensei,” and that Serizawa had ties to Mito, which remained a hotbed of seditious activity. (In fact, in 1864, civil war would break out in Mito as the Tengu Party staged an armed rebellion against the shogunate.)
I understand why Ishin’s writers dropped most of Serizawa’s history. It’s complicated, it’s not directly relevant to Ryoma’s story, and Inoue is a secondary character who’s meant (like his mainline counterpart) to come across as a superlatively loyal mentor figure and not as a belligerent asshole. But it’s interesting, in that context, that the writers went out of their way to allude to Serizawa’s history in weird ways. In-game, Serizawa is described as “a living shadow from the Mito domain” — which, okay, you could indeed describe the historical Serizawa that way, given that he narrowly escaped execution and then left Mito to join the Roshigumi. But he’s also described as a wandering bandit who took Hirayama and Hirama under his wing before meeting Kondo in Kyoto, which doesn’t particularly fit with history. Okita — our Okita, the fake one, lol — also says that the three of them committed dappan and were promised a pardon by the Mito domain if Serizawa assassinated Yoshida Toyo, which also has no basis in historical reality but which does make him an accessory to the big players’ nasty schemes for a comprehensible reason. Finally, Serizawa’s school of swordsmanship is referred to as “Mito Tengu” despite the fact that, historically, Serizawa trained in the Shindo Munen school. Conveniently, Ishin’s writers managed to skip over Serizawa’s awfulness on a personal level and to avoid depicting the character in the game as a prominent (and very willing) member of a violently xenophobic political group. I’m listing all of these oddities not to make a judgement about the whitewashing of history, but because it's interesting to me that what did end up in the game is there at all: the writers didn’t need to, but they established a connection between Serizawa, the Tengu Party, and the shishi more broadly anyhow.
Of course, I have the brain disease that makes me latch onto minor characters for no good reason and will therefore take whatever little crumbs of Ishin Kashiwagi I can get. Still, typing all of this up made me think about the missed opportunities here. I would have loved to see the writers do more with some version of Serizawa who was a little less of a bastard but who still committed himself to the shishi’s cause in his Mito days and then grew disillusioned with that cause during his stay in prison and his time with the Mibu Roshigumi. It’s a neat point of sympathy between Inoue and Ryoma, who finds himself similarly chewed up and spat out by the Tosa Loyalist Party in the game. That connection lends gravity to Inoue’s decision to tattle on Ryoma to Kondo but also to keep covering for the guy every time he says or does something transparently suspicious. They might be, in a sense, kindred spirits.
It felt too tangential to delve too much into all of this stuff in my Ishin fics, but you can imagine this sense of sympathy lying behind Inoue’s actions throughout Chapter 4 of Secret History &c. (as well as in his little sequence in Chapter 2 of Glorious and Bloody Deeds &c.). You can also imagine that some of the big shishi conspirators in this story would have known about Serizawa’s origins in Mito with the Tengu Party — it was no big secret — and that they would have been appalled by his new allegiances but also suspicious that he had died because of his old ones. It’s also pretty reasonable to assume that the big Choshu players would have some sense of Saito’s identity, given that Hanpeita and Katsura are allies in Ishin’s version of events. Of course, I also think that our Ryoma wouldn’t know shit about any of this and would absolutely respond like, huhh? whaaaa??? to any/all allusions to the complicated politics behind all these stories. If you’re in a state of perpetual confusion about people and politics while playing Ishin, you’re just doing a great job of role-playing Bakumatsu Kiryu.
Anyway, nearly everything I write is turbo horny and my Ishin fics are no exception, so please don’t read them at work, but they’re very much about the stories men tell about themselves and others, and I think if all this stuff interests you, you might find the yarns I’ve spun interesting as well.
* This is another event that’s mentioned in passing in an in-game letter that was added to Ishin Kiwami, and whatever my feelings about that remake might be, I think all the letters and notes are a brilliant addition; I was tickled to see a reference to this incident show up! Historically, the Big Sumo Brawl happened well before 1867 and it had nothing to do with the events covered in Ishin, so please understand that when I’m writing about it in my fic, I’m mashing events together and playing around with a big Bakumatsu sandbox in a way that I think feels true to the game’s style of writing. I thought it would be funny to have Inoue lay claim to the act when he wasn’t even on the scene; it brings the story in line with history, but in the stupidest possible way. (Also, I submit to you that the smut is practically canon-compliant and likely historically accurate. :V)
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directactionforhope · 2 months
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Go Here for Instructions on How to Submit Posts!
And go here for an example.
Submissions limit of 5 posts per person each week, please!
Otherwise, unfortunately, I'll get too overwhelmed by the submissions volume to post anything. Thank you for your understanding!
Me and the Basics
Call me Cactus! They/them, late twenties.
I'm the person who runs the Reasons for Hope tumblr.
This is a sideblog-to-a-sideblog for Reasons for Hope, because I want to promote actions and spread awareness for things that don't always fit on a good news blog specifically
For context: Queer, trans, disabled, white, USian, for context.
Let me know if I post something offensive, I promise I have practice fixing things when I mess up instead of lashing out at the person who told me. I don't want to post hurtful things, so I genuinely want to always learn more about how to not do that, even when it's uncomfortable.
This is all very long because I'm still incapable of being concise.
About This Blog
Made this blog because I keep wanting to reblog or post about actions people can take, but didn't want to put them on Reasons for Hope unless they were actually mostly good news.
As a person who's Been There with spiraling, I really get the need to have access to a space that you know will contain good news and ONLY good news, in this day and age.
Also made it because I have Opinions and want to talk about Issues and activism and I'm committed to not doing that on my good news blog unless it involves, again, actual good news.
So, follow if you want! I definitely invite people to send in actions (links to campaigns/petitions/major protests/letter writing campaigns/etc.) specifically as submissions. I'll put up a how-to and link it here at some point, bc I've learned from Reasons for Hope that if they're in ask format I won't usually have the time/energy to reformat that/make it into a post.
(Sorry to people who've sent asks in on there, you're great. I'll switch to a submissions-based attempted system there too once I get the chance. May be a minute, I'm about to start a new job(!!).
My Editorial Standards
My usual editorial standards from Reasons for Hope apply, modified for this sort of blog:
Any donation-related posts/submissions need to be from some kind of established organization. It can be super grassroots etc. but I need to be able to verify that it's not a scam.
For that reason, no personal fundraisers/gofundmes. I'm genuinely sorry about this because I know a lot of people need the help but like I say on Reasons for Hope, there's no way to truly vet the vast majority of those posts, and I really don't have the time to try.
I'll come up with some sort of tag to put on all the particularly upsetting/fucked content so people can filter it and just see the action posts. Preferably something unique so it doesn't screen out other people's posts if you want to filter
More below:
I'll also have a tag for any particularly upsetting/fucked informational/educational things I post, because I do want to help spread awareness about a number of things, some of which will be pretty upsetting.
That said, I'll try to keep those informational posts only to things that are solutions-focused and/or have an element of good news or hopeful updates, where possible.
I'll also keep most of those posts behind a read-more where possible.
For more info about why I'm including that stuff, see the bottom of this post.
I will not post any campaigns or actions for reelecting Joe Biden until either the genocide in Gaza ends, or until September 1, 2024 (the month early voting starts).
Why do I have that policy? Because Joe Biden is absolutely committing war crimes, but Donald Trump would still, in fact be worse, for the US in general, for BIPOC in the US in particular, and for Palestinians/Gaza. I made a post about this with more details that I'll link here at some point.
Everything is going to be labeled with the link's source, the organization running it, the date posted (if identifiable), and the dates of the campaign/campaign deadline.
Re: Posting bad news here
I've been thinking about starting this sideblog-to-a-sideblog for a while now, because there are a lot of actions/campaigns/etc. that I really wanted to help promote, but did not want to put on Reasons for Hope, because I'm trying really hard to keep that limited to actual, you know, reasons for hope.
That said, I will be including upsetting stuff here. It will have its own tag for people to filter if they only want to see the links to actions. But I am committed to including it.
More below the read more, because this got longwinded and a bit personal:
That's partly because there are a lot of issues that very people know about, and I believe a lot in the power of spreading knowledge/awareness.
It's also because of the reason I finally stopped pondering and decided to start this blog: I just found out tonight that my grandfather died young because of toxic radiation from a nuclear meltdown at a super dangerous and experimental nuclear reactor, which the US government covered up completely and continued operating for decades. Right next to Los Angeles. btw.
If you live in or near Simi Valley, Chatsworth, or the West San Fernando Valley, or your parents did, get high-risk-level-appropriate cancer screenings. And if you're in Simi or within like 5 miles of it...probably don't drink the tap water. Also maybe try to move. (Consulting with a public health scientist/activist friend about this, will report back.)
I was already anti-nuclear, including anti-nuclear power, because of the absolute devastation it's done, especially to Indigenous communities and Japanese civilians. I didn't want to get into it on Reasons for Hope because of the whole "urgency of climate change" thing. But suffice to say that being anti-nuclear just shot very far up my "activism priorities" list.
None of this, or any other horrific things I may post about, conflict with or ruin my faith in humanity. I've definitely been incredibly pessimistic and misanthropic in my life.
But I believe that, for all the bad and evil things humans do, there is equal or greater potential for good. I believe it's like they say: "Hurt people hurt people." That's not the case always, but it is very often. Now, for the first time in history, we have the physical ability to end starvation and scarcity and a lot of death and suffering. We're still getting there, though we still have a long way to go.
I believe in a future where we can all hurt each other (and the other life around us) far less. I believe in a future where we have beaten and reserved at climate change.
I want to live to see that future, and I want all of you to get the chance to see it with me.
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catgriffin · 26 days
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Just saw your post in the tag about the Vees being "irredeemable" and I'm curious as to why you feel that way. It's a pretty common sentiment so you have company, I just personally struggle to see the justification for it especially in a show where the main theme is that anyone can be redeemed/deserves a second chance (or at least that is Charlie's goal).
We know that 1.) Charlie wanted to spare Adam, an angel that had been committing a devastating genocide against her people for decades, 2.) Charlie tries to see the good in Alastor even though he's a psychopathic cannibal that she recognizes isn't completely on board with her goals (and actively participates in the oppressive soul ownership system) and 3.) Charlie forgave Vaggie who actively participated in the genocide against her people. I'd argue Angel Dust and Pentious are far more sympathetic characters (to both us, the audience, and Charlie herself) since we are told virtually nothing about their crimes that landed them in Hell and we meet them when they're both at their lowest.
While I understand everyone has their favorites and the show likely isn't interested in exploring its central theme too deeply, I do think it would be such a missed opportunity not to have Charlie confronted with the hypocrisy of offering salvation to some but not all - to stumble in her beliefs and be forced to claim some people are "irredeemable". What does that arbitrary determination criteria look like to her? How is she equipped to make those decisions?
And, if the criteria to get into Heaven, isn't to actually confront your past and current life but rather sacrifice yourself for others (based on Pentious and his ascension) then that's absolutely (in my opinion) something the Vees would be capable of. If Charlie can look past the crimes of Adam and Alastor and offer them grace then she should be capable of doing that for characters like Vox, Velvette, and even Valentino.
I personally think it would add a lot to Charlie's character if she had to actually stand firmly in her convictions that every sinner has the capacity to change OR for her to grapple with the fact she is biased and her ideology is inherently flawed.
But those are just my thoughts. Like I said, I see "the Vees are irredeemable" get echoed quite a bit but am always curious where it stems from. I think there are a lot of good arguments to be made, but the setting/core theme of the show really challenges them (for me anyway). I think a bigger issue you'd run into is certain characters not wanting redemption at all, but with some plot adjustment I think you could make it work since so many of the characters are still blank slates this early on. And I hope it goes without saying but I'm not excusing the actions of any of these characters, simply challenging the idea of who is really "irredeemable" in a show where every single person is bad and they are already in "Hell" facing judgment for their transgressions.
Always an interesting topic and hope you don't see it as an attack or anything.
I appreciate that you asked this in a nice way, people often get very upset over it. Vox is actually one of my favorite characters. And if any of the vees were to get redeemed I think it'd be him. He is desperate to love, he loved alastor and now chases Valentino. And if sacrifice truly is the way to get to heaven, I can't really see Valentino being the one to sacrifice himself. At least, not how he currently is. I don't know enough about velvette to make a correct assumption. And to be fair we don't truly know how vox feels about angel. He may have called him a wh*re because he was trying to relate and calm down Valentino in that moment.
The only reason I feel they can't be redeemed is because they have the same mindset alastor currently does:
1) redemption isn't possible
2) I dont want to go to heaven if it was
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linannsty · 2 years
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dating hc’s | Toji, Gojo
sfw, but 18+
Gojo is a man, who used to went alone through the life, especially, when it comes to romantic relationship. He is actually enjoying being free, and not belong to anyone in this life, even in his life there are a lot of people who wanted to be with him, in romantic, or sexual way, but it’s hard for him being really attracted to anyone, and not losing his interest pretty quickly. But if it’s happened somehow, and he fell for someone, this “relationships” won’t be healthy, for you.
I imagine, that at the first stage of dating with him, he will actively show interest, because you are a new person, who came to his life, he would like to know you, so he will always be there with you, asking you out, wanting to spend time with you. In my opinion, he aren’t this type of man, who will beautiful courting you, buying you gifts, flowers all the time. Yes, he can brought some flowers to your date nights, but it will be a rare thing. And not because he is greedy, or something, I think, that he just doesn’t consider it necessary to do. A meetings with him would be rarely, he can invite you to go somewhere, a coffee dates, to drink tea at his flat, going to some restaurant, and then ride to his home.
But he is type of men, you will never be bored with. And not because he is just funny, but relationships with him are just rollercoaster, an emotional swings, he would be there for you, and then you will just get ignored, or get ‘I’m busy’ message, he could just disappear from your life for a weeks, and then come back acting like nothing happened, but if you will start telling him, he will just told you about his work, and will just change the topic. Satoru aren’t a drama men, he won’t have a fights with you, especially, he will never start anything first, usually it would be you the one who began, but yk he just doesn’t take relationships, and maybe you, seriously, so it will be just your monologue. You will be annoyed by how frivolous he is, why he can’t listening to you? He didn’t care about you? Maybe. Actually, It’s hard for him to show his love to anyone, he aren’t the one, who will pour a beautiful, sweet words to you. He may got a feelings for you, but he just don’t know how to show it, or is he even supposed to do it? But he don’t want to show you that he need you, so it’s better to stay quiet. So maybe that’s why he will never try to control you, never will call you or text, asking where are you now, with who and etc.
I think that he never used to be in serious commitment relationships, it was just some datings, hookups, and nothing serious, long-term. I can’t imagine him as husband, because to me, he is unstable men, who will always seeking for something new in his life. I don’t think he will cheat in relationship, if he will find somebody else, he will just leave you. But he will hardly play with you, and your nerves, unconsciously, of course.
He won’t let you get closer to him, and knowing his real self, because to me, he got some commitment issues. You are just a temporary entertainment, so there’s no needs for this. Being with him, is just like sitting on a powder keg, you never know what expect from him.
Toji is the worst option to be in relationship with. Yeah, he will never want something serious, he doesn’t see you as his future wife, because his ex already broke his heart, so he will just use you. (Actually, aren’t it’s a canon that he is using a woman’s money, so technically he is some type of gigolo or gold digger idk how to say more correct). Also, I always thought that he usually dates some older rich woman.
But anyway, Toji is a man, who will always make a first moves to you, because first of all, he is older and got more experience with woman, so he know what he is supposed to do, to make you fall for him, to dragged you to his bed. So he will call you, and never texting, because he is too old for that [I imagine him in his early 30-s usually] Asking how are you, how is your day, and then he would switch the topic to sex, because, actually I can’t believe that he can be interested in someone soul or personality, so yeah. Despite we all know, that toji is a material man, and he is in love with money, I feel like he is greedy, at least when it comes to dating. He would take you on a date, and pay for a bills, but he would expect you to give him in exchange. And the same thing with gifts. He aren’t a romantic type of man, so don’t expect from him some sweet words, a gifts for nothing, just to empress you, he know he could just ‘buy’ you, so why he should do anything for you just for an attention? He will expect you to ‘pay’ him with your body.
Actually, I don’t think that Toji would be loyal to anyone, even if you are just dating, he would have another side chicks. He will cheat, always, even if you will be married, he will never be only yours. Also, I feel like Toji is that type of man, who will say a shit like “But I’m a man, I need do have another woman too, it’s just a nature”. But he would expect be loyal to him, because he can fuck another girls, but you can’t even talk to other man, a whore. He will call you, always asking where are you, send me your location, he will be trying to control you, because you are only his now. But you know, Toji ain’t no a player, he wouldn’t disappear for a weeks, and then come back. If he busy, he would say to you, and when he will have time, he will call you.
He would take you to a hotel for a date, and only to hotel, because we all know why, to spend a night with you, and then leave in the morning when you still sleep, because he got an other things to do; he is a busy man, at the end of the day.
Thank you for reading :)
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I’m laughing/crying at the spy x family feligami AU. It’s so interesting because in a way it’s better and also worse 😂😂😂
Like, Felix also refuses to admit he cares and is often a manipulative ass like our favourite super spy. Except Loid is at the end of the day is a very easy to read tsundere who is overwhelmingly vanilla. Felix is 200% more ruthless than him and 500% harder to read so he’s definitely much more of a threat. I wonder if he’d have a higher or lower mission success rate because of his arrogant judgement calls? He’s a worse team player than Loid so he’d have to be burned several times before he started to properly rely on others. Even so, Felix still has his soft and humanising moments that can make you see the vanilla frosting hidden deep, deep under the 200 layers of puppet master cake.
Meanwhile, Kagami has her ruthless justice side just like Yor, and I can 100% see her committing to an ideology where you need to break a few eggs to make an omelette and she might as well be the one to break them For The Greater Good. Except Yor is so much more soft and vulnerable than Kagami, who is much thornier (the irony!) and doesn’t let her weak side show very often and I imagine that makes it a bit harder to get on with her at first. But at the end of the day, Kagami is just as kind as Yor is, even if her manner may be brusque, and I think in a way she’s also just as insecure - if not more. Yor’s insecurities tragically revolve around her not being sure what ‘normal’ is due to losing her parents at an early age. Kagami didn’t lose her mother but she also doesn’t know what’s ‘normal’ precisely because she grew up with her. She would only have her own uncompromising parent as an example and would know she doesn’t want to follow in her footsteps but without knowing exactly how she wants to parent instead either.
Like I can see Kagami observing the way Felix and his mother interact and having an identity crisis because she just can’t bring herself to be that openly and physically affectionate and that makes her question her qualifications as a good wife/mother, especially compared to her MIL who she can see Felix adores. But it would be so much harder for her to communicate that than Yor who can let everything out with her teary breakdowns. Then again, Felix is also more observant than Loid in a way, so I think he might able to notice she’s having issues and draw her feelings out over a game of chess or two.
And to top it all off, our feligami are much more suspicious and less vulnerable to rose coloured glasses. I can’t see either of them turning a blind eye to superhuman strength or suspicious absences. Loid and Yor try to keep up their fool’s facade with total innocence on both sides, meanwhile I can see Felix and Kagami actively snooping and conducting honey traps to get to the truth 😂👌🏻
It’s just hilarious how swapping the personalities of an adult assassin and spy for that of two teenagers actually somehow makes the series darker and edgier 😂😂😂
thank u for this analysis on my spy x feligami au 🤗. i'm glad i wasn't the only one with these thoughts raging in my head as i put off grading homework for 2+ hours to do this.
and thank you for blessing me with the felix cupcake analogy. i agree, loid is (somehow) way more chill than felix, whose 200 layers of puppet master cake (i WILL be chuckling about that forever) can both help and hinder him. i think as a solo agent, felix would be really successful, easily outsmarting all his enemies. if he had to team up with anyone, especially franky, he'd make a mess.
yes!! kagami is yor but with that Greater Good mindset and more self-confidence! i bet it was tomoe who raised kagami to be an assassin, too. her first assignment was taking out the tsurugi tech competition, and she was so good at it tomoe just kept giving her bigger assignments. this is spy x feligami au canon now.
omg YES thinking about their relationships with their in-laws is giving me so many delicious angsty ideas. kagami would be just like you said, amazed and intrigued and mindblown that someone could be so affectionate with their mother, and have an actual healthy relationship with a parent! and then when amelie started to embrace kagami as part of the family and treat her like a daughter...u bet kagami would kill all her enemies. and then on the other hand felix would be Upset to discover kagami didn't get to have that growing up. it'd be all the more motivation for him to find excuses to bring kagami around to visit amelie.
"I can see Felix and Kagami actively snooping and conducting honey traps" ME TOO DUDE. they'd start some mr. and mrs. smith type shennanigains, probably actually try to kill each other for real a few times and think that was so hot. darker and edgier it may be, but i imagine by the end they'd go rogue and be like the mom and dad in spy kids. basically this au is the prequel to spy kids.
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sklent · 3 months
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...So.
When this post goes up, it'll be a full year since I started my...writing project. Story. Wannabe novel? I still don't know what to call it. I should probably call it by its name for once.
Point is. A full year. I wish I could say I actively spent all that time on it, but I haven't written much of anything since September/early October. However, my output for the first few months was strong, even getting entire chapters out daily, or working on it daily, at the very least. If nothing else, I can say I'm proud of how much work I managed to produce. It's a lot more than I ever expected from myself.
On the other hand, I can't say I'm happy with the work as a whole, as it is right now. The more I think about going back to it, the more I don't want to because of how many issues I have with what came before. Most of it just isn't a good translation of what I imagined in my head, and things kept changing as I wrote it, and continue to change, so I don't think I can commit to posting it as an ongoing thing right now. I'm still tempted to start over, or at least do some significant retooling of it. I want to keep working on it in some way, shape, or form, until I'm actually happy with it.
So as it stands right now, I don't know what the future of Cream City Milky Way is in its current state, and I feel kind of stupid for making a huge post about it like some grand announcement, since this is just...my dumb thing made for me, but idk I still want it to be more than that someday. I want to manifest my ideas, but I want to make an impact on other people too, the way so many stories have done to me. At this point I'm not sure if I ever will, but I can always keep trying.
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ahappybeginning · 2 years
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Happy post! 😁
Ok, so despite the one really big bump that happened, there have been a lot of really positive things happening recently, too.
Firstly, I’m officially done with all the pre-op requirements! No more blood work, no more scans, no more check-ins with various doctors (at least until AFTER surgery). And I not only met the weight loss requirement my surgeon wanted before surgery, but I actually exceeded that by 20 lbs, for a total of 70 lbs lost since the first week of May. I’ve been called a super star by my surgeon, my nutritionist, and even the sleep specialist I’ve been seeing for my sleep apnea. I’ve somehow managed to exceed everyone’s expectations, including my own, and it feels incredible. I’m going into this surgery knowing that I’ve done everything possible to succeed and keep myself committed to this new lifestyle, and I’m finding ways to make accommodations for the things I know will be the hardest for me.
And along with the sleep apnea thing, I’ve had and been using my CPAP machine for a little over 2 weeks now, and it’s actually not as bad as I was expecting. I sleep pretty well with it, and really my biggest issue is making sure I actually get into bed and put it on before I fall asleep 😅. But I had an appointment this past week, and the lady I’ve been working with said that everything looked fantastic on paper, the machine is working exactly as it should, and I’ve gone from 85 apnea events per hour (from my first sleep study in May), to now 0.6 an hour with the CPAP. So like…that’s CRAZY good. I honestly wish I hadn’t been so apprehensive about it for so long before all this because I can definitely tell that I’m feeling a lot better physically, I’m not constantly falling asleep during the day and I just have a lot more energy overall. So while I do hope the weight loss will help reverse the apnea naturally, in the meantime I’m glad I do have the machine now to help correct it and let me get more quality sleep.
And in other Non-Scale Victories (NSV for short), I’m down 2 clothing sizes and have been pulling out some of the old stuff I used to love but had gotten too big for in the last couple years. I did get rid of a lot of it when we moved last year, but I saved a few things that I couldn’t bear to part with, so being able to fit back into them now is really exciting. And I’ve bought myself a couple new things in the smaller size as a little reward for all my hard work. 🥰 And yesterday, for the first time in well over a year (probably more like 2-3 years), I walked over 10,000 steps (it was actually 11), and I don’t even feel the least bit sore today. For reference, when I started properly adding in more physical activity for my pre-op preparation in early July, my average was around 2-3k steps a day, topping out at around 5k a couple times a week. And before that I would sometimes do less than 1k. So I’ve been slowly trying to work on building up my muscles and stamina, and it’s been really paying off. I can walk for a lot longer now without my back or legs hurting, and I’m starting to get back to the point where I enjoy it again. The main issue I have right now is the extreme heat outside, so I’ve been primarily pacing around my room for 5-15 minutes at a time several times a day. But it’s working, so I’m really happy.
And one other thing that isn’t solely related to my bariatric journey but definitely has an effect on it, is that my sister and I have been making really great progress in our relationship recently. For anyone who’s been following me for a long time, you’ve probably seen me kind of vaguely mention that my sister and I have had a very tumultuous and toxic relationship for most of my life, and for pretty much the last decade, I’ve only spent time with her when absolutely necessary. But in the last year or so, she’s been slowly trying to bridge the gap between us. And though I was resistant at first (with very good reason), I did eventually acknowledge that she was making a real effort to change and make up for all the years of manipulation and abuse (mostly verbal/emotional). So I’ve been more open and accepting of her attempts to spend more time together, and we’ve actually managed to have several really brutally honest conversations about our childhood and our own individual pain, and we’ve been able to genuinely apologize and begin to heal the deep wounds we both have. So during this whole process of getting ready for this surgery, she’s been very supportive and has made real efforts to do whatever she can to help make things as easy for me as possible. And tbh, I’ve been struggling a lot with my mom in that area because she just doesn’t seem to understand what my true needs are no matter how much I try to communicate them more effectively. So having the support from my sister has been a huge comfort, and it’s something I never would have thought we could ever get to. We were SO broken for so long, and of course there’s still stuff we’re working through and probably will be for a long time. But I’m just amazed at the progress we’ve both made so far and I’m grateful that I do have that familial support that I really need right now, even if it’s not from the family member I was expecting.
