#but the fact that I could have that connection with some of you? that's enough for me. it's everything to me.

[hsjazebel]

Meant to be

Summary: Y/N never expected a college party to change anything—until she met Harry. What starts as a quiet connection over books and movies slowly turns into something deeper, proving that some things are simply meant to be.

Wordcount: 32k+ (I have been carried away, sorry 😅)

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day! ♡ Here’s a little story about love finding you when you least expect it. Hope you enjoy it! Let me know what you think!

Masterlist

— — —

The party was louder than she expected.

Y/N wasn’t sure why she had let Charlotte convince her to come. Maybe it was the way her roommate had pleaded, eyes wide with excitement, promising it would be “just for an hour.” Or maybe it was the fact that she had spent too many Friday nights curled up in bed while the rest of campus buzzed with energy.

She had thought, just for once, that maybe she should say yes.

But now, standing in the middle of the crowded living room, she regretted it.

The music thumped against the walls, the bass so deep she could feel it in her ribs. Laughter and voices blurred together in an endless hum, broken only by the occasional shout of someone calling out to a friend. The air was thick—too many people, too much perfume, too much heat.

She tugged at the hem of her sweater, suddenly self-conscious. She wasn’t dressed for this, not like the other girls in shimmering tops and short skirts. She had gone for comfort—jeans, a fitted top, her favorite oversized cardigan—but now she felt out of place, like she hadn’t read the unspoken dress code.

Charlotte had disappeared almost immediately, swallowed up by the crowd, probably off to find that guy she’d been texting. Y/N had tried to follow for a bit, but the sea of people made it impossible to keep up.

Now she was alone, pressed against the wall, holding a drink she hadn’t even sipped.

She exhaled, glancing toward the front door. Maybe she could just leave. Charlotte wouldn’t mind—she was too caught up in her own night.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she spotted an open door leading to the balcony.

Without thinking, she headed for it, slipping outside and closing the door behind her.

Cool air washed over her, a welcome contrast to the stifling heat inside. She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding and leaned against the railing, her fingers wrapping around the cold metal. The city stretched out in front of her, distant lights flickering against the night sky. From here, the noise of the party was muffled, just a dull hum beneath the sound of the wind rustling through the trees.

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting the silence settle over her.

And then—

“You don’t look like you’re having fun.”

The voice was smooth, warm. British.

Her eyes snapped open.

Turning slightly, she found herself face to face with someone she recognized immediately.

Harry Styles.

Her breath hitched, just for a second.

She had seen him around before, of course. It was hard not to notice him. He wasn’t the typical loud, overly confident guy that thrived in these kinds of settings, but he had a presence that made people gravitate toward him anyway. Maybe it was the way he carried himself—calm, collected, always with an air of quiet amusement, like he was in on some inside joke no one else knew about.

Now, standing in front of her in the dim balcony light, he looked impossibly at ease.

His dark curls were pushed back messily, a few strands falling over his forehead. A pair of thin-rimmed glasses rested on the bridge of his nose, framing sharp green eyes that studied her with quiet interest. His loose button-up was unbuttoned at the top, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal the intricate tattoos winding down his forearms.

He held a drink casually in one hand, the other tucked into his pocket, like he had all the time in the world.

She swallowed.

“I—uh—yeah,” she finally managed. “Parties aren’t really my thing.”

His lips quirked, as if her answer didn’t surprise him at all. “Figured as much.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? And how exactly did you figure that?”

He took a slow sip from his drink before answering. “Well, for one, you’ve been out here for at least five minutes and haven’t checked your phone once.” His eyes flickered toward the door. “And two… you look like you’re trying to disappear.”

She huffed out a quiet laugh. “That obvious?”

Harry smirked. “A little.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city lights flickered in the distance, and the air between them felt charged—not uncomfortable, but something else entirely.

Then, he shifted slightly, turning more toward her.

“I’m Harry, by the way.”

She let out a small breath, amused. As if she didn’t already know.

“I know,” she admitted, then immediately winced. “I mean—everyone knows who you are.”

Harry chuckled, the sound low and warm. “That’s fair.” He tilted his head slightly. “And you are…?”

“Y/N.”

He repeated it, softer this time, like he was testing the way it felt on his tongue. Then, with a small smile, he extended his hand. “Well, Y/N, it’s nice to officially meet you.”

She hesitated for just a second before slipping her hand into his.

His palm was warm, his grip gentle but firm.

“Nice to meet you too, Harry.”

His fingers lingered a second longer than necessary before he let go.

He leaned his elbow against the railing, glancing at her thoughtfully. “So, if parties aren’t your thing… what would you rather be doing right now?”

She bit her lip, thinking. “Watching a movie, probably.”

Harry’s brows lifted slightly. “Anything in particular?”

She hesitated, then decided to be honest. “A romcom.”

His lips curled into a slow smile. “You like romcoms?”

She nodded. “I grew up watching them. Notting Hill, 10 Things I Hate About You, How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days… I know they’re cheesy, but I love them.”

He studied her for a second, then let out a soft chuckle. “Cheesy doesn’t mean bad. Those are classics.”

She tilted her head. “Wait… you actually like them too?”

Harry smirked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Course I do. I mean, have you seen When Harry Met Sally? It’s got my name in it. That’s a sign, don’t you think?”

She laughed—really laughed, for the first time that night.

Harry watched her, his expression softer now, like he was pleased to be the reason behind it.

The conversation flowed easier after that. They debated over the best romcom of all time, exchanged favorite scenes, and argued about which movie had the most unrealistic yet satisfying ending. Somewhere in between, Y/N forgot about the party altogether.

But eventually, her phone buzzed in her pocket—Charlotte, probably looking for her.

She sighed, realizing she had to go.

Harry noticed. “Leaving already?”

“Yeah, I think so.” She hesitated, then, feeling unusually bold, added, “But… maybe next time, I’ll skip the party and just watch a romcom instead.”

His smile was slow, almost knowing. “Maybe next time, you won’t have to watch it alone.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

And as she stepped back inside, disappearing into the noise and the crowd, she couldn’t help but hope—just a little—that this was only the beginning.

———

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the sound of Charlotte’s voice.

“Well, well, well,” her roommate drawled, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed. “Look who’s finally awake.”

Y/N groaned, burying her face into the pillow. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” Charlotte said, walking over and flopping down onto the bed beside her. “And you have some explaining to do.”

Y/N peeked at her through one eye. “Explaining?”

Charlotte grinned, far too awake for this early in the morning. “Don’t play innocent with me. You disappeared at the party. And when I finally found you again, you looked… different.” She wiggled her eyebrows. “So spill.”

Y/N sighed, rolling onto her back. “There’s nothing to spill.”

Charlotte gasped dramatically. “Lies! I saw you talking to Harry Styles.” She poked Y/N’s side. “You—quiet, book-loving, avoider of all social gatherings—somehow ended up alone on a balcony with the most intriguing guy on campus.”

Y/N felt her face heat up. “It wasn’t like that,” she muttered.

Charlotte smirked. “Then what was it like?”

Y/N hesitated. The truth was, she wasn’t exactly sure.

“It was… nice,” she admitted after a moment. “We just talked.”

Charlotte studied her, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Talked? That’s it?”

Y/N nodded.

Charlotte huffed, flopping back against the bed. “You’re impossible.”

Y/N smiled, sitting up and stretching. “Did you at least have fun?”

Charlotte let out a dreamy sigh. “Oh, absolutely. And I might have secured myself a coffee date with Mason.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Mason?”

“You know, Harry’s friend? Tall, kind of scruffy, ridiculously charming?” Charlotte waggled her fingers. “I think we have a connection.”

Y/N laughed softly. “I’m happy for you.”

Charlotte sat up again, her expression turning devious. “And speaking of coffee dates…”

Y/N’s stomach fluttered. “No.”

Charlotte pouted. “Come on! I think he likes you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “We talked for, like, twenty minutes.”

Charlotte shrugged. “That’s plenty of time to make an impression. And if he really likes you, you’ll see him again.”

Y/N didn’t answer. Because the thought had already crossed her mind.

Would she see him again?

———

She did.

Three days later.

At the campus café.

Y/N had been curled up in a corner booth, a warm cup of tea beside her as she flipped through a book for class. The café was quiet, filled mostly with students studying or catching up on assignments. The hum of conversation and the occasional clinking of cups created the kind of atmosphere she loved—calm, steady, familiar.

And then, a shadow fell over her table.

“Y/N.”

She looked up.

And there he was.

Harry Styles, standing beside her table, a cup of coffee in one hand and a curious tilt to his head. He wasn’t wearing his glasses today, but she still recognized the quiet amusement in his eyes.

“Hi,” she said, feeling her heart pick up speed.

His lips twitched. “Mind if I sit?”

She hesitated for only a second before shaking her head. “Go ahead.”

Harry slid into the seat across from her, setting his coffee down. “Didn’t think I’d run into you here.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “Alright, I might have hoped I would.”

Her stomach did an embarrassing little flip.

“What are you reading?” he asked, nodding toward the book in her hands.

She glanced down, suddenly self-conscious. “Uh, Wuthering Heights.”

His brows lifted, impressed. “Intense choice.”

She shrugged. “It’s for class, but I like it.”

Harry studied her for a moment, then leaned back in his chair, stretching out comfortably. “So, tell me—are you one of those people who think Heathcliff is romantic, or do you see him for the walking red flag that he is?”

Y/N blinked in surprise. “You’ve read it?”

He smirked. “I have.”

She bit her lip, eyeing him. “And?”

Harry sighed dramatically. “Look, I get the passion, the whole ‘soulmate across time and space’ thing, but let’s be honest—if Heathcliff were around today, he’d be sending late-night ‘u up?’ texts and brooding over his ex’s Instagram posts.”

Y/N let out a surprised laugh. “That is… disturbingly accurate.”

Harry grinned. “And you? Are you a Heathcliff apologist?”

She shook her head. “I think he and Cathy deserved each other—because no one else should have to deal with that level of drama.”

Harry chuckled. “Harsh, but fair.”

There was something about the way he looked at her—curious, amused, like he was genuinely interested in what she had to say. It made her stomach twist in a way she wasn’t used to.

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Then—

“So,” Harry said, breaking the moment, “you never told me your verdict.”

