#ending on this one feels kind of abrupt and the whole thing seems a little slow for my taste but hopefully it's good

[toyotacorrola]

"Radio Static" chapter 4 is out!

Chapter Summary: "Elesa was worried. So far, though, Emmet hadn't fought her very hard on letting her help.

Unfortunately, actually helping wasn't as easy as it seemed."

Chapter Word Count: 2,870

Links: ff.net | neocities

Also can be found under the cut:

Elesa took a breath, deep enough to hurt in the icy December air, then slowly released it. She could do this, it would be fine.

She rapped her knuckles on the door, feeling the slight sting of the finished wood hitting her hand. Usually she wouldn’t bother to hit it so hard, but sometimes Emmet wouldn’t hear it if it wasn’t loud enough. She stood there in silence for a few seconds. Right as she was beginning to think she’d have to knock again, the door swung open.

Emmet looked… rough. He always did, lately. Tonight, though, it seemed that he was actually more put together than usual. She should be happy to see just that slight improvement, but she wondered if it was really that he was starting to get as better as he could, or if it was just for her sake.

Instead of saying anything or letting her thoughts show, she smiled at him and held up the grocery bag in her other hand.

“Hey, Emmie. I brought the good stuff,” she said, a laugh in her voice that she didn’t really feel.

She had been embarrassed of her late night call to Emmet, before. It had been a drunken lapse of judgment, and she had felt so ashamed, thinking she’d bothered him when everything was already so hard on him.

Instead, he had assured her he hadn’t minded, and agreed to let her hang out at his and Ingo’s- at his place. She had been pleasantly surprised, not expecting him to relent so easily. Maybe even he was starved for proper human interaction at this point. 

Until then, the only real contact she’d had with him had been her daily check-ins, which were always stiff (even by his standards) and never lasted long. Lately, she’d been busier and busier, so the times she actually got to see him in the flesh lessened, and it was killing her. She was so worried for him with how awful he looked and sounded, increasingly so every time. And without Ingo to keep him in check… well, she just didn’t know.

(Or maybe she did, and she just didn’t want to think about it.)

Not to mention all of those awful rumors about him… she hoped they hadn’t gotten to him yet. She almost hoped they never would, but she knew better.

He smiled back, small and tired, but genuine. It made her own feel that much more real. He stepped back to let her in.

She glanced about the apartment, hoping she was being subtle. He probably already knew what this doubled as, though.

The place was actually neater than it was the last time she’d been there. Everything was in its place, nothing was broken or strewn across the floor. There was even a distinct lack of hair on the furniture. He must have tidied before she’d gotten there.

It may have been for appearance’s sake, to not worry her, but the fact that he’d had the energy and forethought to do so at all gave her hope. Maybe it was naive, maybe she was grasping at straws, but she just needed any sort of sign she could get that her friend would be alright.

They sat down together on the couch, and she rambled pointlessly about her choice of movies for the night. She wasn’t really paying attention to what she was saying, not really thinking about it before letting it out. Mostly, she just wanted to fill the room with something, to have his eyes on her, just to know he would react. He seemed interested enough, so she supposed she wasn’t doing too badly.

“My dad loves this movie, but I’ve never actually seen it. He says it’s just horrible, but he’s seen it so many times, and he just kept noticing all these little details that he thinks there’s some sort of secret genius in it. Something about how that’s the problem with trying to make art out of movies - I don’t really know, he’s told me about it so many times, I’ve stopped really paying attention. The others are just a bunch of chick flicks, the only ones my mom actually likes - she hates all those overly sentimental ones. Those were always more Dad’s thing,” she rambled.

Emmet chuckled, but didn’t say anything. She figured that was about as good as she could hope for. She leaned forward and popped the disc in, listening to the old DVD player whir loudly. 

They sat quietly together for a while, sometimes laughing at a particularly bad line. She could tell, though, that he was distracted, and she didn’t blame him; so was she. What was odd, though, was that he seemed to be specifically facing away from her most of the time - almost like he didn’t want her to see his face. When the credits started rolling, she stretched and stood to take the disc out. Emmet glanced at the clock. She worried for a moment that she was overstaying her welcome.

“It’s getting a bit late. I can make something, if you’d like to stay for dinner,” he offered, instead.

She couldn’t fight the smile that came upon her face. She wasn’t ready to leave him alone, yet, and she always did love his cooking.

“That sounds wonderful. I’ll help,” she added. She never did like just sitting around while someone else did something for her. 

Emmet seemed like he wanted to insist otherwise, but he must have known that would be a losing battle, as he instead led her to the kitchen and asked what she’d like. 

“Spaghetti sounds nice,” she said, mostly because it was generally pretty easy. Even if she was helping, she didn’t want to ask too much of him. 

As she opened the pantry to get the uncooked pasta, she noticed how sparse the items in it were. Maybe she would start to go with him for grocery trips.

They didn’t really talk, but it was nice, just standing by his side as they worked. She stared at the water, waiting for it to boil. Emmet had been horribly distant as of late, and it had worried her sick. She just wanted to be near him, to see him, to know that he was okay.

It was hard to rid herself of the idea that, if she didn’t watch him very, very carefully, he might just disappear on her, too. For that reason, she’d been pushing more than she usually would, lately. Normally, she’d give him space, despite her worry, and let him come to her if he wanted her help.

Now, though, it was really more about reassuring herself that he was still there than anything. Or, as close to there as she could call… this. 

The sound of the water bubbling brought her back to reality. None of that mattered right then. She was here, now, with him - she could see him, he wasn’t going anywhere so long as that was true. For now, that would have to be enough.

She dumped the noodles in, remembering the time she had broken them in half and the boys had chastised her heavily. It brought a smile to her face, before she was sobered again. Everything just felt so different without Ingo, she thought as she poked her spoon into the pot to ensure everything in it was submerged.

She was sure Emmet was feeling his absence then, too. Maybe that was why he had been avoiding her - they didn’t spend much time one-on-one together. It wasn’t that it was awkward, or that he didn’t want to see her, but rather that it was just another reminder of what was missing.

She supposed she’d just have to rectify that by making it into the norm, at least until he returned.

“Hey, Emmet,” she started, and he hummed to show he was listening. “Do you think maybe we could do this again next week? It’s been nice,” she said.

“Sure, that sounds fine,” he said, deadpan as ever, but still sounding disinterested in a way she’d trained herself out of hearing in his voice. 

She tried not to feel hurt by his dismissiveness. It was hard on him, on all of them; she knew that. She’d never seen him in a worse state than he had been in lately. She wondered, then, if his cooperativeness that night had really been willingness to finally let her in, or if he just didn’t want to have to push back against her anymore. 

In fact, this whole night, it was like he was barely even there. She saw the look in his eyes, then. Her relief from earlier had completely vanished, and she was now very, very scared. Scared for him, of all the things going on in his head that she couldn’t see. 

She took a good, long, look at him, the way he’d not quite been letting her the whole night. He had definitely noticed her staring, but he wouldn’t be the one to speak first. 

He seemed just… out of it, his eyes completely devoid of anything at all, with huge bags under them that he didn’t even try to hide. His hair was the only part of him that really seemed like it’d been properly washed recently, and not that thoroughly. 

She wondered how long it had gone unwashed before she’d told him she was coming over. 

She realized, then, the shame and embarrassment that he’d had all night. She hadn’t thought much about the way he’d tried to avoid letting her look at him for too long, lest she notice the minor acne making a resurgence on his skin. She’d seen how barren his fridge and cabinets were, and she could see the way he seemed just that smallest bit slimmer. 

It hadn’t been very long since Ingo had gone missing, all things considered, although it had felt like an eternity. She worried, then, how much worse everything would get if things went on this way and no one stepped in.

She wished he would realize that she wouldn’t judge him for any of it. She wouldn’t think any less of him for maybe forgetting some hygiene in the wake of everything they were all going through. However, no matter how carefully she tried to breach the subject, it wouldn’t come across that way. With how hard he’d tried to get her not to notice, it’d likely feel like judgment to him no matter what she actually said. 

She just wanted to have a real, serious conversation without hurting him - to express her concern without feeling like she was overstepping. She’d have never thought just a few months ago that she’d have to walk on eggshells around one of her best friends the way she was, now. 

Her thoughts were interrupted by a yelp and a curse from where Emmet was pouring the noodles out into a strainer. She turned to see him cradling his hand. He seemed alright, but she noticed he was shaking.

“Emmet…? Are you okay…?” she asked.

She walked over to see his face better, and…

He was crying.

She wasn’t sure what to do. He sank to the floor, as though his knees could no longer hold him up, and so she went with him.

“Emmet, please, just talk to me,” she begged. She was scared, so scared. She understood that he was scared, too. She understood that his hurt likely ran much deeper and differently than her own. She just needed to be able to help him, to do anything at all. 

“You wouldn’t understand,” he moaned.

She knew that. Dragons, she knew. But couldn’t she try?

“...Emmet, I know... I know I don't get it. I've never had anything like you and Ingo, in any sense of it. But could you just try to explain it to me? Talking it out might help, and... and I want to help, however I can. Even if it's just listening, even if I can't really understand," she replied. 

“...It’s going to sound crazy,” he said, but he sounded ready to give in.

“Try me,” she answered, steady as could be. He chuckled a bit, his eyes alight with just a little bit of the warmth she used to see in them every day. 

“Okay,” he sighed. “Okay. Just… give me a minute. Find my words.”

She nodded, and waited. She always would. She understood. She was wondering, though, just what he could possibly be talking about. She’d assumed all of this had to do with Ingo. The thought gave her pause.

…Did he know something…?

She looked back at him, and the atmosphere had changed again. She tried not to think too harshly of him - but just what was he hiding from her? 

Across from her, Emmet took a breath, and began speaking.

"I am Emmet. For my whole life, I have known one thing for sure. The world would never be silent. For as long as I can remember, my hearing has not been a guarantee. But I would still hear something. Ingo… he would still be there, in my mind. He would speak to me, still, and he would be my ears. Now he is… Gone. There is nothing there. Radio silence."

To say she was confused would be an understatement.

“Emmet, what are you talking about?” she asked, maybe a tad less patient than she’d wanted to come across.

“Elesa, I am going to say something and it is going to sound like a lie. But I need you to believe me anyway,” he said.

She was conflicted. He had been acting so strange today, but never in all of her time knowing him had she known Emmet to be a liar. Even as unusual as his behavior had been, she couldn’t believe he would lie to her when it came to Ingo.

“Okay,” was all she said. 

Please, don’t start lying to me now.

“Ingo and I, we share a… connection, of sorts,” he began. “What I see through my own eyes, he could easily see as though it were through his own. What he thinks, I would hear as clearly as though they were my own thoughts. Always, always, he has been there, even when we were apart. And now, I…” he trailed off.

“...Don’t hear him at all,” she finished, dazed. It was quite a thing to ask her to believe. She had half a mind to think he’d gone insane. She couldn’t blame him, if he had.

But really, stranger things had happened in her life. 

She believed him, wholeheartedly. She really wished she didn’t, though.

“So, if you can't… If he’s not…” she tried to say, but she couldn’t find it in herself to voice her fears.

“What else could it mean?” he asked, sadly. “One second, he was there, and the next, he just… wasn’t. No warning, nothing.”

She’d heard he’d acted strange on the day Ingo had disappeared. Apparently, he’d said some odd things just before people started searching for him - had suddenly asked about him, despite being in the middle of working, and already having not seen him in hours by that point.

She’d thought it was just one of those times you get a bad feeling, and it turns out to be right. A coincidence, or a one-time thing. She’d heard of it before.

She knew she was being too quiet, that he was probably waiting for an actual response from her. But what could she say? How could she reassure him? 

Still… maybe it was foolish, but one thing about her was that she was determined to hope. Emmet had once said that she and his brother were alike, in that way. She didn’t think she could ever live up to Ingo’s own spirit, but by the Dragons, would she try. 

“Do you wonder if, maybe… well, would it be too absurd to think that, just maybe… something… took him?” she asked.

His brow furrowed harshly. “What?” he asked.

“Think about it,” she said. “There’s no body, no blood - nothing at all to really indicate that he was ever there in the first place, except for his belongings. If he’s dead, then where’s his body? Where did it go? Why wouldn’t whoever… why would they leave his belt?” It was too painful to refer to her friend’s supposed murder, even if she was telling herself that wasn’t what happened.

Emmet was still silent, so she continued.

“Wouldn't you have felt some kind of pain from him, even if he died instantly? And how-”

“Stop,” he interrupted. “Please, just… just stop. Don’t. Don’t give me hope.”

“Emmet…” she started.

“No, no. There’s just no way. Who could have possibly taken him so quickly that I didn’t feel anything? What could they have done to manage that?” he asked. Pleaded, really.

“Maybe it’s not who,” she started, carefully. “But what.”

She let the implications linger, let him think about it on his own. She could see the hesitation in his face, but also that he was thinking about it. Deeply.

He looked up at her, that old fire back in his eyes. 

“I think… I have a lot to think about,” he said. 

[watatsumiis]

When You Can't Get Out of Bed (Genshin x Reader Drabbles)

Some days, it’s nigh on impossible to drag yourself out of bed, let alone get up and leave the house. What is meant to be a safe haven instead becomes a prison - albeit a comfortable one. Sometimes, all you need is somebody to take care of and comfort you until you’re ready to face the world once again. 

Content: Various characters x a gender neutral reader (who is implied to be struggling with depression/going through a hard time).

Characters: Albedo, Ayato, Capitano, Neuvillette, Thoma, Yae Miko.

Albedo doesn’t really understand what’s wrong, or why you’re acting the way you are. It’s just not something he can empathise with in the slightest. He may come off a little snippy or abrupt when he first finds you lying about in bed, but it’s more because he’s worried about you being unwell than anything else. He may leave you be for a bit while he does some reading up on the subject, but once he’s gathered enough information, he’s really good with you. He’s so patient and sweet and kind, and will sit in your room to keep you company while he does theory work if that’s something you’d benefit from. He encourages you to try grounding techniques and will bring you nice hearty meals to keep you going. He’s gentle and patient and will let you take things at your own speed without a single complaint.

Ayato has little to no idea about what to do. One of his parents would get like this occasionally when he was young, but he would usually just step up and take over their responsibilities without a word. When it’s you, however, he’s just not sure at all. He doesn’t want to leave you alone when you’re like this, nor does he want to smother you. He just wants you to know that you’re loved and cherished and that the Yashiro Commissioner has your back no matter what’s going on. If work calls for him, his final solution, as it often is, is Thoma, who he will have check up on you often, bringing in your favourite treats and other little gifts that Ayato has organised for you. You’ll likely end up with a bed covered in new trinkets, hand-written letters from Ayato’s desk and items of interest, as well as comfortable new blankets and pillows (and plushies, if that’s your thing) to keep you company while you recuperate. 

Capitano gets it. He’s been there. He’s a busy man, but if it seems like you’re in dire need of company, he’ll find a way to shirk his duties so that he can stay with you for as long as you need. He doesn’t really have many words of affirmation to give to you, but his actions more than make up for it. He’ll sit by your bedside and read to you (or tell you stories), make you all your favourite comfort meals, and just altogether be great company. He’s quiet, but his presence is soothing enough to make up for it. He’ll offer support in any way that he can, while also slowly encouraging you to get up and about in a way that’s so subtle that it ends up feeling like your own idea. He won’t force you or anything, but just offer little suggestions, or place things just a little out of your reach to encourage you to get up. He’s so so patient and sweet that you can’t even be cross with him for being so sneaky.

Neuvillette frets. He’s an extremely busy man, and he’s got no idea in the slightest about what to do when you suddenly become listless and not willing to leave your bed. This kind of behaviour simply isn’t in his wheelhouse at all. He’ll quickly start to prattle on about bringing doctors over and trying to help you in the most immediate way possible because he thinks you’ve contracted some illness or other. It takes someone else pointing out that you’re just sad or overwhelmed with life as a whole for it to finally click for Neuvillette. Sadness is absolutely in his wheelhouse, that’s just about where he lives at this point. Once he’s come to that realisation, he’s kind and sweet and patient, and will do his very best to try and cheer you up. He brings you bouquets of flowers and soft, pretty trinkets to brighten up your room a little more so that it doesn’t feel so lonely when he’s gone, and will tentatively try to coax you into leaving the house with various kinds of bribes. The Melusine will also quickly catch on to his preoccupation, and then by extension, you soon have an army of ocean-dwelling critters at your beck and call, trying their very best to help in any and every way that they can.

Thoma, bless his heart, tries his very best. It’s not something he can empathise with very much, but he quickly settles into the same routine that he does when you’re unwell, showering you in love and praise and various foodstuffs that he knows you like. He spoils you absolutely rotten, making sure there’s next to nothing that you have to do for yourself if he’s able to do it for you. He’ll chatter away to you as he mills about your room in his downtime, trying to boost your mood by recalling good times you’ve had together, or funny stories about things that have happened to him. He’s just a huge sweetheart overall and works so hard to make sure you’re comfortable and content, even if you’re not happy for whatever reason. He kind of gets stuck in his own head worrying about what (if anything) made you feel so down, but he won’t let it show in front of you, barring the few times when he might just directly ask you if there’s something going on that he doesn’t know about, if there’s anything at all he can help you with. He’s pretty heavy on the encouragement for you to get out of bed, insisting that being outside will help, but he won’t force you into it if you push back at all.

Yae Miko sort of teases at first in her signature, light-hearted way. She’ll poke and prod and try to rile you up by saying things that are not exactly kind to and about you, but it doesn’t take her long to realise that there’s something actually amiss. Once it finally clicks, she’ll go quiet and just ponder things for a bit before sighing dramatically and saying that she ‘supposes she could help’. Despite the teasing tone she puts on, she’s a very soothing presence to be around. She’ll move her editing setup to your room to keep you company, and have various subordinates bring you both plenty of delicious snacks to eat. Though she tries to mask it, it’s pretty obvious that she’s acting a little bit softer at this point in time, just to help keep you comfortable and happy. If you catch her at a particularly tender moment, she may just allow you to pet her ears or even her tails as she reads out the newest manuscript she’s received and asks for your opinions. She’s not exactly putting you to work, per se, but while you’re not predisposed, she will take advantage of your presence to help critique the various pieces of writing that come across her desk.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagiarise my writing! I do not consent for my works to be translated and posted elsewhere, or copy - pasted into bot or AI technology.

[sunlightmurdock]

Can you do a cozy blurb with rhett abbott

-ˏˋ. actions / scenarios ˊˎ-

⋆ going to a carnival / fair

the fair | Rhett Abbott

warnings: none!

Rhett is actually the one to first suggest a trip to the county fair. It’s half to do with the slight guilt he feels about not being able to take you out more — money’s tight sometimes, and he’s often just so exhausted from work. But, the other half of his desire to take you out comes from the nostalgia of those places.

He’s holding back a grin like a little kid, his fingers laced through yours as he leads the way across the green-grass field. Ahead of you are stretches of neon string lights and whirling fairground rides, sounds of cheering and laughing.

Maybe it’s the noise that he likes best. It’s always so quiet out at the ranch, silence for miles and miles. It makes you learn to listen, learn to jump and get tense at the slightest sound.

