#it's functional and fine but nowhere near my best

[tj-crochets]

Friendly reminder that if a deal seems too good to be true, it might be! Also known as someone messaged me here, asked if they could make a painting based on one of my quilts (I am absolutely fine with that!), and then offered to pay me for doing so. When I said that was kind of them, but unnecessary, they insisted and kept pushing, trying to get my email, my discord, and then eventually my banking info. They insisted their "client" would mail me a check, and that since they and I were "collaborating" on this art piece, I'd deposit the check and then mail them their part. Many things about the whole pitch were suspicious, but two stood out from the very beginning: - for using a photo of my quilt as a reference, they said they'd pay $300 - the quilt they said someone commissioned them to make a 3 foot square oil painting of was the lumberjack quilt. Now don't get me wrong, I like my lumberjack quilt, but of all the quilts I've ever made I have serious doubts that the "various shades of denim" quilt is the one someone would want a painting of (Just in case they were not trying to scam me, I did make it clear that I was absolutely fine with them using my photos for reference. I even offered to take new photos of that quilt from different angles or in different lighting if they wanted! I said I had a ko-fi if they felt they really had to pay me! But no.)

[eminems-skittles]

Jess Mariano with the prompts 1. “Are you cold?” “No.” And 12. “My jacket looks good on you.” (But they’re not dating yet and there’s tension between them🥹)

25 days of christmas event

pairings: jess mariano x reader

warnings: none just fluff

a/n: hope you like it anon!!! i love writing jess <3

why you were voluntarily out in the cold, harsh wind, you weren’t sure. it was the morning of the snowman building contest and there was nothing you wanted more than to be snuggled in bed with all the blankets you could find. the cold air hitting your face was probably the harshest of wake up calls and the cold bench you were sitting on did little to prevent the shivers that were jolting through you. the only thing offering any relief from the icy air was the near empty cup of coffee from luke’s diner.

making the trek to luke’s seemed to take longer than you would have and you debated running across the street to get there that much quicker.

you sighed gratefully as the warmth of the diner overtook you, heating your cold nose and cheeks while you removed your gloves.

“hey y/n,” jess said as he walked by you with a smile that seemed to only be reserved for you. “i’ll be right there.”

you nodded, your face heating up for an entirely different reason. of course he had to be there when you were nowhere near functioning as a normal person would. you walked over to the counter and sat down, relieved to be sitting on something that didn’t feel like sitting on an ice cube.

“more coffee?” luke asked, moving to grab the pot from where it was sitting. you opened your to-go cup and placed it on the counter in front of you.

“yes please,” you sighed. luke filled the paper cup up with coffee before moving on to the next customer. jess appeared behind the counter a moment later.

“luke already get you coffee?” he asked. you nodded as you took a sip, the warm liquid already warming you up. “i was just about to head out there, you coming?”

“sure,” you agreed, immediately mentally cursing yourself. you were freezing you didn’t want to go back outside so why on earth did you agree? it was simple. jess asked you to, so you said yes.

jess called to luke saying he’d be right back and the two of you made your way back into the harsh cold. he led the way to the same bench you previously occupied. a silence that was equal parts awkward yet comfortable over took the two of you and the shivers that wracked your body returned.

“are you cold?” jess asked after a minute of silently observing you. that seemed to be what he did best. he was always observing, picking up on the things you believed to be nearly imperceptible.

“no,” you replied stubbornly. he could see you were cold, you might as well have ‘i’m freezing’ written across your forehead in sharpie. “it’s just a little chilly.”

“y/n, you’re shaking like a chihuahua,” he stated simply. before you knew it, he was shrugging off his jacket and placing it in your hands. “put it on.”

“aren’t you going to be cold?” you asked him.

“i’m going back in soon, i’ll be fine,” he said. you sighed and stood up, removing the jacket you were currently wearing and replacing it with his much larger, must warmer jacket. he smiled at the sight and if he noticed you subtly inhaling the traces of his cologne on the jacket, he didn’t say anything.

you smiled shyly at him muttering a quiet thank you. his hand came up to your face, pushing a piece of hair that had fallen in front of your face behind your ear. his eyes trailed down to his jacket again.

his hand was resting on your cheek now and his thumb brushed across it, trying to send some warmth to your face in order to stop you from freezing. he leaned in but was interrupted by something cold hitting him.