So I’m hoping to have more positive things to post about in the next couple weeks leading up to my surgery. I’m doing my best to focus on the ultimate goal and remind myself of all the things I have to be grateful for and proud of. Fingers crossed that it’s smooth sailing from here on out. 🤞💖
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doorsclosingslowly · 1 year
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Time After Time: could you talk a bit about "Perhaps the World Will End at the Kitchen Table", before the fic starts? How do Kaz and Inej work through the original betrayal (and/or when do they realize they want to bring Jesper home?)
Thank you for asking about my unnecessarily elaborate backstory!! In general I want my modern AUs to echo canon, and the “betrayal” is adapting Jesper’s accidental blabbing about the Ice Court heist.
So, setting the scene. The trio, pre-“betrayal”, were like moderately radical squatters similarly to most of my other modern AUs. Similar backstories too (though it’s just the three of them), so Jesper was a really bright middle class kid who went to uni very early and then got fucked hard by no support for undiagnosed ADHD and addiction, Inej went on scholarship to a sports boarding school, was sexually abused and ran away, and when Kaz’s big brother died in foster care he just *could not* anymore, and after some time unhoused and some time in Haskell’s gang meets Jesper and then he meets Inej. Inej actually cares about justice for everyone and is the driver for everyone getting involved in environmentalist activism.
The thing about even nonviolent environmentalist activism is that there’s a *lot* of cruel, immoral state surveillance. Undercover cops have had children with women who they lied to for the entire duration of year-long relationships. (https://www.theguardian.com/uk/2012/jan/20/undercover-police-children-activists). And that is basically what happens. 19-yo Jesper meets a woman called Angela at a protest and they hit it off. Kaz hates her from the start, but everyone just thinks that’s down to jealousy. Maybe Kaz doesn’t want his friends to lead lives that don’t involve him. Kaz actually holds back from doing anything about her *because* he’s jealous, and he’s in love with Inej and turned Jesper down years ago because he was scared and he’s not *meant to* still be hung up on Jesper. And Jesper does love Angela, and anyway, her politics are solid, she’s in the same circles of squatters and part-time crooks and activists.
Protests don’t do much, though. Carbon emissions are still going up. Climate disasters are getting worse. So what do you do? What Inej moves towards as a tactic is property destruction. And because her and Kaz are over-achievers, their ideas both escalate to power plants and pipelines real quickly and they are meticulous, workable, something the police decide they need to stop NOW. They have the evidence of that plot. They have the location of Kaz and Inej.
Angela actually tries to keep Jesper out of it. That’s why she ties him up. She cares about him, she just isn’t able to look beyond her own perspective and see that she’s committing rape by deception, using Jesper to attack his best friends and that she is traumatizing him for the rest of his life.
Kaz isn’t where he was supposed to be for the police raid, though. He loaned Jesper a book, impulsively decided he needed it right now, picked the locked door of Jesper’s room—and then he sees Jesper naked and tied up and gagged and absolutely panicking, cuts him loose because of course and he’s already mentally murdering Angela when Jesper tells him she’s a cop. So they’re off desperately trying to find Inej, and they do. She’s already handcuffed, as are a few more of their friends, with one cop to guard them while the others sweep the squatted house. Kaz drives the knife he's still holding into that cop’s neck.
They’re running ever since.
And they have lost all trust in a state that utterly betrayed them.
.
The fact that Jesper thinks of what happened as “the betrayal” is down to his issues more than the truth. *He* put his friends in danger. *He* should have known. *He* didn’t. *He* was too careless, too blind, just inattentive reckless stupid Jesper all over again and so he keeps picking through every single thing he does ever for mistakes. Because Jesper should have known, right? He got kicked out of uni for being stupid. That should have taught him, and it fucking didn’t because he’s not even that decent a person and so he destroyed his friends too. He never tells anybody about these thoughts because he figures, he got more than he deserved by getting to stay in their lives. None of his self-hatred is news. It’s just obvious fact, and Inej and Kaz already know.
Kaz blows up at Jesper, right after it happens, when they’re all three terrified and grieving the safety they didn’t even know they used to believe in. Jesper was closest to Angela, he should have noticed something, anything, Inej tried to jump to her death and was wrestled to the floor by the cops! But he does know it wasn’t a betrayal. The safety precautions he does take afterwards and that he keeps reminding Jesper specifically about aren’t, to Kaz, because of the “betrayal” but because their situation fundamentally changed now they’re wanted murder and accessories and because Jesper does talk too much when drunk or on accident, it’s just a thing that he’s careless sometimes, and Kaz is helping by reminding him.
Inej is horrified knowing that Angela was a cop and using Jesper. To know the state greenlit rape by deception against her friend and it happened under her nose for a year—fuck, she’s angry, and she hasn’t yet learned the Jesper part of what happened, the gagged and terrified for his friends part. Kaz doesn’t talk about that. Jesper doesn’t.
.
Kaz and Inej were in love before the cops attacked, and they just kept dancing around each other afterwards, coming closer, closer, closer. To them, at first, the intra-trio relationship didn’t actually change in any unexpected ways and they would both have been horrified to know Jesper increasingly sees himself as a superfluous add-on. When you’re basically honeymooning, the fact that someone’s giving you space isn’t that weird, and besides Jesper just had the traumatic-est breakup, he probably needs time to process it.
Neither of them actually knows how Jesper is parsing this whole situation. They think they’re all fine.
They just think—Jesper just did an actual infiltration job, pretending to work for Kirigan to get him out of office, and it’s the first time they’ve been apart from Jesper this long in years. It’s much easier to notice how much you miss someone when they’re away. Life is dangerous. Life is short. And so Kaz and Inej talked about how weird it was to just be the two of them, how like a missing limb, and when Inej noticed that Kaz was weighing his words oddly she told him, “It’s okay. I already know.” and also gently mocked him for hypocrisy because Inej and Jes and Kaz and former friends had *discussions* about marriage as coercive tools of patriarchy and free love and relationship anarchy and all that jazz and they were all very serious and radical about it but here Kaz is, not daring to look at her because he wants Jesper as well. “Just ask him. If you don’t at noon tomorrow, Kaz, then I will. For you.” And then she kisses him.
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i feel like leftists really devalue stay-at-home parents. And I don’t mean in the “if a woman wants to be a stay-at-home mom then she should be” way.
Conservatives often point to stats about having more parental involvement (like a stay-at-home mom) leading to better outcomes for kids and use that to justify governmental action to de-incentivize working mothers.
And people on the left get caught up in incentivizing them and pushing for day-care. Which like, is fine and it works for some, and day-care is definitely useful in transitioning kids to school & developing social skills, but it 100% detracts from the issue about what’s best for the children. Obviously sending your kid to day-care is a valid option, and for some it’s the best option, but its hard to underestimate the value of close, personal, and involved management that comes from having a parent who does not work a full-time job.
I’m not saying day-care workers aren’t skilled or qualified, but I used to work with really little kids (4-6, so the day-care to school transition age). You cannot provide every single kid the environment that works for them in that setting. There are far too many kids for the number of employees. Day-cares are structured to work best for the median kid. A day-care employee can’t keep track of every single kid’s little differences that help ensure they have a positive and educational experience.
For example, when I was a little kid, I never took naps. During nap time, I just lied there and waited. It was hell. Eventually, I complained about it and my mom asked my pre-school to let me look at a picture book during nap time. That solved the problem for me, but what about a kid who gets sleepy when it’s the day-care’s playground time? what about a kid who doesn’t know to advocate for themself? what about the day-cares that aren’t that flexible or have enough staff to provide an individualized system for every kid?
Even after the day-care age, having a stay-at-home parent is really beneficial for child development! I had someone to pick me up from school and ask me how my day was, someone to help me with homework and make a home-cooked meal every night. I could have play-dates after school and on the weekend. If I wanted to do an afterschool activity that I needed a ride to, it wasn’t an automatic no. When I had to go to the doctor or dentist, the only thing we had to consider when picking an appointment time was whether I wanted to show up to school late or leave early. It meant if I got sick at school there was someone to take me home and take care of me right away without me feeling like a burden or worrying that my parent would be missing something important at work. Even now that I’m in college, if I’m filling out an urgent form or need to talk to someone, there’s someone I can call who can usually pick up the phone.
I know that this is one of the many facets of my immense privilege. But that’s my greater point! Having a child is an insane amount of commitment and labor. And it’s great that many people do it while working full-time jobs! Especially single parents! I applaud those who can do that! But, instead of just focusing on making resources available for those who choose to work, we should be working towards making it easier for a parent not to.
But the thing that I find both sides of the political aisle omitting is that the parent doesn’t need to be the mom. In addition to considering the non-heteronormative “traditional” families and those with more than two adults, we need to pay more attention to fathers! For almost my entire childhood, my dad was the stay-at-home parent. Sometimes he worked part-time but for the most part, his job was taking care of me, my brother, and my mom. Having a stay-at-home dad was insanely beneficial for my upbringing, and that’s what we should be working towards for everyone who wants it. We need to build a future where you don’t need every adult to work for pay full-time. We need a future where more badasses can happily support stay-at-home dads.
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mermaidsirennikita · 2 years
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I also have an absent father who was absolutely terrible when he was apart of my life. I’m wondering what you think of "daddy issues" being super sexualized. If that’s too personal you totally don’t need to answer I’m just curious.
Well, first off I'm sorry. It really sucks to have a bad father. I can say without emotion that the worst feelings I've ever experienced in my life have to do with poor treatment from my father.
With that being said, I have a lot of conflicted feelings. Intellectually, I know that the daddy issues thing is a stereotype, and by no means does every person who's had a fraught relationship with their father has daddy issues... But like... I definitely fit the mold in very transparent ways. I push people away and have a hard time feeling trust and intimate, genuine affection with men (versus seeing them as objects meant to occupy a temporary, distracting moment in my life). I have commitment issues like crazy. I'm extremely attracted to men (often older than me) who seem to offer things my father failed to provide (stability, authority, praise) even if I'm in no position to accept those things emotionally.
But daddy issues are so varied--someone super close to me also has daddy issues that manifest in a different way. She clings to men rather than pushing them away, she seeks men who will give her a family, she wants to commit forever and always ASAP and is crushed when men don't want that.
I also make tons of jokes about daddy issues... all the time. Humor is a coping mechanism for me, and I do find the stereotypical ways in which those of us with absent fathers can sometimes be predicted immediately.
I think the issue I have is when men are predatory about it? Like, I have no problem if people with absent fathers want to engage in a bit of like... daddy kink, for want of a better word. I personally find calling *certain men* daddy kind of hot. I don't really associate the word with my father, though, so that may help my distance. I mean, I do find that people, at least, who have healthy relationships with their father and *did* call them daddy have a harder time with that kink than people who didn't. In my personal experience. Personally, though, I think that my enjoyment of that kink is probably a bit surface level--I like seeing men react to it. I like them immediately registering that they should probably not respond to that like they do, but they are. It's a power rush. I think it's that way for a lot of women who like it, whether or not they have issues. (And to be clear--I'm a pretty light hand with this shit. I have zero interest in age play, baby play, etc. For those that do... If you're consenting adults with one another, have at it, but I don't want it. I think that even calling your partner daddy is probably like... Best left to people who stopped being children a good while ago. I had no interest in it in my early twenties, for example. I don't want him to be my father, I just want to embody all of the things *I* associate with a daddy--warmth, affection, a bit of control, safety, but the ability to hunt and gather and provide a good cave as well. And for sure, I think nine times out of ten this plays into some light d/s shit for people too.)
However, that's all in my court as the wounded party~, right? Going back to the predatory thing, men actively seeking out people (often women) with daddy issues? Gross. My trauma is mine to deal with how I need to, and if that involves you and you're consenting, then cool. But don't seek me out because you think that my issues make me easier prey. The idea of daddy issues being something to hunt for on Tinder is just... Like, I'm not going to do anything more than roll my eyes about it, but I find it incredibly dismissive.
So yeah. Mixed feelings would be the term, for sure. And I'd never expect someone with a similar experience to feel the same way as me... I just want them to allow me to do what I want with what happened to me.
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luobingmeis · 3 years
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i forgot how much of a monster i become when working on original stuff i am both “oh my god no one would ever read this in the first place i don’t even deserve to be writing” and “i have already imagined the interviews i would give when i’m published <3″
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sunflowervolvimp3 · 4 years
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42 Hours
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Content: an enemies to lovers au in which Harry and Y/N are forced into a cross country road trip to make it to their best friends’ wedding on time
Warnings: language, mentions of nsfw content
Pairing: Harry Styles x reader
Word Count: 20k 
A/N: I actually cannot believe that this is finally being posted over almost a month of working on it!! originally, I was going to make this one long stand alone fic, but once I hit 35k with no end in sight, I decided to split it into two parts so that it would be easier to read for you guys.  I’m hoping to have part 2 posted within a week, so keep an eye out for it!! this fic was partially inspired by this post by @avhrodite​ (thank you miss bailey!!) and can I just say that I had so much fun writing it!! I love road trips!! it makes me so sad that I had to split this fic because there are so many fun music scenes in the next part but those will all come in due time!! I would also like to give a big thank you to miss andrea @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy​ and miss alex @darthstyles​ for putting up with me bouncing ideas off of them and for proof reading for me!! and miss andrea again for editing this stunning header pic!! also everyone I tagged is a wonderful writer and if you’re looking for more to read after reading this then I HIGHLY suggest taking a look through their masterlists. and as always, if you like this fic, please like and reblog it!! and shoot me a message!! feedback is always appreciated, not just by me, but by all content creators <3
{masterlist}
also!! if you want to set the mood for a road trip with Harry, here is a link to the playlist that is mentioned and referenced in this fic!!
When she was a little girl, Y/N’s grandmother had told her about Murphy’s Law.  Grandma Sarah’s favourite activity was staring at her granddaughter over the kitchen counter, a knife in one hand and half an onion that she’d been cutting in the other, spouting various wisdoms at the young girl, who would often be sitting and peeling vegetables for her.  The old lady had hoped that, after being lectured enough times on life’s difficulties, Y/N might be able to avoid making the same mistakes that she had made in her own time.  She always had a list of advice that she’d cycle through, as if she were a record on a loop.
“Always look both ways before crossing the street.  Your great uncle Albert didn’t, and he never regained full function of his left hand.”
“Beauty fades, but there’s no shelf life on your mind.”
“The grass is always greener on the other side, so stop staring at it, and focus on taking care of your own lawn.”
All of the advice was, by any accounts, useful for anyone to know, especially a young girl.  Of course, sometimes the advice would get a little scrambled after Grandma Sarah had had a few glasses of wine, but even her tipsy thoughts were useful to Y/N in her later years.  To this day, Y/N still sets a glass of water on her nightstand before going out to a bar, and her hungover self is always grateful the next morning.  And Y/N had yet to find anything that smelled as sweet as a vanilla dabbed behind her ears and on her wrists when she runs out of perfume.  However, perhaps the most important piece of advice Grandma Sarah ever gave her came one afternoon when Y/N was eleven years old, and her older cousin Grace was due to get married the next week.
Grandma Sarah had cracked egg after egg into her mixing bowl, always without getting any unwanted pieces of shell in the egg whites, and gave her granddaughter a long look across the kitchen counter.
“When you get married, Y/N,” She had said, voice firm. “Remember Murphy’s Law.  Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.  When Murphy’s Law comes into play, there’s nothing you can do except roll with the punches.”
Eleven year old Y/N had nodded her head seriously, as she always did when her grandmother told her seemingly important things.  The advice, despite its usefulness, however, didn’t stick around in her head, and Murphy’s Law didn’t cross Y/N’s mind for fourteen years.
It takes fourteen years for Y/N, who is standing in front of a flight check-in at LAX, two large suitcases next to her, one of which contains two gold wedding bands, passport in hand, and a distressed look on her face, to remember the law her grandmother had once told her about.
“When you get married, Y/N…anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.”
Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Y/N pushes the echoing words of her grandmother out of her head. “I’m sorry, just—” She gives a pained smile to the lady working the check in. “Can you explain that to me again, please?”
The lady also takes a deep breath, the smile on her ruby tinted lips just as pained as Y/N’s. “There’s a storm system moving through Utah and Colorado.  These systems have the potential to become tornadoes, and because of that, the conditions for flying are too dangerous right now, so all flights through that area are grounded until further notice.”
“So my flight is cancelled?” Y/N holds up the ticket in her hand that’s stamped with LAX – JFK. “This flight, this flight to New York, which is nowhere near Utah—that’s cancelled?”
The check-in lady, whose name tag reads Brynn, gives another tight smile. “Yes, ma’am.  It’s cancelled.”
“Okay, no, I’m sorry, Brynn, but that doesn’t work for me.” Y/N shakes her head fiercely as the manic rush of emotions through her begins to set in.  The denial, she finds, keeps the oncoming panic at bay, and so she decides to focus on that to ground herself. “My best friend is getting married in the Catskills in one week.” Y/N holds up one finger, as if her words are hard for Brynn to understand. “That’s one week from today.  I’m the maid of honour.  I have to be there to help organize, keep her calm, and make sure she actually makes it down the aisle, because—between you and me—she’s got some commitment issues—” The more Y/N speaks, the more her panic begins to spill out in her words, like a dam with a leak that’s about to burst. “And she forgot the goddamn wedding rings, so I have those too, and I just—I really need to get to New York, like, now. Right now.”
Y/N finally pauses to take a sharp breath, and Brynn, who had been waiting for her to finish, speaks again, her voice flatter than before.
“I’m very sorry to hear that, ma’am, but as I said, all flights are grounded right now.”
Pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, Y/N takes another deep breath.  Roll with the punches, her grandmother had told her.  What else is there to do? “Okay.” Y/N is careful to keep her voice in check when she speaks again. “Alright.  Do you know when they’ll be ungrounded?”
“As I’ve said,” Brynn’s smile is more of a grimace now, and Y/N knows that she’s treading on thin ice. “All flights are grounded until further notice.  We’re not sure when we’ll be able to open them again.  It could be a day, or it could be five.  If you’d like, I can put you down on a list to be called when flights are available again, but I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”
“Let’s do that, then.” Y/N relents in a tired voice, already making plans to pick up a coffee on her way back to her apartment.  In the back of her mind, she begins to wonder if she has any Baileys Irish cream liqueur left in her kitchen cabinet—and if 8:30 A.M. is too early to be drinking Baileys with her coffee.
It takes Y/N two cups of coffee with Baileys (it had been 10 A.M. by the time she arrived home, thanks to L.A. traffic, and she had decided that 10 A.M. was a fine time to drink when one’s flight gets cancelled indefinitely) to work up the courage to call Jo and tell her that she isn’t sure if she’ll be able to make it to the wedding.
Josephine Waters, or Jo to anyone who doesn’t want to get punched in the arm, has been Y/N’s best friend since the girls were five years old.  They became fast friends on the first day of kindergarten, as Jo liked how Y/N could already colour inside the lines, and Y/N liked how Jo tackled a boy who tugged on Y/N’s pigtails.  From the very beginning, the two were a perfect match for each other; where Y/N was reserved, Jo was wild.  Where Jo was disorganized, Y/N was focused.  Each girl balanced the other in the most natural way, and it’s this fact that Y/N and Jo credit for the two of them staying friends for twenty years. As they grew up together, they grew together, taking the very best traits from the other and using it to help themselves develop.  Y/N had been the first person that Jo came out to, confessing to her best friend during an eighth grade sleepover in a quiet and nervous voice.  To Jo’s pleasure, Y/N had been completely supportive, and returned the favour from the first day of kindergarten by punching a boy in the nose for calling Jo a homophobic slur.  Jo helped Y/N through her parent’s divorce.  Y/N helped Jo manage her ADHD.  Jo talked Y/N through discovering her bisexuality in university. Y/N answered every 3 A.M. phone call to comfort Jo after a panic attack.  In every sense of the word, the two girls had been there for each other.
And now Y/N is going to miss Jo’s wedding.
The harsh realization digs a pit in her stomach as she opens her phone and clicks on Jo’s name.  It’s noon in L.A., which means it’s 3 P.M. in New York time, and Y/N knows Jo will answer.  She always does.
Sure enough, after three short rings, Jo’s voice chirps through the phone. “Hey, Y/N!  Has your flight landed already?”
“No, there’s—there’s been an issue.” Y/N downs another gulp of her coffee, wishing she had added more Baileys when she had the chance, and clears her throat before continuing. “There’s, um, a storm in Utah, and apparently it’s bad, and so all flights from L.A. to New York are grounded until further notice.”
Jo makes a scoffing noise, and Y/N can practically picture the indignant look on her face that she’s seen so many times before. “That’s ridiculous.  Did you tell them that New York is nowhere near Utah?”
“Uh huh.”
“What about that my wedding is in one week?”
“I told them that, too. Brynn didn’t seem to care.”
“Bitch.��� Jo mutters under her breath. “Okay, just wait a second, Laure just walked through the door, so I’m putting you on speakerphone—”
Y/N hears rustling on the speaker, as well as muttering in the background as Jo speaks to her fiancée, and then Jo’s voice is back, sounding slightly more distant.
“Okay, so I told Laure what happened—”
“That’s awful, Y/N.” Laure’s voice is laced with stress, and Y/N can only imagine how much anxiety this information is adding to her already full plate. “They won’t tell you when flights will be leaving again?”
“Nope.” Y/N pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her free arm around them, leaning her head against the back of her couch.
“Okay, well, planes aren’t the only way to get here.” Laure says, always the more rational out of the two. “Maybe a car—?”
“Y/N doesn’t have one.” Jo chimes in, a hint of teasing in her voice, despite the serious problem that’s in discussion. “She’s scared of driving—”
Y/N sits up, an indignant look on her face. “I’m not scared of driving!” She says hotly, setting her empty coffee mug on the table with a thud. “I just hate L.A. traffic, and honestly, there’s no point!  I can walk to work, and Uber anywhere else I need to go!  A car would be completely useless to me!”
“Except now, when you’re about to miss your best friend’s wedding.” Jo points out. “What about renting one?”
Y/N sighs, her moment of indignation already fizzled out. “I tried that already.  There’s nothing available for a cross country trip.”
“And the drive is so long.” Laure murmurs, and Y/N knows it’s more for Jo’s benefit than hers. “It’s over forty hours.  She can’t do that by herself; it’s not safe.”
“But—”
“Look, Jo, don’t worry about this, alright?” Y/N cuts across her best friend’s anxious voice, assuming her usual role of protector. “I’ll figure this out.  I promise you; I will make it to your wedding on time, looking pretty in my dress, and with your wedding bands.  I promise.”
“We’ll keep thinking about it and see what we can come up with.” Laure promises through the phone, her voice sounding further and further away. “This is just—it’s a bump in the road, but it’s fine.  We can work around this.  We’ll find a way.”
The way that Laure finds for Y/N pounds on her door at 7:30 A.M. the next morning.
Y/N, like any exhausted and stressed out adult who has already begun her ten days of vacation time that she booked off for the wedding, is fast asleep in her bed when she hears the knocking.  The loud noise pulls her out from her dreams abruptly, and she cracks one eye open, squinting through the sunlight that’s lighting up her room.  When the knock echoes through her apartment again, she pulls herself from her sheets with a groan, grabbing her robe from the back of her door and tying it around herself as she makes her way to the front hallway to yell at whoever has the audacity to wake her up.
When she opens the door, Harry Styles is peering down at her with an irritated look on his face.
“Took you long enough, Y/N.” He rolls his eyes as he speaks, finally stepping back from the door that he had been pounding on a moment ago. “Are you ready to go?”
Y/N rubs her eyes, suppressing a yawn as she does so. “Styles, I have no idea what you’re talking about.  What are you doing here?” She demands.  She doesn’t have the energy to deal with him right now, she thinks, let alone the mental capacity to listen to anything he has to say.
Harry crosses his arms across his chest, and it’s then that Y/N notices the duffel bag strewn over his shoulder. “It’s a forty-two hour drive from L.A. to the Catskills.” Harry’s eyes scan over Y/N’s appearance, the very corner of his strawberry pink lips twitching, and Y/N tightens her robe around herself with a glare.
“A drive?” Y/N asks, uncertainty growing in her voice as she crosses her arm over her chest. “What are you talking about?”
“Your flight was cancelled, right?” Harry’s voice grows more impatient as Y/N’s half asleep brain struggles to piece together what’s happening. “So was mine, so I decided to drive to the wedding, and then Laure called me last night, begging me to take you with me.” He shrugs a bit, fixing his sunglasses on top of his head as his jade eyes scan over her appearance one more time. “Not my first choice of road trip partner, but I don’t think the best man can say no to bringing the maid of honour.  And splitting the cost of gas will be nice.”
“Okay, wait, I…” Y/N’s finally coming out of her fog of exhaustion, and the newfound clarity of her mind is causing a newfound pit to develop in her stomach. “Laure and Jo didn’t tell me any of this.”
“Well, I expect they’re a bit busy, given that they’re getting married in a week.” Harry adjusts the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder with a sharp sigh. “Look, are you ready to go or not?  It’s over a five day drive, so we need to leave as soon as possible.”
“I—yeah—” Y/N nods before taking a hesitant step back from the doorway, positioning herself to the side so that Harry can get by her. “I just have to get dressed and grab a couple last minute things, so…come in, I guess.”
Harry flashes an insincere smile to Y/N as he steps into her apartment, his eyes darting around at the furniture and home decor.  Y/N watches as his gaze lingers on her library of books, her yellow bicycle leaning against the wall, and every other little touch of herself that she likes her home to have, and she can see the judgement that’s clearly apparent in his eyes.
“You can sit, if you want.” She mutters, turning on her heel to go back to her bedroom. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”
The first thing Y/N does when she shuts her bedroom door behind herself is assess the situation in the analytical way that usually calms her.  Alright.  So a road trip across the country isn’t exactly ideal, and a road trip across the country with Harry Styles is even less ideal.  But, at the present moment, being stuck in a car with Harry seems to be the only sure way that she’ll be able to make it to Jo’s wedding on time. And for Jo, Y/N would put up with anything.  Even Harry.
As she rummages through her drawers for some leggings and a tank top, Y/N wonders what she could have possibly done to bring this much bad karma into her life.  While she gets dressed, her mind flickers back to Murphy’s Law, how everything that can go wrong will go wrong, in the worst possible way, and then she thinks about being in a confined space with Harry for five days, and—yeah.  That seems to be the worst possible thing she can think of.