There’s no chance of that way out here. The sounds all blend together, a happy kind of hum that makes him feel just a little more peaceful.

All of that combined with you, who seems to live to get under his skin in the best way, and still somehow manages to make him feel more settled than anyone in the world ever has.

Crisp leaves under your feet, the chill of the Wyoming winter creeping in through the end of autumn catching at your knuckles. One of Rhett’s old Carhartt jackets sits around your shoulders, a proud proclamation to the entirety of Wabang of exactly who you’re here with.

He’s leading the way confidently, brunette curls tucked under one of his trucker caps, boots crunching across the grass and brush. Wabang County Fair hosts an array of vendors every year, a lot of them local.

Homemade hard ciders from the Marsh family farm. Chilli from the pastor and his wife. Fresh, buttered popcorn sold by the elementary school teacher who had expelled Rhett as a kid.

She greets him with wide, cautious eyes and a stern hello. He grins as you giggle into his side.

He tells you their stories with an arm around your shoulder and his lips brushing at your earlobe. The chill in the air has you cuddling closer, but you’re far from looking for an excuse to do that.

You’ve got one eye on the spinning ferris wheel, too, watching the little pods glowing like stars in the darkening sky. Each one filled with smiling families or budding couples, whispering friends.

You bet that Rhett knows their stories too, and you know that he likes being the one not on the receiving end of the gossip for once.

After a scenic tour of each of the booths on the ground, Rhett catches sight of that spark in your eye as you look up at the moving ride. Squeezing you closer to him, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek as he turns and heads for it, with you in tow.

He’s got every intention of behaving on that ferris wheel, too. Sitting on the bench opposite you and taking in the view. You can see for miles up there, right across the stretching mountain ranges to the north. Grass and greenery for miles, the last of it before the season gets real grey and cold.

The ground below looks even more technicolour from way up here, glowing below you, abuzz with excited patrons.

Rhett’s got every intention of being a perfect gentleman on this date. Hell, he’s even planning on walking you to your door later and bidding you goodbye with a kiss on the cheek.

It’s just that right as your carriage reaches the very peak of the wheel, the whole thing comes to an abrupt stop. He can see the cold nipping at your skin, the slight shiver that wracks your body — the air’s just a little bit colder up here.

“It’s warmer over here, you know.” He tells you with a tip of his chin, his knees spreading just an inch further apart as his back settles against the bench behind him.

[myfriendpokey]

tunnel notes

i wrote some extra little notes and thoughts for the bonus tunnels in anthology of the killer, and then removed them before release; i didn't like the prescriptive feeling of leaving that stuff in the "final package" as if it was something people should feel obligated to engage with. but as of today it's been 30 days since the loader came out, so i figured i'd dump some of them online, for the benefit of whoever is interested in these things.

History: HISTORY IS A NIGHTMARE FROM WHICH I AM TRYING TO AWAKE is one of many famous zingers given to Stephen in Ulysses and I’ve always wondered if it’s especially Irish as a sentiment, Ireland sort of feeling like the “Oops! All Peasants” edition of European history as a whole – same misery, exploitation and death minus the occasional episodes of feudal colour or triumphant empire-building that seem to make the past tolerable for other people, and give them their own sense of demarcated time. But then I’ve never been much good on Irish history, which has always just felt like an interminable, indistinguishable series of massacres and betrayals and missed shots. Was I not paying attention or was this how it was taught in school? Well, it would have fit the style at the time – I was born in 1989, smack at the start of the famous end of history era. The 90s in Ireland meant the peace process and infusion of American capital to our backwards shores, all the more reason to cosign the idea of an abrupt and permanent break with a history notably lacking in the non-depressing or picturesque. All our history textbooks seemed to trail off at the point we’d joined the EEA. And even as this new modernity just started seeming like the monstrous antiquity dressed up in different clothes – hooded prisoners transported to torture sites through Shannon airport, our patchy social infrastructure dismantled by burghers, ghost estates and half-completed monuments scattered around like the ruin theory of value with more leprechaun imagery – there was still a sense that any change was off the table. You didn’t want to drag us back into history, did you? History seemed to have “ended” in the same sense Freddy Krueger did – done away with in ways that none of the grown-ups ever wanted to talk about, and now officially a non-presence, even if all the kids in town were mysteriously disappearing.

--

Art: One reason I wanted to do an episodic series is just to see what would turn up, if any recurring interests would build despite a minimum of planning. One of the themes turned out to be, “art” – or specifically modernist art – and I am curious about why that would be. A recurring tendency in modernism was the idea that only by destroying the world as it currently existed could we clear space for anything better to emerge. Under the cobblestones, the beach! But this was always attended by a kind of fear: that clearing away the old structures would just allow something even worse to emerge, unmasked. Under the cobblestones, more corpses! And that the bleakest tendencies of the period would now run free without even the emptiest symbolic constraints to chafe against. Max Ernst’s painting of the fascist victory in Spain, of a huge, grinning oaf rampaging over the landscape like a kaiju while a miserable birdlike figure remains haplessly grafted to its leg – is titled both “The Angel Of Hearth And Home” and “The Triumph Of Surrealism”. As if to suggest that these are each the same thing, as though a cause of creative liberation worth devoting your life to and an empty cliché of domestic repression had so little light between them as to not even be worth the effort of distinguishing.

Part of the reason works like that make their way into the games in little ways is because I just like them, and go back to thinking about them. But the status of modernism in the 21st century is an odd one; the most tentative and inventive parts got dropped, while the brashest and stupidest aspects curdled into a kind of official state ideology – the idea of “creative destruction”, which just seems to mean a vague sense that it’s punk rock to create ridesharing apps. The monkey’s paw curled and the emptiest version of the modernist credo became something we all have to live with.. and yet I still can’t help but be moved by the source works and the goofy, ridiculous temerity of that wish to transfigure the world. sometimes it feels like only way to keep faith with those ideas is to travesty them, to try returning to them some of that sense of fear and doubt without which they just sound like so many web design agency manifestos. Kept alive in the breast of so many grimacing waxworks, underground.

Another reason to put this stuff in a horror game: to try getting at that feeling in a dream of looking in the eyes of people you know, people you love, and seeing nothing there anymore, seeing them look right past you. An earlier horror game idea I used to think about would have ended with the protagonist being dismembered and eaten by Gertrude Stein.

--

The moral: I’ve seen people express a sense, now, that merely working in the negative is not enough; to just outline what’s bad without also trying to give a vision of the good, some glimpsed utopia to shoot for. For the benefit of these people here is an epilogue. Imagine it’s the future and the long nightmare of prehistory is over; history proper unfolds as the full expression of human powers unhindered by material subjugation. Some students are given an assignment by a professor to investigate the meaning of a term that no longer exists, the meaning of horror. Well, the students do their best: they watch lots of old movies, put on rubber masks, comb through old fragments of the world that was. They’re enjoying themselves and that enjoyment warps the process, they keep drifting into pleasure, unsure what’s meant to be funny and what’s not. They get lost, get confused, lose the thread, famous faces appear under the wrong names, espousing things that are the opposite of whatever they believed. In the end they all have to admit defeat: they hand in their assignment with a note saying that in the new world, we can’t even imagine what horror may have been. The professor reads their findings, nods, and gives them all an F. No moral.

[image source: James Ensor, "The Intrigue"]

[vamprel]

Diwali with the Touchstarved LIs !!!

Quick little note, this is my first time doing anything like this so I’m sorry if it’s wonky and a bit out of character :’) also I’ll add the translations for some things at the end !!

—————

- For the puja, I think Kuras would be in charge of making the diyas

- Someone would have to make the sweets so uh I feel like Mhin could be a decent cook, Ais would cook out of nescessity, and Leander could cook well as long as someone makes sure he doesnt start experimenting and make whatever that gooey green drink was....

- Leander would buy the laddoos, and would assist Mhin in making the kheer

- Vere would be in charge of the rangoli, and obviously it’s going to look spooktacular (monster high reference, I can’t stop saying it.)

- During the puja, the MC/reader would be in charge of it because uh idk maybe they happen to be Indian so…!!! (Are there other Indian Touchstarved fans please where are you guys 💔)I feel like Vere would kind of be away from it because of the bell and I feel like he would have sensitive hearing because well, fox ears guy!!

- Mhin and Ais would DEVOUR all of the sweets after the puja

- For the first prayer song moment I feel like it would go well, then the second one Vere may try to annoy someone idk Mhin maybe and then everything spirals…

- it’s okay eventually everything calms down and we get to do fireworks !!

- Ais and Leander would go crazy with the fire bang or snaps or whatever those are called I don’t know 😞 they’d get into a competition on who can throw down the whole bag and get all of them to explode at once

- Mhin would look at the sparkler in their hand like Howl Pendragon looking at the star

- Vere would try to light everyone but Ais on fire. You’re next. Run.

- Okay time for fireworks show time !!

- Vere loves looking at the fountain of colors exploding in the sky, but would hate how loud it sounds

- Kuras and Ais likes all of the fireworks, he isn’t bothered by the noise or blinding colors, he admires them all.

- Leander seems like the guy to love fireworks, and the type of guy to start saying some huge festival speech that the others tune out

- I don’t think Mhin would like fireworks at all because of how flashy and loud it is, so they’d be inside consuming the rest of the kheer or chugging some falooda

- Or Leander dragged them out because festival time!! We must be together!! Friendship!!!! So now they’re by Kuras covering their ears and glaring at Leander

- Eventually everyone calmed down and finally looked at the fireworks

- Happy ending.

——-

Hey y’all sorry for the abrupt stop, I’m exhausted. I have so many art ideas and fic ideas all while being a student and it’s exhausting, so this is bad I know. Anyway the translations

Puja- it’s basically worshipping or prayer time.

Diyas- 🪔 THERES AN EMOJI FOR IT anyway it looks like that! The way my family does it is we have the little clay cup part and a piece of cotton, twist it, put it in the cup with some ghee(a specific type of butter) and boom you got a diya

Laddu/laddoo- for this you have to search up… it’s this orange colored and spherical shaped sweet, but i don’t know what it’s made of

Kheer- Indian rice pudding 10/10

falooda- kind of a milkshake, with basil seeds and sev (noodle things) inside, and it’s scrumptious there’s multiple flavors the the rose flavor is the best and iconic one 10/10

[agi-ppangx]

Duh, girl.... I just thought of a story that's really sad, if one of the straykids members whose relationship with his girlfriend feels distant. Because of what? Because he's lost interest and they rarely communicate because they're really busy, but... He doesn't want to let you go, with the words "I still love you". But you're really tired of this kind of relationship, and you're also stressed because you have a lot of work, same as him.

Do you think they'll continue with the vague relationship or finally break up even though there must be a little regret and sadness for sure?

💭tell me you love me

pairing: skz member x fem!reader

warning: swearing

an: anonnie why are you doing this to me💔 no but i actually love this idea so much and i may have made this drabble a bit too angsty, choosing an abrupt ending, but i hope you'll like it nonetheless<33 i also didn't mention any names so you can imagine any of the members :]

“i’m tired of this,” you whispered, tears making their way down your face. he only sighed in response, plopping heavily on the couch. you felt defeated, stressed and so extremely tired. you were standing in the very middle of your living room, staring at your so-called boyfriend. “i told you so many times i’m a busy man. i can’t help it. and you were aware of all of this when you decided to be my girlfriend!” he shouted, but you didn’t even flinch. you didn’t care anymore. “well, i thought that maybe you would try a little bit more to make things work. but here we are instead,” you spat, your voice trembling. “i’m trying! stop with this whole narrative, you know i still love you.”

you always thought your relationship was stable, that your fights were just meant to make it stronger. you wanted to believe in forever with him - since day one you promised to make effort and find time for one another. but it seemed as if he broke the promise at the first opportunity. and when you confronted him about it he always had the same response - “you know i still love you.”

“have you ever thought about how i feel? how i feel when you ignore me for your friends, how you literally avoid me when we’re both home and how you don’t even speak to me anymore? do you ever think about anything else but yourself?!” “shut up! it’s not my fault you are insecure about everything. i’m tired and when i get home from work all i think about is getting some sleep, not making sure you are taken care of. you’re a grown-up, you don’t need me around all the time.” he got up abruptly, screaming at you. you scoffed at his words. you couldn’t believe your ears - it had to be a nightmare, right? you took a step in his direction, then another one until you were standing right in front of him, looking him straight in the eyes. your vision was blurry but it didn’t stop you from trying to burn holes in his face. “do you even love me anymore?” you asked, your voice barely above the whisper. he kept eye contact with you for a while before speaking again through gritted teeth. “you know i do.” “then say it properly. tell me you love me and say you’re sorry.” he hesitated. he fucking hesitated and that was your last straw. you left him in the living room and went to your bedroom to pack essential things. “oh my god, of course i still love you. stop acting like a fucking child!” he went after you, screaming something after these words, but your mind couldn't comprehend his lies anymore. your face was covered in tears, eyes stung and it felt harder to breathe with every passing second. when you had all your stuff packed you faced him for the final time. “if you at least apologised, i would've stayed. i would stay here with you and try to work this out, because i do love you, truly. but you’re a fucking liar playing on my emotions and i’m not going to waste even a minute more on you,” you shouted into his face, almost choking on your tears, and simply left the apartment. and the worst part is that he didn’t even try to stop you, letting you go.

taglist: @lynlyndoll @iyenbread @flooo71 @skz-streamer @inniescandy-01

let me know if you wanna be added/removed from the taglist💚

feedback and reblogs highly appreciated🫶🏽

[guardianspirits13]

Ok now for a list of things that I'm kind of iffy about or wish they had kept from the books. It's worth noting that I can't think of a single show exclusive scene they added that I did not like, and most of the changes were integrated flawlessly.

Starting out, the pacing. I'm hoping this gets better with time, especially given that the second episode has much more time to breathe. The whole first episode felt a little cramped, and some of the exposition felt a bit... exposition-y. I don' t think there is much they could have done to get around this though so I'm not gonna dwell on it.

As a fan of the series, I love how they introduced the structure and function of the PJO world with the intro, but I think the jump from "Percy sees things" to "everything is all real" felt a bit abrupt. I am curious what first time fans think about this, and again the first episode covers a lot more ground page-wise than ep 2.

Manchild Gabe... I am not sure how I feel about this. In the books he seemed downright threatening and even with Percy's 12yo bravado, he was still an intimidating figure. His bickering with Sally seemed more like your typical dysfunctional relationship than a power imbalance... both can be harmful in their own way, but I'm still undecided on how much giving Sally a bit more agency in her relationship with him effects the larger story. The whole "not all monsters look like monsters" thing works well in the books with Gabe, but I guess they were redirecting it to foreshadow Luke's betrayal? I'm not sure.

...which brings me to Sally. I was unsure about the casting, but she has earned her stay to me. I always imagined her as a bit more subdued, especially with the more intense iterations of Gabe. She's kind and gentle and has a rebellious streak, but as worried as she might be for Percy she hides it inside of herself. I think her being a bit more expressive as a character works in this setting though, especially since we aren't seeing her through Percy's kid colored lenses. She feels a bit less like the perfect, kind, and understanding mother Percy sees, and a bit more like a real-life single mother trying to keep some of that childhood wonder alive despite everything. She does seem younger than I would have expected, but that's a nitpick on my end. I think she is one character that I will always have a separate book/show counterpart for in my mind.

Ok. Now for Clarisse. Out of all the characters I was skeptic about, I think she's the only one who didn't win me over. This is a writing issue, nothing at all to do with the actress. She was characterized more as a 'queen bee' type mean girl than a bully who picks fights just to feel worthy of her father's approval. She would be better fit for a vindictive daughter of Aphrodite than a daughter of Ares. My mind might be changed in the future but we got most of her scenes in these first two episodes so I'm doubtful. The one moment that had potential was when Percy broke her spear, but the Clarisse I know would not back off just because there is an audience.

There was no hellhound... I was kinda looking forward to it, and it does emphasize that even camp isn't really safe for Percy and is a catalyst for both his quest and the idea that there is a traitor. I can kind of see why the cut it for thematic purposes so Percy feels safe for once in his life, but that's only if I squint.

The scene cuts. I know, I know they're supposed to mimic book chapters. I get it. But it just doesn't work for me, it feels like there's a lack of establishing shots and the black screen is long enough you think the tv is buffering. It's an interesting idea in concept, but the execution falls flat.

OH also as far as things that were missing- the 3 fates. I know this is in the show since it was in the trailers, but I'm curious as to where they're gonna put it now.

Anyways minor nitpicks aside these two episodes were an emotional roller coaster and absolute masterpieces of television cinema.

[heliads]

i've got my money on things going badly

Lance Stroll should be delighted to watch his sister get married, but the only heart he's thinking about is his own. The one Fernando Alonso broke.

masterlist

To Lance, weddings are a kind of performance art. He’s gotten somewhat good at them ever since he was younger, when the Strolls were invited to everything. His father would get caught up in knots of expensive men wearing expensive suits, lost in business talks for hours, but Lance could slip away the second someone blinked, go find his sister disguised in a coat closet somewhere and talk about Pokémon or cable TV or something little kids like best. 

Now his sister is the one getting married, and, enfolded into someone else’s party of groomsmen, Lance has absolutely no chance of hiding, excessively large coat closets of the elite be damned. He likes Scotty, really he does, even went to the trouble of presenting him to Chloe as a potential husband in the first place, but ceremonies are always long and Lance, as per usual, is tired of it.

He should be good. He should like this. Weddings are wonderful ceremonies. You can appreciate them for the expensive decorations and myriad artistic decisions that go into them, if not the fact that they’re basically just one extended celebration dedicated to the love of your close friends and family. 

Lance is here for his sister and her future happiness with her recently declared husband. This should be an excellent day, and it has been, along with the rest of the wedding festivities that have been going on for ages, but now that the sun has set and he’s still here, starch-stiff in his dress suit, wishing he could go but knowing he can’t.

It’s not even the wedding’s fault, really, it’s just that Lance can’t stand spending so long thinking about the bliss of someone else’s love when he’s just lost one of his own. His sister is twirling in a white dress, a woman who hasn’t stopped smiling in hours, and Lance is standing in the shadows of this rosy glory with just one name on his mind.

Fernando Alonso.

It’s foolish, what this has done to him. Lance waved goodbye to Seb last year and told himself that he could look forward to another good relationship with another world championship teammate. Fernando would be challenging but rewarding as another Aston Martin driver, or so the motorsport gossip pages had told him.

What no one counted on was just how Fernando would make Lance feel. Not even Lance can do a good job of that, not really. There are no words in English or Spanish or even half-and-half lighthearted Spanglish that can sum up how Lance’s ribs ache like they’ve been bruised from sentences alone. 

He had not meant to love Fernando; hell, he wasn’t even sure he did until the abrupt ending, but now Lance is choking on the words he never got to say and wondering how he’s meant to pick up the pieces of a heart that was only ever Fernando’s to break. Lance was supposed to stay professional, and he didn’t, and now he’s the one suffering for it. So it goes.

It didn’t take much, actually. Four months to fall. One month to break. Now he’s standing alone in the corner of his sister’s wedding, hoping for an escape that doesn’t seem willing to come his way. He’d been stupid, thought he could take too much, but is that really his fault for trying? All his life, he’s been told that he could be anything, do anything, have anything, and now he’s found that limit and it hurts like hell.

