#also that it's just easier to reblog without thinking than actually looking into shit further than the links provided-

[coyotejone-s]

me when i say i'll get better about avoiding participating in callout culture and then i don't 🤪

[littlemisslipbalm]

“you make me so angry sometimes”

idk if this gif makes sense, but i feel like it will if you read the story, it just gives me that vibe. 

A one shot I cooked up idk, it’s about Harry and a makeup artist on DWD, it’s quite angsty, idk how that happened, it’s also very long, idk how that happened either, maybe i do a part 2, maybe i don’t idk lmk. Feedback is appreciated, not proofread. REBLOGS help writers tremendously and i love reading whatever you write in the tags its my favorite thing!! Love yall and Merry Christmas!

Word Count: 17.7k | Warnings: ENEMIES to LOVERS! swearing, angst!, some anxiety -like self-doubt, yn being mean to harry kind of a lot, i dont remember, nothing too crazy, Nick Kroll?, lots of conversation

-

When she pictured herself as a makeup artist in Los Angeles, she hadn’t pictured exactly what she was doing right now.

She had expected doing gorgeous makeup for gorgeous actresses or doing wildly fun stuff like in Euphoria. And because of that she had worked her ass off to get where she was today. She had practiced for hours, worked countless hours for free, and networked to the cows came fucking home.

So why the fuck was she using tattoo-strength concealer to cover up the maybe 60 tattoos some asshole musician turned actor had all over?

Don’t Worry Darling was her first major film to work on so she couldn’t complain. She was happy to simply be there. Well she had been. The first day she had showed up 15 minutes early and had worn her favorite power suit she had. It was dark navy with a white lace long sleeve turtleneck underneath. She hoped to look fun but professional.

Hollywood was all about impressions, especially first ones, even when you’re the makeup artist. She had quickly learned that she was one of six makeup artists. One of them being the friend who had helped her get the job, Angie. Angie was like her surrogate mother in Los Angeles that she had met on her first film job for something much less high profile than Olivia Wilde’s second directing project. Her braided grey hair and fabulous jeans had drawn Y/N right in and they had connected instantly.

Since Y/N was deemed the most inexperienced by the head of the makeup department, she was relegated to easier jobs: assisting the other artists on main characters sometimes, mostly dealing with minor characters touch ups (and full make-up if she was lucky), and the job nobody wanted: tattoo coverage.

Harry Styles was one of the leads for the film and besides his minimal acting, everyone knew he was a worldwide rockstar. With the rock and roll life starting off as a popstar life at the ripe age of 16, he had amassed around 60 tattoos in the past decade. Impressive by her standard normally. She usually counted herself as an appreciator of tattoos and their art, finding them similar to makeup and the self expression that came with both forms. Especially since she had a few of her own, but when she walked into Trailer #6 and saw a good amount of Harry’s tattoos, she wanted to murder every artist he’d ever been to.

She had to make an inventory the first day of all of his visible tattoos when he was just wearing boxers. He had been friendly, trying to make conversation, but as the time wore on, they both grew tired and silent. She had to write down the location and a description of every tattoo and as he took off everything but boxers she grew more and more annoyed with his random and dumb tattoos. Some of them were amazing, the eagle, the anchor, the butterfly, and the ferns were probably her favorites. But some of them, she couldn't hold back her rolling eyes and annoyed expressions. The “Big” on his right big toe, a miniscule lock, almost everything on his inner left arm (the packers logo, Pingu, etc.)

She traces at the rose and the ship and then flips his arm out to reveal his inner arm to her gaze. “That is a big fucking bee.”

He snickers, “Y’like it?”

She ignores his question. “For god’s sake, someone is needle happy,” she said as she examined his left arm, taking note of every permanent drawing.

He shrugs his right shoulder, uninhibited by her prodding. “Dunno, beginning to regret some of them.”

“I would hope,” she mutters, scribbling on her paper the various ones she had just seen on his arm. Next was his ribcage ones.

He scoffs, “Oi, it’s not like you haven’t got any.”

“How would you-” She looks at him wide eyed.

“Right…” he takes his right hand and pushes her hair past her ear to reveal three little red line butterflies following the curve of her ear, “There. At least.”

She huffs and knocks his hand away from her. Her hair falling back into its place.

“Maybe some located in a few more intimate places I’m guessing from the red rushing to your cheeks right now.”

“Can you just let me do my job,” she says, not giving in to his teasing or sparing him a glance as she feels his intense gaze on her face. She was studying his left rib cage where a few cool tattoos happened to be.

“You at least have some taste or persuasive artists because not all of these are shit,” she speaks again after just the sound of her pen on the paper filled the trailer.

“Gee, thanks,” he laughs unamused and rolls his large green eyes.

She thought he had some of the biggest eyes she’d ever seen. But she also knew to keep that to herself because he’d either take it as a compliment and think she was noticing him too much or he’d take it as a massive insult and get her fired.

His right hand taps at his thigh, tapping a rhythm she didn’t care to pay any attention too. She just wanted to finish the stupid inventory of the stupid tattoos on this stupid man.

“Take those off,” she says to Harry, looking back at her clipboard again, filling up quickly with her notes.

He stands there, staring at her stubbornly. He was entirely bored with this exercise, especially since his company was some of the worst he’s ever had. She spares him a glance when she doesn’t notice any slipping off of the colorful sweatpants he’s wearing.

She arches a brow at him, her pen tapping impatiently against the paper. “Go on. Can’t imagine you want this to go on longer than it already has.”

He rolls his eyes again, slipping his thumbs into the waistline of the pants and tugging down. Simultaneously, he toes off the dirty vans he seemed to wear everywhere. The fabric pools easily and he steps out of them and discards them on the couch behind him. He’s actually wearing black briefs. She chooses not to notice anything further than that.

“Socks...can stay on,” She tries to say as he begins to peel one off. He stops midway and nods.

She flings his shirt to him, not needing to see his naked torso for another moment, “I know you’ve got some feet and ankle tats, but I also know that you won’t be wearing anything that will expose them. Thank your lucky stars that I don’t have to makeup your feet.”

He catches the shirt easily and slips his arms inside before tugging it quickly over his head and over his expansive shoulders. The ferns disappear out of sight.

“Well then we’re almost done then. Just got the knee ones -”

“And the tiger. That’s gonna be one son of a bitch,” she sighs and examines his legs, not bothering to crouch.

“What the actual fuck dude?” Her tone is exasperate and like she would rather be anywhere else than here.

“I’m sorry?” He sputters, hands on his hips and eyes bewildered.

“Yes. No. Oui. Non. Who are you?” She rubs at her eyes and shakers her head.

“S’a little rude.”

“You’re right,” she semi-rushes out at his serious tone, ready to apologize. When a grin spreads over his face and he chuckles under his breath she really wants to smack him upside the head. He was exhausting. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thought it was funny at the time. Kind of think it’s even funnier now since it’s got you all mad.” He leans over her shoulder to look at her notes and when she glances at him unhappily he just looks smug.

“Alright,” she finishes the scribble of a description and clicks the end of her pen, “All done. You can get dressed. I’ll see you bright and early for tattoo makeup. It’s gonna take about an hour to do all this, just so you can mentally prepare for that.”

“It was nice to meet you,” he attempts at a friendly and professional farewell. “See you tomorrow…” he trails off as he watches her turn on her heel and walk out of the trailer door swiftly. The door swung shut and bounced a little bit in her wake.

Harry sighed and adjusted his clothes and hair in the mirror. After a moment he shakes his head, an even louder sigh escaping him.

-

“Good morning!” She greets happily, walking into the trailer without a knock. Well-rested and happy at least that she doesn’t have to just inspect a body, she looks around the trailer.

She realizes no one is there and she’s taken aback. First of all, if Harry wasn’t there then he shouldn’t have left his trailer unlocked. And second, he was fucking late, the fucking twat.

She grumbles, setting her coffee on the countertop. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. “In through the nose, out through the mouth” she mutters. She knew this was a big opportunity and having a big star like Harry in her corner could make her career. She needed them to get off on a better foot today.

“Good form, I’d say relax the shoulders a little more,” the door swings open carrying the California twang-British accent that she would soon become all too accustomed to.

Harry points at her shoulders and narrows his eyes regarding her in the trailer. She offers a strained smile through the mirror and Harry sets down his personal things on the couch.  

“Alright, well let’s get started shall we,” she smiles and turns to him, gesturing to the swivel chair next to her.

He nods, a twinkle in his eye as he regards her. He’s unsure of the tone and attitude she’s giving him today. She had been feisty yesterday, cordial at times, but mostly biting and witty. He had liked it. It had made the whole ordeal bearable whereas now she seemed to be laying it on a little thick.

“Just your hands and neck today,” she says, pulling out the makeup materials needed and a checklist of the tattoos she needed to make sure were invisible.

“Should only take..a little under an hour today. Just gonna remind you now though, other days we won’t be so lucky.”

Harry chuckles under his breath and rolls his head around his shoulders before sitting in the chair. “Were you tired yesterday?” He inquires.

“Why do you ask?” She throws a glance over her shoulder at Harry. He’s begun slipping off his sweatshirt and yawns as he does it.

“You seem different from yesterday and I’m just wondering which one is the real you.”

She continues working about the room and rolls her eyes to herself, “I’m always the real me. I come no other way, but this morning I woke up and thought ‘this is the job you’ve fucking wanted for ages, so stop being such a bitch so you don’t get fired, you prick’.” She pauses and turns to face Harry. “The ‘you prick’ was directed at me, that was still part of my thought,” she adds.

He throws his head back and laughs. Then he nods, still laughing lightly, “I get that. Sometimes I’m just so in my head and yesterday I was just so fuckin’ bored. Sorry if I got on your nerves.”

“Don’t mention it.” She waves her hand at him nonchalantly.  

Then she moves to inspect his hands and notices the lack of rings, unlike yesterday when she had to make him take them off.

“You have amazing cuticles,” she notices and mentions without any pretences. Harry mutters his thanks, pursing his lips as he watches her work.

She stops her inspection and places the clipboard on the countertop in front of them.

“Could you take your necklaces off? I need to cover up half of the swallows and the years, for when you unbutton your shirt a bit.”

He wets his lips and nods, hands going to fiddle with the clasps behind his neck. He slips off one of the necklaces with ease, a yellow eye beaded necklace that he lays gently on the countertop next to the clipboard. Then he takes his cross and pulls it over his head, no clasp needed.

“Could I put some music on?” Harry asks after five minutes of Y/N working in silence and Harry only being able to stare either at himself, her work, or nowhere.

“I can,” she stops her work for a moment, “Can’t have you messing up the makeup before it sets. Otherwise I’d have to kill you.” Harry can’t be sure if she’s joking or not. Therefore, he was intent on not messing it up.

“Any requests?” She stands at the counter now, instead of seated on a stool working on Harry's left hand.

He shrugs, like he hasn’t got the faintest idea about good music. She refrains from rolling her eyes once again because she feels herself in a test. She wets her lips, sifting through different things in her Spotify and then lands on her playlist titled “it’s your song” named after Elton John’s song. It had some other musicians, a mix of Queen, Bowie, and more and she was sure she would pass the test.

She presses shuffle and She’s Always A Woman by Billy Joel begins to play over her laptop. Harry nods pleased and she wants to shake her head at him.

She can’t hold back the scoff though after a moment of going back to finishing his hand.

“What?” His British accent thickens with his annoyance growing.

“Nothing,” she chirps, intently putting the final touches on his wrist.

“Seriously. What?”

She stands and sets down the makeup. “Can you unbutton your shirt?” She made a note to herself that from now on she’d have to have him take his shirt off before setting to work because if his hands got messed up she’d have to start over. Thankfully he was already wearing a button up this morning.

He stares at her, offering no movement, just inquisitively waiting for her to respond to his original question.

She shuts her eyes, taking another deep breath and then bites at her lower lip. “It’s just...you’re so easy to read.” She fears adding anything else and moves towards him with the makeup hoping to encourage him to unbutton his shirt.  

His right hand deftly pulls at the buttons as he regards her. His eyes are intent on her, she can see him clearly calculating her. Her green paisley button up tucked up into the back of her bra leaving a splay of her stomach. The semi-balloon sleeves cinched at the wrists leading to her slightly ringed hands. The oversized blue jeans that have no holes, just a tiny patch right next to the left pocket. The frayed ends of the pants laying over her rather pristine white old skool vans.

The Boxer fades in as she waits for him to finish the unbuttoning of the shirt. He’s still staring at her.

“Am I?” He finally inquires, voice pitched higher like he doesn’t believe her.

She gives him a serious stare and leans over him and adjusts the collar of his shirt. She adds paper towels to avoid makeup on his clothes.  

“Yes!” She laughs, “And you don’t even think so, which is like...of course.”

He hums, tilting his head back as she sets to work on covering up the swallows. He wiggles his hands that now both rest on the arm chairs.

“I don’t see it.”

“Of course you don’t,” she glances at his face, their eyes meeting for a moment. “You’re Harry Styles. Everyone is in love with this image you created for yourself and it has just enough of your true self that people feel like they really know you, but you also maintain the illusion. So you think you’re this mysteriously amazing, not like the rest guy, but you are just like the rest of them. Obsessed with yourself and rich so you’re deemed eccentric rather than crazy for all the extravagant shit you do. So when you want me to play music and don’t offer any suggestions I know exactly what music I need to play for you to like me.”

“I feel like that last part says more about you than it does me,” he quirks a brow at her, straining his neck to look at her face as she continues to work.

She flushes, his response both better and worse than she expected. She had gotten a little carried away in her response and she had no idea why. She truly wasn’t one to go off on people so easily and especially not with someone she hardly knew, but something about Harry had her on edge. She was just thankful he hadn’t gotten mad at her response, instead he took it in stride. Further proving her point that he was extremely smart and did things purposefully and she saw right through it all.

She grumbles, “It says that all anyone has to do to get close to you is understand the smallest bit about you and you’ll let them in.”

“That is just so completely wrong, Y/N, I hate to break it to you.” It’s Harry rolling his eyes now, unable to move much more of his body as she continues painting on the concealer to remove his tattoos for the movie.

“Fine. Enlighten me on what I got wrong.”

Their argument had all but drowned out their music. They both did love this music and ironically if they would just shut their mouths, they’d probably like each other a lot more.

“Might as well,” he sighs. “First of all, my image is authentic and of course I don’t want to give myself all away. I enjoy my privacy and for everyone to truly know me I’d have to give that up. Which I’m not keen on. So, I regret to inform you but I am the same guy everyone is “in love with”. Second, I know I am a little self-involved, how else would I get here if I wasn’t constantly taking inventory of myself and reevaluating who I am. As a musician, I want to give as much of myself as possible or else it just feels inauthentic. And the extravagant thing, I can’t help that I like nice things and my job has allowed me to afford those things.”

He stops to take a deep breath and she’s working in stunned silence, in disbelief that Harry is even telling her any of this or that he’s spoken that much and so quickly. Wasn’t he notorious for speaking slowly with barely even a sentence worth of actual information. He sounds tired and frustrated, but also, surprisingly, sincere.

He continues, “The music thing. Maybe it was a test, but still it doesn’t mean I give everyone a mile when they say their favorite musicians match up with mine or something. I note that they either did their homework or might be an interesting person to get to know.”

“So which am I?” She widens her eyes.

“Obviously the second even if you’re also making it painfully clear that you don’t like me.”

“You’re smarter than I thought, Harry. I’ll give you that,” she smirks slyly, finishing up the bird coverage now.

He laughs. “Thanks,” he drawls out.

“And I admit that maybe you aren’t as easy to read as I made out, but I think we’re going to have to agree to disagree about the whole being your authentic self. I just don’t buy it. I can see your mind working constantly, you’re not one to just let yourself be free in public. And I’m not saying that’s a bad thing, I’m just saying, you shouldn’t pretend like that’s not what you’re doing.”

Her final thought leaves Harry silent. She pays no attention to his silence or at least she’s actively ignoring it. Instead she tunes back into the music that had gotten them back onto the wrong foot. This was going to be a long few months.

When she’s satisfied with her work, she has them sit there for thirty minutes to give it all time to set before Harry is off to hair and other makeup. They sit there listening to music. Neither of them have spoken again, except instructions from her and Harry’s hums of approval of songs.  

Harry stands up after thirty minutes as she stays behind to pack up some items. Just as he’s about to step out of the door, he turns and calls her name.

“For the record, I don’t think you’re giving me a fair shot. You said yourself that you’re different every day. That every version of you, is you. So I hope you’ll give me the same allowance, every version of me is me. In this trailer, in my music videos, on tv, in interviews, in my free time. It’s all truly me.”

She bites her inner cheek as he ducks his head and exits the trailer, not allowing her any response.

-

“You’re late!”

“Meeting ran over with Nick and Olivia. Sorry,” Harry says as he begins to undress.

It’s the first day she has to cover all of his tattoos. It was going to take forever by all accounts. It had been two weeks since shooting had begun and she had gotten the simple hands and neck down to 45 minutes so she could only dread what his entire body would take.

“It’s fine,” she grumbles, knowing there wasn’t really anything else she could say about him coming late from a meeting with the director and producer.

Over the last two weeks, they hadn’t grown any fonder of one another. Not at all. They at least had gotten into a system though and she was grateful for that at least.

They showed up, Harry got in his chair, she set up the music, and they got to work. Harry would practice lines on some days and he’d tell her that before she turned on the music so there were no interruptions. Sometimes they talked about stuff on set or music or she’d give Harry his line when he was trying to be off script and forgot one. She wouldn’t classify it as pleasant, but they weren’t at each other throats like they were originally.

Trailer 6 had gotten a little homier as the weeks went by, too. Harry began leaving some of his stuff there and he started putting up silly drawings he would make while on set or polaroids people had taken with him while he was there. He tacked up napkins of restaurants that catered the set and wrote funny jokes and quotes on post it notes. His personal assistants sometimes brought in snacks while Y/N was still working and Harry always offered her some. They were usually healthy, but sometimes she’d eat some. Jeff, his manager, had also stopped by on occasion during his tattoo touch-ups that had become a thing after shooting days had grown longer.

On first meeting, Jeff had said, “Y/N? Harry mentioned you.”

She had turned to Harry with an arched brow and he had shrugged. When she looked back at Jeff she didn’t see Harry give Jeff one of the deadliest looks he could muster. She had grimaced and said “Well we spend enough time together for him to know my name. So thank god for that at least.”

They had all laughed and she had gotten back to work on Harry’s wrist.

Today, she needed Harry in his shorts. It was the first day of shooting where his character would be only in his boxers so she had to cover up all his visible tattoos. Olivia had told the makeup department they actually had to cover up his feet tattoos as well. She wanted him sockless in the scene and Y/N had groaned immediately when she made it to the trailer and Harry wasn’t already there.

“But please, for the sake of my job, strip, dude.” She says, arms crossed over her chest and leaning against the counter as she watched Harry set his things down. Her soft green striped cardigan is open, exposing the white tank top sitting underneath. Her bright green shorts hang loose on her, cinched at the waist and folded over once. Her white high top nike’s tap impatiently on the floor, waiting for Harry to get moving.

He nodded, truly feeling sorry for his tardiness, knowing today was a long day. He was anxious and tired. Acting was a different experience to music and he just was really trying his best.

As he began to take off his shirt, he laughed. His arms pulled the shirt over his head and when it popped out from beneath it, he repeated, “Strip, dude,” attempting to mimic her American accent.

He had practiced his American accent in front of her while running lines, but it had a 50’s drawl to it. His acting coach had been drilling him for weeks before shooting and he still liked to practice. The accent he had just down was far off from that and far off from hers too.

“Do not,” she warned.

“What?” He asks innocently and flutters his eyelashes.

She knows his game by now and she knows she should just ignore him. She knows this after fourteen days. She knows this after hours with him. She knows this, but then she’s opening her mouth and playing into his teases.

“Sorry, what’s a word you would know? Mate?” She tries for a British accent with the last word, knowing she can’t win this.

Harry snickers and scratches at his nose with his index finger before starting on taking off his pants. “You’re so Californian.”

“Thank you,” she chirps, moving to sit beside him now that he had settled.

“I like your shorts,” he muses, crossing his legs, likely a little cold.

She glances down at her cotton shorts that showed more of her thighs when she sat for a moment before returning her gaze to his left arm. The longest task of the day was this damn arm.

“Thanks,” she mumbles, “Wanted to be comfortable today. Knew it was gonna be long.”

A smile bubbles onto his face, his pink lips parting to reveal his shiny white teeth behind them. “So true.”

The music is low today. She had chosen Joni Mitchel’s Blue album for the first pick of the day. She had quickly learned Harry preferred listening to albums in order. It tended to make him less jumpy when the same artist came on multiple times like an album. So when she tried to play just an album one day, she found him more cooperative and less irritable.

After thirty minutes of work, she can’t stop noticing how shivery Harry is. It was late October in LA, so it was still warm, but admittedly the mornings could be a little chilly. His shivering was concerning for many reasons. Mainly he was messing up her work and concentration, but she also didn’t want him to get sick or something.

“Do you want me to see if they have a blanket and slippers or something? You look like you’re turning blue.”

Harry turns his attention to her. He had been reading over the script for today again. “That’d be great. I can call…” He trails off trying to think of the name of one of his assistants, but apparently he’s too scatterbrained for it. She assumed it was the hypothermia traveling to his brain already.

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll walkie someone.” She says as she grabs the walkie talkie, flicking to the personal assistants channel.

“Hey,” she chirps happily. Harry noted how she talked to other people. So sweet, yet sincere. With him, it was serious and sincere but more biting, callous at times. Less so lately, but she definitely was sharper with him. He didn’t know if it even bothered him anymore. She was engaging if nothing else.

“Is someone free to bring two blankets and men’s slippers over to Trailer 6? I’ve got a naked Jack and I don’t want him freezing before I’m done covering up his tattoos.” She takes her finger off the talking button and glances sideways at him, “Who knows, maybe that would improve his acting. Y’know on second-thought-”

“Alright, alright,” Harry tries to grab for the walkie talkie, but she turns from him holding a finger up signalling him to wait as she listens for a response.

Someone says a simple “On it” and she turns off the walkie talkie and gets back to work.

“I took my finger off the speaker before I said the thing about your acting. Relax, Harry.” She says when he’s still glaring at her. “Just love to see you squirm.”

He shakes out his short chestnut hair, some of it falling over his forehead. Instinctively, she reaches up without even looking and smooths it back. Like she was tucking her own hair out of her eyes, but instead it was Harry’s. She decided to say nothing and was relieved when Harry didn’t say anything either.

She finishes his forearm and moves to his outer upper arm. The rose holds her attention when the PA knocks on the door and she has to race to get it. Nothing could stop her from moving on this work. It was already an hour in and she wanted to scream.

She swings open the door and she wants to die. It was Autumn. Her least favorite PA, of course. She was insufferable and obsessed with Harry. Which was not why Y/N found Autumn insufferable. There were so many more reasons. So many. But that particular character flaw didn’t help her case either. Y/N tried to just take the blankets and slippers from Autumn, but the woman insisted that she come in.

“I’ve got it,” Y/N says.

“No, don’t want you to get makeup on anything,” Autumn’s saccharine voice grinds at her ears and she contemplates cutting them off.

Harry sat in his chair, legs crossed, nodding along to the music, his script discarded on the counter in front of him.

“Hi Harry!” Autumn practically yells, walking right up to him.

Y/N takes a deep breath at the door, letting it swing shut. She bites her lower lip as an attempt to bite her tongue as she walks back to her set-up. The set-up Autumn was conveniently blocking.

“Hello, Autumn,” Harry says kindly, making eye contact with her. “How’re you today?”

“So great! So great! Thanks for asking. How are you?” She points a finger at him like she might poke him and Harry squirms away from her a bit. She, of course, doesn’t notice this.

“Well, thanks.” His eyes flicker to Y/N, who is standing behind Autumn, hands on her hips and attempting not to tap her foot. His tone is clearly dismissive, but Autumn must ignore it. Y/N knows Autumn isn’t as helpless as she tries to come off.

Autumn asks, “Where do you want these?”, gesturing to the two blankets and slippers stacked on top.

“Just on the counter is fine, thanks,” Harry says.

Autumn does as he says and then stands there with baited breath. Y/N’s not sure what she’s expecting. For Harry to ask for her hand in marriage or something? But he just glances between the two women. His own foot begins wiggling in impatience.

“Busy day,” He attempts at dismissing her once again - with kindness.

“Oh my gosh, totally!” Autumn gushes, starting to go off on all of the tasks she has to do. She stands so close to Harry, Y/N genuinely thinks she’s going to sit in his lap. Y/N stares up to the ceiling, begging god or whoever to end her misery right there and then.

Harry sees Y/N’s expression and tries to maintain the neutral expression he’s had for the entirely too long interaction. A smile threatens at his rosey lips that had chapped from the morning air.

“Right, well,” he cuts off Autumn, “Y/N needs to get back to tattoo coverage, I think. So...have a nice day.”

Autumn’s eyes widen like she forgot that there was anyone else in the room and steps back from Harry. Y/N nods, a grimace clear on her face. Autumn gives her the same small she used to get from the popular girls in high school when she happened to be talking to their cool guy friend that they wanted to be more than friends with. Sickeningly sweet and completely fake. She could see the contempt in Autumn’s eyes that swirled just beneath the surface of her perfectly outlined green-ish eyes.

“Okay! You too, Harry!” She begins walking to the door and Y/N takes her seat again, closing her eyes and counting to ten. “And Y/N,” Autumn adds as an afterthought.

“Oh my fucking god,” Y/N sighs, her hands going to rub over her face and through her hair. “That was exhausting. Jesus Christ.”

“What? She’s nice. Maybe a little clueless,” Harry counters. “But she was so nice,” he confirms again, seemingly trying to convince himself of it as well.  

She grabs the slippers and slips them on the ground so Harry can put them on easily. Then one of the blankets that she drapes over Harry’s bottom half. He smiles at the gesture, a ‘thank you’ said in a whisper.

“Please, she knows what she’s doing,” Y/N scoffs, “And she’s obsessed with you!” She grabs the concealer to get back to work, “She was all over you and never took her eyes off of your body. It was like she wanted to touch you or something. It was icky.”

“You touch me,” Harry adds cheekily, adjusting beneath the warm blanket.

She laughs, a smile gracing her lips as she gives Harry a look. He was clever.

“It’s my job to touch you, Harry.”

Harry had really tried to not laugh, but it was just so funny. They both snicker, their eyes meeting for a moment longer than usual.

“Speaking of my job,” she adds after controlling her laughter, “Does she not realize just how long it takes to cover all of your bloody tattoos with this shit to make it look like you’re a pristine skinned 50’s psycho killer?”

She finishes the rose coverup and moves to the ship. Harry nods solemnly.

“It’s true...And it doesn’t help that you’re terrible at it, so it takes a thousand years longer than it should.” He adds, laughter overtaking his serious tone at the end.

“Oh my god!” She shrieks in delight, trying not to mess up her work, “That is so rude! I messed up one time - mostly because of you, by the way. And give me a break, this is so not what I thought I’d be doing as a makeup artist for movies.”

He nods again, muttering “Fair, fair.”

They grow silent, enjoying Goodbye Yellow Brick Road, the album that she had queued after Joni’s.

“The body thing, I just learned to ignore it, I think.” Harry mutters, eventually, but it’s thoughtless, like he’s not revealing anything about himself with the statement. But it kind of shocks her. Her eyes widen and she stops her work to stare at his face.

“Harry,” she waits till his eyes meet hers, “That’s, like, not normal. Are you serious?”

“I mean, I’m very comfortable with my body, like I haven’t minded the last 45 minutes of sitting practically nude in front of you. And I have plenty of revealing photos out in the world. I just don’t notice staring anymore, it’s not, I don’t think it’s what you’re thinking,” he tries to reassure her. His eyes are intent on hers, full of seriousness that hadn’t been there a few moments ago.

“It’s one thing to be comfortable in your skin and another to be desensitized to objectification,” she insists.

He nods. “I know. Thank you. I would let you know if what she had done had bothered me, so don’t worry. I felt completely safe the whole time.”

“Good,” she nods back and concentrates again. “Good,” she repeats once more under her breath. There had been way too many distractions already today and she wasn’t even done with his arm yet.

As she continues to work up his arm, Harry sings along to some of the songs on Elton’s album. He happily taps his feet to the different beats, now safely tucked in soft fluffy slippers. She would never admit just how amazing it is to be in the same room as Harry’s singing. It was truly special to be less than a foot from him and hear him sing just under the unique voice of Elton - who was someone he actually knew, which was equally as cool.

He hit every note and knew every word. She was impressed. How could she not be when a literal rockstar sat before her? This was the first time she was truly starstruck by her charge, Mr. Harry Styles.

By two hours, they had moved onto an album by Dolly Parton and they were both singing. They strangely had no fights today, maybe some snarky comments from both of them, but no outright mean-spirited words were exchanged.

She stood in front of Harry, finishing up the swallows. She had finished both arms and the birds, all she had left was moving down his body. Up next, the butterfly.

“I love this tattoo,” she mumbles, twisting Harry’s standing body to face her and taking her seat again. This left her eye to eye with the butterfly on his stomach.

He makes a surprised face and raises his recently plucked eyebrow at his counterpart. “Oh really?”

“Don’t act so surprised. I told you day one that not all of them are rubbish and honestly they’re all pretty cool. I just was so annoyed that I had gotten tattoo coverage as my job and then I had to go and index them all.” She flicks her eyes up to his sculpted face and sees he’s watching her work. “Plus, I have some butterflies of my own, remember?” She grins.

“Yeah,” he ponders her words, “I don’t think that’d put me in a good mood either.”

He pauses again and she continues to work silently.

“So what’s your excuse for the second day then?”

“You provoked me,” she doesn’t spare him a glance, shrugging like it was the simplest answer in the world.

“Pardon?”

“Let’s not go down this road again, Harry.” She sighs, smoothing over the freshly covered butterfly tattoo. His sternum looked so naked, it was unnerving. Now the ferns.

Harry involuntarily shivered when her fingers traced over the ferns lightly, taking note of the expanse of skin she’d have to cover.

“You’re right,” he agrees, “But agree to disagree on the provocation.”

“Sure,” she says curtly, focusing on his skin and her job.

The expanse of skin that the ferns inhabited was slightly fleshy and especially soft. It bordered where his boxers began and she ignored that part of his body completely. It was of no importance to her and she really had no issue blocking it from her vision, even when it was right in front of her. She finishes one fern with Harry jumping only twice from her cold hands. He couldn’t put his robe on until the makeup had all set for half an hour so he’d have to be cold for possibly another hour still.

She traces the fern that is still visible and Harry shivers. She instinctively shushes him softly and his body quiets. As she works, her hair splays around her shoulders and Harry looks down at her working and doesn’t realize what his hand is doing until it’s too late. His right hand runs over her hair, smoothing it out of her face. It was rarely ever down, so it must have been the novelty of it.

“Sorry, I-” he chokes out when he jerks his hand back.

She sits back, slightly taken aback. Her body flushes just from their positioning and what a hair caress would mean normally in this position, but she’s a professional and she shakes it off.

“It’s fine. We’re even.” She assures him, breaking eye contact with his own wide eyes. “Seems like we’re both hair touchers.”

“It’s just so soothing,” Harry muses. “I think it’s human instinct to touch other people’s hair since it’s so enjoyable for yourself.”

“Possibly,” her voice raises, his thought was definitely plausible. Or maybe they were just two touch starved people who were very much in each other’s personal space 24/7.

At the two and a half hour marker, she gets a walkie message from Olivia’s assistant asking when they’d be done. She had just finished the tiger tattoo, which had been surprisingly easy. It took a while, but Harry didn’t shiver once and neither of them pet each other’s hair.

“Probably 40 minutes, sorry. He has a lot of tattoos and the makeup needs to set.” She says seriously and gets back to work, barely regarding the response of “Yeah it’s fine, just wanted an estimate”.

“Jesus,” Harry moans as she covers up his knee tattoos.

She groans in veiled disgust, “Did I just hit a secret erogenous zone? Is that why you have ‘oui’ there, you creep?” There’s a teasing tone behind the nickname she uses.

Harry laughs and runs his hand over his face, pulling at his jaw and lower lip. His jaw is so sharp, she watches him adjust it. “No, no. I’m just so goddamn tired of this.”

“And it’s not your fault,” he adds, feeling bad immediately after he said it. “It’s actually been nice today, but I’m feeling antsy, like I need to move. I don’t like to sit still.”

“I know,” she says under her breath. She simply nods in agreement.

Finally, the tattoos are all covered up and set. They had talked about George Michael when she got to his ankle tattoos that she hadn’t seen before and they laugh about the tattoos and chat a bit more. She helps him slip on his robe that he keeps in his closet in the trailer and then follows him out of it. They had decided they were hungry and he had been pushed back an hour since he had taken so long, so he had a free half-hour.

As they walked to craft services, they talked about actual things besides work. She was pleasantly surprised by what Harry talked about. It was more than music or the movie. It was the tv show he was currently obsessed with and how he hated LA’s traffic the most out of all of his dislikes for the city. She couldn’t help but grin at his Los Angeles slander. She loved this side of him.

-

Breakfast together after finishing his tattoo coverage became their regular thing. He would come into the trailer, racing from his morning meeting accompanied with tea for two, they’d get his tattoos covered as quickly as possible, and then they’d eat together.

They’d save their “in-depth” chats for breakfast. In early November, he joked about No Nut November and insisted he really wouldn’t have a problem with it - which had made her laugh. They worried together over the U.S. presidential election and meditated together in his trailer to Fleetwood Mac.

Around late November, Harry had requested that Y/N just do his face makeup as well, just to simplify his life a little more and the department had agreed easily. She had to spend extra time on set getting lectured on how to properly do Harry’s makeup, but after two days she stopped getting notes about it. She was so extremely proud and thankful to Harry for doing that.

All he said was: “I mean, you’re extremely talented so I’m not scared of you fucking up my face. Plus, it does make my life easier. Two birds with one stone.”

In late November, he told her about his favorite holiday drinks at Starbucks and what he was getting his mother for Christmas.

When the Vogue cover came out, he laughed over that woman who responded to his cover saying the world needed to bring back manly men. He joked that he was going to really push that from now on, that he was a manly man, and he would sputter with laughter every time he tried to say it with a straight face.

He hand delivered her a special ‘Treat People With Kindness’ sweatshirt that he only had for the cast and crew of the film. Most everyone got them from a PA, but Harry decided since you saw him first in the morning, why not.

He told her about him winning Hitmaker of the Year from Variety when he had left the award sitting in Trailer 6 and about how weird it was to film acceptance speeches in an empty room. His smile had lit up the entire set that day and the day he did his interview on set. He was so smiley she had to bump him with her elbow because he wouldn’t stop smiling at her and it was unnerving.

“Stop that,” She muttered.

“Stop what?” He smiles wider.

“That!” She squeaked, her head shaking as she ducked it to regard his anchor tattoo. “You’re smiling too much.”

“Oh no,” he says sarcastically, “God forbid I be happy.”

“It’s not that,” she bumps his thigh with her elbow, trying to keep her own smile off her face, “Your face is just so intense when you smile. Feels like you’re gonna burn a hole through me.”

He laughs, completely unconvinced, “You just don’t want me to be happy is what I’m hearing.”

She rolls her eyes, “Whatever, dude.”

She saw he was serious about the ‘manly men’ references when the Variety photos came out and everyone and their mom posted the pictures with some variation of that comment as their caption.

She still found that she rolled her eyes at some of the things Harry did, but she genuinely counted him as a friend by the time December had rolled around.

Over three hours, almost always completely alone, doing work for a job you both care deeply about can really make or break a relationship. And that first full-body coverage day had made them stronger together. After that, Harry and her would banter with one another, but there was never anything intentionally cruel. Just friends giving each other shit sometimes. Harry had been right, he had changed her mind about him. And she had realized that that was who Harry was. He was a deliverer. If you didn’t like him at first, he would try and try again until you did, but he did it in a way that wasn’t weasley or anything. It was terribly genuine and she saw it in every relationship he had on set.

On several occasions she had witnessed his friendship with Nick Kroll. A man she had regarded with dislike before the film. She had quickly realized that dislike was misplaced, but she maintained that it was just because she hated adult cartoons - citing that she literally refused to be friends with any person who willingly watched the Simpsons, Family Guy, and/or American Dad and all of those similar shows.

Nick was far nicer and less weird than she had realized. So she quickly shot her friend from high school an apology text for all the Nick Kroll slander she had spouted back in the day. Her friend had rejoiced but also said how jealous she was that Y/N got to see him regularly on set.

Nick and Harry got along great. Harry generally got along better with older people, she noticed when she was introduced to his friends on the somewhat frequent occasion. Trailer 6 was where Y/N saw most of these reactions take place. She would be introduced in the first minute and then she would smile politely and get back to the work of covering up Harry’s numerous tattoos.

Harry would say something simple and Nick, the literal famous comedian, would laugh. In the beginning she’d raise a brow, confused because it truly wasn’t that funny, but as Harry’s friend now, she kept her mouth shut.

Nick would come and sit on the couch while she’d work and eventually all three of them would chat. Sometimes she would get up to go to the bathroom during those morning chats and she would look in the mirror and think to herself “How are you casually talking to these two men right now” and then she’d think “Because you are a boss ass bitch, you got this” and go back out there with a smile on her face.

“Y/N, what are you doing tonight?” Nick asked on the first Friday morning of December.

She looks up from Harry’s cross tattoo that was half covered. Harry was reading, a book casually propped in his right hand and glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the other two in the room. Nick had been getting some work done before he had spoken.

“No plans,” she states simply before getting back to work. It wasn’t full body today, but it was arms and torso, so kind of a lot still.

“You should come over for dinner at my place with Harry,” Nick smiles kindly. His scruff was really coming in today. “To celebrate us almost wrapping the first half of the movie.”

Harry had thankfully freshly shaved before he sat down. It was her least favorite part of her new job. Whenever he came in for touch ups and she had to shave his afternoon shadow. She was terrified she’d cut him and never live it down from her department or Harry. She had no idea which would be worse.

“My wife will be there too, of course,” he adds, hoping to entice her to say yes.

Harry glances between Y/N and Nick again before focusing on his book again.

She purses her lips, finishing Harry’s hand and moving onto the anchor tattoo. “Yeah, I mean, I don’t know why I’d say no. As long as I’m not intruding on the throuple,” she grins up at Harry.

He stares at her with his big green eyes, slightly obscured behind his prescription glasses. He raises his brows and wiggles them a little bit, teasingly.

Nick laughs and slyly winks at Harry through the mirror. Y/N none the wiser as she removes all traces of Harry’s tattoos.

“Great!” He claps his hands and stands up. “We’ll talk or I’ll make sure Harry gets you the info or something. I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out. My wife’s been wanting to meet you,” he smiles again and walks out of the trailer.

She tilts her head at the last part. He talked about her to his wife. Did he really count her as that close of a friend? She was just a makeup artist and he was a producer… She glances at Harry and he gives away nothing. His jaw looks extra prominent and she knows it’s because he’s clenching it. He did that when he was focused or angry, remembering it bulging on the first day they met and how clenched it had been then.

“Unclench your jaw,” she mutters, “It’s not good for you.”

Harry hums and unclenches it.

He stretches his neck by rolling his head around his shoulders and she glances at the movement. His skin is still beautifully sun-kissed and his pores look so soft, only his moles change the texture of his skin. She loves his moles though, they make him especially unique in her eyes. Not that he needed anything else to set him apart from the crowd. Still, she loved them. His collarbone is prominent as he sits there shirtless and she wishes she could reach out and brush at it. But she gets back to work, knowing the only time she’s gonna be brushing near that part of him is when she’s covering dates in those dips behind his collarbones.

“Y’know, I could just drive you to Nick’s tonight,” Harry says, putting his book down and taking off his glasses. He rubs at his eye with his free hand.

“You’re blind and British, how do I know you can even drive yourself?” She asks sillily, pointing to his glasses.

He shakes his head, “I’m serious, Y/N. Aren’t you staying in the same area as me?”

He asks because they had relocated to Palm Springs a little while ago and everyone had gotten rentals and it was hard to remember where everyone was holed up when they weren’t on set.

“Yeah, think so. But you don’t need to pick me up. I have a car.”

“Nonsense. I’ve been to his place before, don’t want you to have to deal with directions, that’s just silly.”

“I guess...” she resigns relatively easily. She had never hung out with Harry off the set or Nick for that matter. It felt surreal, but she knew the right answer was usually just say yes in these situations. So that’s what she says. “Yes, that’d be great, thank you,” she confirms and watches as Harry’s eyes glimmer softly before turning back to his book. A triumphant soft smirk rests on his face.

The words die out between the two of them as she works on. He hums along to the music and continues reading his book. When she’s done with his tattoo coverage and his face makeup, she sends him off to hair and the rest of his day. He gives a flirty wink as he walks out the door and she rolls her eyes in response. She tidies up her kit and then goes to do some other makeup work.

When she wasn’t working with Harry, she was assigned to some of the minor characters and doing their makeup. They were always her second concern, especially now that she did Harry’s makeup as well as his tattoos. As she works on them, she can feel her mind drifting to Harry. Harry and how they were friends now. She was pretty sure, right? They were friends. He had never really said a mean thing to her if she really thought about it. It was her… She had been rude and mean-spirited and he had just taken it. He rarely had even thrown it back at her. He was so good to her and patient and she realized that he had proven to her that he was good. He was better than good, he was kind and loving. Considerate. Wonderful. All of those positive superlatives, Harry filled them. And she had the audacity to be mean to him.

She paused the brush that was adding blush to an actresses cheek.