“get back to work!” luke yelled, brushing snow off his hands. as he was walking back to the diner, he shouted “i’m not paying you to flirt!”

“did he really just throw a snowball at me?” jess asked incredulously, trying to get the snow off of his t-shirt.

you laughed and he smiled back at you. “so you have to get back?”

“apparently,” jess grumbled, annoyed that his uncle cut his time with you short. he started walking back to the diner but before he could get too far, he turned back to face you. “my jacket looks good on you. keep it.”

and like that, he had disappeared back into the diner and your crush on him grew impossibly larger. suddenly, the cold wasn’t all that unbearable, the warmth from his jacket (and his words) spreading through you like wildfire.

[positivelybeastly]

Love reading through your analyses and I was wondering if you had insight on something I noticed with Hank/Beast and Kurt/Nightcrawler: writers often use both of them in the visible mutation metaphor and emotional cores, but Kurt's approach is more from faith and Hank's is more from curiosity. Often when one or either are gone/dead/changed, things seem to get worse for the Team overall.

Do you think those two would benefit each other's characters? Even just to have spirited philosophical discussion?

So, this actually touches on a funny thing that I've noticed with Beast and Nightcrawler over time - which is that they're almost never on the same team together, probably precisely because they serve an extremely similar function in a team composition, for the reasons you've kind of touched on here.

They are, after all, both heavily visibly mutated individuals who were, or are, considered figures of great integrity and morality, with a strong code of ethics and a depth of feeling that expresses itself in a deeply vivacious personality - romantic, friendly, charming, and erudite.

Therefore, having them both on a team is, unfortunately, somewhat redundant.

That being said! They do still interact, and they're shown to be sources of great comfort and friendship for one another. Their first meetings were - somewhat inauspicious . . .

See, this is the funny thing about old comics - storylines just flow and flow and flow. Comics didn't stop after ten issues and get restarted with a new #1 every few months, they just ran and ran and ran, and the pacing reflected that.

There aren't usually month long gaps where you can assume nothing happened and people just got to hang out, they're working hard! Hank has been working with the Avengers so much that he literally hasn't even had time to meet the new X-Men properly! Wild.

But, eventually, things did slow down, and they got a chance to properly socialise, and, as expected, they got along like a house on fire.

Like, these two are just born to be friends. They have so much in common. Where Hank leans more to the obscure, the erudite, and the scientific, Kurt leans more to the dashing, the swashbuckling, and, of course, the religious, but they're still both fundamentally cut from the same cloth - acrobatic, charming, philosophical, heroic, fun.

But, that same alike quality means you don't get a ton of interaction between them, so I cling to what they do have. One of my favourite interactions between them is in Nightcrawler's 2004 solo series.

First off, absolutely adore Hank in this art style. The fact that the artist decided to include the detail of his fur poking out of the shirt like that is just. It transfixes me. I really want to go over and just. Run my fingers through his side fur. But mostly, I just like their chemistry? Hank's a great supporting character because he's so emotionally intelligent and reflective, and he's great at giving people perspective, usually with a healthy dose of sarcasm and teasing.

That being said, this scene is always the one I point to whenever I say that the X-Men really have no idea what's going on in Hank's head a lot of the time, because this took place after Hank had been psychically brutalised, nearly beaten to death, and one of his best friends had just been murdered - and he's doing a really very good job of hiding that trauma.

So much so that Kurt thinks he's just fine. He's just fine. There's nothing to worry about. But it's not Kurt's fault, and it's nowhere near unique to him, either. He had no way to know, he had his own stuff going on (the subject matter of this solo series, as it happens), and Hank is doing well enough that it isn't interfering with things, so, let him deal with it in peace, I suppose.

At least on this occasion.

Kurt is, after all, an emotionally intelligent and caring individual. You can't stop Nightcrawler from trying to help where he can. And I think that even just the reaching out, just the show of support, can be enough for a character like Hank.

Moments like these matter, in my opinion. It's important to show that teammates and friends care about each other, in the moment to moment stories, otherwise it can all feel very impersonal and like no-one cares about one another. This is how you establish dynamics over years, even between characters who have, technically speaking, never really been on a team together before.