It’s not like anyone told him that the meter on Stroll luck and expectation would fall short when it came to one Spanish two time world championship winner. Well, that’s not true. Esteban had tried. Lance had not listened. He cannot even say for sure that he should have, because Lance had been very happy up until the point when he wasn’t.

It almost makes sense that the whole affair was conducted over such a short period of time. Lance is impatient, he likes doing things fast. It’s why he was able to become a Formula One driver. It’s why he set his sights on the man most likely to break his heart and cut the brakes before either of them could back out of it.

And it was just. Fuck. Hands on shoulders on the backs of necks on waists. How Fernando kept whispering in his ear, so close he could feel the other man’s breath hot on his neck, even though/just because it made Lance h— they were on camera the whole time. It didn’t matter. They wanted what they wanted and they got it, too. 

Or, Lance had thought they had got what they wanted, and then he had dared to ask for a label for the unspoken thing he was sure both of them felt, and everything was lost for good. It was the end of the Miami race weekend, and Fernando was drunk on the glory of another podium, happy enough that Lance felt certain that he could have the conversation he wanted without it going sour.

They had been hanging around one of their driver’s rooms– which one, Lance can never tell, they kept swapping door to door until even the labeled placards felt like a joke of hospitality’s courtesy. Sprawled out on a couch, so close that Lance couldn’t stop staring at how their legs kept touching whenever he breathed too hard, he’d felt absolutely crazy with the knowledge that this was his.

Too much of a good thing can make you foolish, convince you that things will be that good forever. Lance had laughed to himself, then turned to Fernando with a grin. “We’ll still be like this next season, right?”

Fernando had given him this look as if he were being intentionally difficult. “Yes, Lance. My contract will not expire for another season. I will be on the grid.”

Lance had shaken his head. “No, duh, I mean like, hanging out like we are now. You know, like us.” 

Lance doubts he could have packed more meaning into that one syllable if he tried. He’s heard Fernando refer to the unbreakable us before too many times to count, like when they’re coming back from a bar late and Fernando, eyes dark and heavy, promised him they’d have fun like that again, just us. Or, scoffing at the other driver lineups– they’re not us, you know. They don’t get along as well. One hand on Lance’s shoulder, fingers digging into muscle, the others could never get along as well.

Fernando had cocked his head to the side, curious. “What do you mean? We’re teammates.”

Lance had rolled his eyes. “Yeah, obviously, but like, there’s more. You know that.”

The space between them went silent. He should have taken that as his first warning sign if nothing else. Fernando had cleared his throat carefully and said, “What else would there be?”

Lance can still imagine the cold feeling that had descended upon him, spreading from the back of his throat like ink. What else would there be? It was impossible that he could have misread every single signal, every touch, every unspoken word. Unless, of course, the hidden meaning he dedicated so much time to channeling had never been there at all.

Lance had waved his hand vaguely. “But we were– you know, we did. Things.”

Fernando’s expression was impossible to read. “Did we?”

It was condescending and pitying and Lance hated it, all of it. He felt like a boy again, small enough to watch his voice disappear into the stillness of an uncaring room. He’d shot up from the couch, pushing out the door and away before anything else could happen. If anything had happened at all, or if it would, that is. Apparently, Lance has made a habit of picturing things that didn’t fucking exist.

Now he’s left spiraling like he survived a bad breakup, but you can’t have a breakup if there was never so much as a spark in the first place. It’s impossible that Fernando could have missed it all. Impossible, that Lance could have simply invented it. He knows what he felt, he knows what Fernando did, but none of it was worthy of a single word of acknowledgement from the other half of two seemingly perfect parts.

He wants to scream and throw up and put his phone down for longer than ten minutes at a time. There are many, many things that Lance had wanted to tell Fernando, and it’s only now starting to occur to him that he’ll never get the chance. I wanted to transform. For you. I wanted to be good. You made me want to be better. 

It’s foolish for him to be thinking of things like this. Lance is a young man. He’s got time for his heart to grow up and even out. Maybe in a decade or less, he’ll meet some perfectly nice young woman, someone his father would approve of, someone with country club connections that won’t rival his own (who can) but could at least keep up with the game. They’d have a manicured front lawn and two docile children, including a son to keep up the Stroll legacy. It would be normal, it would not break his heart like this. It would be very dependable.

Lance doesn’t want dependable, though, he knows it as he thinks it. He wants wild, unpredictable, insane things like falling in love with your teammate and letting him convince you that he’d settle down for you. Lance wants to be the reason someone so used to choosing themselves chooses you instead. He wants Fernando, and he wants no one else.

This is a difficult thing to think about at a wedding. Across the crowded event hall, he can see his sister, happy and secure in the knowledge that her husband is hers, legally and emotionally. There are scores of couples smiling up at each other, content that their love is theirs and no one else’s. 

Lance stands alone, tapping his foot to the beat so he doesn’t look like a complete loser. Every time someone looks over at him, he wants to shout that he’s fine, actually, this is fine, he doesn’t need someone the way that everyone else seems to, but they glance away again before he can properly vocalize this.

The DJ spins another song, the beat drops and the dance floor shakes appropriately from a hundred stomping feet, and just when Lance is certain that he wants to give up and really tries in earnest to look for somewhere to go, the crowd parts and Lance sees him.

Fernando. Here. Impossible. Yet that’s still a glint of hickory eyes he’d know anywhere, even distorted by swimming shades of party lights. Lance feels physically immobile as the man who cannot possibly be his teammate skirts couples and friend groups, and then they’re standing in front of each other and even though this cannot be, it is, and this is the first time Lance has seen him since the argument.

Lance stares at Fernando, jaw dropped comically. He has the harebrained thought that he’s glad the only camera nearby is the one in the hands of Chloe’s Vogue-ordered photographer; if this was the paddock, he’d probably end up as yet another stupid reaction image, giffed into oblivion until not even Lance can recognize his face when he sees it again.

If this was the paddock, seeing Fernando wouldn’t be such a surprise. If this was the paddock, Lance would not feel the absurd urge to run, because Fernando would already be gone, separated by an impenetrable wall of PR officers and personal trainers and anyone else he could shove in between the two of them.

Instead, they’re in one of the rare quiet patches in the wedding reception hall, and Lance is watching Fernando watch him, and slowly, deliberately, Lance forces his mouth to shut enough to ask, “How did you get in here?”

Fernando chuckles, teeth flashing in the uneven lighting of the dark hall. Lance has taken to ranking his teammate’s grins on a sliding scale from closed lips to a shark’s predatory display. This one is somewhere in the middle, hovering between quiet and pleased. Maybe even real. 

“I bribed Daniel to get me past the door,” he says.

Lance casts an outraged look across the dancefloor until he catches the Australian attempting to foxtrot with Scotty. They should both be at least passable at it, but both men keep trying to lead, then follow, then lead again, endless cycles of not-quite-right. 

Daniel somehow feels Lance looking– twitchy, isn’t he, has been all day– catches sight of Fernando standing in front of him, and grins apologetically. Bastard. If Lance gets him for grid Secret Santa, if Daniel manages to make it back onto the grid before December, he’ll have to actually try this time. Lance might owe him big for this.

The DJ starts a new number, cueing flashing lights that cascade from the blinding storm on the dance floor to faint rays out here where the two of them linger in the shadows, occasional flashlight beams sent out to catch them.

Lance swallows hard, watches the LEDs dye Fernando’s hair with undertones of Renault yellow, Ferrari red, Aston Martin green. If he were in the mood to be honest, Lance would admit that he’s been looking at Fernando for a while, actually. Not just since Fernando joined his team, before that, too. Long before they were teammates, when Lance first started racing in Formula One and he was eighteen and Fernando was thirty-five, a fact that makes him shiver down to his toes every time he thinks of it, which is– more often than it should be, for certain.

Now that the issue has been solved of how Fernando managed to get past the security guards Chloe swore were unnecessary and Lawrence swore he wouldn’t hire, plus the overeager wedding planners and racing fans stuck outside the gates with iPhone cameras, Lance pivots to a new question, one far more important.

“Why are you here?” Lance asks cautiously. 

He knows what he wants to hear, of course, but he can’t let himself get his hopes up just for them to be dashed yet again. This is not his wedding, of course. Fernando could be here to corner some Aston Martin engineers or strategists if they won’t return his midnight calls. He could even be here for Danny, which would explain why the Australian went to the trouble of letting him in, and he’s just stopping by Lance because he got caught while trying to get drinks. 

That thought makes Lance’s stomach twist in angry knots, and he’s only calmed from saying or doing something rash by Fernando’s following words, quiet in the dark but full of a lasting power.

“For you, Lance,” he says, “I came for you.”

God. Lance has spent the whole day witnessing lavish displays of affection, but for some reason it is seven simple words that makes him come undone. He stands there, stock still, and Fernando asks hesitantly, “Is that okay?”

It reminds Lance of how it had been before everything went south, when they were both dancing around a truth both ugly and glorious, that teammates do not stare like they did, that coworkers should not use getting drunk at an Aston Martin post-race celebration party as an excuse to keep their hands on each other, that Fernando didn’t keep interrupting Lance’s interviews to place his hands on Lance’s shoulders and whisper in his ear that he was Fernando’s hero just to get Lance to react like he always did. Not something he was supposed to do on camera, but neither of them could stop.

It is like the very beginning. Fernando, infiltrating Lance’s garage to lean down over the edge of the halo of Lance’s test drive and grip his gloved hands. How’s the car? Fernando, stopping by Lance’s driver’s room to hug him around the shoulders, cold and damp from the champagne that was still soaked through his race suit. I saw you out there. It was good, no? We are good? Fernando, with his hand on Lance’s leg when they’re supposed to be paying attention in a dry and stilted meeting with no one’s eyes on them for once. Can I? Is it alright? 

Lance never said no. Even when his breath caught in his throat. Even when he knew he was just sinking further into a pit he would never be able to escape. The falling was the best part, anyway.

“Fine,” he says at last, “Dance with me, then. If you want to talk, we dance. I’m sick of being a wallflower anyway.”

He raises an eyebrow impetuously, daring Fernando to make the next move. If Fernando’s actually serious about being here for Lance, he won’t mind this. He won’t mind the chance that someone could see them together and start to speculate. If Lance is anything other than a backroom missed connection, they should be able to dance without worrying.

Fernando nods once, accepting his challenge. He places one hand on Lance’s waist, the other on his waiting hand. His grip is strong, but not agonizing. Just a reminder that Lance will not be able to leave easily, not unless Fernando is satisfied that the situation has been handled as he planned.

Here, locked in the vise of another man’s arms, Lance thinks about how deeply he’s let himself get enthralled in Fernando’s way of doing things. He likes pretending that he’s the one in control, that Fernando is here to win him over, but the second Fernando’s hands are on him, Lance cedes that last bit of power over to him. Fernando does it easily, like a habit. It probably is.

Esteban warned him about this, after all, how easy it is to get sucked in. Lance, however, does not mind Fernando’s trap in the slightest. The rabbit must learn to love the snare. The bird likes its cage when the gilded bars keep it safe. 

“I was thinking,” Fernando begins.

“Always a good start,” Lance quips.

The hand on Lance’s waist tightens momentarily, a warning. Lance kind of wants to mouth off some more to see what the resulting action would be.

“I was thinking,” Fernando repeats, “that I may have gotten something wrong. I did not want to rush you, Lance. We have a lot of time. Being hasty can cost you.”

Unwillingly, Lance’s mind flashes to driver’s meetings, planning sessions with his engineer. Being a driver is knowing the difference between when to push and when to plan. Fernando  may have spent a lot of time guarding his pace, but Lance gets the feeling he’s finally ready to go for the trophy, the fastest lap. To sprint and never look back.

“I don’t want you as just a teammate,” Fernando continues. “I had not realized you thought we were past that. It would have sped things along, I think, if I had.”

“I thought we had plenty of time,” Lance comments.

“We do,” Fernando says smoothly. “But that does not mean I want to push this off any more if I don’t have to.”

“This?” Lance asks, feeling like he’s parodying that fateful conversation from so long ago, “And what’s this?”

Fernando meets his gaze coolly, calmly, and then he smiles and changes everything. Night brown eyes go caramel. “We have something better than anyone else, Lance. I do not want to lose it.”

There’s a sharp, triumphant streak in those words. Fernando Alonso has always been on a different level from everyone else. Hearing that he considers Lance on that distinct pedestal as well– it makes Lance lean into his touch a little more, and the last of his guard drops away.

“Why’d you tell me differently earlier, then?” He can’t help but ask. “You could have said you wanted me then.”

Fernando sighs, looks away. “I didn’t know I wanted it then. I didn’t count on how it would feel to lose you. I know now. I don’t want to feel it again.”

Across the room, they’re starting to cheer and shout from the center of the dance floor. It takes Lance a few moments to realize that the applause isn’t for the two of them but for the newlyweds, Chloe and Scotty, who are leading the group in an exuberant rendition of I Wanna Dance with Somebody. Lance thinks that it wouldn’t be entirely unfounded for the cheering to be for him, though. He feels like celebrating now.

And, when he looks back, Fernando’s lips are on his. Lance stumbles a little, and Fernando’s hand slides up his spine to catch him before he loses balance. It’s easy. It’s victorious. Lance never wants to let him go.

Fernando’s breath is hot against his throat, sending Lance into a feverish spiral. “I’ll see you in Monaco,” he whispers, and then he’s pulling away.

Lance watches him leave, but for once, it’s not a sad feeling. Instead, the emotion currently crashing through Lance’s bones is more one of anticipation. This is not the end, just the beginning. Fernando turns once, smiling at him before disappearing in a crush of people. Lance’s chest feels cold where Fernando’s hands had once been, but his heart’s racing enough to make up for the lost heat.

A voice by his shoulder; his sister, who has somehow fought her way through the crowd of well-wishers to find him. “Was that your teammate?” She asks, frowning.

Lance gazes softly at the place that had once been his. “Yeah, it was.”

Chloe tilts her head to the side with a frown, considering this. “Is something going on there?”

“Yes,” Lance answers her. Chloe looks like she wants far more of a response than just that, but Lance just laughs and helps her back to the dance floor. He will have plenty more days to explain it to her. After all, Fernando was right. They do have plenty of time.

f1 tag list: @j-brielmalfoy, @juphey

all tags list: @wordsarelife

[altschmerzes]

happy hanukkah, chag sameach everyone!!! here's a clip from far, far ahead in wriggle up on dry land, my ted lasso au where jamie's 15 and the groundsman's assistant when the story begins. at this point of the story he is 17 and he lives with ted - for. reasons. - and ted and roy have essentially ended up co-parenting him, which has been a learning process for everyone. this is their first real holiday season together, and the first time roy has decided to celebrate hanukkah of his own initiative (not with phoebe and his sister) in a long time.

The mulish determination that had carried Roy all the way through talking to Sarah and going to the little judaica store she’d given him the address of and getting everything set up disappears as soon as there’s someone else in the house. He hovers awkwardly near the doorway and watches while Ted and Jamie shuck off their coats and Ted nudges the kid to remind him to take his shoes off inside. They’ve both been in his house before, more times than he can count by this point, but somehow the experience feels new and unpredictable. Neither Ted nor Jamie seem to notice, chattering to each other about whatever they’d been talking about before they got here, but Roy can’t escape it. The feeling is loud and cloying and he can’t turn it off.

Just as Roy is about to conclude this entire thing had been a mistake and he should call it off right now, he realizes that the new arrivals have left him behind in his own entryway, moving on into the dining room where-

Well. Roy hurries after them and comes to an abrupt stop in the doorway. Ted’s got his hands tucked into his pockets and he looks at Roy with a warm, knowing smile that Roy resents on principle. Jamie is staring at the table, stopped in place like he can’t quite comprehend what he’s seeing. It’s an understandable reaction. A menorah was to be expected. Three of them is… Three of them is something else.

They’re lined up in a neat little row on the table, candles already placed in the farthest corners and the middles, a lighter laying nearby in anticipation of what’s coming next. The one on the left end is simple and traditional, the first one that Roy had grabbed. It reminded him of the one his grandparents had, the one that is probably in the window at Sarah’s house right now, already lit. In the middle sits a short menorah, a flat row of silver candle holders with the shamash slightly raised at the centre of them, and a colourful pattern on a panel behind them. Red pomegranates are set against a blue background and the whole thing had reminded him of Richmond. The last, on the right, is elegantly shaped silver metal, a trunk and the reaching branches of a little tree. It had taken Roy a long time to choose it. Dissatisfied with the options, he’d been about to give up and choose one at random when he’d spotted it, tucked away at the back of the shelf. As soon as he’d seen it, he’d known it was the one he wanted - on the way out of the store he’d thought to himself Do they even have trees in fucking Kansas? And then he’d been so irritated at what an insane thing that was to worry about that he’d nearly tripped over a crack in the pavement.

Finally tearing his eyes away from the table, Jamie glances over this shoulder at Roy. He looks confused, a little uncertain, like he’s got a question but he doesn’t want to ask it. The story he’d told about spending Hanukkah with his friend Ash’s family pops into Roy’s mind and he wonders if this is a setup Jamie recognizes, if he’s counted the menorahs on the table and done the simple math and realized what that meant. Then again, this is Jamie. That kind of conclusion is not one he can be relied on to reach himself, and so Roy is going to have to explain.

“That’s what we did,” Roy forces out eventually. His voice sounds thick and stony even to his own ears and he stops, swallowing hard before he tries again. The last thing he wants is to sound resentful, or angry, or any of the other things he knows he sounds when he’s emotional - embarrassed, this time. Anxious for their reactions, for this display of the thinness of his own life, his lack of substance that he’d needed to go out and buy these new and Googled it three times before he was sure he’d put the candles in the right end.

“In my family,” he says, faintly pleased that it comes out softer than before, gentler and less intense. “And in a lot of families. Don’t know about your friend Ash, but… But that’s what we did, and a lot of people do. Have one for… For everyone in the…” Roy waves a hand around, a vague circle indicating the room. His cheeks feel hot and he doesn’t know why this is so fucking hard to say. “In the immediate family. So. Y’know. Three.”

There. He’s said it and he’s explained and he didn’t pass out or die and nobody immediately laughs either so that has to be some kind of a good sign. Roy stares resolutely at the grain of the kitchen table. He can feel the eyes of the other two people in the room on him but he can’t bring himself to look over at them. Not quite yet.

[hstyleshoney]

Loves Me Loves Me Not - seven.

“It’s not that easy.” “It kind of is.” “It kind of isn’t. You wouldn’t understand.” “Try me.”

AU fake-dating, bartenderry // Harry is a bartender and new in town. A joke with her friends turns into reality after too much tequila, but nothing goes according to plan.

And she really, really hopes she hasn’t scared him off. 

word count: 16.2K // language, a little angsty, bad family relationships, a little fluffy 

🐶 Ficpage 💜 ask 🌼 masterlist

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Y/N woke up with a headache from hell, an overwhelming pain in her ankle, and her mouth so dry it left her tongue feeling like a piece of sandpaper. As soon as she opened her eyes, all the drinks she had consumed the night before rose in the back of her throat. She quickly shut her eyes again, holding her breath, hoping it would block the flood of nausea that rushed through her. 