Lisa, the actress, looks at Y/N confusedly, “What’s wrong?”

Y/N twitches her head, refocusing on her task at hand. The realization of her pausing her work becomes clear as she looks between her hand and the cheek that has not enough blush on it. “Oh,” she breathes. “...I just realized that I was terrible to someone who doesn’t have a mean bone in their body.”

Lisa nods, “Apologize.”

“Yeah, I mean...We’ve kind of moved past the phase where we don’t get along. Like now we’re friends, but the realization just really hit me.” She sighs, picking up where she left off on Lisa’s makeup. “I’ll make sure to apologize next time I see them.”

Lisa smiles.

-

At the end of the day, Y/N realizes she left her tattoo coverage kit in Harry’s room after their touch-up session halfway through the day. She had run off to help with a makeup emergency for a tiny cut on a minor character’s face and forgotten to go back and grab her things. Another roll of her eyes and a huff of breath and then she’s walking back to Trailer 6, a place that seemed like a home away from home now. She knocks, patiently waiting at the bottom of the steps.

Harry swings open the door and props it with his hip. He’s got a toothbrush held in his mouth, slowly scrubbing back and forth with his left hand. His costume is somewhat taken off, he’s still got the pants on with suspenders hanging down, his chest was completely bare and he looked funny with some of his tattoos only being half covered based on what parts of his skin had been showing today. Her work. His skin looked half silky smooth and half tattooed like usual.

His naked skin seemingly left her breathless because as her eyes returned to Harry’s face, she breathed a soft, “Hi.”

“Hey,” a smirk twists onto his face. “Forget something?”

“Yes,” she nods, coming back to her senses and entering the trailer at Harry’s gesture.

She begins to pack up the kit that had been left haphazardly strewn around on his counter. “I’m sorry I left a mess like this, I got called over to something else and forgot.”

“Don’t worry darling,” Harry grins at his joke.

She looks up from her work and sees Harry in the reflection of the mirror. He’s wiping off the makeup from his chest and his beautiful tattoos reemerge as entire images.

She laughs humorlessly, “It gets less funny each time you use that.”

“That’s not true,” he looks at her through the mirror now, his green eyes trained on her face, “Everyone else still thinks it’s hilarious.”

“They’re humoring you and your fragile ego,” she winks and watches as Harry’s smirk twitches from his perfect face.

“You’ve got a very mean disposition, you know that?” He asks.

He finishes his chest and moves to remove the makeup from his left arm, glancing at the mirror every so often to check himself and to flicker his eyes over Y/N’s face.

She genuinely laughs at that, but scolds herself internally for being mean when she had planned to apologize the next time she saw Harry. This was the next time so why was she doing this instead?

“Rewrite sweet disposition for me?” Her voice honeyed. Clearly stubborn and terrible at saying sorry...maybe her and Harry were a better match than she realized.

Harry twists his lips as he slips on his t-shirt he was wearing today.

“Pick you up at 6:30?” He says as his head pops out from beneath the rainbow striped sweatshirt he slipped on top of the shirt. His chestnut hair had been toweled out and was flopping over his forehead slightly.

She sighs and zips close the kit, standing from the seat she had taken at his counter and turning to face him now.

“6:30 is perfect. Thanks again for doing this. I just can’t believe Nick Kroll is inviting me over for dinner!” She smiles, shifting to lean against the counter as she waits for Harry to finish up. She didn’t have to but for some reason she felt like she was in no rush.

“Are you serious?” He’s moved on to changing his pants now and he’s slipping on black sweatpants.

“Yeah…” She blinks and her eyes widen as Harry appraises her expression.

He straightens up after fixing a cuff on the pants and he can’t tell if she’s being genuine or sarcastic. It was always so hard to tell with her.

“I mean, Nick Kroll is like a huge celebrity and I know in the entertainment business you’re not supposed to get starstruck but when I was in college my sister thought he was weirdly hot and my friends and I would shit talk him. I don’t know, it’s just kind of surreal to be having dinner at his place. Like I’ve watched him on tv and now I’ll be eating with him...so weird.”

He shakes his head, beginning on his dirty vans now. A small laugh escapes his mouth and he glances between her and his shoe, scratching his head quickly. “I still can’t tell… It feels like you’re fucking with me right now.”

“I’m not!” She insists, her hands coming out in front of her in a confused fashion. “I used to watch that guy’s tv show then he’s my boss now he’s inviting me over for food? It’s a lot to process.”

“How come it’s not surreal to be having dinner with me then?” He asks semi-joking, a hint of offense tinged within it. It’s visible only in his knitted brow and twisted lip.

“Careful there, sailor. Venturing into some dangerously self-absorbed waters.” Her eyes light up, a quick raise of her brows accompany the shine, and she decides now is her time to head out. Especially as she thinks about getting ready for this soiree tonight. She needed to shower and pick out an outfit with less than two hours to prepare.

Harry sputters at her response and fumbles with his pink shoelace. “That’s not...that is - You’re being unfair. My question is valid.”

She shrugs her shoulders and skirts Harry’s attempt at grabbing at her arm to stop her from leaving. “Okay, Mr. Big Man On Campus. I promise you you’re the most popular boy in school.”

She blows him a kiss and walks out the door as he attempts to get her to come back by calling her name a few times and slightly shouting “C’mon! I wasn’t being insecure. That was a reasonable ask…”

He sighs and shakes his head again. Every interaction would end with one of them either rolling their eyes or shaking their head and usually a sigh on both of their lips. It was exhausting, but exhilarating too.

20 minutes later, Harry receives a text from Y/N: “You’re still picking me up right :))) ?”

He’s in his car, getting ready to finally leave after getting held up with last minute schedule changes that he had to be informed about by some PA that he had forgotten the name of. His lip quirks to the right and he closes his eyes for a second enjoying seeing her name on his phone screen for a moment.

He types back: “Of courseeee”.

“Fab.” She sends back, immediately followed by: “Fanks BMOC ;)”

A full smile rolls onto Harry’s face after he swipes his tongue over his lower lip. “Yeah, yeah, save it for the next guy” he types out quickly before throwing his phone gently beside him and driving back to his apartment. She made him feel young, not that he wasn’t young, but generally his friends didn’t text like she did.

-

At 6:28, she receives a text from Harry Styles - his name in her phone. A name she had never expected to see in her phone unless her Spotify was on shuffle. Yet, instead, his name popped up under messages and it read “Here!” followed by a quick “I think” and then a phone call coming through from the apparently anxious man himself.

“Hello Harry.” Her tone even. She throws little items into her purse, making sure everything she needs is there.

“Could you peek out your window? I’m not quite sure I’m at the right place and people are staring…” nerves laced in his rushed tone.

She ambles to the window and opens up the shade she had closed to change. Below her, she sees a sleek black Range Rover with a slightly disarrayed hairdo and big dark glasses peeking below the windshield. She ignored the instinct to retch at the sight of the Range Rover and peered at the lamp lit sight below her. It was definitely Harry, but she searched for the prying eyes he was worried about and saw none. Well, maybe a few, but it wasn’t a lot.

“I see you, I’ll be right out, dude. Just deep breaths, it’s mostly crew staying here right now so they’re just seeing that it’s you, another guy they work with. They won’t come up for pictures...I would hope.”

She hangs up with no farewell, snatches her purse from its place on the bed and races out the door. Harry smiles anxiously at her when she stands next to the passenger’s door and he unlocks it. She bites her lip and raises her brows, waiting to hear if anything terrible happened in the minute and a half it took her to come downstairs and out to the car.

“Hi,” he exhales.

A smirk crawls onto her features and her eyes sparkle with a bit of a childish glee that normally she didn’t exhibit as she glances at him. “Hi.” She says quietly. “Alright big boy?”

“‘M fine.” He huffs but balks at her smile that she maintains while she stares at him. “What?”

“Just happy to see you, I guess,” her smile returns after speaking and Harry glances between her face and the windshield in front of him.

He can’t tell if she’s being serious or not once again. But he fears that conversation of her either ridiculing him for thinking she is serious or being offended that he still can’t tell. Instead, he will keep his mouth shut. For the most part.

“Happy to see you, too,” his lips create a closed mouth smile quickly before turning out of the parking lot.

She watches him. Their first time together outside of work. And they were friends. She needed to get used to simply thinking that. He picked her up to take her to dinner with her other friend and his wife. This was normal life, just with big names behind those terms of relation. Jesus, she always said it didn’t bother her to be around celebrities so why did she think about it so damn much?

She twitches her head and refocuses on Harry and his driving. His jaw is clenched again and she wants to reach out and sooth it herself. Instead she starts to open her mouth to correct him, but stops herself from that as well. They weren’t at work and it didn’t feel like something just a friend would say right now. She refocuses on the view of his eyes that are barely visible while he regards the road. His large eyes that she had grown acquainted to are surveying what he’s doing, every so often drifting to the right side of the road to check out the lane beside him. But then, always back to right in front of him, leaving a crescent of green visible to her.

“Can feel you staring at me…” His voice sounds like it’s rolled around in gravel after the long work day. It makes her wonder if he’s supposed to have a vocal rest when he’s not at work, but then again it’s the weekend now so maybe it was fine. Maybe she should ask him. Or maybe she should stop worrying so much about him.

“Have I got something on my face?” His low register bumps her from her racing thoughts. He doesn’t take his eyes off the road, but she can see he’s widened his eyes in wonder.

“No! Of course not, I just was...making sure you weren’t going to crash us or something.” She grasps at straws, desperate to not be caught by Harry.

A low chuckle bubbles from his chest and he spares a small glance over at her bundled up in his passenger seat. She matches his gaze with something of distrust hidden behind her eyes. She hopes to convey that she’s being silly and when Harry turns back to look at the road unassumingly, she feels like she has won. The harmonies of the beginning of a Queen song take over the silence, Harry’s spindly fingers thrumming against the wheel.

They arrive at the Kroll’s Palm Springs residence at 6:50. 10 minutes early and the two twiddle their thumbs for a few minutes, trying to pass the time and not intrude earlier than they were supposed to. She appreciated that Harry liked to be timely but not early, similar to how she was.

“So what is the fascination with Range Rovers?” She queries, leaning against the door’s armrest. The back of her head touches against the semi-tinted window.

Harry shifts in his seat, seat belt no longer constricting him and no road requiring his attention as they sit in the driveway. He rushes a hand through his hair and lets a single strand of hair fall over his prominent forehead.

“Dunno,” he shrugs his shoulders and allows a hand to fall onto the steering wheel absentmindedly. “I don’t really prefer them anymore, but when I’m in LA and doing work, it makes things easier. My other cars are a little flashier...have more privacy in this.”

“Yet the effect is similar,” she muses.

Her head tilts to take in Harry’s appearance, sharp black silky button-up and dark green plaid slacks, and she rubs a hand over her jaw. His eyes flicker to the movement and attempt to really take it in, even in the dim glow of the lamp light outside barely peeking into the dark interior of the car.

“Effect?”

“Y’know…” She arches her brow at him. He feigns innocence or possibly the expression is genuine. She’s begun to realize Harry was as genuine as they came, but she just didn’t think he was that unaware. An assumption that was likely correct, but even Harry liked to pretend he was a completely unassuming individual.

“Forget it,” she finishes when he gives no indication that he knows what she is hinting at. She doesn’t want to get into it with him again. Especially when he plays at this game where he has no idea what she’s talking about. It made her feel like she was crazy for thinking he made these calculated decisions to get his desired outcomes.

They move on, neither of them quite sure what the other was getting at in that conversation. The two of them walk into the house a minute before their expected arrival time side by side and are greeted happily with Nick and his wife. They’re ushered in and Y/N is happily received by the happy couple.  

“So, Y/N, how’s it been for you working with these two? I know they can be more than a handful - especially together,” Nick’s wife, Lily, asks after a sip of wine.

The group of four had been eating for a while with Nick and Harry bantering for quite a bit at the beginning about whether or not Harry would be willing to hand feed Nick. The answer was settled at “another time”.  

Harry seems to have a very specific habit of watching whoever is speaking - no matter what. So after Lily has finished speaking, his gaze flickers to Y/N, the person his brain expects to speak next. He watches her attentively as she wipes her mouth on her napkin before speaking.

Her hair was styled differently tonight than it usually was on set, she had it down rather than up in a ponytail or braids. He hadn’t had time to really look at her when they had been in the car, his mind occupied with stress and exhaustion that he refocused into driving and deep breathing. Now, in the comfort of a trusted friend’s home, he was far more relaxed and able to truly take in her appearance, which he couldn’t help but think was beautiful. He’d have to tell her that at some point. That he thought she was beautiful. Not that he didn’t see her on set and think she was beautiful...he just hadn’t really thought about it before. She was his wily makeup artist who was critical of him most times, but occasionally sweet, who had an amazing taste in music and good aesthetic style. The beauty part of it all, he guessed wasn’t something integral to their relationship before.

But now he was sitting beside her at the Kroll’s nice dining table and she had her hair splayed in front and behind her shoulders with one side tucked behind her ear and her outfit fit her impeccably. The top she had on had capped sleeves that cinched with buttons at her delicate wrists and a severe drop to create a small sweetheart neckline just above the curve of her breasts. It was silky and shiny, a blush pink that complemented the high waisted dark grey slacks that flared over shiny black boots that he wasn’t sure where they ended beneath the pants.

“Well,” she starts, chuckling under her breath when she meets Harry’s stare, “Harry and I spend a lot of time together, covering up all his tattoos, and he yaps a lot. So, it’s actually pretty refreshing when Nick comes in, because Harry’s then talking half the normal amount.”

He huffs a scoff, while Lily and Nick laugh happily. Nick interjects an “ouch” for the bite she just took out of Harry, but she thought it was fine, he can take it.

Harry thought to himself that if she can serve it, then she can definitely take it. His eyes remain on her as he opens his mouth to speak, but then look at Lily when words actually come out. “Well, Y/N, she thinks she can read people really well, but it’s actually quite the opposite. She had me completely wrong when we first met, so I talk now in hopes that she’ll really understand me.”

His head tilts to her when he mentions her name, but otherwise doesn’t glance her way away again. He scrunches his nose at the end of his comment, implying he converses with her out of pity.

It’s her turn to scoff and stare at him unamused. Nick and Lily share a look, unsure of what was going on, they had concocted this dinner date idea in hopes to set the two up but the way this conversation was going, they seemed to be pushing each other further and further away from one another.

“That’s simply not true,” she says curtly and takes a sip of her quickly emptying wine glass.

“Which part?”

“Almost all of it, I’d say,” her eyes glaring back at him, fiery with a disdain he hadn’t seen in awhile. “You’re proving my original perception of you with every passing second,” she adds.

“Care to elaborate exactly what the original perception of me was for the class,” his eyes are wide and wild, any extra adoration he had started to feel towards her slipping away just as quickly as it had come, like a wave along the beach.

“You know, so why don’t you?”

“I want to hear you say it,” he grits out the command.

She shifts in her seat, glancing at Nick and Lily who are watching on and she has a feeling she won’t be getting an invitation again anytime soon. Lily gives her a semi-reassuring smile like she was sorry to have asked the question at all, but Y/N knows this is kind of her fault, not that she would ever admit that. Her comment could have been taken innocuously, but Harry’s pride wouldn’t let it slide. Like she said, she should have known better, the weeks of friendship were flying out the window and she was helping them along.

“And what if I don’t?”

“Have fun calling an uber at this time of night,” he shrugs, malice dripping in his tone.

She truly was taken aback at this. A slight sound of shock leaving her mouth. Harry was many things, impatient and anxious usually, but downright cruel with her, she had yet to see it. Arrogant and pompous, definitely, but this wickedness that was starting to creep from the shadows worried her. But the little fiery demon within her wasn’t going anywhere either - yet she might back down to save herself some money and hassle.

“Fine,” she raises her brows in a challenge to him and restates her original take on him - possibly adding a bit extra malice in her phrasing, “You are a shell of a man, held up by the people around you, creating the illusion of a completely genuine and down to earth rocker who dabbles in acting, philanthropy and all around goodness. No one’s ever had a bad experience because no one’s ever truly met you. Not the real you.” She takes a deep breath as she shakes her head in disbelief now, a sarcastic laugh leaving her mouth, “And I thought, I really thought, that I had been wrong. Because these past months you really fooled me with your sweet smile and deep eyes. But when it comes down to it, you tricked me just like everyone else.”

Harry stares at her blankly and she shakes her head once more, feeling foolish. For thinking Harry was someone he wasn’t. For thinking the past few months had been real. For thinking that tonight would go off without a hitch. And the shit part of it was that she had really hoped that all of it was true. She wanted this to be her life, but her instincts had been right. Beware of the picture perfect because it always is just a mirage of deceit and lies.

“All I’ve got to say is you’re a damn good actor Harry, so at least you’ve got that going for you.” Then she pushes back from the table and stands, turning to Nick and Lily. “I really am so sorry, I understand that you probably want me to leave, so I’ll just be going,” her voice faltering at the end, she wasn’t as strong as she liked to pretend and she was pretty sure she just ruined her chances of working again in Hollywood. You’d have to be an idiot to be an enemy of Harry Styles and she feels like she just became his first.

“No!” Nick says quickly, standing too, “I think things just escalated really quickly and some things were said that both of you didn’t mean. Um...just, let’s take a few minutes to cool off. Harry could you and Lily deal with the dishes and I’m going to talk with Y/N alone.”

Everyone nods and Y/N follows Nick down a hallway, a little confused but following after he beckons her with his hand. They go out a side door and end up on a porch in the backyard. He stoops down and opens a little sitting mailbox she didn’t see and pulls out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He places one between his teeth and then offers one to her. She accepts, not usually a regular smoker, but right now seemed like a fair time to indulge in the bad habit. She needed to calm her rapidly beating heart.

He lights the cigarette for her when he sees her shaking hands and then in turn lights his own. They stand on the porch beside each other and stare out into the dark night sky.

“Well, this wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go,” Nick starts, after a few exhales of smoke.

“No,” she laughs nervously, her foot toeing at the wooden slate on the porch. “I shouldn’t have tried to make a joke.”

“No one’s to blame,” Nick says quickly, glancing at her, “You and Harry...you both have really strong personalities and I don’t think either of you are used to being challenged.”

She nods along, she definitely had to agree after the argument they had both willingly gotten into in front of other people.

“I think that can be a really good thing, challenging each other, because then you two can both grow. But what happened in there was more of a battle to the death rather than a friendly spar.”

“Yeah,” she exhales, flicking at the burning cigarette between her fingers, “I don’t know why he gets under my skin sometimes in a way I’ve never dealt with and it’s kind of uncomfortable so I lash out, I guess.”

Nick stays quiet, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Ugh,” she groans, “I wish I hadn’t done that. We were doing so well, it’s like I don’t even really know what I’m saying, it’s like I can’t handle a friendly spar, I always end up going in for the kill - as you put it.”

She rubs at her face with her free hand and then takes a drag herself. Nick bites at his lower lip, trying to think of a solution.

“Y’know? Lily and I had concocted this plan to try and set you and Harry up tonight,” he says slowly, revealing the plan that had clearly been taken off the table as they just needed to attempt to salvage cordiality.

“Really?!” She’s in complete disbelief and slight dismay that the plan was seemingly ruined.

“Well,” he sputters, “When the two of you aren’t throwing verbal fireballs at each other, you’re actually quite sweet to one another. Those fond little glances you hope no one sees, well he does that too, and you both fail miserably because I see it all the time. I’m sure plenty of people do too.”

“Oh,” she states, visibly deflating. She looks to the ashtray conveniently on a table behind her and presses out the rest of the cigarette. “Should probably talk to him, huh?”

Nick nods, stamping out his nub of a cigarette as well. They go back inside and into the kitchen where Lily and Harry have plated dessert. Harry looks a little sheepish, likely having a similar conversation with Lily and she wouldn’t be surprised if her expression looks similar, if not a bit more flushed from the outdoor chill.

Lily murmurs that she and Nick are going to eat their dessert in the living room, a fair bit away from the kitchen and the two now deflated counterparts nod and then stare at each other, knowing what they need to do.

“Can we talk?” Harry rasps out, his voice even lower as he speaks softly, a mere foot away from her in the kitchen.

She nods, but moves further from him to lean against the counter and tuck her hands behind her. She’s lost her appetite and doesn’t want Harry to see her shaking digits.

He’s ducked his head and a stray curl falls over his forehead, laying there softly. He doesn’t move to fix it, just stares at his feet until she begins to talk. He can’t not look at her face when she speaks.

“So…” She slowly starts, not enjoying the tension in the room. Her eyes can’t meet his though, his stare dark and unnerving like usual, but almost painfully so now. “I can start.” She kicks at the tiling on the floor like she had done outside as well, trying to not think about the eyes trained on her right now. “I’m sorry I lashed out on you, Harry. I didn’t mean what I said, it was just a heat of the moment response.”

“I’m sorry, too,” Harry says immediately once she finishes speaking, “I shouldn’t have gotten upset over a silly joke and brought up a sensitive subject. Then it escalated…”

“Yeah, I really liked the friendship we’ve garnered these past few months and I just can’t believe I almost ruined everything - including my career…” she squeaks at the end and tears start to roll from her eyes. “Oh god,” she is hit with the gravity of all that she almost ruined as Harry stares at her again. “I’m so sorry, Harry, I really am. Do you forgive me? I don’t think I could stand it if you didn’t.”

She stands there and feels sobs wrack through her and her hands go to cover her face out of embarrassment. She had caused a scene and now she was making another one. In front of Harry.

In an instant his arms are wrapped around her frame and he’s hushing her cries. They had never hugged before, but now seemed like as good a time as ever. His arms were strong around her and she pressed her face into his chest, not caring at all about how she looked or whether this was worse than getting in a fight and running off.

“Of course I forgive you,” he says and then begins repeating her name over and over, trying to soothe her. He definitely had been hurt by her words, but it seemed like she was more upset about the whole situation than he was and he didn’t think bringing up what specifically had hurt him would help her frame of mind.

She settles after some time, her whimpers and tears subsiding after being rocked into a more peaceful mindset with the help of Harry’s calming voice and reassuring embrace.

“I really am sorry,” she whispers again.

Harry pulls his neck back and his head off the top of her head to look at her face. It was tear stained and her eyes were glassy, lips slightly puffy. He gave her a soft tight-lipped smile. “No more apologies,” he states sternly and then softens again at the slight quiver in her lip. He pulls from her a little more, leaving her at arm's length, with his hands still attached to her hips, fingers slipping over the plaid fabric. “I meant to tell you this earlier, before things…” he stares at her face again and she holds it this time, “You look beautiful tonight.”

She scoffs and her eyes immediately drop to her feet, “Definitely not anymore.” She doesn’t believe Harry.

“‘M serious,” he insists. His right index finger goes to rest beneath her chin and brings her face up to look back at him.

“Sure,” she says, still not convinced but not sure how else to respond. She feels herself warming at all the positive attention he’s pouring into her.

His gaze won’t falter from her face, he’s intent upon making her understand him. He whispers her name, “Accept the compliment.”

“You’re stubborn,” she notes.

“So are you,” he counters quickly.  

“Fine, thank you,” she sighs when he won’t stop giving her that look of his. That look that makes her want to melt into the ground because it feels like she’s the only person in the world. “Though you looked especially good tonight, too,” she adds, her hands rubbing over his shoulders softly.

“Thank you,” Harry states lowly, the words only traveling to her ears. His hands fiddle with the sides of her top, thinking about the night and where they were now. Her eyes were red from crying and overall she looked tired beyond her years. “Do you want me to take you home?”

“That’d be nice.”

They make a quiet farewell to Nick and Lily, as well as apologies from both her and Harry. They don’t speak in the car and the music plays loud enough for it to not seem unreasonable for them to be silent. Harry’s hands don’t tap against the steering wheel, they sit in their spots stoically doing their job and nothing more. She watches the window, legs crossed and hands clasped in her lap. She’s thankful for the music because she knows that even though they had talked, it wasn’t enough. What she had said was hurtful and one apology wasn’t enough for how she had behaved. She didn’t think her and Harry would be the same after tonight, but the silence made it possible for her to pretend none of it had happened.

Just as Harry’s car is pulling up the apartment complex that is far darker now, the harsh splatter of rain begins to fall on the pavement and the sleek black car the two are still sat in.

“Oh,” she comments offhandedly, just responding to what she had noticed.

The rain grows louder when Harry parks and then turns off the car. He glances at her for the first time since they got into the car. She registers the look out of the corner of her eye, her face still looking out at the rain. She loved the rain, but there wasn’t always a lot in Southern California, especially not in Palm Springs. It seemed that tonight was different.

“Well,” Harry breaks his silence, she thinks that’s her cue to leave and unbuckles her seatbelt, but he continues. “This certainly wasn’t how I expected this night to go.”

She stops moving, her hand hovering over the handle of the door. She sits back and settles into the seat, feeling her teeth bite into the plush of her bottom lip.

“That’s what people keep saying,” her eyes remain on the rain hitting the front of the car, the splatters of seemingly black liquid that form when the clear rain touches the onyx hood of the car.

“Huh?” Harry grows perplexed at the rather wistful tone of her and how she won’t look at him again. He was still hurt, but he had hoped them talking in the kitchen had straightened some things out. During the car ride he hadn’t wanted to talk, but it didn’t mean he was still angry with her. Just confused, and growing further confused by the second.

“Oh,” she repeats, “Didn’t Lily say? Her and Nick concocted that dinner in hopes to set us up.”

Harry hums, knowing that because Nick had left out a little part of that plan. That he had been a part of it. He had been talking with Nick about getting to know her better outside of work and how Nick had thought it’d be a good idea to have dinner so he had told Lily and they set it up like a casual dinner party. Harry didn’t know how to respond because her knowing that he was in on the plan might just make matters worse. He really didn’t think things could get much worse, but it seemed that they always managed to make it happen so in the end he decided to keep his mouth shut.

“I don’t know if we’d ever be able to work out differences out for that,” she decides to continue, when Harry stays quiet. She scans the interior of the car and watches Harry for the briefest moment before going back to looking out the window. “Nick said that we challenge each other to grow, but all I see us do is hurt each other.”

Her voice is just above the rain pattering outside the car and Harry thinks it sounds almost melodic if it weren’t for the sadness laced in every word.

“I disagree,” he states before wetting his lips.

“Of course you do,” she laughs in spite of herself.

“Even after all these months together and you still don’t get it. I like you.”

“You don’t like me, I don’t know how you could ever like me,” she shakes her head. “We just...we get under each other’s skin. You can make me so angry sometimes and I know I make you angry too. And when we’re not angry, we’re focussed on something that doesn’t have to do with ourselves.”

“I don’t think what you feel for me is anger,” Harry insists, “Just because something feels burning and fiery, frustrating even, doesn’t mean it’s anger.”

His body shifts closer to the center divide and she turns to face him finally. His eyes are extra dark in this lighting, which is barely there from a streetlamp a ways off. She longs for the comfort of his light green eyes, the soft pale glow of the moss that seems to have been trapped within his iris. Maybe for that reason she unknowingly leans closer to him.

“Then what is it?” She whispers, eyes blinking slowly as her breathing grows strained.

“Passion.”

Immediately, her head is tilting to meet his lips. Her mind knows one thing, she needs to be kissing Harry right now. And then she is. His left hand goes to cup her cheek as his lips attach themselves to hers. His soft lips press to hers in a long searing kiss. They stay there for a moment, pressing all of that passion and frustration into the kiss.

She presses impatiently forward, her lips starting to move more, wanting to kiss him deeper. Harry obliges, parting his lips and kissing her more vigorously. He licks into her open mouth and smiles at the sound she makes in appreciation for his actions.

She’s shifted to have herself kneeling on the leather seat and she’s leaning over the console. One of her hands finds purchase on Harry’s thigh and grasps tightly, her other at the back of his neck, pressing him closer if it were possible.

His chest is pressing against hers as he pulls her closer. He kisses her and his fingertips rub softly at the apple of her cheek. Eventually they run behind the shell of her ear and trail down her neck.

Eventually, she pulls away and stares at Harry. She watches as his eyes flutter open gently. His soft eyelashes dust his cheeks before moving away, allowing his eyes to peer at her in the dark.

Her breathing feels a little irregular after the kissing and she’s sure she is heaving her chest slightly, likely mirroring Harry’s chest as well.

“So, where to now?” She inquires, lips quirked up at her suggestion.

Harry giggles and scratches his nose against his index finger.

-

Harry doesn’t stay the night, he walks her up to her apartment door though. He kisses her chastley in front of her door and wraps an arm around her waist as he does so. He bids her a goodnight and a promise of seeing her soon.

They don’t see each other for a month. Both of them had been so blissful after the endorphins of kissing their person that they had forgotten that filming had wrapped. They weren’t set to work for a month. Harry texted her the next morning informing her that he’d be in England until filming resumed. She was still going to be in California, filming was moving back to Los Angeles, so she’d be back in her place there. Her family knew she was working, so they had sent her presents ahead to her place instead. Angie, her only true friend in the area, was spending her time with her actual family and Y/N didn’t want to intrude.

So the holidays were going to be spent alone. Those four weeks alone passed surprisingly quickly. She practiced techniques on herself, bought a tiny Christmas tree like the one in A Charlie Brown Christmas, watched A Charlie Brown Christmas and just about every other holiday movie possible. She fell in love with young Hugh Grant and Colin Firth for the thousandth time. She sang carols to herself and decorated her place with decorations from Target. She jammed out to the new Miley Cyrus album and held dance parties for herself in the house. She baked cookies and even attempted a trifle after watching a Great British Bake Off episode. She did and she did all in hopes that her mind wouldn’t wander to the guy who hadn’t called.

Harry texted occasionally, but it was infrequent at best. He was a busy person, she knew that. She knew who he was. And she didn’t want her mind to have enough time to feel sorry for herself. For her to think that she was just somebody to pass the time with while at work, because if she stopped doing things that’s where her mind would wander. Why did her mind spiral like it did? She had no idea, she’d always been like that.

His absence, their separation, made her question if her own feelings were even true. She wondered if when she saw him he would act as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t said their relationship was passionate and she had kissed him until she couldn’t breath.

Too much time alone, she needed some fresh air. On January 2nd, after an uneventful night at home and a lackluster countdown washed down with cheap champagne, she decided to go and walk around near her place. There was a coffee shop that wasn’t extremely expensive that she also liked that she figured she would get coffee from. After a brisk walk, she walked through the store's doors and ordered an iced green tea. As she waited, she watched the other customers around her, wishing to see a friendly face, someone she knew. And seconds later, she was met with half of that wish. Someone she knew, not necessarily a friendly face.

“Autumn.” She states with a grimace when someone taps her on the shoulder and she spins around.

“Y/N? It is you!” Autumn, one of the PA’s from Don’t Worry Darling who was especially in Harry’s business, exclaims overly happy as per usual.

Y/N bites the inside of her cheek and gives a tight lipped smile, trying her best to be cordial.

“How’s your holiday been!” Autumn asks.

“Great. You?”

“So great!” She’s quick to lean closer and say in a hushed tone, “But I miss working on set, especially getting to see that Harry everyday. He’s just so gorgeous.”

A breath gets stuck in Y/N’s chest at the mention of Harry’s name. Her brows can’t help but raise a bit at Autumn’s comment. Even lowering her voice didn’t make it feel alright to talk about Harry like this. He was her friend after all.

“Sure.” Y/N nods abruptly, realizing Autumn wants some recognition of what she’s just said. Y/N’s eyes glance around the room, hoping for an out like her drink is ready or something - no such luck.

“I mean,” Autumn keeps talking, of course, “You’re so lucky. You get to see him shirtless, like what? Everyday practically? Don’t tell me you don’t miss that just a little bit!”

“I miss working,” Y/N says, avoiding what Autumn is trying to get her to say. “And Harry’s my friend, could you maybe not talk about him like that with me?”

Autumn’s eyes widened in shock, her lips parted dumbfounded by her co-worker's response. Y/N’s name is called for her drink and she’s thankful for the serendipitous nature of that sound getting her out of the awkward situation she had just been in.

When she gets back to her apartment, she surprisingly has a text from Harry himself. She’s always telling everyone; speak of the devil and he will appear, in one way or another. It’s a Happy New Year well wish followed by a separate text asking how she was.

It was sent a minute ago so she decides to try and give him a call. She preferred talking on the phone over texting.

It rings a few times and then, again surprisingly, he picks up.  

“‘Lo?” His voice is nice and deep and sounding extra British after his weeks surrounded by family and such.

“Harry,” she sighs contentedly.

“Happy to hear your voice,” he says her name and she can tell he’s smiling just like she is, from ear to ear.

She bites at her lip, hearing him say her name.

“I’m well, thanks,” she says after a moment of happy silence.

“What?” Harry laughs, confused.

“You texted asking me how I was and I called to respond.”

“Got it,” Harry chuckles, and she hears him shuffling around, likely sitting down on something.

“How are you?” She continues.

“Good, starting to wind down for the day,” he lists off the things he’s been doing over the past few days. Some of it work related, some of it family activities. All of it fun, he insists. “What did you do today?” He finishes, knowing she was an avid activity doer based off of the snaps she had sent him over the past few weeks.

“Tidied my place, went to the coffee shop and got iced tea…” she tries to think and then she gasps, “Oh! And I saw Autumn, one of the Don’t Worry Darling PA’s -”

“The one who’s obsessed with me?”

“Exactly!” She laughs, “And I may have kind of told her off… accidentally.”

“Accidentally told her off?” Harry repeats, incredulous. “How’d you do that?”

“Well,” she doesn’t want to tell him the rest, but there’s also a tiny part of her that really does, “She was gushing about you, which, ew. And then she asked if I missed seeing you shirtless everyday.”

“Well do you miss seeing me shirtless?” Harry smirks.

“Oh shut up!” She’s quick to reply.

“So you do?”

“If I really wanted to see you shirtless, all I’d have to do is type in “Harry Styles sh” and it would come up,” she rolls her eyes even though she knows he can’t see them. “Wouldn’t even need the whole word. Guaranteed.”

“Uh-huh?” Harry questions still, “If you want me to send you shirtless pictures that the rest of the world hasn’t seen, Y/N, all you have to do is ask.”

“I do not want you to send me shirtless pictures of yourself!” She exclaims. She feels like jumping out of a window right now. This conversation had escalated so quickly and she felt herself flushing, maybe even perspiring a little bit. And she also knew that she also would probably like it if he sent her shirtless pictures, which made this whole thing worse.

“Offer stands,” he says, smug as he normally was, happy he got to banter with her again. It had been dull without her, if he was honest with himself. “If you ever find yourself in need, just send a cheeky text and I’ll whip one out for you, no matter where I am or what I’m doing.”

“See this sounds like you’re saying something sincere, but really you’re just telling me you’ll send me nudes at any time.”

“No one said anything about nudes!”

“Shirtless, nude, sounds like you’re getting too caught up in the details, hon.”

“No!” He protests, “You’re the one who’s supposed to be flustered right now, not me!”

“Aww, you’re flustered,” She coos.

Harry groans. “Whatever. I’ll be back on the 8th, be ready to go out on the 9th. I’m taking you on a proper date.”

“How do you know I’m going to say yes?” She bite her lip again, she’s really sweating now. She couldn’t believe he had just asked her out on a date out of nowhere. Out of them just joking about nudes. Maybe she didn’t know Harry as well as she thought.

“Because you called me,” he says confidently.

“I call everyone.”

“But I don’t offer shirtless pictures to everyone.”

“That has nothing to do with me saying yes to this date.”

“Or does it?”

She laughs at his words, at how his voice still manages to convey every facial expression and quirk of his lips. She knows there’s a smile on his lips as he stares in the distance, imagining her face just as she is his.

“Yes.” She smiles.

“Yes!” He repeats happily.

She hears him stand up and spin around possibly and she chuckles slightly, amused at the silly man across the world who had seemed to have stolen her heart.

“See you soon, Harry.”

“Not soon enough.”

-

On the Saturday of their date, Harry insists on picking her up. He meets her at her door and winks at her after pulling away from their short hug. He laces his hand in hers and she follows behind him as he all but drags her to his car that is downstairs. He seems giddy. His hair has grown out in the month he’s been gone and she knows they’ll cut it when filming resumes. He’s wearing Gucci flared blue jeans - she knows from the big logo on the bottom left pant leg - a ‘Waiting for Sunset’ graphic tee beneath a black cardigan with little animals and items knitted in it. And of course, his dirty ass vans. She had hoped that maybe Christmas would bring him a fresh pair from someone, but it seemed there was no such luck.

Either way, he looked good and upon scanning his outfit, she was pleased that she had dressed correctly for the occasion, knowing one of the sins of Los Angeles was being improperly dressed wherever you might go. Harry had said casual, but casual can always mean so many different things. She got it right with light wash high-waisted levi’s, a brown cream rib-knit long sleeve that buttoned like it could be a cardigan, and some fun chunky boots that added some height to her normal stature. She had contemplated between this and possibly twenty other tops and a few other bottoms. Landing on this felt right, plus it didn’t clash with Harry, the color of her shoes actually matched the color of the snake on the cardigan.

They both compliment each other on the way out to his car and she giggles when he stops and twirls her around. He says he didn’t get a “proper look” before for him to compliment her adequately. After the twirl, he nods and starts them off again, complimenting the specific pieces of her clothes and says she looks beautiful again. His giddiness was contagious.

“No Range tonight,” she muses when Harry stops them in front of a Mercedes-Benz cream convertible, top up.

“Not working,” he replies, unlocking the car with the key into the passenger’s side door handle.

She smiles and slides into the car and watches him jog around to his side and unlock it as well.

“Tonight is going to be fantastic,” he says, leaning over the console and kissing her cheek, just beside her lips.

And when he pulls away with that smug smile of his, she knows he kissed her there on purpose. But the little tease only makes her smile more. He was good at this. And he was right.

The night was fantastic. As was every night after. And she learned that Harry was so much more than anything she ever thought. She counted herself lucky to be loved by a man like him.

[cali-holland]

Under the Stars- Tom Holland One Shot

Pairing: Tom Holland X Reader

Prompt: When you invite Tom and Harrison to go to a cabin in the woods with your old college friends, Tom devises a plan to finally confess his feelings for you. Little does he know, the cabin belongs to your ex-boyfriend, and he’s also seeking your attention this week.

Word Count: 12k

Warnings: slow burn (ish), swearing, sexual themes (jokes/references), the reader kinda gets sexually harassed (nothing actually happens), fist fight + some blood, tom being a simp

A/N: this was a nine month process, so i hope you enjoy :) also thank you to @duskholland​ for being so supportive and reading through this fic and editing it. love you hannah! + Also reposting this because the tags didn’t work the first time :/ and tag list will be in a reblog!