The next big milestone I can think of comes after the X-Men's move to Utopia, where, again, Hank and Kurt don't share a ton of panel time together, but . . .

This is one of the few times you'll ever hear anyone say that Hank was right. And it's not really a surprise that it comes from Kurt, because, again, these men are cut from the same cloth. They come at it from different angles, but they believe in much the same things.

And . . . that's why it hits so hard when Kurt dies.

I don't necessarily agree with the decision to have Hank break from the literal funeral procession to call Scott out for Kurt's death. Some fans of Nightcrawler really appreciate that moment, because it shows how much Kurt's death affected Hank, but I personally just. Don't think it tracks, for Hank to be quite that disrespectful.

After the funeral, or even before, but during it? Nah. Matt Fraction made a good few Hank characterisation choices I don't agree with, and this was one of them.

This felt a bit more apropos.

Remember what I said about how little moments build to dynamics between characters who have never been on teams together? I buy this moment so much more with the context of that moment from Endangered Species, where Kurt is literally positioned as the light trying to pull Hank out of the dark path he's following with obsessive fervour. The fact that he was trying went a long way. Hank felt it, even if he didn't take him up on it at the time. That moment mattered.

And that's why I absolutely buy Hank's reaction when Kurt came back to life.

Hank believes in Kurt. He believes the very best of him. On teams where Hank can often feel alone or isolated, someone like Kurt will reach out, and make him feel connected, and welcome, and pull him back. Temper his scientific pessimism and realism with optimism and belief. Restore his fervour, and remind him of simpler, happier times.

A lot of the best scientists, who have contributed the most to scientific inquiry, were religious, because for a lot of them, there's no real conflict between science and religion, they're both two sides of the same coin, in a way - a belief in a higher power. It's just how they react to that higher power that changes.

And while Hank was explicitly religious for a while, I always interpreted him as losing that faith over the years, becoming bogged down in the real over the sublime as what he went through wore him down. Someone like Kurt was able to spark that in him again. Maybe not his faith, per se, but at the very least belief in the human spirit.

It's important. As you say, massive benefit to each other's characters. Underrated dynamic, these two. Absolutely love 'em.

[minweber]

I have no idea how hot of a take that is - because I, in my infinite wisdom, tend to stay away from such harmful things as "discussing Dragon Age on the internet" - but I do think that moving to a more ME-style action-focused combat system with only partially controllable companions is a good move on part of DAV team.

I would imagine that few people have very fond memories of DA2 or DAI combat, but I have often seen people praise DAO's slower, more tactical system as a standard that series needs to return to. Probably did so myself, if I am being completely honest.

But replaying DAO in 2024, I find that combat is... fine? Serviceable, better than what its two sequels had to offer, but in no way something that could carry a game on its own, or even something that you truly return to the game for.

I find that "real-time-but-actually-turn-based-via-the-pause" combat doesn't work - in a sense that its attempt to marry the two extremes neither retains all their best qualities, nor produces any new ones. It's functional, but not much more so. Trying to control your entire party as if it were a turn-based tactical RPG feels rather clunky (the tactics system, while presenting a valiant effort, does not really save it) and rawdogging it real time robs the system of most of its depth and makes the game nigh unplayable on higher difficulties.

And I think 2010 BioWare actually saw it as well, as they kept trying to streamline it for the next two games. It seems to me that they failed, but whether it was a failure of execution, or an inevitable consequence of the limitations of the concept is up for debate.

And if one were to be of the second opinion, then it would make sense for this system to be discarded, and lean more heavily in either direction. And the choice between a fast-paced action combat system and a turn-based tactical one would be nowhere near obvious - yeah, franchises's and studio's roots lie closer to the turn-based tactical one, but their greatest success was with an action RPG, and honestly, DA's entire post-DAO (meaning the entire series but one game) identity desperately wants to be attached to something action-packed and fast-paced.

So why keep fighting it?

[eternalreignblog]

74 (huddling for warmth) and 90 (unexpected virgin) for GP Clarke

Great. Just fucking great.

Clarke was mentally and physically drained after spending all day climbing a cold ass mountain to keep her best friend company, and now her so-called 'bestie' had ditched her to go hook up with some, admittedly hot as fuck woman, but still, who dumps their climbing partner in the middle of bum fuck nowhere, in the freezing cold, just for some ass?