Her whole body was desperate for water, but whatever force squeezing her skull together made it impossible for her to open her eyes again. She made a lousy attempt to blindly reach out and locate the bottle Harry had given her the night before. The fear of making any sudden moves, or even opening her eyes, made her completely immobile though. Because if she moved too fast or too much; the possibility of her being sick all over Harry’s bed was far too great. 

And that was something she definitely wanted to avoid.  

Especially after all of the events that had unfolded last night. He had already helped her too much. She couldn’t be sick in his bed. Not after he had agreed to go out with her friends, nearly ended up in a fight with Reece, offered to let her stay the night, and they almost kissed.

Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach as soon as the memory of their lips brushing flashed before her. 

She had almost kissed Harry last night. 

And the reminder of his stubble scratching against her chin alerted her of the lack of warmth next to her and made the silence surrounding her obnoxiously loud. 

Y/N forced herself to open her eyes again, to confirm her abrupt realization about the empty bed. She wasn’t sure what made her feel more nauseous - her raging hangover or the fact that Harry was nowhere to be seen. The bathroom door was wide open, the spot next to her cold and the room dreadfully calm. 

He was just… gone. 

Her already swirling head started spinning even more. Had she just ruined whatever chance she had of them being friends? He couldn’t be mad at her, could he? 

No, she tried to remind herself, he was as guilty as her of their almost-kiss. She ran a tired hand over her face. He couldn’t be mad at her. They were both drunk. At least she had been. 

But so much had happened last night, and Y/N’s muddled hungover brain couldn’t even begin to comprehend how she had ended up in his small bed again. 

Although, as she tried to move and sit up, the painful reminder of her embarrassing fall swept over her. She hissed in discomfort and moved the duvet out of the way to get a good look at her aching foot. 

”Fuck,” she mumbled to herself as she took in the sight of her swollen and bruised skin. Her ankle had doubled in size compared to what it normally looked like and a nasty purple-looking bruise was slowly spreading out across most of her heel. ”You’re a fucking idiot Y/N…” 

With a small groan, she let her head fall back to the pillow, wishing the bed would just swallow her whole and remove her from the surface of the earth. 

How could so much have gone wrong in just one night? It had to be some sort of record. 

Everything had started out so well. Reece had seemed jealous. He had asked her to be on his team. He had been close, making sure that she was always within arm’s reach, his hand clinging to her lower back and hips. It was the most affectionate she could remember him ever being. 

But then something switched and the night just went downhill from there. 

Harry and Reece sizing each other up had not been on her list of things that could go wrong. It hadn’t even crossed her mind. In her head, the worst-case scenario was Reece not acknowledging her at all. 

Or Harry being annoyed with her the whole night. 

Her biggest concern had been with herself and how she was going to act with Harry in front of Arlo.

She wished it could’ve stayed that way. It would’ve been a lot easier. 

Y/N wasn’t supposed to drink so much, but her nerves had simply gotten the best of her. Downing several shots of tequila seemed like a good idea at the time. The tension between the man of her dreams and her fake lover had been far too hostile for her poor heart to handle. 

Their visit to White Deer had ended with her embarrassing herself in front of the full-packed pub. It should’ve been the only thing weighing her down as she woke up in a crippling hangover. Yet, it was not the thing tormenting her fragile mind.

Because she certainly wasn’t supposed to almost kiss Harry. 

The mere memory of his warm breath on her face, his soft hand pushing a strand of her hair away, made her pathetic little brain nearly combust. No matter how hard she tried to remember how they had gotten themselves into that position - it didn’t make any sense. Had she made the first move? Or had he been the one to instigate it? Both explanations seemed as unlikely as the other. 

But then again, drunk Y/N didn’t always make the best or most reasonable decisions. It wouldn’t actually surprise her if she was the reason behind their almost-kiss. 

No wonder Harry had left. He had probably already filed a report against her for harassment and violation of his privacy. Her stomach twisted in distress, an overwhelming stir of regret washing over her. 

She wasn’t sure how much time passed, her mind and body were too busy wallowing in anguish and self-loath, before the sound of keys jingling outside the door suddenly overtook all of her senses. 

If Y/N had been able to, she would’ve made a quick escape and jumped out the window. But since her body was currently hanging on by a thin thread, trying to survive a hangover from hell and a sprained ankle, that wasn’t an option. 

All she could do was stay put, and watch as Harry slowly made his way back inside the flat. Their eyes met the moment he opened the door. The obnoxious silence she had found herself waking up to turned into an uncomfortable one instead. It was unclear which one was worse, but both undeniably made her nauseated state triple within her.  

He had changed into a pair of blue jeans and a simple white T-shirt, a mint green cardigan casually draped over his shoulder. A pair of black sunglasses sat on top of his head, pushing back his curls and stopping them from falling into his eyes. There was not a single trace of their night out on him. 

Harry, without a doubt, looked ten times better than how she felt.  

Fuck. 

”You’re awake,” he stated after a moment of silence. 

”Yeah…” she breathed out, her voice raspy and low. A lump immediately formed in her throat, pushing its way upward, and she quickly pressed her lips together in an attempt to stop whatever was trying to make its way out of her. Harry gave her a concerned look. She tried to give him a smile. ”Where were you?” 

Her stomach twisted in regret as soon as she let the question escape from her broken mind and out into the uncomfortable mood between them. 

”I just went for a little walk,” Harry cleared his throat awkwardly and then held up the tote bag he was carrying. ”Stopped by the store briefly.” Y/N opened her mouth to say something, but the same lump instantly made itself present again. Harry tilted his head to the side, watching her closely as she tried to swallow it back down. ”How you’re feeling?” 

She took a shaky breath. 

”Not too good,” she admitted and focused on trying to breathe through her nose slowly. Whatever force controlling the universe had to have some sort of vendetta against her. Y/N was sure of it. If she ended up being sick in front of Harry, in his bed, it would surely end whatever friendship she had going on with him. 

And she would be on the next plane over to Svalbard as soon as she could move again. 

”How's your foot?” 

”Hurting,” she told him with another shaky breath. 

”I can imagine,” Harry hummed. He stood still for a brief moment before putting down the tote he was carrying next to the dresser, kicking his shoes off. ”Let me see.” 

Y/N couldn’t bring herself to open her mouth and speak again, so she gave him a small nod, ignoring the the way it left the whole room spinning. 

Harry sat down next to her on the bed, gently lifting the duvet to expose her legs. She took the opportunity to pinch the bridge of her nose, praying and hoping that the small pressure would help her take her mind off of how fucking terrible she felt. 

When his fingers brushed against her ankle she couldn’t stop herself from flinching back in surprise, a low groan slipping out at the discomfort it caused. ”Sorry,” he mumbled and threw a small glance up at her, to make sure she was fine. 

”S’okay,” she replied quickly and nodded towards her foot again, letting him know he could continue what he was doing. 

Harry turned his attention back to her ankle but let his hands rest on top of his thighs. She could almost see the wheels turning in his head as he looked at the bruised skin with furrowed brows. 

Then he suddenly stood up again and walked over to his tote to retrieve something. The bed shook as he moved and Y/N was sure her soul left her body for a moment. She was not going to make it. 

”We need to wrap your foot,” he said, pulling out a lime-green silk scarf. ”This was the only thing I could find this early. You need to get some proper bandages later, but this will have to do for now.” He came back and sat down next to her. ”If it doesn’t get better in a couple of days, you should probably go see a doctor as well.” 

She wasn’t sure if it was the lump in her throat, still threatening to come up, that left her so speechless… 

Or the fact that he had gone out first thing in the morning to look for some bandages for her foot. 

His fingers were gentle as they wrapped around her ankle, carefully lifting it to put the green scarf underneath her foot. It hurt, but all she could really focus on was his soft touch. Anytime his fingers smoothly brushed against her skin Y/N could feel another part of her body erupt in goosebumps. 

The makeshift bandage was wrapped tightly around her ankle, instantly giving it some much-needed support. Harry never took his eyes off her foot as he worked on it, his tongue poking out in concentration, and Y/N felt like her body was on fire. 

Flashbacks of the night before pushed themselves to the front of her mind. He had been so close. A small tilt of her head and their lips would’ve met. 

Y/N contemplated asking him about it and seeing his reaction but quickly decided it would be a terrible idea. If she was to bring it up it had to be under better circumstances - not when she was already struggling to breathe properly. 

But Harry’s tender hands awakened something in her. Something she couldn’t put her finger on yet. It could, very possibly, still be the aggressive lump in her throat forcing its way up. ”I’ll give you a ride home,” Harry interrupted her wandering thoughts, making her head jerk back at the unexpected sound of his voice. ”Do you think you’ll be able to move?” 

”Yeah, I think so,” she replied slowly, attempting to once again force the lump back down. Unfortunately, it seemed like the lump had gathered more strength after being held back for so long. She covered her mouth with one of her hands. Y/N had lost the struggle. ”Actually, no, I - I think I might be sick.” 

Harry’s eyes widened as he took in her fragile condition. He moved fast, jumping to his feet, his arms wrapping around her as he hauled her out of bed. She didn’t even have time to think of the pain that spread through her foot and up her leg. 

It was astonishing how they actually made it to the bathroom in time. Most of it was just a blur, but she let her body fall into Harry’s as he dragged her to the toilet. He said something to her that she couldn’t understand, the buzzing in her ears was too loud. 

She had never felt more miserable or unattractive in her entire life. 

None of it mattered though, because as soon as she could see the toilet Y/N fell to her knees and unloaded yesterday’s mistakes into the bowl. She wanted to tell him to leave, that he couldn’t see her like that; a coughing sputtering mess. 

But the only thing coming out of her was the tequila from last night. 

So, instead of getting him to leave, he knelt down beside her and pulled her hair away from her face, holding it in a loose grip at the back of her neck. 

And Harry didn’t say anything either, but the comforting hand running up and down her back told her enough. He wasn’t going to leave her, and she accepted it. 

Even if it meant losing the small amount of dignity she had left. 

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”Oh Honey, what happened!?” 

Y/N glanced up to see her mum standing by the doorway leading to their kitchen, looking at her with big frantic eyes. The house was filled with the scent of freshly baked scones and Lizzie wiped her hands on the apron she was wearing. Then her gaze averted over to Harry, who still had his arm wrapped around Y/N to offer his support. And she could see the worry in her mum’s eyes slowly turning into confusion. 

Once Y/N had felt stable enough to get up from the bathroom floor, and she was certain there was nothing left in her to come out, Harry had helped her back to his bed. He made sure she drank some water and gave her some ibuprofen before leaving her alone, full of shame, in his flat again. 

He simply told her to just get some rest while he went to get his car from where it was currently parked, so she wouldn’t have to walk too far on her injured foot. 

Or rather, so he wouldn’t have to carry her too far. 

Because when she was finally feeling good enough to actually leave - they both realized that getting down the steep stairs was going to be twice as hard as getting up had been. 

In the end, Harry ended up giving her a piggyback ride. Of course, she tried to tell him she was fine and could make it on her own, but, in true Harry nature, he wouldn’t listen to her and told her to just let him carry her. 

After some struggle, she ended up on his back, holding onto him tightly as he carried her down the stairs and all the way to his car. His hair tickled her face as she rested her chin on the back of his shoulder. As they made it outside a gust of wind blew past them and she caught a whiff of his cologne, musky and fresh. 

He smelled lovely. 

As always. 

Y/N didn’t even want to think about how horrible she smelled next to him. 

Harry moved fast, with a tight grip on her legs, and her body bobbed with the large strides he was taking. She closed her eyes in hopes to ignore the nausea that slowly started creeping up on her again. 

She felt secure though. 

It was soothing in some ways, to let her body relax against his strong back and feel his muscles move under her. The warmth radiating from him sent an electrifying rush through her and caused the small knot in the pit of her stomach to ignite. 

Y/N could’ve fallen asleep right there, clinging onto him like a small koala, if Harry hadn’t gently tapped her leg to let her know they had reached his car. 

And she realized that it was the first time she actually saw his car, and she wasn’t sure what she had expected… maybe an old Toyota with worn-out seats and a rusty surface? She had no idea, but whatever she had imagined - it surely wasn’t a shiny Aston Martin sports car. While Y/N didn’t know a whole lot about cars, the car in front of her definitely looked like it was worth more than what she would even make in a year. 

Actually, it was probably worth more than what she had ever earned since she started working altogether. 

She instantly felt bad for making him drive her home in her miserable state, and for getting his fancy car dirty with the horrid stench of vomit oozing off of her. 

Under normal circumstances, she would’ve asked how he could afford such a fancy car working at White Deer, but her only aim was to survive the short car trip to her house. The bumpy ride made her feel sick all over again and she let her head fall against the side of the car, her eyes closed as she tried to control her breathing. It was far too hot in that car.

She could not be sick again. 

She refused to be sick again. 

Especially not in a car as expensive as the one she found herself in. 

They didn’t really speak, but Harry noticed her struggling to keep it together. He took his hand off the steering wheel, swiftly pushing a button on his side of the car, and the window next to her slowly went down. Fresh air hit her face as they sped down the crooked roads, and Y/N could feel her nausea gradually easing up. 

At least enough to make her confident she wouldn’t be sick all over the lavish interior. 

When they eventually pulled up outside her house Harry was quick to jump out and jog around the car to help her out. Y/N didn’t even bother trying to object that time and simply just let him give her another piggyback ride to get inside. 

Lizzie had met them in the hallway as he carefully dropped her to the floor again, her foot aching slightly as she accidentally put too much weight on it. 

”I’m fine, Mum,” Y/N groaned. ”I just had a little stumble last night.” 

”Are you hurt?” 

”Only my pride,” Y/N complained with a huff and noticed how Harry stifled a laugh, pulling at his lips carefully, hiding his two dimples behind his hand. Lizzie stayed quiet, cautiously observing the scene in front of her, to make sure Y/N was indeed fine and not in need of immediate care. 

When her mum eventually came to the conclusion that no ambulance needed to be called a cheeky smile fell over her thin lips. 

”And who is this Handsome Gentleman escorting my clumsy daughter home?” 

”Muuum,” Y/N sent her an embarrassed glare, feeling her cheeks getting hotter as Lizzie looked between them with a knowing look. ”This is Harry. He works at White Deer, he helped me last night and just drove me home.” 

”Harry, hm,” Lizzie hummed, and Y/N didn’t like the glimmer of delight she saw in her mum’s eye as she stepped forward to shake his hand. ”Well, I’m Lizzie, Y/N’s mother. Thank you for helping her and getting her home in one piece.” 

”Hello,” Harry cleared his throat awkwardly and shook Lizzie’s hand with a steady grip. ”No need to thank me. I’m happy to help.” 

”Why don’t you come inside for a bit?” Lizzie suggested and Y/N looked at her mum with big eyes. ”I’ll go put the kettle on and you can have some tea with us. I just made some scones and the loaf of sourdough bread is done any minute now.” 

”No, that’s okay. I was just helping Y/N inside and-” 

”Oh, nonsense! Come sit down with us,” Lizzie interrupted quickly, shaking her head. ”It’s the least I can do for you after you took care of my daughter.” 

”Mum, I’m sure Harry has other things he needs to do. I’ve already taken up enough of his time today,” Y/N tried and watched as Pluto suddenly popped up behind her mum. The small poodle immediately noticed Y/N was home again and jumped up and down excitedly before running over. 

”Everyone has time for some scones,” Lizzie insisted with a small laugh and looked at Harry again. ”There is plenty of food and you’re more than welcome to have some.” 

As Lizzie spoke to Harry, Pluto realized they had company, his little tail wiggling happily as he jumped to greet Harry. 

And it wasn’t until Harry took a subtle step to the side, to stand behind Y/N a little bit more, that she remembered he wasn’t a big fan of dogs. She bent down to pull Pluto into her arms, scratching him behind his ear in an effort to calm him down and get him to leave Harry alone. 

A sharp pain shot through her ankle as she crouched down. But seeing Harry uncomfortable, trying to get away from the small poodle, was enough for her to ignore it. He had been so helpful to her all morning, it was the least she could do. 

”I don’t want to intrude,” Harry spoke slowly, keeping one eye on the dog in Y/N’s arms. 

”Don’t be silly,” Lizzie shook her head again. ”A friend of Y/N’s is a friend of mine. You drink tea, right? Or do you want coffee?” 

”Tea is fine,” Harry nodded. ”Thank you.” 

When Lizzie disappeared around the corner, going back to the kitchen Y/N looked up at him with a soft smile. 

”He’s harmless you know,” she told him and nodded towards Pluto who was also looking up at Harry, his tail still wiggling in excitement. ”He won’t bite you.” 

”Mm, you say that now,” Harry muttered and kept a close eye on Pluto, just in case he’d escape Y/N’s arms and attack. ”I don’t trust dogs.”

”He just wants to say Hello,” Y/N continued and gave Pluto a small kiss on top of his head, still scratching him behind his ear. ”He’ll leave you alone after that.” 

When Harry didn’t speak or made any attempts to move, Y/N reached up and took his hand, gently tugging at his arm to get him down to her level. ”Just let him sniff you a little,” she instructed quietly and slowly brought Harry’s hand up to Pluto’s nose. ”There you go. He just wants to say hello,” she said and looked at her dog, her voice turning more high-pitched as she spoke again. ”Isn’t that right, Buddy? You just want a little attention.” 

Pluto let his wet nose sniffle all over his hand. Harry was tense next to her, barely moving a single muscle, and Y/N made sure to keep her hand over his, giving it a light squeeze to assure him everything was fine. 

Pluto pushed his head against his hand, silently demanding Harry to pet him. She threw a quick glance at the grumpy man next to her, a little anxious she was forcing him to do something he genuinely didn’t want to, but was happily surprised to see a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips again.  

Carefully she guided his hand to rest on top of Pluto’s head and told him to give him a small scratch behind his ear. The poodle let out a heavy sigh, happy to finally get the new human’s attention and affection. 

”He’s very soft,” Harry admitted quietly, his fingers running over Pluto's curly coat of hair in small timid circles.  

”I know!” Y/N beamed and felt a rush of excitement run through her. Her hand was still on top of his, and she could sense the tension in him slowly easing up, allowing his body to relax. 

She could understand why some people didn’t necessarily trust dogs. But her little Pluto was the kindest dog she had ever met. 

Granted, she was a bit biased, but he had been a gentle dog ever since they got him as a puppy. He was her best friend in a lot of ways, staying up with her all night when her swirling mind wouldn’t let her rest. Pluto was perhaps the only living being who had truly seen her at her worst. 

And Y/N just wanted people who met him to like him and feel the same comfort she did.  ”He gives the best cuddles.” 

”I’m sure he does,” Harry nodded, giving Pluto one final pat before he pulled his hand back and stood up again. The small dog looked at him, clearly disappointed with the abrupt stop to his cuddles, but didn’t push his luck. 

Instead, Pluto let out a low sneeze, shook his head, and just walked off. No longer interested in Harry and his unfamiliar scent. 

”See,” Y/N grinned up at him. ”I told you he’d leave you alone. He only wants some sniffs and some pats and he’s good for the rest of the day.” 