Y/N frowned. “My verdict?”

“The best romcom of all time.”

She smiled, relieved by the lighter topic. “That’s impossible to answer.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “Alright. Then let’s make it simpler. What’s your go-to comfort movie?”

She thought for a second. “How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days.”

His eyes lit up. “Classic.”

She nodded. “It’s just fun, you know? The whole fake dating thing, the ridiculousness of it all. And Kate Hudson? Iconic.”

Harry smirked. “And the ‘You let it die!’ scene? A cinematic masterpiece.”

Y/N laughed. “Exactly.”

Harry studied her for a moment, then said, “I like that.”

Y/N suddenly felt warm under his gaze. She looked down, tracing the rim of her cup. “What about you?”

Harry pretended to think. “Mmm… Notting Hill.”

She grinned. “Oh, come on. You just like it because of the ‘I’m just a girl’ scene.”

He laughed. “Maybe. Or maybe I like the idea that two people from completely different worlds can still find their way to each other.”

Something about the way he said it made her stomach flutter.

The conversation drifted after that—talk of books, movies, little things that made them both feel at home. The more they spoke, the more Y/N felt that strange, unexpected ease settle between them.

And when she finally glanced at the time, she realized an hour had passed without her even noticing.

“I should probably get to class,” she murmured, closing her book.

Harry nodded, but didn’t look particularly eager to leave.

As she stood, sliding her bag over her shoulder, he tapped his fingers against the table. “So…”

She looked at him expectantly.

He smirked. “Movie night?”

Her heart skipped. “Are you asking me out, Harry Styles?”

His expression was all mischief. “Maybe.”

She bit her lip, pretending to consider. Then, feeling unusually bold, she said, “Okay.”

Harry’s smirk turned into something softer.

“Good,” he said.

And as she walked away, she could feel his eyes on her the whole time.

———

The library was quieter than usual.

Y/N liked it that way. She liked the solitude, the way the world seemed to shrink down to just her and the words on the page. It was calming—predictable.

What she didn’t expect, however, was a voice breaking through the silence.

“Didn’t peg you as the type to hide away in a library for fun.”

She looked up, already knowing who she would see.

Harry stood in front of her table, a familiar smirk on his lips, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. He had a notebook tucked under his arm and a coffee in hand, looking completely at ease despite the way his presence sent her heart racing.

Y/N rolled her eyes playfully. “And yet, here you are.”

Harry hummed, sliding into the chair across from her. “Touché.”

She watched as he set his coffee down and flipped open his notebook, as if he belonged there—like this was routine.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Are you actually here to study, or are you just bothering me for fun?”

Harry grinned. “Can it be both?”

She huffed, biting back a smile as she returned her gaze to her book. But she could still feel his eyes on her.

A beat passed before he spoke again. “Wuthering Heights, huh? Still brooding over Heathcliff?”

Y/N sighed, looking up. “You do realize I read more than one book, right?”

Harry’s smirk widened. “Do you, now?”

She rolled her eyes and turned the book so he could see the title.

His gaze flickered over the cover before he raised an eyebrow. “White Nights?”

Y/N tilted her head. “Surprised?”

Harry leaned back in his chair, studying her. “A little. Didn’t take you for a Dostoevsky kind of girl.”

“And what kind of girl did you take me for?” she challenged.

He smirked. “Jane Austen, maybe. Brontë sisters, definitely. But Russian literature? That’s a surprise.”

She shrugged. “I like stories about lonely people.”

Something flickered in his expression, but it was gone too fast for her to catch.

“Lonely people,” he repeated. “And here I thought you just liked tragic love stories.”

Y/N hesitated, then said softly, “Aren’t they the same thing?”

Harry studied her for a moment, something unreadable in his gaze. Then, in a voice quieter than before, he said, “I guess they are.”

Silence settled between them again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, it felt like something had shifted—like she had let him see a part of her she didn’t show to just anyone.

Then, after a moment, Harry’s lips twitched up into a smile. “So, is White Nights a re-read, or am I catching you in the middle of a first-time experience?”

She exhaled, grateful for the change in tone. “Re-read.”

His grin widened. “Interesting. That means you must really like it.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Are you about to judge my taste in books?”

Harry smirked. “Not at all. I was actually going to say… maybe I should let you convince me to read it.”

Y/N studied him. “You’ve never read it?”

“Not yet,” he admitted.

A small smile played on her lips. “Maybe you should.”

Harry’s eyes sparkled. “Maybe I will.”

———

That night, her phone buzzed.

A message from an unknown number.

Unknown [9:07 PM]: So, lonely people, huh? Convince me why I should read White Nights.

Y/N frowned, staring at the screen. Who the hell—?

Y/N [9:08 PM]: Who is this?

A pause. Then—

Unknown [9:08 PM]: Wow. That hurts.

Her heart skipped.

She squinted at the message, then at the number, but it wasn’t saved in her contacts.

Y/N [9:09 PM]: Seriously. Who is this??

A few seconds passed before a reply popped up.

Unknown [9:09 PM]: It’s Harry.

She blinked.

Then—

Y/N [9:10 PM]: …How did you get my number?

Harry [9:11 PM]: Your lovely roommate gave it to me.

Y/N groaned out loud. “Charlotte!”

Across the room, Charlotte barely glanced up from her laptop. “Hmm?”

Y/N waved her phone in the air. “Did you seriously give Harry my number?”

Charlotte smirked. “Oh. So he finally texted you?”

“Charlotte.”

“What?” she said innocently. “He asked, and I figured it would take you forever to do it yourself.”

Y/N let out a long, dramatic sigh, turning her attention back to the screen.

Y/N [9:12 PM]: I hate you.

Harry [9:12 PM]: No, you don’t.

She rolled her eyes.

Y/N [9:13 PM]: Maybe you should read it and see for yourself.

Harry [9:14 PM]: Bold of you to assume I have time for Russian literature.

Y/N [9:15 PM]: Bold of you to assume I’d let you borrow my copy.

Harry [9:16 PM]: So possessive. I like it.

Y/N [9:17 PM]: You’re impossible.

Harry [9:17 PM]: And yet, here you are, still texting me.

She bit her lip, trying not to smile.

Harry [9:18 PM]: You still good for our not-date movie night?

Y/N’s stomach flipped.

Y/N [9:19 PM]: You mean the highly academic film screening of How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days?

Harry [9:20 PM]: Exactly. For research purposes.

She hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen.

Y/N [9:21 PM]: Yeah. I’m still in.

His reply came almost instantly.

Harry [9:21 PM]: Good.

She stared at the word for a long time, ignoring the way her face felt impossibly warm.

———

“You’ve checked your phone three times in the last minute.”

Y/N shot Charlotte a glare from across the room. “I have not.”

Charlotte smirked, finishing the last touches of her makeup. “You so have.”

Y/N huffed, locking her phone and tossing it onto the bed like that would somehow make her friend drop the topic. “I’m just checking the time.”

“Mm-hmm.” Charlotte turned, arms crossed. “Because, of course, it has nothing to do with the fact that Harry is coming over.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but her face felt warm. “It’s just a movie night.”

Charlotte grinned. “And yet, you’ve changed your sweater twice.”

Y/N groaned, flopping back onto her pillows. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.” Charlotte grabbed her bag, checking her reflection in the mirror. “I think it’s cute that you’re all flustered over him.”

“I’m not flustered.”

Charlotte raised a brow. “You are so flustered.”

Y/N groaned again, covering her face with a pillow.

A knock at the door made her sit up way too fast.

Charlotte smirked knowingly. “That’s my cue.”

Y/N watched as Charlotte opened the door, revealing Harry—standing there in his usual effortless way, glasses on, a bag of snacks in one hand.

“Oh, hey, Harry,” Charlotte greeted with a grin, throwing Y/N one last look. “I was just leaving.”

Harry glanced between them, looking mildly amused. “Leaving?”

“Yep.” Charlotte winked at Y/N. “Have fun.”

And before Y/N could even form a reply, she was gone.

Harry stepped inside, brow raised. “Did I just interrupt something?”

Y/N exhaled, shaking her head. “No. She’s just being Charlotte.”

Harry chuckled, setting the snacks down. “That explains a lot.”

Settling onto the couch, Y/N pressed play on 27 Dresses, tucking her legs under her.

Harry sat beside her, stretching his arm along the back of the couch. The space between them was small—too small—and she tried not to focus on the way his knee almost brushed hers.

“Have you seen this before?” he asked.

She scoffed. “Please. At least twenty times.”

Harry smiled. “Figures.”

For the first half hour, they made occasional comments about the movie—Harry teasing her about knowing all the lines, Y/N defending why it was a romcom classic.

But eventually, the room grew quieter. The soft glow of the screen cast shadows across Harry’s face, highlighting the curve of his jaw, the way his glasses slid down his nose.

And Y/N—despite her best efforts to stay focused on the film—felt her eyelids growing heavy.

She shifted slightly, trying to stay awake, but the warmth of the room, the steady sound of the dialogue, and the presence of Harry right beside her made it impossible.

At some point, she leaned just a little too far to the side—

And before she could stop herself, her head landed gently on his shoulder.

For a second, she almost panicked.

But Harry didn’t move. Didn’t pull away.

If anything, he relaxed.

She felt him shift slightly, adjusting so that she fit more comfortably against him.

And just like that, sleep took over.

———

The next morning, the first thing Y/N registered was warmth.

A slow, steady warmth surrounding her, lulling her in a sleepy haze.

Then, she felt movement.

Her eyes fluttered open, and it took her a moment to realize:

She was curled into Harry’s side, his arm draped loosely around her shoulders.

The snack bag was on the floor. The TV screen had long since gone black. The early morning light was filtering through the blinds, casting soft shadows across the room.

And Harry—

Was still asleep.

His head rested against the back of the couch, lips slightly parted, curls falling across his forehead. His glasses were slightly askew, one arm still tucked around her like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Y/N barely breathed.

She should move. Should sit up, stretch, do anything to break the moment before he woke up.

But before she could, she felt him shift.

A slow inhale. A stretch.

And then, with a small frown, Harry’s eyes blinked open.

For a second, he looked confused. Disoriented.

Then, his gaze landed on her.

They both froze.

Silence.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

And then—

Harry’s lips twitched, still laced with sleep. “Morning.”