Masterlist   Tom Holland Masterlist

*Moodboard is mine, pics used are not *

~~~

When you walked into Tom and Harrison’s house, you weren’t expecting to hear odd grunts coming from the living room. You’d heard many strange noises made in that house— a good amount of their sources were still unknown, but you’d never heard such aggressive grunts. For a moment, you considered slowly backing out of the house and knocking on the door. It would be easy to pretend like you didn’t have a key so you didn’t have to walk in on anyone doing anything gross in the other room.

But then Harrison walked into the entryway, smiling at you as a greeting, “Hey, Y/N.”

“Hey,” You replied, closing the front door hesitantly behind you. You pointed towards the living room, “Do I wanna know what’s going on in there?”

Before he could reply, there was a loud bang from the living room, followed by a string of curses. Forgetting all worries of what may or may not have been the cause of the noises, you hurried into the other room with Harrison trailing behind you.

Tom laid on the floor, groaning in pain as he clutched his foot. Tessa, who had been checking up on her owner, popped up happily when she saw you, rushing over to greet you at your feet. Tom looked up at you and Harrison in the door, forcing out his best smile. You stared at the large tent that was currently taking up most of the space in the living room, questioningly.

“Why do you have a tent set up?” You asked. Tom hopped up off the floor, standing beside the tent.

“Well, our camping trip is this weekend, so I thought I’d make sure it’s still durable.” Tom said proudly. He put a hand against the tent in an attempt to be smooth, but the tent came collapsing down, making Tessa bolt behind you from the sudden loud noise.

“And he wanted to make sure he could actually set up a tent, which clearly he can’t,” Harrison stated, and Tom glared at him in response.

“Were you going to tell him?” You laughed, turning to the blond beside you.

“And miss the opportunity to see him struggle setting up a tent for forty minutes? No, I didn’t tell him.” He smirked, only making Tom more frustrated and embarrassed.

“Tom, it’s a cabin. You don’t need a tent unless you don’t want to stay with everyone else.” You explained. “I just said camping because it’s easier to call it that.”

“Fuck you, mate.” He grumbled to Harrison, flipping him off before starting to put away the mess of a tent. You stepped in to help him, and Harrison just laughed to himself before leaving.

“I really thought you would’ve known. Did you really think I’d invite you and Harrison to spend several days in the woods with me and my college friends in tents?” You joked, “Besides, I didn’t think you’d come if it was actual camping.”

Tom paused his movements, but you continued to undo the poles, taking no notice of his action, “Why wouldn’t I go if it was actual camping?”

“I don’t know.” You shrugged, looking at him with your usual charming smile, “You’re not the outdoorsy, camping type. You don’t exactly go out and rough it in the woods on the weekend, like Will or Tyler; you play golf with Harrison and your dad.”

While your words were well-intended and teasing, Tom couldn’t help but take them to heart. He took everything you said to heart.

It was hard for him to be so helplessly in love with you, his best friend (besides Harrison) from BRIT school, for the past few years while you were completely blind to it. Normally, he’d do little things to impress you because he still wasn’t sure if he wanted you to know about his feelings— if you knew, there was a chance you’d reject him, and Tom wouldn’t know what to do with himself if that happened. Recently though, he’s started to feel like his heart was going to explode if he didn’t tell you soon, but that didn’t mean he knew how to tell you.

So when you asked if he wanted to go on a camping trip with you, of course he said yes right away. His mind told him that, no, he really wasn’t the outdoorsy, “roughing it” kind of guy, but his heart told him it was a chance with you. He was a sap and thought that maybe he’d pluck up the courage to tell you how he felt under a moonlit campsite, maybe even the two of you could share a tent, maybe he could kiss you in the lake— god, did he want to kiss you.

That had all come crashing down when he’d realized it wasn’t a romantic camping getaway. You’d invited Harrison and a few college friends, friends that neither Tom nor Harrison had ever met. And there was one friend in particular who Tom never wanted to meet— Will, your ex-boyfriend. You two ended things mutually, but Tom couldn’t stop himself from feeling like he needed to compete against Will, especially when he discovered it was Will whose family owned the land you’d be camping on; Will who took you on hikes all around your college town; Will who taught you how to fish and how to kayak with the lakes nearby; Will who one time got bitten by a rattlesnake and sucked out the venom himself; Will who could climb any mountain and come back unscathed. Will was an outdoorsy “roughing it” badass fucker that Tom despised.

And now, you had just furthered proved that Tom was a delicate flower compared to the lumberjack prick that was Will. He didn’t care about being compared to Will’s best friend, Tyler, who (from what you’d told Tom) was in a serious relationship with your other friend, Jane. Besides Jane, the other person accompanying you all to the cabin was Rose, your best friend and Will’s sister. Needless to say, Tom was very grateful that Harrison was coming along too— he didn’t think he could handle a Will-centered week alone.

“We can just leave this for now. I know I promised you Nando’s before we leave.” Tom said, getting up from his spot on the floor.

“Are you sure? We can just get it on the way to the airport.” You said, looking at the tent mess before you.

“Come on, it’ll be fine.” He held a hand out to you and you took it, so that he could pull you up. Before you two could make it out the door, Harrison arrived downstairs with a loaded hiking backpack in hand.

“I know you’re not trying to sneak to Nando’s without me.” He said, and Tom glared at him from behind your back. Harrison was very well aware of Tom’s feelings for you— everyone was except for you, and he took every chance he could get at being a little shit about it, which included ruining quality time for Tom to spend with you.

The three of you left to grab your last meal in the UK before heading back to their house. Tom finished putting away the tent, and Harrison loaded up Harry’s car with your bags as well as his and Tom’s. Harry (through bribery from Tom) drove you all to the airport for the first step in your camping trip.

Since you went to school in the US, all of your friends would be meeting you across the pond. Will’s family cabin was located in Maine, so the flight wasn’t too bad for the three of you— though Tom wished it was longer so he could devise a more accurate plan to impress you this weekend. He had to prove that he could be the outdoorsy badass guy you wanted. He had to outcompete Will.

“Why would you have to outcompete him?” Harrison asked Tom after hearing his dilemma. Fortunately, you were getting the rental car for the three of you to make it to the cabin.

“Because it’s clearly a competition.” Tom stated, nervously fidgeting with his fingers as he looked over at you across the way. “She told me I’m not outdoorsy like Will- that makes it a competition and I have to beat him.”

As much as Harrison loved to see his friend fail at keeping it together around you, something felt wrong about telling him, ‘yeah, it’s totally a competition, so go beat up her lumberjack ex’. Instead, he tried, “I don’t think that’s what Y/N meant. You do golf more than you go camping.”

But Tom took no notice of his advice, “Just watch. I’m going to be the manliest man this weekend.”

“Hey guys,” You smiled, coming up to them, making Tom jump very unmanly-like in the process. “You ready to go?”

The journey to the cabin was a fairly long one. After a couple of hours of driving, you parked the car in one of those reserved parking lots off the side of the road. Tom and Harrison both looked around in confusion, spotting nothing but trees and a gas station.

“Why are we stopped?” Tom asked you as you got out of the car. Tom and Harrison followed you out of the car.

“We gotta hike in.” You replied. “The cabin’s down by the lake, so there’s no actual road to get there. It’s only about a mile and a half hike in. Be ready for lots of hiking. I think tomorrow we’re going to hike 12 miles.”

By the time you three got to the little a-frame cabin, it was already dinner time, which was great because that meant you three could sleep soon. The five hour time difference was already starting to hit. Before you could even step inside the cabin, your best friend met you with a bone-crushing hug.

“You’re here!” Rose smiled, stepping out of the hug after a moment.

“We made it.” You laughed. Your other friend, Jane, stepped up next to hug you. “I missed you two so much.”

“We missed you too.” Jane replied. You caught their eyes trailing over to Tom and Harrison behind you, and you remembered that they hadn’t met before. 

“Oh, girls, this is Tom and Harrison; guys, this is Rose and Jane.” You introduced the two parties with a smile. After a polite exchanging of handshakes, you looked at the two girls curiously, “Where are the boys?”

“Will wanted to get in a light swim before dinner.” Rose laughed, and Jane made her way back to the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll show you your rooms.”

Rose gave the three of you a little tour of the cabin. The front door had placed you all in a little entryway room with a simple, wooden staircase taking up most of the room; a fireplace sat beside the stairs with a small loveseat across from it. Besides a rather large bookshelf, it was relatively empty, but elegantly simple nonetheless. There were four doors downstairs, all intricately designed with the same light wood color as the stairs. The first door on the left was explained to be Will’s room, and the second was Tyler and Jane’s. The third stood as the main bathroom, as Rose described it. The fourth door led to Tom and Harrison’s room.

It wasn’t very big— neither of the rooms were according to Rose, but that was the a-frame style of a quaint log cabin. A bunk bed sat on the side of the room with a small wood dresser across from it. There was enough space for the two boys to coexist, and Tom was just grateful he didn’t have to bunk with Will of all people; he was glad he had his best friend with him.

The upstairs of the cabin held the open space of the kitchen and the main living room. With large glass windows covering one of the walls, the living room had a magnificent view of the woods outside, and three couches were set in place to overlook it. Under the couches sat a large bear rug, one which both Tom and Harrison eyed suspiciously at first before Rose laughed it off, reassuring them that it was fake. Behind the couches, the dining room was situated beneath a beautiful antler chandelier and set for eight places, completing the rustic vibe of the cabin. The kitchen, while it was small, seemed to be just as well put together as the rest of the cabin, complete with a breakfast bar. The smell of Jane’s favorite lemon salmon filled the air, making you even more excited for dinner.

Next was your own room, which was just past the kitchen. A queen bed was pushed in a nook with only the foot of the bed accessible. Unlike Tom and Harrison, you and Rose didn’t mind sharing a bed, which is why they got the smallest room downstairs. Right beside your bedroom door was another bathroom.

“You brought stuff for s’mores, right?” You asked Rose as you walked with her, Tom, and Harrison off the cabin’s porch to the nearby shed where they kept all of their hiking and lake gear.

“Yes, absolutely!” She eagerly replied, a happy skip in her step.

“S’mores are a real thing?” Tom questioned in disbelief.

“Of course! You can’t camp without—” You let out a shriek as you felt cold, wet arms wrap around your waist, picking you up and spinning you around. You laughed, immediately knowing it was Will. “Oh my god, Will! Put me down! You’re all wet.”

Will chuckled, setting you back down on the solid ground, “Well, if it gets you wet.”

“Fuck off.” You scoffed, smacking his chest playfully. It was then that you realized he was shirtless— shirtless and dripping wet from the lake and gloriously tan and somehow more built than the last time you saw him. Tyler, on the other hand, was still Tyler; still an attractive young guy, but not attractive to you and that most likely has to do with him dating Jane for as long as you’ve known him.

“Ty!” You smiled, hugging him tightly, not even caring if your clothes got wet and gross anymore. You’d just change later when you could.

Tom straightened up a bit, already feeling uneasy about Will’s presence. Will looked like the lovechild of Zac Efron and Chris Evans, with a hint of Scott Eastwood; he was perfect, there was nothing wrong with him. It made Tom question why you two broke up. Even though Tom knew you’d said it was mutual, he also knew it took a lot for girls to walk away from guys that look like that. Meanwhile, Harrison just bit his lip to keep from commenting on his friend’s ridiculous territorial issues. 

“So, you two must be Tom and Harrison.” Will held out a hand to them, smiling politely. Tom took his hand, trying to subtly shake it sternly as if to prove he was better than Will— childish, Tom knew it, but he already hated this guy with his six pack abs and perfectly white smile. Will didn’t back down though, squeezing Tom’s hand equally as hard. Noticing both guys tensing up, you looked between them awkwardly, having never seen either of them put on the tough guy act.

With introductions out of the way, you all trekked back inside the cabin. While Will, Tyler, and even you changed into dry clothes, Rose helped Jane finish dinner, leaving Tom to frustratedly rant to Harrison in their room.

“God, he’s so annoying.” Tom scoffed.

“He said two words to you.” Harrison stated, “Try to play nice. I don’t think Y/N wants you two to keep having a ‘my dick’s bigger’ contest.”

“But mine is and I know it!” He exclaimed, before realizing he didn’t know how thin the walls were- and how odd that implication was, “Whatever. He’s stupid. This trip’s stupid.”

Harrison was too busy laughing  to even attempt a response to his friend. Instead, there was a knock on the door, pulling both of them from their conversation. Tom opened the door and immediately softened when he saw you, clad in one of his old sweatshirts that he didn’t even realize you still had. It gave him a sliver of hope that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t need to worry that much about Will this week.

“Nice shirt.” Tom commented with a smile.

“Thanks,” You smiled back, “I’ve actually been meaning to give it back to you.”

“What? Why?”

“Is dinner ready?” Harrison asked, cutting off the two of you and reminding you both of his presence. As if on cue, his stomach growled loudly.

“Yes, it is.” You laughed, almost embarrassed from forgetting why you had been at their door in the first place. You tugged on Tom’s hand, pulling him out of the room. Harrison grumbled something dejectedly, but you paid no mind to it. Tom sent his friend an apologetic look, though he made no attempt to make Harrison any less of the unofficial third wheel on the journey upstairs to the dinner table.

It didn’t go unnoticed by Tom how you sat beside Will, even if Tom got the free seat beside you. Harrison slipped into the seat next to him with Rose to his right. The dinner of salmon with potatoes, salad, and bread seemed simple enough, but it was still quite possibly the best fish you’d ever had.

“Did you get a bone?” You asked Tom, seeing him awkwardly moving his mouth like his tongue was fishing out a hard piece of salmon. Blushing from you calling attention to his struggle, he held up a napkin to cover his mouth, trying to spit out the bone without it looking too gross.

“Yeah,” He admitted sheepishly, muffled by the napkin.

“I thought you got them all out.” Jane said, looking at Tyler expectantly.

“Don’t look at me, that was Will’s job.” Tyler laughed as he used his friend as the scapegoat.

“Must’ve missed one.” Will shrugged, before joking, “You’re still welcome that I caught these.”

“You caught this salmon?” You said, “I thought you only did catch and release?”

“I still do, for the most part, but this salmon was too good of an opportunity to pass up.” He explained. Tom was already boiling with embarrassment, and now he had jealousy bubbling over- of course this perfect fish was caught by the perfect outdoor man beside you.

“So, Tom, Harrison, we were talking about going for a run around the lake tomorrow morning. Want to come?” Tyler asked.

“Sure. How far?” Harrison replied, and Tom nodded in agreement.

“The loop’s about five miles.” Will answered.

“Are you going to run with us?” Tom asked you, knowing back home in Kingston you’d sometimes join Harrison on runs. Tom wasn’t the type to just go out for a casual run like his best friend was, but he wasn’t about to back down from this.

“Nah, you two can keep up with the cross country runners.” You joked, “I’d much rather save my energy for the hike.”

Once dinner ended and no one choked on any more fishbones, you all migrated to the couches. Much to Tom’s chagrin, you sat in the middle couch between Will and Rose, while Tom and Harrison sat on the couch opposite a very cuddled up Jane and Tyler. The fireplace in the corner crackled, keeping the room comfortably warm. When Rose suggested you all play charades, the entertainment for the evening was decided, especially considering the cabin had very weak cell-signal and no television.

“What are the teams?” You asked, sitting dead in the middle of everyone with three friends to your left and three to your right.

“Let’s do 3 against 4, so you choose who you wanna be with, Y/N.” Jane suggested as Rose stood up to get a boxed set of charade cards from the game cabinet near the kitchen. You looked between the two sets of friends. You wanted to lean towards Tom, Harrison, and Rose, because the two boys were incredible at charades, and Rose was your go-to partner for Password at least.

“Come on, you know you wanna be with us.” Will teased, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

“Just for that, nope.” You laughed and took his arm off you. You stood up from that couch and squeezed in between Tom and the arm. To make room for you and to mock Will, Tom casually put his arm on your shoulder and you made no effort to take it off.

Rose returned with the box of cards and the game began with you and Jane pantomiming first. The words ranged from silly ones like centipede to more inventive ones like lapdance; either way, you all were laughing and enjoying the evening. Tom was highly appreciative of the humor because more than once, you laughed so hard that you fell into him, clutching his knee or completely falling over into his lap. It wasn’t anything out of the usual for him to see you so effortlessly happy, but he enjoyed all the little touches.

“Okay, okay.” You breathed out, doing your best to compose yourself. You stood up from the couch with Tyler so that you two could read the answer and continue the round. Reading over the card, “Catch 22”, you began to think about what you could do to act out the card. As if it wasn’t impossible enough to describe it with words, you had to act it out. But then the lightbulb went off- you had a secret advantage and he was sitting right in front of you, as long as he could figure it out.

“Ready?” Tyler asked you nervously, and you nodded. Tyler started with the usual way of beginning: how many words and what it is. You immediately pointed at Harrison.

“Me?” Harrison spoke in confusion, and you nodded before pointing to your stomach, doing your best to act his death from the series.

“Catch 22?” Tom offered, and Harrison looked at him dumbfounded, still trying to connect how it was him as your main clue.

“Ah, thank god.” You smiled, cheering as he guessed it right. Tyler and the others sighed.

“How the fuck did you get that?” Jane questioned.

“Haz, here, was in the show.” Tom replied, proud of his friend. You were surprised by your college friends’ collective shock, but you were most intrigued by Rose’s reaction.

“Oh my god, I thought you looked familiar.” She said, impressed.

“Wait, you actually saw it?” Harrison asked.

“Yeah, I think I might have cried when you died.” She admitted, brushing a loose hair behind her ear, and that’s when it clicked for you- she was totally into Harrison.

“And you’re an actor too, Tom, right?” Will spoke up, casually taking a drink of his beer. You eyed him skeptically; he knew Tom was an actor. Back when you two were dating, you’d talk about your best friend’s accomplishments, so why was he now asking? Your only answer was it would clearly get a rise out of, at least, you, if not Tom as well.

“Yeah, only been in little indie movies. Nothing anyone’s heard of.” Tom played it off jokingly, causing you to smack him on the arm a little, your hand resting on his bicep.

“My mom loves that movie you did with Ewan McGregor.” Rose commented.

“Ah yeah,” Will laughed, “The one where you’re like 12.”

“I wasn’t 12, but thank you.” Tom replied sarcastically, and you could tell he was biting back a scoff. 

“Well, we’ve all seen the Marvel movies so you can brag a little about those.” You teased, making him blush.

“I know I cried when everyone was getting dusted.” Jane stated in a way to poke fun at Rose’s previous words.

“Never saw them.” Will shrugged carelessly.

“Yes, you did.” You corrected him immediately, and you felt Tom tense a little under your touch. While Tom liked that you were being supportive about this, he couldn’t help but feel like something was wrong.

Will acknowledged Tom’s clenched jaw and decided to press it a bit further, “Babe, if you’re talking about Infinity War, then, no, I didn’t pay attention.” He chuckled, “Don’t you remember we were in the middle of something?”

Tom wondered, at first, what he meant exactly. You dropped your hand from Tom’s arm and covered your face in embarrassment, but before you could comment, Rose let out a whine, ��Gross, I was right next to you two.”

“Not like you’ve never gotten it on in a movie theater.” Tyler joked.

“Can we please not talk about this?” You groaned, getting up from the couch. “I’m going to bed. I’m tired.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Jane stated as she stood up with a yawn. You closed your door, escaping to the privacy of your room, not wanting to think about how your ex just told everyone about that night- in your defense, you’d already seen the movie before so you weren’t missing anything.

Tyler and Will followed after Jane, leaving Tom, Harrison and Rose as they cleaned up the few cards that were left out. Feeling the awkwardness radiating off of Tom, Rose delicately spoke up, “Will’s just being a dick.”

“It’s fine.” Tom reassured her.

“Did you really cry when I died?” Harrison asked her the question that’d been on his mind since the second she’d made the comment. They started talking about the show, and Tom took that as a sign to leave. He thought for a moment about knocking on your door and checking in on you, but then he realized it might be too uncomfortable for you to talk about. There were times, like tonight with charades, that Tom considered maybe you liked him back, based on all your little touches here and there, but then, with Will’s comments floating around his mind, his thoughts were plagued by the doom of the friendzone. Tom didn’t know if he’d be able to sleep tonight knowing that you and your annoying ex ��got it on’ in the theater during his own movie- what if he was dying on screen but you were too enraptured in Will to cry like Rose had cried over Harrison dying?

Tom only had a few minutes to himself before Harrison came back into their shared room, asking him, “How’re you feeling about the run tomorrow?”

“It’s going to kill me.” Tom sighed, and Harrison shrugged before climbing into the top bunk.

“Should’ve been running with me.” He laughed, “It’s not even that far.”

“I haven’t run five straight miles since Jake nearly killed me at the gym.” He replied, tidying up his bag.

“Why are you cleaning?” Harrison asked, looking down at his friend. “Are you worried Y/N’s going to come into the room or something?”

“Shove off.” Tom grumbled. Harrison took off his sweaty socks that he’d neglected to remove before getting into his bed and threw them down at his friend. One missed Tom completely, and the other clung to his shoulder. “That’s fucking gross.”

“If you’re cleaning, then clean them up.” He snickered. Tom threw the sock back at his friend, but it missed and weakly fell to the ground. A knock came from the other side of the door, and Tom opened it, smiling when he saw it was you, his absolute favorite person on this godforsaken trip. While you looked rather cute in your casual summer pajamas, he frowned when he saw his sweatshirt in your hands.

“Are you returning it?” He asked, and you laughed.

“It doesn’t smell like you anymore.” You said quietly, hoping Harrison didn’t hear your words. You held it out to Tom, “I figured I can give it back to you for a time, and then steal it once it smells like you again.”

“Wait a second.” Tom took the sweatshirt from you and disappeared into the room, rummaging through his once neat backpack to grab out another sweatshirt. He handed it to you, “Maybe this could suffice for now?”

Smiling, you sniffed it a little before tugging it on, “Thanks. It’s so cold upstairs, I don’t know how I’d sleep without it.”

“You could always bring your own.” Harrison said from the top bunk. Tom turned and chucked the other sweatshirt at him. You rolled your eyes at his words.

“Watch it, Osterfield, or your mattress is going to end up in the middle of the lake with you still sleeping on it.” You playfully threatened.

“I’m quaking with fear.” He laughed, laying down on the bed out of sight.

“Well, I should go.” You told Tom, “Thank you for the sweatshirt. Good night.”

“Good night, Y/N.” He smiled softly at you. As you walked away, he slowly closed the door, pleased with himself and his choice in sweatshirts. He turned to finish getting ready for bed, just in time for Harrison to throw the sweatshirt back at him.

“I will kick you out of this room.” Tom grumbled.

“I’d like to see you try.”

You didn’t sleep well that night. Even with Tom’s sweatshirt, your room was unbearably cold, and it didn’t help that Rose snored. With only a few hours of sleep under your belt, you woke up the next morning to the sun streaming in through the large window behind the bed and Rose already up and out of the room. You padded into the kitchen, making yourself some tea with the rustic teapot that was set out on the counter. Spotting Rose and Jane standing out on the balcony, you made your way outside.

“Good morning.” You said through a yawn, coming to stand beside Rose.

“We were wondering when you were going to wake up.” Jane teased. You looked at your two friends quizzically, taking a sip of your steaming tea.

“You already missed part one of the gun show.” Rose joked, sitting up straighter to look over the edge of the balcony, “They should be back any second.”

“Oh God.” You laughed, remembering the boys and their run this morning.

“I know I’m with Tyler, but damn, Y/N.” She teased, and Rose nudged you playfully. “Here they come.”

Seeing motion through the trees, you looked over at the runners. It was obvious they were racing the last bit of the run, considering how triumphant Harrison looked when he arrived first with Will right on his tail. And then came Tyler, and finally Tom. There was probably only a few seconds between their arrival, but it was still amusing to spy the looks on their faces. They were all shirtless and glistening in a layer of sweat, and they hadn’t noticed the three of you on the balcony at all- not that you were complaining. You’d rather not have them catch you all checking them out so unabashedly.

“Look at that. 24 abs right there.” Jane let out a small sigh. While her comment was for all four boys, her eyes stayed trained on Tyler. Rose, on the other hand, had her eyes on Harrison’s figure, which you noted to tease her about later. But you, you couldn’t help but check out Tom’s bare torso- there was a reason you didn’t watch either Spider-Man movie with him- you always ended up a little too focused on his shirtless scenes.

“Enjoying the show?” Tyler called up to the three of you, a cheeky smirk on his face, as they all made their way up to the cabin. You could’ve sworn you saw Tom blush a little when he met your gaze before Harrison playfully shoved his friend, making Tom lose focus on you and shove him right back.

“Boys.” Rose laughed quietly to you. You bit your lip, nodding in agreement.

“I’m glad I didn’t miss part two.”

The boys made their way into the kitchen, seeking out some water and gatorade as you and the girls went back inside to greet them. The sweet smell of salmon from last night was gone, overthrown by the ever lovely smell of sweaty men.

“It smells like a gym in here.” Rose gagged in disgust.

“I would’ve gone for sweaty ballsack, but yours is much nicer.” Jane laughed.

“Janie would know.” Will teased, clapping Tyler on the shoulder as he drank from his water, making the other choke a little.

“So how was the run?” You asked Tom as he and Harrison came over to you, Tom’s bottle of gatorade almost gone already. The other four got engrossed in their own conversation.

“Just a small workout, nothing too bad.” He replied, brushing it off.

“He was dying.” Harrison stated, making you laugh. “I told him he’s got to run with me more.”

“Well, you won, Haz, so congrats.” You replied.

“How did you know we were racing?” Tom asked. His ears turned pink from thinking that you knew he came in last.

“The four of you act like teenage boys; of course you’re going to make a race out of a casual run.” You teased.

“We should probably go stretch before our muscles tighten up again.” Harrison said, already backing up towards the stairs. Tom made his way to follow him, and you spoke up.

“I’ll come with.” You offered, setting your mug of tea on the counter. You followed them downstairs and out to the patio, feeling like you might as well spend some alone time with your two closest friends.

“You two think you can make it on the hike today?” You teased, already seeing Tom walk a little funny.

“Yeah, yeah, we got this.” He reassured you, sitting down on the solid ground to start stretching his legs. You started to stretch with them, and Harrison looked at you funny for it.

“Why are you stretching?” He asked with a laugh.

“It helps with flexibility.” You shrugged, switching legs as they did, all three of you mirroring the same poses. “How was the lake?”

“It was nice. We weren’t exactly looking at it though.” Tom replied with a chuckle.

“I don’t know, you were going so slow, I thought you were.” Harrison joked and Tom kicked his foot out, hitting Harrison in the leg.

“It’s shit like this that made me believe you were racing.” You laughed.

“I don’t do long distance running. I like focusing on my abs a lot more.” Tom defended himself. You flicked your eyes down to his abs, nodding a little, but Tom was so focused on his stretching that he had missed your small action, whereas Harrison fully caught it. He laughed, sending you a wink, and you flipped him off. Tom caught that exchange though, “Did I miss something?”

“Nope.” You replied quickly, only making Harrison laugh harder, “He’s just being a dumbass. Onto hamstrings.”

The three of you laid down to stretch your hamstrings, and you heard Tom let out a small groan from beside you. “I can’t do this. I fucking hate leg day.”

“Need help?” You offered. Before he could protest, you were already on your feet. He held his leg up as high as he could, and you pressed on his foot to stretch his hamstring even more.

“What if I need help too?” Harrison pouted, even though he was stretching his leg just fine.

“Sorry, Haz, it’s just you and your hand.” You joked, making Tom laugh.

“I see how it is. Ha ha, it’s me and my hand, and Tom and your hand, Y/N.” He sarcastically replied, as you dropped Tom’s leg and he bent his knee for you to lean on his shin. You helped him to deepen the stretch through his leg.

“Someone’s jealous.” Tom said, before grimacing a little.

“Was that too far?” You asked, loosening your hold on his leg, not wanting to overstretch his hamstring.

“A little.” He replied.

“God, Y/N don’t be so rough on him.” Harrison piped in, still having no issue stretching on his own.

“Haz, if you’re going to be a pouty baby about not having a stretching buddy, talk to Rose. She was totally checking you out earlier.” You stated, trying to change the conversation off of Harrison’s unnecessary innuendos. You let go of Tom’s leg and reached for his foot to stretch his other hamstring.

“Wait, really?” He asked, dropping his leg to peer at you with a serious look on his face.

“Yeah, why would I lie to you about that?” You laughed, “Besides, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her read a book, so I think she was lying about Catch 22.”

Flustered, Wide eyed and blushing, Harrison mumbled something about grabbing a shower before bolting off. You exchanged a curious look with Tom, but he followed after his friend.

You made your way inside after them and went to fix yourself another cup of tea. When you saw Will alone in the kitchen, you momentarily considered changing your mind and going to your rook, but it was too late, as he had already seen you.

“Want a cup?” He asked, holding up the coffee pot after he finished pouring himself a cup.

“No thanks.” You replied and made your way to the kettle.

“Enjoy the show earlier? Tyler and I started this new training routine that’s supposed to help with bulking up.” Will said. It took everything in you to not roll your eyes at his words.

“And how’s that working out for you?” You asked, not even trying to hide your disinterest. You still hadn’t forgiven him for his immature comments last night. Plus, the more you saw Will interact with Tom, the more justified you felt with your annoyance.

Will stepped closer to you. Slowly, he took one of your hands in his and pressed it to his abs, and you’d be lying if you said you couldn’t feel every part of his toned stomach. As much as you hated to admit it, you felt like you were falling under his trance again. “There’s more where that came from. Why don’t you come by my room tonight?”

He dropped your hand, and you were pulled out of your foggy state. You stepped away, turning away from him to continue getting yourself some tea. You felt his body envelope yours from behind. His head rested on your shoulder and his hands smoothed over your waist. Pressing a kiss to your cheek, he murmured, “I miss you.”

At his words, something inside of you snapped and you jolted away from his embrace, slapping his hands away. Firmly, you said, “I don’t miss you.”

Will left the room without another word, and you were left to ponder what the hell just happened as you stood alone in the kitchen.

It wasn’t until a few hours later that you all left on the hike, trailing through the towering trees to make your way to a nearby peak. You all stopped a few times for water and some food, and to even just enjoy nature. Between Jane’s ornithology degree, Tyler’s botany background, and Will’s forestry knowledge, identifying the different birds, plants, and trees around you was relatively easy.

“Can you imagine if we studied something environmental too?” Rose joked, nudging you in the shoulder as Jane mindlessly went on about the bird that had flown past nearly ten minutes ago.

“God, it would never end.” You laughed.

“What did you study?” Harrison asked Rose, making you look at Tom and roll your eyes at your friends.

“I’m a nurse.” She replied, and the two got swept into their own conversation.

“You sore yet?” You asked Tom, poking him in the side as you all continued the hike uphill.

“Me? Sore? Never.” He laughed. He shook his head to try to hide the slight hurt from the question. First, you didn’t think he was outdoorsy enough and now you think he can’t handle doing some mileage. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“Oh sure.” You smiled at him. Tyler pointed out a specific plant as you all passed it, talking about the intricate properties of the shrub.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been more confused about nature.” Tom mumbled to you quietly. Since you two were far enough behind Tyler, Jane, and Will, they couldn’t hear his comment.

“Don’t worry. I have no clue what he’s talking about either.” You reassured him before letting out a small yawn.

“Did you not sleep well last night?” He asked, looking over at you in concern.

“Someone was snoring a bit too loud for me to sleep.” You said, loud enough for Rose to hear. She stopped and spun around to face you, face red in embarrassment.

“It’s a nasal condition! You know how I get when it’s cold!” She defended. As much as she tried to sound angry, she still had a small smile on her face.

“Love you, Rose.” You blew her a kiss, laughing at her reaction. She and Harrison turned back around and continued their conversation about who knows what.

“I think Harrison’s got a nasal condition too.” Tom whispered, making you stifle a laugh to not draw attention back to the two of you.

“Rose doesn’t even snore that loud.” You admitted quietly, “Even with your sweatshirt, I was still too cold to sleep.”

“I can give you another one when we get back. You can double up.” He offered, “But it was pretty cold last night.”

“Thanks. I’ll probably take you up on that.” You smiled softly at him. “You know, I’m really happy you came.”

“I’m happy I came, too. Thanks for inviting me.” He replied, and you nodded in response. Tom paused after a moment, stopping his tracks to look at you with furrowed eyebrows, “Wait, did you not expect me to come?”

You looked at him in confusion, before answering, “I mean I did, but-“

“But I’m not outdoorsy, so you didn’t think I’d actually be here.” Tom grumbled in agitation, beginning to walk again quickly to catch up to the group. You ran up after him.

“Is that what this is about?” You questioned, your voice unintentionally raised, “That I said you weren’t the camping type back home?”

Harrison and Rose turned to look at the two of you, and Tom just bit his tongue to keep from exploding about the sensitive subject. He knew he shouldn’t have asked, but he just felt so inadequate with Will going on and on about trees and shit.

“What is going on with you?” You questioned with a huff of frustration.

“It’s nothing. Let’s just keep going.” Tom stated, shaking his head.

“I’m not going one more step until you tell me what the hell is up.”

“What’s the hold up?” Will called back when he noticed the stop in your hike. Tom went to step forward to continue the journey, but missed his footing on a particularly slick patch of leaves. 

A collective, concerned shout came from you and Harrison as Tom hit the ground. He groaned in pain, and Rose came to his side. All frustration at him slipped out of you as worry flooded your system.

“Tom, oh my god- are you okay?” You asked.

“I think I rolled my ankle.” Tom said, cradling his ankle in his lap.

Rose looked at it briefly, no noticeable swelling or bruising yet. “Can you stand on it?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” He replied before pushing himself to his feet. He bit back a grimace, standing on his ankle as normal, and you didn’t seem to be the only one to notice it. “Let’s finish the hike, yeah?” 

“You’re not hiking on that.” Rose shook her head with a small laugh.

“I don’t want to hold you all back. I can manage it, really.”

“It’s fine. We’ll continue on. Y/N can lead you back.” Jane spoke up, a little smirk playing on her lips.

“I’ll go with.” Harrison offered.

“As the house nurse, I feel obligated to walk back with him.” Rose added, and you caught the blush that touched her cheeks.

And just like that, it was settled. You, Rose, and Harrison would walk back with Tom, who was doing his best not to limp, which everyone saw through. Rose and Harrison made conversation the whole walk back, while you and Tom just stayed awkwardly silent. By the time you all made it back to the house, he still hadn’t spoken to you. You went to put away your hiking gear and found Tom a few minutes later, sitting on the porch as he looked at the forest before him, an ice pack on his elevated ankle to help with potential swelling.

“I meant what I said.” You spoke up quietly as you sat in the chair beside him. When he just continued to look straight ahead and not physically acknowledge your presence, you continued, “I am really happy that you’re here, Tom. I didn’t say that because I didn’t think you’d want to come. The only reason I wouldn’t expect you to come is because you’re always busy. I guess what I really meant was that I’m grateful you were able to make time for me this week, especially because I know the countless other, more fun things you could be doing right now. It really means a lot.”

After another brief silent moment passed between the two of you, he looked over at you with a small frown on his face. “Why would you think I wouldn’t make time for you?”

“Like I said, you’re busy. You do one movie after the other, and I feel like we hardly see each other anymore. It’s,” You trailed off, searching for the right word, “comforting that you’d want to spend your free time with me.”

“You’re my best friend. Of course, I’d want to spend time with you.”

You knew his words were sweet and that he meant every single one of them, but you still felt a small, subtle twist in your gut.  Another unnatural silence fell between the two of you until Rose came outside like a true savior.

“We’re planning on making s’mores tonight, are you down?” She asked, a cheery smile on her face.

“I’m offended you’re even asking me that.” You stated, and she rolled her eyes at you. You turned to Tom, smiling, “You’re going to love them. Just don’t burn yourself.”

“Burn myself?” He looked at you as if you were crazy, making you laugh.

“Don’t scare him.” Rose teased, “Besides, my money’s on Harrison burning himself first.”

“I heard that!” He called from inside the cabin through the screen door.

Just as Rose was about to leave to go back inside, Tom spoke up, raising his hand a little, still confused, “How do you burn yourself on s’mores?”

Several hours later, he got his answer.

“Ow, fuck, shit, ow.” Harrison cursed, dropping his burnt marshmallow into the dirt.

“That’s how.” You laughed as Rose clinked her s’more against yours.

“How do you know when it’s ready?” Tom asked, eyeing the marshmallow at the end of his stick. He slowly rotated the stick in his hands just as you had told him to do.

“Golden brown are the best, but they’re tricky to make because you can burn them instantly, which is what Harrison did.” You teased your blond friend beside you before taking a bite of your perfect s’more and turning back to face Tom on your other side. “Burnt ones aren’t bad, they just have a more burnt flavor, obviously.”

“So is it ready yet?” He questioned, but he was looking at you not at his roasting marshmallow.

“No,” You giggled. You finished off your s’more with another bite and scooted closer to him on the log. You placed your hand on top of his on the stick, twisting it so that the marshmallow was a few inches above the flame instead of right by the firewood. “And you just keep rotating it. You can see there’s already a gold hue to it.”

You smiled, looking over at him to find him already gazing at you with a soft smile of his own playing on his lips. The light from the campfire made his brown eyes sparkle with specks of gold.

“It’s burning!” Jane exclaimed, and you quickly retracted the stick and marshmallow, blowing out the fire on the now burned marshmallow.

“Well, it’s golden on one side, but burnt marshmallows are an essential part of the s’mores making business.” You said as you passed the stick back to Tom. You gathered the two parts of a graham cracker as well as some Hershey’s chocolate and set it up for a s’more.

“I think I need help with this part.” Tom admitted with a chuckle.

“So you put the marshmallow here.” You pointed at the graham cracker topped with a piece of chocolate. He moved the stick to put the marshmallow in its proper position, and then you put the other half of the graham cracker on top. Grasping the two graham crackers with the marshmallow in the middle, you finished, “And now pull out.”

“Hah, pull out.” Tyler laughed at the innuendo through a face full of his double stacked s’mores. Tom did as told, his eyes lighting up in excitement when you presented him his very own s’more.

“Ta-da. It’s real rocket science, isn’t it?” You joked, and Harrison elbowed you, still grumpy that he had lost his first marshmallow and burnt his hand trying to catch it.

“Burnt and fallen marshmallows are just casualties of s’more making.” Rose said.

“S’mores have to be the thing I miss most about living here— the U.K. just doesn’t do camping quite as well.” You stated, shaking your head a little in disbelief.

“How could you miss s’mores more than us?” Will asked, a playfulness in his voice, but you could recognize the serious undertones of his words.

“I’d miss s’mores more than I’d miss you.” Rose teased, saving you from having to actually think of a response.

“Hand me a marshmallow. I’m ready to try again for a golden one.” Tom said to you, and you reached over into the marshmallow bag beside you, slipping him the soft treat.

“Good luck.” You encouraged him with a laugh.

Tom’s second attempt ended up burnt as well, and you gladly ate it while he made his third one. By the time it was golden brown and ready to be eaten, Jane, Tyler, and even Will had retired for the night.

“That tastes so much better not burnt to a crisp.” Tom said, impressed by his own marshmallow-roasting skills.

“Camping heaven.” You agreed, finishing off the s’more he’d burned earlier.

Rose stood up with a small sigh, stretching her arms. “I think I might head to bed.”

“Me too.” Harrison stated, getting up after her. Tom looked at him questioningly, and you bit your lip, giving Rose a teasing look. She rolled her eyes at you, smiling to herself as she turned to head towards the cabin.

Noticing how Harrison’s hand caught hers once they were a decent distance from the campfire, you called out to them, “Good night!”

“Night!” They chorused back.

“Haz and Rose seem to have hit it off.” Tom commented once they were inside. Your eyes drifted from the dying fire up to the starry sky overhead. 

“Yeah, they really have.” You nodded, caught up focusing on the twinkling lights above you. Quietly, you admitted, “I’ll never get tired of looking at the stars.”

“I bet your neck will.” He joked, making you shake your head.

“They’re just so beautiful.” You mumbled.

“Really beautiful.” You heard Tom murmur under his breath. Your eyes flickered over to him, noticing how he was definitely staring at you and not the stars in the sky. When he turned to face the campfire, your eyes diverted back up to the stars, trying your best to suppress how fast your heart was racing.

“I used to know all of the constellations too. Will and I used to camp a lot, and I’d just study the stars until I fell asleep.” You confessed, attempting to strike up a conversation to keep you from your thoughts. When Tom said nothing in reply, a small sigh escaped your lips, and your eyes trailed back down to Tom beside you. Staring right into the dying campfire, he looked deep in thought.

“What’s on your mind?” You asked him, nudging him a little with your shoulder.

“It’s nothing.” Tom shook his head, but his attempts to play off his thoughts didn’t work on you. After a moment, he spoke up, barely meeting your eyes as he did so, “Did you and Will really— you know— in my movie—“ he trailed off, not wanting to finish his question. He was already apprehensive about the answer, and yet he couldn’t help himself from asking.

“In Infinity War?” You asked, laughing lightly at his question, or lack thereof. Looking up towards the sky again, you replied, “Unless you count the fastest handjob ever, no, we didn’t.”

Tom was silent, making you look back over at him. His shoulders were shaking as he bit his lip, doing his best to stifle his laughter.

“Shut up.” You scoffed, playfully hitting his arm. “It wasn’t like you were dying in the scene or anything. You weren’t even on the screen.”

“I didn’t say anything.” He insisted, before breaking into a fit of laughter, unable to contain it any longer. In that moment, you felt complete tranquility. Tom’s laughter broke through the silence of the atmosphere, making your heart flutter in happiness. His eyes were shut, and you could count every crinkle by his eyes. With the fire illuminating his features just right, he was positively glowing. If you wanted any moment to last forever, it was this one. Tom settled his laughter, “Sorry, I shouldn’t be laughing, but it’s just-” He paused, and his smile faltered momentarily, “It’s a relief.”

“A relief?” You repeated before you could help yourself, and Tom realized his words.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, thinking on his feet of an explanation, “It would’ve been really awkward if I was dying, and you and Will- yeah.” He stopped himself short, and a comfortable silence overcame the two of you.