Y/N remembers the first moment she’d met Harry seven years ago, and the unfortunate circumstances under which that meeting had happened.  Jo and Laure had just barely met back then, and Jo had begged Y/N to come out on a double date with her and “this really hot girl from my women studies class who I’m, like, 83% sure swings my way.”
Y/N had groaned at that comment, flopping back on her bed in the tiny dorm that she and Jo shared. “No! I have an essay due in three days that I haven’t even started!”
Jo rolled her eyes as she flopped down on Y/N’s bed as well, ignoring her own half-made bunk that was across the small room, favouring her best friend’s bed like she always did. “We both know you’re not starting that essay until the day before it’s due, and that it’s just an excuse because you don’t want to go!”
“I don’t want to go.” Y/N had agreed with a sharp and fervent nod.  She shut her laptop and pushed it to the side of her bed, knowing from experience that she wasn’t going to be able to focus and argue at the same time. “Why would I want to hang out with a complete stranger while you make googly eyes at a girl from your class?”
“Okay, first, I don’t make googly eyes.” Jo made a face at that comment, nudging Y/N’s calf with her own foot. “And second, he’s her best friend from high school, and he’s coming to visit all the way from London!”
“So?  He’s still a stranger!” Y/N pointed out, her eyes drifting to the sticky note covered novel beside her.  She picks it up and begins to flip through the marked pages as she speaks. “Knowing where he’s from doesn’t change that!”
“It should, because he’s only going to be here for a week, and Laure almost cancelled the date because she doesn’t want to miss spending time with him—” Jo grabbed one of Y/N’s pillows and tossed it at her arm, knocking the book from her hands. “Focus! So I said that he could come, but she said that she didn’t want him to be left out, so I said that I happen to have an incredibly beautiful and witty best friend who would be able to entertain Harry while we all hang out together.”
Y/N inhaled deeply as she gave Jo a withering look. “Did you already tell her I’m going?”
Jo, in return, gave Y/N her most dazzling smile. “Yes.  We’re meeting them for dinner at 7.”
Y/N shakes herself from her memories as she runs to her bathroom to toss her toiletries back into the bag she’d taken them out of the day before, working as quickly as she can. It does her no good to think of Harry in the past, she thinks, because the present Harry is currently sitting in her living room, probably snooping through her stuff, and the longer she takes to get ready to go, the more he’ll go through.  Not that there’s anything incriminating in her apartment, really—or at least, nothing incriminating in her living room.  When Y/N makes it back to her bedroom, however, to quickly zip up her suitcase, she does make sure she grabs her favourite vibrator from the box under her bed, tucking it between her half-folded underwear.  If she’s going to be gone for a week, she’ll need something to help her relax.
Within a few more minutes, Y/N is repacked and ready to go.  Her hunter green bridesmaid dress is carefully arranged on the very top of her clothes in her suitcase, all of her makeup and toiletries are packed inside, and Jo and Laure’s wedding rings are secured in little velvet boxes stashed between her socks.  As far as physical preparedness goes, Y/N is ready to go on a coast to coast road trip. As far as mental preparedness goes, however…that’s the thing that Y/N’s not quite sure about.
“What are you doing?”
Y/N glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, her hand still half stretched out to the radio dials in his car.  Although Harry’s green eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, and his face is turned towards the long road in front of them, he still somehow manages to catch her motions, and it irritates her to no end.
“I’m changing the radio station?” Y/N answers after a moment, giving him a puzzled look. “I don’t know why you listen to this weird oldies station, but—”
“First of all—” Harry’s hands turn the steering wheel slightly to guide his car over the curve of the road, his jaw twitching as a smirk works its way onto his pink lips. “This isn’t a radio station, it’s my Spotify playlist.  I put a Bluetooth connection in Stevie a year ago. Secondly—”
“Stevie?” Y/N repeats incredulously, twisting her whole body as best she can to look at Harry straight on. “You named your car?  You’re one of those guys?”
Harry finally gives Y/N a flicker of a glance, the glare obvious in his eyes even behind his dark sunglasses.  He turns his attention back to the road before replying. “Secondly—” He continues from before, ignoring her comment as his right hand readjusts the gear shift. “Driver picks the music.”
Y/N makes a face, the corners of her lips pulling down into a grimace as she settles back into the passenger seat with her arms crossed. “So we’re just going to listen to ‘Tiny Dancer’ for the entire drive, are we?”
“Not the entire drive, no.” Harry flicks on his turn signal with a ringed hand before shoulder checking to change lanes.  Y/N glances at him, her eyes training on the strained muscles in his neck as Harry continues. “We’ll listen to ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,’ too.”
“Great.” Y/N exhales slowly and presses her head back into the seat’s headrest, closing her eyes as Elton John’s voice continues to float through the speakers. “Really looking forward to it.”
“You know, maybe you should try to sleep.” Harry says, his voice prickled with irritation as Elton John bleeds into The Zombies. “I think you’ll be in a better mood after you take a nap.”
Y/N readjusts her crossed arms as she mutters a short reply. “Don’t tell me what to do.” Still, she shuts her eyes again, twisting her body towards the window in an attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep.  Being in the car with Harry is already giving her a throbbing migraine, and they’ve only been on the road for less than two hours.  Sleeping through most of the trip will probably be the only way she’ll be able to survive it.
Despite that realization, however, her phone vibrates in her lap three minutes later, pulling her away from her thoughts.  Y/N glances down at the now lit screen, catching her bottom lip between her teeth when she registers the name on the message.  Opening her phone quickly, she reads over the reply as a guilty feeling begins to build in her stomach.
BRANT: Hey, what are you doing tonight?  Want to grab some dinner?
“What’s wrong?”
“Hm?” Y/N’s head snaps back up, her eyes jerking in Harry’s direction.  Like before, he’s watching her from the corner of his eye, catching every one of her movements, and the constant surveillance is annoying to no end.
Harry, it seems, is either oblivious to her annoyance, or is choosing to ignore it. “I asked what’s wrong. You have a weird look on your face.” Harry’s blunt words are accompanied by the sound of him tapping his ring covered fingers against the gear shift. “Everything alright?  Is it Laure and Jo?”
“No, it’s just—” Y/N glances down at her phone again, fingers poised over her keyboard as she crafts a reply in her head. “It’s no one.”
Harry snorts once, a short and harsh sound that grates against Y/N’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “I don’t buy that for a second.”
“It’s no one to you.” Y/N updates her retort, turning her full attention back to her phone. “My personal life is none of your business.”
Y/N: I’m sorry, I can’t!! Caught a last minute ride to New York with somebody.  Maybe once I’m back?
“Personal life, huh?” Harry clicks his tongue once, and the childish noise is even more irritating than his snort. “What, you can’t talk to me about whoever you’re shagging?”
The blunt remark hits Y/N like a shot to the chest, and she sputters for a moment as she struggles to form a response. “I—we’re not—” Taking a moment to gather herself and clear her throat quickly, Y/N avoids Harry’s gaze as her cheeks begin to burn. “We’re not like that. We’ve just…had a few dates, that’s all. There’s nothing…official.”
“You don’t need to be official to have a shag, now, do you?” Harry lifts his hand from the gear shift to fix his sunglasses, settling it back down on his jean covered thigh once he’s done. “If you don’t want to date the bloke—”
“I didn’t say that.” Y/N cuts over him, pulling herself from her embarrassment enough to give him a cold glare. “He’s very nice—”
“Boring, you mean—”
“And I—this is none of your business!” Feeling the flush of embarrassment rise back to her cheeks, Y/N once again turns her attention to her passenger seat window, avoiding Harry’s pressing gaze. “I’m done talking about this.”
Harry gives an indifferent shrug. “Whatever.” He says casually, tapping his finger against his thigh as his shoulders once again lift slightly beneath his fitted black t-shirt. “I just feel bad for the guy, that’s all.”
The comment is bait. And the thing is, Y/N knows it’s bait.  She knows that the only reason Harry is saying it is to get under her skin and keep her talking about Brant, further embarrassing herself in the process. She’s been around Harry enough to know how he works, and she knows that the only reason he would say that is to bait her.  She knows she shouldn’t take it.  And yet—
“There’s no reason to feel bad for him.” Y/N scoffs as she fidgets with the position of her seatbelt, trying to stop the strap from cutting into her chest. “We’ve been talking for a month, and there’s nothing official happening.  Just because you can’t go that long without trying to stick your dick in someone—”
“You have no idea what I can do, Y/N.  Don’t pretend that you do.” Harry’s tone of voice is just as scoffing as hers, his eyes still set on the road in front of them intently as he gives his sharp response. Y/N watches as he shifts the gears of the car and speeds up, just enough to make the engine roar, but not enough to lose control of the car.  Part of Y/N wistfully wishes that he would just slip up and crash the car, just so she wouldn’t have to continue this conversation.
“All I meant,” Harry continues, unaware of the dark daydreams running through Y/N’s head. “Is that I feel bad that you’re clearly not interested in him, which is proven by the fact that you haven’t wanted him in your bed.”
Irritation flares through Y/N’s body again, stronger than the embarrassment of discussing her sex life (or lack thereof) with Harry, and she half considers just grabbing the steering wheel and yanking it into a passing cliff so she can finish them off herself. “For Christ’s sake, Harry, sex isn’t the only way to—”
“I don’t mean actually having it, that’s not a given.” Harry rolls his eyes from behind his sunglasses as he slows down for a curve in the road, his practiced hands once again changing gears with ease. “You don’t have to fuck him.  But you should want to, especially if you’ve had a month of dates, and you clearly don’t want to.”
Y/N doesn’t hide the incredulous stare of disbelief on her face as she turns to look at him. Harry’s face, though turned towards the road still, has a look of amusement mixed with contemplation on it, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control not to smack the expression off of him. Although there’s the ghost of a smirk on his strawberry coloured lips, his brow is furrowed behind his sunglasses, as if he’s thinking hard about the conversation between them.  Normally, Y/N would be amazed that Harry is thinking hard about anything.  However, given that their conversation is apparently turning into whether or not she wants to have sex with someone, Y/N’s not too thrilled about his sudden investment and serious contemplation of the topic.
Shaking her head decidedly, Y/N finally spits out a finishing phrase. “You don’t know what I want.” She says decidedly, reaching into the backseat to grab the sweater she stashed back there.  She clumsily pulls it over her body without taking off her seatbelt.  Harry keeps the AC cranked as high as he can, and she knows that he’ll kill her if she tries to change it. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know more than you think.” Harry counters, the tip of his tongue running along his bottom lip. “And I’m pretty good at reading body language.  You don’t really want him.  He—what’s his name?”
Despite her better judgement, Y/N answers in a flat voice. “Brant.”
The corners of Harry’s cherry lip twitches. “Brant.  Yeah. It’s clear you don’t really want him, and you’re wasting your time.  You’re wasting his time, too.  Poor Brant.”
“Poor—you’re such an ass, you know that?” Y/N’s irritation bubbles over as she gives Harry a nasty look, her hand squeezing her thigh hard in an attempt to ground herself in their conversation. “You can try to pretend otherwise, but you don’t know anything about me, or him, so—”
“You think I’ve been friends with Laure and Jo this long and haven’t learned anything about you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, risking a glance at her as he presses a heavier foot onto the gas. “I told you, I know more than you think, and that includes your type.”
An incredulous scoff leaves Y/N’s mouth, and she shakes her head in obvious disbelief before responding. “My type.  Right. What is my type, then?  What’s Brant like, exactly, since you seem to know everything?”
Harry goes quiet then, his brow furrowing again as he returns his full attention to the road.  With his incessant chatter gone, the only sounds in the car being “Maps” playing quietly in the background and Harry’s ringed index and forefinger tap on the steering wheel.  Y/N breathes out a long sigh of satisfaction as she relaxes back in her seat, her attention turned back to the blurred landscapes speeding by her window.  Finally, she’s managed to get Harry to stop with his ridiculous assumptions—
“You like someone that’s stable and secure, so he probably works in some corporation, or an office job. Majored in business, I’d think, but has a minor in something like mathematics.” The side profile of Harry’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the thought. “He wants to work his way up in the company, but never wants to actually start anything on his own.  He likes the stability of a blueprint. You’re obsessed with punctuality, so he’s probably always on time to pick you up for dates—and he has to pick you up, because you don’t drive—and your dates are never really dates. Dinners, or movies, or something like that, but they never really have that spark.” Harry’s shoulder lift slightly as he continues to make his conclusions. “Which, honestly, is probably a big reason in why you don’t want to fuck him, because as much as you like stability and safety, you also like the idea of a grand gesture, or something like that.  And you probably split the bill a lot at dinner, right?  Because it just seems fair, but really it’s because you know it’s not a real date.  But it passes the time, and he’s nice, so it’s fine.  But it’s only fine.” Harry licks his lips once more as he collects his next thoughts, his teeth catching his bottom lip just barely as his tongue retreats back into his mouth. “And he’s probably already talking about you coming to meet his family for some holiday.  Not in a romantic way, but just because he likes to plan everything in advance to every minute detail.  Just like you.”
Halfway through Harry’s speech, a flush had begun to creep up Y/N’s neck, continuing to warm her jaw and ears before settling on the apples of her cheeks.  She keeps her eyes trained on her window and her mouth pressed into a tight line, refusing to look at Harry and give him any hint of just how shocked she is that he’s guessed so much.
Harry, however, doesn’t plan on letting her get away from his inquisition. “Well?” He impatiently prompts after a moment, and even though she’s not looking at him, she can feel him looking at her, his emerald irises burning into the back of her head. “Am I right?”
“I—” Y/N clears her throat quickly, but her voice is still strained and tight when she replies. “No.”
Harry hums low in his throat, and his voice is laced with curiosity with he replies. “Really?” The irritating tap of his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music continues. “What did I get wrong?”
“He—” Y/N hates the way her skin is burning from his interrogation, how her voice shrinks smaller and smaller the more she speaks.  If Harry knows her so well, then he knows how much she loves being in control, and in this situation, with Harry managing to pull every one of her most secret inner thoughts and feelings out of her without trouble, she feels anything but in control. “He has a minor in accounting, not mathematics.”
The laugh that leaves Harry’s mouth is loud and bombastic, and his whole body curves over the steering wheel as the sound rolls out of him, his eyes just barely managing to stay on the road while his sunglasses slide down his nose. “Right.” Harry says between belly laughs, his voice stretched out in amusement. “But everything else was spot on?”
Y/N keeps her stiff body turned towards the window, refusing to engage in the conversation any further. That doesn’t stop Harry, however, who fixes his sunglasses as chuckles continue to roll out of him.
“I take it back. Maybe he’s the one wasting your time.” His hand runs through his hair lazily, fixing the curled strands that had fallen into his eyes as he laughed. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to sleep with your bore of a boyfriend—”
“He’s stable!” Y/N breaks her silence to protest Harry’s words, her voice heated. “And he’s not my boyfriend.  We’ve been seeing each other, but we’re not—it’s not exclusive, or—nothing serious—”
“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.  It’s fine.” Harry waves off her arguments with a flick of his tattooed hand. “Besides, like you said, it’s none of my business, right?”
Y/N can practically picture what Harry looks like in this moment.  His chestnut curls are probably a mess from fidgeting with them, and his cheeks are most likely rosy beneath his stubble from the peels of laughter that left his equally red lips a moment ago.  Most infuriatingly of all, his dimples are probably present, making little indentations in his cheeks to show how entertaining he’s found embarrassing her. Bastard, she thinks, clenching her fists so hard that her nails dig into her palms, pressing them into her sides beneath her makeshift blanket.
She refuses to let herself confirm if her suspicions about Harry’s appearance are correct, and instead keeps her gaze on the blurred trees whipping by outside her window. “Right.” She mutters, leaning her head against the headrest as she closes her eyes. “It’s none of your business.”
As soon as the paint-peeled door to the motel room swings open, Y/N knows that she’s not going to be sleeping soundly tonight.
She’s not sure what her first hint should have been.  Perhaps it was the half-flickering blue and red light of the Motel 6 sign that should have tipped her off, or the front-desk attendant who looked as though he was hiding a few secrets himself.  When Y/N and Harry had first approached the front desk of the tiny, vaguely mildew-smelling lobby, their clothes rumpled from the drive and their attitudes just as bothered, the employee in the Motel 6 uniform had barely raised an eye at them, not bothering to look up from his computer until Y/N and Harry were directly in front of him.
“Hi.” Harry had said, his voice taking on a cautious but polite tone that, Y/N remembers thinking, she would have appreciated hearing throughout their eight hour drive that day. “We’d like two rooms, please—”
“Here.” The attendant’s gum snapped in his mouth as he reached behind himself and grabbed an old key with a flimsy blue plastic tag from a wall of empty pegs. “Queen sized bed, the first door on the left.  It’ll do you two nicely.”
“Um, no.” Harry cleared his throat loudly as he gave a slight shake of his head. “We need two rooms.”
Finally, the attendant looked towards them, his eyes scanning Harry before Y/N.  The latter had self consciously pulled her sweater around her, as there was something in the attendant’s eyes that had bothered her. “Don’t have two rooms.  I got one room left.  Everything else is booked.”
Harry had glanced at Y/N then, and she knew that his thoughts mirrored hers: there was no way that they’d share a queen bed together.  No way in hell.  They’d barely survived eight hours in the same cramped car without one of them driving them off a cliff.  If Y/N had to share a bed with Harry, even for just one night, she’d probably end up smothering him in his sleep before the first snore left his obnoxious mouth.
“That’s really not an option.” Y/N had stepped forward then, crossing her arms around herself as the attendant’s eyes canvassed her again. “Isn’t there something—”
“Look, lady, I’m telling you what’s available.” The attendant’s eyes continued to flicker between her face and her chest, making Y/N’s skin crawl more and more with every word that fell from his gum-filled mouth. “The room might have a pull out chair—some do, but I couldn’t tell you which.  Now do you want to share the room with him or not?  If you don’t want to share, then I could try to find something else for just you—”
Before Y/N had the opportunity to respond to the lewd suggestion, Harry was already stepping forward, his body angling protectively in front of her own.  She watched from behind as his broad shoulders squared beneath his black t-shirt, his shoulder blades flexing as he straightened up to his full height.  When Harry answered, his voice was just as firm as it was dark, lacking its previous polite tone.
“We’ll take the room.” He had said coldly, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet before tossing a few bills on the front desk. “Thanks for the help.”
Yes, Y/N thinks, all of that should have been a sign for the state of the motel room that they now find themselves standing inside.
The same mildew smell from the lobby surrounds them, permeating through every inch of air that Y/N breathes in. Dust seems to coat every surface as well, with thick layers of it covering the decades old TV and stand, the small coffee table, and the ledge of the window to her right.  To her relief, there is a small arm chair in the corner, which must be the pull out that the attendant had mentioned.  However, her relief is short lived when she sees the ratty beige comforter on the bed, and wonders if maybe sleeping in Harry’s car, which she had sworn to him that she didn’t want to do, might have been the better choice.
Harry shuts the door behind them with a firm thud, turning the deadbolt lock before attaching the chain from the door to the door frame. “Let’s keep that locked, yeah?” He mutters, walking to the window and making sure the beige curtains—everything in the room is a sea of beige, like some sort of khaki coloured nightmare—are pulled closed tightly. “I don’t trust that front-desk prick not to sneak in here.”
Y/N nods, fixing the strap of her duffel bag with her overnight clothes on her shoulder.  She’s not quite sure where to set it down, as everything around them seems to have been sitting stagnant and uncleaned for a while. “Yeah. Thanks, by the way.  For that.”
Harry acknowledges her thanks with a small grunt, barely lifting his head to look at her. “You don’t need to thank me.”
Despite her gratitude for his actions, Y/N can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes at his gruff response. “Jesus, can you not just say you’re welcome?”
Harry chooses to ignore her comment, and instead sets his bag down on the arm chair, unzipping it roughly. “You can take the bed.” He says simply, tossing his sunglasses into his bag before pulling out a small bag filled with what Y/N assumes are toiletries. “I’ll take the pullout.”
“Fine.” Y/N reluctantly sets her own bag down on the creaking bed, pulling back the covers to check for anything unsightly.  To her relief, the interior of the bed looks cleaner than the exterior, and she returns the covers to their previous position before grabbing her phone charger from her duffel.
Harry glances at her as she gingerly sits on the bed and plugs her phone into the wall. “I’m going to shower.” He says slowly, as if gauging her reaction to the simple phrase. “Do you, um, need in there, or—?”
“Nope.” Y/N shakes her head, her cheeks flushing slightly as she checks her messages. “You’re good.” She keeps her eyes glued to her phone until she hears the click of the bathroom door behind Harry, signalling that she’s alone.
Taking advantage of what she knows will be a rare moment of solitude over the next week, Y/N changes from her tank top and leggings into her pajamas, wishing that her past self had realized how likely it would be that she’d be sharing a room with Harry. She’d brought exactly two pairs of pajamas with her on the trip, and neither pairs were something she wanted Harry to see her in.  The first pair, a baby pink silk set she’d bought on a whim from her favourite lingerie shop, is eliminated before Y/N even considers them, leaving her with just her usual casual pajamas.  Unfortunately, Y/N’s usual casual pajamas consist of an old sports bra that she’d had since moving to L.A., and a pair of men’s boxers that she stole from an ex in college.  Still, despite her hesitancy, she knows that plaid boxers and a faded grey sports bra are better than pink silk and lace, and she changes into them quickly before sitting cross-legged on the bed and dialing Jo’s number.
Jo, like she usually does, answers on the third ring, her voice extra chipper to compensate for the verbal lecture that she knows is coming. “Hey, Y/N!  How was driving today?”
“It would have been better if I’d known Harry was driving.” Y/N sighs, rubbing her palm over the cold skin of her exposed thigh. “Shouldn’t I have been informed of that decision?”
“It completely slipped my mind, actually.” Jo says casually, and Y/N can just picture her leaning her chin into her palm. “How was the first day?  Are you calling to ask me to help bury his body in the desert?  Because, like, you know I would in a heart beat, but I think it may put a damper on mine and Laure’s nuptials if my best friend murders her best friend.”
“No one’s been murdered. Yet.” Y/N glances at the bathroom door, the sound of the shower echoing through the vents and into the bedroom. “Although a ‘help me hide the body’ phone call may be coming soon.”
“Uh oh.” Y/N hears something crackling against the speaker, and pictures Jo shifting the phone from one ear to the other. “Is it that bad?”
Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose as she contemplates the easiest way to answer Jo’s question. “He’s such an irritating ass.  He really is.” She lowers her voice, but only slightly.  If Harry’s eavesdropping, she thinks, then let him hear.  It would serve him right. “He wanted to pick a fight over every little thing, and he’s so particular about his car—did you know he named it?  He named it, Jo.  He talks about it like it’s a person!”
A loud sigh echoes through the speaker. “That’s really not that weird, you know.” Jo replies in her best peace keeping voice. “And, by the way, did you know that you’re really the only person who finds Harry irritating?  Laure adores him, and I really like him, and everyone who meets him thinks he’s very thoughtful!”
“Then they haven’t been trapped in a car with him and his playlists for eight hours.” Y/N begins to tap her fingers against her knee in a quick staccato pattern. “He practically interrogated me about Brant today, as if he has any clue about the people I date.”
“Did he?” There’s a trace of curiosity in Jo’s voice now, and Y/N can imagine her leaning forward in interest. “What did he say?”
“He said he thinks he’s boring.” Twisting a lock of her hair behind her ear as she speaks, Y/N leaves her hand resting against her cheek. “He was rude about it, too.  I didn’t ask for his opinion.”
“Well, honestly, Y/N…” Jo’s curiosity twists into hesitation. “Brant isn’t exactly the most thrilling person.  You know that.”
Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, her cheeks flushing for what seems to be the millionth time that day. “I’m aware of that.  But he didn’t need to be so smug about it!”
“Okay, well, what’s done is done.” Jo says as she takes on her mediator persona once again. “So there’s nothing else to do now except go to sleep, get back in the car tomorrow, and continue driving.”
The sound of the shower stream cuts off, leaving just the pitter patter of rain beginning to hit the roof of the motel as ambiant noise. “I guess.” Y/N mumbles, fidgeting with the waistband of her bra. “I’ll talk to you later.  Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
After the line clicks dead, Y/N flops back on the squeaking mattress and begins to scroll through her phone, opening her work email to check if everything is running okay back home while she’s gone.  On top of all this, the last thing she needs is for her work to completely blow up in her absence.  Within minutes, Y/N becomes so engrossed in her phone that she doesn’t even notice the bathroom door creaking open and Harry walking out with just a towel around his waist.
Until she looks up, and then her mind goes completely blank.
Immediately, Y/N feels overstimulated.  There’s just…so much going on that she doesn’t even know where to look first, let alone have the ability to remind herself that she shouldn’t even be looking at Harry like this in the first place.  
Harry’s curls are soaking wet, curling down around his flushed cheeks in a way that, if it were anyone else, she’d immediately describe as attractive.  Droplets of water are clinging to every inch of his skin, his toned and tanned and tattooed skin, that seems to continue forever as her eyes travel down his bare chest, noticing every curve of his muscle.  His jade cross, which is almost the exact shade of his eyes, sits between his pronounced pectoral muscles, moving ever so slightly with each step he takes.  Y/N notices tattoos she’s never seen before, like the giant butterfly across his toned stomach, and—her mind goes blank for just a moment—two vines that are tattooed over his prominent pelvic muscles, which just barely dip beneath the white towel that’s wrapped loosely around his hips.
As Y/N’s eyes glue themselves to the way Harry’s towel is moving as he walks, arousal begins to pool in her stomach, travelling all the way down to her core and back again.  For a split second, she thinks that maybe Harry is right.  Maybe she doesn’t want to fuck Brant, because she knows for certain that she’s never thought about him the way she’s thinking about Harry in this moment.
But it’s Harry, she reminds herself, as she tries to force herself to snap her gaping mouth closed. Underneath all those muscles and tattoos—and there are a lot of muscles and tattoos—it’s Harry, who annoys her to no end, who is one of the most self-absorbed individuals she’s ever met, and who has had it out for her since the day they met.