Y/N swallowed. “Morning.”

Another pause.

Then, realization dawned in Harry’s sleepy eyes. He glanced down at their position—her body still tucked into his side, his arm still loosely wrapped around her.

And yet—he didn’t move away.

Instead, his mouth curved into something softer.

“Didn’t mean to steal your couch,” he murmured.

Y/N huffed out a quiet laugh. “Didn’t mean to steal your shoulder.”

Harry smiled.

And for a moment, they just… sat there.

Close. Warm. Unmoving.

Y/N was still sitting on the couch, trying to process the fact that she’d just spent the night curled up against Harry Styles, when she heard him stretch beside her.

She glanced over. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, one hand running through his curls, the other adjusting his glasses.

And he looked… way too good for someone who had just woken up.

Before she could stop herself, she spoke.

“Do you—” She cleared her throat, trying to sound casual. “Do you want some coffee?”

Harry turned to her, blinking.

Then, the corner of his mouth lifted.

“Are you offering me coffee, Y/N?”

She rolled her eyes, standing up. “I regret it already.”

Harry chuckled, pushing himself up from the couch. “Too late.”

———

They ended up in the small dorm kitchen, Y/N fumbling with the coffee machine while Harry leaned against the counter, watching her with amusement.

“I didn’t peg you as the type to function without caffeine,” he said.

She scoffed. “Who says I function at all?”

Harry smirked. “Fair point.”

Once the coffee was ready, she handed him a mug, grabbing one for herself before hopping up onto the counter.

Harry took a slow sip, humming in approval. “Not bad.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Not bad?”

“Yeah.” He nudged her knee playfully. “Could be better.”

She gasped in mock offense. “You are such a snob.”

Harry grinned. “I have high standards.”

She shook her head, but she was smiling.

They fell into comfortable conversation, talking about everything from classes to 27 Dresses to how Harry apparently had a very strong opinion about the correct way to make tea.

And Y/N—despite the fact that she had woken up to a situation that should have been extremely awkward—found herself relaxing.

That was, of course, until Charlotte walked in.

She stopped in the doorway, taking in the sight before her—Harry standing in the kitchen, hair still tousled from sleep, drinking coffee from their mugs.

Y/N sitting on the counter, wearing the same clothes from last night.

Charlotte’s eyes widened.

Then, a slow smirk spread across her face.

“Oh,” she said, drawing out the word. “Good morning.”

Y/N groaned. “Charlotte—”

Charlotte ignored her, turning to Harry with an exaggerated expression of surprise. “Wow, Harry. You’re still here?”

Harry, to Y/N’s horror, grinned.

“Apparently, I make decent company, and your couch is not too bad” he said, sipping his coffee.

Charlotte gasped dramatically. “Did Y/N let you sleep on the couch? That is so rude.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “Charlotte.”

Charlotte pressed a hand to her heart. “I mean, I was gone all night, you totally could’ve used my bed—”

Y/N almost choked on her coffee. “Oh my God, stop.”

Charlotte just smirked, eyes dancing between them. “I’m just saying…”

Y/N glared. “You’re the worst.”

Harry chuckled, setting down his mug. “I should probably get going before Mason starts wondering where I am.”

He turned to Y/N then, a flicker of something unreadable in his gaze.

“Thanks for the coffee,” he murmured.

She swallowed. “Yeah. Anytime.”

Charlotte wiggled her eyebrows.

Y/N shot her a warning look.

Harry—completely amused—grabbed his bag and made his way to the door.

“See you later, Y/N.”

And with that, he was gone.

Y/N barely had time to let out a breath before Charlotte pounced.

“So.”

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Don’t.”

Charlotte ignored her, flopping onto the couch with a wicked grin. “You slept together.”

“Oh my God—”

“Not like that,” Charlotte amended. “But still. You slept together.”

Y/N groaned. “It wasn’t a big deal.”

Charlotte scoffed. “Oh, honey. It so was.”

———

Y/N had spent the entire morning convincing herself that nothing had changed.

That waking up next to Harry hadn’t felt different.

That the way he had smiled at her over coffee hadn’t made her stomach flip.

That she wasn’t replaying every second of their time together like some lovesick idiot.

But she was failing—miserably.

And Charlotte wasn’t helping.

“So,” her roommate drawled, flipping through a magazine on her bed, “are we just gonna pretend that last night never happened?”

Y/N, sitting at her desk, sighed. “Nothing happened.”

Charlotte scoffed. “You cuddled on the couch, made him coffee in the morning, and practically gazed at each other the whole time. That’s something.”

Y/N turned to glare at her. “I wasn’t gazing.”

Charlotte smirked. “Oh, honey. You were gazing.”

Y/N groaned, dropping her head onto her desk.

Charlotte laughed, tossing the magazine aside. “Look, all I’m saying is—he’s different, isn’t he?”

Y/N frowned. “What do you mean?”

Charlotte shrugged. “I mean, I’ve never seen you act like this over a guy. You usually keep your distance, but with Harry… I don’t know. You let him in.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest—but nothing came out.

Because, as much as she hated to admit it, Charlotte wasn’t wrong.

Harry was different.

And that was what scared her the most.

———

That afternoon, she tried to focus on studying.

Tried being the keyword.

She was in the library, sitting at her usual spot by the window, but the words on the page blurred together.

Her phone buzzed.

She glanced at it, already knowing who it was.

Harry [3:27 PM]: You’re not skipping the library today, are you?

Y/N [3:28 PM]: I’m literally here right now.

Harry [3:29 PM]: Good. Would’ve had to question your commitment to academia otherwise.

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged at her lips.

A minute later, she heard a chair scrape against the floor.

She looked up.

Harry slid into the seat across from her, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Hi,” he said, smiling.

Y/N tried to ignore the way her heartbeat definitely sped up. “Hi.”

He set down his bag and pulled out a book. “What are we studying today?”

Y/N sighed. “I’m trying to get through this reading, but it’s not working.”

Harry leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand. “Do you want me to quiz you?”

She raised an eyebrow. “You just got here.”

He smirked. “And?”

She shook her head, amused. “Fine.”

And so, they studied. Or at least, they tried.

Every time Harry read a passage aloud, he did it with exaggerated dramatics, making Y/N laugh.

Whenever she got an answer right, he’d tap his fingers against the table like a drumroll.

At some point, he reached for her book, fingers grazing hers—and neither of them pulled away.

The touch was brief, but her skin tingled where it had been.

Harry didn’t say anything, but his gaze flickered to hers, something unspoken lingering between them.

For the first time, Y/N felt like she was on the edge of something.

And she didn’t know whether to step forward—or run.

———

An hour later, Y/N packed up her things.

“I should go,” she murmured.

Harry nodded, but there was something unreadable in his eyes. “Alright.”

She hesitated before speaking. “Thanks for—y’know. Keeping me sane.”

Harry’s lips quirked. “Anytime.”

As she turned to leave, he called after her

“Oh, Y/N?”

She glanced over her shoulder. “Yeah?”

Harry reached into his bag, pulling out a book.

She frowned as he held it out to her.

“The Symposium?” she read aloud, eyebrows raised.

Harry smirked. “Figured you might like it.”

She stared at him. “Harry, this is your copy.”

He shrugged. “So?”

“So, I know you annotate all your books.” She flipped through the pages, confirming her suspicions—his familiar, neat handwriting filled the margins. “I can’t take this.”

“You can,” he said simply. “And you will.”

She glanced up at him, confused. “But… why?”

Harry held her gaze for a moment, then leaned in slightly.

“Because I think you’ll understand it,” he murmured.

Y/N’s breath caught.

Because there was weight behind his words—something deeper than just a casual book recommendation.

She swallowed, gripping the book a little tighter.

“…Thank you,” she said softly.

Harry smiled. “See you later, Y/N.”

And as she walked away, The Symposium pressed against her chest, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

That, maybe, she had just crossed a line she could never go back from.

———

The night wrapped around them like a quiet secret. The streets were nearly empty, the world softened by the golden glow of streetlamps.

Y/N and Harry walked side by side, their steps unhurried, as if neither of them wanted the night to end just yet.

She wasn’t sure how they ended up here—how a simple goodnight after studying turned into do you want to take a walk? But she didn’t regret saying yes.

It had been a week since that night at her apartment, since they’d woken up together on the couch, and things between them had shifted. Not in an obvious way—there were no declarations, no grand confessions—but something had changed.

Harry had always looked at her like he was intrigued. But now?

Now, he looked at her like he knew. Like he was just waiting for her to admit it, too.

“You’re quiet,” Harry murmured beside her.

She glanced at him. “So are you.”

He smiled, a little crooked. “Guess I don’t always have something to say.”

“Impossible.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Harsh.”

They walked a little further before she spoke again, a quiet admission in the stillness of the night.

“I read your notes.”

Harry turned his head slightly. “My notes?”

“In The Symposium.”

Realization flickered in his expression. “Right.”

She hesitated. “There was one part that stuck with me.”

His gaze softened. “Which one?”

Y/N swallowed.

“The part where you wrote that love is about recognizing something familiar in someone else.”

Harry didn’t speak right away.

Then, quietly, he said, “That’s my favorite part.”

Y/N stopped walking.

So did he.

The silence between them stretched, heavy with something.

She could feel her pulse thrumming in her wrists, in her throat, in the space between them that was growing smaller by the second.

Harry took a step closer. Slowly. Like he was giving her time to stop him.

She didn’t.

His gaze flickered to her lips, just for a second, before meeting her eyes again.

His voice was softer when he spoke next. “You realize I like you, don’t you?”

Y/N felt something tighten in her chest.

Because, of course, she did.

But hearing it—feeling it—was different.

She exhaled, barely a whisper. “I think I do now.”

Harry tilted his head slightly, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Good.”

He didn’t move right away.

He just looked at her, taking her in, like he was memorizing the moment.

Then, so softly it was almost imperceptible, his fingers brushed against hers.

Y/N inhaled sharply.

And that was all it took.

Before she could second-guess it, before she could talk herself out of it, she closed the space between them.

She barely had time to process the warmth of his skin, the steady rise and fall of his breath, before his hand came up, fingers grazing her jaw as he leaned in—slow, careful, waiting.

And then—

Then, he kissed her.