“How’s your ankle feeling?” You asked, not wanting the conversation to end. If it ended, then that meant the night was over and your precious alone time with Tom was over.

“It’s fine, now. Honestly, it didn’t hurt that much.” He replied with a bit of a nod. You watched as he sucked in a tight breath, “I’m sorry about what happened earlier on the hike. I got frustrated and a little jealous. I was so determined to prove that I could be like Will that I just ended up being a dick.”

His words took a moment to sink in, but you found a small smile breaking over your face as you understood the layers of their meaning. You reached out and touched his knee. Softly, you admitted, “You have no reason to be jealous over Will. I’d never want you to be like him. The main reason that I broke up with him was because, well, he’s not you.”

You could see Tom think about your words for a moment before, ever so slowly, he started to lean in. Tom’s lips seemed to fit perfectly with yours, tenderly moving in sync as you both caved into your suppressed feelings. With one hand cupping your cheek, Tom’s other hand moved to your waist, pulling you in closer to him. You paid no mind to the uncomfortableness of your position on the log, too lost in the kiss to think straight. For the second time that night, you wished that this moment would last forever.

But it came to a quick, bittersweet end as Tom pulled away. His face stayed close to yours, his breath fanning over your face. A smile crossed his lips, “That took us way too long.”

“Way, way too long.” You agreed. He went to pull you in for another kiss, but the sudden cold of the dying fire pulled you two back to reality. Almost reluctantly, you said, “I guess we should probably head inside.”

It was far too cold for either of you to want to stay outside without the comforting heat. Gathering the food and putting out the last of the fire, you two walked back to the cabin, hand in hand.

“Thank you for the s’mores.” Tom said quietly to you, aware that most likely everyone in the cabin was sleeping. He placed the last couple bags of marshmallows and graham crackers on the kitchen counter (the chocolate was all eaten long ago), and you made a mental note to take care of it in the morning. 

“Any time.” You joked softly. Tom leaned in to give you a quick, but just as sweet good night kiss.

As he made his way over to the stairs, he spoke up again, “Don’t get too cold tonight.”

“Good night, Tom.” You laughed lightly, turning towards your bedroom door.

“Good night, Y/N.” 

With one last exchange of soft, sleepy smiles, you both turned to go your separate ways.

When you entered your quaint cabin room, you were met with Rose’s snores, a sharp contrast to your favorite sound that was Tom’s laughter from moments ago. You quietly maneuvered around the room, getting ready for bed. A smile ghosted your lips as you tugged on Tom’s hoodie. The familiar warmth and scent enveloping you comfortably.

You waited for sleep to overcome you on the cold bed; it felt like hours (when really, it was probably only ten minutes) before you finally decided to get up. With a small sigh, you shuffled out of the bed. Maybe the couch would give you more peace than your shared room.

As you made your way out of your room, you heard a door downstairs open. Curiously, you peeked down the staircase to see Tom emerging from the bathroom, in nothing but basketball shorts.

“What are you still doing up?” Tom asked you with his voice just above a whisper. You silently made your way down the stairs until you were in front of him.

“Couldn’t sleep. The room hasn’t gotten any warmer since last night.” You admitted, subconsciously crossing your arms.

“Come here.” Tom slowly uncrossed your arms, taking one of your hands loosely in his. He led you to his room. The door creaked open and shed some light into the dark bedroom. Wordlessly, he brought you over to his bed and dropped your hand to shuffle the blankets.

“What about Haz?” You whispered as Tom slipped into his bed, laying sideways and as close to the wall as possible to make some room for you.

“It’ll be fine.” He reassured you. You slid into the bed, finding comfort under the blankets. You laid on your side facing Tom, and it was then that you realized just how small the twin bed was— you two were close enough to each other that you could feel his minty breath fan over your cheeks, which still made you nervous even though just ten minutes ago he’d kissed you.

“We’re never going to fall asleep like this.” You teased softly. Tom let out a quiet laugh, shuffling so he was flatter on his back, giving you room to lay in his arms. With your head pressed to his bare chest and his strong arms circling around you, you finally found warmth.

“You’re really warm.” You mumbled into his chest, snuggling into his embrace and letting your legs tangle comfortably with his. It wasn’t the first time the two of you had cuddled, but it was the first time the two of you have cuddled on a tiny bed and with him being shirtless.

“Makes me the best cuddling partner.” Tom mumbled, his chest shaking lightly underneath you as he chuckled. You hummed in agreement, a smile forming on your face.

“Do you two ever shut up?” You heard Harrison question from the bunk above you.

“Do you always have to ruin a perfectly good moment?” Tom replied, and you subconsciously snuggled deeper into his embrace.

“I better not wake up in the middle of the night to noises.” He grumbled. The bed shuffled as he flipped over in his bed to get comfortable.

“Haz, that’s just you snoring.” You teased. He muttered something incoherent and you whispered to Tom, “Let’s wait until he starts snoring and then move his mattress to the lake.”

“Deal.”

Unfortunately for you but luckily for Harrison, you drifted off quickly, listening to the sound of Tom’s heart beating underneath you. You couldn’t help yourself; he made for the best pillow and the best heat source.

The next morning, you woke up with a start, hearing a loud thud from right beside you. Blearily, you leaned over the edge of the twin bed to find the source of the sound; when you saw a groaning, half-asleep Tom on the floor below you, a fit of laughter overcame you. The blankets were falling off the bed, all tangled up in his legs.

“Did you fall off the bed?” Harrison asked, even though all three of you already knew the answer, and you looked up to see him peering over the edge of the bunk bed.

“It’s not funny.” Tom muttered, frowning in faux annoyance at your continued laughter.

You held your hands out to him, offering to help him up even though you were in an impossible position to really help, still laying in the actual bed. Teasingly, you asked, “You got an owie?”

Chuckling, Tom reached up and grabbed your hands, pulling you off the bed. You let out a yelp as you landed on top of him, in a similar position to just last night. Your legs subconsciously fell on either side of his to somewhat straddle him, and you lifted yourself up on the palms of your hands to look down at him properly, a smile etched on your face. The familiar intoxicating pull from last night returned; you almost forgot Harrison was in the room— key word, almost.

“Get up before I come down there and join in.”

And with that, you quickly got off of Tom, and he scrambled to his feet. As Harrison came down the bunk bed ladder, you and Tom put the blankets back onto the bottom bed. You pondered where last night left the two of you, and you weren’t sure how to approach the subject. You were clearly more than friends, but were you more than friends in front of the others?

“What’s for breakfast?” Harrison asked, cutting you off from your thoughts. 

Over the course of the next few hours, you tried to somehow be alone with Tom to talk things over. It felt odd how things ended last night— not a bad odd, but odd nonetheless. Between the guys going for yet another run and you all spending time at the lake together, it just seemed like the opportunity would never come.

“God, I can’t believe it took you that long.” Rose teased, a giddy smile on her face as she cut off your recounting of last night. The boys were outside chopping some firewood while you, Rose, and Jane prepared dinner.

Jane winked at you jokingly, “What was it like?”

“What was what like? The kissing?” You asked, and she nodded.

“We want all the details!”

“In all honesty, it was the best kiss of my life.” You admitted, the butterflies you felt last night returning at just the thought.

As the three of you continued to talk, coo, and gossip about the four boys outside, they were hard at work. The late afternoon summer sun was bearing down on them, and they had stripped away their shirts earlier. Tom decided very early on that he didn’t like chopping wood, even if Harrison was somehow worse at it than him. While Tom and Harrison mainly kept to themselves, Will and Tyler had their own conversations going, despite the others clearly within earshot.

“You and Jane— I don’t know how you do it. One girl for all those years?” Will commented, and Tyler laughed with a shrug.

“It’s been so long, I don’t know what I would do without her. Plus, she’s the best fuck I’ve ever had.” Tyler said crassly, making his friend laugh.

“Mine was by far Y/N.” He stated, loudly, as if to ensure that Tom would hear it. At the sound of your name, Tom and Harrison both began to listen in on the conversation.

“It’s been years. Surely, there’s been someone else.”

“Nope.” Will protested, stopping his work to lean on the axe handle, “She was supposed to come over last night, but she must’ve gotten lost.” Tom couldn’t stop himself from scoffing at his words. Hearing the sound, Will turned to face Tom, “Got something to say?”

“Yeah, I do actually.” Tom said, dropping the axe. Holding himself up straighter, he made his way closer to Will. Harrison hesitantly stepped closer to Tom as the brunet continued, “She didn’t get lost, she just had a better option.”

“Better option? You mean you?” He bit back. “Yesterday, you couldn’t even do a simple hike without hurting yourself, and you’re shit at chopping wood. You may think you’re hot shit in London, but this is my turf, movie star. I’m the one who gets the girl here.”

Harrison went to grab Tom’s balled fist, but he was too late as Tom had already swung, nailing the surprised Will right in the nose. Will responded quickly, throwing a punch back at Tom. Tyler and Harrison exchanged questioning looks, silently wondering if they should break up the fight or just let them go at it, but the pair decided the former was probably a better idea.

Aware of sudden commotion outside, you, Rose, and Jane all rushed to the balcony, wondering what could possibly be happening. The fight between Tom and Will was ending as Harrison and Tyler both successfully pulled their respective friends away from the other. Even from the distance, you could see the new bruises on Tom’s face and Will’s bloody nose; it was most likely broken, but you didn’t have it in you to care. The boys were unaware of you and the others, until Harrison looked up at the balcony. He gave you a sad smile, and Tom was next to look up. Ashamed, he didn’t dare to meet your eyes and, instead, grabbed his shirt from a nearby log and trudged his way down to the lake.

Your eyes flickered to Will, and a pit of anger flamed inside you. Just by the look on his face, you didn’t even need to question who was the antagonist. Not bothering to say a word to Rose or Jane, you marched downstairs and out to where Will, Tyler, and Harrison remained.

“What did you say to him?” You questioned Will angrily. 

“Nothing he didn’t already know.” He replied nonchalantly.

“That’s bullshit, Will. This is all just bullshit. Every chance you get, you bring up something to antagonize Tom and embarrass me. And, every time you do that, you just remind me that you’re half the man Tom is.”

“You’re acting like I was the one to start the fight. News flash, princess, your man threw the first punch.” Will said, bitterly.

You stepped closer to him, your eyes hardening, and you swore you saw fear flicker in his eyes. “Believe me, if Tom hadn’t broken your nose already, I would break it myself.”

Without another word, you turned on your heel and headed down to the lake. You knew they were all watching you-- Harrison, Tyler, and Will from the ground and Rose and Jane from the balcony. The sun was already starting to line the tops of the trees across the lake, and you felt your anger slowly dissipating as you saw Tom sitting on the dock. With his legs swinging off the edge, he looked at peace, but you knew him better than that; a storm was brewing in his head.

You didn’t say anything, and Tom made no effort to look away from his hands in his lap as you approached. Silently, you sat down right next to him at the end of the dock. Now that you were beside him, you noticed the bruise forming on his eyebrow and the cut on his lip. Will definitely got a few good shots at him, but you could tell Tom had gotten him worse. Your eyes trailed down to his hands; his knuckles were red in agony. Slowly, you reached your hand out to grab his injured one.

“It doesn’t hurt.” Tom mumbled, but you could tell he was holding back the truth. You tenderly placed a kiss on each of his red knuckles before intertwining your fingers.

“Wanna talk about what happened?” You asked him quietly, fearing if you spoke too loud the fragile moment would somehow be ruined.

“He was talking about you like you were just a good fuck and nothing more.” He replied, his voice just as soft as yours.

You couldn’t help but smile at him, your heart fluttering at the thought that he was defending you. You let go of his hand and turned to properly face him. The smile never left your face as you cupped his face in your hands. Confused, Tom asked through a laugh, “What are you doing?”

You kissed his bruised eyebrow before responding, “Well, I’ve got to kiss it better, don’t I?”

“I think you missed a spot then.” Tom pointed to his lips with a cheeky grin. You pressed a chaste kiss to the cut on his lip, before teasingly pulling away. You didn’t get far as Tom’s hand went to the back of your neck, bringing you in for another, deeper kiss. Caught up in the moment, you somehow forgot about his cut; it wasn’t until you nibbled on his bottom lip, accidentally catching the cut, that you remembered and Tom pulled away with a quiet groan.

“I’m sorry.” You said through a laugh, though you were still genuinely concerned about him. Your fingers traced lightly over the agitated cut.

“It’s okay.” He reassured you. One of his hands trailed up your arm to your own hand, and he brought it to his lips, kissing it just as gently as you had kissed his knuckles. “You’re cold.”

“Guess my personal heater isn’t working.” You teased.

“Come here.” Tom beckoned you closer to him. You slid into his side, snuggling into his warm embrace. With his arm hanging around your shoulders, you slipped your fingers through his, smiling at the ease of it all.

“I wish we could stay like this forever.” You mumbled, looking at the beauty of the lake and the sunset before you. It was like a scene from a painting, a scene you wanted to memorize forever.

Tom pressed a kiss to your forehead, pulling you in closer to him. “We can stay here as long as you’d like, darling.”

[noonegetsleftbehind]

*    knowing  your  partner  well  can  potentially  make  writing  a  lot  easier,    repost,    do  not  reblog.

                                                                                meet the mun. — basics

NAME:  J. PRONOUNS:  he/him PREFERENCE OF COMMUNICATION: I basically live on discord SINGLE / TAKEN: married 

— three facts

𝙞.  I have a tattoo of Freddie Mercury on my right wrist. so far my only tattoo, but god do I want more 𝙞𝙞.  I’m actually allergic to cats (and dogs lol), but have never not owned a cat in my life and this also does not stop me from straight up smooshing my face against a cat for smooches and loving on it.  𝙞𝙞𝙞.  I have a designer breed dog (a mix between a Shih Tzu and a Bichon) that I never intended on getting named Ziggy, but one look at him when he was a puppy and it was all over. I love him more than anything basically and can’t imagine my life without this idiot. He’s the best gift my wife has ever given me.

— experience

I have been on tumblr in some way, shape, or form since 2012. I’ve done it all from group rp, running groups, building my own groups, indie, canon, multi and OC. I’ve been in all kinds of different fandoms and wound up here in this one last year. This is where I live now. Before RP I wrote a lot of fanfic. For yeeeeaaarrrs lol. I also live on discord now too and I do a shit ton of rp there too for mutuals. 

— sub-genres

FLUFF: I love fluff! Sometimes you just need to see your muse(s) just having a genuine good time. Sometimes you just need it because maybe you yourself are having a bad day or something irl. It’s good to have, but... In reality it typically won’t last that long in a thread with me or interaction. I need to have some kind of drama or something furthering the plot. Fluff is something, more often then not for me, that just gets nicely sprinkled in between everything else.  SMUT: I will be the first to admit I love it lol. All rules apply, of course. Also? It has to be a ship I have already written or am writing currently. I also have to be pretty fucking comfortable with the mun to even consider it usually. It definitely has its place in writing and furthering plots/things. Plus, it can be pretty beautifully written sometimes. It’s an art just like any other writing.  ANGST: I like to think I am practically the king of angst. I live it. Breathe it. Welcome it. Worship it. It is my absolute FAVORITE to write. I feel I am at my best, writing wise, when I can write angst. The emotions, the drama of it all is just *chef’s kiss*. If you write with me at all, ever, expect there to be angst. That’s just how it’s gonna be. 

— plots versus memes

I think that it’s definitely easier to just jump right into memes. Sometimes some of my best ever threads and interactions have come from memes. However, that doesn’t discount the whole awesomeness that is actually sitting down to plot something out and seeing that unravel. They both have their pros and cons and I love them for both. I just tend to default to memes when a plot is hard to come up with. 

— long or short replies

Both. Both are very valid. The length isn’t necessarily indicative of the quality of the reply. As long as there is something there to go off of? That’s all there needs to be. You write what you feel is the best length for any of your replies and I do the same. Just.... Most of the time mine wind up being very long and I just hope people know they don’t HAVE to match that haha. 

— best time to write

It’s honestly a crapshoot for me lol. In the past I have done the majority of my writing late at night or at least at night. I find the night hours to be pleasing to my creative soul. However, I do sometimes go to bed like a normal human and wake up at normal hours so writing happens sporadically then. It just really depends on the day for me.

𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙚𝙙: Actually stolen from the always lovely giver of slutty cookies @fasciinating 𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙜𝙞𝙣𝙜: @fcrrokinetic​, @agntkennedy​, @seeksbrother​, @facetedspades​, @lawfulchaotics​, @bratfield​, @bastardsunlight​, @vehxmence​, @solemnxodium​, @captainredfields​, @nightlyvisitor​, @daughterofnero​ and any of you beautiful mutuals <3

[freebooter4ever]

i’ve seen the discussion going back and forth on boundaries and sexual objectification, and i don’t have much to add to the conversation other than to say everyone is allowed to determine their OWN ‘lines’ and just because we don’t vocalize them doesn’t make them any less valid. but here’s the limits i set for my blog if anyone feels it is important for them to know (<3):

personally I consider ‘characters’ fair game for anything goes, with ‘public personas’ a little more iffy. ‘RPF’ isn’t new - it just takes on a new more accessible/visible form nowadays. i remember reading my first fic about a ‘real person’ back in my LOTR fandom days - it was a story in first person perspective about the main character meeting orlando bloom on a plane before he was ‘famous’. like a lot of these types of stories, it wasnt so much about the person as it was about the meet cute. the actor was just a convenient placeholder with a handsome face and some personality quirks thrown in to make the romance/dialogue more specific. i personally dont read much xReader fic nowadays, but mostly only cause i’m an old fart who can’t relate to the ‘you’ format. i miss the good old days when people actually created OC’s and then inserted them into things LOL. but also LOL if you think i’ve gone an entire year of quarantine without some imagined personal fantasies of joe mazzello (or steve aoki in the years before)(ramilicious can attest to this. she can also attest to most of these fantasies ending in friendship rather than anything explicit cause that’s just how i roll these days lol). the line i draw is i would never post these types of fics in a place where the subject could accidentally find them - you have to go looking for this stuff on tumblr, most fics are given explicit ratings and under read-mores. with the blacklist tags it’s pretty easy to filter things out. its even easier to add filters to ao3 searches. i am NOT going to do something like message steve aoki and say ‘yeah i watched that movie Ibiza like five times, here is my 1k fic where you’re the dj and i’m the one night stand’. but obviously people still enjoy imagining scenarios like these otherwise movies like Ibiza wouldn’t exist?

for art, i consider anything already on display up for grabs, we all know a certain person’s ass is all over the place...all you have to do is google ‘need for speed’ and rami’s name. HOWEVER, in the case of actors i personally would not draw anything more explicit than what’s already there. i’m not gonna draw full frontal nudity for rami (unless he gifts us with it in a movie, i suppose) or anyone. this is 100% a personal choice for me. 

i was a sophomore or junior in college when i volunteered as a figure drawing monitor where i’d time the nude model’s poses and help them set up the stage and lighting and such. there was this one guy in his mid forties probably, a regular who came every week, and i always thought of him fondly till one day (the day after i ran into my Hot Programming TA during dinner and later sent him an email begging him to go on a date with me because i was desperate for kissing experience)(and Hot Programming TA emailed me back within minutes saying yes) this artist guy who i saw all the time and thought i knew fairly well, decided to draw me instead of the model. which would have been fine except he drew me naked. i was NOT naked at the time, i was wearing a shirt, and a bra, and a full prairie skirt with alternating calico and floral patterns. he drew what he imagined was underneath all that. he came up to me after the figure drawing session and showed me his drawings and told me i had been ‘glowing’ and my response was to laugh it off awkwardly and get the hell out of there as soon as i gave the model their pay check. but inwardly i was thinking a) i was NOT glowing for this creepy man twice my age and b) i did NOT give him consent to sexualize my body under my clothes and then SHOW me that objectification. i never said anything to him or anything else, i continued to be the monitor, and i continued to field off creepy advances from him including multiple job offers, but when i finally realized i could just...stop..and i passed the student volunteer monitor job on to my friend naeem, i also realized that what that older male artist did was NOT ok in my book. and it was probably not something he would do while naeem was monitoring.

nowadays im working in an industry that regularly objectifies female bodies. in the past year alone i have had to deal with requests to make breasts bigger, i have been given character rigs that in addition to the usual elbow, knee, and spine joints also have ‘nipple’ joints but ONLY for the women (to make them jiggle for animation), every time i send out a female pose i get it back with notes that push it further into the sexy type of body language reserved for women (twist the spine more! sway the back more! give it ‘energy!’), i have been told to erase wrinkles and fat and pores but ONLY for the women (men you ADD pores bc realism! and manliness!) and this is all me working for a company that is actually fairly progressive in terms of sexism compared to OTHER studios.

like it or not, sexual objectification is a huge part of specifically women’s lives and how we react to that is our business. for me, turning the tables and putting men on display feels like fair’s fair. i cant stop the men from doing it, so if i want to enjoy sexualizing male bodies, damn it im gonna! like dang it, boy do i want to send steve aoki a thank you note every time he posts a video of himself doing those ice baths during the sunset golden hour bc holy shit gorgeous or working out in his gym wearing VERY little clothes, but i dont because i know what its like when someone imposes their personal fantasies on the subject. or, god, there was that time i had to unfollow nicole’s insta for a while bc i had a very explicit dream about her and realized, shit, i need to take a break and get my emotions under control before i can refollow. and god some of the stuff i see dudes sending her during her live videos on mental illness/meditation is TOTALLY gross and not something they should be confronting her with. and she’s not even ‘famous’ famous. or how some fans send their idols explicit direct messages without consent. THAT feels inappropriate to me.

a part of me feels like i shouldn’t have to defend this. men don’t. they’re even encouraged in mass media to sexualize women. but i also recognize the importance of talking about consent. the importance of recognizing that a celebrity deserves to have their boundaries respected. these are my lines in fandom. other people have different lines they won’t cross, and that’s okay to me. i block or blacklist any blogs or tags i think go over the top.

heck, even in fandom-only spaces i still try to keep my own more sexual fantasies off this blog and only in private messages with my friends and mutuals, and i feel like that might come across as unintentionally prudish or judgmental sometimes. i’m not ‘horny on main’ very often. but like...every time i reblog that particular ‘washing machine’ gif of joe mazzello am i thinking about him naked and thinking about how he’s got very loooooong feet, and ‘gee i wonder if that means /other/ things are Too Big for my tastes’ but also ‘gosh wouldnt that make a pretty picture to draw’???? hell yeah.

i dont know who is gonna actually read this essay but yolo i guess :)

[fuzziemutt]

Do You Understand ?

Chapter 4/9 - Link to MasterList in reblog

Summary: Okay maybe not telling anyone anything wasn’t such as a good idea... Especially your dad the guy who’s job is to investigate things...

Tw: dissociation caused by trauma response.

The signing process didn’t last long. The landlord was fairly straight to the point, and she couldn’t know that he had already finished reading the pages set in front of him before her explaining what the rules were and what needed to be signed. She didn’t seem to comment on Connor’s lack of emotional responses to things or how his face appeared to be stuck in perpetual angry limbo. In fact, she seemed to be more understanding than any of his “friends” were and not taking offense when his attention wandered elsewhere when she droned a bit about policies he already knew. She even smiled at him at one point and it was weird to Connor how he just realized how rarely anyone smiled (most from Nines) so genuinely at him without hidden intentions. 

Afterwards, he retrieved the keys from her and hiked up the singular bag to head upstairs to the 4th floor for his room. He caught a sadness and sympathy in her eyes that he really wasn’t sure where it was coming from. Was she humanizing him? Makes sense with this beanie hiding his LED, but he still couldn’t decipher what she was assuming about him. He pushed it from his mind as he unlocked the door and walked in, locking it behind. 

He wasn’t sure what he expected. It was very barren, desolate with all the lights shut off like this. The sun was already starting to set and began casting long shadows inside. He didn’t mind since he could just see in the dark, but it felt lonely like this. He turned on the main living room light at the least since the apartment was open planned with only a small island wall separating the kitchen. Two doors on the far end were assumed to be the bedroom and bathroom. On the right were fairly large windows to let light in in the morning and there was even a slim door that led out to a small patio with railing of sorts that might be able to house a plant or two at most. There were even two storage closets near the door and near the kitchen, that one actually contained a washer and dryer duo unit now that he thinks about it. He knew he knew the actual layout of this place with no problem, but he just didn’t care. It didn’t matter much to him really. As an android, he really didn’t need much to work with, just his charging port that he packed with him if he was honest. Or at least he’d make sure that was all he needed.

Trying one of the further doors, he found the bathroom, bare minimum with tub, toilet, sink and small wall mirror. The bathroom was also connected to the room through their shared wall so he just used that door to go into the bedroom. It was big enough to hold maybe a standard bed and small dresser at most but again that didn’t bother him. The wall had one of those in built closets like Hank had and it somehow flares the pain that had settled low in his abdominal cavity and refused to leave. It didn’t matter because he was doing this to protect himself and make everything easier for everyone else. This was to make it far easier to separate himself from everyone. To hide. So he plopped his bag down and set about unpacking his very pathetic amount of items. Tomorrow he’ll deal with furniture truly; he’ll most likely just order it online and figure out pick up/delivery then too. 

He relaxed a bit against one of the walls when his internal phone started ringing again. Hank. Shit. 

“Hello, Lieutenant.”

“Hey, Connor.” Oh that didn’t sound good. He had that stern voice put on, like a dad about to lecture his kid.

“What can I offer you with this call,” Connor really wasn’t sure where to go with this.

“So I called Markus when I got home.”

“Mhm.” The alarm bells in Connor’s head went off. He knew relying so heavily on miscommunication would backfire. Idiot. 

“And asked him about that little meeting you supposedly had today to ask if it would be alright if I came by to pick you up so you weren’t going home alone. Since you told me about that little worry of yours earlier.”

“Yes.” Connor felt the panic start to rise inside him a bit, his voice kept leveled and his face calm, but internally? Freaking out.

“Where are you, Connor?” and there it was. He was fucked. Okay lying would be the stupid thing to do right now.

“I’m at New Jericho, I’m not sure what you’re asking?” Connor auto replied. He needs to do a diagnostic on that top notch Social Relation Protocol. 

“Oh really,” Hank’s voice turned low, “Don’t fucking lie to me right now unless you want to dig your grave deeper, Connor.”

Connor stayed silent worried his auto replies might do just that.

“Hmm well Markus also told me an interesting tidbit. Apparently yesterday you blew up on everyone and fucked off. Heavy topics and no big deal, my ass!” Connor could tell that Hank was getting riled up. 

“Where. Are. You. Connor,” Hank said with much more aggression after Connor continued to stay silent. 

Connor really didn’t know what to say. Hank was bound to find out he so unceremoniously moved out, he wasn’t sure why he was even hesitating right now to tell him that. 

“I noticed this morning that your clothes were missing from the bathroom, and I found it odd, but I just assumed you moved them. Yet when I got back home and actually started looking, I noticed that it seems all your stuff is gone! Even the fucking manta ray plushie is gone!” 

Connor really didn’t know why he thought Hank wouldn’t notice this quickly especially since he was already suspicious of Connor since this morning too. He took a deep breath to prepare himself for what was about to happen. 

“WHERE-”

“I’m in my apartment,” rushed out of Connor in one synthetic breath. 

Hank didn’t answer for a couple seconds. “Your apartment…”

“Yes.”

“When the fuck have you had an apartment? In fact, how do-”

“Just last night.” Connor focused on just trying to keep calm. He could do this. He was an interrogator. Just treat this as an interrogation. 

“Last night… and when did you think you’d tell me about this?! Did you think you could just book it with your shit, and I wouldn't notice!” Hank could be loud when he wanted to be. And honestly, Connor did think he wouldn’t care enough to notice for at least a day or two. It’s not like Connor owned that many items in the first place to notice gone as proven by the sad bag slumped next to him on the floor.

“I knew you would notice, but I was uncertain on how to approach the topic. I thought I would have more time to tell you, but I assumed wrong.” 

“Damn right you assumed wrong! How could you not understand-” 

Connor didn’t even register whatever was said next. He heard that accursed word and felt himself shut down. The panic receded just as quickly as the tsunami of that same anger from yesterday overwhelmed him in seconds. 

“Don’t say that word,” He didn’t even notice he murmured anything from the haze surrounding him until Hank went silent and asked a far quieter “what?” than his prior volume. 

“Don’t say that fucking word,” Connor stated far louder. He distantly felt how tense his whole body seemed to have become, fists trembling and he wouldn’t doubt his LED was burning bright red under the beanie he still had yet to remove. 

“I don’t understand. What word?” Hank asked, confusion clear in his voice. There also seemed to be a bit of concern that Connor’s system registered, but he ignored that as that was impossible.

Connor couldn’t handle it, the feelings inside were too much, and he didn’t want a repeat of yesterday. He could control himself. Cyberlife drilled into his head how he had to stay calm and in control at all times. He can’t fail this simple rule. 

So he simply shut everything down. He quickly quarantined everything. He immediately cut his call with Hank as it was his source of stress. He needed everything to shut down. To not think. Hank kept trying to call him back, to get some sort of answer, but it was too late. Connor disconnected from everything and felt himself float off. This was much nicer, just not aware of anything. That anger and panic was all gone. The guilt too. He was just existing, his body’s eyes stared unblinking, unmoving at the wall ahead. Sure it was dangerous how he wasn’t able to register anything nor had any clue where he was anymore, but it was quiet.

Eventually, he slowly returned to his body. Became aware of the twitching of his fingers, the gentle rise and fall of his chest, the sounds of cars passing outside below him. He blinked and came back into himself looking around and noticing it was far darker than before. Checking his internal clock showed that he lost 2 hours to whatever that was. He couldn’t help the annoyance he felt from apparently having another malfunction happening to him. The anger and emptiness from yesterday weren’t necessarily a malfunction, but he shouldn’t be able to lose control of himself like that (thus he was malfunctioning). He lost control of himself in a different manner here and still felt himself almost floating even now. Checking his notifications revealed countless number of missed calls from Hank, Nines, Mark, even North and numerous texts and internal messages, but he just ignored them again. He clearly needed to cut himself off from them all. They were causing him to glitch and fail like this by overwhelming him beyond his control. He can’t let that happen.

After some shuffling, he managed to set up his charging port, plugged himself in and set himself into stasis.

[rpbetter]

You make some really good posts!! Can I ask something about DNIs? I know it's not directly RP-related, but I have trouble as an RPer with how many DNIs, with urls, there are now. I try not to interact with muns who have them, I block them, because it feels manipulative? But I'm also tempted to block people who follow those muns, because they probably think their DNIs are okay to have, so they're still "bad", just not as bad? Do you think that's overkill, am I shooting myself in the foot?

Oh, thank you! I'm very happy you've enjoyed them!

And, of course, ask anything at all!

I think, ultimately, the answer to whether that's overkill is entirely dependent on what your experience is and if you're happy with it. I don't think it is overkill at all, but if you feel like it is costing you too many mutuals, it might be overkill for you.

I'm a pretty insular RPer, I like a handful of close writing partners that I write a lot of threads with, so, having something like, under ten writing partners is great for me while it's miserable for other muns. I can go wild on blocking and not have it negatively impact my enjoyment, but I know that's not the case for everyone!

And I do, actually, I do go pretty wild with the blocking when it comes to things like DNIs. If it comes off as policing to me, not just something like a difference of opinion or a strong opinion on something, I'm going to block. Otherwise, it's just recognizing that this isn't a mun I'm going to work out with, but no hard feelings. With policing though...I don't want that anywhere near me or my mutuals, so, it's going to be a block.

Because they do tend to be in these odd, like, nested situations lol I totally will spend the effort if their DNI is bad enough to look at the muns they interact with and make sure I don't have future contact with them either. The RPC is such a big place, making it easier to forget URLs than to remember them, but it's also a place where we establish circles of contact, making it easier to run into the same group repeatedly. I feel like it's better for my peace of mind to be a little more certain than not at all that this isn't going to happen as easily.

If that DNI etc. has been so awful, I definitely don't require their mutuals professing the same beliefs as loudly as they are. If you interact with someone, maybe you don't know their pet fish's name or the obscure lore in a headcanon they posted five years ago or the rule they updated without telling anyone, but you do know what is on their pinned post or blog description or rules. At some point, we all visit each other's blogs in dash-view if nothing else when we're getting replies or checking for memes they might have posted, going through their tags, whatever. I do not believe that you're mutuals who reblog from each other often, reply frequently to each other, ship each other's muses and so forth, and all this time, you've somehow failed to notice your bestie mun is telling proshippers to die in their DNI lmao

No, you've seen it. And I find it extremely hard to believe, too, that it's never come up in conversation OOC either.

So, this hypothetical mutual is so oblivious to others, completely agrees with the other one's views while not feeling confident enough to share them publicly, or is scared enough of the other one that they won't disagree...and no matter which/which combination that might be, they're not a mutual I want.

Especially when it comes to a DNI with someone's URL in it. Hard pass on anyone who is okay with that!

If I visited a writing partner's blog, let's say this person is also my closest friend, I value them and the threads I have with them so much, and I saw that in their DNI they had dropped someone's URL? We would have to talk. I'd have to bring it up because it's the right thing to do (and would also be highly out of character for any of my friends, thus very concerning). There would have to be a question posed about what happened here, why did you feel like this was a good choice, and do you think it's increasing or lessening the problem to have that there?

Honestly, sometimes people do get so upset about something that has happened that their worst impulses are let loose freely. When you ask someone you have an established relationship with about that, unless you're being really hateful about it right off, it can help them settle down, take a step back, and see that this is maybe not the right action to take. To me, silence says you're okay with it.

When muns started putting more elaborate DNI's in, that alone rubbed me the wrong way because I genuinely do not think that the majority of that information is at all necessary. It's something I can see and fully understand minors doing, not because they're terrible or anything but because the impulses and rationale are just different. You're very much geared to be as loud as possible about things that are important to you, making them a part of you in a huge way, as a teenager. Shit just is unreasonably intense! But as an adult, I expect that behavior to be different. You don't actually need to say on your RP blog's DNI that "transphobes WILL be blocked!!!"

Well, yes, I should hope so lol we're a community filled with muns who are trans, I'd certainly hope you were not cool with that kind of thing. It's one of those assumptive states, it goes without saying because, in a group of legitimate adults, it literally doesn't have to be said that a trans mun in a group of trans muns in a RPC filled with trans muns would be intolerant of transphobic assholes.

And, no one likes a damn transphobe, it's not like this stunning, fresh information, here. Not making such a statement does not, in fact, act as a welcome.

Saying that, and I do not mean literally just that, it's just an example of the type of things found in a common DNI, is a little immature for me. Some of those things are, in addition to being purely self-validating: playing into the fear created by policing, virtue signaling, policing, or baiting. And all of them are pointless. Telling someone who would already be bigoted toward you and others to not interact if they somehow miraculously ID as whatever label that takes for them to not interact with your posts is waving a metaphoric red flag in front of a bull. Kind of like tagging a post as either "antis don't interact" or "proshippers don't interact." Actual quickest and most assured way to get that interaction!

I totally understand the age thing, it's self-protecting. Most people do respect it, but when they don't, you've clearly stated that this is not for whatever age group. Things pertaining to your writing and/or muse I also understand and think are great for a quick glance before someone even gets to the rules. Having in a DNI something like "muns who are easily triggered by gore" when you write a horror muse, for instance. You're advising them that this isn't a great idea for them, and it shouldn't be expected that you change your muse and topics because they decided to follow anyway.

But it became excessive very quickly, and there is the expectation that blogs have a DNI. The further expectation is that there be a specific list of things found in that DNI, if yours does not include it, you obviously don't have a problem with those things. I really cannot be okay with that, you know?

However, when it wasn't being used as a callout or a way to police, that was something that could just be ignored. Once URLs of other RPers started to appear, it was a whole other problem.

It used to be the pervading rule of the RPC that it is not alright to force other muns to chose between you and another mun that you had an issue with, but now we have DNIs with other muns' URLs in them. Now, it's the opposite take - if you have an issue with a URL being dropped in a DNI, or if you continue to interact with the mun, you're likely to get a callout or be on the receiving end of other bullying.

So, I very much think the self-insulating thing to do is to avoid those mutuals as well as the RPer with the URL-laden DNI. They could just block you, but is someone who was so juvenile as to put another mun's URL in their damn DNI going to be mature enough to do that? Will their friends once they complain about you? For me, it's too high of a risk of being around muns I wish would take a very long break from RP and only come back once they've grown up some.

I would never advise anyone to do something that is erring on the side of getting them into harassment water unnecessarily (as in, not something that pertains to digging in your heels and writing what you want or not tolerating bullying where you see it happening), and I feel like not doing what you are is that. However, I also am a firm believer in agency, even to make mistakes.

So, if you genuinely feel like blocking mutuals of someone with a URL-dropped/callout/other highly offensive and bullying thing in their DNI is costing you so many chances to RP that you're no longer enjoying yourself here? You might want to consider adjusting how widely you are blocking.

If that's the case, try going for mutuals who are what I call Casual Mutuals and leaving them open. Those are mutuals that the mun doesn't write with often or at all, they're technically mutuals because they both follow each other, but that's it. There might be some liking of posts or even comments or non-committal, OOC style memes sent in by Casual Mutuals, but that interaction is sparse and, yep, casual. These mutuals might legitimately be unaware of the mun's hateful, bullying bullshit in the DNI, or they are actually afraid to unfollow/block them at this point, so their option feels like staying around as quietly as possible.

With that last deal...you could even be doing someone a favor, Anon. When I've encountered that situation before, it's come about because the other person's Casual Mutual is painfully anxious, shy, and a previous victim of bullying. They feel isolated, they don't have many or any writing partners, and they really, truly, are terrified to distance themselves in a way that might be noticed. It's a type of toxic interaction that rarely gets mentioned in PSAs, presumably because it is so low on the actual interaction scale.

Giving them someone else in their corner, especially if that other mun is more open about their intolerant stance on bullying, can go a long way toward giving someone else confidence. I've had other people's Casual Mutuals become my Casual Mutuals and wouldn't you know it? After a while, they get braver. They see my friends and mutuals doing our thing without any of the bullying going on, they see us supporting anti-policing and not tolerating bullying, and they get brave enough to unfollow the hateful mun. It feels nice to even inadvertently help someone, and over the years, some of those Casual Mutuals have become great writing partners, too. People I would have missed if I had made the choice to block them by the association of a hateful mun they were trapped in the orbit of.

Just try to exercise caution! You seem like a reasonable person who doesn't mind truly thinking on things or doing the work required to be cautious. Assume the close mutuals are a problem, too, and block away. Build a wall with some razor wire on it with those blocks! Don't assume the low-interaction, very casual mutuals are, though. Check out their blogs for signs of agreement with Hateful Mun, and if they don't have any, give them a shot as far as just leaving them unblocked goes.

I also have to say, here at the end, that it's extremely nice to see that people out there are doing this. Honestly would have thought I'd be the last person to encourage a ton of blocking, but that's the environment of the RPC now, and it's really the only way we can deal with this issue. You can't reason with these people, you can't stop them, you can only stay away from them for your own good and send a message that this isn't benefiting them. Not everyone agrees with them, they're not going to keep having people left open for their attacks or their RP entertainment. And if enough people are just walling them off, that is a message they'll have to receive because RP runs on interaction with others.

They might think they want every "nasty ass" xyz Problematic RPer to block them, not interact, or vanish from their view of the RPC, but I don't think they realize what that really looks like. What it looks like is a huge percentage of the RPC missing, including people they didn't realize were "problematic." We tend to be quieter, wanting to stay in our own lanes and actually enjoy the hobby and each other. That's why they have to resort to shit like making everyone pre-guilty, or setting up traps to catch people out on being "gross."

So, I genuinely do not think they're prepared for the rude awakening of silence that would happen if we all actually vanished, but I am dying to see it lol and do sometimes have to wonder if the complaints about the RPC being dead/dying/empty, not in a fandom but overall, are coming from the purity police some of the time. It's quite active over on the Leave Folks Alone Over Fiction side of life :D

[x-reader-theater]

Take a Chance, for the Nights are Short {2}

Relationship: Geralt of Rivia X Male!Reader

Summary: There’s something to be said about talking with your travel mates. Too bad Geralt isn’t saying much. 

Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 1,109 words

A/N: Hey there again! So I decided that I would upload all these one day after another because a. there’s little to no Geralt x Male!Reader fics out there and b. I know I’m going to forget to upload them after a few weeks, so I’m just doing it now. The second story is underway, and it won’t come out the day after the fourth chapter of this comes out (that’s how many chapters there are), and maybe not even a week but I really like this series and I have so many ideas for this, hopefully, trilogy. Please like, reblog, and let me know what you thought! Now, without further ado, Take a Chance, for the Nights are Short; Chapter 2.

Chapter: [1] [2] [3] [4]

Chapter 2: Rivia's too Nice for the Likes of You

You're walking through the woods with your new Witcher friend. Well, friend isn't the right word. Forced acquaintance is more apt for your current situation. 

"What's your name, anyways?" You turn to your traveling companion, who is riding beside you on his horse. 

"Geralt. Of Rivia," he grumbles out. He was friendlier a few hours ago, when he didn't realize the Jeweled lake was further than he thought. You on the other hand had taken his playful persona and donned it as your own. 

"Are you even from Rivia? Because I am, and you don't seem like the kind of person who would be from there," you explain, all but forgetting about your fear of the man. He looks over at you and frowns. "I mean you're so… well, you're so mean! I've never known anyone from Rivia to be this mean!" He goes to open his mouth to speak, but you interrupt him. "But I mean, I've also read that Witchers would choose a name, to seem more trusting to those they came across. Did you choose that name, Geralt of Rivia? Or are you actually from there? You know I read-" 

"You read a lot for a would be knight," Geralt growls out in frustration. "Maybe you should become a librarian instead." 

"Yeah well, you see, I tried that-" you lean over on your horse so you're closer towards him as you whisper, "That's where I read all the books-" you lean back so you're sitting upright in your horse once again, "And After I read every book in the library I got bored and wanted to do something exciting. I read a book from a poet while I was working in the library about knights and being a knight and I thought, 'how amazing would it be to become a knight and go on all these quests,' so I took the Knight's test and here I am!" You throw your arms out wide and grin at Geralt from underneath your helmet. You know he can't see it, but he'll hear it in your voice. "Well, I didn't just take it once, I took it about 500 times. Well, 497 to be precise. Every single day for almost two years." 

Geralt has his eyebrows raised again. "You've taken the Knight's test 500-"

"-497-"

"-times and they still let you in?" 

You stutter over your words, "Well-well not exactly. I'm still not in." You squint your eyes and say, determined, "But I'm going to slay this monster, and the queen will have to let me become a knight! She said so herself!" 

Geralt chuckles. You move your horse so you're riding right next to Geralt, and you lean over, sticking out your left hand to shake. You have to reach all the way across Jennis, and your body is twisted in such a way you can feel your plate armour digging into your side. "I never introduced myself. I'm Sir [Y/N]. Well, not sir yet-" Geralt shakes your hand. "But I will be soon!" You pull your hand back and turn to face the road once again. 

It's silent for a moment. You don't like silence. 

"So, is it true Witchers can do magic?" 

Geralt chuckles at you and he clicks his tongue and his horse speeds up, cantering away from you. 

"Hey! Wait!" Your heels clink on the side of your horse, and you go to catch up with him. 

--

The Jeweled Lake is about as beautiful as you thought it would be, which is to say, not beautiful at all. Maybe when it was first named it was beautiful, but you don't know how this algae-covered, glorified pond could ever be considered beautiful. You look up at the sun and see it setting, and turn to face towards the setting sun. 

"We should camp here. It'll be easier to fight during the day," Geralt says and you nod. 

"Good idea. I'm tired anyways." You slide off Jennis, the clink of your armour as you hit the ground is the only sound in the entire valley. You shiver at that. You hate the silence. 

You unhook your bedroll from your horse and lay it out as Geralt starts building a fire. You take out a few pieces of dried and salted meat from your pack and hand one to the Witcher in front of you. When he doesn't take it, doesn't even look at it, you push it further for him. "Take it. You need to eat." He grunts and grabs the meat, placing it between his teeth. "I killed that myself you know." 

He looks up at you for a moment before going back to work. "Since when were you a hunter?" Geralt asks through a teethful of dried meat. 

You stuff the meat into your mouth and start peeling out of your armour. Your sword and sheath clatter to the ground first. "That was before-" Chew, "the librarian." Chew, "And then before that-" Chew, "was the jailer. That only lasted a day." Chew, "And before that, I was a Tanner's apprentice. He got hanged though after a week of me working there." Chew, "And before that-" Swallow, "I think it was a shoemaker? I'm not entirely sure. It kind of all blurs together before the Tanner." Your last piece of armour falls to the ground with a soft clunk, and you look up at Geralt who's got a heavy eyebrow raised. You take off your helmet and drop it onto the ground unceremoniously. Your chainmail is next, and at long last you finally take off your silken shirt and fold it neatly, placing it on the haphazard pile, like a cherry on top of a shit pile. 

"That's a lot of armour for someone who's not a knight," Geralt says, sitting back on the ground in front of the fire. 

You shrug and join him, sitting on your bedroll instead of the soft ground."I made quite a bit of coin when I was working as a Tanner. There were a lot of people who needed leather for their goods, and I didn't really have a place to live, so I never needed to pay anyone for living." You run your fingers through your hair and shake your head. "I'll need to cut my hair soon…" you mumble to yourself. 

Geralt mutters to himself too, but you can't quite hear him. You lay down on your bedroll, letting the crackling sound of the fire lull you to sleep. "

"Good night, Geralt of the Witchers…" You have no idea if Geralt heard you.

[spiltscribbles]

My Saving Grace

Notes: This was written for my beautiful, sweetheart @tedddylupin as part of our server’s Spring Exchange <3 I’m sorry that this isn’t a surprise anymore but I love you and I’m sorry that this is late. I hope that you enjoy it! Thank you to the realist babe @omgcmere for dealing with my shit while writing this. You can join our server here » https://discord.gg/g2ZgKkJ

.-

A Reblog is worth a thousand stars.

.-

It’s a thick, sprinkling spring morning, and Henry’s standing outside the Matin Bleu like he’s done every Easter his family spent in the states. It’s a small, conspicuous bistro fashioned in the French model that lies in the northern Hamptons. Henry knows it’s every nook and crevice, knows the pastel tablecloths and porcelain china, and he noticed when they adopted new silverware two years earlier. He knows this place like the back of his hand, holds it synonymous to his grandmother’s ever-appraising gaze and Philip’s stiff upper lip and the way it sometimes felt like he was being suffocated by the formality of it all— by the unbridled expectations held for a Mountchristen heir. And God, this is pathetic, the fact that Henry can’t even step into a brunch with his family without the ominous sensation that he’s about to step into enemy territory. Like they were one of the new Kingpins ravaging the neighborhood streets, and he needed an actual superhero to come and save him.

“Fucking ridiculous,” he mutters to himself, pulling out his phone to check the time and see if Alex’s near by, admittedly not sure if he could face all their judgmental glances without some sort of backing.

“Your hair’s starting to get mussed.”

Henry starts, turns around to find Beatrice walking closer to him. She’s got on  a  sundress that makes it so flecks of green dance in her almond eyes and a truly massive hat that would make the British royals seethe  with envy. And Henry’s never been so thankful for the sight of her a day in his life.

“You’re late,” he chides softly, leans down for her to hug him   hello and slips his phone back in his trouser’s pocket, inwardly praying that Alex’s at the very least on his way.

“’S the pregnancy, it’s got me in shambles trying to figure out the time,” Beatrice sniffs, snaking her arm through his own as they stroll into the restaurant. Henry doesn’t care if he admits it, everything feels easier with his sister besides him.

“Don’t tell me that works on Louis, the poor sod.” Henry snorts, incredulous, as he pulls out her chair for her to sit in and greets his Grams and mother with perfunctory pecks on the cheek.

“Louis’s great with all of it,” Beatrice beams, hands moving to rest on her still barely-visible belly. “Even with the mommy brain.”

“You make sure he keeps that attitude up once diapers come around,” a cousin crows from further down the table.

“He’s sworn it,” Beatrice assures glowingly.

“Well Bea, where is Louis? Don’t tell me you’ve gone and got knocked up by an irreverent tosser?” Philip asks, passing the butter to Martha, who’s rolling her eyes at her husband’s crassness. Henry hopes she knows that she’s not alone on the annoyed by Philip boat.

“Nice to see you too Pip, it’s been too long.” Beatrice glares with a truly mutinous twisting of her lips.

“Well, answer, where is your husband frolicking around if not here with his family?” their grandmother— a woman who the queen of England had to work her schedule around to meet—  presses, voice drenched with disapproval.

Henry takes Bea’s smaller hand into his own and squeezes for support.

“He had to go to the office in the city to oversee a vulnerable account, Grams,” Beatrice answers with a level tone, squeezing back so hard that Henry swears she’s trying to snap his fingers right in half. “He’ll be here before the second course.” 

“Well, if the firm needed him that’s perfectly reasonable,” she clears her throat right then, eyes cutting over to Henry, and he knows exactly what’s coming next. The same old diatribe about how he’s such a failure, such a disgrace to the Mountchristen name. A family that’s been the crown jewels of each and every antiquity in every Major city in the western hemisphere for the past half century. How Philip’s the only one who’s adopted a good head on him, and how Henry should’ve gone into politics or the Marines or become some sort of hot shot investment banker who makes millions on the hour. Not just some frivolous writer, a damn journalist living in Soho like a bohemian tosser. (Her words precisely.)

Henry’s heard all of it before, breathes in to prepare for the worst of the tongue lashing. He’s only mildly surprised when it’s his mother who speaks up in her timid, unaffected tone to stop it before it begins.

“Let us just pick out our soups, shall we?”

“Ahem, yes. I’m famished,” Henry tacks on, gazing at her thankfully, watching as she runs a hand through her blonde hair— the same shade of his own.

“As long as there’s no onions, the little tyke won’t take even the smell,” Beatrice adds on with a small smile, and the moment passes. His Grams goes back to fuming about all she’s heard on the news, Philip’s gone back to tossing barbs with Beatrice, and Henry’s back to wishing he were anywhere but here before discretely checking his phone for the sixth time in as many minutes.

His stomach sinks at the realization that Alex still hasn’t called or even sent a text. 

“And what of you little brother?” Philip asks, tone vacant of any real interest. “You’ve been seeing a new bloke you wanted to introduce us to, haven’t you? Don’t tell me he’s already old news.”

Henry feels the furious flush spilling across his cheeks at the not so subtle implication that for some reason Henry goes through partners any quicker than he or Beatrice had at his age, and he really wishes he hadn’t gone through the standard Mountchristen indoctrination of not using a voice beyond a soft murmur in public because he’d really like to yell at Philip right about now. Yell at  him for being a beyond annoying, homophobic wanker right in front of everyone. Thankfully, the pure anger is belied by the sudden, and crippling familiarity of Alex’s voice cutting through all the rest. And it’s like Henry’s been filled with helium once he turns slightly and finally catches sight of Alex, his Alex. Alex in that dark suit that makes him look like a Brooks Brothers advert, and Alex who’s always the most incandescent  point in Henry’s world without even his realizing it. Even at the start of all of it— at the start of them, when they had first met and Alex was a god forsaken prat about everything— contrary to his core— And sure, Henry admits he was being intentionally pretentious and perhaps a wee bit waspish whenever Alex got on a soapbox and began  one of his diatribes about how heroes are the most incredible, selfless sort of folks in a community. And sure, wherever one of them pushed the other had to dig his heals in the sand and stay firm just to make a point, just to make the other work that much harder and notice him that more intensely. But the last year has incorporated  something totally knew— something uncharted and scary and dangerous— like at any moment they could step on a landmine— but its also been the most miraculous year of Henry’s life.

It’s been a year of sloppy snogs exchanged at midnight underneath a thousand polluted stars and amidst a symphony of honking city horns. A year of tangled limbs and sweaty sheets and laughter pouring out soft lips. A year of spilled hair on shared pillows and shirts tumbling together so many times that they just begin smelling like a cocktail of the both of them, together. And if he’s being honest, Henry doesn’t exactly know what this is, what it means. All he knows for sure is that he could spend the rest of his days merely parsing out all the varying shades of brown that dance in Alex’s molten eyes and he’d be content. And Henry frankly doesn’t care how utterly love sick that sounds.

“Alexander,” Beatrice— Henry’s saving grace— is the one to crow in greeting, excepting his hug before he takes the spare seat besides Henry.

“I’m so sorry I'm late,” he says with slightly labored breaths, as if he had run the entire way here. “The traffic coming up was all levels of awful.” In a tender sort of motion he quickly brings up Henry’s hand— the one he had interlocked with his own once being escorted to their table, and kisses it hurriedly.

Henry is blushing for an entirely different reason now.

“Never mind that Alexander,” Catherine waves off his excuse with a flick of the hand, a thin smile on her lips. Henry knows that Alex reminds her of Arthur, and Henry is both delighted by the notion and so sad that the only times he ever sees his mother with even a slight flicker of life to her vacant eyes is when she’s thinking of her husband who had died nearly a decade ago now. But that’s hypocritical, and Henry knows it. After all, it’s not like he’s ever going to be over that particular wound anytime soon.

“You missed the appetizer,” Philip tells him briskly.

“Perfect, I’m trying to keep this trim figure,” Alex winks and the rest of the table fall into quiet chuckles.

Henry beams, his  chest threatening to burst at the seams. THat’s his boyfriend. An insanely charming, insanely beautiful, supernova. 

Henry clamps his hand on Alex’s thigh out of view from everyone  else and they share a smile before being pulled back into conversation with Beatrice about her Mommy and Me class, and it’s all splendid.

.-

“They liked me,” Alex preens a few hours later, once everyone disperses and goes back home. The sun’s beginning to dip into the horizon and clouds are beginning to gather overhead as they walk the New York City streets, headed to Henry’s loft with interlocked hands.

“They would’ve liked you more if you weren’t so late,” Henry needles just to make a point, not actually mad. It’s kind of a set in stone characteristic of his. Alex is always, without falter, late to just about any function. It use to crease Henry— back before when they were just bickering acquaintances with a rather brutal amount of unresolved sexual tension, but now it’s kinda endearing.

“I’m sorry,” Alex says, face going a bit pale. “Luna really needed Nora and I to stay longer at the lab. That sample he collected at the bank robbery last week after The Ranker’s attack  started multiplying, like it’s a living blog thing.”

“So you’re growing some homemade mutants,” Henry snorts, knocking their shoulders together. 

“I’d really like to say that smug isn’t a hot color on you, but your ass seems to make everything work,” Alex sighs, long suffering, as he gives Henry an appreciative once over— special focus paid to his aforementioned ass.

“And I’d like to say that my boyfriend isn’t a pervert, but alas,” Henry laughs ebulliently  when Alex hip checks him, almost not noticing the buzz to his phone. It’s a message from Pez, a tip on none other than  The Ranker’s whereabouts.

“What’s up Henryson, your face is getting all weird. And not even the hot way like it does when I wear my old lacrosse uniform for sexy times.”

“I’ve got to go,” Henry says, by rote as he tries to flag down a taxi with a emphatic hand.

“I knew it, you have a secret boyfriend,” Alex snorts.

“You say that as if I could handle even one of you,” Henry counters, relieved once a cab slows down, catching sight of him.

“So the sudden franticness?”

“The Ranker, he’s over at time square making some sorta announcement.” Henry explains, swoops forwards to kiss him goodbye before swinging open the cab’s door and slamming it shut. “June would have a conniption if I didn’t get some live video!”

Alex’s expression completely drops now, sticking his head through the window and preventing the driver from speeding away as Henry would prefer. 

“Lucky for you that the dude you’re nailing is the editors brother, she’ll give you a break.”

Henry tries his hardest not to roll his eyes at him, wondering if it’ll always be a point of contention that Henry’s work practically demands that he’s at the epicenter of these showdowns between these superheroes and their villainous counterparts.

“Love, you know as well as I that  if the Harold gets a story published before us one more time your sister will have an early death from a certified aneurism.”

“You folks across the pond really like your hyperboles.”

“And you Americans really like making your boyfriends late for potentially groundbreaking news.”

Alex furrows his brows, that familiar dent of worry between them when he frowns at henry. “Promise to be safe.”

“Always,” Henry kisses the tip of his nose before unceremonially pushing him out and directing the driver to take him as close to the action as he possibly can.

~*~

Alex can’t help but watch Henry becoming a dot into the distance, silently willing him not to be dumb and not getting himself into danger. Though he’s pulled out of it by Nora and June’s frantic texting in their group chat, so with a heavy, put upon  exhale he dashes behind the dumpsters across the way and changes into the costume he always keeps in his messenger bag. Taking him five seconds to a normal person’s ten minutes.

“Have you not been paying attention, like at all!” Nora’s voice is the first to crackle through the line of his built in bluetooth, sounding beyond bothered.

“I was with Henry,” Alex says in defense, the roads become nothing more than a dust in his wake as he runs faster than what could have ever been feasible before. “June, don’t ya have any control on which reporter takes which case? Like why can’t he ever just like write something on an old lady’s kitten being rescued by a fireman.”

“Sorry baby brother, but he wouldn’t have it even if I tried, besides he and Pez are like the best duo that the Sentinel’s seen in years.” June says apologetically, and Alex can only roll his eyes. He knows that Henry is too fucking hard headed for his own good, but still, he’d rather if his completely human, and utterly breakable boyfriend weren’t trying to get himself killed every time one of these hotshot villains want to have a temper tantrum.

“Whatever, just give me the coordinates, yeah?” 

.-

It’s only been like five minutes since The Ranker began his weird tirade, but everything’s already  been swallowed into complete chaos, with people screaming, and at least six car accidents, and all topped off by the ranker’s nauseating cackles pounding through the air.

Alex gives a quick once over, sees that Henry still hasn’t made it here yet, and thanks the lord for small blessings. He’s determined to finish this quickly and with no fanfare.

“The City is infested New Yorkers! And I’m here to clean it from the vermin!” The Ranker is in the midst of shouting, but Alex can’t tell from where.

“Three buildings down from Radio City,” Nora tells him. Alex is always sorta spooked on how she could practically read his mind like that, but doesn’t have time to think on it, to busy scaling the building in question and coming face to face with The Ranker— well as much as they could be considering the whole mask ordeal.

“Ranker!” He exclaims once the man in question finally turns around, ugly smirk on his lips.

“Aw, and the greatest vermin of them all,” he says through a small mike that distorts his voice into something low and scratchy, like gravel that Alex would really like to step all over. 

“Shucks, don’t go and start complimenting me,” Alex harrumphs, swinging an uppercut to his lower jaw and dodging the kick he aims in turn. “Would you just leave us alone already!”

“Just as soon as you flee this city! And stop getting in everyone’s way!”

“Way to do what exactly?” Alex ducks when he tries to punch the side of his head, parrying with a swift kick to his ankles, but the bastard is too quick.

“This city doesn’t need you Torpedo! It doesn’t want you!” He bellows.

“Is that why I didn’t get the customary Easter fruit basket?” Alex asks, faux owlish, as he rams into him. The Ranker gathers his footing and jumps off the building. It’s of course too good to be true, and he only has to press a button midway down to land smoothly with boots that have some sort of rocket contraption built into them.

“Oh damn you.”

“Yo Alejandro!  This isn’t being filmed for VH1 so can you just snip out those one liners and just tie him up for the cops or something!” Nora says, exasperation tinged with actual worry.

“I’m trying, but he’s like in new form since last time he showed his face!” Alex defends, jumping from ledge to ledge before landing only feet behind him. At least seven cop cars have already piled up around them, and a ridiculous amount of people staying to watch. God damn it, have they ever heard of self preservation! Alex would like to call them all idiots, but then spots a glint of gold besides an actually decent cop, Amy— and he relents that they might not be actual idiots. To be frank,  Henry’s the most brilliant person he’s ever known, Even if he acts like a doofus.

“Back away!” Alex yells to the throng of onlookers and reporters and officers. “He’s armed!”

“Oy, why we aught to trust you speedster!” A nondescript man shouts from the crowd.

“Maybe because I’m the only person who’s preventing him from squishing you guys like bugs!” Alex replies, screaming now. He knows he shouldn’t let petulant folks like that get in his head, but god damn it, even while rescuing them, they can be so damn ungrateful.

“Alex from behind you!” Nora yells through the speaker, and Alex manages to duck in time when the Ranker throws a particularly hefty slab of stone his way.

“Fucking hell.”

“Are we just going to be running in circles? Or are you going to just give up before I actually have to hurt you,” Alex yells, feet planted on the ground and glaring daggers his way. 

“It’s you who will be hurt you little pest,” The Ranker cackles, brings up his fist and begins pressing a button on his black glove that shoots out a blast of heat, leaving nothing but ruin init’s wake as he begins shooting indiscriminately. First at Alex, (which he obviously dodges with ease),  and then at the building behind him, and two more at the crowds who are competent enough to divide as soon as they see it pointed towards them. 

All of them besides one person. The aforementioned glint of golden that’s too busy scribbling notes into his pad to look up, and Alex’s heart literally lodges into his throat. Like an echo reverberating out a cave he can hear Pez from over head— where he usually stands atop a balcony to get the best photos— screaming Henry’s name, and he can hear Nora and June’s dissonant shouts for him to move before The Ranker strikes again, but Alex doesn’t understand what’s going on, it’s all thanks to instinct when he catapults himself forwards to push Henry out of the line of fire— both of them dodging the blaze ever so narrowly— Alex’s costume searing with smoke— and landing in a pile of rocks from a construction scene happening across the street. 

“Ouch,” Henry mutters, rubbing the side of his head before crouching upwards.

“Are you a fucking idiot!” Alex screams, pops up defensively to guard against anything else that the Ranker decides to aim his way. Alex isn’t sure whether he’s thankful or terrified that he’s no where in sight. 

“Keep me posted if you guys track him anywhere else,” he mutters to June and Nora, breaths finally beginning to even out, despite the fact that he keeps on picturing himself moving only a moment too late and  Henry suddenly gone— like a flash.

“You got it little brother.”

“Stand ready,” Nora warns.

“I suppose I should thank you for the rescue, though I must admit that the unnecessary insult does knock you down a few points.”

Alex can’t help the small, endeared grin that cracks his face  in half, but he tries his damndest to hide it from Henry’s ever calculating gaze— His mind is made for journalism, always working to figure out a situation— measuring the facts, and interconnecting the clues for one lasting crescendo of brilliance that figures out what hasn’t been spoken out loud. Alex is mildly terrified that he’d look into  his ocean eyes and be caught out.

“What? You get rescued a lot? Have a running tally going on which Superhero deserves the crown of America’s darling?”

Alex finally turns around to him, confident in his mask having stayed in place and tempering his expression enough so that it gives off a blasé indifference— and for the record, it’s fucking difficult when it’s trained on the dude he’s in love with.

“You folks must actually  be some sort of extra terrestrial human/alien hybrid if you truly don’t know that Judie Garland could never be knocked off her perch as America’s sweetheart,” Henry sniffs loftily, goes back to his notepad, because of course he’d rather make sure his notes were all still pristine over checking if he has something as serious as a damn concussion.

“Hah, that accent isn’t exactly yankee doodle sweetheart,” Alex says with a good amount of derision, head cocked. But oh, Jesus fuck. His stomach drops out the moment Henry’s eyes go sharp and his features turn pensive when he turns to look straight at him. Alex is such a fucking idiot, using one of his primary pet names for Henry so carelessly, so thoughtlessly. 

Alex is sure that he just let a major hint of his identity drop in front of him, but with some sort of pure luck that strikes, Pez sprints over to them, breaths heaving. 

“For God’s sake Haz I saw you almost get fucking obliterated! Do you know what that wold’ve done to my psyche!” 

Henry’s face goes tight with contrition, all his attention focussed on his best friend now, and Alex sees a blessed opportunity to run off scot free. But of course things are never that easy, and right when he pivots around to race back to June’s apartment where the girl’s are surely waiting, he hear’s Henry’s voice calling for him.

“Torpedo! A moment!” He pulls away from where he was hugging Pez, and steps closer to him, face sporting that inscrutable expression it does whenever he’s particularly serious about something— the one that never fails to get Alex all hot and bothered. 

And just shit.

“Ahem, my colleague and I are reporters for the New York Sentinel. I wanted to give you the opportunity to speak on what had just played out.”

Alex frowns, confused. No reporters make it actual practice to get any sort of information from the Superheroes, it makes much more money for them just to editorialize and demagog about them to sell issues. Obviously Alex knows that the Sentinel is different, it’s headed by his own sister for fuck’s sake, and he knows that Henry is good and true. But still, it’s a surprising request.

“You could obviously stay silent and have the people equate you to that monster,” Henry shrugs— as if it couldn’t make a difference in his world. And God is he sexy all in his element like this.

“No, ah. I guess I just want  civilians to stay vigilant, the Ranker seems to be only growing in strength and resilience. I have no clue what he’s going to do next.” Alex tries to speak in his most presidential like tone, something he’s been practicing since he were a kid considering the whole his Ma’s the mayor of one of the largest cities on the planet thing.

“And I could quote you on that?” Henry asks, hand moving frantically across the page.

“Yeah of course.”

“Spoken like a true hero,” Pez tells him magnanimously and this is starting to feel real slimy— like he’s lying to them outright.

“I should go, begin mapping out what’s going on.”

“Of course,” Henry nods, straightens to his full six foot one stature. “But if you ever need help trying to predict his next move, we’re on call.” He hands Alex his business card and it takes everything Alex has within him not to burst out in laughter— as if he hasn’t had the digits memorized for years at this point.

“Will do,” he winks, but the Superman aesthetic probably crumbles when Alex accidentally trips over one of the rocks that was being thrown around before he has to gather himself and run off into the distance.

.-

In modest terms, the story published on the latest stand off between Torpedo and the Ranker completely blows up. It’s the most viral story that the Sentinel— or any New York based paper— has seen in nearly half a year. Pez chucks it up to the quote they got from the Torpedo himself, but Nora argues it’s because they plastered Henry’s face right on the byline and Alex thinks they’re both right. 

In truth, Henry doesn’t really bother figuring out why this particular story spreads like wildfire, is only proud of it because of how the article makes it so June’s face goes relieved for the first time in too long— Admittedly, Henry is also elated the morning it was released when he had gotten an actual phone call from his Grams, congratulating him for finally proving his Mountchristen lineage, soon followed up by a email from Philip that actually says he had done well. And Henry knows that neither of them should have an effect on him— especially such an impactful one— but Henry would be a filthy liar if he said he didn’t feel like he was riding on cloud nine that entire week.

But It’s begun to die down now, and Henry’s still  trying to figure out what exactly are the Ranker’s intentions for New York, and the world at large. All his subsequent attacks have been  petty crimes in comparison to trying to start an uprising. They were attempts on stealing pieces from the Met or trying to break free some inmates in one of the more unsavory prison complexes. Each one was executed by one of his henchmen, and easily thwarted by the Torpedo. It just doesn’t make sense.

Speaking of which, the aforementioned hero hasn’t once called Henry or left him any other sort of message about the offered help,  obviously wanting to go at this solo. And that’s perfectly fine, but just annoying. Henry knows it in his bones that if they just exchange information they could plot out exactly what would happen next. But whatever, Henry has more pressing issues to worry about. Namely, his and Alex first anniversary. 

Henry goes back to rearranging the breakfast tray— all of Alexander’s favorites delivered from their usual cafe a few blocks down. The both of them knowing full and well that Henry can’t cook for shit. He did however spend half the night baking and icing a small cake that’s got piped on the date of their first night out as an official couple, and Henry picked out the red and white roses— sown together by the stem and placed in a thin vase right in the center— knowing that it symbolized unity, and mutual love. If nothing else, Henry knows that he and Alex are partners through everything, honest to the core to one another and always there for the other when he needs it most.

The most important part of Henry’s world will always be Alexander, and that’s not in doubt.

Gingerly, Henry picks up the surprise, sock clad feet toeing softly into Alex’s bedroom where he’s still knocked out. He had come home from Luna’s lab so fucking late. Henry hates how hard he works for him, tells Alex as much with low complaints mouthed against his skin and caressing hands pulling him closer, and closer still every time he comes home looking a little worse for wear.

And yeah, Henry knows that they’re trying to figure out how these heroes develop their powers, knows that they hope to create immunities against it to prevent from any possible, maniacal villains. But Henry would rather it that his boyfriend didn’t look so god damn worn out near constantly. 

In a voice still quiet and raspy enough for morning, Henry tells him, “Happy one year love.” Peppering small kisses against the width of Alex’s shoulders, and slowly tracks down the dips of his spine— brushing reverently against the small consolations of freckles that dance on Alex’s hip.

Slow and groggy, Alex flips around so that they’re face to face, a hand locked in Henry’s hair and their lips barely meeting for a kiss. 

“You taste like coffee,” Alex smiles, kissing Henry that much deeper. 

“Aw, the sweet nothings you wax about me,” Henry sighs, faux aggrieved as he grabs the latte in question, making Alex sit up, the blanket pooling around their hips and their ankles intwining.

“Man if I could start everyday with a shirtless you and cup of Starbucks I swear to God I would be set  for the rest of  my life.”

“Should I be concerned that I don’t know which of those you would rather have?” Henry goads, nosing against the crook of his neck.

“Don’t be dumb,” Alex snorts, setting down the drink and curving against Henry with a tender sort of care. Henry realizes the reason for the caution when he looks down and sees how his previously concealed side is covered in bruises, ugly splatters of blue and purple that’ll fade to green and yellows in only a few short days.

“Holy shit,” Henry scrambles off the bed, nearly toppling over the breakfast he had set up. But he doesn’t care— He can’t care, not with Alex just lying there, hurt and broken and Henry can’t do a thing about it.

“What the fuck happened!”

Alex winces, like he was somehow fucking embarrassed. And no, just no. Alex can not be embarrassed over this! Okay sure, there are some funny anecdotes of him being clumsy at the lab, or Nora accidentally tackling him a little too hard against the wall. Little spoofs that left small injuries and maybe a scratch or two, but not this. Never to this level. And Henry has no idea how to comprehend it. It’s like he’s drowning, lost at sea trying to figure out how to help him.

“’S nothing,” Alex tries for broke with a small shrug of the shoulder, but even that makes it so he grouses with pain.

“Alexander what happened!” Henry repeats in a voice like a whip, the same one he’s used with heads of states about wars that they’re still involved in, or police chiefs about unjustifiable shootings executed by their officers onto innocent youths. 

“It was a couple of punks when I was walking home last night,” Alex finally admits, worrying on his inner cheek. 

“What did they want!” Henry bellows. “Did you make a police report! Did you get a decent look of them? Or—“

“Baby, it’s fine,” Alex soothes, climbing out the bed so that he could stand in front of Henry, rubbing comforting hands up and down his arms. “It was not a big deal, they got my wallet, but we both know I’m broke as hell.”

“Why are you being so glib about this!” Henry says in a voice that shakes. “Is this why you came home so late last night. Did they threaten you? Was Nora there? Is she alright?”

“Everyone’s fine sweetheart, Nora wasn’t there and they didn’t threaten me. Just wanted some cash.” Alex moves to kiss across Henry’s jawline, each  corner of his mouth too, while he slings his arms around Henry’s narrow waste. 

“’S because of this bullshit zero sum game the Ranker has got going on with that Torpedo prat,” Henry hisses, feeling like a powder keg ready to blow. Alex stiffens slightly beneath him and he knows he’s thinking the same thing. 

“It was just some stupid pricks Henry,” Alex says quietly, there foreheads pressed against each other. “Now please, don’t let this ruin our day. I know your love sick, pisces ass has got a whole romantic production planned out, and I don’t wanna ruin it.”

Breathing in deep, Henry nods, just slightly, agrees to go on with their anniversary plans.

“You really must think highly of yourself if you think I’ve spent that much effort on you,” he jokes, and Alex throws back his head in lovely peals of laughter and it’s all alright. For now. It’s all alright for now. 

Henry lets Alex drag him back in bed, lets him map out Henry’s body with his lips and hands and arches up towards him wantonly when Alex laps his tongue around his dick— a promise of so much more. 

Henry lets Alex wash over him, lets him think that this conversation has ended, lets him not worry about how Henry’ll take this in his own hands.

~*~

“Numbers on Henry suspecting that you spend your night masquerading as New York’s Walmart version of Batman?” Nora asks a few  days after Alex and Henrys anniversary while they write down the new growths showing on the mole collected from one of the Ranker’s more recent city attacks— an ugly black blob that only seems to be growing larger day by day.

“Honestly? I dunno. He seemed to buy the excuse that it was a mugging.” 

“But?” June presses, staying a good distance away from them with her lunch, all of them agreeing that they needed to regroup as soon as possible after the latest  incident of the Ranker attacking another jewelry shop on fifth avenue only last night.

“But, I just feel guilty about it. About the lying I mean. Henry and I don’t lie to each other, we’re like the exact opposite! We’re painfully honest.”

“Honest about everything besides what matters?” Nora sniffs, poking the blob with a stick he’s almost positive is meant to be used for mixing people’s coffee and creams. 

Alex tosses her the bird for that one, more than a bit cross over the whole ordeal.

“Alex, you’re only trying to protect him,” she says, dark eyes earnest with understanding. “I know that this is a sucky situation but would you rather risking one of these crazy villains piecing together that he’s like the one person you’d give up the world to save.”

Alex’s cheeks flush, lips pursed as he glances over to June who’s being uncharacteristically quiet.

“You think otherwise?” He asks, waiting for her to meet his gaze from where it’s concentrated on fiddling with her salad instead.

“Am I allowed to have an other opinion?” She asks, lips pinched.

“Course you are Bug, you know that.”

“Well then I think you should just tell him.” She charges, sudden passion vibrating in her tone.

“Did not see that one coming,” Nora intones as an aside.

“Alex, you saw how Mom trying to protect Dad blew up in their faces. She didn’t talk about any sorta legislation or anything she was trying to get past so that he would never be questioned about staying impartial as a congressman, and it only paved the way to their divorce.”

Alex feels like a rush of vertigo has just hit him, like he’s about to be sick.

“This’s different,” he contends, admittedly very weakly— But it is! This is Henry’s actual life at hand! Not the reputation he might garner from a bunch of smug politicians.

June frowns fully now, looking like she’s trying to throw Alex a lifesaver that just keeps slipping out his hands.

“No Alex, no it’s really not.”

The air around them goes taught, and Alex feels very queasy with the revelation that her words ring true.

“Can we put a pin on this you guys,” Nora asks, frantic. “Our lovely friends just blew up a couple of empty vehicles down in Brooklyn and it’s kind of a shitty situation.”

“Right,” Alex dashes to change into his distinctive red suit, tells the girls to stay on call for him.

“Stay safe,” June pleas, like she always does.

“Of course,” Alex promises, like he always does.

And the remaining discomfort from their argument dissipates because of course it does.

~*~

Henry admits that this is perhaps the dumbest, most idiotic, incredibly thoughtless plan that he has ever come up with, and that’s precisely why he hasn’t told anyone of his intentions. Not June, certainly not Pez, and God forbid Alex ever finds out. But the thing is that if this works, Henry could help put an end to this chaos for good, and maybe that’s worth the risk?

 Well at the very least, Henry hopes it’s worth  it as he swallows down hard and steps on a ledge, a perfect position to witness the current battle playing out in the Williamsburg streets. The Ranker— even more humanoid looking from the last time Henry’s seen him— a sort of slimy sheen shining against his black suit while  he’s practically roaring as he thrashes around, trying to hit a beam of light that Henry knows is the Torpedo, moving so quickly that the normal human eye can’t even focus on him before he makes a hundred more attacks. But like every time before, the Ranker seems to get a signal of whatever he’s been trying to do has been complete, and he ends it.

The Ranker  shoves hard enough and fast enough at the Torpedo  That he hits a building so hard that it begins to shake, and escapes as quickly as a blink of an eye.

Henry sees his chance, and he jumps for it— quite literally.

“Oy, Torpedo!” He shouts, knowing that with his superhuman abilities he’ll be able to hear Henry through the turmoil. And as expected, he stands up— shaking off the Ranker’s latest attack— and looks up towards where Henry had called him from— the top of a five story building.

“Here goes nothing,” Henry mutters to himself, eyes clenched shut a he sucks in deep and jumps— feeling the air whip against him with a vicious sort of vindictiveness— like wind spirits were real and they were laughing at how fucking stupid Henry is for playing with fate like this. And all Henry could do is hope that his Grams puts up a nice memorial bench for him once he becomes a splatter on the pavement.

But then— in an instant— Henry feels a body colliding into his own, and the breath being knocked out of him, before the pair of them stop in the middle of an alleyway, and it’s all Henry could do not to lock his knees and puke all over the crisp suit of the Torpedo.

“Mother of Christ it worked,” henry pants in wonderment of himself, one hand slamming against the wall directly behind him, while the other arm is slung around his stomach.

“You fucking maniac!” Is the first thing Henry hears from the Torpedo once they’re on safe ground— though he still looks like he’s swimming in open air if anyone were to ask Henry.

“It— Ahem, it was the only sure way to get your attention,” he defends, admittedly pretty weak but whatever.

“God Henry! Can’t you be like a normal reporter and ask to become a cable talking head!” The torpedo bellows, but Henry is gleeful.

“You remember who I am?”

The Torpedo goes still— stuttering on whatever he was about to say next, as if Henry had caught him in some sorta filthy lie.

He glares with a harrumph. “Course I do, you’re the idiot from before who almost died because he’s stupidly inattentive towards himself. I’m starting to think that’s a trend with you.”

Henry twists up his lips, unamused but reasoning that being cross won’t help him if he’s trying to work with this prick.

“I'm also the guy who gave you my number so we could sort out this Ranker business once and for all.”

The Torpedo rolls his eyes at him, weight slung to his left hip and arms crossed incredulously against his chest. It’s such a painfully Alex move that Henry starts to feel reinvigorated, reminded of why he’s doing this in the first place.

“Listen, I get that guys who look like you probably aren’t that accustomed to what a blow off is—“

“I’m not trying to seduce you asshole,” Henry spits, he admits it might come off a bit menacing but the head on this guy, Jesus fucking Christ. “I’m happily in a relationship.”

The Torpedo looks strangely pleased with this news, but Henry doesn’t spare anytime trying to figure out what that might mean. Working with him is going to be fucking exhausting.

“Alright goldilocks, then why the hell did you want my attention so damn badly?”

“Oh fuck, do you just not listen! For precisely the reason I had told you! I want to put the Ranker away, for good.”

The Torpedo’s mouth hardens into a straight line, shaking his head ever so slightly.

“’S too dangerous for just a normal human.” He says, and Henry’s just not going to stand for it, a fire like rage licking up his insides.

“I think I can decide determine that for myself.” He says, mulish.

“I thought we’ve come to the consensus that you shouldn’t be trusted for your own well being?” He needles.

Henry’s over the small talk.

“Look, my boyfriend— the man I intend to marry one day! Was roughed up by some of the Ranker’s fucking little minions, and the amount of people this must’ve happened to is probably astronomical! So you listen up, I’m not going to just stand around idly by. I know for a fact that we’ll figure out his intentions much quicker together than apart! So for the love that is holy and right will you just stop being a complete wanker and agree to work with the lowly human,” Henry says this all without barely a breath between words, not having noticed just how close he’s gotten to the Torpedo, how their eyes are boring into one another’s now with a sudden, heated intensity. 

A silence lapse between them, but Henry doesn’t stand down.

“You’re intent on this, huh?”

“To a grave degree.”

Another silence before the Torpedo just shuts his eyes, tilting his head like he can’t bother to argue anymore. 

“Fine. Let’s talk it out.”

The tension building in Henry’s chest finally deflates, replaced by a sort of remarkable brightness that makes his insides buzz with excitement.

“Wonderful! I work over at the Sentinel’s headquarters right past the Meat Packing District, on forty-second. Meet me there Wednesday night.” Henry instructs, probably a tad too enthused, but he doesn't care, he finally’s getting somewhere.

“Hold up Goldilocks, i said I’d work with you, not the whole damn paper.”

“Don’t get your pants in a twist, folks work outside the office on Wednesdays usually, and it’ll be late enough that we can take up one of the conference rooms without anyone interrupting.” 

The Torpedo smirks now, and Henry already knows what’s coming.

“You sure you’re not trying to seduce me darling?”

“Wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you, I don’t really go for guys in spandex,” he retorts.

“Hey! ’S good material for the shit I have to deal with!” He defends, affronted sounding.

“I’m sure, but I’m running late for a lunch date as it is, so just bring the intel you’ve got on’m Wednesday and we’ll converse then.” Not really sure what to do, Henry awkwardly claps him on the shoulder before exiting the alleyway, an excited smile breaking his face in half as he thinks of all the change they could do now.

~*~

Strange enough, it becomes a sort of standing meeting for the next few weeks— Like Alex and Henry were adding a second date night to their schedules. Well a date night where only one of them knew the other’s identity, and where they spent the whole time perusing through stacks of files ranging from the dates and locations of the Ranker’s attacks within the past year, from any new gang activity that had sprung up afterwards. Also a date where Henry studiously sat as far away from a masked Alex as possible, and who remained stiff for the entirety of the two hours they would talk. 

They end up successfully predicting the two next places that the Ranker targets, and it’s a thrill. Alex however makes it a point that Henry isn’t allowed anywhere near the area until Alex has surely staved the Ranker away. It’s a point of contention between them, but it’s a point that Alex won’t budge on.

He knows Henry, knows how he strives for the public’s safety the same ways Alex does, but where Alex was hit by a molecular transmitter when he was only nineteen— giving him powers and abilities beyond comprehension— Henry’s only got a pen and paper as his main weapons of defense. And Alex knows this vendetta runs even deeper than that for him, knows that Arthur— Henry’s dad who played a hero in Hollywood films— was kidnapped and eventually killed by a Luthor family member, directed by Lex behind bars. 