“Sorry.” Harry’s low accent snaps Y/N from her thoughts and pulls her wandering eyes back to his face. “Forgot my clothes out here.”
“It’s—” Y/N’s voice cracks in the middle of the word, still hyper-focused on just how it’s possible for one person to be as attractive as they are irritating, and she clears her throat before trying to speak again. “It’s fine.”
If Harry notices the slip in Y/N’s voice, he doesn’t say anything.  Instead, he just walks to his open bag, locking one hand firmly over his towel as the other searches through his clothes.  He pulls out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, examining them for just a moment before nodding in satisfaction and heading back to the bathroom. Y/N almost swears that she sees him glance at her one last time before he shuts the door, but then she gets lost in the taut muscles of his back, and forgets what she’s thinking entirely.
She’s only just begun to contemplate that maybe she should pull herself together when the door opens again, and Harry exits the bathroom in a way that’s a little more presentable.  His hair is still damp, but his body is dry, proven by the faded Rolling Stones t-shirt that’s now clinging to his arms and the boxers that are hanging low on his hips. His tattooed hips.  His incredibly sexy tattooed hips that could probably—
“What are you wearing?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow at her as he moves his bag from the chair to the ground.  He begins to unfold the bed from the armchair cushions to reveal a creaking twin bed, carefully stretching it out as he waits for an answer.
“I—pajamas.” Y/N glances down at herself self consciously, fixing the strap of her sports bra as she does so. “I just—I didn’t think we’d be sharing a room, so…”
Harry nods tersely as he finishes setting up the bed, his expression unreadable while he walks to the closet and grabs a set of sheets and a blanket. “Cute boxers.” He says casually. “Are they Brant’s?”
Within a flash, the intense rush of attraction and desire Y/N had been feeling is gone, and is instead replaced by the familiar irritation as she watches a smirk grow in the very corner of Harry’s mouth. “No.” She says flatly, turning her attention back to her phone.
“Interesting.” Harry says slowly, laying the sheets and blanket on the bed in a haphazard manner. “Whose are they, then?”
Y/N gets up from the bed and grabs her toiletry bag from her duffel before answering. “An ex.” She says shortly, tucking the patterned bag under her arm. “And why does it matter to you?”
The sound of the rain against the roof and windows gets louder and louder as they speak, and Harry raises his voice to be heard over the precipitation. “It doesn’t.” He shrugs as he maneuvers his lanky body under the blanket without causing the bed to fold in on itself. “Just curious, that’s all.”
“Well, you don’t need to be curious.” Y/N opens the bathroom door, sparing one last withering glance at Harry over her shoulder.  He’s sitting up on the bed with one leg hanging out from beneath the covers as one hand plays with his hair, the other fiddles with a ring on his finger, and the way he looks at her from the corner of his eye lights a fire in Y/N’s chest.  Except she can’t tell if it’s a fire of anger or arousal.  
When she slams the door behind her, it’s her own confusion over that distinction that frustrates her more than anything else.
“Took you long enough.” Harry scoffs while leaning against the side of his car, his white t-shirt a contrast to the dust covered body of the black Chevy Impala.  His dark sunglasses are perched on top of his head, keeping his unruly curls out of his eyes, while his arms are crossed over his chest impatiently as he waits for an answer. “I dropped off the keys ten minutes ago.”
By way of explanation, Y/N holds up the cardboard drink tray in her hands, a brown bag balancing in between the two coffee cups. “I was getting us breakfast, Styles.  Calm down.” She walks to the passenger side of the car, opening the door and climbing in one handed. “I figured you’d be even crabbier hungry.”
“You mean you’d be crabbier without caffeine.” Harry retorts, climbing into the driver’s side in one smooth motion. “Here—” He takes the tray from her so she can buckle her seatbelt, carefully removing the two coffees and setting them in the cup holders between them. “Just be careful not to spill anything.”
Y/N rolls her eyes as she picks up the coffee closest to her (she’d gotten them both black). “Why? Worried about me ruining Stevie?”
Harry reaches into his pocket, pulling out his keys as he gives her an irritated look. “Yes, actually. I’ve put a lot of work into her.” The car roars to life as Harry turns the key in the ignition, buckling his own seat as the motor warms up. “Adding on two thousand miles to her in five days is already worrisome enough, and that’s not even counting the other two thousand she’ll get on the way back.”
Y/N doesn’t respond to the comment, and instead lets the sound of Harry’s playlist fill the silence of the car as Harry peels out of the Motel 6 parking lot.  She’ll be glad to leave that place behind, she thinks, and focus on finding something better—and more private—for tonight, wherever they end up.
Harry, however, doesn’t seem content with letting silence fall between them. “How did you sleep last night?” He asks after a few moments, one hand on the steering wheel as he takes a sip of his coffee.
Glancing at him from the corner of her eye suspiciously, Y/N reaches into the paper bag and grabs her Danish, taking a small bite before answering. “Not great.”
“Was the bed bad?” Harry asks curiously, his brow furrowing while his eyes stay glued to the road, moving only to glance at the occasion sign directing him back to the highway. “The pull out wasn’t great, but I’ve slept on worse.  I would’ve thought the bed would be better than that.”
“No, it—I mean, the bed wasn’t amazing, but it—” Y/N clears her throat and swallows the bite of pastry in her mouth. “I, uh, I don’t sleep well when it’s raining.”
At this new information, Harry’s eyebrow quirks up, and he risks a look in her direction to attempt to read her face.  Y/N’s own eyes are focused on the Danish in her hands, refusing to meet his gaze as she lifts the pastry to her mouth to take another bite.
“You don’t?” Harry asks after a moment, the confusion in his voice almost visible within the space between them. “But it’s like white noise, isn’t it?  Supposed to be relaxing, and all that.”
Y/N gives a half shrug of her shoulders. “It’s—well, it’s not the rain, exactly, just—what it’s usually paired with.” Y/N hopes that her clear hesitancy to answer will be enough of a signal to Harry for him to drop the subject.  Harry, however, doesn’t seem to pick up on the reluctance in Y/N’s voice; or, at least, he doesn’t care enough to acknowledge it.
“What do you mean, what it’s paired with?” Harry takes a small sip of his own coffee, careful of the temperature of the liquid. “Like…wind, or—?”
Y/N debates back and forth with herself internally, but she knows that Harry won’t drop the subject without getting a satisfying answer. “Thunder.” She answers finally, setting her coffee down in her cup holder before turning her gaze towards her window. “I don’t like thunderstorms, ever since I was a little kid, and when it’s raining, it always feels like thunder is around the corner.  Puts me on edge, like I’m waiting for it.  And I can’t sleep.”
“So you never sleep when it rains?” Harry asks slowly, and the tone of incredulous disbelief in Harry’s voice is enough for Y/N to be able to imagine the expression on his face. His forest green eyes wide, strawberry pink lips agape, brow furrowed in confusion, his jaw slack as he contemplates a response to a grown woman admitting that she’s afraid of thunder. The image in her head is enough to make the back of her neck flush.
There’s a tightness in the back of her throat, and Y/N attempts to clear it again before answering. “Never.”
“Huh.” Harry taps his fingers against the gear shift in succession three times. “You’d hate London, then.”
The casual comment catches Y/N by surprise, but she doesn’t allow herself to lower her guard. “That’s why I don’t live in London.” She mumbles the words as her fingers pick at the napkin wrapped around her Danish. “I picked L.A. for a reason.  It has lots of heat, barely any rain, and I’m reasonably close to Disneyland whenever I feel like I need something magical.” The last part slips out without Y/N thinking, and the flush creeps further up her neck as a surprised laugh leaves Harry’s mouth.
“Something magical?” Harry repeats, new crinkles appearing next to his eyes as he laughs, as if the dimples that crease his cheeks aren’t proof of his amusement enough. “Do you frequently feel like you need something magical?”
It’s Y/N’s turn to give an incredulous look now, her body half twisting towards Harry to observe his confusing reactions. “How did I just admit that I’m afraid of thunder, and the thing you’re focusing on is that I like Disney?”
Harry shrugs at her words, flicking on his turn signal to exit towards the highway. “I don’t know.” He says as he peers over his shoulder to check for oncoming cars. “I mean, everyone has fears.  Not liking thunder isn’t exactly uncommon, you know.  However, hearing that Ms. Serious Type A Perfectionist likes magic—” His grin grows bigger by the second. “Now that’s surprising.”
“Oh, shut up.” Y/N mutters, finishing her Danish in a few more bites.  She waits until she’s entirely finished chewing before continuing the conversation over the voice of Billy Joel coming through the speakers. “Since I’ve admitted something I’m afraid of…” She starts, glancing at Harry from the corner of her eye. “I think it’s only fair that you admit something, too.”
Harry snorts in response, his hand freezing its movement with his coffee cup still half lifted to his lips. “Is that so?”
“Mhmm.” Y/N hums as she slips off her shoes in order to pull her legs beneath her to fold into a cross-legged position on the car seat. “Not so much fun when it’s your turn, huh? C’mon, what’s the Brit scared of? Not enough biscuits for afternoon tea?”
A short and harsh breath of air leaves Harry’s nose, half a snort as he sets his coffee down in his cupholder. “No, actually, diminishing biscuit levels are a low level fear for me.”
“Then what’s a higher one?” Y/N prods, watching as Harry’s neck muscles tense as he shoulder checks to change lanes.  There’s something about the movement that catches her eye, but she can’t quite figure out why—or rather, she can, but she’d rather pretend that she’s unaware.
“Uh…” Harry’s fingers nimbly switch on his turn signal before he transitions to the left lane, his right hand moving the gear shift to its desired place. “Crowds.  I’m not a fan of big crowds, really.  Like when everyone’s pressed together, so tight that you can’t breathe, and you can’t hear yourself think because it’s so loud…yeah. I don’t like that.”
The simple answer surprises Y/N as much as she imagines her answer surprised Harry. “Crowds?” She repeats back to him, a forgotten memory of long gone conversations coming to the forefront of her mind. “But what about, like, concerts and stuff?  Laure always told me when she’d go to shows with you…”
“That’s different.” Harry shrugs as one of his ringed hands comes to his lips, rubbing over them slowly as he contemplates his next words. “I…When I’m at concerts, I always go with someone, and if we’re in the general seating area, where there’s a lot of people, I always stick with them.  Like, sometimes, if it’s getting crowded, or people are pushing, Laure will hold my hand, so…” Redness begins to creep up Harry’s pale neck, staining the tops of his ears a deep berry colour as he trails off.
Not for the first time since their conversation began, Y/N is surprised at how candid they’re being with each other.  As she watches Harry’s blush grow, she feels her own diminish, a physical representation of her trading her embarrassment for something more empathetic.
“I get it.” Y/N says after a moment, once it’s clear that Harry isn’t going to continue. “When there’s thunderstorms, um, I feel better when I’m with someone, or talking to someone. It makes me feel less…”
“Alone?” Harry finishes for her, his eyes flickering from the road to her profile.  His green irises capture hers for longer than they should, his focus completely gone from the stretch of highway for at least five seconds before Harry’s attention turns back to driving. “Yeah.” He says slowly, pulling his sunglasses down from his hair to hide his eyes. “Yeah, less alone. It helps.”
Y/N nods slowly, unable to look away from Harry’s side profile.  It’s apparent that he’s on edge after their conversation, and she knows her body language is the same.  Tight in the shoulders, hands clenched, back rigidly straight.  And yet, seeing her own body language reflected in front of her bothers her.  Part of her wants to reach out and take Harry’s hand, soothe him like Laure does in the crowd of a concert, but she knows that’s ridiculous.  It’s ridiculous, and it’s Harry, and Harry, of all people, does not need her comfort.  Not in the slightest.
She watches as Harry clenches his fist on top of his thigh.
“Is this really necessary?” Y/N asks, slamming her car door shut as Harry does the same on the other side of the vehicle.  She leans over the roof of the car, crossing her arms on the cool metal as she tilts her head to the side in an inquisitive manner.  The clouds in the sky are getting darker by the minute, signalling the beginning of the storm that canceled her flight, and the angry black colour above their heads is making Y/N anxious.
Harry, however, seems unbothered by the gathering storm, and nods tersely as he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head before opening the door to the backseat and grabbing his army green jacket. “Of course it’s necessary.” He says, slipping the jacket over his broad shoulders before slamming the door shut and locking the car. “I’ve never been to Utah before.  I want a souvenir.”
“Okay, but—” Y/N follows Harry as he walks towards the dilapidated building in front of them. “Here? Really?  Does this seem like the best place?”
Harry glances at her over his shoulder at her, pausing his long strides to look up at the building he spotted from the highway.  If the chipped grey paint that was once pastel blue and dust-coated windows are any sign, the structure is probably older than Harry and Y/N combined, with a splintered front porch wrapping around its small perimeter.  The building has one faded sign above the door that reads “SOUVENIRS/SNACKS” in hand-painted capital letters, and seems to be hanging onto the outside façade by three small bolts and sheer willpower.  Y/N’s almost certain that she’s seen this exact building in a horror movie before someone gets murdered, and while getting back into the car with Harry isn’t at the top of her list of wants, it’s certainly preferable to getting stabbed to death by a serial killer.
“It’s fine, Y/N.” Harry waves off her concern without a second thought about the appearance of the shop. “If you’re really bothered, you can wait in the car.”
Y/N considers it for a moment, but decides against it.  She needs to stretch her legs, and honestly, Harry seems too trusting.  He probably wouldn’t be able to tell if someone was sketchy until their knife was in his back.  And, seeing as how he has the keys to the only getaway car available, Y/N kind of needs him around without a stab wound carved into his flesh.
“Let’s just get this over with.” She sighs, pulling her own jacket around her tighter as she steps over the worn wooden steps to the door. “We’re on a schedule.”
When Harry pushes open the door, the smell of stale air hits Y/N before anything else.  Despite one open window and a fan in the corner of the shop that’s being used in a weak attempt to circulate the air, it feels like nothing fresh has been in the shop for a while.  Y/N shoots a glance at Harry, caution and warning written all over her face.
While Harry sees her glance, he waves off her concern, turning his attention to the few shelves and wire racks around the small shop that are lined with inventory.  Within a few moments, he’s entertaining himself in the post card section, comparing different photos of the Utah landscape to each other with great care and concern.  Y/N observes him for a few moments before wandering off on her own towards the snack section of the shop.  Although there are a few items that she thinks about picking up, the thick layer of dust over the packaging puts her off from purchasing them.  She grimaces as she continues walking, stopping in front of a tower of silver key chains in the back corner of the shop.  Most of them, she finds, are crosses and bible verses, and all of them give her an ominous feeling in her stomach.  Y/N runs her finger over a miniature silver version of the Ten Commandments, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she does so.
“I think we should go, Harry.” She calls to him without turning around, setting the key chain back down on the rack carefully. “Just pick your post card and—Harry?”
When Y/N turns around, Harry’s broad figure is nowhere to be seen.  She walks back over to the post card section slowly, her brow furrowed with confusion as a knot tightens in her stomach.  Where could he be? She wonders, running her hand along the dusty wire rack in front of her.  It’s not like there’s anywhere for him to go in the small shop, and she would have heard if he left, or if he drove away.
“Harry?” She calls again, her steps slower now as worry fills her voice. “Where did you—fuck—!” Y/N screams as something grabs her from behind, its fingers digging into her sides harshly.  She whips around to find Harry standing over her, loud outbursts of laughter spilling from his strawberry pink mouth at the look on her face.
An indignant flush rushes over Y/N’s face. “You’re such an ass!” She hisses, gripping his shoulders and shoving his laughing frame away from her. “I swear, you’re like a five year old—”
“Did I worry you?” Harry snickers between his words, a wicked look of mischief alight in his dark green eyes. “Were you afraid something happened to me?”
Y/N’s cheeks burn with anger as she turns away from him, crossing her arms defiantly. “No.  I wish something had happened to you.  Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your immature antics.”
Harry’s lips stay quirked up in a smirk as he follows her, his voice falling into a singsong tone. “You were worried.” He insists, chuckles still rolling out of him every few moments. “I could tell.”
“Oh, fuck off.” Y/N snaps at him in an irritated voice. “Just pay for your stupid post card and let’s go.”
“I already did. There’s a sign on the desk saying the clerk is out for lunch, so I left some money.” Harry nods to the small desk in the corner with a few dollars left tucked under the dusty service bell. “I think that’ll cover it, yeah?”
“Whatever.” Y/N can’t resist shoving Harry one last time before walking towards the shop door. “That’s enough.  Let’s go. I want to make it to the motel before the storm hits.”
The nice thing about Grand Junction, Colorado, Y/N realizes, is that their motels have multiple single rooms available on short notice.  While she didn’t realize the importance of this fact before this trip started, having an evening of solitude and her own stable space away from Harry for the first time in two days is nothing short of a blessing.
When she gets inside her private motel room, which, while still shabby, is leagues above their previous motel, Y/N locks the door before breathing a sigh of relief.  Just the silence in the room is wonderful, and even though she knows Harry is right next door, having a wall between them is a luxury that she doesn’t take for granted.  When she showers, she doesn’t have to worry about being quick, or toweling off as fast as she can so she can get dressed inside the bathroom without Harry seeing. There’s no need to worry about anyone hearing Y/N sing quietly to herself under the (albeit weak) stream of the shower, nor is there an uncomfortable stick of her sports bra to her back caused by water droplets that she couldn’t reach in her hurry to dry off. And after her shower, with some of the knots from her back finally worked out, Y/N is able to stretch out on the double bed in the center of the room, her phone in her hand as she reaches for the takeout menus stacked on the bedside table.  She peruses the menus available before settling on Chinese takeout, and within five minutes, her order of a two entrée plate and fried rice is on its way.
Y/N sighs gently as she leans back on the pillows, wishing that she and Harry had stopped at a liquor store before coming to the motel.  She knows she could probably walk to one, but now that she’s showered and comfortable, the last thing she wants to do is wander around Grand Junction until she finds a bottle of Moscato.  Instead, Y/N flicks on the TV with a click of the ancient remote, and begins scrolling through the channels until she finds a rerun of Dirty Dancing that’s just starting.
An amused yet wry smile appears on Y/N’s lips.  It’s this movie’s fault that she and Harry are on an impromptu road trip, really. Jo and Laure both loved it, and were insistent that they had to get married at a resort in the Catskills similar to one from the film.  As her two friends cross her mind, Y/N settles into the sheets as Baby begins her narration, contemplating whether or not she should call Jo to check in.  Just as the thought pops into her head, however, the phone rings.
Y/N answers within a moment, not bothering to check the caller ID.  She and Jo had a strange habit of calling each other the moment the other thought of it, and when she raises her phone to her ear, she expects to hear her best friend’s familiar voice reply. “Hello?”
What voice she actually hears, however, surprises her. “Hey, Y/N.  I’m glad I got through.” Brant says easily, his voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “How are you?”
“Brant!” Y/N jerks up in bed in surprise, the remote falling from its perch on her stomach onto the sheets. “I—I’m fine.  How are you?”
“Oh, alright.  Just busy with work, but that’s the usual.” Y/N can practically picture the neutral expression on his face, and how he’d shrug his shoulders as he speaks. “How’s the road trip?  I can’t imagine driving for as long as you have to drive.”
“It’s…it’s alright, yeah.” Y/N speaks slowly as she puts her phone on speaker, balancing it on her knee while her hands begin to fidget with her rings. “Long, but not too bad.”
“Well, that’s good.” Brant clears his throat thickly, as if what he’s about to say makes him uncomfortable. “I miss you, though.  And our weekly dinners.”
A feeling of guilt washes over Y/N.  Truthfully, besides Harry’s inquisition on the first day of driving, Brant has barely crossed her mind.  Granted, he isn’t usually at the forefront of her mind while she’s in L.A., either, but for the last few days, her thoughts have been constantly consumed by the stress of making it to the wedding and her annoyance and frustration with Harry.  
“Y/N?” Brant’s voice crackles through her speaker again. “Are you there?
“I—yeah.” She says quickly, pulling herself from her thoughts. “Sorry, just—long day.  I’m tired.”
“I can imagine.” Brant says sympathetically, but there’s something in his tone that almost sounds patronizing. “Who are you driving with?  Have you been taking turns?”
Y/N pauses the fidgeting of her rings before snatching her phone from its balanced place on her knee. She quickly opens her messages and scrolls to her thread with Brant, searching through the text bubbles for a reminder of what she’d said to him.  Had she not told him that she was traveling with Harry?
Within a moment, Y/N confirms that she hadn’t.  All she had said was that she was getting a ride with someone.  Why had she done that, she wonders?  She’s sure she’s mentioned Harry in passing to Brant at least once.  When she talked about the wedding, probably.  As she thinks about it more, however…what had she told Brant about the wedding?  About Jo? How much does he actually know about her personal life?  Most of their dinner conversations revolve around work, or some book both of them have read.  Had the topic ever come up in detail?
“I’m, um, I’m driving with one of Laure’s friends.” Y/N brings the phone closer to her mouth as her other hand works its way to her mouth.  She begins to chew on a hangnail absentmindedly between her words, something she always does when her nerves begin to get to her.  She can’t count the number of times Jo has grasped her wrist and pulled her hand from her mouth to chastise her about the habit. “We’re…we’re in Colorado now.”
“Oh, Colorado.  That’s nice.” Brant says over the rustling of papers. “Listen, Y/N, I’ve got some work to get back to, but I’m glad we had this talk. I’ll call you again soon.”
“Uh, yeah.  Sure.  I’ll talk to you later.” Y/N nods, and then the line goes dead.  Out of curiosity, Y/N checks the length of the call.  The time 3:09 blinks back at her.
Tossing her phone back down on the covers, Y/N resumes her relaxed position in bed, despite being anything but relaxed after that phone call.  She should feel guilty, she thinks, for not telling Brant about Harry. But then again, what’s there to tell? She said she was getting a ride with one of Laure’s friends, and that’s true.  She hadn’t lied.  And even if Brant did know that the friend is Harry, why would he care?  It’s just Harry.  There’s no reason for Brant to be alarmed, because there’s nothing going on. And she and Brant…Y/N glances down at the call time again.  Things are different between them.  There’s…they’re comfortable as they are, she thinks.  They’re not dating, and they’re comfortable like that.  So there’s no reason to tell him about Harry, because there’s nothing to tell.  Nothing at all.
Y/N refocuses on the TV screen, where Patrick Swayze is dancing in a tight black tank top. Right.  Nothing to tell.
When Y/N leaves her motel room the next morning with her bag over her shoulder, Harry is already waiting by his car, leaning against the dusty black body with two coffee cups in his hands.  He’s dressed in another black t-shirt (Y/N wonders just how many identical copies of the same shirt Harry has) with usual jeans covering his long legs.  His curls are tied out of his face with a dark green bandana, and Y/N knows that if his eyes weren’t covered with his black sunglasses, the bandana would make them even brighter than they usually are.
“Hey.” Harry calls to her, extending a ringed hand that holds a coffee cup towards her as she walks over. “I got the coffee this morning.  You drink it black, right?”
Y/N nods as she takes the cup from him, careful not to brush over his fingers with her own. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“No problem.” Harry crosses around to the back of the car, opening the trunk with a turn of his key. “Here.” Harry holds out his free hand for Y/N’s bag, taking it from her and setting it down on top of the suitcases in the back. “I got it.”
Y/N regards Harry with a bemused look as she wraps both hands around her coffee cup. “Thanks?” She says again, more questioning this time as she looks at him strangely. “I can do that myself, you know.”
“I know.  I’m just trying to be polite.” Harry’s voice takes on its usual bite like he’s flipping a switch. “Is that alright with you, princess?”
Within a second, the familiar irritation with Harry returns to Y/N, and it’s almost comforting to snap back at him in a testy voice. “Don’t call me that.”
Harry snickers under his breath, and although the sound makes Y/N’s annoyance grow, she detects a different tone in it than a few days before.  Before she can place a finger on why it sounds different, however, Harry is climbing into the driver’s side of the car and starting the engine.
The two of them are silent as Harry finds his way back to the highway, and they stay in that silence for the first few hours of that day’s leg of the trip.  As the third hour begins to pass, Y/N is content listening to the throaty and captivating voice of Stevie Nicks fill the cab of the car. By the second chorus of the song, Y/N is humming along quietly, her foot tapping to the same beat that Harry’s fingers are spelling out against the steering wheel.  It’s comfortable, she thinks after a moment.  The silence between them.  It feels different than it did on their first day, when Y/N was questioning her choice to get into a car with Harry and commit to a 42 hour drive. The silence seems to be fueled more by comfort than tension.  It’s…refreshing.
A memory from the first day ignites in the back of her mind, a spark so bright and obvious that she can’t believe it took her so long to see it. “Stevie.” Y/N says suddenly, turning to Harry as a smile spreads over her face. “You named your car Stevie, as in Stevie Nicks?”
Harry laughs, his shoulders moving up and down beneath his black t-shirt from the motion.  One hand lifts from the steering wheel and points a finger gun at her. “Took you long enough.  I was wondering how many days you’d have to listen to my music to get it.”
Y/N gives his hand a light shove. “I was too distracted by the fact that you named your car.” She rolls her eyes, bringing her bottle of water to her lips for a short sip. “I still think it’s weird.”
“It gives her character.” Harry defends himself as he rubs a hand over the steering wheel absentmindedly. Y/N can see the mirth swirling around in his light irises. “A bit of personality.  Just because you don’t value personalities doesn’t mean anyone else doesn’t.”
“I don’t value personalities?” Turning in her seat to stare at Harry head on, Y/N raises an eyebrow in question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just your taste in men, that’s all.” Harry says it casually, like it really can just be a “that’s all” type of sentence.
Within a heart beat, the comfortable atmosphere in the car turns to ice as Y/N straightens in her seat, her spine tense, tightening every nerve in her body along with it. “What the fuck does that mean?”
When Harry glances at her again, his eyes darken, his guard going up as he senses the shift in Y/N’s tone. “Nothing, just…motel rooms have thin walls.” Harry mumbles, having the decency to keep his eyes on the road as his ears redden slightly. “And from what I overheard, Brant doesn’t exactly seem…stimulating.”