Bitch.

Clarke had just finished setting up her two person tent, which was supposed to house her and Raven, that is until the other woman had set her eyes on Miss Cheekbones, and dissapeared off into the dark.

She was muttering to herself, cursing Raven under her breath as she hammered in the final peg, tossing her tools in a pile before starting to set up her sleeping bag for the night. She heard footsteps behind her, and without looking yelled, "come crawling back after all the works done? Cheekbones didn't rock your world enough to stay?" She growled, letting her temper flare a bit

A soft chuckle had Clarke spinning around in surprise, because that was definitely not Raven.

"Oh, she's rocking her world all right. So much so I can't be near that tent anymore," a gorgeous brunette approached, hugging herself around the waist for warmth, looking cautiously at Clarke.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I thought you were my idiot best friend," Clarke apologised, a feeling stirring below her beltline as she raked her eyes over the woman.

"Well, it appears your idiot best friend is hooking up with my idiot best friend, very loudly I might add, in the tent I was supposed to be sleeping in,"

"Oh," Clarke said. Staring like an idiot at the woman who looked unfairly attractive rugged up in winter climbing gear.

"I know we don't know each other and this might be a bit weird, but I'm extremely cold and I have no other place to stay," The woman said almost pleadingly, looking at Clarke with what could only be described as puppy dog eyes.

"Oh," Clarke finally pulled herself out of her stunned silence.

"Sorry, I'l didn't mean to freak you out, I'll sort something out," the woman said dejectedly, moving to leave Clarke’s camp-site.

"No!" Clakre called out, lamenting her lack of brain function at the moment, whether it was due to the cold or the pretty girl, well, she wasn't going to speculate. "I mean, no, it's fine, you can stay with me. You'll freeze to death out there by yourself," Clarke held open the tent flap to invite the beautiful stranger in.

"God, thank you," the woman sounded releaved as she joined Clarke in the slightly-warmer-than-the-outside-temperature tent.

They looked at each other a little awkwardly, crawling around the tiny space until they were both kind of settled.

"Um, my sleeping stuff is still in my tent, I didn't want to interrupt the sex marathon to get it," the woman said sheepishly, looking longingly at Clarke’s sleeping bag.

"Oh, I mean, we can share, it is way too cold to not have cover," Clarke justified, unzipping her sleeping bag to make a doona as her new tent mate divested herself of her jacket.

"I owe you for this?" She looked up at Clarke, an unspoken question in her eyes for Clarke to finish the sentence with as-yet-not-shared information.

"Clarke," Clarke added, filling the gap.

"Lexa," the womam said with a smile tickling her upper lip.

"Well, now we're practically friends, why don't you join me under here," Clarke said in what she hoped was the least creepy way possible as she held the doona up for Lexa to crawl under.

Obliging, Lexa slid in beside Clarke, careful not to get too close as Clarke lowered the cover down over her.

"Oh god that's so much better," Lexa said, relaxing into the warmth.

"Yeah," Clarke said weakly, voice failing her as she tried to fight down the boner that was involuntarily rising at the sound of Lexa's sexy voice.

"Can I come closer?" Lexa asked after a short period of silence, Clarke unable to form words and simply grunting in a manner that she hoped implied the affimative.

She felt Lexa's body shift closer, and panicked as her butt pushed directly into Clarke’s crotch. There was no way she wouldn't notice her bulge, and Clarke could do nothing but lay perfectly still and wallow in mortification.

She did not expect Lexa to get that close.

And now she was going to run away because Clarke was a creep who couldn't keep her hormones in check.

"Is that-- are you--" Lexa stammered and Clarke tried to shink into the smallest space possible.

This is what always happens.

She meets hot girl.

Hot girl gets close.

Hot girl finds out about her dick.

Hot girl runs away.

Clarke wanted to dissapear, she felt the usual guilt and shame rising to the surface and choked out a quiet "I'm sorry,"

"What?" Lexa sounded surprised as she rolled over to face Clarke, barely visible in the darkness of the tent.

"I-- I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Clarke rehashes her usual apology, looking anywhere but at Lexa.

"Uncomfortable? Fuck, Clarke, the only Uncomfortable you've make me is Uncomfortabley fucking wet,"

It took several moments for Clarke to process the words, but when she did, her heart rate shot up like a rocket.