It was soft at first. Just a whisper of a touch, a silent question against her lips.

But the moment she kissed him back, the moment her fingers curled into the fabric of his sweater, it changed.

It deepened.

Harry let out a quiet sound—like he had been waiting for this longer than he cared to admit—and then his hands were on her waist, pulling her closer, closer, like the space between them was unbearable.

Her heart was racing.

She could feel the warmth of his palms, the faint scrape of his stubble against her skin, the way he kissed her like he was learning her—like he wanted to know exactly how she fit against him.

And she let him.

By the time they pulled apart, her head was spinning, her breath uneven.

Harry’s forehead rested against hers, and he let out a quiet laugh.

“What?” she asked, still breathless.

He shook his head, smiling. “Nothing. Just… glad I finally did that.”

She bit her lip, trying—and failing—not to smile.

“Me too.”

Harry’s thumb brushed against her waist absentmindedly.

“Can I walk you home?” he asked.

Y/N nodded.

But neither of them moved.

Not right away.

And when they finally started walking again, Harry’s fingers found hers, intertwining them effortlessly—like they had been waiting to do that, too.

———

It had only been a couple of weeks since that night—their first kiss under the dim glow of the streetlights—but things between them had changed so much.

Not in an overwhelming way. Not in a way that made Y/N feel rushed or pressured.

But in a way that made her soften.

In a way that made it impossible to ignore how utterly smitten Harry was.

It was in the way he always found a reason to touch her, even in the smallest ways—fingertips brushing against hers when they walked, absentmindedly tucking her hair behind her ear when she was focused on something, resting his chin on her shoulder just because he could.

It was in the way he remembered things, like how she liked her coffee and how she hated the sound of loud chewing. In the way he always waited for her outside class even when they had different schedules. In the way he looked at her, like he was always choosing to.

Like he couldn’t believe she was real.

Today was no different.

Y/N sat curled up on the library couch, actually trying to get some work done, while Harry sat beside her, flipping through a book he had absolutely no interest in.

At least, that’s what she assumed—because instead of reading, he was staring at her.

She sighed, setting her pen down. “Harry.”

“Hm?” He looked unbothered, too comfortable as he rested his head against the back of the couch.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

She shot him a pointed look.

He smirked, unfazed. “Looking at my girlfriend?”

Her stomach flipped.

Even after two weeks, the word still did something to her.

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were warm, and Harry knew it.

With a quiet chuckle, he reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers, absentmindedly running his thumb across the back of her palm.

“Should I be studying?” he murmured, lips twitching.

She nodded. “Yes.”

Harry pretended to consider it. Then, with zero hesitation, he squeezed her hand and dragged it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against her knuckles.

“Too bad,” he murmured against her skin.

Y/N’s breath hitched.

This boy.

She was so doomed.

———

Y/N had tried to keep things subtle.

Not because she wanted to hide it, but because Charlotte was the biggest menace when it came to teasing her, and she wasn’t sure she was ready for that just yet.

Too bad Charlotte noticed everything.

Like the way Y/N smiled at her phone when she thought no one was looking. The way she suspiciously left the dorm at night with an “I’ll be back later.” The way she got flustered when Harry’s name came up in conversation.

She had her suspicions, but she didn’t have proof.

Until now.

Because today, as Charlotte was walking toward the dorm, she saw them.

Saw Harry pressing a lingering kiss to Y/N’s forehead. Saw the way she leaned into him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And that was all she needed.

“I KNEW IT!”

Y/N jumped, turning to find Charlotte standing a few feet away with the biggest, most victorious grin on her face.

“Oh my God,” Y/N muttered.

Harry—who clearly wasn’t fazed at all—simply raised an eyebrow. “Did you, though?”

Charlotte turned to him, still grinning. “YES. I just didn’t have evidence.” She turned back to Y/N, wiggling her eyebrows. “But now I do.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face with her hands. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Charlotte sing-songed.

Harry chuckled, amused, before leaning down and whispering into Y/N’s ear, “I’ll leave you to it, sweetheart.”

She sighed dramatically. “Coward.”

He smirked, kissed the side of her head one last time, and walked away, leaving her to deal with Charlotte’s relentless interrogation.

Y/N was so in trouble.

��——

After an hour of being mercilessly teased, Y/N flopped onto her bed, groaning in frustration.

Charlotte smirked from across the room. “Oh, come on, you love me.”

“Debatable,” Y/N muttered, reaching for her phone.

She scrolled through her messages before typing.

Y/N [10:08 PM]: I officially hate you.

Harry [10:09 PM]: That’s unfortunate.

Y/N [10:09 PM]: Charlotte won’t stop teasing me. This is your fault.

Harry [10:10 PM]: Guess I’ll just have to make it up to you, won’t I?

Y/N froze, rereading the message at least three times.

Before she could even think of a response, there was a quiet knock on the door.

Charlotte and Y/N shared a look.

Y/N opened it—and there he was.

Harry stood there, a lazy smirk on his lips, holding a small pastry in a white paper bag.

“Hey,” he murmured.

Y/N blinked.

Charlotte—who was watching the whole thing unfold—snorted. “Oh, my God. You are so whipped.”

Harry didn’t even deny it.

He just shrugged, handed Y/N the bag, and kissed her temple like it was the most normal thing in the world.

When she looked inside, she found her favorite pastry, the one from the café across campus.

She looked back up at him, eyes soft. “You went all the way to—“

Harry simply shrugged. “Felt like it”

Y/N pressed her lips together, trying not to melt right then and there.

Charlotte, however, had no such restraint. “You two are disgusting”, she muttered, rolling her eyes before dramatically throwing a pillow over her head.

Harry chuckled, then leaned down and whispered against Y/N’s skin, “Worth it.”

And just like that, Y/N knew—

She was so, so screwed.

[emptymanuscript]

I admit I'm on the fence about AI in general... well, on the I have never used it and am not sure if I ever should but I've got the deep fear of missing out side.

But in the context of learning, it strikes me as falling in the same landscape as a calculator or Excel. I use a calculator or (actually more commonly) Excel to do any math because I'm not particularly good at math and never really have been.

BUT

When I was growing up, you did NOT get to use a calculator until you knew how to calculate. This was not a thing to make us suffer or just make life more difficult.

I also had stupid tests where I had to solve 100 math problems in 3 minutes, and I'm not about to argue that was good for me, helped me, or should be inflicted on subsequent generations.

I had to learn how to calculate BECAUSE of the above. If YOU don't know how to calculate, then it is impossible to tell if the calculator gave you the correct answer or not.

Back when I used to post to r/excel, I used to get flack for not showing the "EFFICIENT" way to solve problems but instead would show things step by step. But this is the same thing. If you do things in a big complicated group, you either get the right answer or the wrong answer. If you do things step by step you can CHECK your answer step by step and see if they make sense.

Do I need to know how to do 87^2 in my head in 30 seconds or less? No. I really don't. But I do need to know what is going on and why it is happening.

87^2 = 7,569 is great for a calculator to do. The calculator absolutely can do it faster than most people can. But if I just plug in 87^2 and get 689, how do I verify it? How do I check? Can I even realize, hmmm, that doesn't look quite right. Are my functions all right?

Knowing what is going on is the insurance for that. I can probably catch that, oh, I was trying to use a clever trick and forgot some steps.

The answer isn't all that is important.

And yes, it absolutely can make you dumber. Like I got to hear a discussion between two lecturers I really liked. And one just went off on a tangent and the other was clearly wondering why the hell she was there, this isn't science. BUT because I knew the details of how they were both dealing with the basic problem they were talking about - current science not being able to successfully predict certain phenomenon without numbers to fudge the situation that represent things that can't be proven independently of the need to fudge the numbers - I was able to follow the miscommunication while they, themselves, could not. His tangent made perfect sense in the context of his field of interest and made zero sense in hers. And if all you have the answers with no information of how you got to them, there's zero way to connect "I think the Sun might be conscious" and "I think half of the standard model is based on incorrect assumptions." They were in fact talking about the same things and differing solutions but there's no way to align that without talking about the assumptions, which needs to be laid out in order to UNDERSTAND the answer.

And struggling with my FOMO on writing, there's the basic truth that the reason I fear like I'm missing out is in part because I AM an expert. I have a graduate degree in TEACHING creative writing. I know my shit. So if I ask ChatGPT or whatever to spit out a scene for me, I not only can tell if it is good or bad, I can explain WHY it is good or bad and what needs to be done to improve it. I have zero fear of amateurs asking ChatGPT to spit out a novel for them and getting a novel of quality that I will be competing with. I am scared of people with enough knowledge of how writing works and knowledge of how ChatGPT creating the equivalent situation of me doing long division on paper while they're plugging the equations into a calculator.

A calculator, used as a tool, by someone who understands what they're doing, can do calculations faster and with less errors than someone who also understands what they're doing but isn't using a calculator. But it's not the difference of one being able to do it and another not. It's a difference of speed and accuracy.

It's an entirely different set up when it's someone who understands what they're doing versus someone who doesn't. You can give someone who doesn't know what they're doing all the tools in the world and it will still take them longer and produce an inferior product because they can't understand what they're doing.

And that's the basic problem with using ChatGPT for education. Yes, it can give you an answer. But because you don't know how, you simply have to trust that it is the correct answer. With no way to double check, no way to gauge, and no way to adjust the workflow to better suit your needs.

It absolutely is shooting themselves in the foot. Because school is the point where access to help with process and WHY things work the way to do is easiest to get. It does simply get harder to find the farther away from educational opportunities you get. And when you need it to work isn't the best time to be trying to figure out what you're really doing instead of already having that education and skill under your belt.

It's also relying on the fatal assumption that tomorrow is going to look like yesterday. My earliest datable memory is June 1st 1982. The world is so profoundly different in February 13th 2025, that I am very comfortable promising you that the idea that you can depend on the world looking the same for your entire life WILL get you into trouble because that's simply not the way the world works. Certainly not now. The assumption that it is safe to use ChatGPT now because you will always be able to use ChatGPT is a set up for failure. Will there always be tools? Yes. Will you know how to get future tools to work the same way as ChatGPT? Probably not. I grew up using Dos and then Window's machines. These days, the programs are so different, I find it easier to use a Mac instead of learning the new way that Windows does things.