Y/N sputters indignantly for a moment, unable to form a coherent response as anger rises in her chest. “You—” She sucks in a quick breath that hits the back of her throat harshly. “You eavesdropped on me?”
Harry licks his lips once, clearing his throat once before answering.  The tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel has resumed, his nervousness apparent in his movements as well as his facial expressions. “Not on purpose.  I told you, the walls were thin.”
“So put in head phones!” Y/N exclaims, gripping her water bottle so tight that her fingers begin to strain in protest against the metal exterior.  She has half a mind to throw the bottle at Harry in her anger, barely able to talk herself down from the ledge of the idea.
Harry’s posture shifts in his seat as his shoulders square, and Y/N can practically see his defensive side emerge from within his chest. “It’s not like you two were having phone sex.” He rolls his eyes at the idea. “It was the most boring conversation in the world, and lasted, what, three minutes?  Makes you wonder how long he lasts in other ways, doesn’t it?”
“Stop the car.” Y/N’s voice is low and void of emotion as she replies, her body turned back forward in her seat.
“Am I wrong?  It’s not like you know for sure—”
Anger bubbles over in Y/N’s chest, cancelling out any rational thought she has inside her and leaving pure, unadulterated fury. “Stop the car, Harry!  Now!”
Harry half jumps in his seat when Y/N yells, and he quickly jerks the car to the side of the highway without so much as a turn signal.  Pulling her seatbelt off as he pulls over, Y/N is out the door before Harry can so much as put the car into neutral.  While her more rational mind would tell her that she has nowhere to walk to along a highway in Colorado as the sky darkens to an angry black above them, the only thing she’s thinking of is getting away from Harry.  Stupid, self-absorbed, ignorant, and rude Harry.
“Y/N—” The sound of Harry scrambling out of the car and slamming the door behind him pushes her to walk faster. “Y/N, come back—”
Y/N turns around on her heel fast and hard, heart pounding so fast that she thinks it might break through her ribs. “What is your problem?” She hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Why do you insist on being so—so nasty about him?  You don’t even know him!”
Harry freezes where he is as the wind whips his hair around his face, his bandana barely keeping the messy curls in place. “I don’t—” His speech falters, and he sucks in a sharp breath before continuing. “I don’t think I’m being…nasty.”
“Well, you are!” Y/N takes a deep breath in, placing her hands over her stomach as it expands with air.  It’s a trick that Jo taught her back in high school, as a way to ground herself to her body. Feeling the movement of air in and out of her lungs helps calm her, even if by just a fraction. “Brant is just—he’s someone I’m talking to.  We’ve gone on dates, but we’re not dating, and even though we’re not dating, that doesn’t mean that you can insinuate things about him, or eavesdrop on our private conversations!”
Harry’s jaw tenses as he listens to Y/N speak, waiting until she’s finished her speech to respond in a harsh and clipped tone. “I already told you, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. And I’m teasing you.  It’s supposed to be a joke.  Isn’t that what friends do?”
“But we’re not friends, Harry.” Y/N’s voice is flat, the fury in her tone replaced with a hollow emptiness. “We’re not friends.  I don’t need you teasing me about a boy like we’re buddies, or whatever, because we’re not.”
Although Harry opens his mouth to respond, no words cross over the edges of his pink lips.  His jaw tightens even more as he closes his mouth again, and Y/N can see a million things flitting through his green irises, which are getting darker by the moment.  Y/N’s not certain if the darkness is from her words, or the black sky rolling above them that’s sapping the light of day from the atmosphere, and she’s not sure if she can take the answer either way.  Part of her knows that maybe—just maybe—she’s blown this whole thing out of proportion, and maybe she should examine why Harry making fun of Brant bothers her like it does.  It’s not like she’s unaware of his shortcomings, she thinks, but then she wonders why she’s now seeing them as shortcomings, when a week ago, she saw them as positives.  Y/N never has to worry about Brant being too much for her, or forgetful, or scatterbrained—he’s organized, and secure, and stable, and that’s what she likes.  It’s always been what she likes.
Harry’s delayed response tears Y/N from her thoughts. “Not friends.  Got it.” He mutters, rubbing his hand over his stubbled and taut cheeks. “Just get back in the car, then.  Let’s go.”
“Hello!  My name is Gracie, I’ll be your server today.” The waitress in the tiny diner smiles at Harry and Y/N, a notepad in one hand and a half filled coffee pot in the other. “Can I get you guys anything to start?”
“Coffee.” Harry and Y/N speak at the same time, each person’s eyes flickering to the other before looking away.  Y/N keeps her eyes focused on her off-white ceramic coffee cup as Gracie fills it, refusing to make eye contact with Harry again.
The last hour has been almost unbearable.  After they got back in the car, Harry had turned off his playlist, and for the first time since the road trip had begun, true silence had fallen between them. Y/N had thought she would like it, but truthfully, it had been the worst thing she’d ever heard.  Every few minutes, she’d hear Harry shift, or sigh, or tap a tense finger against the gear shift, and she wished that she could say something, but she didn’t.  She couldn’t.  She’d been grateful when he wordlessly exited the highway and parked in front of a diner, as the conversations of stopped truck drivers and the clatter of a kitchen was a good distraction from their argument.
A movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention, and Y/N glances up just enough to watch Harry slip a pat of butter into his coffee, stirring the contents of the cup with his spoon until it’s melted together.  She wrinkles her nose in disgust, and almost opens her mouth to make a comment (“Really, Harry?  Just add milk like a regular person, instead of drinking a cup of grease.”), but bites it back before it can fall off her tongue.  They’re not exactly in the position to make quips to each other, she thinks, especially after she told him that they weren’t friends.
Which they’re not. They’ve never been friends; that fact isn’t exactly news.  Not getting along has been Harry and Y/N’s signature since the day they first met. So why is there a pit in Y/N’s stomach that gets deeper every time Harry looks away from her?
The click of heels alerts Y/N of Gracie’s returned presence before her voice does. “Have you two decided what you’d like to eat?”
“I’ll have a turkey club, please, on whole wheat bread.” Harry folds up his plastic menu carefully. “And a glass of water on the side.”
Gracie nods, taking the menu from him before turning her eyes to Y/N. “And for yourself?”
“Um—” Y/N had barely glanced at the menu, too lost in her thoughts to think about it. “I’ll just have a burger, please.  And a water, as well.”
Gracie nods as she writes down the order, taking Y/N’s menu and giving the pair one last smile before disappearing to the kitchen.  A fresh wave of silence falls between Harry and Y/N as each of them sips their coffee, both of them doing their best not to look at the person sitting across from them.
Y/N’s best, however, is not up to her usual standard, as she can’t stop herself from stealing a few quick glances while Harry looks out the window.  He hasn’t shaved in a couple days, she notices, as the stubble on his cheeks and chin is even darker than it was the day before.  There’s a permanent crease between his eyebrows, his face as tense as she’s ever seen it, and a darkness over his whole expression overall. It’s like there’s a new wall up between the two of them, and Y/N’s never felt more detached from him.  Which, honestly, is saying something.
She’s looking back down at her own half empty coffee when Harry finally speaks a few minutes later, his voice just as tense as his expression.
“Shit.” He says in a low voice, and then the next sound Y/N hears is that of someone ruffling through pockets.  
She looks up to see Harry doing just that, his hands digging through the outer pockets of his army green jacket. “What?” She asks, her curiosity outweighing her need to continue the silent treatment. “What is it?”
“I had the vows in my—my pocket, but they’re—” Harry jams his hands inside a pocket sewn into the lining of his jacket, and Y/N watches as his face visibly relaxes. “Oh, thank God. I thought they fell out.”
Harry removes his hand from his pocket, two folded up notes clutched within his hand.  Each one is labeled carefully, one with Jo written in Laure’s neat penmanship, and the other with Laure scribbled in Jo’s quick writing.  
Y/N recognizes the papers immediately.  It’s easy, really, considering the amount of time she spent helping Jo rewrite draft after draft of the same sentiments. “You have Jo and Laure’s vows?” She questions, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Why?”
“The same reason you have their wedding bands.” Harry shrugs as he turns the papers over in his careful fingers, making sure not to crease them. “They forgot them.”
A small smile plays on the edge of Y/N’s lips at the memory of her forgetful friends. “Right.  Of course.”
Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s mouth at the sign of movement, and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth before responding. “Want to take a look?”
“At their vows?” Y/N looks around, as if someone could be watching and monitoring them. “I—that doesn’t seem right.”
“Fine.  Then don’t look at them.” Harry says easily, setting the note labeled Laure on the table between them.  His nimble fingers unfold the paper labeled with Jo’s name as his green irises begin to scan across the sheet. “I’ll read them.”
It only takes a few seconds of watching Harry read over the words for Y/N to crack. “Wait.” She brings her thumb to her mouth, chewing anxiously on her cuticle as Harry quirks an eyebrow at her. “Will you read them to me?”
When she asks, Harry spends so long staring at her that Y/N thinks he’ll refuse.  His jade eyes meet hers with an intensity that almost makes her flinch, but Y/N holds his stare, refusing to be the first to back down. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Harry gives a sharp nod, looking down at the note before he starts to read from the beginning.
“‘My darling Jo’,” He begins, his voice soft and low, his accent thick. “‘It seems so strange that this day is finally here.  I feel like we’ve been building up to it ever since the day we first met, and yet it’s always seemed so far away.  When I was a little girl, I always’…” Harry trails off as his eyes continue to move across the words, and he clears his throat before attempting to continue to read aloud. “‘I always thought that there was something wrong with me.  I thought that the things that I felt, and the way that I loved, was dirty.  I thought it was wrong.  I thought that—that I was going against God, and against nature, and that I was going to be punished for it.  And then I met you’.”
Harry pauses to take a sip of his coffee, and Y/N does the same.  There’s a shine beginning to appear in his eyes, and Y/N recognizes it as the beginning of tears because she feels the same thing brimming in her own eyes. She feels a bit guilty for reading the vows, but reasons that it’s for the best.  If she were to hear them for the first time at the wedding, she doesn’t think she’d be able to keep it together.
“‘The moment I met you, I knew that the way I loved could never be wrong, or be dirty, because I was loving you’.” Harry’s accent grows thicker the more he reads, and although Y/N hasn’t seem Harry in many different emotional states, she can tell that this is a sign of how the vows are affecting him. “‘Being with you could never be wrong, and God could never get mad at me for it, because only God could create someone as perfect as you.  I promise to love you when you wake me up at 3 A.M. because you’ve stolen all the blankets, and I promise to love you at 6 P.M. when you almost burn down our apartment while trying to cook for me.  I promise to support you through everything, listen to your stories, and watch in wonder as you make a difference in this world.  I promise to never let my anger get the best of me, and to always give you the benefit of the doubt.  I promise to love every version of yourself that you grow into, just as I’ve loved all the versions you once were.  I promise to love you in every way humanly possible, and even in ways that aren’t humanly possible.  I promise to love, period.  I’—” Harry’s voice cracks, and he glances up at Y/N as he clears his throat to continue. “‘I love you’.”
Y/N doesn’t realize just how emotional listening to Harry read Laure’s vows has made her until the first tear wells over the corner of her eye.  She turns her head towards the window to wipe it away as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, but from the way Harry is looking at her when she turns back around, she knows that he caught what she was doing.
“That, um—” Now it’s Y/N’s turn to attempt to clear the emotion from her throat. “Wow.”
Harry carefully folds Laure’s vows back up, taking extra care to re-crease the paper exactly how it had been folded. “I didn’t know she…felt like that.” Harry says after a moment, his voice quiet. “Like she was…wrong.”
Y/N, unsure of what to say, just nods while reaching for Jo’s vows in front of her.  Like Harry, she takes great care when unfolding the paper, smoothing it gently between her hands. “I’ll read Jo’s, then?”
Harry nods as he takes a sip of his water. “Sure.”
Y/N licks her lips once, wetting them with what little saliva she has in her mouth before beginning. “‘Laure’,” She starts, emotion already rising up to form a lump in her throat. “‘I don’t even know where to begin.  I’ve tried to write down all the ways I love you a million different times, but I can never seem to find the right words.  The problem is, I don’t think that there is a big enough word to describe what I feel for you.  ‘Love’ is only four letters, and four letters is just not enough to contain everything I feel.  ‘Adoration’ is nine letters, but even that doesn’t come close.  I think the best way I can describe it is ‘permanent’.” Y/N pauses her reading to take a long gulp of water, the coolness soothing the dry and parched feeling in her mouth and throat. “‘Anyone who knows me knows that I have trouble committing.  The idea of having something forever, of being in one place, normally terrifies me. But the idea of having you forever, and being in one place with you forever…that’s all I want.  I want us to be permanent to each other.  Even when we struggle, and we will struggle, I know that we won’t fall apart.  Committing to you isn’t any trouble.  It’s as easy as breathing.  I’m sure of you, and I’m sure of us.  I love you, permanently.  I’ll love you when you’re sick and gross, and I’ll love you when you’re old with a bad hip.” A small laugh falls out of Y/N’s mouth before she continues. “I’ll love you when you haggle at flea markets for the best prices, and I’ll love you when you do something so stupid that it makes me want to tear my hair out.  I love you permanently, and I want all of our family and friends to witness me saying that.  I’ll never back out, or bail, or run away from you.  You’re the one thing in my life that’s never felt hard. You’re my home base, and my north star, and you bring me back down to Earth whenever I need it.  I love you permanently, Laure.  I’ll never stop’.”
As she finishes reading, Y/N folds the paper back up, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand before grabbing the other note sitting on the table.  She pushes them towards Harry, her misty eyes unable to meet his. “Here. Put these away again, somewhere safe.”
Harry takes the vows from her, slipping them back inside his inner jacket pocket for safekeeping. “It’s probably—” He clears his throat once more, and Y/N knows that the vows have caught him in his chest just as they’ve caught her. “It’s probably good that we read them now, so that we’re…prepared for the ceremony.”
“Yeah.” Y/N wraps her hands around her coffee mug, the warm ceramic surface heating her cold fingers. “You’re right.  They really…love each other.”
Harry taps his fingers against the table top, a concentrative and thoughtful expression on his face.  His eyebrows are knit together above his stormy green eyes, and his pink tongue swipes over his pinker lips once before he speaks. “You know, Laure is my closest friend.  I don’t want her to get hurt.”
Immediately registering the tone of Harry’s voice, Y/N’s head snaps up, her own eyes becoming stormy as they meet his own. “Jo would never hurt Laure.” Y/N says defensively, the hairs on the back of her neck pricking up at even the suggestion of her friend hurting someone. “Didn’t you hear her vows?  I’ve never heard her sound so sure of something in her entire life.”
Harry’s jaw flexes at the cadence of Y/N’s voice, and his is just as agitated when he responds. “I’m just saying, if anything ever happened—”
“And I’m just saying, it won’t.” The tension between them doubles as Y/N shoots Harry an icy glare. “Do you just look for the worst in people?  Is that all you do?”
“You think I look for the worst in people?  Really?” Harry barks out a harsh laugh, pressing one hand flat against the table as the other fixes his bandana. “Christ, if that’s what you think of me—”
“Why would I think anything else?” Y/N asks incredulously, tilting her head to the side as she regards him. “All you’ve shown me is—”
“Alright, I have the turkey club on whole wheat, and the burger here.” Gracie appears suddenly to Y/N’s right, her tray loaded with food. “Here you guys are…” She sets the plates down in front of Harry and Y/N, her gaze darting between them nervously as she reads the tension in the booth. “Is…there anything else I can get you two?”
“No.” Harry’s voice is hard. “We don’t need anything else.”
By the time Harry pulls the car into a motel just off the highway in Lexington, Nebraska, all Y/N wants is a moment alone.  The strained atmosphere during that day’s drive had been unbearable, and between the anxiety from her confrontation with Harry and the sound of thunder beginning in the distance, Y/N just needs some space to herself to relax and calm down.
Of course, just because that’s what she needs, doesn’t mean that she’s going to get it.  When Harry returns back to the car with a single key in his hand and a sour look on his face, Y/N knows for sure that the universe is against her.
This room, at least, she’s pleased to find, has two actual beds, which are pushed up against the wall perpendicular to the door with a small night table between them.  However, that’s where her pleasure stops, as the click of Harry turning the lock behind her just reminds her that she’s trapped in here, with no chance to get away from Harry, the oncoming storm, or any one of her problems that have developed over the last four days.  The reality of the situation hits her all at once, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control to toss her bag on the bed and walk brusquely to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her before she allows herself to show a sign of her emotions.
The rest of the evening passes in silence.  She showers before changing into her sports bra and boxers, but the amount of exposed skin sends a vulnerable shiver down her spine.  Y/N opts for pulling a sweatshirt over her body, and then sets herself the task of braiding her hair to distract herself.  After that’s done, she busies herself with her skincare routine, taking up as much time as she can in the bathroom before she absolutely has to leave its private interior.
Harry, however, seems to want to see as little of Y/N as she wants to see of him, and pushes past her to enter the bathroom the moment that she steps out of it.  His routine, it seems, is designed to take up just as much time as hers was, because by the time Harry exits the bathroom, the scent of his shampoo trailing behind him, Y/N is already tucked under the covers of her bed, although she’s far from asleep.
In the time it took for her to shower and get ready for bed, the storm had picked up, and the only thing audible in the room was the sound of rain pelting against the roof and window, the wind howling through the trees, and Y/N’s shallow, uneven breaths. She wraps the sheets tightly around herself, pulling them taut to her chin with clenched fists that tighten every time a clap of thunder echoes through the room.  Although she’s turned to face the wall, away from Harry, she can hear his footsteps pause as he gets a glimpse of her shivering form beneath the blankets, and she does her best to will herself to appear asleep.  Breathing in as deeply as her tight chest will allow her, Y/N attempts to even her breathing, forcing her shoulders rise and fall in a way that appears natural and normal.  But all it takes is one clap of thunder for the controlled motion to go out the window.
“Y/N…” Harry’s voice is low, but despite its raspy cadence, it lacks the rough edge that it had earlier. The bed behind her squeaks, signalling that Harry’s taken a seat on the edge of it. “Are you—?”
“I-I’m fine.” Y/N says quickly, pulling the sheets tighter to her chin as another shiver rolls through her body. “Go to sleep.”
There’s another creak of Harry’s bed, and Y/N imagines him climbing under the starched linen covers, his damp curls flopping into his eyes as he lays back on the lumpy motel pillow. The image is almost enough to distract her until there’s another clap of thunder.  The sound seems to shake the motel room, and Y/N can’t stop the small whimper that leaves her lips as her body jumps in response.
“When I was a little kid, my mum took my sister and I to the fair every year.”
Harry’s deep voice cuts over the rain, and Y/N shifts in her bed, turning over to face him.  She keeps the covers pulled up to her chin, but readjusts herself so that she can keep her head on her pillow while looking Harry in the eye. “What?” She asks, confusion audible in her quiet tone.
Harry shifts himself as she does, continuing to move down until he’s completely horizontal, with one hand tucked under his pillow as he speaks. “My mum took my sister and I to the fair.  It came to Holmes Chapel every spring, and there were always rides, and games to play, and so many things to see.  It drew crowds from nearby villages every year, really big crowds, and my mum always held my hand tightly so I wouldn’t get lost.”
“I don’t understand, what—” Another clap of thunder shakes the room, making Y/N flinch halfway through her sentence.
“You’re okay.” Harry says immediately, his calm jade eyes focused on her as the reassurance slips from his mouth.  He waits a moment, gauging Y/N’s body language and waiting for his examination to be positive before resuming his story. “So…my mum always told me not to wander off, but when I was six, I did.  I saw some older kids playing games that I wanted to play, and Gemma was busy playing some sort of game with a ball—I can’t really remember what—and when my mum turned her back, I ran off.”
Y/N’s about to open her mouth to ask why he’s telling her the story when the answer clicks into place in her head.  She thinks back to the conversation in the car the day before, how she told Harry that it helps when someone talks to her to distract her from the thunder.  That’s what he’s doing, she realizes, as she forces herself to focus on his quiet and level voice.  He’s trying to keep her calm, even after everything she said and did today.
“I don’t look like it now,” A small smile flits across Harry’s blushed lips. “But I was pretty scrawny back then.  And all the people around me were so tall, my eyes were barely level with their hips. Everyone was rushing around, going in all directions, and I kept calling for my mum, but she couldn’t hear me.  No one stopped to help me.  I felt like I was…trapped.  Like it was a huge forest of legs, running all around me, circling me, and I couldn’t get out.  I was probably only gone for five minutes, but to a six year old, it felt like an eternity.  And just something about it…I don’t know.  It changed me.  I still don’t like crowds because of that day.”
Y/N’s shoulders unclench the slightest bit as another gust of wind blows against the window. “That must have been scary.”
Harry’s own shoulders lift in a slight shrug as he shifts the sheet to cover him more. “It was. But I can’t change it.  I just have to deal with the repercussions of it. That’s all a fear is, really.  A side effect.  We just have to deal with them as best we can.”
More thunder booms loudly outside, but Y/N manages to keep her flinch to a minimum, despite her hands curling into fists again under the covers. “Harry…” She whispers his name into the darkness between them, his outline barely visible save for his green eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry about today.”
Harry shakes his head, his damp hair rubbing against his pillow. “You don’t have to apologize.” He whispers back, his tone as gentle as she’s ever heard it. “I was an arse.  I shouldn’t have pushed the topic.”
“I shouldn’t have been so uptight about it.” Rubbing her eyes with one fist, Y/N lets out a low sigh. “I felt so shitty all day because of our fight.  I’ve never…none of our fights have ever made me feel like that.”
“Maybe it’s because…” Harry’s tentative voice trails off, his eyes flickering to the ground for a brief moment before staring back at Y/N nervously. “I don’t know.  I thought we were getting along better.  For a moment, at least.”
“We were.” Y/N’s teeth tug on her bottom lip, and she feels a sudden shyness overcome her at the admission. “I’m sorry I said that we…weren’t friends.  I think…I don’t know.  I’ve been stubborn for so long, but I can see now that you’re different than I thought you were.”
“Yeah.  Me too.  I was wrong, too.” Harry runs a hand through his damp curls, a soft laugh leaving his mouth. “How did we even end up like this?  I barely remember what made us hate each other so much in the beginning.”
“Seriously?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, barely peaking out from beneath the sheets as another clap of thunder sounds. “You don’t remember?”
Harry mimics her expression. “Do you?”
“Yes!  It was the very first night we met.  We had that double date with Laure and Jo.” Shifting beneath her covers, Y/N moves herself into a better position on her side, so she can be more comfortable while still maintaining eye contact with Harry. “And you were rude, and made inappropriate jokes, and you left in the middle of the date to go chat up a sorority girl!”
“Wait a minute, no!” Harry protests the memory, half sitting up in his bed as he speaks. “That’s not what happened!”
“Yes, it is!” A small laugh falls off Y/N’s lips at his indignant reaction. “I remember it perfectly!”
“No, you remember it wrong!” Although a flush creeps up Harry’s neck, there’s an amused smile playing on his lips, a tiny hint of a dimple just barely appearing in his visible cheek. “I was making jokes to try and break the ice, which didn’t work on the Ice Queen, it seems—” Harry motions to Y/N teasingly. “And you’re the one who started talking to some bloke before I started talking to that girl!”
Another clap of thunder echoes through the room, but Y/N hardly notices as she thinks back to the night they met, and who Harry could possibly be referring to. “A bloke—?  He was a classmate of mine!  I had to talk to him!”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to enjoy it so much.” Harry grumbles, crossing his muscled arms over his sheets. “I had been so excited when Laure said she had an American girl for me, and then—”
“You were excited?” Y/N asks, her voice laced with surprise. “Really?”
The flush on Harry’s neck works its way to the apples of his cheeks. “Well, yeah.” He mumbles the words as his eyes drop from Y/N’s, slipping both hands beneath his head. “She said that you were funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful—”
“And then you met me, and realized that it was all a lie?” Y/N finishes for him, rolling her eyes in the darkness.
“No.” Harry gives a small shake of his head as his body shifts, the motel bed creaking under his weight. “No, she wasn’t wrong.  You were all of those things.  But I wasn’t, and it seemed like…I don’t know.  Like you didn’t think I was good enough for you.  I couldn’t keep your attention.”
The teasing smile slips from Y/N’s face as she registers Harry’s words. “You thought that I thought you weren’t…good enough?”
The nervousness is clear in Harry’s voice now, even over the pounding of rain against the window. “That’s what it seemed like, yeah.”
“I never—I didn’t think that.” Y/N says slowly, managing to relax her body beneath the sheets as she keeps her focus on the memory of meeting Harry. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there, but that’s because Jo set the date up without telling me.  I thought you were handsome, and I liked your accent, but then you started to act weird, and you started flirting with that girl, so I thought you were an ass.”
“You still think I’m an arse, princess, be honest.” The teasing tone replaces the nerves, and for once, Harry’s joke has the intended affect on Y/N.  When she rolls her eyes again, it’s more playful, and the same tone is in her voice when she responds.
“I told you, don’t call me princess.” She replies, running her teeth over her lip gently. “So…I guess we both kind of fucked up that day.”
“Yeah.” Harry nods, a sheepish smile playing over his red lips. “I guess so.”
“Can we just restart?” Y/N’s voice is small when she asks the question, barely audible over the sounds of the storm raging outside. “Like, all the way from the beginning. No more grudges, no more yelling. Even if it’s just for this trip, for Jo and Laure—”
“It doesn’t have to be just for this trip.” Harry cuts in, his eyes catching Y/N’s again. “We’re going to have to be around each other for a long time.  It’ll be a lot easer if we get along.”
Y/N nods in agreement, tugging down her covers to extend one arm towards Harry.  She makes a fist, holding out just her pinkie finger to him with half a grin on her face. “Truce?”
The space between their beds is small, and Harry’s long arm easily makes it across the no man’s land to meet Y/N’s pinkie with his own.  He loops it together with a smile that matches hers, tired and content and just at the edge of a humble new beginning.  Harry’s response is almost inaudible as thunder booms loudly outside the room, but Y/N can still pick out the cadence of his accent under the noise.
“Truce.”