”Yeah, yeah,” Harry rolled his eyes and then held out his hand to her to help her stand up again. "I see where you get your stubbornness from now.” 

”Huh?” 

”Your mum,” he pointed out. ”Here I thought you were the only one in your family who was so demanding.” 

”Oh… Um, I mean, you don’t have to stay. She just wants to thank you, but I understand if you’re bu-”

”Ducky, I’m joking,” he interrupted her short rambling. 

”Right,” Y/N breathed out, feeling stupid. 

She wasn’t sure if it was still her pathetic brain that made her feel so dizzy, or if it was the strong arm that once again wrapped around her waist, supporting her as she limped across the hallway to the kitchen. ”Well, you’ll be glad you stayed. Once you have a bite of my mum’s sourdough you’ll never want to eat any other type of bread ever again.” 

Seeing Harry in her kitchen, talking and laughing with her mum, certainly didn’t help clear her foggy head. 

It all felt like a fever dream. 

The delicious smell of fresh bread that surrounded them made her mouth water. Yet, Y/N found herself struggling to actually eat anything. With every bite she took there was a dangerous churn in the pit of her stomach. Her sickness still looming over her, even if she felt a lot better than she did when she woke up that morning. 

It just wasn’t worth the humiliating task of trying to get to the toilet in time. 

Harry had already held her hair once that morning, and that was already one too many times. 

Instead, she sipped on her tea, nibbled on a single scone, and tried to understand if the scene in front of her was actually real or if she was still passed out on the floor in Harry’s bathroom. 

Because the Harry in front of her was a completely different version of him compared to what she had seen before. 

And even if he didn’t really share much about himself, Harry listened intently as her mum told him different stories from Y/N’s childhood and talked about the history of their small village town. He asked a couple of follow-up questions, laughing loudly when Lizzie told him about the time Y/N cut her own hair at the age of four. 

And how she later tried to run away from home when they told her she couldn’t glue it back on. 

Y/N didn’t have time to be embarrassed by the stories her mum was sharing though. She was too lost in her own clouded mind, trying to figure out who the man next to her was and if he had always been so ridiculously charming. 

An hour had passed when he announced he had to get back home. Lizzie made sure he got some scones and bread to take with him, giving him two small bags full of her homemade goods. 

Harry shot Y/N a teasing look when Lizzie told him she wouldn’t accept no for an answer. 

And when he eventually left and she watched the door close behind him, Y/N found herself feeling rather empty. 

”I like him,” her mum announced as soon as he was gone. She turned to face her daughter with a big smile on her lips and the same twinkle in her eyes as before. 

”You do?” 

”He’s lovely,” Lizzie continued as she started to clean the table, stacking their used plates on top of each other. 

”I- well, he-” Y/N fumbled with her words, not knowing how to respond. It felt weird to pretend in front of her mum, essentially lying, about her relationship with him. Although, as Lizzie’s words sank in, Y/N realized that agreeing wouldn’t actually be a lie at all. Because underneath his hard exterior, Harry was indeed lovely. ”Yeah.” 

”Am I wrong to assume he is the reason you’ve been so happy lately?” 

”What?” 

Lizzie laughed at the startled expression on her face, and Y/N was just happy her mum couldn’t see how fast her heart was beating. 

”You just seem like yourself again,” Lizzie said. ”You’re smiling more and doing more things. You’ve also spent the night at some mysterious bartender twice now.” Y/N opened her mouth to question how her mum could know she had stayed the night with him once before, but Lizzie explained before she got the chance. ”I ran into Arlo at the supermarket a while ago.” 

Of course. 

”Arlo is just… Arlo,” Y/N scoffed, feeling her cheeks getting a little hotter under her mum’s knowing eyes. 

”Is he wrong though?” 

”I…” 

”Honey, relax,” Lizzie said, putting a comforting hand on her shoulder as she walked past on her way to the kitchen sink. ”I’m not interrogating you. I know dating nowadays is a lot more complicated than it was when I was young. I don’t need to know about all of these friendships with benefits type of-” 

”Mum, please stop,” she interrupted with a groan and put a hand up to get her to stop.

Lizzie laughed. 

”I’m just trying to say that I’m happy you’re doing more and hanging out with your friends again,” she told her softly. ”And Harry is definitely not too hard on the eyes is he? You’ve snatched yourself one handsome young man there.”

”Okay, well, this has been fun. But this is done now, I’m too hungover for this,” Y/N said and ran a hand through her tangled hair. 

The whole thing was making her far too uncomfortable. It wasn’t so much the topic of the conversation that made her feel that way, she had always been close to her mum and they could talk about most things. Her relationship with Harry was just… complicated. 

Y/N wasn’t even sure if they had any type of relationship, or if it was all fake. 

She tried to stand up and leave the kitchen but hissed at the pain that shot through her ankle, falling down to her chair again. Maybe she should’ve asked Harry to carry her to her bed before leaving. 

”God, you’re just like your brother sometimes,” Lizzie rolled her eyes, but the fond smile across her lips stayed intact. ”So bloody stubborn. Stay there - I’ll go see if I can find our old crutches in the garage.” 

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Harry was fucked. 

It had been over a week since he last saw Y/N, and no matter how hard he tried; he couldn’t get the silly girl out of his head.

He had let himself get carried away and allowed himself to get caught up in the moment, not realizing what he was actually doing until it was too late. He was supposed to tell Y/N he didn’t want to be part of her stupid scheme anymore, instead, he almost kissed her. 

And had tea with her mother. 

He was fucked. 

Everything reminded him of her. His bedsheets smelled like her, if he closed his eyes he could almost feel her hand in his hair and the warmth that spread through him as she pushed herself closer. It had been so long since he had last shared a bed with someone and actually felt something. 

As soon as he had gotten home from her house he had been overwhelmed by how empty the place he now called home was. 

How lonely he was. 

And the realization sent a flood of panic through him. 

Because he had been more than fine being on his own when he first arrived. He wanted to be left alone. 

It was why he chose the small village to start with. It was the only place he could remember being truly happy and content as a kid. No one would remember him or who he was. His grandma had gotten remarried before she moved to town to live with her new husband, taking the last name Burton. No one would be able to connect his name to hers. It was the perfect place to start over and live a quiet life - a clean slate. He could do whatever he wanted, and not care about anyone else. 

Then Y/N stumbled into his life and made herself a permanent spot in his already troubled head. With her stupid plan, captivating eyes, and adorable presence… he found himself wanting to keep her in his pocket forever and protect her from ever getting her heart broken. 

If only he could make her realize what a stupid prick Reece was. He would feel a lot better about breaking their deal if he knew she had come to her senses. Then he wouldn’t be the bad guy for letting her down, and he wouldn’t have to worry about her getting hurt. 

He was so fucking fucked. 

Therefore, when his phone alerted him of a new text later that night - he decided, for the first time since meeting her, to not reply. 

Y/N 11:39 pm 

thank you for helping me today grumpy… and last night. i appreciate it. my foot already feels a little bit better, so hopefully its just a light sprain. i'm never drinking again x 

He left her on ’read’ for the entire week, going into work with a tight knot in his stomach, fearing she’d show up at the pub and look at him with those big sad eyes. He’d crumble if she did. Just the thought of that happening was excruciating. 

But it was also why he knew he was making the right decision. 

If ignoring one text from her was making him feel so terrible - it was more than enough proof that he had let the chatty girl get too close. His guard was down and he couldn’t let that happen. 

Y/N had asked him for help to make another bloke fall in love with her. That was all it was, even if Reece was completely wrong for her. Harry was nothing but a pawn in her stupid scheme. He couldn’t let himself get lost again. People had told him what to do all his life, how to act, and what to say. Working as a bartender in the small town was the first real thing he had decided for himself. It was what he wanted to do, at least until he could figure out what he was supposed to do with the rest of his life. 

He never should’ve agreed to help her in the first place. He was done doing things for other people and their benefit, and yet it was one of the first things he had gotten himself into. 

It had to stop. 

He needed to get back on track. 

But nothing was helping him to clear his mind. No matter where he went he was always reminded of her in some way. 

His normal running route was where the whole mess began, where he agreed he’d help her with her stupid plan. 

And all he could worry about as he went on his daily run was accidentally running into Y/N. Because even though she was injured and should be resting, she was stubborn enough to ignore her injured foot and go for a walk with Pluto. 

Maybe he should’ve found a new place to go for a run? 

White Deer was where he met her for the first time. 

And Tracy’s coffee shop, where she hid behind the counter, was just across the street from where he worked and lived. 

He craved the lush brownies from Pebble’s that she had gotten for them after spending their first night together.

Or perhaps, what he craved most, was to once again see the ecstatic smile she gave him as they walked to the small bakery. 

The toothbrush he had given her was still next to his in the bathroom. 

Yeah, he definitely shouldn’t have gone for a run around the same trails, tormenting himself with the possibility of potentially seeing her again. Because seeing her again, after ignoring her for a week, meant he would possibly have to see the disappointment the unanswered text had caused. 

As Harry got to know her better, he learned that Y/N was an expert at trying to hide how she was truly feeling, always trying to please the people around her, hoping no one would notice the discouraged look in her eyes. 

He did though. 

He had also learned how to read her, for better or for worse - Harry didn’t know yet. He just knew he didn’t like the way her shoulders slumped when someone dropped a comment about her ideas or made her feel like she was bothering them. 

And Harry really wasn’t sure he could handle being the reason the brightness in her eyes disappeared, even if it was only momentarily. 

It really made no sense for him to still go for a run so close to where she lived. 

Yet, he did. 

When he met her there the last time she had shown up with a runny nose and her hair an unruly mess. He had recognized her immediately as the girl who had tried to pay him for a date at the pub. 

Had he not been so taken aback by the dog running and jumping on him, he would’ve found it endearing how out of breath she was when she finally caught up to her furry little friend.

Logically, Harry knew the small poodle couldn’t really hurt him. 

But a bad experience with his neighbour’s dog, when he was six years old, had left him wary of all dogs. The ugly scar on his forearm, due to the bad stitches he had gotten, was enough to make him stay away from all dogs. 

Patrick had told him to stop being a baby and handle it like a man, despite being so young. It was just another thing he felt he needed to change to finally be accepted. It was easier to avoid all dogs rather than to learn how to deal with the stress and fear that came with them. 

Y/N had been so gentle with him though, when she told him to just give the small dog a little pat. She had looked at him with such a reassurance in her eyes, telling him it was okay. For the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel so stupid and childish for being apprehensive of a small animal. 

Because it was silly, being afraid of a small dog at his age. But he really appreciated how she hadn’t made fun of him for it. 

Instead, she made him feel at ease. 

And it was another thing about her that had gotten under his skin. There really wasn’t a bad bone in her body. It was just something about her - he truly had never met someone with such a kind heart before. 

Admittedly, a stupid heart.

A heart that was going to break itself if it kept going along with what everyone else wanted; if it didn’t wake up and realize how stupid Reece was. 

”Fuck,” Harry exclaimed loudly to himself, stopping in the middle of the trail, panting heavily from running. A bird flew out from behind a tree, startled by his voice, and he closed his eyes. 

He had to get himself out of the scheme. 

He had to get away from Y/N. He wasn’t ready to have someone else hold his heart in their hands again. There was too much that could go wrong and he was yet to heal. There was no way he could allow himself to get into a position where not even the small town he grew up loving would be a safe place. 

No matter how awful the unanswered text in his phone made him feel. 

However, when he returned to his car and looked at his phone again, there was something else waiting for him. It pulled him right back into the dark hole he had slowly been working his way out of. 

For weeks his mail inbox had been empty. Not a single message. When he left London he deleted every single one of them, not wanting a reminder of anything related to his previous life or work. 

But now there was a small red circle, with a single digit letting him know someone had tried to reach him.  

The blood inside his veins turned to ice as he opened the app. There was only one person Harry knew of that preferred to contact people via email and he hadn’t heard from him since the day he left London. 

A large part of him told him to just delete the e-mail, but an even larger part of him couldn’t ignore it.  

With a deep breath, anxiety already creeping up on him, Harry decided to read it. 

Harry. 

I am reaching out to you to give you one last chance to get your act together and come back. You need to stop this foolishness. I don’t know what you think you will achieve by giving up on your responsibilities like this. I am deeply disappointed by your reckless actions. Your mother is very upset and so are your siblings. What kind of example do you think this sets for them? That it is okay to do as you please and ignore your responsibilities? To disrespect the people who made it possible for you to have the life you have? 

You have let everyone down. 

This whole thing reflects poorly on our entire family, on the empire my great-grandfather created long before you were born. Do you think he just got up and left whenever things didn’t go his way? I can tell you for a fact that he didn’t. He stayed, worked hard, and fought for it. What you have done is unacceptable. People are talking and you have brought embarrassment to both the family and the company. We are a well-established and highly respected corporation. Our employees are hard-working and ambitious. They fought for their positions. You have had an easy ride, I took you on board right after you finished university, trusting you to do a good job despite lacking the experience we demand from our new recruits.

Now, I look stupid. Our company looks stupid. Only the best get an opportunity to work for us and people kept telling me I couldn’t give you a job just because you are Denise’s son. And maybe they were right because you have made us look unprofessional, leaving your coworkers with all your workload as if they are not already working overtime to achieve their goals. If everyone just decided to not show up for work one day none of us would be as successful as we are. 

I expected so much more from you Harry. 

If it were up to me you would never set foot in our building again, but your mother has begged me to give you one last chance to come back. 

So here it is. 

I expect to see you back at the office on Monday, we can move forward and put this whole mess behind us. There will be some changes in your position, as I am sure you can understand, but we will discuss the details when you are back. 

I am positive you can fix things with Tamara as well if you just put some effort in. 

I really hope you will make the right decision. Think about your image. Think about your family. 

If you want to waste the opportunities handed to you and live a life with no self-respect - go ahead. But don’t come crawling back in a couple of months when your money is running out. The choice is yours. 

Kind Regards, 

Patrick Lovell. 

Harry read the e-mail over and over again, feeling his heart drop more each time he finished and let the words written by Patrick fully sink in. He felt empty, and yet at the same time, every little part of him felt like it was falling apart. He wanted to scream out in frustration, throw his phone out of the window and leave it in the woods. But despite the overwhelming need to let everything out, something held the profanities back. 

So instead, he sat in his car, just staring out into nothing for what felt like hours. The phone next to him felt like a threat. The blank screen stared back at him tauntingly, pulling him back down into the darkness. It had been reckless of him to just leave, he knew that much, and he probably wouldn’t have ever done such a thing had he worked somewhere else. His co-workers would be fine though, he made sure to finish up any loose ends before leaving. 

And to be frank, Harry didn’t really care about any of his old co-workers. They were all a bunch of twats. 

The only thing that really left an unsettling feeling in his stomach was the fact that his mother was upset. 

Or, at least, according to Patrick, she was. 

Harry wasn’t really sure his mother was capable of feeling upset over anything other than a failed botox injection. 

Their relationship was a tricky one. Harry knew she loved him, in her own way. His mother had worked hard to provide for them when he was a baby and had set him up with a comfortable life. He couldn’t remember much of their relationship before Patrick came into the picture, but she had done everything in her power to keep him safe and fed. Somewhere, between the expensive lunches and designer handbags, his mother had changed though. And it wasn’t until the twins were born that Harry really saw it. Or maybe he had just been too young to see it before. For many years he had dreamed about being an older brother. His classmates all had siblings and he wanted the same experience they did. As the years passed, and they all grew up, Harry realized how different the three of them were treated and the excitement quickly died down. While he was seen as the black sheep of the Lovell family; Leo and Millie were everyone’s darling angels. Denise was fully accepted into the family, having given Patrick two biological children. Harry was simply just the son of another man. A man with a much lower rank than any of the Lovells. 

There was no doubt that there was a disturbing hierarchy in the family. And it had taken him over two decades to realize that no matter how hard he tried he would never fully be part of it. 

He wasn’t a Lovell, and he didn’t want to be. It still didn’t stop the painful tug at his heart as he read the e-mail over one more time. No matter how many times he convinced himself he was better off alone - the truth of his loneliness hit him hard. 

His mind was still clouded in a thick fog as he eventually started his car back up and sped away from where he had stood parked for over an hour. There was a loud ringing noise in both his ears and he soon realised it was a bad idea to drive in his current state of mind.

The five stupid words that had haunted him all his life were the only thing he could focus on. 

“You have let everyone down”

Harry couldn’t breathe. 

Patrick’s words were slowly squeezing the air out of his lungs as they repeated themselves over and over again. He couldn’t escape them. He had been naive to think he could. All his life he had been told he wasn’t good enough, that he was a disappointment and ungrateful. It was stupid to think that would ever change. 

Then a familiar street sign caught his attention, and without really thinking, he took a left turn when he really should’ve just kept driving.

Harry was fucked. 

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Y/N had almost dozed off when she was jolted awake by a sharp knock on her door. 

She sat up groggily, looking around the room in confusion, her vision slightly blurry. The Netflix show she had been watching still playing quietly on the laptop next to her on the bed. Her eyelids felt heavy as she lifted her hand to rub the sleep away. 

Did she have a dream? Or had there actually been a knock on her door? 

Aside from the laptop playing her room was deadly quiet. Though, it was still bright outside so she couldn’t have been asleep for that long. She had spent most of the day in bed, just scrolling on her phone and binge-watching whatever show she could find. 

Actually, since she had stayed home from work because of her foot, it was what she had been doing for most of the week. Luckily, the injury was nothing but a light sprain and she had only been on crutches for a couple of days. 

Still, her mum told her to take the entire week off to rest it properly. Because standing up all day for work was not really an ideal situation to help her ankle heal. 

Instead, she had been in bed for pretty much the entire week, messing up her sleep schedule, sleeping in late, and staying up all night. 

The stupid, unanswered text she had sent Harry didn’t exactly help her go to bed at a reasonable time either. It left a thundering cloud above her head that she couldn’t quite shake off, no matter how hard she tried. 

And spending an entire week alone in her room, in bed, definitely didn’t do her any good when she was trying to reduce her overthinking. Every day that passed with her stuck in her room - the bigger and more lonely her bed felt. 

Rather than having the walls closing in on her the room somehow became a large hollow void. She was no good at being alone for so long. Sure, her mother was home, but the hole she was digging for herself kept her in bed. The quietness surrounding her awakened a lot of thoughts that had been buried deep for some time. 

The fact that she had almost kissed Harry, and had him basically carry her to the bathroom because she had to be sick, only for him to not reply to her message later, just added to her internal crisis.  

But before her mind could catch another train of thought to take her to the overthinking village - there was one more loud knock on her door. 

Y/N blinked the sleep out of her eyes and looked over to the door, only then realizing that behind the curtain covering the big window stood a tall shadow. 

And judging by the broad shoulders and rigid posture - she knew exactly who the person on the other side was. 

“Shit,” she swore quietly to herself and slammed the lid to her laptop shut, jumping out of bed. There was a slight ache in her ankle as she landed a little too harshly on the floor. 

But she didn’t really have any time to worry about it, because a sense of panic flowed through her as she looked around the room. It was a mess in there.