If you rely on a particular tool solving a problem for you in a way you don't understand beyond that tool giving you the answer, you will be relearning the tool every large iteration. And eventually it will be different enough that it will set you back. That you will essentially be starting from nearly scratch. And then what? If you don't know what kind of answer you should get, how are you going to know if you're using that new tool correctly because some engineer decided that it is more efficient to move in a different direction?

Even novels have changed over the course of my life. Every book I've read that was published in the last 15 years breaks fundamental rules I was taught back in the early 90's. The conventions that I would have insisted that ChatGPT follow have changed. But if I didn't know WHY those conventions existed how would I even know? How would I adjust? Why would it even occur to me that I needed to adjust? ChatGPT sure doesn't know.

That's probably fine if it's just something you're doing for fun.

But if it is your job? Getting things wrong can be the difference between keeping that job and going hungry. It is not a good idea to be utterly dependent on your tools. Tools are to make what you're doing easier, not to do the task for you all together.

Yeah, just don't. The grades are not as important as what you will be able to do (or not be able to do) later in life. And sometimes that later can be a LOT sooner than you anticipate. I watched a LOT of people wash out or nearly wash out of college because they didn't know the whys and hows of what they were doing academically. I saw straight A students flunk out because they just learned the cheat or because their schools were crap and only taught one way to do things or taught nothing at all and just let the cards fall. I had a good friend who came in with a 4.2 GPA and nearly flunk out because she wasn't taught basic skills I had gotten in middle school.

Which was intentional.

Because she was black and poor and I wasn't.

Her schooling was designed to fail her because the best way to make sure someone as smart as her STAYED black and poor was to let her fly without ever teaching her the skills to do better when she needed to. And she was damned smart. And she worked damned hard. And she pulled through and got a master's before I did. But she was in the extreme minority and had a lot of help and still slid through by the skin of her teeth. Most people in her position crashed and burned and ended up WORSE off than they started. Which is great for the powers that be because it makes them a demonstration of why you shouldn't even try. It shows that society is stacked against you. Because it is. Because it is designed to fail.

Understand that ChatGPT is the same set up. It will make things easier. For now. It will give you the answers. It will work. Until it hits the level it can't anymore. And that WILL happen. It is inevitable. And then you have no supports and you ARE going to crash and burn.

There is a reason that ChatGPT is cheap and being forced on everyone. It is controlled by the people who are being served by the current societal structure.

Are you being served? Are you sure? Because if there is ANYTHING about you they can benefit by crushing, washing you out, setting you out to sacrifice, they're going to do it. Anything that is free in our society is a tool to make YOU the product. And they're damn good at doing it. So think long and hard about using that tool when they have so much history and investment in making you crap out for their benefit. Don't rely on them to save you.

I just started grad school this fall after a few years away from school and man I did not realize how dire the AI/LLM situation is in universities now. In the past few weeks:

I chatted with a classmate about how it was going to be a tight timeline on a project for a programming class. He responded "Yeah, at least if we run short on time, we can just ask chatGPT to finish it for us"

One of my professors pulled up chatGPT on the screen to show us how it can sometimes do our homework problems for us and showed how she thanks it after asking it questions "in case it takes over some day."

I asked one of my TAs in a math class to explain how a piece of code he had written worked in an assignment. He looked at it for about 15 seconds then went "I don't know, ask chatGPT"

A student in my math group insisted he was right on an answer to a problem. When I asked where he got that info, he sent me a screenshot of Google gemini giving just blatantly wrong info. He still insisted he was right when I pointed this out and refused to click into any of the actual web pages.

A different student in my math class told me he pays $20 per month for the "computational" version of chatGPT, which he uses for all of his classes and PhD research. The computational version is worth it, he says, because it is wrong "less often". He uses chatGPT for all his homework and can't figure out why he's struggling on exams.

There's a lot more, but it's really making me feel crazy. Even if it was right 100% of the time, why are you paying thousands of dollars to go to school and learn if you're just going to plug everything into a computer whenever you're asked to think??

[super-ion]

The Engineer

Part 5

(Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4)

I sure wish I could get some hardware interface testing, today's tech tells me with a disgusting smirk. His eyes make a shameless sweep of my skinsuit.

Normally, I wouldn't stare him down. Normally, I would hunch my shoulders and pretend that the joke slid right off me.

I haven't felt normal since my encounter with the Pilot in that dimly lit observation room two nights ago.

I stare until his smirk slides from his face and he begins to squirm.

I turn away, putting him out of my mind.

Morrigan and I have a date. That is to say, we do, in fact, have hardware interface testing on the schedule today. Her primary neural interface has been upgraded and I need to run it through its diagnostics, a task I am uniquely qualified for with the engineer's rig and my intimate knowledge of Her systems.

I'm… giddy. Nervous, even.

This will be the first time I plug into Her since my encounter with Her Pilot - the first time since she touched my face, since she roughly pressed her lips to my neck while I surrendered to her, with Morrigan watching the whole time.

I shudder at the memory and linger in the vestibule. I place a hand on Morrigan's bulkhead as I always do. I feel that distant thrum of Her, the dull rumble of Her heart.

“Hey beautiful,” I say to Her as I always do.

I think of the Pilot. I think of piercing blue eyes and I think of neural bleed.

I think of teeth scraping against tender flesh at the base of my neck. I think of those slender fingers winding themselves through my hair.

A noise behind me. The tech clears his throat.

My face heats and I flinch my hand away.

I climb into the cockpit to find that the cradle is already reconfigured for me. Every one of Morrigan's cockpit cameras are focused on me with a new, special kind of eagerness.

She did watch us. I'm certain of it. Even if she hadn't, the Pilot has been here and already shared everything with her.

I let out a nervous breath and clamber into the embrace of her cradle. I let Her slip into me, physically and mentally. I let Her fill the space where my loneliness is a tangible aching thing.

Telemetry streams fill my consciousness. The ping comes almost immediately after connection is established.

- Status?

What is my status? Before two nights ago, I had enough trouble answering that question. Now everything is more confused than ever.

“I met the Pilot,” I reply. “Your Pilot. She kissed me. I let her…”

I drag my hands over my face. Why does this feel like I'm admitting to cheating on her?

- Did you enjoy it?

I nod.

Her delight (at least as much as a machine like her can experience delight) is palpable over the neural interface. Something like relief flows through me.

Of course it doesn't bother her, why would it?

I sigh and kick off the first of a long series of diagnostic tests. As firmware validation check results start popping up in my hud, I let my mind wander.

Wander is a generous term. My mind immediately returns to the singular subject that has occupied my thoughts.

The Pilot presses herself against me. Her lips press against the space where my neck meets my shoulder, her teeth nipping gently. Her hand trails down my side, finds the hem of my shirt and lifts slightly, skin touching skin...

The memory brings with it the ghost of sensation.

All around me, Morrigan hums. All the little noises in the cockpit, all the clicks and whirs and beeps, seem to take on a new meaning as she witnesses the memory play back in my mind.

“You think a lot about neural bleed.”

I'm thinking about neural bleed now. I'm thinking about how the next time the Pilot jacks in, she will find the ghost of my thoughts in Morrigan's system. She will know how it made my breath come fast, how the memory made me stiffen. How my hands wandered unbidden along my skinsuit…

I'm not alone.

My eyes snap open in a panic and…

There she is, hovering at the threshold to the vestibule.

I don't know how long the Pilot has been watching me. Her eyes shine with the same intensity as ever, but… hungry, wanting.

It's too much. Her knowing about Morrigan and me, Morrigan knowing about us, those are one thing. Her being here now, me here with the two of them together, it's too much.

My face heats and I mumble some unintelligible apology. I send a command to Morrigan to disengage. I attempt to sit up and-

She presses a hand to my chest and shoves me back into the cradle.

“You're not going anywhere,” she purrs.

Morrigan has not disengaged.

My breath catches in my throat.

The Pilot climbs the rest of the way into the cockpit and cycles the bulkhead closed.

The space is barely big enough for the two of us and the intimacy of it sends my heart racing anew.

“Wh-what?” I gasp. “Somebody will catch us.”

“I don't fucking care,” she says as she straddles me and produces an auxiliary neural interface cable from an overhead receptacle. “Me or Morrigan could get dead in the next engagement. I don't have the time or patience to pussyfoot around.”

“They could reassign me,” I protest, “or worse.”

“Oh, I doubt that,” she says with a hint of a sly grin. “You'll find that pilots usually get what we want around here.”

I can't tell if she means getting what she wants from me or from our superiors.

She hesitates, interface cable dangling in her hand. It's that same hesitation from two nights earlier, only this time it's a question for me.

Morrigan herself seems to pause with her own bated metaphorical breath. A sort of gentle hopefulness trickles over the link.

I should say no. I should excuse myself. That would be the smart rational thing to do.

I'm too close. I'm too close to both of them now.

I give the Pilot a nod.

I watch as she contorts herself, stretching her lithe arms to reach the jack in her own rig. I watch as she slides the the plug of the interface into herself. I watch as she shudders and sighs, dropping her arms and closing her eyes. I watch as her body relaxes, and for the first time since I've known her, she becomes still.

New status messages flash in my field of vision. A second user has logged in.

She opens her eyes and looks around the cramped cockpit.

“This is how you experience it?” she says.

“What?”

“The link,” she says. “There's no haptics. No biochem. It's so... shallow.”

My heart falls.

She blinks in surprise, her eyes distant.

“Fuck. I'm sorry,” she says softly. “I didn't mean it like that. I...”

My face must have given me away, or my body language. She leans towards me and brushes her lips tenderly against mine.

Then I understand. It wasn't anything on my face.

I can feel her. I feel her against me, but I also feel me against her.

It isn't sensorium. I can't feel what she physically feels. But emotion is information and information flows freely over the link.

I don't feel her so much as I feel her emotional reaction to the touch.

Neural bleed.

I open my mouth and drink her in. I wrap my arms around her to pull her close. One of us moans, I can't tell who at this point.

She pulls away.

“Holy shit,” I gasp.

“Yeah?” she replies and…

Holy shit.

Morrigan begins playing back the moments just before the Pilot Interrupted us - the memory, my need, my wandering hands.

The Pilot makes a small self-satisfied grin. I can feel her satisfaction over the link. I can feel her own reactive wanting.