(pt II)
7K notes · View notes
queenshelby · 3 years
Text
The Judge’s Daughter (Part One)
Featuring: Tommy Shelby x Virgin!Reader
Words: 8,700
 Warning: Angst, Blood, Gore, Mention of Suicide, Mention of Miscarriage, Drugs, Racism, Smut
Tag List:
@lilymurphy03  @deefigs @theflamecrystal  @chrisevanshoeee  @desperate-and-broken  @weepingstudentfishhorse  @captivatedbycillianmurphy  @fookingshelby  @livinginfantaxy  @rosey1981  @atomicsoulcollecto  @peakyboyslover  @nerdy4itall  @elenavampire21  @hanster1998  @mariapaiva13  @fairypitou  @harry-is-my-sunflower  @zozeebo  @lauren-raines-x
………
 Challenging Times
In early 1930, times were hard. The Wall Street crash in 1929 caused many men to lose their fortune. Your family had also lost money on the stock exchange. A lot of money.
Your father was a wealthy judge and now, he was just a judge. Your family home had to be sold and your father moved into a medium sized apartment in London with one of his maids.
Since your mother had passed away in 1920, your father had often sought comfort in his employees. There was one maid in particular who was of interest to him. Her name was Catherine and she was 10 years your father’s junior.
You accepted his relationship with her but soon felt uncomfortable to live with them in the London Apartment.
But your father wasn’t the only family member who lost his fortune in the stock market crash. Your brother had also lost a lot of money. So much money that he could not repay his gambling debt to one of London’s most notorious criminals.
As a result, your brother committed suicide. His mental health had always been troubled ever since he’s been to France, fighting for England in the First World War. Your brother was much older than you and it was almost a miracle when your mother fell pregnant again and gave birth to you after three miscarriages.
Your brother adored you and protected you whenever necessary. He was kind hearted but, unfortunately, got himself involved with the wrong people on several occasions which is when he began gambling.  
Following your brother’s death, your father struck a deal with the man to whom the gambling debt was owed, releasing three of his gang members from prison.
The debt was forgiven and you inherited your brother’s small cottage north of London.  Regardless of your father’s actions, he began to despise criminals who involved themselves in illegal gambling activities. Your father was known to be particularly harsh when it came to offences of this kind.
He once told you a story about a man who used to be a prominent criminal who made his fortune through race fixing and illegal gambling activities. That man was now a member of parliament and your father despised him.
Being Jewish, your father’s hate for this man increased even more when he became the deputy leader of the British Union of Fascists.
The man’s name was Thomas Shelby and you met him once at a gala organised by the socialist party in Westminster. He was a smart man but he was also extremely rude and insulted your father at the gala following a dispute they had earlier in the day.
Your father threatened him and told him that, one day, he will ensure his downfall. It was your father’s mission and it was dangerous.
With that threat in mind and heated political events unfolding around the country, your father asked you to move to the countryside. Take up your brother’s cottage and lay low until things were taking a turn.
It took you quite some time to build up the courage to move into the house where your brother took his own life. But, you eventually did, taking up your brother’s work at the property while attending nursing school every second week.
The cottage was free standing but behind a larger house owned by wealthy Londoners. Their wealth seemed to have been unaffected by the stock market crash and, just as your brother did, you attended their yards and animals on the small farm in exchange for a wage and free food from the produce.
You also spent some time renovating the cottage which was rather dated.
The cottage had two bedrooms, one of which you converted entirely to a studio for your paintings. You enjoyed painting and you were quite good at it.
The other bedroom you redecorated with your own furniture.
The downstairs area consisted out of a small living room with a fire place and a small kitchen and bathroom.
It wasn’t much, but it was a place you could call your own. It was home.
Initially following your move, you would travel to London occasionally to visit your father and his mistress. You wondered when he would finally propose to her. She had been waiting for years.
When you visited, you would often sit in one of his open hearings. You were quite interested in the political and legal situation in the country especially following recent events.  
Notably, it has been six weeks since the assassination attempt on Oswald Mosley, the leader of the British Union of Fascists.
Being Jewish yourself, you, just like your father, despised fascism.
The event at which the assassination attempt occurred was visited by many Jews, protesting against the establishment of the party and their obscure ideas. Despite your father’s instructions not to get involved, you were one of the protestors on the day and, although not openly, you have been associating yourself with the communists.
Your newfound friend Jesse Eden had since led several more protests you attended. Being only 20 years young, you believed that you could make a difference and convince people that their support for fascism was wrong and immoral.
The problem was that your father was at the centre of it all.
Following the assassination attempt on Oswald Mosley, two Jews were arrested and appeared in your father’s court. The prosecution didn’t have enough evidence for a conviction and the men walked free.
No one really knew who was behind the assassination attempt. There were no witnesses and everyone who may have witnessed the attack had since been found dead.
Regardless of this, for some reason, the leaders of the British Union of Fascists seem to have believed that a Jewish man by the name of Alfie Solomons was behind the attack. But there was one little problem, Alfie Solomon was dead. Or wasn’t he?
The men that were arrested used to work for Alfie Solomons and took the fall until your father set them free for lack of evidence.
A week after this decision, a Jewish owned factory was bombed. The factory was owned by the men who were set free by your father and a company owned by a Trust.
Ten men were killed and, following some arrests, it became evident that Jimmy McCavern was behind the attack.
Jimmy McCavern was the leader of the Billy Boys and, over the course of another week, your father was able to make a connection through some documents admitted to evidence between Jimmy McCavern, Alfie Solomons and a man named Thomas Shelby who was the deputy leader of the British Union of Fascists.
An arrest warrant was issued against Jimmy McCavern and Thomas Shelby by the London police following your father’s advice to them. Since, apparently, Alfie Solomons was dead, no arrest warrant could be made against him.
Thomas Shelby was the first member of parliament who was subject to such warrant and your father may have just, like this, gotten himself a lot of enemies.
The men he had against him now were not only the Billy Boys but also the Peaky Blinders and it was too dangerous for you to continue to visit him in London.
Unfortunately, little did you know that the danger was about to lurk just in front of your doorstep.
An Unexpected Visit
It was a Wednesday evening at 8pm that you heard a rather loud knock on the front door of your cottage.
You didn’t expect anyone and approached the door with your loaded gun. It’s not that you had ever shot a gun, but you bought yourself one two days ago just in case you needed it.
‘Who is it?’ you asked from behind the closed door.
‘It’s Jesse Eden’ you’ve heard from behind the door and you immediately recognised Jesse’s voice.
You put the gun aside and unlocked the door.
To your surprise, Jesse wasn’t alone and your chin dropped as you saw the man standing right in front of you. You remembered him. He was the man who stood beside Oswald Mosley during his speech in Birmingham and you had met him before at a gala at Westminster.
His name was Thomas Shelby.
‘I think we have met before Miss Rosenberg’ Tommy said.
‘Yes, we have Mr Shelby’ you said nervously and frightened at the same time. You immediately wondered whether Jesse was under duress by him. Why otherwise would he be here with her you wondered.
You invited them both inside after Jesse made the request to come in. She wasn’t sure whether they had been followed.
To your surprise, Jesse soon told you that she required your help. According to her, Thomas Shelby had to lay low due to the arrest warrant issued by the London police.
If Thomas Shelby was to be arrested, he may be killed in prison before a hearing could be conducted.
Accordingly, Jesse asked you to hide him at your house until the charges against him are dropped.
‘You mean until the chief of police has been bribed enough to drop the charges?’ you chuckled in response to her request.
‘I wish it would be that easy Love’ Tommy said as he looked at the pictures on your living room wall. His hands were in his pockets and he almost looked unbothered by the situation.
‘You cannot be serious Jesse. You seriously want me to hide this man at my house?’ you said in disbelieve.  
‘I am afraid I am serious Y/N’ Jesse responded.
‘Well, a fascist hiding at the house of a Jew, how ironic’ you said angrily, still unsure why Jesse was helping him.
‘I know we have gotten off on the wrong foot at the Westminster gala Miss Rosenberg, but I would greatly appreciate your help’ Tommy said, recalling his argument with your father in your presence in late 1929.
‘You think Mr Shelby?’ you chuckled. ‘You insulted my father and my entire family’ you said.
‘And for that, I apologise’ Tommy said politely but firmly.
‘Jesse, you need to explain to me why you are helping this man. I do not understand it’ you said.
‘I cannot give you more information Y/N. You just need to trust me on this, alright?’ Jesse asked almost fearfully.
‘Alright, but why me?’ you pondered.
‘Because you are the daughter of the judge hearing this matter. No one will think to look for me here, at your house’ Tommy explained.
‘Jesus’ was all you could respond with to Tommy’s comment.
‘Y/N, trust me, please. It’s for the cause’ Jesse said.
‘I find this hard to believe, but alright, he can stay’ you responded.
Not long after you agreed to house the deputy leader of the British Union of Fascists, Thomas Shelby, Jesse made her way back to Birmingham. It was a three-hour drive and she had to hurry before anyone became suspicious.
‘You will have to sleep on the lounge. Please help yourself to any food, water and drinks’ you said while you walked into another room to fetch a blanket, pillow and change of clothes for Tommy.
You still held on to your brother’s clothes which should have fitted Thomas just fine.
‘I thank you for your hospitality Miss Rosenberg and I apologise for intruding your space. I should be out of your hair within the week’ Tommy said as you came back to the living room and handed him everything he needed for his stay.
‘I am doing this for Jesse, not for you Mr Shelby. Although I do not quite understand why she is helping you’ you said just before you sat down in one of the arm chairs.
‘Let’s just say, we had a thing once, eh’ Tommy smirked.
‘I didn’t think that she would fall for a man like you’ you said.
‘A man like me, eh?’ Tommy chuckled.
‘Yes, a socialist turning to fascism. It’s rather disappointing’ you said.
‘Sometimes we do what we have to do Miss Rosenberg’ Tommy said.
‘Yes, if we didn’t, you wouldn’t be staying here, trust me’ you said before excusing yourself.
You made your way to your studio, painting and drinking wine. It was what you enjoyed most and you wanted to space from the stranger now living with you in the small cottage. A man you had literally nothing in common with and who you despised.
While you were painting, Tommy made use of your telephone and enjoyed some of your late brother’s whiskey.
It was obvious to you that he was struggling with being cooped up in your cottage and, just as your thoughts got lost in your paintings, you heard some a cracking noise near the door of your studio.
‘What are you doing?’ you asked as you noticed Tommy walking into your studio, looking through your many paintings.
‘You are talented. These paintings are extraordinary’ Tommy said.
‘Thank you, Mr Shelby’ you said with surprise. Had he really just complimented you?
His presence and closeness sent shivers down your spine. It wasn’t that you were frightened but you were clearly intimidated.
‘What are your plans, Miss Rosenberg?’ Tommy asked as he kept looking through the paintings.
‘My plans?’ you asked.
‘Your plans for the future? What are they?’ Tommy asked.
‘I am studying to become a nurse. Perhaps, one day get married and have children. The usual’ you said shyly.
‘Well, let me tell you, marriage is overrated’ Tommy chuckled before he asked how old you were.
‘I am 20’ you responded.
‘Still young with a life of opportunities ahead of you. Don’t waste them on the cause’ Tommy said.
‘Coming from a man who wastes his political career on fascism’ you said, causing Tommy to chuckle.
Your comment instantly sparked a political debate between you and Tommy which soon erupted into a heated argument.
During the argument he told you that you were too young to understand, ignorant and naïve and you were keen to throw him out of your house right then and there.
But, you bit your tongue and reminded yourself of the promise you made to Jesse.
You couldn’t stand him and his arrogance any longer and went to your bedroom, leaving him to debate about politics with himself.
Things Must Change
The next morning, you woke up early to attend the garden, ignoring Tommy as you left the house.
But, it wasn’t long until Tommy joined you in the garden. It was obvious to you that he was clearly bored.
‘What happened to the people who lived at the large house over there?’ Tommy asked as he walked outside to have a cigarette. You didn’t allow him to smoke inside the house.
‘They are in France for their annual vacation. Apparently, their fortune was unaffected by the stock market crash’ you responded.
‘Lucky them eh’ Tommy grinned as he grabbed some of the leather gardening cloves and a bucket from the side of the house.
Wearing his expensive suit and with the bucket in his hand and a cigarette in his mouth he walked over to the berry bushes where you were standing.
‘I might as well make myself useful eh’ he said jokingly as he began picking some berries.
‘Uhm yeah…but these aren’t ripe’ you giggled as you observed Tommy picking off some of the raspberries.
‘Right. Well, I usually don’t garden’ Tommy chuckled.
‘I couldn’t tell’ you laughed, causing Tommy to smile back at you.
This was the first time you noticed him smile. It was a gentle smile and it suited him.
Tommy helped you in the garden for the remainder of the day. It wasn’t like he had something else to do other than make phone calls to his brother and someone by the name of Kent.
You managed to keep your arguments to a minimum and you started to worry that you were slowly beginning to enjoy his company.
Later that evening, following dinner, you even sat down together in front of the fireplace in the living room to drink whiskey and wine and make some conversation.
‘I have been checking on your calls, contacting the directory because I wanted to make sure that I am safe with you being here. I have been told that the last call from my number was made to the Crown Investigations Office’ you said with surprise as you poured Tommy a glass of whiskey. After everything that happened in the past, you still didn’t trust him.
‘That’s correct’ Tommy said.
‘The only reason I could think of as to why you were talking to an officer of the Crown while you have an arrest warrant against you is if you were working for the Crown yourself. Otherwise, you would be mad tipping them’ you said.
‘I was just trading information that might be useful. In exchange, I am hoping for the arrest warrant against me to be dropped’ Tommy explained.
‘Mr Shelby, do you actually believe in fascism? I have not heard you speak about your party’s ideals since you’ve been here. We spoke about politics but you still seem to be a socialist at heart. So tell me, why do you follow this mad man Mosely? I am curious’ you said.
‘The thing about political parties is that they take the course into the direction in which they are steered. Much like a car. But just like with a car, if you fill it with the wrong fuel and the engine breaks down as a result, you will be going nowhere’ Tommy said as he took a drink.
‘And you are the fuel Mr Shelby?’ you asked with curiosity.
‘Yes, I am the fuel Miss Rosenberg’ he said.
‘Your intention is to undermine Mosley on behalf of the Crown. Jesse knew and this is why she helped you, isn’t it?’ you said after pondering on about what Tommy had just told you.
‘And now that you know this as well, it makes you my accomplice. I might be able to use your help Miss Rosenberg’ Tommy said.  
‘If it helps to end fascism, perhaps I am willing to give it’ you said with a smile. ‘But I am curious now Mr Shelby. Was it you who initiated the attack on Mosley?’ you asked.
‘I rather not answer Miss Rosenberg’ Tommy said.
‘I understand. Also, you can call me Y/N now that we aren’t enemies after all’ you said.
‘Alright Y/N, then I insist that you call me Tommy’ he responded.
After some more conversation you decided that it was time for you to make your way to bed. It was late and you had to get up early to attend the animals.
Nightmares
Falling asleep that night was easy. You felt much safer now despite Tommy’s presence. You knew he wasn’t going to harm you.
But just as easy as you had fallen asleep, you were woken up by a loud noise coming from the living room at 1am.
‘Tommy, are you alright?’ you asked worryingly as you walked downstairs in a haste, wearing nothing but your silk nightgown.
‘My apologies, I didn’t intend to wake you’ Tommy said as he sat on the lounge, covered in sweat.
You initially thought that he might haven gotten sick until you saw a small empty bottle on the living room table. Your brother used to have one just like it which he carried around everywhere. It contained Liquid Opium and helped him sleep. He took it every night until, one day, he stopped. The withdrawal was barely manageable and his addiction soon rebounded.
You knew what this was. You had seen it before.
‘I will make you some tea to help you sleep’ you said kindly as you observed Tommy’s struggles.
‘I don’t think that tea will help me sleep Love’ Tommy chuckled.
‘My brother used to have nightmares after France. When he returned home, my mother made this for him and he managed to get at least some sleep. It’s worth a try’ you said with a warm smile. You knew Tommy had been to France. You had spoken about it when you spoke about your brother earlier that evening.  
‘I suppose why not, eh’ Tommy said as he walked to the bathroom to clean himself off with a cold wet flannel.
After you put on the kettle, you walked to the studio and grabbed some more of your brother’s clothes.
‘These should fit you’ you said shyly as you handed Tommy a clean plain shirt and pants.
‘Thank you, Y/N’ he said as he took the clothes.
This was the first time you saw Tommy without a shirt and, despite his level of exhaustion, it was quite a sight. He certainly was a very attractive man.
After Tommy had gotten himself changed, you sat down next to him and handed him the cup of tea.
‘Do you want to talk?’ you asked.
‘It’s the middle of the night Y/N, you should get some sleep’ Tommy said.
‘It’s alright. I am not tired’ you said with a warm smile.
That night Tommy spoke with you about everything. About France and his late wife Grace who visited him in his dreams. He didn’t know why, but he felt as though he could talk to you and trust you.
At 4am, you eventually fell asleep on the lounge next to Tommy which is where you woke up the next morning covered with a warm blanket.
The fire was lid and there was a note on the coffee table as you woke.
‘Borrowed your hunting rifle, will be back by 8’ the note said.
You didn’t know how to hunt and had been telling Tommy how your brother shot bucks whenever you came to visit him at the cottage from London. You would then prepare it with veggies from the garden just the way your mother had shown you.
You thought that, perhaps, Tommy was better equipped than you when it came to hunting. You struggled enough even just to slaughter a chook from the farm and your intake of meat was clearly lacking as a result.
Attacked
With Tommy gone, you decided to attend to the horses. Grabbing your shovel and rake, you walked into the stables.
But, just as you walked inside, you could hear a loud noise from behind the barn.
You wondered whether it was Tommy and approached the back area of the property carefully. After all, he had a loaded gun and you certainly didn’t want to get shot accidently.
Just as you walked to the side of the property, you saw a strange man.
‘Hello Love’ the man said, cocking his gun.
‘Who are you and what do you want?’ you asked holding on to your rake tightly.
‘We’ve got a dispute to settle with some Jews Love. Now be a good girl and put down this rake would you’ the man said firmly.
You obliged and the man approached you slowly.
‘Now Love, we will be having a good time and then we will visit your father’ the man said just before he called for another man who was at the back of the barn.
Within an instant, the man grabbed your wrists and pushed you against the outer wall of the barn.
‘Such are pretty thing aren’t you’ the man said as he aimed to cover your mouth while moving away your skirt.
But, just when the man’s hand reached your mouth, you bit him firmly just before yelling for help.
‘You fucking bitch’ the man said as he reached for his gun.
In this moment, you heard a shot. The other man was hit, but barely and went to check out where the shot came from.
With both men distracted, you ceased the moment and pulled out the gardening scissors you were carrying in your thin jacket. Within an instant and without thinking, you rammed the scissor into the neck of the man who was still standing right there in front of you.
This was all it took for the man to fall to the ground. You couldn’t help it but scream as your hands and blouse were covered in the man’s blood.
You were besides yourself, sitting on the ground next to his dying body in shock, unable to do anything.
After what felt like an eternity, you saw Tommy approach you, making his way through the veggie patch carrying your hunting rifle and covered in blood himself.
‘Are you alright Y/N?’ he asked as he kneeled down next to you, comforting you.
‘There is another man Tommy, he walked to towards the berry field’ you said.
‘I know. He’s dead now and so is the third man who was driving them here’ Tommy said.
‘Did you kill them?’ you asked.
‘Yes, I did’ he said and, just in that moment, you threw his arms around him.
This is when you realised that he had been injured and was in agony himself.
‘Tommy, you’ve been shot’ you said with worry as you saw blood staining through his white shirt.
‘Yes’ was all he managed to say at this point as he was losing blood.
‘We will get you to a hospital’ you said in a haste.
‘No hospital Y/N. I will be taken into custody if I set foot in a public place like this until the arrest warrant has been dropped’ Tommy said.
You could see the agony on his face as he held onto the side of his chest. He was in pain. A lot of pain.
‘You are nurse, aren’t you?’ Tommy asked, breathing heavily.
‘I am a student nurse Tommy. I have not practiced on a life person’ you said worryingly.
‘Well, it’s about time then eh’ Tommy chuckled.
‘Tommy, you can’t be serious’ you said.
‘I am serious Y/N. I need you to do this, please’ Tommy said.
‘Alright, common’ you said nervously. It wasn’t like you had a choice. Tommy was bleeding a lot and his wound needed attention immediately.
With haste, you walked inside with Tommy and placed a towel over the lounge and got your first aid kit as well as a bottle of vodka from the dining room.  You then went to the bathroom quickly to get a bowl of clean water and more towels.  
While you were getting everything ready, Tommy made a phone call to his brother Arthur, giving him your address. By that point, Tommy was barely able to stand up.
As you returned from the kitchen, you helped Tommy to remove his blood-soaked clothes.
You gasped for a moment. You weren’t sure whether the blood or the sight of his naked body took away your breath.
‘You’ve got whiskey?’ Tommy asked.
‘Tommy, I don’t think it matters which alcohol I use to clean out your wound’ you said as you got everything ready on the table.
‘To drink. Trust me, I’ll need it. I am out of Opium’ he said, his breathing still laboured.
‘Yes, of course’ you said before you poured him a large glass of whiskey and handed it to him.
He drank all of it in an instant before lying down.
‘This is going to hurt’ you said as you cleaned your hands and the tweezers from your first aid kit with some of the vodka.
‘I know’ he said, taking in a deep breath.
‘You have to stay still’ you went on as you reached for his wound which was still profusely pouring blood.
‘I know’ he said again before closing his eyes and holding on to the edge of the lounge in anticipation.
As soon as you entered the wounds with your fingers and the tweezers, all that you could hear was a loud grunt.
‘Fuck’ Tommy screamed as your fingers went in deeper, retrieving the bullet from his wound. By this point, you were breathing as heavily as him.
‘I’ve got it Tommy, don’t move now’ you said as you carefully pulled the bullet out of his flesh.
Tommy took in a deep breath and, with another loud grunt, you dislodged the bullet.
It was intact and you sighed with relief while Tommy opened his eyes, looking at you in agony.
‘Now I will clean up the wound and stitch it, alright?’ you asked, causing Tommy to nod.
He let out another loud grunt as you poured some of the vodka over his wound before handing him a clean towel to apply pressure to the wound while you prepared the stitches.
His face was expressionless when you placed the stitches. You knew that the worst pain was over but, nonetheless, you were surprised by how well he had handled it.
This was when you noticed several large scars across his chest and arms. Almost too many to count.
‘You have been shot before, haven’t you?’ you asked while Tommy looked almost relaxed when you placed the sixth stitch.
‘Just a few times’ he smirked.
While you placed the last stitch, you could hear a car pull up in front of your door.
You opened the door quickly before applying a bandage around Tommy’s chest.
‘Fucking Hell Brother’ Arthur shouted as he walked into the living room with Isiah.
‘Arthur, this is Y/N’ Tommy said by way of introduction.
You quickly shook Arthur’s hand by which he was rather surprised.
‘Who the fuck did this?’ Arthur asked.
‘The Billy Boys. But they weren’t after me. They were after her’ Tommy explained.
‘Why?’ Arthur asked.
‘Because she is the daughter of the judge hearing the McCaven matter. I assume they wanted to send a message’ Tommy said.
‘Did they see you?’ Arthur asked.
‘Yes, but it doesn’t matter. They are dead’ Tommy responded.
‘Alright, what do you want us to do with the bodies? Send a message?’ Arthur asked.
‘Burry them behind the property. This never happened. They just disappeared and never made it here. By the time McCaven finds out the arrest warrants will be dropped and I can deal with the situation and Mosley’ Tommy instructed.
Arthur and Isiah attended the bodies as instructed by Tommy. You were surprised how quickly and efficiently they made the bodies disappear without any evidence whatsoever. It was clear to you that they had done this kind of thing before.
Before they left, Tommy gave Arthur a note to give to Jesse Eden and a note to give to a person named Kent.
In return Arthur gave Tommy three guns, a change of clothes and a bottle of opium.
After Arthur and Isiah had left, you made sure that Tommy was resting. After all, he had lost a lot of blood and you didn’t want him to pull a stitch.
Tender Moments
‘Do you have any more of that tea?’ Tommy asked as he held on to the bottle of opium that Arthur had given him. He starred at it, but didn’t open it.
‘Yes, sure. I will make some’ you said.
You were surprised by Tommy’s request but didn’t dare to argue.
You sat down next to him to have some tea while he placed the bottle of opium on the table in front of him.
‘Tommy, don’t’ you said.
‘Don’t what?’ he asked.
‘The opium, don’t take it’ you said.
‘Well, then put it away somewhere I cannot find it eh’ Tommy said as he handed you the bottle and you obliged with his request.
Tommy knew he would be regretting this soon, at night when his nightmares would wake him once again. It wasn’t the pain he couldn’t handle, but rather it was Grace’s visits in his dreams and dreaming about France hat destroyed him.
He was afraid of going to sleep but he needed sleep badly especially after today and so did you.
‘Are you not going to sleep?’ Tommy asked as clock struck midnight and you were still there with him talking about matters which he never talked to anyone about. He felt like he could confine in you and, despite your young age, you understood and you cared.
‘I don’t think I can. Not after what happened today. Not after what I have done’ you said as tears were building up in your eyes for the third time that evening.
‘Y/N, listen to me, alright?’ he said, caressing your face gently.
‘What you have done saved your life. These men were here to hurt you and now they can’t. You are safe now’ Tommy said as tears began to run down your cheek.
‘I killed someone Tommy’ you said in disarray.
‘You killed a bad man’ Tommy said as he used his thumbs to wipe away your tears.
‘It’s still a man Tommy’ you said before pressing your head against his chest. ‘Will the picture of him ever leave my head?’ you asked.
‘No Y/N, it won’t. But your guilt will, that I promise’ Tommy said. ‘Now, let’s get you some rest, eh?’ Tommy said.
‘Will you come with me Tommy?’ you asked nervously, knowing that your question was somewhat unusual.
‘Come with you? To bed?’ Tommy asked with surprise.
‘Yes, just to sleep by my side. I am scared Tommy’ you said.
‘I never had a woman ask me to join her in her bed simply for the purpose of sleeping, but alright, I suppose I can do that’ Tommy smirked before he followed you upstairs.
As Tommy lied down next you, bandaged up and wearing not much more than his white undergarments, you could feel something unusual. It was almost like some sort of warmth which was flowing through your chest.