"Sorry, what?" She needed to hear it again to be sure because what the fuck was happening right now?

"Clarke," Lexa said, placing a hand on Clarke’s hip and shifting closer. "Let's be real right now. Our friends are fucking. We're alone here in this tent in the middle of nowhere. It's fucking freezing." She was ticking off facts and Clarke wasn't sure where this was headed. "Your hot and I think we should fuck to keep warm," Lexa finished her talk like she was stating a perfectly reasonable thing and Clarke was speechless.

"Er..." she stammered, words failing her as her brain malfunctioned.

"Unless you don't want to?" Lexa asked, doubt in her voice, forcing Clarke to find her voice again.

"Fuck, Lexa, you're hot as fuck, of course I want to, it's just..." she trailed off, hating herself a little for her lack of experience.

"What is it, Clarke?" Lexa asked softly, her hand tracing patterns on Clarke's hip, dipping under the waistband to touch her skin.

"I-- fuck, I've never, you know," she trailed off, knowing she'd probably lost her chance.

"You're a virgin?" Lexa asked, and Clarke could hear the surprise in her voice

"Yeah," Clarke said dejectedly, knowing she'd probably blown her chance.

After barely a moments hesitation, Lexa asked, "Do you want to not be?"

Clarke looked into Lexa eyes, and even in the darkness she could see the lust reflected back at her.

"Fuck, Lexa. I want you so bad," Clarke breathed in a husky voice as she gripped Lexa hips and dragged her closer, pressing her arousal into the other woman so there could be no doubt how desperate she was for it.

"Then let's do this," Lexa said assertively, pushing Clarke onto her back and straddling her.

Lexa was clearly on a mission as she divested herself and Clarke of their clothes, before climbing back on top. She took several moments to worship Clarke’s breasts while Clarke lay there enjoying the attention, before sliding a hand down to stroke Clarke’s cock.

Clarke moaned loudly at the contact, it being the first hand that had touched her that wasn't her own.

"Fuck, you're huge," Lexa said in awe as she lined Clarke up with her pussy, before looking back dow at her for consent. "You ready?" She asked, and Clarke had no doubt that if she said no, Lexa would stop.

But, fuck that.

"Fuck yes," Clarke said enthusiastically as she planted her hands on Lexa's hips, feeling her sink down onto her inch by inch.

The feeling of slick wet heat encasing her cock for the first time was a sensation that Clarke would never forget. Lexa bottomed out, moaning in pleasure as Clarke filled her completely.

"Fuck you feel so good," she praised as she started a slow grind.

Clarke was in pure, unadulterated ecstacy.

The problem was she could feel her orgasm creeping up almost immediately.

"Oh shit, Lexa, I'm not going to last," she cried out, gripping Lexa's hips tightly as she moved on top.

"Hmm fuck, me too, you got me so fucking horny," Lexa said as she rubbed her clit furiously.

Lexa started bouncing and that was it for Clarke. She groaned and threw her head back in pleasure as she unloaded inside the woman she'd only met a few hours ago. Her hips thrust up into Lexa as she came harder than she'd ever cum before, knowing this moment was forever etched into her memory.

As she came back down to earth, she realised belatedly that she'd blown far too quickly and Lexa hadn't even cum

"Oh, shit, I'm sorry," she apologised, and Lexa just chuckled lightly in response.

"No need to apologise, we've got all night," she said with a smile as she leaned down to plant an absolutely filthy kiss on Clarke's lips, and Clarke could already feel the stirring down below.

Oh yes, she thought, this is going to be a long ass night.

[skycapt4in]

THE SPACEMAN'S WEIRD LITTLE MASK your preprogrammed lore ramble with owen about shit that exists in his own head <3

Given how often Noah's mask comes into play in his writings, I figured I should probably go into more detail about it and explain why it's honestly the one thing, aside from his luck, keeping him alive.. And it's not because it's where Plex lives.