Y/N swiftly gathered the clothes scattered across the floor and shoved them under her bed, along with the dirty plates of food she hadn’t been bothered to wash up. She threw a quick glance to the door to make sure he was still there, he was, and Y/N swore all the organs in her body just stopped worked. 

What the hell was he doing at her house? 

She hadn’t talked to him in over a week, and now he was right there. God, why did he have to show up when she hadn’t showered in days, only wearing her old ragged Barbie pyjamas and worn-out slippers!? 

More importantly; why couldn’t he have just responded to her text? Or at least have let her know beforehand that he was going to come over? 

There was another knock on the door and Y/N glanced at it with wide eyes. Maybe she could just ignore him and pretend she wasn’t in there. 

No. 

No, he had probably already talked to her mum who told him she was in there. 

She couldn’t ignore him. 

With a deep breath, hands flying to her hair in an attempt to flatten down the tousled mess it had turned into from laying in bed all day, Y/N staggered towards the door on light feet. 

And as she opened she was suddenly face to face with the green-eyed man who had been occupying her mind for most of the week. 

“Harry,” she breathed out the breath she had been holding. “Hi.” 

“Um, Hey,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck. “Y’alright?” 

“Yeah,” she nodded, cautiously letting her gaze fall over his features. Though he looked the same as he always did, the same stoic stance and sharp jawline - there was something different about the way his green eyes refused to meet hers. “What are you doing here?” The question slipped from her lips with ease, it didn’t really make any sense for him to show up at her place like that out of the blue.  

Unless… something was wrong. Her heart sank inside her chest as she took in the gloomy mood spread out across his face and the way he somehow looked smaller than she had ever seen him before. “Did something happen? Is everything okay?” 

Harry quickly shook his head, the muscles in his throat moving as he swallowed harshly before speaking up. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, no everything is fine,” he started, his voice strained and brows furrowed. Y/N tilted her head to the side, trying to understand whether or not he was telling the truth.

When he left her house the previous weekend she had been embarrassed and confused. 

And when he didn’t reply later, Y/N simply took that as proof he no longer wanted anything to do with her. But seeing him now, outside her home with a defeated look on his face, a small seed of concern was planted in her belly - a gut feeling something was wrong slowly growing inside her. “I just wanted to… I - can I come in?” 

“What?” She blinked, too wrapped up in what was going on to form another reply at first. His nervous pout made his question repeat itself in her head though. “Oh! Yeah, of course.” 

Y/N stepped to the side to let him enter and found herself once again trying to fix her messy hair, hoping she didn’t look like a complete disaster. 

Although to be fair, he had probably already seen her at her worst when he held her hair as she was throwing up. “Sorry, it’s a bit messy in here. I didn’t expect any visitors,” she mumbled, feeling a little self-conscious, both of her own appearance and the room. 

Harry only hummed a low response, his shoulder bumping against hers lightly as he walked past her, looking around with curious eyes. Y/N closed the door again, pulling the curtains to the side to let some natural light come in and brighten up the dull room. 

The expanding void she had found herself in for the past week suddenly crept in on her within a few seconds. The four walls of the room were so much smaller with him inside. He was standing a good six feet away from her, and yet, she was wrapped up in his presence. The tiny ache inside her chest gradually eased, the loneliness fading, as a warmth spread around her at the mere sight of him.

She ran another hand through her hair, catching a strand to twirl around her fingers nervously as Harry took in her room and personal belongings. 

“It’s cozy,” he spoke eventually, still not looking directly at her. Instead, his eyes landed on the colorful posters that hung across the walls and the mess she had created during her week at home. “Very you.” 

“Thanks…” she mumbled and felt her cheeks flush as he spotted the large teddy bear in the corner of her bed. 

After 15 years, she couldn’t bring herself to get rid of it. It held too many memories. Her dad had gotten it for her when they went to Disneyland in Paris. Hugo had won a big Buzz Lightyear action figure and she got a small consolation prize in the form of a keychain shaped like the Cheshire cat - and she didn’t even like Alice in Wonderland. 

So, 10-year-old Y/N had thrown a fit, and after calming down her dad had slipped away for a moment, only to surprise her with the bear she had been eyeing earlier. Lizzie had scolded him for giving in to her hissy fit, but years later the bear still meant the world to her. No matter how childish it was - there was no way to get rid of it. 

But she really wished she had had time to stuff it away before letting him in. That and her pyjamas really didn’t help her feel less like a loser. 

“How’s your foot?” Harry asked then, cutting off the sweet memory playing in her head. He looked down at her feet with a worried glance

“It’s good,” she told him, her belly fluttering as she noticed the corner of his lips hinting at what could be a small smile. “Almost healed up now! I’m going back to work on Monday.” 

Whatever smile that was threatening to plaster itself across his face immediately dropped. Instead, Y/N swore she saw him flinch at the mention of her going back to work. 

She frowned. 

“Good. That’s good,” he nodded, his chest expanding as he inhaled a deep slow breath. Something was definitely wrong. Almost as if he could sense her picking up on his strange mood, his eyes fell down to her feet again. “Nice slippers.” 

Y/N followed his gaze down to what used to be a pair of fuzzy, purple slippers and curled her toes, trying to hide the sad excuse of footwear from him. The fuzzy fabric, once soft and fluffy, was coated in years of dust and dirt, and several threads had come undone and stuck out loosely around her foot. Underneath, a part of the sole had started to come off as well and it wouldn’t be long until it would come off completely and leave the slipper with a large hole. 

Harry tried to give her a teasing smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes, and Y/N knew he was trying to distract her from asking any questions. 

“Yeah, well, they’re comfy,” she shrugged and gave him a small chuckle, trying her best to follow suit and make him less uncomfortable. “And my toes are always cold.” 

“Oh, I know,” Harry laughed lightly. “I’ve shared a bed with you.” And for a moment his mood seemed genuine and there was a light sparkle to his green eyes. 

Though, it was short-lived. 

Because as silence filled the space between them, a deep crinkle formed between his brows and he turned around, letting his back face her instead. He focused his attention on the small shelf on the wall, studying the pictures and various items displayed on it. The familiar tension in his shoulders was still apparent, at the same time, it was different from the usual tension that came with the grumpy man. 

It seemed painful almost. 

Y/N’s fingers itched to reach out and comfort the strained muscles in his back but found herself at a loss. Because despite having shared a bed with him twice, and being sick in front of him, it was still unclear whether or not they were actually friends. 

The unanswered text in her phone threw her off. 

Harry wasn’t the most talkative person - that was obvious from the first time she met him. But ever since exchanging numbers, he hadn’t ignored a single text message from her. It didn’t make sense why, after going through the trouble of helping her with her foot and taking her home, he would suddenly go quiet. 

And Y/N really didn’t want to push him by asking a bunch of personal questions again. He had opened up a little bit, and he did so on his own. She couldn’t risk him shutting the small window he had opened for her. 

It was just… she saw him as her friend. 

Even if he didn’t think they were. 

And if any of her other friends had shown up out of the blue, with the same painful tension controlling their bodies, she would’ve asked what was wrong and tried to help. 

“Harry,” she spoke softly and waited for a reaction - for him to turn around and face her again. He didn’t. “Are you sure everything is all right?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he replied instantly, his voice laced with a deep defensive tone, as he kept his eyes on the shelf in front of him. 

“Hm, okay…” Y/N hummed and gnawed on her lower lip, trying to figure out how to continue. “So, is there a reason for your little visit then?” It struck her then that, even if he had had tea with her mum the other day, it was the first time he was at her place. In her room. Which only reinforced her suspicions that something was wrong. He wouldn’t just show up without a reason. 

“I- not really.” 

“Oh.” 

“I was just out for a run nearby and thought I’d stop by since I was in the neighbourhood…” he trailed off and threw a glance at her over his shoulder, meeting her concerned gaze for only a moment, before turning back to whatever had captured his attention on the shelf. She watched as he reached over to pick something up, though she could not see what. ”To see how you were.” 

“Right,” Y/N nodded, a little taken aback by his strange behaviour. “Well, I’m good. Much better than the last time you saw me,” she let out a forced laugh, hoping it would lighten his mood. 

It did nothing and she sighed. 

Harry kept his focus on the item he had picked up, keeping himself busy by turning it over in his hands. 

It forced her to take a step forward, moving closer to him, and she noticed the small angel made from clay between his fingers. “Hugo made me that,” she told him then, smiling sadly. “I broke my elbow during his first semester at uni and he made me that for Christmas. Told me I needed a guardian angel to keep me safe.” 

“That’s very sweet,” Harry spoke lowly. 

“It is,” Y/N agreed, and found herself smiling at the bittersweet memory that flashed before her. “You know, I meant it when I said that I’m here for you. I know I was drunk, but you really can talk to me if something is bothering you, Harry,” she told him, raising her hand slowly to put on his shoulder, before stopping herself halfway and letting it fall to her side again. “I mean… I mean, we’re friends… right?” 

Despite having his back turned to her, Y/N could sense her own nerves spiralling out of control. It was such a simple question, childish even, but she knew that if he told her that they weren’t - she’d be hurt. After spending so many weeks talking to him, scheming, hanging out, and eventually opening up a little… Y/N couldn’t imagine them not being friends. 

Their whole relationship had started out with her offering to pay him to take her out (she still needed to do that part) and that first night she had had no intention of actually befriending the bartender who turned her down. 

Sure, it hadn’t taken her that long to realise that she perhaps wanted them to be friends. 

But now she was certain she needed them to be friends. 

A whole week had passed and they hadn’t talked, and it had already hurt her in more ways than she ever could’ve expected. 

Harry had gone from being her fake date to someone she considered to be a real friend. 

Or at least, he could be, if he let her.   

“I just…” Harry sighed, putting the small angel back on the shelf. “I heard from home and… I-I don’t know.” 

“Your mum?” Y/N held her breath as the question slipped past her lips. 

“Nah,” he shook his head and then turned around to face her. “Patrick.” 

“Oh,” she faltered, her heart sinking inside her chest as she took in the man standing before her.  The coat of sadness falling over him, his eyes glossy and hands clasped in front of himself, made her own eyes tear up. “What’d he say?” 

In a soft motion, she moved over to sit down on one of the chairs at the small table, gesturing towards the other chair, inviting him to sit down and keep the conversation going. 

“He wants me to come home,” he admitted after a moment of silence, eventually accepting her offer to sit down. His knee bumped into hers underneath the table, and the warmth inside her flared up once again. 

The only reason her body wasn’t fully engulfed by flames was the possibility of Harry returning to London. The thought alone left her mouth dry and she struggled to swallow the lump that immediately formed in her throat, though she tried her best to not let it show. 

“Well, that’s nice,” She said instead. “Isn’t it?” 

“Not really,” he muttered. 

“They probably just miss you,” she tried weakly, knowing she had already suggested that to him before and been turned down. 

“I doubt it,” he swallowed harshly, shaking his head, a curl falling down across his forehead and into his eyes. “I can’t go home.” 

“Why not?” 

“I don’t have a good relationship with them. It’s- It’s not like your family. You and your mum.” 

“Do you wanna talk about it?” She asked warily. 

“I don’t even know what to say,” Harry grumbled and let his head fall into his hands. Y/N stayed quiet, hoping the silence would let him gather his thoughts enough to continue talking to her. 

It was strange to see him so unassertive. It was so far from the Harry she had gotten to know, and maybe that was what made her feel extra protective over him at that moment. “They expect me to be someone I’m not… and I just can’t do it anymore. I’m so tired.” 

“Have you told them that?” 

“I can’t do that.” 

“Why not? I’m sure they’ll understand if you just explain how you’re feeling.” 

Harry laughed dryly, his head still in his hands, making sure to keep his face away from her eyes. 

“It’s not that easy.” 

“It kind of is,” Y/N frowned. 

“It kind of isn’t,” he repeated, rubbing his eyes with the palm of his hands. “You wouldn’t understand.” 

“Try me,” she offered softly and, at last, she let her fingers dance across the table until she reached him. Harry flinched at her surprising touch and looked up at her with red eyes as she placed a comforting hand on his arm. 

Neither of them spoke or moved for a while after that. The frown on his face disclosing the internal conflict going on inside him about whether he should tell her what had truly driven him to her home or not. 

Y/N desperately wanted him to know that he was more than just a part of her stupid scheme. That he really could talk to her - she was there for him. 

When she woke up that morning she had made a list of the pros and cons of what could happen if she went over to White Deer on Monday during her lunch. 

Pros - she would see Harry again and hopefully come to the conclusion that she had been overthinking the unanswered text. Sometimes people didn’t reply and it didn’t have to mean anything. 

Cons - she would see Harry again and come to the conclusion that he was in fact avoiding her and wanted nothing more to do with her after she was sick all over his bathroom. 

The cons had outweighed the pros.

But she never could’ve imagined he’d show up at her home, and certainly not like this. 

If only she could put him in her pocket and keep him there forever, protect him from whatever demons he was running from. 

“Patrick comes from quite a wealthy family,” Harry spoke again, taking a deep breath before continuing. “It’s such a different world. It’s all so… superficial… ever since my mother got married to him I’ve trying to get accepted into the family and… I’m never gonna be. No matter what I do - it’s never enough. I’m not enough. It’s- I’m never going to be a real part of that family.” 

Unaware of her actions, Y/N’s hand tightened on his arm, subconsciously squeezing every ounce of comfort she could muster out of her fingertips and into him. “If I told them I- they would just tell me to suck it up and move on.” 

“Have you tried?” 

“Mhm, didn’t change anything. When Leo and Millie were born I thought things would be different, that I wouldn’t be alone with all that pressure to be perfect, but they’ve had everything handed to them from the day they were born. I’ve been trying so hard to fit in with them. I turned into someone I didn’t- I don't want to be.”

“So… you left?” She asked carefully, the image of Tamara and her ring popped up again. Her whole body ached for him because it all just made so much sense. Just like that Harry made sense to her. Everything from his stern persona to the expensive car. 

The man, who she thought was just a naturally grumpy guy, had fought all his life to find his place in the world. To find acceptance. His family wouldn’t give it to him. The person he loved couldn’t give it to him. 

He was on his own. 

His guard was not up to keep anyone out, it was simply doing what a guard should do - keep him safe.

And now he had opened up another little crack in his shell, giving her another piece himself.

“Yeah,” he confirmed and leaned back in the chair, causing her hand to fall from his arm. Y/N started to reach for him again, but just like she had earlier, she stopped herself before she could touch him. 

He looked so tired; the dark circles underneath his eyes were a stark contrast against his otherwise washed-out skin. Perhaps if she hadn’t been so self-absorbed about getting with Reece, and forcing Harry to help her, Y/N would’ve seen the stress simmering within him. 

So far, Harry had done a whole lot more for her than she had for him. 

And she decided she needed to change that. 

“You know,” she began and eyed the long curls falling over his face. “You still haven’t used the free haircut I offered you. I could give you a trim now if you’re up for it?” 

“You really don’t have to,” he said. “I never expected anything from you.” 

“Well, I promised you a haircut,” she objected. “And I would feel really bad if you didn’t let me keep my word.” 

“Y/N, you-“ 

“C’mon, it’ll be fun for me!” And a good distraction for you hopefully, she thought. “I haven’t been to work all week. I’m feeling restless and your hair keeps falling into your eyes and it’s annoying me.” 

“Is your foot gonna be okay?” 

“My foot is fine! C’mon, please, I have everything I need here at home. You won’t even have to come into the salon and listen to Arlo and Margot’s bickering!” 

“That’s a pretty good deal,” he mused and Y/N’s heart skipped a beat as she saw his lips turning into a soft smile. 

“I know,” she bit her lip to stop her own grin from getting too big. “I promise you’ll thank me later! I’ve been dying to get my hands on your hair forever now, you have to let me give you a haircut. If not for yourself - you have to do it for me.” 

“You’ve been dying to get your hands on my hair?” Harry teased and her eyes widened. 

“Shut up.” 

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It wasn’t until Harry sat in front of her, with the black cape covered in bleach fastened around his neck, that Y/N realised that she could hear her own heartbeat. The scissors were heavy in her hand. The silence within the four walls around them made her far too aware of every single movement her body made, especially with Harry taking up what felt like the entire room. 

His presence, sitting on the small stool waiting for her to make the first cut, sent an explosion of nerves from the pit of her stomach to the tip of her fingers. It had been over a decade since the first time she cut someone else’s hair, and even back then; she hadn’t been as nervous as she was standing behind Harry - the back of his strong shoulders lightly brushing against her midsection. 

“All right,” she said, more so to herself than him, and placed the scissors down on the tray next to them, not trusting herself and her sweaty palms just yet. “It’s no salon but I’ll try to give you the best non-salon-salon experience you’ve ever had.” 

She wiped her hands on the apron she was wearing, quietly sending a distress signal to Little Y/N inside her head - begging her to reprogram her brain from the inside. 

Harry was a normal client. A normal client, whose existence was creating a wall of butterflies within her, but still just a normal client. She knew how to cut hair. Harry’s hair was no different. It was just hair. There was no need to be nervous. “Do you have any specific preferences?” 

“Not really,” he shrugged and turned his head around to glance back at her. “Not too short, I guess. You can do whatever though,” he paused for a second before continuing. “I trust you.” 

Little Y/N was swarmed by the butterflies then, preventing her from doing any kind of reprogramming on the brain. The butterflies decided to shock her, causing an eruption of goosebumps to spread over her body. 

“Okay, sure,” Y/N tried to smile and wiped her hands on the apron again. “I can definitely do that. I’ll just - I’ll cut your hair.” 

“That’s kind of the point of getting a haircut, yeah?” He said and pressed his lips together to stop a smug smirk. 

Y/N gave him a sarcastic smile in return, and snatched the spray bottle filled with water from the same tray the scissors were on, spraying him once right in the face. “Heey!”

A giggle escaped from her when she saw him pouting back at her, and that was enough to ease the irrational nerves in her belly. 

After instructing him to turn back around and sit up straight, she picked the bottle back up to get his brown locks saturated. A part of her regretted the offer to cut his hair at home since she could not give him the full treatment she would’ve been able to give him back at BLOOM. There was no way for her to wash his hair comfortably without a proper wash station, the spray bottle would have to do. But she would’ve loved to ladder up his hair with a good shampoo, a shampoo that wouldn’t completely dry out his strands, and run her fingers through it; giving his scalp a well-deserved massage to help him relax. 

Though, not having a wash station didn’t actually stop her from doing so, she realized. 

With a slight tremble in her hands, she put the bottle down and buried her fingers into his thick curls, running them gingerly over his scalp, creating small circles as she reached the back of his neck. 

Harry let out a content sigh. 

Using her fingers to comb out any tangles in his hair, Y/N gradually moved her fingers across his scalp again, continuing the pattern of small circles. When she reached his temples she added a little pressure to her motions, gently pressing her thumbs into the skin by his hairline. “Mm, that feels nice,” Harry murmured, and a tingle tickled the insides of her tummy as she caught the low moan that followed. 

When it was time to pick up the scissors again Y/N held the sharp item in her hand with a lot more confidence than before.

The first cut came easy, starting at the base of his neck, and the split ends fell to the floor one by one. It wasn’t until she came to the top of his head that a little doubt started to seep through again, uncertain of how short to make his messy waves. While she had been honest when she told him it annoyed her to see his hair always falling into his eyes, the swirls of hair still looked very pretty falling down his forehead and she didn’t want to cut it too short. 