Fuck. I can even feel Morrigan's need.

"The three of us, we're just this fucking tangle, aren't we?"

“You liked that, huh?” she says, leaning towards me. "Our little tryst?"

I nod.

“Can't stop thinking about it?”

I nod again.

She leans in real close and I dare not move as she brushes her lips against my ear.

“There's just one problem,” she whispers. “I think that Babygirl feels a bit left out.”

I gasp as something closes over my wrists, my ankles.

I crane my neck to look over to where safety restraints in the cradle have closed over me.

"Can't let Her get jealous, can we?" she whispers with a nip at my ear.

The Pilot straightens and spreads her arms. The space in the cockpit is so close that her fingers touch both sides easily. She draws her arms overhead, fingers drifting over the panels. She stretches languidly, the hard lines of her body on full display under her own skinsuit.

Desire and need pulse over the link - the Pilot's and Morrigan's and my own reflected back at me.

“How about we give you something else you can't stop thinking about?”

~~~~~

@digitalsymbiote @g1ngan1nja @thriron @ephemeral-arcanist @mias-domain @justasleepykitten @powder-of-infinity @valkayrieactual @chaosmagetwin @assigned-stupid-at-birth @avalanchenouveau

If anyone else wants to get tagged (or if I missed you), let me know! Two more updates planned (fair warning, they're not going to be as happy as this one)

[aventurineswife]

Hellooo!! An idea suddenly, so I was wondering if you could do it (⁠•⁠ ⁠▽⁠ ⁠•⁠;⁠)

It's about a singer reader, basically the reader is someone who doesn't interact enough with other artists (example: Robin) therefore he has never done a collaboration with another singer, although this doesn't seem to matter that much to the reader. While his fans also don't care that the reader doesn't have a collaboration with another singer yet.

One day a fan noticed that the reader subtly brought his wrist closer to his face, the fan commented on this fact which made the other fans notice this fact as well, at first the reader doesn't say anything. But upon returning from a tour he takes refuge with his partner (basically hugs him) and doesn't separate from him, Aventurine smells a familiar smell coming from the reader, asking him about it the reader mentions that he bought Aventurine's cologne at some point because he missed him. This is based on an alternate universe of Alien Stage from tiktok and a comic by ivantill (⁠＾⁠∇⁠＾⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠♪

-💤🩵 anon

The Smell of You

Summary: After a successful yet exhausting tour, you return home, seeking refuge in the comforting embrace of your partner, Aventurine. During the tour, fans noticed a subtle gesture where you brought your wrist close to your face, unknowingly drawing attention. The act was a small, quiet way of holding onto the scent of Aventurine, which you had started wearing his cologne to feel closer to him while on the road. Upon returning home, your unspoken emotions come to light as Aventurine notices the familiar scent, and the two of you share a moment of connection and intimacy.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Fluff, Comfort, Subtle Romance, Emotional Vulnerability, Affection, Subtle Gestures, Established Relationship, Light Angst, Healing Together.

A/N: NOOOO IVANTILL!!! 😭😭😭☹️☹️☹️💔💔💔

The tour had taken its toll on you. Days on the road, constant performances, and the ever-present pressure of your career had left you drained. Yet, you found solace in the little things—the familiar smell of Aventurine’s cologne, the touch of his hand when you’d return home, and the warmth of his presence that you’d come to crave.

This tour had been different though. While your fans continued to support you with unwavering loyalty, a small part of you couldn't shake the feeling that something had changed. You hadn’t collaborated with another artist before. Many had speculated about your reasons, but for you, it wasn’t a matter of isolation—it was more about being content in your own space. You didn’t feel the need to prove anything to anyone, and your fans seemed to appreciate that. At least, that’s what you told yourself.

But today, as you stood on stage during your final concert, something caught your eye. One of your fans in the front row, a young woman, was staring intently at your wrist, a small smile on her face. You subtly brought your wrist closer to your face to adjust your sleeve, just a tiny gesture, but it didn’t go unnoticed. The fan quickly typed something into her phone and raised it high, showing a tweet to her friends. It wasn’t long before others caught on.

You could hear their whispers from the stage, murmurs spreading like wildfire among the crowd. Something had shifted. Your wrist—a simple movement, nothing extraordinary—was being noticed. It wasn’t the first time fans had speculated on your gestures, but today, it felt different.

Your heart sank a little. You had no idea why you did it. It wasn’t conscious, but it had become a small act of comfort for you. You’d taken to bringing your wrist close to your face whenever you missed him. Whenever you missed Aventurine.

You didn’t want to make it a big deal, though. The concert went on, and you performed like you always did—calm, composed, unbothered—but you couldn't escape the nagging feeling that something had shifted.

By the time you returned from the tour, exhaustion had taken hold of you, and all you wanted was to find peace. You didn’t bother with much else—just your partner, Aventurine. His presence was a balm to your worn-out soul.

As you walked into the apartment, your body felt heavy with fatigue, but as soon as you saw him, something in you lightened. You wasted no time, walking straight into his arms, seeking refuge in the safe haven he always provided. His familiar scent, rich with the earthy tones of his cologne, mixed with the comforting warmth of his embrace. You melted into him, not wanting to let go.

Aventurine didn’t say anything at first, but his sharp senses didn’t miss a beat. He gently pulled back just enough to look at you, his gaze piercing yet soft.

“Did you... buy my cologne?” he asked, his voice low and almost... amused.

You froze, guilt surging through you, even though you hadn't done anything wrong. You hesitated, not wanting to admit it, but eventually, you couldn't lie to him.

“I... I missed you,” you murmured, your words barely a whisper. “I bought it when I was on tour. It reminded me of you.”

Aventurine’s smile, always enigmatic, softened at the edges, his usual facade of playful bravado dropping for just a moment. He pressed his face into your hair, inhaling deeply, his arms tightening around you.

"You know," he said after a pause, his voice softer than usual, "you never need a reason to miss me." His tone held the usual arrogance, but it was tinged with something more—something unspoken, something that had always been there, hidden beneath the surface.

You smiled against his chest, feeling the weight of the world lift from your shoulders. There was no need for words between you two; there was only comfort in the shared silence and the soft, familiar scent that lingered in the air.

Outside, the world may have noticed your subtle gesture, but here, in this moment, there was only Aventurine and you. No fans, no questions—just the warmth of his arms and the quiet understanding that no matter what the world expected of you, you had found a way to make it your own.

[leggerefiore]

Can I request how the dead inside trio (fuck it, giovanni too) would prepare for valentines? I have a deep craving for sweet old men 🙏❤️❤️

since cy is from sinnoh and gio is from kanto, Valentine's is a bit different over there... I tried

cw: Valentine's Day fluff,

characters: Nanu, Larry, Cyrus, Giovanni

🐈‍⬛️Nanu❤️‍🩹

���� He really had not an urge to do anything for Valentine’s Day… The day simply held nothing positive for him. Even with a partner, he felt it useless to engage in something so corporate for his lover. They can get gifts for each other any day of the year – Why fixate on a specific date? Even so, despite his disinterest, Acerola seemed insistent. The girl babbled to him about how important it is to show he cares. While he wanted to roll his eyes and ignore her words, those big eyes made him reconsider. Honestly, he hated that he simply could not be mean to her. So, he found himself walking off and working on plans.

🌑 Chocolates were easy enough to obtain as they were being sold literally anywhere. He cared not for specifics, so he just grabbed whatever seemed the nicest. Flowers… Well, being connected to a fertility deity has its benefits every so often. Tapu Bulu actually was ecstatic to see him, so a request for some flowers was answered with a familiar white species. Nanu grumbled, recognising them. Well, he could not exactly complain without risking angering a capricious deity, so he took them. Lastly, a date… He sighed. Ula'Ula was certainly scenic and seen as a romantic place to visit, but living there ruined that image in his mind. What was there to do? Every restaurant was booked, and the Malie Garden would be absolutely packed. There had to be a place with some privacy…

🌑 The black sands of the beach on Route 14 frequently caught the eyes of many visitors, but the ruined store tended to ward them off. No one wanted to piss off a guardian deity, really. Nanu knew the pokemon would not care too much for you both lingering on its sacred land. The waves lapped at the shore as he glanced at you. It was not exactly the most romantic activity, but Nanu found himself fine with it. You leaned against him as he grasped the wrapped chocolates. The flowers were a success when he gifted to them earlier. Your comment about it being a wedding bouquet did make him swallow his heart. He sighed as the setting sun shined on the horizon. Handing off the chocolates, he grasped your hand. “… Happy Valentine's Day,” his voice was a low mumble, still not really interested in the holiday, “Sorry for the shitty date—” You kissing him cut him off. Apparently, you quite enjoyed his attempt at romance.

💼Larry🏢

🍙 The holiday held little meaning to the businessman. While most of his coworkers rushed to get off and make plans for it, Larry simply worked on the extra workload that his boss seemed to enjoy dumping on him. Though, his plans for that year had a wrench in them. Rika lingered above his desk, watching him curiously. He could not tell what was on the woman's mind. Well, until she finally asked him what his plans were with his partner. He blinked. A simple answer of nothing apparently offended her. A hand came down on his desk as she insisted he do something, even offering to cover his work. It caught him off-guard. An attempt to reject the offer was met with the green-haired woman growing more demanding. She even involved Hassel, who seemed horrified at Larry's actions. He was basically chased out of the office.

🍙 So, he sighed. It seemed that this was happening. Many years had passed since he last put any energy into Valentine’s Day. He popped into a corner store to pick up a box of chocolates and a card. He sighed. Flowers were also a smart idea, but… There was no way to get any this late into the game. He opted to just focus on trying to get a table at a restaurant. Most had to be completely booked out, but the Treasure Eatery was more than happy to accommodate him. In fact, they were more shocked than anything that he called ahead to reserve anything since they usually kept a spot open just for him. He was not overly sure how that made him feel. A quick call to you led to an agreement to meet him there. There was a momentary debate of whether he should change clothes, but he opted against it.

🍙 You joining him at the table led to an awkward moment of silence as he presented the card and chocolates with little fanfare. There was a moment of bewilderment towards the actions, but you took the chocolates nonetheless. The restaurant was packed with couples, clearly trying to have a romantic evening. Larry felt completely out of his element. The card was a simple one with an Oricorio on it saying something, making one's heart dance like one. Your smile made his cheeks burn. He did not it expect you to actually enjoy it. “Happy Valentine's Day…” his voice was careful, “I apologise if this is not adequate enough—” You leaning in for a kiss silenced him. An assurance that this was enough made him relax. The evening went far better than he expected.

🌌Cyrus🛰