Alex sees the glitter in Henry’s eyes, the vigor embedded in them. And it what makes him want to lock the Ranker up, more than anything else. 

“You’re intense Mountchristen,” Alex tells him on one of those Wednesday nights, can’t help but gaze at the way Henry sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, and how his brows begin to knit together, intent on his goal.

“Eyes to yourself Torpedo,” he retorts shortly, not bothering to even look up.

Part of Alex really appreciates how standoffish he behaves in front of dudes who are so obviously into him that aren’t Alex, but most of him hates the distance, hates the secrets that they’re both keeping from one another. It feels like the foundation between them is literally crumbling, even though they’re both doing this to ultimately protect the other.

“What a strange and convoluted circle you’ve ensnared yourself within,” Nora says on the night of the Sentinel’s first summer fundraising event, popping a bite sized snickers into her mouth as she lounges on her sectional in a little black dress that makes her look like a million bucks.

“You’re really unhelpful,” Alex informs her bluntly, adjusting is tie in the mirror after replying to Henry’s text that they’re headed down to meet him and June in five. 

“Well you know there’s only one sure fire way to escape it,” she crows, smile going snide as she stands up. 

“Don’t tell me you’ve begun drinking June’s crazy person juice,” Alex moans, really needing her to have been on his side for this. 

“You know they called Van Gogh crazy, and he was a genius who saw what others were too dumb to.”

“No Nor, they called him crazy because he ate yellow paint and cut off his ear as a gift.”

Nora cuffs him on the back of the head. “You’re being crass.”

“Ouch,” Alex squints, rubbing the tender spot. “And you’re being especially mean.”

“Only because you’re so dense sometimes,” Nora sniffs. “Now c’mon we were suppose to be there like an hour ago. What were you even doing all this time.”

Alex goes back to checking his reflection, absently gesturing towards the abrasively yellow binder on his coffee stand that he’s begun keeping here, less Henry accidentally finds it while rummaging around in Alex’s place. 

“Just going over some of the information Henry and I have been gathering, reading through it and everything.”

Nora flips it open, perusing through the papers leisurely. “And what have you guys found out in these little trysts of yours?”

“First of all, shut it,” Alex casts her a glare, just for good measure.  “And not much. There’s no real rhyme or reason to his attacks, except we did figure out that like after a month from the initial incident, there’s another one hitting the same place by some of his mysterious henchmen, like a month later— on the very dot.”

“The very dot?” Nora asks slowly, her voice adopting that tension it does when she’s piecing something together she wishes she wasn’t. Like the time she figured out the dude who owned their favorite frozen yogurt place in Brooklyn was actually the same person robbing a series of banks with his uncanny ability to literally turn into gas.

“Yeah—“ Alex turns around, rigid as he prepares for her next blow.

“Well a month ago you guys have it that The Ranker hit up Time Square, don’t you?”

And like a bucket of ice water pouring over him, Alex understands what she’s insinuating immediately.

“The sentinel!”

“June and Henry.”

Before either of them could take another breath, Alex has changed into his gear and lifts Nora up bridal style, racing to them and praying to any God who will listen that they’re not too late.

~*~

The sentinel is holding a special event to celebrate the continuous and substantial donations by the Richards family to their editorial board, with special honors given to the head of the political dynasty, Jeffery Richards.

Professionally, Henry is thankful for their money flow into the Sentinel’s tireless efforts to get meaningful and factual stories out into the public sphere. Personally? Henry thinks he’s the definition of a complete and total twat, and has wished on more than one occasion to give him a swift right hook for his backwards social views and another kick in the gut for his purely one percent focussed fiscal policies. This is why Henry is shocked to find Rafael Luna, Alex’s practical idol, exchanging seemingly pleasant small talk with him near the champaign fountain. But he supposes stranger things have happened, and decides to take a swig of his gin and tonic instead of worrying about it.

Henry must admit that there’s a certain panache— a peculiar charm—  to American parties that can’t ever be replicated in quite the same way.   The people are more boisterous than their English counterparts, more willing to mingle between groups and laugh hysterically to jokes that really don’t warrant as much. Henry thinks it’s funny, especially when he considers how much less these folks drink in comparison to the upper echelon of London society— the class of folks  Henry was born and bred to become the crown jewel of, up until his unceremonial rejection of those trite ideals. Considering where he is now— working to make an actual difference in this city, and surrounded by the most important people in his world, Henry’s thankful so much for his decision.

Speaking of which, Henry sees one of those people,  catching June’s eye from across the room, matched boredom on her face. She tips her glass his way, a small, comforting smile on her lips before mouthing a dramatic, “save me.”

Henry laughs,  finishes his glass and grabs a flute of the wine  to join her but is suddenly accosted  by a older couple made up of a woman  sporting  such large diamonds hanging  off her ears that Henry’s afraid one of them might just tear off, and a man, obviously her husband, who keeps glancing over Henry’s lips and slightly exposed collarbones in the most unsubtle way ever. Jesus fucking Christ, Henry was so close to home base.

“Elias and I saw you leaving that conversation with the Galloways and simply just had to sweep in,” the woman says in lieu of a greeting. Henry recognizes them now. Elias and Barbra Bellington, one of the Harold’s most formidable backers— He reckons he should play nice then.

“I’m flattered,” Henry says with a pleasant grin, shaking her hand and then her husband’s.

“We read that latest entry you did on that masked fellow who’s been terrorizing this city,” the husband explains.

“The Scarlet one.”

“The torpedo,”  Henry nods.

“Yes,” her husband swallows before averting his gaze from Henry’s lips yet again. “You deserve a pulitzer for  finally trying to figure out who he is. It’s been nearly half a decade with him  ravaging these streets and diverting the funds and work  from our officers.”

“A scoundrel by any other name if you ask me.”

Henry is so fucking confused how they got that from his piece.

“Erm, ahem. Thank you both for the kind words, but truly, It was more about his feud with the latest kingpin, the Ranker, than anything else.” Henry tries explaining, hates it when his work gets boiled down to a few salacious bullet points for the headlines. 

“They’re all the same if you ask me, rotten and only here to create chaos in our communities”.

Henry parts his lips to retort, most likely with a too loud  argument that she’s just flat out wrong, but then his eyes focus back on Luna, watching him part ways with Richards, and he’s always been so god damn curious for his own good.

“I’m sorry but I see a colleague of mine that I actually needed to touch base with on a upcoming story,” Henry coughs while excusing himself.  “You don’t mind if I just step away for a moment,” He’s relieved when they nod congenially and promise to find him later on in the evening 

Henry exchanges congenial nods and small grins with his colleagues as he cuts through the throng, stopping in front of Luna with less nonchalance than he would’ve liked, but whatever.

“Henry,” Luna smiles broadly, clapping his hand on his shoulder. “I was hoping to see you here.”

“I was happy to see you around,” Henry smiles in turn, wonders if it comes across as painfully awkward as he thinks it does.

“Where’s Alexander?”

“On his way with Nora, I had to stop by a bit earlier for some business with the rest of the staff,” Luna nods and they both take sips of their drinks, perhaps a bit tensely. “So, ahem. I saw you speaking with Richards?”

Luna’s brows hike up, if only slightly.

“Yeah, he’s a big investor in my lab as well as the Sentinel. Wants to help us figure out this newest wave of super mutants.”

Henry pins him with a one eyed squint, confused as all get out why Richards of all people would want to help with something so— Well so scientific.

“I know, I was surprised too,” Luna laughs, reading his expression. “But it’s true! Even had some of his men collect those mole samples I’m sure Alexander has talked your ear off of. They’re really something remarkable Henry.” He trails off into a deeper conversation on what their existence means, but Henry stops listening, the gears in his brain turning at rapid speed. And God, it’s so obvious. How did Henry not notice this before.

“I’ve— I’ve got to go.”

Luna furrows his brows. “Is everything okay?”

“I— I don’t think so,” Henry admits, racing upstairs to the offices where he’s been meeting with the Torpedo these last few weeks. He’s not really sure what he needs to do, or how he can even get the Torpedo’s attention so randomly, but he feels it in his gut that it’s urgent.

Though he’s stopped midway up the stairs, and it’s like his stomach drops out completely once he realizes by who.

“Richards—“

“Mr Mountchristen, I was hoping to get to speak with you.”

Henry feels himself beginning to quake, stepping further back, bit by bit.

“Is— Is that right,” Henry stammers out, wincing when his back hits the wall andRichards keeps on coming closer.

“You’re bright, I saw the tricks you pulled to get the Torpedo’s attention,” he nods slowly. “It was only a matter of time till you or that scarlet scoundrel pieced it together.” 

“So, I’m right. The samples you’ve been giving to Luna’s lab, they were early archetypes of the beasts you’ve been harvesting.”

“And they say blonde’s are dumb.” Richards chuckles, twining a finger in Henry’s hair, close enough for his hot breath to smack Henry in the face.

“So what? You found an alien to harvest the cells from or are they just growing off of you? And why do it? What’s the point of all this?”

“Hmm, well  seeing that you’ll be dead  soon enough,” Richard snarls, clamping a hand around Henry’s neck, and squeezing for good measure. “I suppose there’s no harm in telling you how I purposefully exposed myself to the molecular explosion that ravaged the city a few  years ago. It gave me the ability to multiply at a whim, though alas not quickly enough.”

“It took a month for them to fully form,” Henry realizes, squinting when Richards squeezes harder. He claws against the hand Richard’s is using to obstruct his airway, but there’s no hope. “And what,” he wheezes out, seeing stars glitter the distance. “You wanted to create a little army to take over the city?”

“New York should be so lucky!” Richard yells, crashing Henry’s head against the wall with such force that everything begins to fade into darkness. “Ever since that damn Claremont got her hooks into it we’ve gone down the shit hole!” 

Crack.

Henry’s head cracks the wall again, and everything blurs, stars glittering in the distance.

The last thing Henry sees before completely blacking out is the windows shattering open and a dash of red.

And oh.

.-

The next time Henry comes too he’s met by florescent lighting and white sheets, can feel the cool liquid of an IV pumping into his wrist.

He can hear people calling his name, but he can’t focus on it, can’t focus on anything. All he wants is Alex, and he can’t believe the secrets he’s been keeping from Henry all this time. The secrets henry has been hiding himself.

~*~

Alex has been up a total of forty-three hours at this point, but he shrugs off any of the well meaning suggestions given by his friends or the doctors to finally shut his eyes and go to bed. He can’t. He won’t. Not until Henry wakes up permanently and he looks at Alex with his beautiful, cornflower eyes, and smiles at him with that heavenly grin, and twines their fingers into one another. Exactly how they should be. 

God, Alex can’t believe how stupid he’s been. Keeping these secrets from him, trying to protect him all this time, but it ended up pointless. Henry’s here, golden hair fanned on eggshell sheets and blue veins tracing his pale skin and looking like some sort of modern day sleeping beauty—  an etherial being— that Alex can’t dream of ever touching again.

Alex kisses Henry’s hand, swears that he’ll be honest and forthcoming just as soon as he wakes up and Alex  can look back into those bottomless, blue eyes for all the time to come.

.-

The exhaustion must’ve caught up to him, because suddenly everything goes dark and Alex’s next memory is of a gentle hand carding through his hair. He opens his eyes to find Henry peering down at him, crooked grin looking all levels of endeared.

Jesus, Alex is so lost on him.

“Morning gorgeous.” Henry says, still looking far too fragile for Alex’s liking in that hospital robe and with like half a dozen machines hooked up to him, but it doesn’t stop Alex from kissing him with all he has. 

“You fucking bastard, don’t you ever do that to me again.” Alex pleads wetly, hands cupped around Henry’s face and never wanting to let go.

“Well Alexander, if we’re being fair, I think I’ve still got a hundred other chances to unwittingly make you terrified.”

Alex frowns now, the realization slowly coming over him to what Henry’s words are alluding towards.

“You know!”

“I figured it out Torpedo,” Henry says, soft enough so that Alex has to strain to hear him.

“Bu—But when?”

“I think the between the second time Richards tried knocking me out, and you crashing through the office like some sorta renegade. Also you are not slick Alexander, the way you were checking me out during those meetings was frankly obscene.”

Alex feels his cheeks redden, disbelieving laugh punching out of him.

“I can’t help it, you’re really sexy when you’re all in your element.”

Henry smiles sweetly at him, turning his head to kiss one of Alex’s palms still clamped around his face.

“Says the literal superhero that millions of people around the world thirst over.”

Alex sinks his teeth into his bottom lip, wrestling down a grin.

“So you’re not mad that I kept this secret  from you?”

“Oh I’m furious,” Henry corrects. “But I reckon you’ve got a lifetime to explain your actions to me. And I might have been guilty of the same sort of indiscretion, if you squint.”

“Hah, just like a Brit, trying to absolve himself of the blame,” Alex snarks, kissing Henry’s tongue when he sticks it out to waggle at him. 

“Gross.”

“Think you mean sexy."

“Where’s Richards when you need him,” Henry sighs, faux put upon.

“Not funny,” Alex fumes, is only restrained from flicking him on the ear considering his current predicament.

The laugh that Henry lets out right then is something mellifluous and beautiful and what Alex could listen to on a loop for all the eons to come.

“No but truly, what happened to that prick anyhow?” 

“Tied him up with the evidence we collected, and called Officer Amy to make the arrest.” Alex explains, threading his fingers through Henry’s hair. “He’s locked up now. Probably’s gonna stay that way for a while.”

“So it worked out?”

“Henry, no situation in which you are at all injured is things working out,” Alex reproves caustically. 

Henry shakes his head at him. 

“God, such a softy Alexander.”

That time Alex does flick him on the ear and isn’t even sorry about it.

.-

Buy Me A Coffee?🥺

[mooksie01]

With Teammates Like These, Who Needs Friends? (1/5)

Summary: Clover doesn't care what the other Ace Ops have to say, he absolutely does NOT have a crush on Huntsman Branwen. He just admires his skill on the battlefield. And the visible results of his obviously-excellent training regiment. And his gorgeous eyes. And his mysterious demeanor. And voice.

Okay, Clover might have just a little bit of a crush on Huntsman Branwen, but that doesn't matter, because if the other Ace Ops are going to tease him relentlessly for it, then he just won't pursue any relationship with the guy!

...Maybe.

Warnings: None, really, for this chapter. Death mention in the context of a joke. Gratuitous bullying of teammates. Spoilers for RWBY Volume 7.

AO3 Link: [X] 

Notes:  Hey, so... I haven't really written for fun in over four years. Which. Is pretty crazy to think about. But my New Year's Resolution this year is to get back into it because it used to make me really happy. With that said, I'm pretty rusty nowadays, so I'm sorry if any of this reads a little awkwardly. I'm hoping to get back to the level I used to be at with some practice, but I know it'll take time. This fic is mainly my effort at shaking the dust off with my current favorite show and favorite ship.  I hope you all enjoy! Please like, reblog, and comment if you have the time to do so, I'd really appreciate some encouragement while I get back into the swing of things! FAIR GAME RIGHTS!!

---

Clover can’t say that he isn’t expecting it, but even he is a little taken by surprise when, only mere seconds after closing the door to the Ace Ops’ commons, a heavy hand lands on his shoulder and spins him around with enough force to make him dizzy. 

Elm’s ecstatic face immediately fills his entire field of vision. 

Oh, Brothers.

“Clover!” 

He attempts to wave her off, feeling his face grow hot. “I’m trying to head to bed, Elm. Gotta be up bright and early tomorrow, you know.” 

Her shit-eating grin only grows larger. Her vice-grip tightens. He will not be escaping any time soon. His death warrant is signed and hidden somewhere in the mess that Elm calls her quarters. 

Elm manhandles him to the couch and shoves him down to sit, then flops down next to him and tosses her wrapped feet onto the coffee table. 

He wrinkles his nose. “Elm, please. I’ve talked to you about your feet and the table.” 

Ignoring him (as she so often does) Elm simply continues to grin smugly at him. “Who would’ve thought?! Our very own captain!” 

Clover rolls his eyes in what he hopes to be a clear sign of his exasperation. 

“Elm, what are you even talking about?” Marrow pipes up from where he is leaning against the wall. His arms are crossed over his chest in a deliberate attempt to appear uninterested, though his faintly wagging tail gives him away. Clover hadn’t even noticed him until he’d spoken. 

Looking around, he realizes that all of his subordinates are standing about the room, watching the interaction with varying degrees of interest. Just great. He considers whether or not it would be worth it to attempt to preemptively write Elm up for not-yet-conducted insubordination. 

Hm. He probably isn’t allowed to do that.

He startles as Elm yanks her feet off the table next to him, instead throwing herself forward so she can bang her fist against the helpless furniture to punctuate her next statement, “Our captain has a crush on Huntsman Branwen!” 

“Elm,” Harriet sighs, “stop being an idiot. Again. You know that he--” 

Clover pulls himself away from Elm and her interrogation couch. He stands up, straight-backed, falling into a parade rest that has his shoulders held just a little too tightly to his ears, positive that his face is red. “That’s enough,” he orders, voice as firm as he can make it, “what I do is none of your concern, Elm. Nor anyone else’s. This conversation is… unprofessional, to say the least. And it’s over.” 

Rather than be appropriately cowed by his scolding, Elm only flashes him an even bigger smile. On the other side of the room, Harriet makes a choking sound and starts to sputter, “Holy shit, you are--!”

Elm jumps to her feet, swinging a muscular arm over his shoulders. “I think you mean ‘who you do,’ Captain!” 

Clover shrugs her off, scowling. “Elm!” His mind races, attempting to formulate a way to escape this horrible situation, but it seems that no amount of luck is getting him out of this one.

“Well,” Vine rubs speculatively at his chin, finally deciding to contribute something to this dumpster-fire of a conversation, and Clover makes the split-second mistake of hoping that he will be the voice of reason to shut the whole thing down, “you can hardly blame our captain. Huntsman Branwen is, objectively, quite conventionally attractive. Not to mention his skill-level and renown in the field and all of the good he has done in the ongoing battle against Salem….” 

Clover feels his soul die a little.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Marrow throws his hands up in the air, his tail raised in visible agitation. “What are we, a buncha kids? You’ve known the guy for five minutes!” 

Elm laughs uproariously, “And he stared at Huntsman Branwen for all five! Not to mention the extra twenty seconds when he was watching him walk away!” 

Harriet gags. She looks incredibly annoyed and vaguely disgusted at this turn of events.

“That really is enough--!” Clover tries.

“Really?” Vine tilts his head, coming a few steps closer. He peers at Clover in a speculative manner. “It seems to me that it would be difficult to catch a glimpse of Huntsman Branwen’s posterior, considering that the cape he wears covers it quite effectively. Are you sure, Elm, that that is what Clover was doing?” 

“Haha!” Elm raises her hand for a high-five, which her partner passively returns.

Clover is sure his skin-tone must faintly resemble that of the Atlas Academy mess hall’s tomato soup by now. He had not been staring at Huntsman Branwen’s ass. Even if he were interested in Qrow Branwen like that, he’s too much of a gentleman to do such a thing. Besides, there were plenty of other attractive aspects of Huntsman Branwen to focus on without having to drool over his “posterior” like some sort of mangy grimm. Like his soft vermillion eyes; or his trim waist; or his hair, which looked like the shining feathers of his namesake; or his elegant hands, undoubtedly calloused from so many years of handling his weapon so skillfully…. He swallows hard and feels his face flare up anew as he realizes what train of thought he’d been taking. 

Looking up, he catches Elm smirking at him again. Marrow and Harriet have near-matching expressions of distaste. Vine is merely studying him with even more interest than before.

He opens his mouth to retaliate, only for Vine to cut him off, clasping his hands behind his back in a move so prim that it leaves Clover completely unprepared for what he says next: “I believe our captain was just lost in thought about Huntsman Branwen’s posterior again.” 

Clover coughs hard, choking on his own spit. Vaguely, he registers the sound of Elm exploding into further laughter at his expense. 

“Oh, ew, ew, ew!” Marrow covers his ears, baring his teeth at Vine and Elm and probably also Clover. 

Harriet simply glowers at all of them, “I did not need to know that.”

After a moment, Clover pulls himself together. He glares at his attackers, “Elm,” he snarls, “Vine.” 

Vine takes an even step back, cocking his head inquisitively, “I apologize, did I say something incorrect?”

Elm loops her bicep around her partner’s neck in a pseudo-chokehold that he makes no attempt to remove himself from. “No, Vine, but I believe that’s our cue to leave!” She extricates herself from him and once again brings her hand down hard on Clover’s shoulder, having apparently never learned that it isn’t wise to poke an angry bear. “Don’t worry, boss, I’ll make sure to keep an extra eye out for your little bird!” She winks and pats him a few times with enough force to jolt his entire upper torso. “Though I’m sure you’ll already have that handled!” 

Then, in a blink, she has removed herself from the room, Vine following behind her at a more sedate pace. 

They are going to be facing so much disciplinary action, Clover thinks furiously. They will be scrubbing the floors for months. He turns to face Harriet and Marrow, who are somehow still in the room, staring at him. He crosses his arms firmly over his chest, “Do either of you have something to add?”

Marrow merely shakes his head and turns tail to leave. 

Harriet looks him over for a moment longer, then makes a sharp tsk’ing sound with her tongue. “Gross.”

She spins on her heel and walks down the hallway that leads to each of their personal rooms.

Clover sighs heavily and plops back down on the couch. It is going to be a long however-many-months with Huntsman Branwen and his students here. 

Still, he can certainly make it easier on himself by avoiding working with the other man. Even if he is incredibly attractive….

(No! Bad Clover!)

Everything will go over much more smoothly if he just isn’t seen staring at or talking to or even vaguely thinking about Huntsman Branwen from here on out.

---

More Notes: So, that was the first chapter! I hope you liked it and that it made your day a little brighter :)

The first installment is already completely finished minus some light editing. Stuff from here on out will probably be formatted as oneshots rather than chaptered fics, but I wanted this first part to be a bit longer and explore the very beginnings of our boys' relationship, with particular emphasis on Clover being a Secret Gay Disaster. Is that actually my headcanon for the show? Nah. Is that what this fic turned into? Absolutely.

Anyway, I'm currently deciding whether I want to post one chapter everyday for the next four days to finish this story up or if I want to post every other day. If anyone has any opinions on that, I'd be glad to hear them.

[all1e23]

Heart and Soul [Pt.18]

Chapter: Holding a Losing Hand

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Summary:   Things are starting to become clearer for everyone at the station but Bucky is unreachable. 

Warnings:  General foreboding 

A/N:  ***My fics are not to be saved or posted on any other sites without my written permission. Reblogs are my jam though! Thanks!**

Tony waited until Bucky and Sam had left before he made a move to leave. He didn’t want Bucky to worry when there was nothing he could do and knowing Bucky the second he though Y/n was in any kind of danger he would drop everything else and rush to her side It was probably nothing and Bucky didn’t need to risk his career only to find Y/n curled up on their couch safe and sound or cuddled up in her nest. Tony could slip out of the station, check on her and, take her to the hospital, then keep her company till Bucky got home and no one would have to panic. 

“Listen, I’m going to down to Bucky’s and check in on Y/n.” 

Steve arched his brow waiting for an explanation. 

“I just wanna see how Y/n is doing. I remember what it was like when we had to be apart right after my first heat. Not exactly fun and this is the first time she has shared her heat with someone she actually cares about.”

Steve narrowed his eyes at Tony as he watched him. Steve knew his husband, he knew when there was more to the story than what was being shared. But he also knew Tony would tell him when he was ready to share those details. That didn’t mean Steve was going to let him deal with whatever this was on his own.

“All right.” 

Steve stood up and grabbed his keys. “I’ll go with you.”

“Woah, there big guy!” 

Tony shook his head and placed his hands on his shoulders pushing him back down into his chair. 

“Thank you but no. If she is upset adding an Alpha to mix won’t help that. Plus, Bucky isn’t going to like coming home and scenting another Alpha in their space. Even if the Alpha is you. I’ll be fine. I can handle a well-fare check on someone who happens to be a good friend of mine without my mate following after me.”  

Steve was conflicted and Tony knew that. He wanted to be respectful of the detective and Omega Tony was but he didn’t like the idea of anyone involved in the case against Rumlow going out on their own at the moment and Nat was nowhere in sight. However, he couldn’t lock Tony away any time there was a dangerous case. Tony wasn’t that kind of Omega and frankly, that’s not the Omega Steve wanted to be with.

“Okay,” Steve conceded but added on an addendum. 

“I want to know where you are at all time though. It’s not a joke Tony. Don’t give that look. I'm telling you as your captain and your mate, I want to know when you arrive and when you leave.”

“Yeah, yeah.” 

Tony leaned in to kiss his cheek but quickly remembered the door was open and straightened up. 

“Right-O. I’ll be sure to let you know when I arrive, captain.” Tony purred softly earning a soft growl from his husband.

“Get moving so I can have you all to myself.” Steve rumbled in only the way an Alpha can.  

“Yes, sir.”

----------

The young Beta boy at the security desk was practically sweating and stumbling all over himself when Tony said he was heading up to see Y/n L/n. He started fumbling over his words as he frantically searching for the list of approved names Bucky had given him. Once he found the list he still had to get out the photocopies of everyone’s identification in order to make sure he actually was Tony Stark as if the entire world didn’t know who he was. Tony would have been amused at the fear Bucky put into this boy if this was just a normal every day, but he really needed to get upstairs.

After ten minutes of searching, the kid was able to confirm Tony was, in fact,  Tony Stark and he was approved to go upstairs. He was going to have a serious talk with Bucky when this was sorted. Tony knew he was overprotective, but this was taking it to a whole new level.  When he finally managed to get past the guards and got up to Bucky’s floor, he made sure to take a picture of himself in front of their door with the biggest smirk and if a thumbs up could be snarky his most certainly was. He sent it off to Steve and got a reply before he could knock.

Captain of my heart: You don’t have to be smartass, Tony.

Tony: I’m starting to wonder if you even know me at all.

He slipped his phone into his jacket and rapped his knuckles against the door. “Y/n? It’s Tony. Open up. I wanna see if you want to go grab something to eat? Maybe go see speed racer?”

Y/n was just as stubborn and proud as Tony was. There was no way he could tell her he was coming by to check on her and give her any indication that he thought she was at all incapable of taking care of herself. She would bite his head off, probably call Steve and Bucky to yell at them and then he would get chewed out by both Alphas. It’s easier if he lets her think he was just stopping by to spend time with her and then he can keep her busy until Bucky gets home.

Maybe Tony should see if the two lovebirds want to stay at their place till this is all over. It’s not like the place isn’t big enough. Hell, he could give them an entire floor.  That question would have to wait until he could get her to answer the door.

“Y/n?” He twirled his keys around his fingers as he searched for Bucky’s key. “I’m coming inside, and you better have clothes on, or Barnes is going to kill me. You don’t want me to die, do you?”

Still no answer. Something wasn’t right.

“Okay. Coming in buttercup.” He slowly flipped the lock and pulled his gun from his holster as he nudged the door open. 

“Lucy!” Tony sang into the still apartment. “I’m home.”

The door swung open into the quiet apartment. Nothing seemed out of place. There were still several piles of clothes hanging on every surface of the apartment. Dishes were drying on the counter from what he guessed was breakfast. Their bed was even made, despite what looked like her nest piled on top of the blankets. It was oddly quiet, but nothing was broken or looked as if anyone had a struggle.

Only thing missing was… Y/n.

It looked as if the place was empty. No one was in the bathroom from what he could see and unless she was hiding in the closet for a very elaborate game of hide and seek, Y/n wasn’t there. Tony really didn’t think she would leave the apartment again without someone with her, not after how terrified Bucky got and definitely not after Tony yelled at her. He closed the door behind and slipped his gun back into the holster, but what he saw when he turned back around made his heart sink.

Tony slowly walked over to the kitchen island and there next to the barstool only further proved his suspicion. He reached down and delicately picked up Y/n’s broken necklace that was callously thrown to the ground. He turned it over in his hand noticing the chain appeared to be snapped and clutched it tightly in his fist before slipping it into his pocket. There was no way she would just leave her necklace on the floor like that, even if the chain had broken on accident. She may not have had it long, but he saw the way she was clutching it. It’s the most important thing in the world to her. She wouldn’t leave it behind even if it was broken.

Someone ripped the necklace off her neck, and he knew just who that someone was.

--------

“What are you doing here?” Maria asked, not even bothering to glance up from the paperwork in front of her.

Ouch. Okay, he’s in a bit of hot water. Shit, Bucky was right. She was going to punch him in the face, knock him to the ground and probably step over him on her way out the door. It's okay. He can fix this. It's not like he was ditching her on purpose and if anyone understood work coming first on the rare occasion it was Maria.

Sam rested his elbows on the counter and tapped his fingers on whatever it was she was looking at until she lifted her head to meet his eyes, grinning once she did. “I came to see you and maybe take you to dinner. I did make you a promise if you recall."

She raised her brow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, but you keep breaking those promises as of late. What if I have dinner plans with someone else now?”

His smile faltered just a bit as he stood up straighter.  Sam did not like the idea of her having dinner with some other Alpha.  

“That would be unfortunate but thankfully I know all the good places to hide a body.” As much as he was trying to play it cool, she could see the worry on his face, and it made her heart flip just for just a hot moment.

Why did he have to be so damn cute?

“Give me a few minutes. I have to get things sorted here before I leave.” She leaned over the counter and placed a kiss on his cheek. “Don’t get used to that. You get a pass because you looked so pathetically sad just now.”

He grinned. “I’ll take it. In fact, I’ll try to look more pathetic if I get more of those sweet kisses.”

Nick wandered out of the back causing the couple to jump apart even though his eyes were glued to his phone. “What are you doing here Detective? Shouldn’t you be on a call with your partner or is he at home with Y/n and you’ve come to steal the one person who keeps my shelter running?”

“No, Buck is handling a call out at--“ Sam froze as Nick’s words settle over him. How the hell did he know what Bucky was doing? And when he get the memo he was trying to bond with Y/n? 

“Hold up a damn minute. How did you know Y/n and Buck were mates?”

“I know a lot of things, Sam.”

Nick finally looked up from his phone and smiled at Sam. “If I were you, I’d head back to the station. Brock is not someone you two should be playing games with. He needs to be dealt with.” 

He nodded at Maria. “’Give him the letter.”

Sam looked back at Maria. “What letter?”

There was a moment of what looked to be some kind of silent argument between Nick and Maria before she finally caved and dug a somewhat wrinkled envelope out of the drawer behind the counter and handed it over to Sam. 

“It’s a letter that Y/n left before the night Brock attacked her. It says she had to leave because Brock found out she was here. She said his dad, or adoptive dad I think? I don't know. Either way, he is rich and has connections. He has ways of finding her no matter where she goes. Something about him owning that Omega club in Queens. The one that got shut down this month.”

Sam nearly choked on his own tongue as the words flew out of her mouth. “Hold up. Alexander Pierce? The man who is under investigation for Omega-trafficking is Brock Rumlow’s adoptive father?”

“Like I said,” Nick repeated. “You better get your ass back to the station and figure out where your partner is.”

---------

Sam rushed into the station frantically looking for any sign his partner had made it back to the station after his last call. Bucky’s desk was empty and just as he left it and there was no sign he had dropped the squad car off.  He rushed around the group at booking towards Steve who was talking to a patrol officer and completely cut off their conversation. He didn’t have time for the bullshit. His partner could be in trouble. 

“Hey, Cap? Where is Buck? Did he get back from that call? The one about the kids.”

“Didn’t you go with him?” Steve asked, a hint of authority lacing his voice.

Yeah, okay. Sam messed up. He knew that and didn’t need it shoved in his face, he needed to fix it.  “Uh, no. He told me to go see Maria and he would handle it on his own.”

Steve growled, “So you both deliberately ignored a direct order?”

Sam winced but nodded. “Yeah, kind of?”

The patrol officer slowly slinked away thanks to the anger rolling off Steve and Sam indiscreetly shooing him away. If Sam could he would shrink off right now, but he doubted Steve would let him away with that. The blond angrily scrolled through his phone as he checked with dispatch for updates and a small frown formed on his face.

“No one has heard from him for a few hours. That doesn’t seem right… He reported getting to the location, but he’s been silent for over two hours and dispatch can’t reach him.”

“Listen, we need to check in on Buck. I was at the shelter with Maria and she showed me this letter Y/n wrote. She left it the night that Brock… the night she ran from the shelter and I think Bucky might be in more trouble than we thought.”

 Sam handed the letter over to Steve, letting him skim the letter as he continued on, “Pierce is his adoptive father or some shit. I’m guessing it’s not legal since there isn’t a record but… read the letter, man. Y/n talks about needing to run because of his connections and who his father is.”

Steve’s eyes scanned the document in his hand and he could feel his heart thudding against his chest with every word. His mate, his husband was off running around the city, tangled up in this mess and he was all by himself. He slapped the letter against Sam’s chest forcing him to take and stalked over to the front desk in two long strides. He whipped the phone around nearly knocking Natasha out of his way and he quickly punched in Tony’s number keeping his eyes on his phone for an update on Bucky from dispatch.

“Pick up. Pick up. Pick up.” He mumbled softly.

“You okay?” Natasha asked softly.

“Tony went to check on Y/n and he’s not answering.” 

Tony’s voicemail played in his ear and he slammed the phone back down. He turned back around and started to head back towards his office. He knew he should have gone with him. He put his Omega in danger because he didn’t trust his gut and that won’t happen again. 

“Nat keep trying Tony. I’m going to head over to Buck’s and make sure they are okay. Sam take a car out to the location of the call and see what’s going on with Buck. Dispatch can’t reach him on the radio, and I can’t get a hold of him.”

“Steve?” A soft voice called out across the station stopping him in his tracks. He slowly turned around to find Sharon Carter standing behind the front desk, looking nervous and… scared? She looked like she hadn't slept in days and something or someone had her terrified.

“Sharon... What are you doing here? Is everything okay?”

“I, um.” She glanced around at Sam and then Natasha. “I have some information that might help you with your investigation.”

“Wait. Wait.” 

Steve shook his head and took a step towards her, needing to understand what she was getting at he asked, “What investigation? How do you know anything about any of my investigations?”

Sharon looked around at three Alphas who were watching her very closely. This might not have been a good idea. Natasha hated her from the moment she found out that Steve slept with her and Sam was looking at her like she was guilty of something. None of that mattered she supposed. They needed to know. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself if something happened to any of them and she could have stopped it.

“The one involving Y/n L/n and Brock Rumlow. He came to see me at my office. I think Y/n and Bucky are in trouble.”

Previous // Next 

[thewebcomicsreview]

Ko-Fi Commission: LeaseBound

Leasebound is a “gender-critical” (TERF) webcomic that attained notoriety after releasing a chapter with hateful depictions of trans people, leading to it getting banned from Smack Jeeves. It’s currently self-hosted on a comic press site without a cast page, archive, or even menu, and doesn’t appear to have a patreon (and likely won’t, given its content). It’s a small enough comic that I wouldn’t normally feel comfortable reviewing it, except that the creator explicitly encouraged me to and appears to be getting off on the bad press. 

The story starts with two characters finding out that they both rented the same apartment because the landlord was incompetent and double booked it.

And this particular landlord doesn’t have any other rooms available. There’s a host of logical objections to this set up, such as

Isn’t this fraud on the part of the landlord?

Wouldn’t a major deception like this void the lease?

Why don’t the women move to some other landlord’s apartment and sue the shit out of the woman who sold them a single apartment and surprised them with a roommate?

How does a huge apartment complex with at least 18 rooms have two people booking rooms that don’t talk to each other?

Is the groundskeeper also doing the paperwork and background checks? You don’t buy an apartment at the apartment store, it’s like a whole process.

Isn’t this just the fanfic “but there was only one bed!” trope taken to an even more illogical extreme?

But that road leads to becoming CinemaSins, so let’s just acknowledge that the premise is ludicrous and all the characters are morons so we can move on with our lives. Anyway, the characters introduce themselves as Jaden and Riley, and casually accept sharing a bedroom. They exposit a bit about how Jaden dropped out of college and Riley never went, and

Uh

RILEY: Sorry- I wasn’t trying to pry. JADEN: All good. Earlier you said you had a “few things” in mind RILEY: Right, yeah! I thought it was be good to set some ground rules. JADEN: You can add’ “more organised” to the list then too. Haha. RILEY: Wait, really?  JADEN: Stories for another time

What the fuck? What list? What is Jaden talking about? Why is there an apostrophe hanging out after “add”?

You know how in PS1 JRPGs the translation would be really bad and sometimes people would just say weird shit that didn’t seem to have anything to do with what was just said?

That’s how Leasebound dialogue reads, bizarre punctuation and all. The add’ with an apostrophe is baffling, but I also like how “Haha.” is it’s own sentence with a period at the end.

 Anyway, the rest of the chapter is about how Riley owns a cat but has to keep it a secret because she doesn’t know if the landlord allows pets and I guess didn’t think to ask when she was applying for the lease.

So, the status quo is established. Jaden and Riley wanted to buy a single apartment but got foisted with a roommate, but they’re happy because that means the rent is cheaper. Personally if I wanted a cheaper apartment and was willing to have a roommate I’d get an apartment with a roommate in the first fucking place but we really can’t keep complaining about how stupid the premise is we have to move on. So Jaden is in the living room and, hold on, sorry

This living room is massive. The kitchen has a fridge, and oven, and two matching sofas. In chapter 2 Riley’s going to fit in a four-seat table in here. This is supposed to be a studio apartment in Downtown City

Y’know, City. Not any particular specific real or fictional city with a name, but City.

And Jaden and Riley, neither of whom have college degrees, are so hard up for cheaper rent that they’re comfortable with the surprise revelation of having to share a bedroom with a stranger. But they’re also in a huge apartment in the middle of a metro area? This living room is nearly as big as mine, and I have three roommates and live in Cheaper Suburb. Why are you buying all this space at City square foot prices if money is tight? Get a smaller apartment, or if you really need the space get an apartment that’s not in the middle of City? The author of this comic is 23, has she not looked into getting an apartment? Bigger ones are more expensive.

Okay, okay, the premise is dumb. Let’s move on. Riley and Jaden make sm-

Why are you sharing a tiny bedroom if your Living room is party sized and has multiple sofas? Why not partition off some of the living room with room dividers from IKEA to make a faux bedroom with privacy?

Ahem, Riley and Jaden make small talk and order a pizza and it takes a long time and it’s not super interesting but it’s supposed to be cute and I can’t really fault a slice of life comic for taking its time. Riley’s worried that her girlfriend won’t like that she has a roommate (Riley why don’t you move in with your girlfriend?), and Jaden gets a call from work that they’re shortstaffed.

They’re so short-staffed that they’re going to send an employee out to go pick up Jaden. Can Jaden not get to work on her own? That seems like the kind of thing that would make her not want to move in to this specific apartment. Why would you move to an apartment that you couldn’t get to work from? You’re in the middle of City, and your job is a big nightclub in City, and City has public transit. You previously did not live in City, meaning you used to live further away from work than you now do. How did you get to work before? Isn’t picking up a Jaden a tremendous waste of an employee’s time? Even if the club is aware that Jaden can’t get in on her own and is willing to bend over backwards for her here, why not “Jaden, we need you at work pronto. Take a uber over, we’ll reimburse you”, which is dramatically easier for all involved? Why is everyone in this comic so fucking stupid?

Sigh

Well, Jaden goes to work, and that leads us off into the infamous chapter 3, “The T is for trouble”

We open the chapter with a bad-faith trigger warning that looks like a real content warning but is actually designed to get trans people really mad as Jaden heads to work and-

Hey hey, Rusty started putting links to her tumblr in the comic pages. Someone was expecting pages from this chapter to go viral, wasn’t she? Was the chapter where Riley and Jaden spend a few pages ordering a pizza not giving you enough engagement? But now that you’re the official #2 Terf Webcomic you get lots of angry people in your tags that you can reblog and be snarky at. Bet that makes you feel powerful. I know the feeling. I built my tumblr following by writing reviews and advice columns for five years, but you went from zero to hero in like a week and all you had to do was say mean things about trans people oh my god I figured it out

You’re Mary. Rusty Hearts is Mary Bradford from Dumbing of Age. You want the validation of the “wrong” kind of people giving you shit. That’s why you made sure all your transphobic comics had links to your tumblr and your getting pizza comics didn’t. That’s why you keep reblogging my ads for my comic that I place in your tags. That’s why you see me post the review and make a response like this

And you know what?

Nah.

I’m not going to include chapter 4. I’m not going to read it. I’m not even going to include chapter 3. There’s nothing that I can add to it that hasn’t been said by a ton of other people. I can post your anti-trans stuff and get the vapors about how bigoted you are, but at the end of the day I’m not the Social Justice Report. I’m The Webcomics Review. And your webcomic sucks. It’s boring, it’s stupid, it doesn’t make any sense. Your premise is ludicrous and quickly abandoned to bait and switch people into reading a political polemic (I did skim chapter four, it’s literally people standing around in a circle talking about how trans people are bad like a terfy Ayn Rand novel). Your characters are all morons in order to get to plot points you want to get to, and your first two chapters are a mountain of pointless exposition and characters being vaguely cryptic about their backstories.Your art is bad not just in that you can’t draw well, but in that you don’t bother to include details to give your world a sense of place, and the details you do include like that luxurious living room actively undermine your alleged story (to the extent that there’s a story at all).

But hey, you got your 15 minutes of fame (and zero patreonbux) from the anti-trans stuff. You got people to read your comic. Good hussle. Well done. Tatsuya Ishida does it better.

Leasebound gets zero genders out of a spectrum.

Like this review? Follow me on patreon, or buy me a Ko-Fi! Or even just read my own webcomic, Saffron and Sage!

[twdeadfanfic]

The first to blow your mind Pt.2

Daryl Dixon x Reader

*Summary:  It’s Daryl Dixon’s 18th birthday and he can’t stop his brother from dragging him to the strip club, one of Merle’s favourite places, to celebrate. There’s a new singer there, a girl with a beautiful voice and a beautiful smile, even Daryl can see it. Little does he know, he’s going to meet her again at the woods soon. This was a request but it got out of hand.