‘Do you want me to turn off the light?’ Tommy asked as he got comfortable on the large white pillow, facing you and starring into your dark eyes.
‘Not yet. Perhaps we could talk for a little longer’ you said as you looked into his comforting blue eyes.
‘Alright, what you want to talk about?’ he asked and this is when you brought up his current wife Lizzie and his children.
‘What about your wife and children, where are they?’ you asked.
‘They are in Scotland, where, apparently they are safe from all this and from myself’ Tommy said with some disappointment.
‘From yourself? But they are your children’ you asked with some confusion.
‘They are, but they are indeed safer without me until I sort things out’ Tommy explained.
‘Do you miss your wife’ you asked.
‘No, I do not miss my wife. She filed for divorce six weeks ago’ Tommy said.
‘You do not seem upset about it. Why is that?’ you asked.
‘Because I know that it’s the right thing to do, to keep her safe. Our relationship was never one made of love. I never loved her the way a husband should love his wife. But, she is mother of my daughter and she cares deeply for my son. I trust her. She’s always been loyal to me and to the Company’ Tommy explained.
‘That’s nice…to have someone like this in your life’ you said.
‘It is indeed. Now you should get some rest eh’ Tommy said as he turned off the bedside lamp.
To his surprise, as soon as he turned off the light, you leaned over towards him carefully and rested your head on the uninjured side of his chest.
He let you and wrapped his arm around you, pulling you close until you drifted off to sleep.
This was the first time for Thomas Shelby since he came back from France that he shared a bed with a woman other than his wife who didn’t have any sexual interactions with. To his surprise, despite the pain after having been shot, he slept better than he had expected. In the absence of nightmares, he was well rested until, after five hours of sleep, the next morning you heard a loud bang on the door.
Taking a Turn
You walked downstairs again with your loaded gun in your hand.
‘Who is it?’ you asked as you approached the door carefully.
‘Jesse Eden’ the person said and you quickly opened the door while Tommy came walking downstairs, out of your bedroom.
‘I actually just came here to make sure you didn’t kill each other but it looks like you’ve managed to become acquainted’ Jesse giggled.
‘It’s not what it looks like’ you said as Tommy walked out of your bedroom wearing nothing but his undergarments.
‘I assume Tommy has informed you about our past relations. But, for the record, I no longer have any interest in the man, so it’s quite alright with me if it is what looks like Y/N’ Jesse laughed.
‘You are no longer interested, eh?’ Tommy said to Jesse with a cheeky smile.
‘Unless you have forgotten, you ended up marrying someone else’ Jesse said.
‘Should I give you two some privacy?’ you asked as you felt uncomfortable being caught in between their conversation about old times.
‘No Y/N, there is no need eh Jesse?’ Tommy said with a laugh.
‘No there is not. Arthur came to see me last night to give me your note. But he hadn’t said anything about you having been injured’ Jesse said.  
‘It’s alright, she’s a nurse. I got lucky’ Tommy chuckled.
‘Well, I am glad because I have information from one of my informants that will be of interest to you now that you are still alive. The Crown prosecutor was removed from the case and so was the chief of police. Apparently, it was found out that they both involved themselves with illegal prostitutes at some of your brothels’ Jesse said.
‘Now that is interesting, isn’t it?’ Tommy smirked.
‘You obviously knew and blackmailed them. The man in charge of the matter is now your friend Lawrence Staghill who, I believe, is filing for a motion to dismiss for lack of evidence in front of the judge who still owes you a lot of money. So, it looks like that everything is going to plan for you once again Thomas Shelby OBE. You should be free to leave after the next three days. The case is to be heard after the weekend’ Jesse said.
‘You hear that? Three more days and I will be out of your hair Y/N’ Tommy said.
‘I can’t wait’ you said cheekily and with a hint of sarcasm.
Jesse stayed for a little while longer before heading back to Birmingham and you made sure that, for the entire day, Tommy rested.
It was hard for Tommy to rest. It was almost like he needed to do something at all times. He wasn’t a man who could ever just sit still and, say, read a book. His mind had to busy constantly and he loved to be challenged.
For you, the day went by quickly and looking after Tommy was almost like looking after a child who refuses to listen.
Gone Too Far
‘I see you made yourself a bed on the sofa again’ you said as you noticed Tommy putting the blanket and pillow on the sofa.
‘Whilst I enjoyed our pillow talk, I figured that last night was an exception. Unless you think you might have difficulty sleeping again’ Tommy smirked.
‘I think I just might’ you said with a smile as you finished brushing your hair.
‘Alright, I will take my pillow and blanket upstairs then eh’ Tommy said.
‘Alright, see you up there’ you smiled, causing Tommy to chuckle.
This was strange indeed, but he figured that, at least, the bed was more comfortable than the lounge.
‘So, what do you want to talk about tonight, eh?’ Tommy asked as you walked into the bedroom with a glass of water and two white pills.
‘I went to the chemist today. This should prevent infection’ you said you said as you handed him the glass and the tablets.
‘Thank you’ Tommy said as you lied down next to him.
He swallowed the tablets and waited for you to say something, start a conversation of some sort.
But you didn’t. You lied there quietly, your dark eyes gazing over his half naked body.
In this moment, he didn’t know what came over him but, just as he leaned to lie on his uninjured side, he ran his hands through your hair and his eyes met yours.
‘I haven’t met anyone quite like you’ Tommy said.
‘Why is that?’ you asked.
‘I am not sure. There is something about you that intrigues me. That doesn’t happen very often’ Tommy said and, just as he did, you leaned forward and your lips met his.
His lips were soft and still tasted like whiskey.
Reluctantly at first, he returned the kiss, gently but passionately.
It was a short kiss and your tongues never touched by the time you lips drifted apart.
Once your lips separated you starred at each other, questioning in your mind what had just happened between you.
With embarrassment, you pulled away and turned around quickly.
‘Goodnight Tommy’ you said after you turned around. You turned off the night light and pulled your blanket over you tightly.
‘Goodnight Y/N’ Tommy said with a slight chuckle, still facing into your direction.
Despite the fact that Tommy had been on your mind now for days, you were surprised by your own actions and wanted to pretend that the kiss between you just moments ago didn’t happen.
You knew about his past, the killings, the illegal businesses, everything. He was a man you knew you shouldn’t get involved with. He was also still married and, at least in the eye of the public, he was a fascist.
You tried very hard to ignore the fact that he was lying next to you, half naked. The fire was lightening the room slightly and you simply couldn’t close your eyes, starring to the other end of the room.
For ten minutes you tried to lie still, but couldn’t. You fidgeted and kept starring up and then to the side again.
‘Do you want me to help you go to sleep?’ Tommy asked as he noticed your restlessness, which instantly broke the silence between you.
‘Help me go to sleep?’ you asked with some confusion and without turning around to face him. You were still to embarrassed to look at him.
‘Yes’ Tommy said as, suddenly, you could feel his body moving closer towards yours but still separated by your individual blankets.
‘What do you mean by that Tommy?’ you asked with some ignorance and, just when you did, you could feel the back of your blanket lift slightly.
Within seconds, Tommy’s fingers trailed over your bare shoulders downwards over your small breasts which were covered by nothing but your silk nightgown.
Your nipple turned hard instantly at his touch and you let out a deep sigh.
‘Tommy, I have never been with anyone before’ you said, allowing his touch but worrying about what he was intending to do to you.
‘Don’t worry Love, I am not going to fuck you. At least not in the conventional way’ Tommy chuckled as his fingers circled over your hard nipples.
You had no idea what he could possibly mean by that. Did he not find you attractive? What was he going to do to you then if not that?
‘So, you don’t want me?’ you asked curiously while small moans escaped your lips as the tips of his fingers continued to run circles over your nipples.
‘I want you alright. But I am not keen on tearing my stitches’ Tommy said as his hands began to take hold of your breasts harder.
You moaned at his touch and felt a strange and unfamiliar sensation build up in between your legs.
It wasn’t long until you felt his fingers move downwards over your stomach until they finally began teasing the top of your mound through your panties.
‘Tommy, I don’t think I will be going to sleep with you touching me like this’ you said with heavy breath.  You wondered how on earth this was actually going to help you go to sleep.
‘I hope not’ Tommy laughed quietly. ‘But once I am done with you, you will sleep very well, that I promise’ he whispered into your before biting your earlobe gently.
You took in a deep breath and moaned quietly. The feeling of his hot breath was intense.
‘So do you want me to continue?’ he whispered.
You couldn't say yes. But you also couldn't say no. Instead, all that escaped your lips was another soft moan.
‘I need to hear you say it Love. Tell me you want me to keep going’ he said.
You whimpered under his touch, your hips now rocking to meet his hand. But he held firm.
‘I...it feels really good’ was all you could manage to say.
‘And you want me to continue?’ he asked as his fingers moved a little lower, over your panties, expertly brushing over your clit.  
‘Yes Tommy, please continue’ you moaned and, just like that, Tommy slit his hand beneath your panties, running his fingers directly over your wet slit, dipping only the top of them into you gently.
He then began to rub his wet finger tips over your clit, circling around your hard nub with light pressure.
‘Oh my god Tommy’ you moaned as you never felt anything just like that.
After a minute or two, Tommy gently slid one finger into you, looking out for any cues from you to ensure that he didn’t hurt you now that he knew that you were a virgin.
You were so tight, it was almost too much to start and he could feel the resistance of your hymen within you. But he kept going, carefully and gently thrusting his finger in and out of you at a slow pace.
You moaned softly and Tommy loved pulling a reaction out of you. It was almost like it was his goal to break your normally stoic composure.
Tommy wanted to know that you were enjoying what he was doing.
He began sliding his finger in and out of you all the way slowly at first, but not long after he started to build speed.
You enjoyed the alternating feeling between emptiness and fulness inside of you and were making the most delicious noises now. Your eyes were completely closed and you were moaning louder.
Suddenly Tommy slipped a second finger inside of you just to give you a little extra jolt and you reacted better than he could have expected.
It was slightly painful at first but the mild pain soon subsided and turned into pleasure.
‘Tommy, oh god...fuck’ you moaned as you began squirming just slightly and moaning a bit louder.
As his fingers kept thrusting in and out of you, your breathing became heavier and your legs began to quiver.
His thumb soon gave extra attention to your clit while he kept up with the movement of his middle and index finger.
Your moans kept getting more frequent now and you were certainly getting wetter too as Tommy kept going faster and harder.
You couldn’t believe how good he was making you feel with his fingers but you also didn’t know what to expect when an overwhelming sensation of warmth and tingling overcame you slowly.
‘Tommy, I don’t know if this is right. It feels strange’ you moaned as your legs began to shake and you couldn’t control your movements.
You tried to squirm away as the feeling was too unfamiliar to you. But Tommy persisted, pushing his hand firmer against you and his fingers even deeper inside of you.
‘Does it feel good?’ Tommy asked, knowing already what your answer would be as he could feel your walls tightening around his fingers.
‘Yes Tommy’ you managed to let out in between moans.
‘Then its right Love’ Tommy smirked. ‘Just relax and let go eh’ Tommy whispered.
You moaned once again, louder than before, and gave into the sensation.
It was intense, so intense that you had to clench onto the sheets and, just like this your orgasm washed over you.
You were a shaking mess and Tommy kept up the speed with his fingers until your orgasm slowly began to subside.
‘Fuck, what the hell just happened?’ you said once you began to calm down and while Tommy still stroked the outside of your now soaked mound.
‘Did you never have an orgasm before?’ Tommy asked surprised and with curiosity.
‘Like this? No. Never’ you said. Of course, you pleasured yourself before but the sensation was different, way less intense than what Tommy just managed to do to you.
As Tommy removed his hand from you, you turned around, your cheeks flushed. It was almost like you were embarrassed to look at him after what had just happened.
‘Feeling relaxed now?’ Tommy asked with a grin on his face.
‘Yes…uhm…thank you’ you said shyly.
‘It’s my pleasure’ Tommy said with a smile before giving you gentle kiss. You could have spent all night just kissing him. He was good at it and his lips were full and soft.
‘You should get some sleep now, eh’ he said after your lips drifted apart and he caressed your face.
‘Is there anything I could do to return the favour?’ you asked shyly, feeling somewhat guilty about the way he made you feel with nothing in return.
‘No, not tonight Love’ Tommy said as he pulled you closer. Whilst he had the desire to be with you that night, he was still not well enough after his injury and felt as though he should give you time. You were inexperienced and this was new territory for you, possibly overwhelming. Just like this, you had awoken the soft and gentle side of Thomas Shelby and that, in itself, brought him out of his own comfort zone.
He did not know what to do or how to act. The only woman who had managed to do this to him after he’s fought in France was his late wife Grace and he was certain that he would never meet another woman like this again. A woman he would care for in the same way he cared for Grace. Having met you changed everything for him that night and he struggled with the idea to accept his fade, especially with a woman half his age and who was the daughter of the man who tried very hard to bring him down.
Thus, as you leaned your head against his chest carefully, making sure that you didn’t lean against his wound, he couldn’t help but stare at you and ponder about what had brought him to you. Perhaps it was meant to be.
‘What’s wrong Tommy?’ you asked as you began to notice his eyes being fixated on you as he ran one of his hands through your hair gently.
‘Nothing, just enjoying the moment’ he said.
‘Me too Tommy’ you responded before closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep.
Change of Heart
The next morning, when you woke up, Tommy was not by your side. His side of the bed was empty.
But, when you walked downstairs you could see him, sitting in the dining room area with a pen and paper.
You weren’t sure what he was writing and you weren’t sure how to approach him after last night.
You decided to go with a kiss and, just after you said good morning and leaned in to kiss him, Tommy pulled away.
That was unexpected and you looked at him, full of questions.
‘Last night was a mistake Y/N for which I apologise. I should not have been temped’ Tommy said.
‘A mistake? Right’ you said as you walked over to the kitchen bench to boil the kettle. Small tears were running down your eyes and you tried hard to hide them from Tommy.
You had begun to care for him and you most clearly were developing feelings for him.
‘Y/N?’ Tommy said as he noticed you being upset.
‘Tommy, please just give me some space alright’ you said as you walked into the studio with your cup of tea.
You were embarrassed and you felt weak. Yet you wanted to be strong.
Were you too naïve, failing for a man like him?
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fa-headhoncho · 3 years
Text
Untitled TFATWS Fic: Part 1
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Bucky Barnes x Reader
Prompt/Background: After turning yourself in to the government following the events of CA:TWS, they lock you up for the crimes you committed during your time at Hydra. Spending years there until Captain America got you on parole during the blip to help fight Thanos. Now, after doing community service acts and helping the broken society, when they give the new Captain America the shield, you’re thrown back into a life you didn’t want.
Word Count: 1871 (ahaha, yea)
Reader: Female
Warning: parole officers might be triggering??? idk
Author’s Note: I’ve decided to end my 141 part Wattpad Sebastian Stan imagine book and post on Tumblr instead :’), a happy day. Also, I’M SORRY THAT I LIKE SLOW BURN SERIES OK? Schedule for this series is every Thursday. ALSO IF YOU HAVE TITLE IDEAS FOR THIS SERIES, LMK! PLEASE
Masterlist
Part 2  Part 3  Part 4
=====
The sound of your heels echoed throughout the dimly lit room as you make your way through the exhibit. The walls take you back in time, reading how Captain America came to be and all his past accomplishments. They even updated from the last time you were here, documenting the events on the Blip.
You didn’t even know where you were going, absently letting your emotions and feet lead to where it felt you needed to be.
“For a former spy, you’re not really good at sneaking up on someone.” Rhodes’ voice greets you once you open up the curtain to a different area. A small smile sneaks its way across your face seeing the two men in front of you.
“Bit out of practice.” You spit back, walking towards them. “It’s nice to see you again, Rhodie.” You open your arms out to him and he gladly takes the hug. “Hopefully life’s been treatin’ you well.”
“For the most part,” He chuckles out while pulling away from the embrace. You move on to the other man, him happily wrapping his arms around your waist as you wrap yours around his shoulders.
Sam lets out a breath into the crook of your neck before pulling back. “You doing okay?” You ask, looking at his face for any sign of emotion. He nods but there was something in his eye that told otherwise.
You open your mouth to push him for the real answer but Rhodes cuts you off, “Well, I have to get going. It was good seeing you, (Y/L/N), hopefully, we work together soon. Remember what I said, Sam.” With that, he leaves the room to leave you and Sam alone.
The room fills with silence as the two of you turn to the iconic suit and shield in front of you. You try to watch Sam from the corner of your eye but he just stands with his back straight and his eyes forward.
“You know, I’m sure Steve would understand.” You decide to say, clasping your hands in front of you. “I didn’t become as close as you did, but from my time with him during the Blip, he tried his best to help everyone. He had a lot of responsibilities and issues of his own along with having a whole country looking up to him... 
“It was a lot… he opened to me about it one night before… you know.” You admit which makes him finally look at you. “He told me what he was going to do and all I could do is support him… I asked him what he was going to do with the mantle and he said give it to you.” Turning your head, you make eye contact with him. “I asked him if he was sure.”
He lets out a snort at that, shaking his head at you. “Really gotta do me like that?” He wipes his hand across his face then stuffs his hand in his pockets as he turns to face you. “I thought we were having a nice bonding moment and then you had to drop me like that?”
You can’t help the giggle that escapes your lips at his whining. “I’m being serious, Sam, stop.” You hit him on the shoulder. “He said there was no doubt in his mind that you do what needed to be done with the shield. He trusted you and your judgment, Falcon.” You emphasize his hero name which he just rolls his eyes at you.
“Yea, I’m sure he did.” He smiles and then changes the subject, “How’s parole treatin’ ya, still got the collar on?” He gestures to your ankle causing you to lift your dress pant leg, flashing the electric bracelet around your ankle. He lets out a hearty chuckle at it. “Still can’t believe that they have you on a leash.”
“Price you gotta pay for freedom.” You shrug and drop the cloth. There’s a beat of silence between the two of you, both of you taking a glance back at the exhibit and the shield.
“Have you talked with Bucky recently?”
“No, I was going to ask you.” Your heart sinks at the realization. “We’ve been texting a bit but I haven’t seen him since I spent the weekend with him a couple of weeks ago.” You shyly admit and look down at your feet.
“Weekend, huh?”
“Shut it, Sam.” You knock your foot against his. “We didn’t do anything, he doesn’t like me like that. Plus, he wouldn’t even let me spend the night. I had to go to a hotel, he sleeps on the floor, Sam! I’m worried about him.” It took weeks for you to convince him to let you come over and you finally knew why when you step into his apartment. It made your heart sink, it looked like if a Hydra cell got a remodel. “He has two chairs and a tv.”
“Living modestly I see.” He snorts out, covering up whatever he was actually thinking. It’s now your turn to roll your eyes at him, frustrated that he isn’t willing to talk about this. “Hey, he’s still figuring stuff out, okay? He just got all his memories back and he’s still working on living with his past. You should know better than I do to give him time.” His tone is soft as he lightly scolds you. You hang your head at his words, knowing he’s right.
It took some time for you to come to terms with your past when you turned yourself in after Hydra and SHIELD fell. You took accountability for your actions during your years at Hydra and spent a few years in jail before Steve took action to help you get on parole. That didn’t mean you weren’t fully recovered.
“When are you joining me on the field, anyway?” Sam changes the topic noticing how you went silent and your eyes looked past him. “I could use you on some of my recon missions.” 
A large smile forms on your face at the mention of your parole. “A couple more check-ins and I’m good, I think.” You excitedly inform, “They actually want to talk to me about something, and then it’s the last three months. Saving the world made my good behavior skyrocket.”
“I’m sure it did.” He smiles, “Well, let me know what happens. I’m heading down to Louisiana soon and my sisters want to meet you. She heard about your work with the soup kitchens in New York and she wanted some insight.”
“Really? Give her my number, you know I’d be happy to talk with her. I’ve been thinking about trying to get my officer to convince the big guys to expand my tracking radar so I reach out more.” You start to ramble about the ideas you’ve been having for more community service actions. During the blip, Steve got you into volunteer work and it sparked something inside of you. He said it might give you a new purpose and he couldn’t have been more right.
The two of you spend the rest of the day together, catching up on everything that’s been going on. You didn’t realize how much you missed his snarky comments and banter until he smothered you in it, “making up for lost time”, he said. He continues the bullying by texting back and forth for the next few days.
It was nice to have a friend after everything that happened over the last few years. Steve and Nat were gone so the friendships you built up during the blip were just a memory now. Yea, Bucky and you were friends but it was a bit more complicated than that.
It’s a few weeks after that and they’ve already named some prick the new Captain America. You were frustrated at Sam but you realized that he couldn’t have known that this was going to happen. Especially since when you reached out to him and he was more furious than you were. Bucky was a whole other story. When the press conference aired, he immediately called you and went off about Sam. You couldn’t offer answers so you just told him to talk to him about it. This didn’t involve you.
Now, you were sat at some random government office in DC. You were beyond nervous, leg bouncing and fingers tapping. Kevin, your sweet parole officer, had called you in for an emergency meeting. He didn’t mention anything about the content of it but he assured you not to worry. It didn’t help, though, your mind was scrambling trying to think of anything you could’ve done to break your parole or anywhere you could’ve gone that went outside your tracking radar.
“(Y/L/N)?” The familiar voice echoes through the lobby makes your head snap up. Kevin, your knight in a cashmere sweater, stands there with his hands in his pants pockets. He nods his head, gesturing for you to follow him.
He leads you down a long hallway, stopping at the end of it and holding the door open for you. You send him a grateful smile before entering the office. It was very different from his usual office. The tall windows lined the wall from floor to ceiling, making the already large room feel even more spacious. It was a bit unsettling compared to his close-knit office space located in an old house on the outskirts of DC.
Kevin moves you two to the large conference table on the other side of the room, having you sit before he does. He takes the chair at the head of the table, sighing as he opens the folder and takes a few papers out.
“Sign these.” He slides them over to you but you furrow your eyebrows in response.
“What’s going on?”
“You’re being released.” He announces, leaning back in his chair with a tight-lipped smile on his face. Your jaw drops and your heart picks up but you can’t help but question it. You quickly compose yourself and look down at the papers.
“Isn’t it a bit too early?” You ask while briefly scanning the papers. “I still have two months left, not that I’m not grateful but where is this coming from?” This was happening too suddenly, Kevin was good with warning you about the activities that go on behind the scenes of your parole and he didn’t even mention the thought of an early release.
The brunette man lets out a sigh, running his hair through his long hair. He then leans his elbows on the table with his head propped up on his palms, he opens his mouth to answer but is cut off by the office door opening.
The new Captain America and his sidekick come waltzing in, a few of his goons following as well. He didn’t need the uniform or shield for you to recognize him since his face has been plastered on every channel since they came forward with him. He’s all everyone could talk about.
“He released you.” You barely hear Kevin as your mind goes into spirals. What the hell did this guy want? Why is he even here? What the hell did he want with you?
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Why Squirrelflight And Finleap Are NOT The Same - Discussion
I have a lot of opinions on this, do bare with me
because I can say now
if you put Squirrelflight asking Bramblestar about kits on the same level as Finleap pressuring Twigbranch
Assume I don't like you
Unless you have a legitimate reason to compare a domestic abuse victim to someone who was actively manipulating his mate to consider having his babies so that he felt 'like he could stay with her', I don't care what you have to say
Because there's a big difference and it's a little thing called context and power dynamics
That being said
disclaimer that I am aro/ace, so this is coming from the lens of someone who doesn't understand romance but knows a bad situation when I see one
///
tw; mentions of abuse and manipulation
Let's start with Finleap
As apprentices he has a cute friendship with Twigbranch and it's implied the two like each other as a little more than friends, though Twig doesn't seem ready for that commitment just yet
We first see the topic of kits come up in this conversation.
“I know.” Finleap spoke softly. “It’s scary having so much responsibility. And these are our first apprentices. But it’s okay for us to make mistakes and it’s okay for them to make mistakes. We’re learning together.” “But I’m supposed to know what to do.” A lump sat in Twigbranch’s throat like a stone. “Why?” Finleap wove around her and stopped as he caught her eye. “You’re a great warrior, Twigbranch. And you’re kind. You don’t have to stop being kind just because you’re a mentor. Trust your instincts. Push Flypaw when she needs pushing, but encourage her too. You must know how good a little encouragement can feel when you’re facing something new and difficult.” There was warmth in his gaze that touched Twigbranch’s heart. He really cared whether she’d be a good mentor. He wanted her to succeed. She purred and touched her nose to his. “Besides,” he went on, “mentoring will teach us patience. Imagine what good parents we’ll be when we have kits.” When we have kits! Twigbranch pulled away. Finleap’s gaze was misty. Was he really thinking about having kits already? They weren’t even mates yet. Twigbranch wasn’t ready to be tied to the nursery. She was barely ready to think about having a mate. She changed the subject. “Let’s check the border.” She didn’t want to hurt Finleap’s feelings. “Flypaw! Snappaw! This way!” she called to the apprentices, scanning the bracken until they appeared, then turned and headed along the trail toward ShadowClan’s border.
It's important to note the obvious negative reaction she has, even outside of her own thoughts. She was perfect fine with touching him until kits are mentioned. She's also quick to change the topic.
It's also implied here and in a couple other places that they hadn't even had this conversation before, as it's sprung onto her without any warning.
And if you don't believe me, consider this paragraph -
His confidence soothed her. He seemed so sure of himself. Even when he’d been pulling Puddleshine free, he’d known he could do it. He was sure they’d be mates too and that they’d have kits one day. And the thought didn’t scare him. Anxiety wormed beneath Twigbranch’s pelt. Then why does it scare me?
Twigbranch isn't ready for kits and the fact Finleap is shows that they're not seeing eye to eye on the issue. He's confident he wants to be a father, but she's not sure she wants to be a mother just yet.
He wants her to be on the same page, even if she isn't ready.