☄️ The Galactic Boss barely had noticed the holiday approaching. He simply felt no need to keep up with such trivial things while he was working on his plans. However, he did notice that his grunts were requesting time off while Mars seemed to babble about something that he did not care to listen to. His frustration was piling due to this, but he was caught off-guard at the red-head entering his office and asking him what he was doing for the holiday since he was apparently in a relationship. He bit his tongue. The urge to tell her off about prying into his personal life was interrupted by him blinking. His… relationship. Right, this was the time for women to give gifts to the important people in their lives. He groaned. Suddenly, he realised that he needed to take off from work at a reasonable time. Upsetting you was the last thing that he wanted to do.

☄️ While it was not typical for men to do anything, he felt the urge to do something to make up for any possible distress. A simple reservation at a restaurant seemed sufficient enough, but he still felt worried at the thought of failing to please you. So, he found himself trailing to a florist when he managed to finally free himself from work. Flowers were romantic enough, were they not? He struggled to pick any due to his uncertainty. The clerk seemed to take pity on him – the typical rose bouquet felt too common and apathetic for him. Yet, somehow, a certain kind of flower caught his eye. A purchase was made, and he headed home. This seemed more than enough to make up for any possible upset.

☄️ Unsurprisingly, he was greeted by chocolates when he came home. They were homemade and shaped by like the various forms of Rotom. He felt shocked by your dedication and relieved that he had done so much in return. The offer of dinner seemed to perk you up even more. He had booked the nicest restaurant in the area, after all. Though, his surprise of a sunflower bouquet also shocked you. The flowers gently brought a delicate warmth with their presence. You thanked him for such a thoughtful gift. While you held the bouquet to yourself, he opted to speak. “Happy Valentine's Day…” his voice was low and deep, “I apologise for being home so late.” Your hug and a peck to his cheek calmed him. As long as you were happy.

🚀Giovanni🐈

🟥 Valentine's Day… Giovanni would often receive many gifts. He certainly was a desired man, after all. Honestly, he was not the biggest fan of chocolates, but the attention fed his ego just right. Now, he was fully aware the holiday was celebrated differently all over. In Kanto, it was a time for women to gift chocolates to the men in their life. In somewhere like, say, Unova or Kalos, though, it was a mutual holiday with more expectation on the man. He felt himself debating whether he should obligate his partner like what they would expect from their culture… Really, he supposed it would be something different from the typical day of being showered in gifts from those desperate for his attention.

🟥 Chocolates were the typical gift for the holiday. He found himself in a premier chocolatier, debating just what his partner may enjoy. A variety seemed best. The price was certainly steep, but it was not as if he failed to have money to throw around. The chocolates were delicately wrapped in a scarlet box as he pondered what was next. Flowers were a common gift overseas. Roses, specifically. He quite found the idea of bouquet red roses enchanting. A stop at a florist provided his next gift. The flowers drove a high price again, but he once again found himself apathetic. Lastly, a location. A simple call to a preferred restaurant got him a private room that evening without question. Honestly, it was easy enough.

🟥 He had his driver bring you to him as he waited at the restaurant. His attire was far nicer than his typical suit. You were shocked as you stepped out of the car. A box of chocolates was in your hands. An exchange was made as you handed off your gifts for one another. Your reaction to the expensive chocolates left him smug. Yours for him were clearly homemade. He would appreciate the dedication. The shapes of a rocket and Persians left him entertained at least. Your arm was interlocked with his as he led you to the reserved area of the restaurant. “Happy Valentine's Day,” his voice was confident and proud, “… I have more planned for this evening.” Your reaction to that had him chuckle. He felt that he enjoyed celebrating like this all the same.

[harteofthehart-ayyy]

@starcrests asked:

Is there anything I should know if I just got sent to this world a few hours(?) ago?

Holy shit hi uh

Find a place to live. It doesn’t have to be permanent. In fact, don’t count on it being permanent.

Looks like you’re already connected to the internet so that’s good. Look at a map, figure out where you are in the world.

Think about what you can remember. Most fallers (documented here and at home anyway) lose a significant amount of their memories. I still don’t know why I didn’t?? Could be that I fell artificially.

Get an ID. You are going to want to legally exist if you’re going to be trapped in another dimension. Depending on where you are this might take a while. Figure out if you need more than just an ID card or paper of some kind, too. It’s different in different places. You’ll need that to open a bank account and other important things like get a job if they do background checks. The paperwork is worth it. Even if it’s weird when you come up as having no background and you have to explain your situation and see if there are recorded instances of falling in your universe because otherwise you might just not be believed which sucks major ass. Happened to my partner.

GET A JOB. You will want an income as soon as possible for things like buying food and paying rent if you’re not lucky enough to find someone who will let you crash on their couch for free.

Edit: BUY YOURSELF COMFORTABLE CLOTHING. YOU ARE GOING TO WANT A CHANGE OF CLOTHES. It’s easier if you’re wearing clothes you LIKE that are COMFORTABLE. Treat yourself you deserve it you literally just lost everything.

Basically take it as if you’re moving to another region. It will be extremely fucking stressful and you will feel lost and alone and like nothing matters and you will want to give up because honestly it’s a fucking bleak situation. Falling is scary and honestly? Bad. Bad experience. Really bad. Try to make the most of it?? I guess??? Maybe try to take it as a fresh chance??

Let yourself grieve. This one is important. Your life as you know it is forever changed and you will most likely never see your loved ones again. Which is fucking bleak. You have NO idea how much I cried in my first, what, half year after falling?? And even after that?? Because I was devastated. It’s fine to feel like shit. It’s a shitty situation. It sucks. Grief comes in waves and sometimes it just fucking bowls you over and you drown in it and you just have to deal with it and it sucks. Sorry.

Try to make new friends. Related to my last point, you’re gonna want a support system. You’ve just gone through a traumatic experience. Like, that’s hard to go through alone.

Once you think you’re stable enough, learn about where you are. More than you already have atp because it’ll let you discover wonderful things like an awful cave to not go into or a cute little café where you can find happiness or a concert hall where there’s an orchestra playing every Tuesday and sometimes they have plays or musicals. Yknow? Try to become familiar with where you live even if it hurts. Find little happy things. It helps with the uh. Grief.

Good fucking luck being a faller is hard and it’s so fucking rough but it gets better. Like all things like this it gets better. You’ll find your place.

[ephemeralinstance]

Lavellan in Veilguard

The scenes with the Solas-romancing Lavellan in Veilguard are, for me, one of the writing highlights of the game. Of course there are limitations with her being an NPC, but I think that subject to the constraints of the structure of the game, the writer did a really great job of a very difficult piece of writing - creating a depiction of the character that fits with thousands of different versions of Lavellan.

First of all, Lavellan's dialogue is elegant and lyrical, matching the cadence in which Solas speaks and thus showing how in-tune they are even after all these years. One thing I loved about Inquisition was that the language was often really beautiful, so I enjoyed seeing that kind of poetic language return here, and I think the writer understood and captured the heart of what a lot of people loved about the Solas romance - the poetry and beauty of it.

In addition, we get a range of different emotions. Lavellan expresses sadness ('He meant that much'), passion ('You've felt the power of that mind'), anger ('He left me to clean up his mess'), self-doubt ('Am I the prideful one?'). Whatever reaction you personally envision your character as having, you can find it represented in what she says here. I know some people wished Lavellan could have more of an angry confrontation with Solas, but that probably wouldn't have been possible without just allowing us to directly control Lavellan; I think the writer achieved a good compromise by showing us her anger and hurt in this conversation. 

At the same time, she's shown to be mature, self-aware, and reflective. We see her questioning herself, asking 'Am I the prideful one, imagining his broken heart so I'd never have to face my folly?' Lavellan isn't deluded; she's not romanticizing what happened. If she chooses to go with him, it's clear that she isn't naive or being manipulated. She's making this choice in a fully aware, thoughtful manner. And although Lavellan loves Solas deeply, he isn't her first priority. It's important that when Rook asks her if she'd be willing to leave with Solas, she states, 'No. We have to save the world first.' We're shown very clearly that she has a life outside of Solas, and she prioritizes her duty to the people of Thedas: only once her task is done is she able to put herself first, and finally choose her own desires over her duty for once. It's also impressive how clearly she understands Solas, as evident in her speculation that he's left clues because part of him wants to be stopped. I particularly liked the fact that she's shown to have a deeper understanding of him than Rook, as seen in their exchange about 'lies of the heart.' Rook just sees one superficial version of Solas as 'god of lies,' whereas Lavellan understands that although Solas did lie to her, at a deeper level he isn't good at concealing what he really feels. Lavellan absolutely knows and understand Solas' flaws and the 'bad' side of him that Rook has seen, but she also knows a different side of him that no one else has seen. If Lavellan chooses to go with him, it's because she understands him completely: she sees all the good and all the bad in him, and she chooses him anyway.

Finally, sometimes I see people critiquing Lavellan for being passive or not having much going on apart from her connection with Solas. Now first off, this clearly isn't true, since she spends the whole game mustering the armies of the south and sending detailed missives about her military operations - no one in Thedas has more going on than this woman! 

But also, it's important to keep in mind that Lavellan isn't supposed to be a fully-fleshed out character: she's specifically left vague enough so that you can fill in the details with your own Lavellan. For example, we're not told much about what she's been up to in the last ten years, but of course that's not because she's done nothing but pine for Solas: it's simply left unspecified so it can be compatible with different headcanons. Lavellan is specifically written to allow us to fill in the details, and the measure of success is not whether she comes off as a fully-developed character to people who don't have their own Solas-romancing Lavellan (honestly, those people shouldn't even be commenting, this writing isn't for them); the measure of success is whether she works as a stand-in for all of our individual versions of Lavellan. And although of course it's never going to be possible to please everyone, I think the writer did a great job within the limitations of what was possible in the plot.

[violinios]

kind of a Dream analysis?

i don't know how to start this without saying "sorry for my bad english". i'm not confident when writing long texts in english. will include personal visions/headcannons.

i want to talk about Dream's childhood and adulthood more, and how he was also abused by the villagers, yet people think Dream was extremelly loved by them. not only that he was loved, but also that he was one to blame for the events that happened during the apple incident.