Daryl’s POV. Teen Daryl.Pre-apocalypse. Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst

3847 words

Chapters: 2/8

Link to masterlist with more  chapters and works is in the info of this blog.

Thank you all so much for the support in last chapter, I was so nervous, and this got more support than I could have hoped for! Thank you for every like, reblog, and lovely comment, it made my day! I hope you’ll like this chapter too.

***I’ve been reblogging a lot of young Norman pics to get in the mood for teen Daryl, if you want to check it! Some of them are really how I imagine him in this story: twdeadfanfic.tumblr.com/tagged/tftbym ***

Last chapter...Daryl and reader met, first at the strip club then at the woods, and it seemed to Daryl that, somehow, the girl wanted to be his friend. He’s not very sure, but he thinks he might want it too, and so he’s on his way to meet her again...

....................................................................................................

For the longest time, Daryl didn’t know what to do, go to that part of the woods where he knew the girl might be or not. He still didn’t know what to think of her, confused by her. He knew he wanted to see her again, no matter he tried to stop himself from feeling like that, even though he didn’t understand why. He had barely been able to sleep that night, his thoughts shifting to the girl, her smile as she talked with him, as she sang, how different the girl from the woods and the girl at the club seemed, even though they were the same. 

Nerves clutched his stomach as he walked to the woods, making him feel like an idiot. He didn’t know what to do once he saw her again, what to say to her. That, if she was there. Maybe the girl wasn’t going to show up, maybe she was messing with him, maybe she didn’t really want to try to be his friend, if that’s even what she was trying to do. Maybe she was laughing at him after all. Maybe it was some kind of trick. Maybe... 

Daryl heard a voice singing softly and he knew it was her, she had come. Somehow, it made him more nervous. He walked silently towards the voice and he saw her, walking and dancing around. He watched her in silence until she noticed he was there. She jumped a bit when she saw him, but then she was smiling. 

“Hey, you came!” Daryl just nodded in silence and as the girl approached with that bright grin on her face, he’d to fight the urge to run away. “I hope you haven’t been watching for long... it’s embarrassing.” The girl chuckled, biting her lip. Daryl didn’t know why she thought it was embarrassing, or if maybe she thought he was stalking her or something. He didn’t really know what to say. “I was just practicing, you know, trying not to suck at it.” She chuckled again. 

“You don’t suck,” Daryl said quietly, looking down, unable to meet her eyes. “Told you, you sing well.” He didn’t understand why she might think otherwise, maybe she was just pretending or something. 

“Thank you!” Even without looking at her, Daryl could hear the smile in her voice. “I can’t really practice at home, it seems I bother my neighbors or something, thin walls or whatever.” She let out an annoyed sigh. “But I meant the dancing...I think it’s still not my thing, I don’t really know what to do half of the time. Your brother gave me great advice my first day, though, yelling at me to ‘move that ass’” The girl joked, giggling, and Daryl blushed, hearing his brother in his head. 

“Must be the first time he gave good advice.” Daryl didn’t know if he was joking or not, he owed Merle a lot and he was his big brother and smarter, but lately he was starting to see how Merle wasn’t the best at taking the right decisions most of the time. He had to stop himself from looking around as he said that, paranoid of his brother hearing it, even though he knew it was impossible and stupid...a reflex, he guessed. The girl just laughed at that. 

“Honestly, it helped, I’d finished singing and I was feeling so awkward, didn’t know what to do...I guess that move my ass is as good as anything, at least I’m not there standing like a tree or just walking around while the other girls dance so good. I still don’t know what to do with my arms half of the time, though, they are just here...hanging like hosepipes or something.” 

Daryl’s eyes had been fixed on the ground, but he looked up at her weird at that, and as the girl wiggled her arms sillily as she giggled, the ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. 

“Or else they go like this, like t-rex arms, which I guess it’s not that sexy either, but well, everyone has their kinks.” She kept just wiggling her arms around in silly ways as she spoke and Daryl couldn’t keep it together any longer, snorting. 

The girl giggled and as both them laughed together, Daryl found himself relaxing ever so slightly. She looked at him as if curious, a look on her face Daryl wasn’t sure he could read, and he looked down again, self-conscious, though by now he was feeling surer that the girl didn’t want to mess with him or laugh at him. He was so lost as for why the girl had decided she wanted to speak with him and maybe be his friend. 

“I don’t think you’re bad at it,” Daryl mumbled, shrugging, eyes on the ground. 

“Thanks, you didn’t get to see me dancing much that night, though...maybe that’s why you think that.”  

The girl laughed again and Daryl tried hard not to think about that night, not wanting all the shame and embarrassment to come back to him. He tried not to think on her rocking and her hands moving over her body as she sang, or on the moment when she ditched the dress, sure that if he did he couldn’t look at her and keep talking to her. He felt his cheeks heating up anyway, but if the girl noticed, she didn’t say anything. 

“I think it’s starting to grow on me, though, I think I’d like to actually learn how to dance. Like, not only wiggle my ass so I get tips, you know, I want to really learn. Some of the girls that work there are so good, yet none of the people who go there appreciate it, they just have one thing in their mind. Kind of like when I sing. But well, it’s a living.” 

Daryl looked at the girl as she vented, sounding disappointed. She looked at him and bit her lip, giving him a shy smile. “I’m sorry, I’m here talking your ear off again, you can tell me to shut up.” 

“No... I just don’t know why you want to tell me all these.” He admitted. 

“Guess I don’t really have someone to speak to.” The girl shrugged. “And it feels like you listen to me when I speak...but I guess it’s just that you don’t really feel like talking and here I am bothering you with my shit.” She let out an embarrassed chuckle. 

“You ain’t bothering me.” It wasn’t like he didn’t feel like talking to her, it was just he didn’t know what to say, but he did like to listen to her. He felt less nervous the more she spoke, less on edge. Maybe it was silly, but Daryl felt like he wanted her to keep speaking so he could know more about her. “So you don’t have friends to speak to?” 

“Not really, not anymore at least. My best friend Nora moved to the city a year ago. Once I’ve got enough money I’m going to move there too and we’re going to live together, and it’s going to be awesome.” She smiled sadly. “Also, some of the girls I work with are really nice too. When I started, I owed my landlord last month rent and also I couldn’t afford that month either, I was about to be kicked out but some of the girls gave me half of their tips so I could pay. I owe them a lot.”  By hearing her talk, Daryl guessed she hadn’t had it easy after her mother died. “So, I hope your brother keeps coming and tipping good and allowing me to pay rent.” The girl joked awkwardly. 

“Don’t think he plans on stopping.” Unless Merle decided to leave the town once again, that club would probably still be one of his favorite places to visit night in night out. 

“So... what about you, you got a lot of friends?” The girl asked him and Daryl almost snorted. 

“Just my brother.” If he’d had friends, it had been a long while ago, when he was little and his brother wasn’t there.

“And those guys you were with that night?” 

“They are my brother’s friends, not mine.” Daryl knew how they were, what they were. 

“I don’t really like how most of them look.” The girl admitted, looking at him as if expecting he might snap at her for saying that, but Daryl couldn’t care less, he didn’t like them either. “Don’t want to know what they do to get all that money either.” Daryl knew, most of them got their money same way that his brother did, others in even darker ways, but he didn’t say anything, embarrassed about it. “Wouldn’t like them asking me for a private show, so to speak.” 

“Merle wouldn’t let any of them hurt you.” Daryl genuinely thought like that, Merle could be many things but he wasn’t a rapist or anything like that, and Daryl couldn’t believe he’d hurt or let his friends hurt any of the girls. 

“That’s good to know.” The girl gave him a small smile. “Anyway...you wanted to hunt and here I am bothering you with half my life and not letting you hunt, sorry.” 

“Told you, you ain’t bothering me,” Daryl muttered. “And I think you scared the game away when you sang and then talking.” 

“Oh...sorry...” The girl bit her lip as she gave him a small, shy smile. 

“It’s okay, I’ll find something.” There must be some squirrels not far, maybe a rabbit. He’d found deer some times, but those were easier to scare and used to be further away from the town. 

“Can I go with you? I promise I’ll shut up.” The ask took Daryl aback, but he found himself nodding, for some reason he didn’t want them to part ways yet. The girl smiled brightly and his stomach did funny twirls. “Lead the way.” 

As she followed him in silence, Daryl forced himself to stop thinking about her and focus on tracking. It took him shorter than he thought to spot a rabbit. He pointed it at the girl, who didn’t seem to have seen it yet. He aimed his crossbow and shot, and the girl gasped next to him, looking away as the rabbit fell dead to the ground. 

“Sorry, I bet you think I’m stupid or weak, or something...” The girl apologized, seeming embarrassed, when he looked at her. “I’d never seen...just...sorry.” 

“It’s okay, girl.” Daryl didn’t know what to say and he tried not to sound harsh. The first time his uncle had taken him to the woods as a little kid to teach him how to track and hunt, he’d seen him kill a rabbit too, and he remembered being upset too. He also remembered how his father had laughed at him, calling him names. Things were different now. 

“Thanks.” The girl smiled softly, but she still seemed a bit embarrassed. “I’m Y/N, by the way.” Daryl nodded, he knew her name, she had told him yesterday, but it felt a bit personal to call her by her name, but it seemed she wanted him to. 

“Wait here...Y/N.” He made his way to the dead rabbit, guessing the girl would be upset to get closer, and he wrapped it with a rag before getting it into his hunting bag and making his way back to Y/N. 

“You want to keep hunting?” 

“Nah, that's enough.” He didn't want to upset Y/N more and the rabbit would feed him for the night, probably next day too, if he stewed it.  

“Okay… I have to go back.” 

“Do you want me to walk you back to the town? He asked shyly, gaze on the ground.  

“That would be nice, thank you!” 

* 

Next day, Daryl didn’t think it twice about going back to the woods, same place, same hour. Even though their walk back to the town had been mostly silent, Y/N had told him she’d be there the next day too, as if she wanted to see him again. Daryl had barely slept again, thinking about her, he’d barely been able to listen to Merle when he’d been running his mouth as always, until his brother noticed and snapped at him. Daryl couldn’t care. 

He wanted to see her again, even though he still didn’t understand why she might want to see him again. By now, he was almost sure the girl wasn’t playing him or anything like that, and he'd found himself enjoying it as he listened to her talking. Somehow, he felt like he wanted her to tell him more about her. 

She had told him she hadn’t many friends, and probably that was the reason why she had decided she wanted to befriend him. He hadn’t any friends...so maybe they could, indeed, be friends. The idea made him nervous and a bit scared, but it made him smile too.  

As he walked closer to the place where he’d found her the previous days and he didn’t hear her singing, he began to worry, wondering if maybe Y/N hadn’t come, if maybe she had decided she didn’t want to keep hanging out with him, but then she spotted her, walking and dancing a bit. This time, when she saw him, she didn’t jump. She approached him, a bright smile on her face, and Daryl’s heart began beating faster, nervous.  

“I haven’t sung so I wouldn't scare your game if you wanted to hunt.” She whispered to him, and a small smile tugged at the corner of Daryl’s lip as he found himself thinking she was cute. He chastised himself, blushing.  

“You made noise as you moved anyway.” It was difficult to learn to move silently, and dancing around probably she had been heard by every animal that was close enough.  

“Oh… didn’t think about that, sorry.”  

Daryl hadn't wanted to make her feel bad and he hoped he hadn't upset her. He wished he knew how to talk better with people.  

“No, I didn't mean it like that, just… You don't have to stop singing or nothing.” She had told him she couldn't do it at home and he didn't want her to feel she couldn't sing there either just in case he might go hunting.  The girl said nothing, just gave him a smile. “I can hunt later.” 

They stood there in silence for what felt eternal to Daryl. He'd wanted to see Y/N again but now he felt he didn't know what to tell her, waiting for her to speak as nerves knotted his stomach. 

“So… Do you want to take a walk with me, maybe?” She asked, sounding unsure too, and Daryl nodded, it'd be better than just stand there. The girl smiled to him and as Daryl turned around, she began following through the woods. 

They walked in silence and Daryl began to worry. During the couple of days he’d seen her, Y/N had seemed like a talkative person, speaking with him even though he hadn’t said much, but she was silent now. Daryl wondered if he might have done something wrong, if maybe she now thought he didn’t want her to talk with him, but then why would she want to see him and walk by him. 

“You okay?” He asked when he couldn’t take it any longer. 

“Yeah, why?” 

“You’re quiet.” Daryl shrugged shyly. 

“I’m trying to...I just kind of felt like I’ve been talking too much, and you seem to really like your quiet so, dunno...” The girl let out an embarrassed chuckle. “I guess I didn’t want to be annoying.” 

“You ain’t annoying. I liked to listen to what you were saying.” Daryl forced himself to overcome his shyness and say it aloud. 

“Yeah? That’s good to know.”  

Daryl looked at her through the corner of his eye, a smile tugging at his lips when he saw her grinning. She didn’t say anything else and Daryl wondered if maybe he should be the one to speak, but he didn’t really know what to say. Before he could worry too much, Y/N spoke again. 

“You move like you’d been in the woods forever.” 

“I come here since I was little.” He liked it more than the town too, away from people’s gossip, from his father, from everything. 

“That’s cool,” the girl said, and Daryl just shrugged. 

“So...besides coming to the woods, what other things do you like?” 

“Dunno...” 

Daryl’d never felt comfortable with personal questions, half the time he was asked he was sure there was some hidden intention behind it, but he didn’t feel it from Y/N. Still, he didn’t know how to answer. 

“There must be something you like.” 

“Why you care?” His insecurity made him snap and he regretted it, but he didn’t know how to apologize. 

“Told you, I thought you were interesting.” The girl shrugged and Daryl looked at her weird, he still didn’t understand why she might think that. “Guess, I wanted to know something more about you...” She looked down and Daryl thought she was blushing. “I’m sorry if it was too personal or anything, we can talk about something else.” 

“No, it ain’t that...”  

Personal questions made him uncomfortable and defensive, but not from her. Still, the idea of telling her things about him and Y/N deciding she wasn’t interested in being his friend anymore made him nervous. Y/N was silent again and Daryl thought for something to tell her, something he liked. 

“Bikes.” 

“Uh?” 

“I like bikes.” 

“Your brother has one, right? I’ve seen him around town a couple of times with some other guys.” 

“Yeah, he’s let me ride it sometimes.” He’d always complained about it, threatening him if he damaged it, but he’d let him ride it sometimes since he was big enough to hold the bike right. “I like to ride.” 

“Cool, you got a bike?” 

“Not now but I’m putting together one and it’ll be ready soon.”  

During the last couple or so of years he’d gotten a couple of old bikes here and there, wanting to have his own, but both of them had soon died. He had managed to save some pieces, though, and with some other parts he’d managed to get cheap, he’d been trying to build his own. Merle'd been always saying how he wasn’t going to be able to do it and whatever bike he made was going to fall into pieces as soon as he turned on the engine, but by now Daryl had managed to keep the bike going and he was sure it was pretty much done. Putting a bike together, that was something he’d liked doing too. 

“What you mean putting together?” Y/N looked at him as if confused. 

“Building it from pieces and parts of other bikes.” 

“Seriously?! You’re building a bike?!” Y/N stopped walking to look at him with wide eyes, making Daryl feel a bit insecure under her gaze. 

“Yeah.” 

“Woah...how cool is that?!” Y/N was grinning and Daryl didn’t think someone had ever looked at him like she was doing, she seemed impressed and Daryl couldn’t help but feel a bit proud. He couldn’t hold her gaze, though, and he began walking again. 

“Are you studying mechanics or something?” 

Daryl scoffed, he’d dropped out of school as soon as he was able. “Nah.” 

“And yet you built a bike by yourself...that’s like so impressive.” Her words gave Daryl again that mix of feelings, of pride and embarrassment. He’d never thought it was that impressive, he was just following what he read on old manuals and bikes magazines. “Would you like to study mechanics?” 

Daryl had never thought about it, studying had never been his thing. He hadn’t even considered he could study something related to bikes, building and repairing stuff. He didn’t know what to think about it. 

“Dunno.” 

“Well, by what you’re telling me, it doesn’t seem like you need it.” The girl grinned to him and Daryl found himself smiling too. He usually felt uncomfortable when he had to share something about himself, not that he had to do it often, but he didn’t feel like that with Y/N, not with how she was looking at him. 

“And you?” He’d found himself wanting to know more about her almost since she began speaking to him. 

“No, I’m useless at building anything with my hands, I can’t even doodle.” Y/N giggled and Daryl realized he’d been so caught up in his own mind he hadn’t actually formulated the question he wanted. 

“No, I meant, what do you like besides singing.” 

“I think I’ve found I like dancing too... even though I’m not that good at it. I used to like reading a lot too, but I barely do it these days.” 

“What kind of books?” Daryl glanced at the girl through the corner of his eye, wondering if she might be finding him nosy, but it didn’t seem so. 

“My favorites were detective books and that kind...I think maybe because they were my mother’s favorites. Shows and movies too, when I was little some afternoons my mum and I would just like marathon half a detective’s show or a bunch of movies. And when I was a little older I began borrowing her books.” 

She looked sad as she talked about her mother and Daryl’s heart clenched a bit, trying not to think on his own. He wished he knew what to say or what to do to make Y/N feel better, but he didn’t. Soon, though, she was smiling again. 

“Do you like detective books?” 

“Dunno.” 

“I could lend you one of mine, maybe, if you feel like reading one...” 

“Okay.” He wasn’t sure if he was going to like it, but if she wanted to lend him one of her books, he wasn’t going to say no. 

She smiled and looked at her watch. “Shit, I gotta go, I’ve to get ready to work tonight.” 

“I’ll walk you to the town.”  They had walked further from the clearing where they’d met and Daryl didn’t want her getting lost in the woods, especially when the sun was going down in an hour. 

“No, you wanted to hunt, I can go by myself.” 

“I’ll walk you back to the clearing and then I’ll go hunting.” Even though she said she could go back by herself, Daryl felt uneasy about leaving her alone there. 

“Okay, thanks.” She smiled and began following him back.

Once they reached the clearing, Y/N stopped to look at him with that bright smile and Daryl’s stomach did those damn twirls again. “Thank you for walking me here, Daryl.” I’m going to come tomorrow again...so if you want to, we could meet again, if you’re free.” 

“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Daryl couldn’t help his smile at her wanting to meet again, and then at the way in which she grinned. It was hard to believe, but it seemed she really liked to talk to him and spend time with him, she really wanted to be his friend. 

"See you tomorrow then!” 

......................................................................................................

Daryl made a friend! What did you thought? Do you like this friendship? If you have a moment, please let me know yiur impresions. As always, thank you for your reads, likes, comments and reblogs, it means the world to me!

As always, English is not my first language so sorry if there are mistakes.

If you want to be tagged (or removed from the tags) let me know!

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[writingsofmyimagination]

Conjecture |8|

Idol Reader Au, Enemies to Lovers AU

Summary: Your management refused to renew your contract unless you collaborated, so you ending up working with Min Yoongi. A guy you’d disliked from before both of your debuts. There is more to their past than meets the eye.

Links to all other parts in my masterlist :)

Words:1795

Warnings: SMUT!! (nothing to crazy, morning sex), Swearing, Embarrassing mum alert.

Not sure on this part but ya know :P

if you want to be tagged let me know :)

Reblog, Like, Comment pwwwweeasse :)

// Yoongi exhaled a large breath outside the threshold of the cause of all his uncertainty; beyond which was an answer he wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He knew what he wanted to say but whether it would come out coherently was another thing entirely. His hand was near trembling, his fingers stroked through the back of his hair in nervous glitches. He liked you, like really liked you. The vulnerability he felt was unnerving and unfamiliar but he needed you to see that; give you a tiny glimpse of the huge generous heart at his centre. //

  The gentle ripples of the mattress stirred you into a semi-conscious state as Yoongi’s arm found a snug spot between your breasts; provoking a drowsy smirk laden with contentment. You soaked up the comfort shrouding you, nothing had felt so right before; like this is where you were meant to be. You wriggled your behind into him with approval, wanting to not be further than a hairs width from his skin before you’d allow yourself back to sleep.

The morning sun streamed in through the curtains, the glittering beams threatening to stir you to full consciousness. You point blank refused.

You realised rather promptly that sleep was not on Yoongi’s agenda, when you’d wriggled in to him it rushed his blood southward. Neither of you said a word as he nuzzled into the back of your neck before littering the area with firm, wet kisses. His hand slid round and loosely gripped the back of your neck before tracing down your spine; the volume of your soundless moan exposed your biggest area of weakness. Anywhere the cool fingertips passed, goose bumps lined the skin. The embers between your legs grew ferocious; he pulled your hip back so you were pressed closer to him and he’d gained easier access to your inner thighs. Heavy breaths were exhaled each time his fingers ghosted over where you ached the most.

“Yoongi…fuck… please” you whined breaking the humid silence. You felt his lips curve upwards against the top of shoulders with gluttonous approval.

“I was waiting to see if you’d beg” he purred

“It’s not something I’m above ya know” when the full pressure of his fingers finally slid through your need for him one lot of relief was expelled only for another type of tension to begin building.

“God y/n is this how bad you want me?” his fingers honing in on your clit.

“Mmmhmm” you replied rolling your head forward, your hips circling and pressing back into him feeling just how bad he wanted you too.

The agonizing lazy slow circles he drew were gradually winding up the coil, you impatience diffused through your system like a raging current. You rolled over in his arms.

“I need this now” you whined stroking his cock; you stretched over to your bedside draw and shuffled around for a condom which you gave him as you rushed your nightshirt off desperate to feel his soft skin flush to you. You both rushed back to being entwined unable to be apart, his hands wrapped round yours and pinned them above your head, his face nestled at your neck breathing hot. Your nails left half crescent stains on the back of his hand, the mixture of both your moans spreading through the room.

“I can’t believe you made me wait for this… you feel so good” no words could form in your throat, you were lost in how he felt now you were one.

“Neither can I” you admitted in between sweet gasps, his hips bucked into you with hard definite clarity. Your bodies grew flushed with moisture, body heat rocketing between you. You were breathless, loud pants echoing filling the otherwise silent space. His thrusts slowed down and he started teasing you, not fully filling you. Your patience for this was gone the moment his lips touched your skin. You just needed him to fuck you, you’d waited too long. He released your hands in favour of supporting himself on the mattress, with their new found freedom your hands tugged at one of his, he willingly allowed you to guide it to around your throat. His face flashed hesitant for a moment until you squeezed, you tightened his grip with your hand and you clenched around him. His control over himself seemed to dissipate quite rapidly after that with his thrusts resuming to full strength.

“Y/N fuck I’m c…” Yoongi grunted bucking his hips jerkily.

“Don’t you dare stop” you panted, he obeyed thrusting through his own climax to ensure you got to yours.

 Your attention flew to the sound of your front door closing followed by the unmistakeable excited claws of Charlie on the wood floor. It usually brought you joy but currently it sent you into panic.

“Shit, that’s my mum, put some clothes on” you said almost winded at how fast you flew out of the bed and chucked a long shirt on.

“Hi Mum, I was just…” you said as un-phased as possible

“Oh please y/n don’t give me any excuses I know what you were doing I heard from the front door” you dropped to the floor at the buzzing Little ball of fluff at your feet and gave Charlie all the fuss he desired shielding your now tainted pink cheeks from your mother. You resumed to standing when Charlie sauntered off and you were back facing the disapproval on her face.

“I thought I told you to stop messing with that Wonho guy and actually get a proper boyfriend” the downside of having your mum as a best friend often involved her speaking her thoughts on your love life. What made it worse is she had no volume control plus the fact she also didn’t care if anyone heard.

“I was hoping with you on this project you and Yoongi would make up and start a thing, he’s such a nice boy” Mortified into absolute stillness staring straight through your mum at Yoongi who’d surfaced into the room silently. Your mum caught on and turned and carried on without skipping a beat

“Good Morning Mrs Y/LN” Yoongi greeted after a low bow.

“Well glad you finally stopped being a stubborn cow” she said turning back to you.

“Mum!” you scolded feeling five again. Yoongi was failing miserably at hiding his amusement and it only grew with the warning stare you chucked his way.

“Don’t know what you’re smiling at Mr Min you let her get away with it all this time”

Your expressions swapped in an instant. Yoongi went to defend himself but sensed correctly he would not win against your mother. Charlie clip clopped back in the room and made a b-line for the stranger in his house, only to attack with licks and paws to get his attention to which he gave without any hesitation.

So… Yoongi has Charlie’s approval.

“I’ve been looking forward to meeting you” Yoongi informed Charlie in a high pitch voice. “Bichon Frise?” he inquired

“Crossed with a Cavalier King Charles” you replied trying not to melt at how adorable he looked playing with Charlie.

“Are you going to tell your management? Oh your father will be soo happy” She was off in her world of happiness now.

“We’re doing it today” you responded a tad calmer now the smell of coffee was in the air. Her eyes grew wide and her eyebrows grew further apart.

“Wow it must be serious then if you’re going to try all official, how do you think it will go?”

“I don’t know” doubt obviously seeped through your words. It was the honest answer, you wasn’t sure if they’d even allow it. Your management would likely be fine but BigHit was another situation entirely. It would be more of a bigger deal for their male idol to come out and say he’s dating than it would be for you, no doubt they’ll be huge restrictions on what the pair of you could and couldn’t do if they do allow it. In addition you’d have to deal with the media beyond the announcement not to mention the negative backlash from fans of both of you. You’d done so well at scurrying away your worries but now you’ve been asked about it here they are rearing the ugly head of doubt which deflated your mood massively your eyes sunk to the floor.

//Phone Ringing//

It was your manager. You motioned your mum to be quiet with a finger to your lips as you put the call on speaker phone.

“Good Morning Y/N are you with Yoongi?”

“Yeah I’m here” He answered for you joining you in the kitchen.

“Good, glad I caught you both together PD and I have some great news” you assumed the pair of them had you both on speaker phone as well.

“Oh please do tell” your interested was piqued, your gaze shifted to Yoongi who met you with a shrug of his shoulders

“Well s you know the interest in this project has been crazy and that interest has gone as far as the MAMA’s” he paused, Yoongi frowned at you and shrugged his shoulders again, you mimicked his expression.

“You’ve been asked to perform the single” he paused again. Your mouth dropped open and your coffee mug nearly went crashing to the floor as your grip faltered.

“What? Are you serious? That’s… well that’s incredible” you replied voice much higher than normal.  Your gaze held on Yoongi his reaction was much less animated than yours but the excited glimmer definitely danced in his eyes.

“Yes I’m serious, but they are only four weeks away so we need you both to come In today and see what’s been done, we may have to push you to bring the release date forward to give time for the reactions. Obviously the boys will be performing and Y/N you have also been invited to present the Artist of the Year award this year, I’ve already got the agreement details, they just need you signatures”

Your racing heart, your buzzing system no longer required the caffeine you were offering.

“We’ll leave in about half hour, we have something else we need to talk to you about as well so we can do two birds one stone and I’ll be bringing my dog just FYI” your mum gave you an approving smile.

“We’ll I’ll leave you to get ready” she gave you a kiss on the cheek “So proud of you darling”. This had you fighting back tears in a beat.

“Thanks mum”

“You make sure you take care of her or you’ll have me to deal with” she warned passing Yoongi

“Yes Ma’am” he replied confidently yet somehow sheepishly at the same time.

[unpredictably-raichu]

An ask blog needs asks to generate content but can't do that without asks... so how would a new (or recently revived) ask blog get the people's attention?

Oh, oh, yes! Advice time! :D I’ve been in the ask community for a little while now, so here are some things I’ve gathered over time for when you’re getting started (I’ll be assuming yours is a Pokémon ask blog, since you’re asking this to one).

Keep in mind this is long af and a bit detailed (though it’s only the first part that is long). If you’re interested in a in-detail guide, click ‘read more’ (which I would be very thankful for, I wrote all this shit for you after all, fam).

Here’s a little summarized version as a TL;DR for everyone else:

#1: keep your blog clean. If it’s about Pokémon, it’s about Pokémon; if it’s about Sonic, it’s about Sonic; if it’s about trees, it’s about goddamn trees, so no rebloging random puppy pictures or funny videos here, leave that for your personal blog, not your ask blog. Also try to keep all the out of character crap to a minimum.

#2: Have reference pages for your characters available. That’s actually a minimum requirement. An ask hints page would be useful too, but that’s optional.

#3: Have a tagging system to make everything easier to navigate.

#4 [OPTIONAL]: Give your blog a theme. Make it pretty, make it yours, and for the love of God, deactivate the god damn infinite scrolling.

#5: Tags are your friends. Tag your first post with “signal boost”, “first post”, and/or “intro post”. Tag every Pokémon that appears in your posts, including that one barely visible Caterpie in the background. Tag all your posts as “Pokémon ask blog” or “Pokeaskblog”. Tag. Tag everything. Tags are your friends if you want to be seen. Tags. Tags are. Your. Friends.

#6: Interact with other blogs. Like crazy. You are sure to be noticed when you’re freaking everywhere. Don’t forget to be nice tho. And don’t bully or harass people, for fuck’s sake.

#7: Take a chair, sit over there, get comfortable and be Patient. Like really freaking patient. Wait for months if necessary, but asks will come eventually.

#8: Have fun. That’s the whole point. Talk to people, make some shitposts, engage in silliness, and draw those magical pocket monsters that can shoot lasers out of their asses and we all love. It’s fun.

And that’s it. There’s not much else I can say, so I hope this is helpful! :D

Here’s the detailed thing:

Step #1: Organize your blog

It doesn’t seem like something that important, but believe me, it really is. Nothing turns me away from a blog faster than it being messy af and full of random, unrelated stuff. In order to keep your blog all tidy and pretty you can:

a) Refrain from reblogging anything unrelated. (If your blog is a sideblog, skip this one): You can reblog that video of that one adorable otter in your personal blog, but if your ask blog is about, say, Pokémon, don’t reblog anything that isn’t Pokémon related. If you want to go even further than that, only reblog things that are directly related to your blog, like mentions, fanart, or rp responses, instead of some random Squirtle GIF.

b) Have info pages/references of your characters available: By this I mean having specific pages containing information about your characters, including a visual reference, if possible. Reference pages are very important, since they allow people to quickly get to know a character and make interaction easier. They can contain information as simple and basic as their name, species, moves, etc. to more elaborated things, like occupation (if they have one), personality, or a brief summary of their past story/origin (unless you want that to be revealed as the story progresses in your blog or through an ask).

If you don’t know how to make a page, >here’s an easy tutorial.

      b.2) Having an “ask hints” helps a lot when trying to receive asks, since it’ll help people who want to interact but aren’t sure of what they should ask. You can have general hints or individual hints for all the characters.

c) Have a tagging system: Having your posts clearly labeled makes it a lot easier for anyone who wanters through your blog to find the specific content they’re looking for. Here are three basic tags that make your blog easier to look through:

#OOC: “out of character”, for everything happening, well, out of character. Maybe an announcement, a shitpost, a question directed a the mod, etc. Try to keep ooc things to a minimum.

#IC: “In character”, exactly what it says on the tin. Use this for answered asks towards the characters, plot posts, rp interactions and responses, ect.

#[Character’ name]: Tag the characters that appear in a post, for anyone who wants to look through asks with one specific character in them.

Tags help a lot for getting your blog noticed. We will talk more about this ahead.

d) [OPTIONAL] Have a nice theme: This isn’t obligatory, but giving your blog a theme will make it look better and more ‘professional’. Here are some blogs that give really good, free themes/codes for Tumblr:

https://glenthemes.tumblr.com/

https://yukoki.tumblr.com/

https://zuvia.tumblr.com/thms

https://strawberryjeon.tumblr.com/tagged/themes

https://felinum.tumblr.com/tagged/theme

http://hellolittlered.org/themes/type/tumblr/

https://magnusthemes.tumblr.com/mythemes

http://dianthus-s.tumblr.com/themes

https://raiidens.tumblr.com/tagged/themesbyraiidens

https://yeolithm.com/portfolio

These are just some, but there are many, many others out there. Look for a theme that fits your tastes or your blog’s atmosphere, and customize it! You can even use this blog’s theme! However, make sure to not use overly saturated colors that make it painful to look at, it- kind of defeats the point. You can Google ‘color palletes’ if you need help with that.

NOTE: If you don’t know how to install a Tumblr theme, >here’s a simple tutorial

NOTE#2: Sometimes Tumblr might not let you install a specific theme and shows you an error message that says that it can’t be installed because it is “making a reference to non- https directions” or something like that, which didn’t use to happen before. >Here’s a tutorial on how to fix it, it’s quite simple, actually.

NOTE#3: For an ask/rp blog, I recommend a theme with one column, and that shows tags and captions, like the one in this blog.

If you’ve got any question about installing or customizing a theme, you can ask me, and I’ll see how I can help!

Step #2: Tags help you to be found

Be sure to use tags in your favor. Here are some things that have helped me a lot:

a) If you’re starting a Pokémon blog, tag every Pokémon that appears in your posts; that way, people looking through the tag of that specific Pokémon will be able to see your posts.

b) Again, if it’s a Pokémon blog, tag your posts as “Pokémon ask blog” or “Pokeaskblog” (or both), people looking for pokeaskblogs to follow usually look though these tags regularly.

c) Tag your first post/posts or intro as “Signal boost” and “First post”. There are blogs in the Pokémon community that look for posts tagged like this and reblog them to give them a ‘boost’, which helps a lot when you want to be seen. I’m not sure how many of these are still active, though, but you won’t lose anything from trying.

Step #3: Interact with other blogs like a madman

Send lots of asks! Interact with other blogs! Follow even more blogs! Send fanart and nice messages! Reblog/Like those posts of people looking for new blogs to follow! Some people will find you through someone else’s answered ask, some people will notice you’re following and will check you out, some people will see you in a like or a reblog, and overall there are higher chances of being seen when you are everywhere and interact with everyone (also, it’s really fun to just interact with other nice people over here).

Just make sure to be nice.

Step #4: Be patient. P a t i e n t. I’m serious.

If you think you’ll get lots of followers in a matter of a couple days then start forgetting about it. It took me two weeks to get my first ask at asktheweirdpichu, and a week and a half to get one here. And they were both spam. I cried. Two years later (holy heck has it really been that long?) I’ve got so many asks accumulated that I’m starting to think I should just fake my death and end my suffering (I’m joking, I love every single ask I get and get excited every time I get a new one).

It will take a while, but you’ll see that after enough time you’ll get noticed more and more, so don’t give up, you’ll get there.

Step #5: Don’t forget to have fun.

Make some friends, have some silly interactions, make some shitposts at 3 am, draw someone’s character and watch them shoot effusive love at you, enjoy your favorite blogs. That’s what all this is about.

And that is all! I hope it was useful! :D

[rainoverthemountains]

Twist story chapter 17

Twistfell and everything associated with it belong to @itsladykit

Comments, likes, and reblogs continue to make me very happy, especially when I get to read how someone feels about the story or anything in it. Thank you!

Summary: There’s a cure for LV (probably). It’s completely safe (probably). It’s a highly unpleasant experience (definitely). Twist only cares about that first statement. He probably should have paid a little more attention to the other two. But what does it matter? He’s getting what he wants, and he has the best friends and family in any universe to help along the way.

chapter 1, chapter 16

Chapter 17

Twist wakes to the morning light gently creeping across the room. His sockets drift open to watch it, and he smiles as he sees it illuminating his little brother’s face. Blackberry has a book in his lap but is slumped over the arm of the chair, where he has fallen asleep. At least he didn’t stay up all night.

Not wanting to wake him but wanting a drink, Twist looks around for his water bottle. Ah hah! There it is on the nightstand. It’s almost within reach if he stretches. Just a little farther… No, too far.

Undeterred, he takes a moment to analyze the situation. He needs to get closer to the nightstand. Can he do that? He hasn’t moved much on his own since the treatment started a week ago. Trying usually doesn’t go too well, but everything just feels so good this morning. It must be possible. Besides, he sure can move when he’s panicking; just look at what he did last night actually don’t because this is a good morning and that would ruin it so he should be able to do it when he’s relaxed. He doesn’t even need to fling himself across the bed, just scoot a little closer to one side. Totally doable.

He’s lying flat on his back. The water bottle is maybe six inches from the farthest his left hand can reach. He’s feeling good this morning; well-rested, not freaking out about anything, nothing beyond minor aches in his soul and bones. It can’t be that hard to move six inches. Just scoot sideways, that seems easy enough.

It’s not. Who’d have thought so much coordination was involved in scooting across the bed? His first attempt moves his head in the direction he wants to go, but his shoulders stay firmly where they are. Why is this so hard? His bones barely hurt, but there’s just no strength in them and they’re not doing what he tells them. The next attempt gets him claw marks in his night stand where he tried to grab it to pull himself closer. No luck; his arms are not going to pull around his body weight. The third attempt knocks the breath out of him when he halfway succeeds at sitting up before being abruptly reminded that his arms won’t stand up against gravity, either. This isn’t working.

No closer to his destination, he glares at his target. It’s not that far. There’s no reason to wake Blackberry up to get something that’s barely a foot away. Groaning, he realizes that that’s farther away than when he started, which means all he’s managed to do is make the job harder. “Fuck”. Not a good start.

“‘m gonna getcha,” he mutters, refusing to be defeated by distance and gravity. Scooting isn’t working. “Ok, new plan.” Gathering all of his strength, he gets his right arm underneath him, braces it against the bed, and pushes. The strain of putting all of his weight on just a few joints draws a whimper from him, but slowly, the right side of his ribcage lifts from the bed and his lower body follows. Yes! It’s working!

No, shit, it worked too well! He flails to catch himself as he nearly rolls off the bed. The goal was to roll onto his side to give himself a better range of movement, not to land face down on the edge of the bed with one leg dangling over the side. Sighing into the pillow, he glances over at his still sleeping brother. Maybe this was a bad idea. He thought he was feeling better, but apparently it’s too much to even pick up a water bottle. Now Blackberry’s going to wake up and find him falling off the bed with his face trapped in a pillow. Great.

This is beyond frustrating. Never mind the pain and the memories, it’s the sheer helplessness that’s really getting to him. A week ago he could have gone toe to toe with almost any monster in the underground. Now he’s consistently losing fights against gravity. The water is right there! It’s within arm’s reach now, but how’s he supposed to reach out and take it? Shift around trying to grab it and fall out of bed again? That’s definitely what’s going to happen if he leans over any farther.

It’s pathetic, really, lying here waiting for his brother to come save him by rolling him back into bed. He knows he shouldn’t complain. Of course he shouldn’t. This is so much better than where he woke up yesterday morning. If he’d done this with Iggy, she probably would have tied the rest of him to the bed so he couldn’t keep causing these problems. Blackberry will just rescue him while gently chiding him about doing dangerous things like, like rolling over in his own fucking bed. While getting further convinced that Twist can’t be left alone for a single damn minute, of course.

“This is ridiculous,” Twist growls. “Jus’ ‘cause nothin’s workin’ right don’t mean I can’t pick up a fucking water bottle.” He’s made his body work when it shouldn’t before. Actually, didn’t he walk across the lab with Iggy not that long ago? Yesterday, holy shit, that was only yesterday. And it hurt like knives in his joints, but he did it, so what’s different now? This shouldn’t be so hard.

This is an easier task than that was. It’s easier than a lot of things he’s had to make his body do when it was broken. It barely even hurts; his body just isn’t cooperating. So what does he do when he can’t count on his body to move the way it’s supposed to? Other than push through with sheer determination. While that’s great for working through pain, it’s not going to put any strength back in his limbs. Pain is only a minor consideration, here. More important is figuring out what he can do and what he can’t do.

What he can’t do is scoot over, lift his body off the bed, or reach over without tipping himself over the side. so pretty much anything requiring strength or coordination. What he can do is small, individual movements that don’t require much energy or having much sense of where any of his limbs are. So basically, move the whole thing by moving a bunch of connected but uncoordinated parts. That’s doable. Think mechanics. Think center of gravity. His whole body doesn’t need to move away from the edge, just enough of it that shifting his weight won’t move his center of gravity over the edge. So what’s pulling him over the edge?

That leg dangling over the side sure isn’t helping. Get that back on the bed and he might be safe, or at least have enough leverage to move the rest of him. Great, a plan. Only problem it, it’s also fucking heavy. It takes three tries to get his leg up on the bed, ultimately hooking it around the other one and pushing against the bed with all the strength in his arms to keep himself from tumbling over the side, but he makes it. With both legs on the bed, it’s easy to reach out with both arms and pull the water bottle to his chest.

“Hah! Gotcha.” He grins at his victory and chuckles at what currently counts as a victory. Whatever, he’ll take what he can get.

Blackberry startles awake at the noise and immediately starts projecting /love/comfort/protection/hope/worry. That last one is probably unintentional. “Brother! Oh, no, I’m sorry, you’ll be okay, just calm down, it’s just a dream, it’s alright –”

“Woah, woah, bro, I’m okay.” He takes a deep gulp from the water bottle, then lays his head back on the pillow, relaxing into the projections.

“You’re ok? Oh, you’re awake! Did a nightmare wake you up? Wait, do you know you’re talking to me or do you think it’s someone else? It’s Blackberry, Sans, your little brother Sans, and we’re in our house on the surface and Muffet isn’t here and we don’t work for her anymore and we’re both safe –”

“Bro! I know where we are. I’m fine.”

“Oh, thank the stars.” He lets the projections fade. “I’m so sorry I fell asleep. I tried to keep your nightmares away but I must have drifted off at some point, which is completely inexcusable and I’m so sorry if that’s what woke you up but I’m awake now so you can go back to sleep and I’ll keep the dreams away. I promise I’ll do better this time –”

“Hey, take a breath.” Blackberry pauses to breathe. “That’s better. Now just calm down. I didn’t wake up from a nightmare. I woke up ‘cause it’s mornin’ an’ I got plenty of sleep. See, the sun’s up.”