“Is two inches too much?” She hesitated. 

“Take off whatever you need to,” was all he replied. 

Y/N twirled a curl between her fingers, and even when she realized two inches would probably not be enough to remove all the damage, she found herself continuing to play with his damp hair. 

It was addicting. 

Especially as Harry let another low moan slip from his lips.  

As she continued to turn the locks around in her hand Y/N decided two inches would have to do, and she would simply force him to let her put a hair mask in his hair before he left. 

Said and done, she picked the scissors back up and started cutting off the rest of his damaged hair, leaving the top a little longer than the rest. 

He tried to argue with her that she didn’t need to put any kind of treatment on him. But she ran off, retrieving the small tube from her bathroom, before he could figure out how to get up without stepping in all of the hair around him.

“Don’t be a baby,” she joked. “You just have to keep it in for like 15 minutes and you can use my shower to rinse it out. Your hair will thank you! I promise.” 

“It’s really not necessary.” 

“I’m the professional here,” she argued. “Besides, you kind of smell from your run. A shower would do you good.” He didn’t actually, but she really wanted to moisturize the dry locks. “I still have the clothes you let me borrow, you can put them on when you’re done, and really feel your new look!” 

After putting the mask in his hair, as they waited for the timer to go off, Y/N started sweeping the floors to clean up all the hair. 

Harry sat quietly, just watching her, and she cursed herself for not changing out of her old pyjamas. The once neon-coloured shorts had turned into a dull murky pink, and the bows printed across them no longer looked like bows, having faded so much it left the shorts looking dirty instead. They were also far too short for her to wear around someone else. Her cheeks turned hot as she worried he could see her ill-fitting panties through the thin fabric. 

Although she thought, the childish t-shirt with a large photo of Barbie across the chest was probably worse. 

God, she really should’ve changed. 

But, just like the worn-out slippers, it was far too comfortable. The fabric was so soft it felt like air on her skin. A perfect set of clothes to wear when you were just planning to spend the whole day in bed. 

And rather than explaining her unreasonable compulsion to keep everything that reminded her of her childhood, she told him to follow her into the bathroom. 

Once in there, she pulled out her favourite shampoo and conditioner, ordering him to use both, before roaming through her drawers to find the right gel to help his curls transform. 

Then her phone rang, letting them know the 15 minutes were up, and after pulling out a towel for him, Y/N left him alone to do his thing. 

She fell on her bed with a heavy groan, using one of the pillows to silence the loud noise leaving her. Too many thoughts swimming around in her head to get a clear picture of what had just happened. 

If anyone had told her that morning that Harry would show up at her house, let her cut his hair and then take a shower in her bathroom - Y/N would’ve laughed them right in the face. 

Because what an absurd suggestion. Especially after not having talked to him for a week. Harry was not the type of person to casually show up anywhere, nevertheless, show up to see her. 

Although, he did bring her a brownie at work that one time... 

No! she immediately shut her brain down. Don’t start overthinking now. 

Harry had never even acknowledged the potential friendship between them.  Never confirming, nor denying, their deal had maybe developed into something else. 

For all she knew, he was counting down the days until she wouldn’t show up at White Deer to pester him into another brilliant scheme. 

But then, as soon as she heard the shower running from inside the bathroom, images of Harry getting undressed, water dripping down his tired body, breached her already shattered mind. 

The protective instinct to make him feel better had pushed away the unwanted feelings the unanswered text had left her with. She didn’t like not knowing how he was doing or how his day had been. Even if she was the one to usually text him first- he always replied. Always. 

Until last week, and maybe she wasn’t really ready to admit it yet, but she had genuinely missed him. 

The tingle in her stomach, as she had finally been in the same room as him again, caused a flood of mixed emotions to tear down every wall she had ever put up. 

And she didn’t know which one to hold onto to save herself from completely drowning. 

“Um, Y/N?” Harry’s voice interrupted. She lifted her head, the pillow falling down next to her, to see him peeking out from behind the bathroom door. “I have no idea what you want me to do with this gel.” 

“I told you. You have to like scrunch it into your hair - like this,” she scolded him as she sat up, using her right hand to demonstrate the technique she had explained to him earlier.

“How much?” 

“Hang on.” 

Without really thinking twice about it she was back on her feet and made her way back into the bathroom, pushing the door open and basically forcing him to let her in. 

It wasn’t until they were face to face again that she understood that she should’ve stayed put on the bed.

Because as she looked up at him, and she really did try her best to look up, it became painfully hard to ignore the fact that he stood before her with nothing but a towel wrapped around his hips. 

A couple drops of water fell from his freshly washed hair. Y/N struggled to not let her gaze follow them as they rolled down his chest, following the outlines of his muscles down the patch of hair below his belly button, until said drops were absorbed by the towel hanging loosely around him. “Ehm, you don’t- um, I didn’t- I- Here, I’ll do it for you.” 

She didn’t bother waiting for his reply and snatched the tube of gel out of his hands, needing something to distract herself from his naked body. 

It wasn’t until she had squirted a blob of the gel into her hand and rubbed them together that the flaw in her plan became apparent. To get the gel into his hair she had to get closer, and there was just no way to ignore the toned man in front of her when he was so close. 

The heat from his body captivated her like a moth to a flame, and it left her lightheaded as she let her fingers sink into the wet locks of his hair. Not a single coherent thought went through her head as she tried to hug his strands of hair into their natural wave pattern. She simply had no idea what she was doing, and it wasn’t until she felt his firm hand on her hip that Y/N caught onto the fact that she had lost her footing, stumbling slightly to the side. 

“Y’okay?” His deep voice shook the floor beneath her feet. 

“Mhm,” she hummed quickly, giving him a shaky smile. “Super.” 

“You sure?” Harry pressed, his hand still burning through the thin fabric of her stupid pyjama shorts. “Is your foot hurting?” 

“I’m fine!” Y/N snapped and pulled her hands close to her chest, imagining they would somehow help suppress the sound of her racing heart. “Sorry, um- I’m fine. I-I think that’s good now.” She had to get out of there.“I’ve got a hairdryer in the bottom of that cabinet.” 

Originally, she had planned to dry his hair herself, but her lungs needed air and the stuffy air inside the bathroom had sucked every ounce of oxygen out of her.  “Use it on low heat and, please, do not put it directly on your hair.” 

The sound of the whirring dryer felt miles away as she sat in her bed, just waiting for him to be done. No matter how hard she tried - she couldn’t get the image of wet shirtless Harry out of her mind. It was burned into her memory now, leaving her body to experience all kinds of emotions at once.  

In a desperate attempt to gather herself before Harry came back out, Y/N pulled her computer back onto her lap. She really, really could not allow herself to even begin trying to figure out what any of the conflicting emotions meant, not when he was right there on the other side of the wall. 

When Harry eventually emerged her racing heart had thankfully gone down to its normal rate. He ran a hand through his new hair, giving it a slight shake. 

It was the first real look she got of her work since her head had been elsewhere as soon as he sat down before her. It looked good. The matted waves already had a new life to them, a new shine. While the sides were much shorter, a thick strand fell down from the top of his head in a gorgeous soft-looking curl. 

Y/N couldn’t hold back a smile as she witnessed the new look. It brought a glow to all of him that hadn’t been there before. The shorter style showed off his prominent jawline even more and the familiar itch to run her fingers through it made another appearance.  

Harry stopped before he could reach her, fidgeting with the strings of his hoodie timidly. 

“Do you like it?” She asked, chewing on the bottom of her lip, afraid he wouldn’t share her excitement. 

“I do, yeah,” he nodded but didn’t make any indications of moving from the spot he stood frozen. 

“I’m glad,” Y/N breathed out a small sigh of relief. “You look really nice.” 

“Thank you.” 

There was a glimmer behind the green as their eyes locked, leaving her heart to start another game of racing in her chest. Harry ran another hand through his hair, hopefully enjoying the unfamiliar softness of his strands, and Y/N couldn’t help but notice how his cheeks flushed in a deep colour of pink. 

“You can take the gel home with you, and the other stuff too,” she offered softly. “I’ll just get some new ones from work on Monday.” 

He thanked her again and the boyish grin he gave her was perhaps the cutest thing she had ever seen, the corner of his eyes crinkled as his lips parted, showcasing a row of sparkling white teeth. In that short moment, he radiated a brightness, a genuine happiness, she didn’t know he had in him. 

The deep dimple on the side of his cheek was just the icing on the cake. It was enough to completely erase the empty void that had occupied the room for the last couple of days. 

She might’ve screwed herself over by giving him a haircut. 

“Can I join you?” Harry surprised her with his question and nodded to where she was still sitting on the bed.

“O-Of course.” 

It was a different experience having him slide down next to her in her own bed, compared to sharing the cramped twin-sized bed at his place. There was plenty of space for them to share, the mattress didn’t creak under their weight, and a sense of security embraced her as his shoulder pressed against hers. 

And despite the fact that he smelled exactly like how she would after a shower - it was the best thing she had ever experienced. 

“Thank you for this,” he told her then. “Truly.” 

“Don’t worry about it,” she waved off his appreciation. “I owe you for helping me with Reece and everything.” 

The mention of the blonde man’s name caused his body to stiffen next to hers and regret immediately soared through her as the mood between them shifted. “I’m just glad you like it,” she added, hoping to save the situation. “I’m also very happy you stopped by. I definitely needed the company. I was worried you had had enough of me after the last time we hung out… I know I annoy you.”  

“Never,” Harry assured her firmly. “It’s just… It’s been a lot. A lot to figure out.” 

Y/N hesitated before speaking again. 

“Are you gonna go back to London?” 

“I don’t know,” he said with a long sigh. 

“Do you want to?” 

“Not really.” 

“Well,” she began and turned her head so she could look him in the eyes again,  feeling the most confident that she had ever been as she prepared her next words. “Screw Patrick and whatever it is he wants you to do then.”

“I’m not so sure it’s that simple.” Harry tilted his head backward, staring up at the ceiling as he let her words sink in. 

“You’re allowed to live your life the way you want to, Harry,” she told him, surprising herself by reaching out and stroking the now shorter lock of hair away, letting her finger linger on his cheek for a moment. “They don’t get to decide what makes you happy. You do.” 

Harry turned to glance at her again, letting himself get a little lost in her touch as she felt him lean into her hand. It was a subtle move on his part, but Y/N didn’t miss it. How could she? When her whole body was filled with wild tremors from his enchanting gaze. 

“Just for the record,” Harry started, his voice no louder than a whisper, and caught her hand in his.  “We are friends, Ducky.” 

And all of a sudden, the stubble across his chin scratched against her face the same way it had the last time she found herself in bed with him. She had no idea how his face had gotten so close to hers. All of her sense had been preoccupied by the way his thumb gently caressed the skin by her knuckles. 

They might not have been drunk, but having him so close again left her head spinning more than tequila ever had. When his warm breath fawned out over her already parted lips, Y/N let her eyes fall shut - determined to not let him slip away from her a second time.

And then he was kissing her, softly at first, only giving her a small taste of himself, his lips grazing hers no more than a light summer breeze would. It didn’t stop the warmth that had been brewing in her belly from boiling over though. 

Her hand fell to the back of his neck and she pushed herself closer, afraid she’d lose the touch of his soft lips if she didn’t. 

It was all it took for him to circle his arm around her, gathering her against his hard chest. He groaned softly, low in his throat, as she clung to him. 

Whatever had held him back as he first took the plunge and let their lips meet in a gentle kiss was gone. His mouth explored hers like he had been starving for the past three months. 

And she kissed him back with the same eagerness, his hair curled around her fingers, now silky and smooth, drawing herself as close as she could. 

The taste of him on her tongue was intoxicating, a delicate whine leaving her when his touch found her skin under her stupid shirt. His fingers digging into her sides, keeping her as close as possible. 

She had been right to think a kiss between them would change everything.

She couldn’t get enough of him, and she knew, knew that she was lost. 

Forever lost in that kiss.

That was until she felt him pull away, heavy breaths mixing between them as he leaned his forehead against hers.

“I’m sorry,” he panted. “I shouldn’t have done that.” 

“It’s okay,” she said breathlessly, still keeping her eyes closed in an attempt to wrap her mind around what had just happened. 

“It’s not,” he grumbled, sliding his hands down from under her shirt, leaving the places he had touched feeling cold. Y/N fell back, and Harry took the opportunity to carefully shove her off him. “I have to go.” 

“What?” She blinked her eyes open and watched him scurry around the room to find his shoes and the clothes he had arrived in. “No, it’s- Harry you don’t have to go.” 

If she hadn’t been so stunned by the turn of events the kiss had taken - Y/N would’ve jumped up and blocked him from leaving. Unfortunately, her body was unable to move from where she was still sitting on the bed. 

Harry ran a hand through his hair, averting his eyes to anywhere but her, his cheeks rosy and chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. 

“Thank you for the haircut eh- we’ll - I’ll see you around.” 

As soon as the door closed behind him, Y/N felt herself getting swallowed by the hollow void once again. 

.

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A/N:  I’M BACK!! and it was a long one!! As always I’m sorry it’s taken a while, but a lot has been going on in my life. My mum was sick for a bit and some other personal stuff. 

BUT!!! What a ride huh? A lot happened here and I’m dying to know what you all think! I think it’s safe to say Harry is a little scared and our little Ducky is definitely confused to say the least, and there is still much more to come!! I’ll be honest I’m a little scared too, to hear what you all thought of this part. I know there was a lot going on but it needed to happen and it didn’t make sense to split it up anymore than it already is. PLEASE drop a little comment with your thoughts, share and like (if you liked it hehe) 

Until next time, be safe and do things that make you happy<3

💏 TAGLIST: TAGLIST: @annesauriol  @boomitsallie1 @caramello-styles @tenaciousperfectionunknown @perfectywrong @behindmygreyeyes @carolina-kiwi  @jessitpwk @sunshinemoonsposts @inlikea-coolway @matildasatellite @duhstyles​ 

let me know if you want to be added<3 

[gendervapor14]

treating myself to some old OP episodes to alleviate the horrors and i can’t resist the urge to ramble about bell-mère’s death a little bit.

so, i will start here, with this iconic moment:

manga readers may notice something right off the bat. “hey, arlong’s not aiming for her head!” yes, in the anime, seems they switched his aim for the heart. i actually prefer this. first of all, that flintlock is huge compared to her, so head or heart, it’s gonna kill her. not a fatality issue. i’m just a huge sap, and i think there’s something more symbolic about him shooting her in the heart for defending her love - her kids. (even tho all of this could have been avoided if she just lied, and then she’d actually be able to keep loving and supporting her kids, but, uh, i digress)

this moment really captured me when i was first watching, because for the first time, one piece truly felt dark. this wasn’t just an upsetting backstory. it had some element of gore here, which i’m not sure would be as effective if he went through with a headshot. they might have censored it a bit more.

more (slightly gruesome) photos and analysis beneath the cut 👀

look at what they got away with here!! this was early one piece mind you, so i feel like things were generally a little cushier? (or maybe that’s just my nostalgia talking XD) but the harsh black and white contrast, the utter silence during this scene, the speed in which this happened! (it was a pain to pause and scrub and get good screenshots, let me add). i will say i’m not up to date with current OP shenanigans, but to me, this seems like one of the most abrupt and brutal deaths in the series. (and this doesn’t even put into account the horrid beating she got beforehand)

there are some nice parallels here between her death and rosinante’s, (most notably her last words being “i love you” to nami and nojiko, and a flintlock as the weapon of choice), but even then, i think this is a bit nastier. seven little bullets in a 10ft tall man is painful, yes, but it wasn’t gruesome, and he managed to cling onto life for a little while afterwards. this was just. bang. done. heart – gone. leaves the viewer totally reeling.

in a way i feel like it’s almost an honor for bell-mère to get such a violent death? okay hear me out i know that sounds crazy. she sacrificed herself for her kids and went out kicking and screaming (or standing solemnly, towards the end). she brought forth such a refreshing take on women in one piece. i mean, let’s not forget this scene:

she was gonna blow his brains out!! zero hesitation!! how many characters in this series, let alone women, would go through something like this? i get that different characters have different honor codes and such, but it was sooo incredibly invigorating to see a woman get her hands dirty like this.

so by that logic, it’s kind of weirdly nice to see her not be treated like a little doll? this is highly speculative though, because i’ve noticed there’s this rather annoying trend where women are used as a moral compass for villains. “oh, look how deplorable arlong is, he did that to a young pretty woman!” we see the same thing with doflamingo, for instance, in his “fight” with viola. “oh how heinous, he threw her to the ground! how disrespectful! she’s just an innocent princess!” yeah, ugh. getting off tangent here

this whole scene set a standard for me, (and hopefully other viewers), who kind of saw the series as a fun lighthearted pirate adventure. yes, there was tragedy and sadness before this arc, before this backstory, but something about this moment in particular made my perception tremble. the bar was raised! a compelling character and backstory can have a truly harrowing ending!! a delightful revelation for me, for whatever reason XD

feel free to chime in if ya got any additional comments or takes on the matter. i don’t think bell-mère gets enough love. if you do wanna chime in, just um. be nice. i’m not the sharpest knife in the drawer, okay. and multiple interpretations of these scenes are valid! i’d love to hear ‘em! <3

[renaultphile]

Hi, Dear. I just have finished TC. Though so much underlying I cannot quite understand well for English is not my first language, I love this story！！！

But likely owing cultural differences, I don't get why Ralph so cares about Laurie's “sorry, dearie, some other time” from delirium, which I consider as only kind of banter. What's wrong with these words？Are they rude or implying someting？ Hope to get this answered🥰🥰🥰

Thank you so much for this ask @yitwosirui .  I think it is such a clever way of telling us so much about the characters.

I believe the short answer would be that this is definitely on the level of mild banter, not particularly offensive or rude.  But it is a rejection and a gentle put down.  So, in the context of Laurie being just a Corporal, and Ralph a Lieutenant and Captain of the ship it would be considered inappropriate because of their rank and also because of the context and the implications.  In general Laurie’s response would suggest that he thinks/or is pretending that Ralph is making sexual advances, so on that level and in those times it would be considered offensive given he is a man!  Well that’s my reading anyway!

So I think the various possibilities that really puzzle Ralph would be:

Laurie is delirious and confused and thinks Ralph is making sexual advances but doesn’t recognise him.  But he seems to be gay and sexually experienced.  Good news on one level, but then he is rejecting Ralph and doing it in an embarrassing way. 

Or, all of the above but he doesn’t recognise Ralph.

Or, he recognises Ralph, understands the situation and is making an affectionate little in-joke that only Ralph will understand.

Or Laurie knows perfectly well that Ralph is trying to help him but chooses to make a bitchy and embarrassing comment, whether or not he recognises him.

Or, Laurie it not actually gay but he knows that Ralph is and is suggesting that Ralph is gay and predatory.

Reg covers everything up by making it into a joke that Laurie thought Ralph was a woman and I’m sure Ralph joked about it to his ship-mates in the same way.