there's a difference between Dream feeling guilty for not being able to do anything and him actually having blame for what happened in the village. (cof cof, survivors guilt.)

first of all, can we talk about how Dream and Nightmare were BOTH suffering on the villagers hands, but in different ways? Nightmare wasn't the only victim of the malicious people. let's start with the fact that both carried a burden since they were young. two 6 year old children aren't capable of protecting anything from those who are older and are susceptible to being manipulated by adults.

they took advantage of Dream's naivety, they exploited him and that was extremelly overwhelming. there was no adult in who Dream could actually trust besides Neil, because Dream was the one who had to support everyone else with his help, including the adults, and ended receiving no support back at the end of the day. he is seen as nothing more than an extension of that tree: it only serves to offer you fruits and satisfy your needs. people forget that this tree also has its own needs and act as it will survive and serve them forever (this kind of neglect will be further explored in my second point). this burden they carried on their shoulders made them mature in a younger age than they should actually have matured, but they're still childish enough to not being able to know how to deal with a situation like that. you can't give a child the responsabilities of an adult and expect them to not grown up way too fast, but you can't also expect them to fully understand the task they received and do it correctly.

they both were neglected as children. yes, even Dream was, don't leave him out of this topic. they had no proper education, never had a childhood a normal child would have and were never given anything unless if the villagers wanted to manipulate Dream somehow with gifts and stuff. they didn't actually cared about none of their needs. the only ones who cared about Dream and Nightmare were, well... Dream and Nightmare. yes, Dream DID cared for Nightmare, he was worried for his brother, but as Nightmare got extremelly depressed, he started to isolate himself from Dream and didn't knew how to express his emotions/was trying to protect Dream's feelings. he was naive, yes, but the fandom acts as if he was completely ignorant about Nightmare's suffering, when Dream TRIED to help him, he noticed something was wrong but Nightmare hid it from him. i just don't understand how people are blaming a 6 years old for what happened in that day. i wish people understood that Dream didn't had a good childhood either, and tried to understand his side.

Dream's traumas/the effects the traumas gave Dream during his adulthood are also extremelly overlooked. the neglect from the villagers makes Dream suffer in the future with self-neglect instead as some kind of self-punishment. he has a self-forgetting mindset. the only way he seeks pleasure is by making others feel pleasure too, and the only way to feel satisfaction is through connection with other people. he might feel guilty when he allows himself to feel pleasure, as if he doesn't deserves happiness. why be happy when there are people who need it more than i do? he "forgets" to connect with himself, as if he has no identity when he's alone, as if there's no 'himself', no 'Dream', only the 'guardian of positivity', and this leads him to not knowing how to access his inner self. merging with groups or individuals is the only way he can feel like he's an individual too, because they NEED him, but they don't need Dream by who he trully is, they need a idealized version of Dream. the one that can handle anything and serve them without receiving anything back (that's basically how his relationships with the villagers worked). that's why he doesn't investigate his own feelings, and instead, uses unhealthy coping mechanisms to scape reality on his free time, and i think those are one of the rare moments where he feels like he's getting in touch with himself (even if this is unconciously making him run away from his own feelings and scape trauma).

[hotsugarbyglassanimals]

even though i feel like i can confidently tell when a piece of art is generative A/I, i really don't feel inclined or really even justified calling someone out for it due to the precedent it sets - especially when artists who DO make their own pieces get caught in the crossfire for being inexperienced or making the choice to be more free-form when it comes to character design / consistency...

[rolandkaros]

Sorry this is the same anon from before LOL i wanted to clarify something!! When i said incentivize tanking i meant it encourages players to show up to smaller tournaments that they don’t actually intend to put full effort into. Because like you said, the majority of 500s are right around slams/masters! So why would an Iga or Aryna want to go all out in those tournaments knowing that if they’re tired or hurt for the big ones they’re leaving points on the table. It’s just hard on the players all around

Sure, but I mean now we're just back to the scheduling issue which the one thing I think everyone can all agree on (season too long! why 6 mandatory 500s??). But still, I don't necessarily think there's clear incentive to tank 500s for the sake of satisfying the mandatory 6. I just don't think there's any motivation to tank tournaments that are going to count towards your point total anyway, and even if there is, then that's the player's loss (that is, if you're taking the effort to show up, you might as well play). From what we can see, it seems more common for players to just skip 500s entirely if they don't want to play, and accept mandatory zeros.

Of the current top 10 players, only Emma, Dasha, and Bia have actually played 6 or more 500s. I'm pretty sure more of them reached 6 through other means (e.g. Qinwen is allowed to count Ningbo because she did promotional events there, Jess and Elena both have multiple extended periods of inactivity due to injury which might add to their tally). But my point is, I don't think the WTA making it mandatory to play 6 500s even makes much of a difference, because clearly the players are willing to drop points and take mandatory zeros for the sake of scheduling. Which again, circles back to the rather annoying conclusion of "well...those are the rules I guess" when it comes to Iga losing #1.

But the truth is I really don't think any of these players want to tank. Even just going to a 500 event and losing in R1 expends a lot of time and energy. Plus, a lot of these players get first round byes, so they're usually having to stay until mid-week anyway. At that point, I think most of them would rather just skip, take the zero, and prepare for the next tournament. And even if they do go to 500s and tank...then I think that's kind of their problem? Because ultimately they're the one losing out on points. So it could be a strategy employed by some, but it really seems that most of these players prefer skipping to tanking.

[rockandrolldisgrace]

a little vent

[wreckedhoney]

uuuug every so often i see writing tips passed around and i want to make a post but i can't find the right words to convey "aaaauuggh don't do what The r/se of sk/walk3r did"

(long tags warning bc i haven't learned how not to type like i'm not popping off yet)

[tarnussy]

the blog turned 6 months old yesterday, and one thing hasn't changed in my head in this 6 months: I still think there is no point in it, like genuinely tumblr is not a place for a blog if you like G0dr!ck / are a creator for him

[todayisafridaynight]

Loving all the Mine chat today! In a world where neither of them have Daigo to fixate on (for whatever reason) what do you think interactions between Mine and Masato/Aoki would be like? All your comics have them obv pitted against one another (always gives me a giggle gotta say!!) but I'm curious bout your thoughts on them/their potential interactions if Daigo wasn't part of the equation. I think they could be so evil together in whatever capacity. Real "I could make him worse" territory.

Sorry if this is a bit silly (I know removing Daigo removes a lot of other things too) I just love listening to you talk about guys ™️ lmao

i am a renowned Guy(TM) Talker this is a fair thing to assert

BUT honestly they'd probably like. not be friends or Sincerely get along but they'd probably use each other one way or another if given the opportunity: aoki wanting to exploit mine's skills, knowledge, and wealth, all the while mine At Least keeping an eye on aoki's influence (and if he wanted to do his homework probably keep tabs on the arakawas) and considering if it'll have potential use down the line. it's not like it's hard to imagine them having similar ideologies or morals either

mine'd absolutely loathe aoki's pride in his philosophy tho- even if it does align with his own somewhat LMAO

[cherrymoonvol6]

oh.

[yrrtyrrtwhenihrrthrrt]

In light of Brian Thompson being shot dead on my birthday (🎉🥳🎂) I'd like to share a personal story about UnitedHealthcare.

During the peak of COVID, my family all got sick. I couldn't be on my parents' insurance because they were both older and on Medicare. So, I had insurance through my University: UnitedHealthcare.

For some reason, rather than roll-over each year, I got a new plan each year that ended after May and didn't start until August, so I was uninsured for the summer months, but it was a weird situation that the university denied, and told us we were supposed to be insured year-round, it was messy.

Both of my parents went to the hospital, and I got sick too. I had to take care of my pets, and myself, and try to stay alive and keep my pets alive when I was so weak I could hardly move. When my parents came home, my condition got dramatically worse (I think my body knew it couldn't give out, because there was nobody to take care of me, so once my parents were okay, it completely crashed and failed.)

I started experiencing emergency symptoms. It was a bit hard to breathe, my chest hurt, and I was extremely delirious. I wanted to call my insurance to see if I was covered (this was during the summer) and I was connected to some nice person, probably making minimum wage, who told me with caution in her voice that my plan was expired. I had no active insurance, but she urged me to go to an emergency room. I remember saying something to the effect of "You just told me I don't have insurance, I can't go to the hospital, I can't afford it."

She sounded so genuinely worried and scared. I remember she said "You really don't sound good, you sound really sick, please call 9-1-1" and I think I just said "I can't afford it without insurance, don't worry, I think I'll be okay."

And she paused and said "I don't want to hang up the phone with you like this." And it sounded like she was holding back tears. And I don't remember what I said, I think that I would be okay, and I hung up.

I still think about her. I wonder if that phone call haunted her, or if she had dozens of calls like that a day. I wonder if she thinks about it at all, if she wonders if I died after she told me I didn't have insurance and therefore couldn't go to the hospital without incurring a tremendous financial burden. I wonder if she feels guilt or blame-- of course she shouldn't, it wouldn't have been her fault if anything had happened to me. Maybe it's self-centered to wonder if she thinks about it. I'm not the main character and it was just her job. But, still.

I think about how evil it was that we were put in that situation. Because offering year-long continuous coverage through the university plan would maybe cut into profits, maybe not benefit shareholders enough, maybe cut into Thompson's $10 million salary. While his minimum wage administrators have to feel afraid to hang up the phone, because on the other line someone might be dying, and they wouldn't know. While his patients hang up and decide to take their chances rather than put their family through that trauma.

This is UnitedHealthcare. This is Brian Thompson's legacy. This is why, understandably, an entire nation is jubilant that he was gunned down like the vermin he was. I don't care about his widow. I feel pity for his children, despite the fact that they will inherit millions, but I feel more pity for the children of his victims patients who are gone because they didn't want THEIR children to inherit crippling debt. Brian Thompson got what he fucking deserved. I pray that he not be the only one. I pray for continued safety, peace , and anonymity for his killer.

American healthcare is a disease.