Blackberry blinks at the light coming in from the window. “Oh. I guess it is.”

“Yeah. I’m done sleepin’. Mornin’, little bro.” Twist grins.

“Good morning, brother,” Blackberry replies automatically, before furrowing his brow bones. “You didn’t have nightmares?”

“No clue. If I did, I don’ remember ‘em, so I’m not too concerned.”

“Oh. And you got enough sleep?”

“Yeah, plenty. More’n I’ve had fer awhile.”

Blackberry nods decisively. “Good, then it’s working.”

“What’s workin’?”

“The projections. I’ve been projecting at you anytime it looked like a nightmare was starting, and it made them go away. I’m sorry I fell asleep.”

“Aw, little bro, ya don’ gotta do that. I can handle a few bad dreams.”

“Well there’s no reason you should have to, not when there’s something I can do about it.”

“And ya thought I was dreamin’ when ya woke up?”

“Well you’re not exactly in a normal sleeping position, and it works better if I catch them early, so I got in the habit of doing it whenever it seemed like one might be starting. I’d rather do that than miss one. I should be able to keep all of your nightmares away that way so you can sleep.” Aw, his little bro is just so sweet. He’s the best brother ever. There’s just a little problem with his plan, though.

“Plannin’ ta keep projectin’ at me every time I move every night? That don’ seem all that sustainable.”

“Just until you stop having so many nightmares.” 

“Uh, bro? How long are ya thinkin’ that’s gonna be?”

“Oh, I know we don’t know how long they’ll continue, but I think I can keep going for quite a while. Projecting doesn’t take too much effort.” That still doesn’t address the biggest problem with that plan.

“When are ya plannin’ ta sleep?”

“I can nap!”

“When?”

“I’ll find the time.”

“How much sleep did you get last night?”

“Enough. You were pretty restless early in the night, but you calmed down after a while so I must have fallen asleep after that. I’m so sorry. Do you really think you didn’t have any more bad dreams?”

“If I did, I don’t remember. Bro, ya can’t just stay up with me all night. Ya gotta sleep.”

“I told you, I’ll nap.”

“When?”

“When we have some downtime. Now, why are you trying to drink with your face smushed into a pillow?” Of course he has to ask about that. Twist sighs.

“Too much work ta turn back over.”

“How did you get like that in the first place?”

“Easiest way ta get a drink?”

“And how would that be the easiest way to get a drink, exactly?”

“‘Cause none of the other ways worked.”

“How many ways are there?”

“More’n ya’d think, and most of them are useless. Kinda wore myself out, so ya mind helpin’ me turn back over?”

“Of course! Or, I mean, of course I don’t mind. Here, you just hold onto you water and I’ll get you settled in properly.” He rolls Twist over more carefully than necessary and settles his skull in the middle of the pillow. Twist appreciates the sentiment, even if he is a little concerned that Blackberry might have gotten the impression that he needs to be treated like glass. It’s hardly a priority, though.

“Thanks, bro. Mind gettin’ me another pillow or two? ‘s not much easier ta drink flat on my back than flat on my front.”

“Certainly.” After stuffing two more pillows behind Twist, he sits back down in the chair.

Drinking still isn’t as easy as it should be. Twist’s hands are shaking. He watches them, perplexed. “Wonder why they’re doin’ that?”

Blackberry watches them too. “I don’t know. Do they hurt?”

“Nah, just tired. Nothin’ wants ta do what I tell it today. ‘s like all my energy’s gone.”

“Are you sure you got enough sleep?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you wear yourself out getting the water?”

“Maybe, but nothin’ was workin’ too great even when I first woke up. I thought the water’d be pretty easy ta get ‘cause I was feelin’ so good after all that sleep, but I could hardly move.”

“That’s very strange. How does your soul feel?”

“Same as ever. I think? Hard ta tell. Kinda burns, a little? Not like when some node’s dissolvin’ or anythin’ like that, just… Oh.” He snorts at his own stupidity. “Hey, bro, mind gettin’ me some breakfast?” That’s just embarrassing.

“Of course, but what does that have to do with what we were discussing?”

“Probly has everythin’ ta do with it, considerin’ I ain’t eaten since right after Cash brought me here, an’ I’m pretty sure what I’m feelin’ is my body yellin’ at me fer not feedin’ it when I’m burnin’ through all this energy.” Which should have been obvious.

“You mean you’re starving and you didn’t notice?”

“Wouldn’t say I’m starvin’.”

Both browbones raised, Blackberry reiterates, “your hands are shaking.”

“Yeah, yeah, so maybe I’m a little starvin’. Hard ta tell. Jus’ go make me a smoothie. Ya know where the instructions are?”

“On the kitchen counter. Will you be alright if I’m gone for a few minutes?”

“Yeah. When Cash had ta leave me alone, he piled up some blankets along the edge of the bed ta make it harder fer me ta fall out.” It feels a little like being a babybones in a crib, but he doesn’t fancy hitting the floor at the moment.

“That’s a good idea. I’ll do that.” Blackberry lines the bed with blankets, then rushes downstairs while Twist sips his water.

***

“I can’t believe I let him get so hungry,” Blackberry mutters as he enters the kitchen. “I should have thought of breakfast first thing. Or dinner, for that matter.” Twist said he ate after Cash brought him home, but when was that? Surely not recently enough.

The smoothie ingredients sit together on a counter, along with a small recipe card. Reading the card, Blackberry scowls. “That hardly counts as a recipe.” It’s just measurements for the different powders and instructions to pour them in a cup and mix them with water. “And that hardly counts as a smoothie.” How can a slurry of rehydrated powders be the best thing for Twist to eat? These so-called ‘ingredients’ need some investigation.

He tastes the protein powder first. It’s just a basic protein powder, as unappetizing as any other. It’s nothing he would normally cook with, but it might be a useful supplement for someone who can’t eat any natural protein sources. Can Twist have any natural protein sources? That’s something to look into later. He spoons a small amount into a glass of water. Not particularly soluble, either. It’s not the type he’d choose for this mixture. Other ingredients might mask it, but there aren’t many other ingredients in the recipe. So far, he’s not impressed.

Then he tastes the other main powder, which is labeled by calorie content but not by ingredients. It’s almost… oily as it dissolves in his mouth. Ew. And the taste – He shudders. The taste is… well, fatty, but not any kind of fat he’d cook with. And it’s sort of sweet, but in a sickly, cloying way that even the most ardent sugar lover couldn’t enjoy. Twist must hate it. Cringing, he swishes it around in his mouth. There’s definitely some kind of significant carbohydrate component, but again, nothing like the carbohydrates in any normal kind of food.

It’s like someone took whatever calorie sources they could think of, extracted only the highest calorie components, and mixed them all together into the strangest powder he’s ever tasted. He loves high calorie treats as much as anyone, but this is disgusting. What’s the point? It could be fed to someone who wouldn’t eat much but still needed a lot of calories, but wouldn’t that person then eat less because of the taste and texture, resulting in fewer calories actually being consumed? It seems very counterproductive.

The third component is some kind of vitamin and mineral supplement. It’s not clear what the vitamins or minerals are, but it’s always better to use supplements as supplements, not as the primary source of nutrition. But that would require including foods that naturally contain those nutrients, like fruits and vegetables, which this ‘recipe’ does not have.

What else is there? An extra calcium supplement? That’s a thoughtful addition to make an otherwise standardized nutrition mixture more appropriate for a skeleton, but wouldn’t it be better to just use high calcium milk in place of the water? Even if more calcium needs to be added, it would be absorbed better if it was dissolved in milk. And whole milk could be used to increase the calorie content, too.

The whole thing seems designed by someone who technically knows the main components of nutrition but understands nothing about nutritional science or food preparation. It should keep someone alive but can’t be nearly as healthy as normal food, and of course it’s completely unappetizing. And then, of course, there’s the care put in by the chef, which is completely absent from such an artificial method of preparation.This can’t possibly be the best thing for Twist to drink. A multitude of possible improvements runs through Blackberry’s mind. But Twist’s health is so fragile right now, and what if Blackberry is wrong? What if there’s something he’s missing? He’d hate to unintentionally hurt Twist by ignoring instructions that turn out to be important.

Maybe he’d better make one and sample it first. Maybe it’s not so bad. He measures out the powders and mixes in the water as per the instructions, then takes a sip of the resulting mixture. He gags. Twist has been drinking this? How? This is completely unacceptable. But why would Iggy feed him this if it wasn’t necessary? Just to be cruel? Indifference is also a possibility. Maybe Twist can’t eat normal food and this is easier than developing a modified diet? Maybe she doesn’t know enough about cooking to develop a modified diet.

Maybe Twist knows the answer. He’d better, because Blackberry would be failing in his duty as a brother and as a chef if he fed his brother this repugnant concoction. It’s about time to check on him, anyway. Realizing how long he’s been gone, he rushes upstairs with the mixture that he refuses to think of as a smoothie.

He’s ranting before he even walks through the door. “Why is this like this? You’re not eating this.”

“Huh?” Twist blinks at him in confusion, still holding his water bottle.

“What is this, this abomination of a drink?”

“Uh… breakfast?” Does he really not see the problem with this? Oh, his poor brother! Look at what’s become of him without Blackberry around to feed him properly.

“Papy, this is disgusting. Why does she make you drink this? Why did you agree to drink this?”

Twist shrugs. “Ain’t my favorite, but there’s not much else I can eat, bro.”

“But you can eat this?”

“Yeah? It keeps my HP up and don’ make me sick. I can’t eat anythin’ solid an’ I burn through magic like nothin’ you’ve ever seen, so this’s what I’ve got.”

“Are there no alternatives? I don’t see anything in the ingredients that you couldn’t get from a real, properly made nutritional shake or home made meal of any kind.”

“Dunno. She put fruit in it fer a while, and that wasn’t too bad, but,” Twist winces, “we had some problems with that so she stopped.”

Blackberry shakes his head in disgust. “I’m not feeding you this. I’ll come up with something better.”

“Not sure that’s the best idea. Look, the taste ain’t great, but I can eat it an’ it hasn’t caused any problems. Kinda worried ‘bout changin’ it.”

“I don’t think there’s anything special about any of the ingredients. I tasted them, and if anything, they’re less healthy because they’re oversimplified versions of regular foods. Not in the way that they would be if you actually needed such an artificial diet, more like someone just wanted an easy way to store large amounts of basic nutrients. I’m convinced that it’s more for convenience than anything.”

“Ya really don’t think it’s gotta be that way?”

“I’m certain of it. If I had any doubts, the fact that she used to put fruit in them has convinced me. The problems with the fruit weren’t nutritional, were they?”

“Nope, nothin’ ta do with that.” Why is he wincing again? That’s worth following up on, but right now the goal is to get Twist some edible breakfast.

“Then I see no reason why you can’t have something better.”

“‘s gotta be some kinda smoothie. Not s’posed ta eat anythin’ I gotta chew or that could have chunks in it.” Despite the caution, he sounds a little hopeful. He’s right to be hopeful! Blackberry is up to the challenge!

“A high calorie smoothie with protein and no chunks. That’s easy enough to make. I can even blend in the supplements without letting them overpower the whole drink. Just give me a few minutes and I’ll have it ready. Can you wait that long?”

“Not goin’ anywhere, am I? Have at it, bro. Anythin’d be better ‘n this, long as I can eat it.”

“I’ll be right back.”

Five minutes later, he makes his way back up the stairs with a fresh water bottle containing a smoothie that he would be willing to serve to someone in a pinch. It’s not his best work, but it should do for now.

Twist is slumped against the pillows, water bottle abandoned by his side. Oh, please, let this one be drinkable! His poor brother is so low on energy, it’s unbearable. “Here, brother, try this.”

Twist accepts the drink gratefully, but with hands that are even shakier than before. “Thanks, bro.” He takes a sip. “Bro! This’s amazin’!” He quickly slurps down half the bottle.

“It’s not my best work, but I didn’t want to take too long so I stuck to the basics.”

“Best thing I ever tasted!” 

Twist’s enthusiasm makes Blackberry smile. “I’m glad you like it. There’s room for improvement, but that can wait until there’s more time to work on it.”

“Sure, bro, but seriously, this is the best.” He continues drinking, while Blackberry watches for any signs of ill effects. He doesn’t seem to be having any trouble absorbing it, and, oh! His hands have stopped shaking!

“Are you feeling any better?” he asks while taking the empty bottle.

“Yeah, ‘m feelin’ great! Best I’ve felt since this whole thing started. Amazin’ what a good meal an’ a good night’s sleep can do, huh, bro?”

“I’m so glad. Now, what else can I do for you? Would you like to sleep more?”

“Nah, tired of sleepin’. Tired of layin’ in bed, really, but I don’ think I’m up fer walkin’ around the house.”

“That seems like a bad idea,” Blackberry agrees. “And impossible.”

“Right. So, got any ideas fer what I can do? Guess it’s a good sign that I’m feelin’ good enough ta get bored, but it ain’t much fun.”

“Would you like a book to read?”

“Maybe? Bring me one, wouldja?”

Blackberry pulls one of Twist’s favorites off the shelf. “How about this one?”

“Sure, give it here.” Twist accepts the book with a smile, but it soon shifts to a frown.

“What’s wrong?” Twist sighs as he sets the book in his lap and closes his eyesockets. “Can’t see the words.”

“You can’t see?!” Oh no, oh no, what if he’s going blind? What if the treatment damaged the pathways that connect to vision, or something? Blackberry doesn’t know how that all works, but it can happen. Monsters have gone blind before because of something happening to their magic, especially non-fleshy monsters who rely on magic for so much. What will they do if Twist goes blind? That would be devastating, absolutely – 

“Bro! Calm down. It’s ok. I can see. Everthin’s just a little blurry, so I can’t see well enough ta read.”

“But what if it’s a sign that your eyes are damaged? Has it been like that the whole time, or is it getting worse?”

“It’s not gettin’ worse! My vision’s been doin’ weird things the whole time. It’s not always the same, but it comes and goes an’ this ain’t any worse than it’s been. I just haven’t tried ta read before.” That’s not as bad as it could be, although it still isn’t good. But if Twist doesn’t want to freak out about it, Blackberry will try not to either. He’ll try.

“Oh. Well as long as it’s not getting worse and you can still see. You’re sure it’s not getting worse?”

“I’m sure. It’s nothin’ ta worry ‘bout; readin’s just not gonna be the best way ta keep myself busy fer awhile.”

“Alright. If you’re sure.” Blackberry takes the book back to the shelf, glancing surreptitiously back at his brother.

“Sure hope none of it’s permanent,” Twist mutters under his breath, but Blackberry can still hear him.

“Do you think it might be?”

“What? Nah, course not. ‘s all temporary. Iggy said so an’ everythin’.”

“How do you know she was telling the truth?”

“‘Cause she wasn’t tryna trick me. Look, she mighta undersold the problems a little, but she didn’t outright lie ‘bout anythin’.”

“What if she didn’t know about it? Cash said the treatment has never been tested on anyone with such high LV before.”

“Then we’ll deal with it when it happens.”

“Papy! You can’t just let yourself go blind, or be bedbound forever, or –”

“Not ‘lettin’’ myself do anythin’. Look, bro, I’m almost completely sure I’m gonna be fine. Everythin’ I know ‘bout this says I will. On the tiny chance I won’t be, we’ll deal with it. I know I can count on you, and anything’d be better than havin’ all that LV sittin’ around waitin’ ta get me.” 

It all comes back to the LV, doesn’t it? Well, of course it does, because that’s what this is all about, but he’s just not used to Twist talking about it so plainly. Probably because Blackberry usually refuses to discuss it, he acknowledges guiltily, and doesn’t that just make him a terrible excuse for a brother? “You really were worried about it, weren’t you?”

“More’n worried. I knew it was gonna get me, and so did you. I got real used ta livin’ with a tickin’ time bomb in my head, an’ now it’s gone, so I’m really not too worried ‘bout the tiny chance that somethin’ might go wrong from this. I’m not gonna die, an’ we can deal with anythin’ else. Right?” There’s just a tiny bit of hesitation in his voice, like he’s not quite sure about part of that, and Blackberry has the sinking suspicion that he might be part of that hesitation. Is Twist actually worried that Blackberry won’t help? Is it… is it because he won’t deal with the LV being a problem? Has he really made his brother think that he can’t even count on him to get him through this, that it’s not safe to share how he’s feeling? No! He’s not letting that happen.

“Of… of course! Of course we can deal with it. We can do anything, as long as we’re together!” And he means it! Even if it means discussing some terribly uncomfortable subjects. Twist should never have to hesitate when he talks about them getting through something together.

“That’s right, bro.” Twist sounds more confident now. “And what’ve I got ta worry ‘bout with the Sensational Sans ta take care of me?”

“Sansational, even, and of course, you’re right!” They both grin at the old pun. “I’ll take care of you, and you’ll get completely better, and your LV will be gone, and we won’t have to worry about any of this ever again. Right?” He can’t help but let a little hesitation of his own slip through, but the determination is genuine.

“Right! We got it covered, bro. Now how ‘bout we see if there’re any games I can play? Sittin’ in this bed all day every day doin’ nothin’s not gonna work fer me.”

“Certainly! How about cards? Do you think you can play cards?”

“Worth a try. Bring up a deck and we’ll see.”

Mood somehow both lowered and lifted, Blackberry races downstairs to get some cards, taking both water bottles with him as he goes. He rinses the one with the smoothie in the sink and sets it in the drying rack, and refills the other one with fresh, cold water. Then he grabs a deck of cards and rushes back upstairs.

“The numbers on this one are bigger than the others, so I thought it might be easier… Papy?”

Twist is curled up on his side, clutching his ribcage, sockets clenched shut. Dropping the cards, Blackberry races to his side. “Brother?”

“Think… mmmm…” he whimpers, “think cards are gonna haveta wait.”

“What’s wrong?” 

Sweat is beading on Twist’s skull and ribs, and he’s panting. “‘s okay. Jus’ hurts. Jus’ a little. ‘s fine.” He curls up tighter and sobs.

“You’re not fine! You’re hurt, you’re really hurt. What’s hurting you?”

“Jus’ a node. Jus’” – he cries out, and doesn’t stop for what feels like eternity but might be more like fifteen seconds. Blackberry freezes in place, not knowing how to help and terrified of making it worse. When Twist stops screaming, he pants for a moment and then resumes speaking.

“‘s fine. ‘m ok. ‘s jus’… goes away. Always, jus’ –” he trails off in a whimper.

“Okay, okay Papy, it’s okay. I understand. You don’t have to keep talking.”

“Jus’… goes away. It goes away goes away goes away it always, always…” The last word is a sob.

“I know. I know it goes away. I promise I understand. I won’t freak out about it; I’ll just stay right here until it goes away, and you’ll be okay. You’ll be ok, Papy. It will be over soon and then we can play cards.”

“‘m hot.” It’s the smallest whisper, but it jolts Blackberry into action. Of course he’s hot, his soul is burning, and Blackberry knows how to fix it. The temperature part, at least. He digs into his pile of towels as Twist’s whimpers start sounding more like screams. He can’t take the pain away but he can at least stop the heat from scorching Twist’s ribs again.

Oh stars, oh stars, his brother’s soul is hot enough to scorch his ribs. How is he surviving this? How isn’t he losing his mind? How is Blackberry going to keep from throwing up at the thought of it? He almost loses himself in his own panic, but no. Absolutely not. Twist needs him and he’s not going to waste time freaking out about watching what Twist has to actually experience. There’s a job to be done, so get to work. He dunks a towel in the water pitcher.

Twist’s screaming has intensified by the time Blackberry has the towel ready. How is this even going to help? What’s a little water going to do against so much pain? What can he ever do about any of Twist’s pain? That useless line of thinking can stop right there. He knows this helps. He’s seen it. Finding the hottest bones that he can reach with the way Twist is curled, he gently runs the damp cloth along the bones. The response is immediate. Twist gasps, presses into the towel, and tries to grab it to hold it himself. Blackberry lets him take it, heedless of the water dripping everywhere as Twist clutches the towel in desperately clenching hands, and picks up another one.

They sit like that for a long time. Blackberry doesn’t know how long. Twist doesn’t stop screaming, but his screams lose some of their desperation as Blackberry keeps his ribs at a tolerable temperature. He briefly considers trying to cool the soul itself, but that seems like such an invasion and it would be hard to get Twist to uncurl enough to even get to his soul, and for all he knows it wouldn’t even be safe, so he doesn’t try it. Maybe they can look into it later. For now, he just keeps running cold towels across Twist’s ribs and replacing the one Twist is holding when he’s wrung all the water out of it and starts to tear it while trying to get more.

This isn’t so hard. He can do this. Just keep Twist cool and don’t freak out about the fact that he hasn’t stopped screaming in at least ten minutes even though his voice sounds like sandpaper. It’s fine. It will be fine. This is supposed to happen. Everything is going the way it’s supposed to so he shouldn’t be upset. Twist says it’s fine and he’s the one who’s actually suffering, so Blackberry should just suck it up and take care of his brother. It’s what Twist would do for him.

Twist’s screams gradually fade back into into whimpering. That means he might come out of it soon. Okay, time for Blackberry to get himself under control. Twist needs someone he can count on, not someone to take care of. He can do this.

He leans forward when Twist’s sockets unclench and blink open. “Hi, Papy. How are you feeling?”

Twist blinks at him. “Hi.” His voice is hoarse and weak, and doesn’t really tell Blackberry much.

“Do you need anything?”

“Wa…” He coughs. “Water?”

“Certainly. Can I help you sit up first, though?”

“Mhmm.” Twist winces as Blackberry lifts his shoulders and repositions him so he’s lying on his back with the pillows supporting his shoulders and skull, but sighs in relief as he leans back into the pillows. “Thanks. Water?”

“Here.”

Twist makes no move to hold the water bottle, so Blackberry holds it for him and presses the straw to his teeth. “Open up.” He says it gently, teasingly, but Twist’s quickly indrawn breath suggests he doesn’t take it that way. “Brother?”

“Sorry.” Twist lets the straw in his mouth. Blackberry is starting to really not like it when Twist apologizes.

“It’s okay. You’re doing everything just fine. Do you want to drink now?” Twist nods, which pulls the straw out of his mouth. Sockets widening, he quickly catches the straw and bites down on it to hold it in place. This is disturbingly like how he acted after he fell out of bed. He’s much too cooperative. But he needs to drink.

Being very careful to be clear but not commanding, Blackberry suggests, “how about you go ahead and drink now, okay, brother?” Seeing Twist open his mouth to speak, he hastily adds, “you don’t have to answer. Just drink if you’re thirsty.” Twist finally starts to drink, thank the stars.

As Twist drinks, his body loses tension that Blackberry didn’t realize it held. His hands finally uncurl from the washcloth and his sockets close in bliss. By the time they open again, there’s a level of awareness in the working one that suggests Twist might finally be with him.

“Papy?”

“Yeah, little bro?” He’s quiet, but not like he’s struggling to speak, and there’s enough inflection to let Blackberry know he’s doing better.

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah. Think I got lost fer a minute. Kinda. But I’m fine.”

“Was it because of me?”

“Nah. Just… random shit sets me off. Happens all the time. ‘s really annoyin’.”

“Was it something I said?”

“No. I mean, coulda been, but it coulda been anythin’. Everythin’s jus’ right at the surface right now. ‘s got me kinda fucked up. Messed up. Are we doin’ the language thing right now?”

“I think people who can randomly collapse in agony or forget where they are can have a pass for swearing. At least temporarily.” Blackberry tries a weak smile. It sort of works.

“Thanks, bro.” Twist manages an actual smile, even if it is shaky. Then he yawns. “Think I need a nap.”

Blackberry tries very hard not to yawn too, but he loses that battle.

Twist notices. “Think you need a nap, too. Ya didn’t sleep much last night, didja?”

“I slept enough. You take a nap and I’ll watch over you.”

“Ya sure? Ain’t gonna help either of us fer you ta wear yerself out.”

“I’m sure. You go to sleep. I promise I’ll sleep when I’m tired. Here, let me help you with the pillows.” He takes two pillows away so Twist can lie flat on the bed. “There. Is there anything else you need?”

“Nah, I’m good. Feel great, actually. Didja do that towel thing again?”

“Yes, did it help?”

“Helped a lot. My ribs don’ even hurt.”

“That’s wonderful! I’ll make sure to keep doing it.”

“Thanks, bro. Gonna sleep now, okay?”

“Of course. Good night, or morning, or whatever it is.”

“Good whatever.” Twist smiles as he closes his eyes. He’s asleep in moments, smile still on his face.

Blackberry pays close attention while Twist sleeps, not giving himself a chance to be distracted by a book or to fall asleep himself. Twist sleeps peacefully for the most part, with only a few moments of restlessness that Blackberry soothes away with more /love/comfort/protection/hope/. It’s going to be okay. He’s doing a good job taking care of Twist. It’s a little rocky, but Twist feels okay and now he’s sleeping peacefully, and he has better food now, and if he wants to do something when he wakes up they can play a game. They’ve got this.

Twist doesn’t sleep for long. He wakes very refreshed, and happily spends the early afternoon rambling about various subjects. They chat about Blackberry’s school and Twist’s work, which prompts Twist to remember that he didn’t exactly give his boss much of an explanation before he left, or tell anyone how long he would be gone.

“Think they’re mad at me?”

“I wouldn’t think so. Concerned, maybe, but I’m sure they’ll understand once you explain.”

“So ya don’t think I’m gonna get fired?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. They love you there. They wouldn’t fire you.”

“Ya don’t know the day I had before I left.”

“What happened?” It can’t be as bad as Twist is thinking. Those people he works with absolutely adore him. They’ve never had a bad thing to say about him.

“Lost my cool. Really, really lost it.”

“What did you do, yell at your boss? That probably requires an apology, but he’s not just going to fire you over a bad day.”

“I almost punched a customer through a wall.”

“Well that’s–” it sinks in what Twist just said. “Oh my. That is a problem. Did anyone get hurt?” If Twist hurt a customer, if he – what if really, really hurt a customer? What if he–? No, he would have said. They wouldn’t be talking about this so calmly if that happened. They wouldn’t.

“Nah, just the wall.” Oh, thank the stars. Blackberry can breathe again. “Pulled the punch at the last second and missed his head, and the guy was bein’ a shit head so no one was too broken up about it, an’ they stood up fer me with the police, but it shouldn’ta happened in the first place.”

“No, it shouldn’t have, but it sounds like you were provoked, and no one else who was there blamed you for it, so I don’t see what that has to do with you getting fired. Your boss likes you even more than your coworkers do.”

“Might decide I’m too much of a liability ta keep around. Maybe that’s why no one complained when I left a few hours later.”

“Or maybe they were worried about you and thought you needed a break.”

“Ya really think so?”

“I think it’s more likely than all of them suddenly deciding that they don’t want you around anymore because you lost your temper once. Or am I misreading what kind of people they are?”

“Nah, ya know ‘em pretty well. Ya really think they’re worried?”

“Of course they’re worried! Or at least concerned. Wouldn’t you be concerned if one of them went home after a bad day and wasn’t heard from for a week?”

“When ya put it like that, yeah, I guess they might be worried. Maybe I should call ‘em? Let ‘em know what’s goin’ on?”

“I think that’s a great idea.”

“Actually, uh, bro?”

“Yes?”

“Can you do it? Call ‘em for me?”

“If you’d like, but why don’t you want to do it?”

“Not too confident in my ability ta manage a phonecall. It’d be pretty embarrassin’ ta ferget who I’m talkin’ to or jus’ randomly start screamin’, doncha think?”

“Oh, good point. It would definitely convince them that you need sick leave, but I can see why you’d want to avoid it. I’ll call them later to let them know what’s going on.”

“Thanks, bro.”

They sit in peaceful silence for a few minutes, but then Twist starts to fidget. “Hey, bro?”

“What is it?”

“Still got those cards from this mornin’?”

“Yes, they’re… hmm. Where did I put them?” He has no memory of putting them anywhere after the morning they had, but they must be somewhere. He checks every surface in the room, and is just looking through the bookshelf when he hears a clack and a grunt. He whirls around to investigate, and finds Twist’s upper body hanging over the side of the bed.

“Papy!” he screams in horror. He rushes over to rescue his brother, only to find Twist bracing himself against the floor using both hands and the top of his skull and peering under the bed.

Completely unperturbed by his position, Twist calls, “found ‘em!”

“What?”

“Found the cards. They’re under the bed.”

“You what?”

“Found the cards? Wasn’t that what we were lookin’ for?”

“I was looking for the cards. You were supposed to stay in bed. You’re going to get hurt!”

“Oh. Well, I found ‘em anyway. Don’t think I’m gonna manage ta pick ‘em up, though. Or ta pick myself up, either. Little help here? I’m gettin’ kinda tired.”

“Of course you’re getting tired, because you’re not supposed to be out of bed! Let alone out of bed upside down!” Bending down next to his completely reckless brother, and ignoring the mumbled “‘m kinda still in bed,” Blackberry carefully lifts him and settles him safely back in the middle of the bed. “I can’t believe you did that. You could have gotten hurt! You could have fallen on the floor!”

Twist shrugs. “Wouldn’t be the first time.”

“And you get hurt every time it happens.”

“Not hurt this time, though, am I? So it worked out just fine, an’ now we know where the cards are. Not that they’re doin’ us much good under the bed. Mind pickin’ ‘em up, or should I give it another try?” 

Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh, this is serious. Twist could have gotten hurt, and he doesn’t need any encouragement to do ridiculous, dangerous things.  And yes, hanging over the side of the bed is dangerous now and always ridiculous. Don’t laugh. But Twist is watching him with that look, that one where he treats the most ridiculous thing as the only reasonable thing a person could possibly do, and how does he ever manage to keep a straight face? Blackberry isn’t managing it one single bit. Oh stars, he loves his brother so much. Even if his self-preservation instincts couldn’t fill a teaspoon.

“Bro? Gonna get those cards? Ya with me?” Twist waves a hand in Blackberry’s face.

“Huh? Oh, of course! You clearly need something to do.” He retrieves the cards and pulls the deck out of the box. “Can you see these?”

Twist squints at a card. He turns it sideways, then holds it right up to his face. Then he sighs. “Nah, bro, not well enough ta play. All that work, an’ I can’t even use ‘em.”

“You can’t see them at all?”

“A little, but not enough ta tell the numbers apart. The colors are easy, but I got no clue if I’m holdin’ a diamond or a heart right now, an’ I’d have ta count the shapes ta know how many there are.”

“Oh.” That’s disappointing. Blackberry had really been looking forward to having some kind of game to play with Twist.

“Guess it’s back ta talkin’ and sleepin’, less we got a giant card set layin’ around that I don’t know ‘bout.” Well there’s an idea. Not a giant card set, but a game with bigger numbers and bold colors to help tell the cards apart.

“I’ll be right back.” He darts out of the room.

“Bro?” But he doesn’t answer. Twist will see his idea soon enough.

Downstairs, Blackberry digs through the game cabinet. They have all sorts of games to play when the other skeletons come over. Not everyone likes playing poker every time, after all, at least not the way certain members of their group play it.

Most of the games would be too hard to play in bed or have tiny details that Twist won’t be able to see, but this one should work just fine. Finding what he’s looking for, he races back upstairs to try out his idea.

“Uno!” Blackberry shouts with a grin as he enters Twist’s room.

“Dos?” Browbones raised, Twist waits for an explanation for the random Spanish.

“No, no, Uno, the game! Can you play it?”

“Gen’rally, yeah. I think most people can. Why?”

“Can you play it now?” Handing a card to Twist, he asks, “I mean, can you see it? Can you read the numbers?”

Peering at the card, Twist exclaims, “Yeah! Ya know what, bro, I can!”

“Yes! And each suit is a different color, so you shouldn’t have any trouble telling the cards apart.”

“That’s a great idea. Thanks, bro. I was ‘bout ta go outta my mind with nothin’ ta do. Wanna play?”

“Of course! That’s why I brought it. Here, I’ll deal first.”

Uno goes very well. At first Twist struggles with concentrating on the game, resulting in a few losses from holding onto a card that he could have played several turns ago. Gradually, though, his playing improves, until Blackberry realizes that he’s only won one of the last eleven rounds. This arouses his suspicions.

“Papy, you wouldn’t cheat against me, would you?”

Twist looks hurt. As if. “Course not, bro.”

“Then how do you keep winning?” Okay, so, he probably wouldn’t cheat against Blackberry, but he’s never had anything against cheating in general, and he keeps winning!

“Just finally gettin’ a good strategy goin’.” A strategy? In Uno? It’s not that much of a strategy game.

“How many Uno strategies are there?”

“Dunno, but I got one, an’ it’s workin’.” Twist grins.

“It certainly is,” Blackberry grumbles.

“What, ya want me ta go easy on ya, little bro?”

“No! I just wish I knew how you managed a loss-proof strategy for Uno.”

“It ain’t perfect. I lost that one, what was it, six games ago?”

“One, you lost one. One game out of eleven, and I bet you won’t lose another.”

“Heh, guess cards are just my thing, bro. Any kind of cards.” Smiling fondly, Twist reaches over to pat Blackberry’s skull. When Blackberry leans into the touch, Twist scratches at his coronal suture, which never fails to relax him.

“‘kay, bro, I think that’s enough cards fer now. How ‘bout ya get us some dinner? Think we skipped lunch, and I’m actually lookin’ forward ta it after the miracle ya made fer breakfast.”

“I wouldn’t call it a miracle. Any chef could have done it.”

“Well no one else did do it, an’ it means I can look forward ta eatin’, so I appreciate it.”

“I’m happy to help. I’ll go make you another one. I’ve had some more ideas that I’d like to try. We’ll see if you like them.”

“Thanks, bro. Yer the best. And don’t ferget ta get somethin’ fer yerself. Not sure when’s the last time I saw ya eat. Or drink, fer that matter.”

“I might possibly have forgotten, with everything else going on. I’ll make myself some dinner too.”

“An’ bring yerself up a water bottle, too, while yer at it. Last thing we need is you passin’ out from dehydration ‘cause yer too busy worryin’ ‘bout me.”

“Good idea. I’ll get one. I’ll be right back.” He heads downstairs to prepare dinner for both of them. Twist is right, he needs to take care of himself too.

***

Twist smiles fondly as Blackberry leaves the room. His little brother is just the best. He really is. Rushing around all day taking care of Twist, finding things for Twist to do, finding something he can eat and wants to eat. It’s not an easy job, but he’s sticking with it. Twist just hopes he’s remembering to take care of himself.

Blackberry doesn’t rush right back upstairs, which hopefully means he’s doing what he’s told and getting himself some dinner. Twist was a little worried he wouldn’t be willing to be gone so long. Poor little bro, so worried about Twist when nothing all that bad has even happened today. For the most part, it’s been fun, just two brothers hanging out together like they haven’t done in a while. It’s looking like spending extra time with the people he cares about is an unexpected benefit of this treatment. They really are the coolest, Blackberry and Cash both. He wonders what Cash has been doing today. Hopefully he’s gotten some decent rest. If only Blackberry would follow his example.

This really is longer than Blackberry is usually gone. Not that Twist is complaining, but it would be nice if he’d left the water a little closer. Oh, well, this isn’t like this morning. He’s feeling much better now. Look at how well he did finding the cards. Halfway out of bed, and he didn’t even fall out. Reaching the water shouldn’t be any trouble at all. The worst that will happen is he’ll fall out of bed. That’s nothing new.

Paying careful attention to where he places his arms and how he shifts his weight, Twist turns over and slowly drags himself to the edge of the bed. Just like he thought, no trouble at all. It’s just like the cards. Raising himself up onto his elbows, he almost loses his balance, but catches himself on the nightstand. Ha! Not a bit of trouble. No reason to call Blackberry in for something he can do for himself. Leaning forward slightly, he shifts his weight off of one arm to reach for the water, smiles as his hand closes around it, then curses as his other arm refuses to support his weight and sends him toppling over the side of the bed.

Ow. Fuck. Ow. He lies on the ground for a while. His skull is killing him. His ribs are killing him. His spine is killing him. So are his pelvis, his arms and his legs. Fortunately, nothing is literally killing him, so he just holds still and tries to breathe. Ow.

Sometime later, he notices the water bottle next to his hand. He grabs it. He drinks it. Victory! Close enough, anyway.

Maybe he should try to get back in bed before Blackberry gets up here. Where is he, anyway? He can’t have missed that noise. From downstairs, he hears the sound of the blender. Oh, maybe he did miss the noise. What’s he putting in there? That’s loud.

It really would be nice if he could fix this somehow before Blackberry comes back. Somehow, Twist suspects that he’s not going to see getting the water as a victory. Is there any way to get back in bed? Staring up at the miles between the floor and the bed, he makes a small attempt to sit up before giving it up as a lost cause. Not going to work. Oh well, might as well enjoy his hard-earned water. Maybe in the future they’ll keep it closer to the bed.

***

Carrying so many things up and down the stairs is getting really old, really fast. Maybe Blackberry should pull out a serving tray. They definitely have one, he’s just not sure where it is because it doesn’t get a lot of use. Not that he never entertains, it’s just that the group he entertains contains a few individuals who tend to pride themselves on doing silly things like competing to carry the most dishes out by hand or some nonsense like that. They always consider their competitions very impressive. They know better than to let anything spill, but how they’ve managed it, he’ll never know.

Thoughts of his ridiculous brother and friends aside, he really needs to get back to Twist. He’s probably fine. Blackberry is just worrying about nothing. Twist can be alone for a few minutes. He was feeling good and he knows perfectly well that he should call Blackberry if he needs anything. He’s probably perfectly… Not in bed! Where is he?!

“Papy?!”

“Hey, bro,” a weak voice says from the floor. He looks down and sees Twist waving up at him with a weak grin.

“Papy! Oh, brother, what happened? Why are you out of bed? Did you forget where you are? Are you hurt?”

“‘m fine. A little banged up, but nothin’ ta worry about.”

“Nothing to worry about?! You’re bleeding!”

“Huh?” Twist looks down at his ribs. “Oh, guess I am. Wouldja lookit that?”

“What happened?” Twist looks away sheepishly. “Or should that be, what did you do?”

“Jus’ wanted a drink.” He looks back and grins, holding up said drink. “An’ look, I got it!”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Might’a o’erestimated how far I could reach. Just a little.” He doesn’t seem particularly regretful about it.

“A little. Papy, you can’t just keep getting hurt like this. What if you cracked your skull open?” Twist looks away again. “Did you crack your skull open?”

“Don’ think so. ‘s just bleedin’ a little. No worse ‘n my ribs.” Just a little. His skull is just bleeding a little, just like the rest of him, because that makes it all better.

“Why didn’t you say so? Oh, nevermind that, just hold still and I’ll come help you up. Would you like to be healed first or would you rather get back in bed first?”

“Huh uh. No healin’. We talked ‘bout this.”

“But you’re bleeding!”

“A little blood loss ain’t gonna kill me. Ya hear this thing on my soul yellin’ bout my HP droppin’? No, ‘cause it ain’t. I’m fine. Jus’ get me back in bed, an’ give me my dinner, an’ I’ll sleep off the rest of it. Or leave me down here if ya want. Wouldn’t be a bad spot if ya gimme a pillow. But no healin’. It ain’t worth the chance.”

“You were afraid to try eating something different, too, and that turned out fine.”

“I let ya mess with my food ‘cause I know ya know a lot about that. More ‘n Iggy, that’s fer sure. It worked out fine ‘cause ya know what yer doin’ when it comes ta cookin’. But ya don’t know any more ‘bout healin’ than any other monster, an’ neither do I. All I know is my magic’s screwed up beyond belief an’ it don’t react well ta interference, and no one’s thought it was a good idea ta heal me so far.”

“Healing shouldn’t do anything to your magic.”

“How d’ya know that?”

“How do you know it’s not dangerous to keep falling out of bed? You keep talking about how nothing’s a big deal and you’re going to be fine, but then you won’t let me heal you even though we don’t know that that’s any more dangerous than anything else that’s happening. Why is getting water without asking for help worth the risk of hurting yourself but healing isn’t?”

“Because nothin’ ya want ta heal is botherin’ me that much.”

“But asking for help is?”

“Yes! Look, bro, ya don’t gotta agree with me or understand it, but I told ya my decision. No healin’. I think it’s more dangerous than you think it is and I don’t think it’s worth the risk. Don’t do it.”

“Okay.” Why is he so stubborn? And why can’t he see that he shouldn’t have to suffer like this? All Blackberry wants to do is help, and Twist will never let himself be helped. “Let’s get you back in bed. Then you can have your dinner. I think you’ll like the changes I’ve made.” He describes the changes as he wraps up all the bleeding bones and lifts Twist into bed. Twist nods along, and happily praises the new recipe as he drinks it.

Blackberry takes a few bites of his own dinner as Twist finishes his smoothie and settles in for bed. Nothing is all that appetizing at the moment, but he did say he would eat something. Just when he thinks Twist is asleep, his sockets slit open and he begins to speak.

“I wish ya wouldn’t worry so much, little bro. I’m alright, really. I had a good day, a real good day.”

“Me too, until I found you bleeding on the floor.”

“Sorry ya had ta see that.”

“Well I’m sorry that it happened. Please let me help you, Papy, please.”

“Ya are helpin’ me.”

“You won’t let me heal you. You won’t even ask for help getting a drink of water, or tell me when you’re upset, or anything.”

“I’m doin’ alright, bro. Yer takin’ care of me, an’ I ain’t as breakable as ya think.”

“Maybe that attitude is the problem. Maybe you think you can just keep taking everything that happens, but eventually you’re going to end up really hurt. You already are. You shouldn’t take so many risks, and you need to let me help you.”

“I am lettin’ ya help me. Ain’t gonna live in a bubble, though. When I feel up ta doin’ somethin’, I’m gonna do it, even if it does leave me with a few scratched up bones. Otherwise, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“I understand. I know you can’t just hold still and be helpless. Just please try to let me take care of you? Please?”

“Yeah, bro. Yer already takin’ care of me. Yer doin’ a good job.”

Blackberry sighs. “Alright, brother. Why don’t you go to sleep now? I’ll keep the nightmares away again.”

“When are you gonna sleep?”

“I’ll find a good time.”

“I’m gonna be pissed if I wake up ta find out you’ve just been sittin’ there watchin’ me all night.”

“I won’t, I promise. I’ll just help you get started sleeping, and then I’ll go to sleep too. As soon as possible, I promise.”

“‘kay, bro. I’m trustin’ ya on this.”

“Goodnight, brother.”

“Night, little bro.” And with that, Twist finally lets himself sleep.

It’s hard to watch him sleep, knowing he has so many injuries and not doing anything about it. Why won’t he let Blackberry heal him? No one said anything about healing being a problem. He pulls out his notes with Cash’s instructions. There’s nothing written about healing. It’s just a guess, more of a worry than anything. Twist never lets worry keep him from doing something important, so why is he doing it now? Oh, right, because he doesn’t think healing himself is important.

That has to be it. If there was an actual reason to avoid healing, someone would have said something. If Twist had any stronger reason to oppose it than simple worry, he would have explained. There’s no reason Twist shouldn’t be healed. He just doesn’t think his own comfort is important enough, which is why he needs someone like Blackberry to take care of him instead of someone like Cash, who probably did fine with the technical side of things but can hardly be relied on to care for someone’s comfort. There’s little enough comfort to be found in this terrible treatment, and there’s no reason Twist should start tomorrow in pain.

It’s just a little healing. He’ll just try the tiniest bit and see how it goes. On the small chance that anything goes wrong, he’ll just stop. It will be no trouble whatsoever.

Uncovering a small cut that’s still bleeding, Blackberry adds just a tiny bit of healing magic. Nothing happens. Then he tries a bit more. Nothing bad, just a small decrease in bleeding. He tries a little more. That’s strange. There’s a little flicker, almost like a spark? But that doesn’t make sense. He must be seeing things. Healing has nothing to do with electricity, which is what that looked like. Besides, he’s making some progress. The cut is almost starting to close. It will take all night to get all of them at this rate, though, so he’d better pick up the pace. He applies a normal amount of healing magic.

Again, the results are strange. There’s almost a mix of his own blue magic with Twist’s. Almost, but not quite. More like the magics are swirling around each other, not quite interacting yet, but they’re starting to come together. Shouldn’t the healing magic be absorbing into Twist’s own system? Instead, it’s hovering around the cut, almost like it can’t get in. What’s wrong with it?

Looking closer, Blackberry can see more of those little sparks along the line where his magic and his brother’s meet. What are those? And why are they growing?!

Twist’s arm twitches at a spark that’s big enough to obscure the entire cut, and he groans. His sockets fly open and he mouths something that Blackberry can’t hear, before sparks burst across his broken socket and he arches off the bed in a full body convulsion.

chapter 18