So on one level, there is no real harm to Ralph – he can cover it up by saying Laurie was delirious, thought he was a prostitute, or whatever, and it is obvious to all he was not trying to sexually assault him!!  In a way the only thing that would give him away would be his own reaction.

So why does he go on about it so much?

I think he must be so desperate to find out that he forgets how intensely embarrassing the whole thing must have been for Laurie (more embarrassing than for him!)     He brings it up within minutes of meeting again.  But embarrassment is the easiest emotion he can appeal to, otherwise he would have to admit that he had feelings or that he was hurt, or wondering about Laurie’s sexuality.  So in a way he is trying to find out information while not revealing too much himself.

The other thing is that when he talks about writing to Laurie he says he ‘couldn’t be sure’ and that he wanted to ‘settle it’ – the first things that seem to motivate him are that he wasn’t sure what Laurie meant, rather than any more general feeling of ‘Wow I just saw Laurie again I must reach out!’  That feels very like Ralph, always needing to know exactly where he stands.

I don’t know if that answers the question, or makes sense!

I’m struck by how much they talk about this, but never breathe a word about what happened in the study.   Pretty intriguing!!!!

I have a couple of personal theories relating to this too:

I recently thought about the way Ralph dismisses Laurie from the study, which is very abrupt, whether he intends it or not.  And I thought in a way ‘Sorry Dearie’ is the ultimate revenge seven years later!

I see the obsession with that incident as foreshadowing how Ralph will be at the end, because I think he will be obsessed with knowing whether Laurie read his letter or not…….

Thank you so much again – I have sent you a little ask of my own!

[noctisvixen]

The Earth

//Secret Life Spoilers\\

Warnings: Minor character death

Summary:

The Watchers always favored Scar; it was why they made him a Witness to begin with. To toy with him in a way that they couldn’t with the other players. To pick and choose between his locked away memories and give them to him in pieces in each new life. He wasn’t a winner or a Watcher, so he only received fragments that he would have to piece together. Then he would forget, and the cycle repeats itself with each new game.

But now he’s won Secret Life.

“Pearl, I’m coming for you!” Scar yelled as he ran to the edge of the small ravine. He hadn’t heard the fading thunder or saw the flash of lightning; his crimson gaze was too focused on killing his final target.  “I’m coming for you!” He yelled again when she didn’t respond. He swapped out his bow for his diamond sword, the once brilliant blue now stained red.

He leapt down into the ravine, swinging his head around as he searched for the brunette. “Where'd you go?!” He called, the grip on his sword tightening. Had she ran? After everything that had happened?! No, even with the faded memories of former lives, Scar knew Pearl. She wouldn’t have run. She was here and he was going to kill her, finally cure the itch in his hands by covering them in the final survivor’s blood. “Where'd you go?!” He called again, this time frustration dripping into his tone.

He wanted to end this now. He wanted his sword tearing into her. He wanted to see one more body bleeding out from his hand, to finally be the villain They wanted him to-

“She’s dead,” A voice- an all so familiar voice- echoed behind him. He spun around, sword at the ready as bloodied sand and awful screams before abrupt silence flooded his senses. He was ready to strike, to fulfill that want for more death. But the want left him, as if an ocean’s tide swept over him and left him on the shore, alive.

Grian smiled softly at him, as if sensing the tension leaving the other man. The avian looked different as a ghost, his wings white as a canvas and waiting to be painted to something new again. His brown eyes were a deep shaded purple, somehow lacking and still holding warmth at the same time. He wasn’t just a ghost, Scar remembered. He was one of Them. But good. Loving and kind, in his own ways.

“Scar...” He breathed, a gentle look of joy and pride dancing in his eyes. “You won.”

Scar stared at him, dumbfounded. It took him a moment to even register the words that left Grian’s mouth. “Oh.” He breathed before looking around. This wasn’t what he was expecting. Wasn’t there supposed to be some kind of feeling of victory? Of grief?

Why did Scar feel nothing?

“Really?” He asked, looking back at the Watcher in front of him. Grian said nothing, but his smile faded, especially when the sword in Scar’s hand fell from his grasp. He brought his hand to his forehead, his fingers brushing against his hair. “Oh my God.” He said. Then he cracked a smile, the only thing seeming appropriate even with the empty feeling in his chest. “How did that happen?” He moved his hand from his head to motion it to Grian. He tried to ignore how it was trembling. How Grian’s gaze flicked to it and then back to him, frowning and eyes showing concern. He tried to ignore it.

“How’d the guy with no friends win?” He asked, his smile broadening and a little snicker leaving his lips. “How did-” His laughter interrupted him. “H-how did the guy w-with no fri-friends win?” He laughed more, letting it echo off the walls. It really was ridiculous- How did he win with the odds so stacked against him? The whole server hated him, for his tasks and who he was. They wanted him dead because of it.

His eyes burned. His laughter stuttered, changing into something broken and rough. His breathing hitched, turning uneven and jagged. Something like a sob broke out from his mouth and his cheeks grew damp, tears flowing along them and falling to the ground. He gripped at himself in a makeshift hug, as if he could pull this horrible feeling out of him and feel victory or guilt. Anything but this.

But, void, he wasn’t feeling emptiness. He was feeling hate. His friends’ hate towards him. His hate towards himself and his actions. He had won, but at what cost? He killed Pearl, the only teammate he was truly able to get out of this mess. She had given the one thing he had wanted the whole game, and he killed her! She’ll never want to see him again, not after a betrayal like this.

His sobs wracked his body, his knees almost ready to give out until a set of arms wrapped around him and a small body pressed against his. Instinctively, his arms shifted and latched onto the person, just as he felt wings wrap around him and shield him from the world.

“It's okay.” Grian whispered by his ear, letting Scar hunch into him and sob. The wings around him pulled tighter while the avian’s arms held him as if he was fragile and precious. “We don’t hate you. We don’t blame you.” His voice remained soft, but firm.

“Y-you should.” Scar argued weakly. He didn’t deserve to be forgiven.

“We don’t.” Grian repeated, firmer this time. “These games make us do things that are hard to forgive, Scar. But that doesn’t mean they can’t be forgiven.” As he spoke, he pulled away and met Scar’s gaze. His eyes revealed understanding at a level that Scar couldn’t comprehend. But deep down he knew that he would soon.

“I’m tired.” Scar settles on saying instead of what he should be asking. It isn’t a lie though. He was tired. He’s been tired for a long time during this game. This is just the first time since this game started that he felt safe enough to let the exhaustion flood his body. The crying probably didn’t help either, even if it left him feeling a bit lighter than before.

Grian gave him an understanding smile. “That's okay.” The avian said, bringing a hand to Scar’s cheek. The newest winner leaned into his hand, closing his eyes and just enjoying the warmth that Grian’s skin produced. He hadn’t even noticed it before and when he opened his eyes to ask, Grian was no longer a ghost or Watcher. He was standing in front of him, his wings the wonderful design of Scarlet Macaws, the only kind of wings he ever saw on him in Hermitcraft. He saw gentle brown eyes and an even gentler smile. “Let’s go home then.” His voice was full of warmth and Scar couldn’t help himself.

A genuine smile graced his lips and he brought a hand up to hold Grian’s. “Let’s go home.” He whispered. The world around them was fading to white as the wind picked up around them, but Scar couldn’t find himself to care. Instead, he closed his eyes and let Grian pull him into another embrace.

He had won Secret Life, but his real victory was this. Finally being able to let his guard down. Finally getting to go home and rest.

And, after everything, finally being held in the arms of someone who loves him.

[utopians]

I mean s1 was deffo better than s2 but why do you say that it wasn't good? /gen

mannn honestly it would take ages to enumerate all my problems with it but these are the main ones

just a massive, massive tone problem. this show just has no clue what it wants to be and it's bad as hell as a result. the wilderness scenes in this season had some of the darkest stuff of anything in the show (eating jackie + shauna miscarriage + shauna beating lottie) and having all that next to like... misty's quirky reddit boyfriend just absolutely defanged it. the show doesn't want to commit to being either a quirky mystery/comedy or a gritty survival horror and because of that it fails to effectively be anything at all

misty's reddit boyfriend in general just sucked so bad. like what was that

the escalation from 'we're hungry' to 'let's draw cards and murder whoever gets the wrong one' occurred over the span of ONE EPISODE. one SINGLE episode without ANY NEGOTIATION. literally not one single scene of the characters even TALKING about it before it happened. what a joke. what an absolute joke. they had an entire season to build to it how'd they fuck it up this bad

this is a problem I had with the first season as well but the survival threat feels so told and not shown. like we're told all these characters are Soooo Hungry but none of them are ever actually like. fatigued. or ill. or Dying. like how the fuck is coach ben still alive man. it just makes the escalation to killing people that much more abrupt and the whole situation seem so contrived when it doesn't actually feel like they're in danger

just in general the show like. refuses to let any of its characters feel anything at all. shauna straight up killed an innocent man that she was having an affair with last season and the extent of the emotional fallout of that act is her making quirky Oh Whoopsie comments about it. like that would be an insane traumatic thing to go through and you'd think it would be the kind of thing the show would want to explore. but no. not on amc's yellowjackets

on that same topic. shauna beating lottie had weirdly little emotional fallout. like ik they didn't like each other but shauna almost beat lottie to death with her hands and seemed just like. kind of sad and apologetic afterwards. like you'd think that such an act would have some sort of extreme ramifications for her relationship with the group and her own emotional state but nah

in the same vein: this season did adult taissa SO dirty. all the little plot threads that made her story difficult and compelling last season have completely been dropped -- her wife and son were literally written out like 4 episodes in and we don't see any of the emotional complexity of her leaving behind those relationships. additionally the last season ended with her being elected senator (sth that could cause a lot of conflict and drama bc of the increased responsibility on her shoulders + surveillance and scrutiny of her life) and it literally just. never comes up again? like her wife is in a coma and her son is just left fully parentless and she walks away from her job as a US STATE SENATOR and not only are there no consequences she also just literally does not seem to care. I feel like the writers just had no clue what they wanted to do with her and so they just gave her... nothing. no conflict no emotions just nothinggggg

okay they did give her one thing. they gave her an evil alter ego. which is mad corny imo. last season it was weird and ambiguous enough that I enjoyed it but this season it was just so literal and on the nose and I did not enjoy it One Bit

similar to the cards thing lottie deciding that they needed to kill one of them at the end was so damn abrupt and stupid. like literally so pointless and out of nowhere

natalie's death was so silly and contrived that it actually made me laugh

adult van is not butch enough ‼️‼️‼️‼️

[darkmasterofcupcakes]

What are five pros and five cons you would give to Hazbin Hotel?

Gonna start with the cons, because I like to end on a positive note.

The Pacing. This was something I had a feeling was going to be a weakness of the show from the time I saw the trailer and learned that the first season was going to involve the next Extermination, especially when it was confirmed the season was only going to be eight episodes long. The twist in the first episode that the next Extermination was happening in half the time helped a little, but it still meant we skipped over months between episodes, with it being implied important stuff did happen that we just didn't see.

While I think it's better than Helluva Boss in balancing it's main cast (I love that show, but the uneven attention given between all of the main characters is one of the biggest issues it has), it still has some trouble with making all the characters feel fully like "people"? Niffty probably being the biggest example, since I love her, but right now she feels more like a living punchline than a real character.

The tone can sometimes be just a little...off with how it feels like we're supposed to feel. Best example being Sir Pentious death. The characters react to it like it was a serious event, because for them, it was...but the death itself was treated as kind of a joke? And I understand the show is a sort of dark comedy, so to an extent I expect stuff like that. But I think at that moment, the switch from "joke" to "you're supposed to seriously grieve this character" felt a bit too abrupt?

This is a completely personal thing, but as I've mentioned before, I don't love the whole sideplot of Sir Pentious having a crush on Cherri Bomb? It felt like it came out of nowhere, whereas most of the other relationships that seem to be a thing in the show were at least given hints in the Pilot. And it's just another example of the pacing being break-neck, since they had Cherri not show up until episode 6 of 8, and then Pentious dies in the finale, so they had basically two episodes (and not even full ones, just some scenes) to try and convince me of a romance, and, maybe it's just my arospec self, but....I couldn't really get convinced at all.

It's kinda hard for me to really think of issues I really have with the show, so I gotta kinda cheat a bit with this last one, since I can't help but wonder if they would've left the scene out had they known from the start of production that they'd get more seasons, but I personally don't love the whole stinger that reveals Pentious ended up in Heaven after Adam killed him? Not so much because I don't like the idea that he ended up there - I like that part. But I kind of feel like his death would have had a bit more impact if the audience did genuinely think he was gone for good for longer than like...fifteen minutes.

And now for the things I loved about Hazbin Hotel

The songs are arguably the biggest highlight of the whole series for me. I don't think there's a single one that I wouldn't happily listen to, whether in or out of context. From what I've seen I apparently don't have as high of an opinion of some songs as others, but I legitimately love all of them. I don't think there's anything I could say about any of the songs in this show that could be considered anything close to a real critique.

All of the characters are an absolute blast to watch. Yes, some of them don't have the most depth so far, but that doesn't change the fact that I just love to watch them whenever they're on screen? And it's not just the main cast, either. Obviously I love all of them, but even with fairly limited screen time, I found myself absolutely adoring whenever I got to see characters like Carmilla Carmine, Zestial, Velvette, and Rosie on screen. And all of the characters are so interesting and fun to imagine in different scenarios. And since I'm a writer, that is one of the biggest pros a series can have.

While the show is arguably more of a comedy, it is actually very good, in my opinion, dealing with some pretty serious topics when it wants to. The biggest example is Angel Dust's struggles with what he goes through thanks to Valentino, but you also have things like Vaggie's past and how her hiding that effected her relationship with Charlie when the truth got revealed. Or the whole thing of how it's implied most of Heaven didn't know about the Exterminations and that being revealed to them caused a lot of tensions, particularly between Emily and Sera. Or even just the whole thing of how Carmilla discovered how to kill Angels...but doesn't want it to be known what she did because she doesn't want to cause a war and lose her daughters, when the whole reason she learned that Angels could be killed was because she wanted to save them.

The character designs are some of the best I've seen in a long time. It really feels like the team took full advantage of the fact that it seems like there's no set rule for how demons can look in their version of hell, and so they went absolutely nuts with it, in the best possible way. Pretty much every single character has an incredibly unique design, and they're all just so fun to see. It makes the whole world feel so much more alive....slightly ironically considering it's the main setting is full of people who are technically all dead.

Outside of the one I mentioned above, I really like how basically all of the relationships in the show are handled, from the romantic to the platonic to the familial. They are all extremely varied and obviously some get more real attention than others, but all are given enough focus and attention that you always get the sense that the characters care for each other very deeply, especially by the end. And because you feel those bonds, you are even more effected by what the characters go through, because you feel like you're part of that group of people who care for one another. And I love that it also applies to the villains, with how Lute was clearly devestated by Adam's death, following the show indicating they were close, but usually showing them in what seemed to be a mostly "professional" relationship.

[homoeroticfisticuffs]

wip wednesday

(this is from the same work i posted last week, because i've had so little time to write lately </3 this follows immediately after my last wip!) (word count: 1033)

She couldn’t deny that he had intrigued her right from the very start, initially being somewhat impressed by his combat skills and his affinity for his thief’s gadgets. He wasn’t like other men she had fought on typical jobs like this who would just try to use brute force to outmatch her; he was smart in the way that he fought, and probably would have beaten her if it hadn’t been for Rocket and Groot and their subsequent shared capture by the Nova Corps.

She found, reluctantly, that it was extremely easy to talk to him. Just a few minutes alone with him on a balcony in Knowhere had her spilling her whole life story to him, and earning his in return. She had never experienced that before, that honest kind of openness and closeness with someone else. Before she knew it he was showing her his music, the number one most treasured thing to him, putting the very item on her head that he had risked his own skin and bones to get back before their departure from the Kyln. It was almost overwhelming, and it was virtually impossible to resist when he gently cradled her hand in his and slowly leaned in for a kiss.

But she knew who she was, and more importantly who he was, and she knew she had absolutely no time to deal with his tricks at a time like this. So she put her blade to his throat, and that was that. No more tricks from him, message received.

But then, oh then, she found herself floating in the cold expanse of the void, her body becoming a stranger to warmth and to gravity as she watched the debris of her pod drift away, along with the face of her sister flying off into the distance. Even with her body mods she could feel her lungs start to struggle, along with the fractals of ice slowly beginning to form on her skin. Nothing in the galaxy could feel lonelier than this, she decided, completely abandoned and having failed herself and the world. This was to be her destiny; it seemed fitting.

But then he was there, despite everything. He had placed his mask on her head, his only way to breathe out there, choosing instead to give her the chance at surviving that emptiness. She took in a big gulp of air, looking at him through red lenses and seeing his frozen face, feeling gripped by an intense whirlpool of different emotions, the most prominent being confusion, concern, and fear; but for the first time in a long time, not for herself.

He would have died if Yondu hadn’t arrived at that exact moment. He would have died, just to make sure that she didn’t.

What the hell was she supposed to do with that?

Of course, in the end, the intense wave of emotions that was only made greater by his lying on top of her and cradling her face in his hands had come to its abrupt end when Quill decided to open his fucking mouth, proving himself yet again to be arrogant, shallow and selfish. With a sigh, she could only feel disappointed in herself for indulging in her childish hopes and desires.

Even then, as much as she tried to push it down, she could still feel a fondness for him growing in her over time. From the way he spoke as their captain to the way he ended up genuinely deciding to do something for the greater good, rather than just himself, he was growing on her in a way that she didn’t know what to do with.

She knew she couldn’t pretend not to care about him when she saw him grab an infinity stone with his bare hand like an idiot, watching him writhe on the ground in agony, and the only thing she could think about in that moment was how badly she needed to share in that agony so that he wouldn’t have to be alone.

She followed her captain after that, knowing she respected him in a way that was reserved only for him.

Things became more complicated when Ego came into the picture, taking him away from her in a way that she couldn’t understand why it bothered her so much. She wanted to be happy for him, she really did, and in a way, she was; she saw how amazed he was by all of it, and seeing him smile so earnestly definitely made her feel something warm and content, but she knew deep down that something wasn’t right. And that was completely separate from the disappointment that she felt at the fact that he seemed to be lost in this, and not including her as much as she wished he did on this journey that clearly meant so much to him.

She did her best to be there for him as much as she could. Even when he finally came to her, asking to dance, she tried to follow along with his steps but couldn’t shake the feeling that something was incredibly wrong.

She tried to deny the “unspoken thing,” because honestly, it was idiotic and childish, and she didn’t even understand the Terran allegory he was trying to make. It always irritated her blind when he would make his Terran references and expect the whole crew to magically understand what he meant, as if it wasn’t complete abilisk bile every time. 

But then she almost lost him again, and she had to be there for him in earnest through the death of someone he loved, and everything changed. She finally saw him in a different light, and found herself unable to deny their “unspoken thing.”

It was surprisingly easy being with him. Around her, he was completely patient and understanding, totally unlike the way he acted around Rocket and Drax, or even Mantis. His pride came second to her, which was an enormous relief considering the state that his confidence and overall character had been in when they first met. He was like a completely different person, in the best way possible. It was like taking in a breath of fresh air.

(as always you can find my other writing here!)