“I like it here, but I don’t feel like I belong.” Finleap glanced at his paws. “Which is why I want to start a family. Here, in ThunderClan. Then I’ll feel part of the Clan. I’ll feel like I have something here that is truly my own. I want to have kits.” “Kits?” Twigbranch’s mouth was so dry, she could hardly speak. Finleap watched her, his gaze expectant. “But you know how I feel about kits,” Twigbranch blurted. “I’m not ready. I want to concentrate on mentoring. I’ve told you all this.” “I know.” Finleap held her gaze. “But I need you to think about it again. I have to feel I belong here—that you want me. If you don’t ever want to have kits with me, I’m not sure I’ll ever feel at home in ThunderClan.”
"If you don’t ever want to have kits with me, I’m not sure I’ll ever feel at home in ThunderClan."
That's a really shitty thing to say to someone especially your bestfriend / girlfriend
"I'm worthless here unless you give up part of your young adult life to providing me with children"
This isn't even a Fernsong situation where he offers to live in the nursery when she's able to go back out. No. He wants her in the nursery with her kits.
.
Next time we see these two
.
She glanced at Finleap, wishing he would say something encouraging. “I’m glad Bramblestar picked us. What if it’s the last chance I get to see Violetshine and Hawkwing?” Please tell me everything will be okay. “I thought kin wasn’t important.” There was bitterness in his mew. Twigbranch flinched. Since he’d told her he wanted to have kits, Finleap had been distant. She always seemed to be the one to start conversations, while he only replied in short, vague phrases. Her heart ached, but what could she do? Promise to be his mate? Give up mentoring Flypaw so that she could have his kits? Anger pricked at her belly. He was pressuring her into something she didn’t want yet. But she loved him, and she could understand that he was acting out of unhappiness. If only he could find his place in ThunderClan. She’d planned to keep stalling—refusing to give him a straight answer—to give him time to adjust. But what if SkyClan left? It would force him to make a decision. Clan or kin? She changed the subject. “I hope Reedclaw has recovered from her cough.” Finleap didn’t respond.
Now Finleap is giving her the cold shoulder, being such a piss-ant about her not wanting kits that he's not even willing to comfort her when both their families might be being chased away.
And moments later
Twigbranch was unnerved. Sparkpelt had been her mentor. Had she always wished SkyClan would leave? Why didn’t I realize? “Do you think the other Clans feel the same way?” Finleap shrugged. “If they do, then SkyClan will have to leave.” Her mouth grew dry. Hearing Finleap say those words out loud made her realize that she hadn’t truly thought it was possible until now. But he was right—SkyClan would have no choice but to leave if none of the Clans were on their side. “I really might never see Hawkwing and Violetshine again.” Finleap didn’t speak. Didn’t he care? “Will you go back with them?” She stared at him, her heart pounding. “I don’t know.” He avoided her gaze. Was she going to lose her kin and her love at the same time? What would be left if they went? Feeling sick, Twigbranch followed her Clanmates to the tree-bridge.
Not only does he voice her fears out loud, but he doesn't deny that he'd stay with her if she isn't with him. This is a manipulation tactic and a very shitty and terrible one that that for him to use again the girl he allegedly loves.
.
At the end of the gathering -
“SkyClan!” Leafstar called to her Clanmates from the long grass. Harrybrook and Macgyver hurried after her. “We must go,” Hawkwing mewed huskily. He turned away. Twigbranch gazed frantically at Violetshine. “Is this the last time I’ll see you?” “I don’t know.” Violetshine touched her muzzle to Twigbranch’s. Her breath was warm in the chilly night air. “It’s up to Leafstar now.” “Good-bye.” Twigbranch could hardly speak. Her throat tightened as Violetshine pulled away and headed after Hawkwing. As she turned back to her Clanmates, she saw Finleap. He was watching Plumwillow and Sandynose disappear into the grass. She hurried to his side. “Did you say good-bye?” He didn’t answer. The sorrow in his gaze pierced her heart. “Are you planning to go with them if they leave?” She felt numb. He stared at her. “I love you, Twigbranch. But if you don’t want to have kits, I should go with my kin. At least I’ll be somewhere I belong, instead of chasing a dream that might never come true.”
His wording is honestly just terrible.
His dream with Twigbranch is only to have children with her. He may say he loves her, yeah, but according to himself, he's willing to leave her forever just because she's isn't committed to the idea of having babies with him.
I want to say this now
If someone you like is willing to ditch you because you don't want to raise a family, be it at the moment or ever? Leave them. They're not worth it.
You shouldn't feel obligated to have a family with someone.
.
After SkyClan leaves, Finleap decides to stay in ThunderClan.
Of course, his pity party isn't over.
In the days since SkyClan had left, Finleap had seemed uneasy. They’d talked after the Gathering and he’d decided to stay in ThunderClan. Twigbranch had been relieved. Of course Finleap was upset at losing his kin, and at first she’d tried to be supportive, but it was like he was clinging to the loss. He’d started to act as though he’d made the wrong choice. He’d begun to eat alone and go to his nest early instead of sharing tongues with the Clan. He was acting like an outsider. Frustration itched beneath Twigbranch’s pelt, growing stronger each day. How could Finleap ever feel like part of ThunderClan if he didn’t try to fit in? At least he’d stopped talking about having kits. Had he really accepted that they wouldn’t have kits until they were both ready? Twigbranch wasn’t sure the matter was settled. Part of her wondered if Finleap wished he’d left with SkyClan after all.
This is where communication between the two is an issue.
Of course Finleap is going to be upset that his family is, as far as he knows, gone forever.
However
He never once clarifies that he's only upset about his kin to Twigbranch, his girlfriend, making his breakdown seem torn between missing his family and not liking the idea that the girl he likes isn't ready to have babies yet.
Not only that, Twigbranch has a huge point here.
Finleap claims kits will make him feel like he belongs in ThunderClan. However, outside of Twig and the idea of kits, he hasn't done much to try to bond with anyone in the Clan. Even outside of the conversation about kits, he mostly interacts with his apprentice unless he's out helping someone.
He's not focused on making friends, or being a great ThunderClan warrior. His only focus is having a family with Twigbranch and nothing else.
Granted we don't see his POV, but we do his actions and what he says to the cats he apparently cares about.
Her talk with Tree expresses more of her concerns with her relationship while they're out trying to find SkyClan.
Twigbranch followed his gaze. “I can’t imagine having kits,” she mewed guiltily. “Finleap wants to already, but I’m not ready to give up being a warrior.” “You don’t have to give it up,” Tree reminded her. “Queens only stay in the nursery until their kits are weaned, don’t they?” “I guess.” Was she being selfish, wanting to focus on herself? “But I don’t want to worry about that yet. I like being a mentor. I’m learning so much every day.” “You’re young,” he mewed gently. “There’s no rush.”
For the first time she's being told that it's okay that she doesn't need to feel ready and that there's nothing wrong with taking her time on deciding what she wants.
Of course this leads to-
“Well done!” As Twigbranch purred admiringly, she saw Finleap padding toward them. He was carrying a bedraggled sparrow. It was skinny and looked more like crow-food than fresh- kill. He stopped beside Flypaw and laid it on the ground. “I was thinking that we could share this . . .” He eyed the fat rabbit lying, half-eaten, between Twigbranch and Tree. “But I guess you don’t need it.” Anger hardened his mew. Twigbranch shifted uncomfortably. “I didn’t realize you were bringing me food. Tree just offered and I was hungry.” Finleap wasn’t listening. He was still staring at the rabbit. “I guess he knows where the best prey lives. This used to be his home. It’s easy to hunt when you know the territory.” Tree stared at Finleap coldly. “I could catch a rabbit anywhere.” “Did you used to catch rabbits to impress Violetshine?” Finleap mewed pointedly. “Or have you forgotten Violetshine?”
Immediately he's jealous of Tree because he was thoughtful enough to share a rabbit. And Warriors has shown us that there's nothing inherently romantic about sharing prey. It happens all the time and not specifically between mates or two courting cats.
It's a common social interaction between Clan cats.
But Finleap's acting like he caught them sharing a nest.
Tree had been hard on him, but Finleap had picked the fight. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for him, even though he was acting like a fox-heart. She hurried across the cave. Finleap was sniffing at the bedding, his pelt bristling. “Oh, so you can tear yourself away from Tree?” Twigbranch blinked at him. “What are you talking about? Tree loves Violetshine!” He glanced at her angrily and padded out of the cave.
He accuses her of liking Tree and when she denies, he walks away.
She chases after him and then this argument goes down
He stopped as he reached a swath of heather and turned on her. “I bet you don’t even want to find SkyClan! You’re probably happy to see Violetshine gone now that you’ve made Tree notice you.” Shock froze Twigbranch. “Do you have you bees in your brain?” She stared at him. “How could you say something like that? I would never betray my sister. And I’d never make Tree try to notice me. I told you! He’s just a friend. And he wouldn’t do that to Violetshine, either!” “You haven’t left his side since we left camp,” Finleap snarled. “I’m leading the patrol, and he knows the way!” Twigbranch snapped. “Every time I look at you, your muzzle’s in his ear.” “We were just talking! I’ve got to talk to some cat. Ever since SkyClan left the forest, I feel like I can’t talk to you.” Grief pressed in her belly. “I don’t know why you stayed with me. You’ve made it pretty clear that you wish you’d left with SkyClan.” “I stayed because I love you!" Finleap spat. “You’ve hardly looked at me. If that’s love, I don’t want it!” She lashed her tail. “You don’t know what love is!” He glared at her accusingly. “Of course I do!” Why was he being so mean? “I love you!” “Not enough to have my kits.” She stared at him, wind tugging at her fur. “Is that it? If I won’t have your kits, you don’t want me?” “I want you to love me enough to have kits.” Hurt sharpened his gaze.
Again what he's doing here is shitty and he's being jealous of another tom talking to his girlfriend, despite this tom just being a friend, all because he's being nice to her
Not a good sign
And, of course, the apology just sucks. It comes out of nowhere and it doesn't feel like he earned the right to be forgiven
he hurt Twigbranch, made her doubt what she wanted, and treated her like shit
`“But I thought you loved me.” He sounded surprised. “You told Violetshine you loved me very much.” “I do,” she mewed softly. “But not enough to have your kits. Not now. Maybe not ever.” Finleap glanced at his paws. “Let’s forget about kits, huh?” She blinked in surprise. “Forget?” “I was wrong, Twigbranch. Seeing SkyClan again made me realize . . . however much I love my kin, I love you more. I don’t want you to have kits if you don’t want to. I can live without them. But I can’t live without you.” Twigbranch stared at him. “Do you mean that?” “Yes.” Finleap’s eyes shimmered with love. “I’ve been so wrapped up in feeling hurt, I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you—or how much I was hurting our relationship.”
Now, not every character needs a grand realization
But
I don't think just a simple "I'm sorry" makes up for how he made her feel and the harm he did to their relationship and the fact it took this long for him to realize that his girlfriend his her own cat and not just a kit-making factory.
And this is one part of a very long story
.
.
.
Now let's talk about Squirrelflight
Specifically Squirrelflight's Hope, but I will also make references to Omen Of The Stars, as that's when her worse breakup with Brambleclaw/star happened where
may I remind you
he ignored her and treated her like garbage for many moons and when he thought there was a chance she might die was when he finally decided to make amends for her horrible crime of
*checks notes*
protecting her sister's kits from a system that punishes not only halfClan kittens, but the kits of medicine cats
"but she lied" I hear you cry
and to that I say
and?
Bramblestar lied about much worse things than where three kits came from and, may I remind you, he trained in cat hell with his very obviously evil dad who he had been judged for being the son of.
And cats lie in Warriors all the time and it's very rare that they're punished for it
and no, saying you find her annoying also doesn't justify anything
The punishment doesn't match the 'crime' here.
So
Let's get into Squirrelflight's Hope
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The first time kits are brought up is by Bramblestar, him talking about it in a negative light.
... She didn’t feel old yet, but it had been a long time since she’d felt the rush of excitement she used to feel in her first moons as a warrior, whenever she was picked to go on patrol or attend a Gathering. She pressed closer to Bramblestar. “Do you miss being young?” He shrugged. “I miss being irresponsible. Back then, the only thing we had to worry about was our next hunt. That was before we became leader and deputy, and before we had kits to look after.”
Obviously, Squirrelflight doesn't agree there
Squirrelflight felt a pang of longing. Sparkpelt and Alderheart were grown, and she’d never had a chance to know their littermates, Juniperkit and Dandelionkit, who had died. She’d been hoping to have a new litter by now—tiny kits to nurture and love. But they’d had no luck. “Having kits didn’t make me feel old. I liked the responsibility. It’ll be good to feel that way again.” She glanced hopefully at Bramblestar. When he didn’t comment, she prompted him. “Don’t you think?” “Of course.” He didn’t look at her. Anxiety prickled beneath her pelt. She’d wanted him to sound more enthusiastic about kits. “Let’s pretend we’re young again now. It’s almost like we’re sneaking out of camp.” Squirrelflight kept her mew light. “Half the Clan are already in their nests, and the rest will be asleep by the time we get home.” “I wish we could.” Was that a sigh in Bramblestar’s mew? “But we can’t be late for the meeting. And we have to go straight back to camp afterward; Birchfall and Lionblaze will be waiting to find out what happened.”
It's important to note now that Squirrelflight wants to feel young and wants to feel important, something that she doesn't feel now as an older molly.
Things have been serious lately and she wants to lighten the mood, but this is brushed off by Bramblestar.
It should be noted that the leaders - and not Squirrelflight - are talking about how their Clans need territory because they have expecting queens. Squirrelflight has an internal reaction, yes, but doesn't say anything.
Bramblestar's also being a hardass here and Squirrelflight does have a good idea, but he's quick to make her feel bad about it.
“Might be.” Bramblestar’s tail twitched angrily. “Or it might be overrun with snakes, or dogs, or foxes. Warriors might die thanks to your idea.”
There was no sign the gathering was leader only. If it was, why bring non-leaders? And everyone had been having an open discussion about possible ideas.
But Bramblestar shames Squirrelflight for trying to be helpful.
And of course, we start reaching this scene
“But we’d all have bigger territories if SkyClan moved.” Squirrelflight hurried after him. “And you heard Harestar and Leafstar. The Clans are growing. There’ll be more kits by newleaf, more mouths to feed, more apprentices to train—” “More kits!” Bramblestar lashed his tail. “Is that all you think about now?”
She's not talking about her own kits. She's literally referencing something previously brought up by two other Clan leaders. However, Bramblestar turns this against her, lashing out about an already dead conversation that didn't last.
A conversation that he had brought up both the first time and this time.
His words stung like claw marks. She watched him disappear into the grass, her chest tightening. “Don’t you think about it?” She pushed after him, but he was already hurrying ahead. He was on the tree-bridge by the time she caught up to him. She followed him over it and jumped onto the far shore. She fell in beside Bramblestar, breathless as she tried to keep up. “Don’t you think about kits, Bramblestar?” “I have kits,” he snapped. “Alderheart and Sparkpelt? They’re grown up now!” “I know!” Bramblestar didn’t look at her. “They’re old enough to look after themselves. Why are you so desperate to be responsible for new lives? Isn’t being deputy enough?” “It should be, but it’s not.” Squirrelflight felt panic welling. “I’m getting older with each season. One day I won’t be able to have more kits. I just want another litter before it’s too late.”
Not only did he run off after bring this conversation back, but he continues to shame Squirrelflight after he stops running, implying that she's not content being deputy.
She's worried because she's scared that she's getting older.
The fear of growing older is a common fear and brushing it off as someone being irrational isn't fair to the person.
and to get to the scene where she's "like Finleap" according to those people out there with pebbles instead of brains.
“I know.” Bramblestar sounded weary. “And of course I want kits. Just not as much as you do.” Squirrelflight stopped and stared after him. “Don’t you love me anymore?”
She's not asking this to guilt trip or manipulate. We'd be seeing signs of that way before this question.
Instead this is given the context of being asked in desperation.
I remind you that Bramblestar had spent an entire arc being harsh and cold to her, making her feel small, and he had been making her feel small again, berating her and having her question her ideas.
He's being a piece of shit and she's scared that this is going to turn into all those moons of OotS again.
Even if she was trying to, the power dynamic isn't in her favor. Not only is he older than her, having been made a warrior before she was even born, he's the leader. He has 9 long lives ahead of him.
As shown here she's painfully aware of it, too
Bramblestar turned, his eyes sparking with exasperation. “Yes! But I am responsible for our Clan. And if the other Clans are planning to start up more trouble with SkyClan, I need to focus on that. I don’t have as much energy as I used to. I’m getting older too.” “No, you’re not!” Anger flared in Squirrelflight’s chest. “You have more lives than me—” She broke off as a realization washed over her like ice water. Was that why he didn’t care about kits? He had plenty of time to have kits in the future, maybe even with another mate, when she was dead. The thought made her feel sick. Bramblestar’s next litter might have a mother who wasn’t her. She stared at him, unable to speak.
She doesn't put it past Bramblestar to move on after she's gone, despite his older age and that was also proof in Bramblestar's Storm, where he was actively interested in courting Jessy.
Her fears here are valid. Not only is she older, but she only has one life to live. He doesn't.
And he's perfectly in the right to not want anymore kits
However, his attitude and behavior to his mate is absolutely terrible and instead of talking to her, he's belittling her and making her feel bad for wanting things.
And for having different opinions at that
His gaze shimmered suddenly as though he saw her pain. “I’m sorry.” He hurried to her side and pressed his muzzle against her cheek. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I was angry. I felt you weren’t on my side at the meeting. I was trying to protect SkyClan.” “So was I!” She pulled away indignantly. “I was trying to find a solution that would keep the peace.” “Maybe you’re right. But that isn’t the point. You’re my deputy.” His tail twitched. “You’re supposed to back me up in front of the other Clans. We need to look united. You know how quickly Tigerstar smells weakness, and how he exploits it.”
Then why make her deputy again?
“And you did the ShadowClan border patrol.” Squirrelflight’s tail-tip was twitching, though she kept her voice low. “And yesterday you trekked all the way over to RiverClan and risked your life rescuing that kittypet.” “So?” Bramblestar began to feel frustrated. “I’m fine. It’s not a problem.” “It’ll be a problem for the rest of us if our Clan leader collapses from exhaustion.” Bramblestar heaved a long sigh. “Remind me why I chose you to be my deputy,” he muttered through his teeth. “Because I won’t let you boss me around,” Squirrelflight retorted, her green eyes flashing. True, Bramblestar thought ruefully.
Oh yeah, cause he doesn't want a yes-man deputy
Or maybe he wants a deputy who only challenges him when it's convenient and/or doesn't make him look like an idiot.
Which is kinda
not great
“It looks a lot like weakness when a deputy disagrees with her leader in public.” Bramblestar shifted his paws. “You should know better! You should have discussed your idea with me in private and we could have taken it to the other Clans together.” “It might have been too late by then.” Squirrelflight paused. She didn’t want to argue. And besides, the issue with SkyClan wasn’t what was worrying her now. “I’m sorry I spoke up without talking to you first. But is that really why you said you don’t want to have kits?” Bramblestar gazed at her, his eyes round. “I’m sorry if I made it sound that way. I do want to have kits with you.” “Really?” Her heart lifted. “Yes. If that’s what you want.” Squirrelflight stared at him. There was resignation in his eyes. Grief twisted her belly as he stared back at her blankly. She turned away. I want you to want it too.
Here's where the argument that Squirrelflight, in any way, is equal to Finleap falls apart the most.
She doesn't need to be told that he doesn't feel the same.
She can see it in the way he acts.
She knows he doesn't and she lets the conversation die. Yes, she still thinks about how Bramblestar may move on and have a new litter after she's gone, but she doesn't talk about it, instead keeping her thoughts to herself, not wanting to rock their unstable relationship any more than it has been.
Most of this book has Squirrelflight second guessing what she wants and believing that maybe she was in the wrong for talking openly about a possible idea when everyone else had been doing it.
There's literally a scene where she's having what, in my opinion, feels similar to the start of a near panic attack where her thoughts spiral into a dark pit
But it hadn’t been just the kits he’d been upset about. She’d contradicted him in front of the others. But they were close to fighting! Squirrelflight flicked her tail indignantly. And I have a right to my own opinion. Her plan for SkyClan could be the perfect solution. She couldn’t have held her tongue even if she’d wanted to. Bramblestar had implied that a good deputy would have kept quiet. She shook out her pelt. Was that what Bramblestar thought—that she wasn’t a good deputy? Hurt sharpened its claws on her heart once again. She closed her eyes. Chasing thoughts like this wasn’t going to help her feel better.
The way Bramblestar spoke to her struck so deep that Squirrelflight feels selfish for having her own wants, as seen by her talking to her sister.
Squirrelflight let out her breath. Never mind the awkwardness—Leafpool will understand. And she needed reassurance. “He said he doesn’t want more kits as much as I do.” Leafpool’s eyes rounded with sympathy. “Oh, Squirrelflight.” Squirrelflight nodded. “I know. It’s—” Selfish of me, she was about to say. Because I’ve already mothered two litters. But Leafpool didn’t let her finish. “That must have hurt,” Leafpool said softly, dipping her head. “I know how much you want another litter.” “Bramblestar says he’s getting old and that the Clan is enough responsibility.” She trailed into silence, the memory of the argument stinging her afresh. “I’m sure he’d love kits if you had them,” Leafpool mewed. “But I can see how he finds the thought overwhelming.” Squirrelflight blinked at her. “Do you think I’m being unreasonable, wanting more kits? I know I . . .” “No, of course not. But you already have Alderheart and Sparkpelt. And, in a way, Jayfeather and Lionblaze.” Squirrelflight nodded, but her heart ached. “They don’t need me anymore.”
The power dynamic between Bramblestar and Squirrelflight aren't fair and, again, he's in his right to not want any more kits right now
but the way he spoke and made her feel like her wanting kits at all was terrible and that she should feel bad isn't the way to handle a relationship where two people have two different wants
And for more proof that Bramblestar doesn't make his deputy, who is also his mate, feel important
we have this line
And as far as kits went . . . Leafpool didn’t understand what it felt like not to be needed. Leafpool was needed every day. The Clan depended on her, sometimes for their lives. It was different for Squirrelflight. Even as deputy, she was just one warrior among many.
She's made to feel like another warrior, a replaceable cog in a machine, when Bramblestar had never been made to feel like that while he was deputy
In fact, in Squirrelflight's own words
"Who does Brambleclaw think he is, treating me like I'm still wet behind the ears? Toms are so much trouble! You don't know how lucky you are, Leafpool, not having to worry about things like that. Well I know there was Crowfeather..."
After becoming deputy his confidence and ego went up and he made it known that he wasn't just another cat
He was ThunderClan's deputy
But he never allows his mate to feel like that
In fact, he actively puts her down
He starts making up rules just to keep her in place and lashing out when she tries to fight back. Even when Squirrelflight is trying to be happy that Sparkpelt is expecting kits, Bramblestar brings up their conversation.
Yes, Squirrelflight did feel a little envious, she felt guilty about feeling that way and just wanted to be happy for her daughter
but he was the one who brought up how she wanted kits and he didn't, further making her feel shameful
he didn't even aid in comforting his daughter when her pregnancy brought pain after he sparked the fight with Squirrelflight. He was just watching as Squirrelflight helped their daughter, Squilf being the one to talk to her gently when she was worried about the intense craps she was feeling
When Sunrise, one of the Sisters, is actively dying, he refuses to allow anyone to help her until the medicine cats talk to StarClan and when they get an unclear message, he's more than willing to let her die
When Leafpool refuses to allow this, he actively challenges the medicine cat in front of the entire Clan and Squirrelflight snaps to her sister's defense once more.
Squirrelflight held her ground. “I have to do what I think is right.” “Even if it costs you your Clan?” “ThunderClan is stronger than that,” Squirrelflight spat. “At least I hope it is. If our future depends on letting a cat die, then it’s not the Clan I thought it was.” Bramblestar stared at her. Uncertainty glittered in his gaze. “Why are you doing this to me?” His words pierced her heart. “You’re my deputy. You’re my mate. You’re supposed to support me.” “Being a good deputy doesn’t mean blindly following orders.” Squirrelflight didn’t move. “It means standing up for what I believe, and this time, I believe I’m right.” The camp seemed to swim around her. She knew she was hurting him. But she had to convince him. As the Clan watched her silently, their eyes round in the moonlight, Bramblestar backed away.
Bramblestar tries to manipulate her and that's where the big power dynamic comes in
he's the leader
he's older
he had gone out of his way many times to make her feel small and weak compared to him, even imposing reckless rules just to try to keep her where he wants her
he wants to use her emotions against her
and when she refuses to let him hurt her more
he strikes her with more sharp and hurtful words
Around him, the Clan got to their paws. Mousewhisker and Twigbranch helped Tempest and Hawk lift Sunrise. Leafpool nosed her way into the medicine den. Bramblestar narrowed his eyes, his face like stone. Squirrelflight tried to drag her gaze from his, her heart cracking as he curled his lip. “StarClan wanted unity among the Clans,” he snarled. “Thanks to you, there’s not even unity in ThunderClan anymore.”
“Thanks to you, there’s not even unity in ThunderClan anymore.”
because she didn't want an needless death, he blames her for the discourse he created
this is only a portion of the Squirrelflight mistreatment in this book, but it's all that I'm going to mention since it deals with the topic at hand
and of course we know she decides she doesn't need more kits after all
but what I want to say is
these two stories aren't even
Finleap is manipulative and tries to make Twigbranch feel like she needs to have his kits to prove she loves him or to keep him around
Squirrelflight wants to have more kits, but is made to feel like her needs are selfish and that she should feel bad for these feelings
Twig and Bramble are valid for not wanting kits just as much as Fin and Squirrel are valid for wanting them
However, Finleap isn't in the right for pressuring his girlfriend to marry him and have kittens when she isn't ready
and Bramblestar isn't in the right for shaming his mate for wanting more kits and making a scene out of their relationship problems
and before any incels find this
their genders wouldn't matter in this
if Finleap was a she-cat harassing the tom she liked to have kits with her to make her feel like she belonged in a Clan, I'd still feel the same way
if Squirrelflight was a tom who wanted more kits, but his female leader mate berated him and made him to feel guilty for wanting that, I'd feel the same
it's not about toms and she-cats, men and women, or whatever terrible black and white gender binary lens you're looking through
it's about two different types of shitty mates in two different situations
those being Finleap and Bramblestar and their manipulation of Twigbranch and Squirrelflight respectively.
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