The mask itself is made up of nanites because this is my sci-fi universe and I'll do what I want thank you. The nanites themselves are programmed to take up the basic shape of Noah's mask, with some changes and edits to match the head-shape of different species of people of course, but they all generally have the same silver tone to the metal and rounded lit-up eyes. Oh, and the masks are made up of two implants typically found behind the ears of the wearers. Just in case you didn't know <3

Every Guildsman with a mask has an A.I buddy like Plex, though they're all very different to each other mostly because they need to adapt to their wearer's personality and likes in order to work more efficiantly together. I'll just use Noah's mask and Plex as examples to make life easier going forward. But Plex basically controls the whole mask with some input from Noah's subconscious as both the mask and A.I are connected to Noah's vitals and brain so that both can be monitored and displayed inside the helmet.

The mask can activate when Noah is feeling particularly threatened/scared of something, yes you can even activate it if you give him a fright. It's able to withstand about a tonne of force if you were to attempt to crush it for any reason, though it's easier if you just keep hitting it with less powerful blows frequently. There's also a setting called 'Siege mode' with allows for the mask to buff itself up by taking power from the full body shield, there's a lite version of this setting that Guildsmen commonly use to better target their marks as it's aim and coordination with their guns is typically more accurate.

On top of that, the mask is also a sort of mini life support machine. It won't work in this function for very long and it's a very much last ditch effort because you aren't close enough to a medic to get help right now, deal, but it can break up in this function and send some of the nanites that make it up to momentarily patch up external wounds until help arrives; They also function as oxygen/whatever air you breathe filters and thus the bottom half of the mask never will break away to go do patch up work because then how will you breathe, huh?

Back to the displays, a common complaint with the masks over the years is that looking at all those displays so closely to your eyes, because it's inside the damned mask, was overwhelming as all heck, so the Guild started giving out wrist gauntlets that have a screen to better view the things the mask is showing you. Vitals, messages and maps are usually viewed through that part while the mask's feed is kept mostly clear, say for a few targetting systems and scanning options. Noah has a wrist gauntlet and while he does use it, he broke his to basically have a constant line to Shi'p, so the wrist gauntlet is partially controlled by Shi'p, much to Plex's dismay.

Almost forgot to talk about the goddamned translator.

Okay so, in probably every other Guildsmen the translator works fine. It's not the best on the market, and it might glitch occasionally but it's nowhere near as bad as Noah's has gotten over the years, because it's very common practice to get that part replaced when it starts going. It can translate about 60% of recorded languages in the universe at one time, with the ability to delete languages and upload new ones to understand. The translator implant isn't technically part of the mask as it functions when the mask is stored away, but it is part of the same implant, they're both different machines if that makes any sense? Like a screen and a speaker?

Noah's taken enough hits to that particular part of his skull over the years that he's fried his translator enough that not a day goes by where it doesn't just stop working for a few minutes. He can get it replaced but he's irrationally terrified of being put under by doctors and refuses to get it fixed. Someone please talk to him about it. Or just take him to therapy.

Anyways, a new addition to the mask's lore is that on top of the eyes being able to see in multiple different spectrums, it can shoot lasers. It isn't supposed too, Guildsmen just know how to break tech in order to give it new and interesting functions. Noah broke his mask in the same way and while the laser blasting looks cool and is great for when you're cornered, it drains power significantly and can only be fired around 5-7 times in a 15 minute period before the mask either dies and won't activate until it recharges enough, or before it begins to steal power from the shields which is usually something you don't want to happen if you're in a situation where you need to fire lasers from your eyes.

Aaand I think that's it. Remember kids, if you're going to fight a Guildsman, go for the mask. Helps if you're strong and good with potentially being shot with at with lasers.

[nerdysleepybunny]

shroomieeeieei 😔

its been kinda rough these past few days and the week has only started 😭 is it okay if i can have fullscore trio hcs with a fatigued and burned out gn reader? ive been feeling very tired with my workload recently. if that's too much you can just do one of your choosing, doesn't really matter to me. tysm <3

This is exactly how I’ve felt which is why I’ve been using this schedule. 😭 I really hope it all gets better for you. Thank you so much for the request, hope you enjoy!

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

Fandom(s): The Promised Neverland

Character(s): Norman, Ray, Emma (ft Isabella)

Reader: Gender neutral (they/you)

TW: N/A

Style: Hcs

Summary: You feel extremely burnt out and unmotivated, so the trio help you out!

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

Norman:

Ever since the escape plan had been mentioned you’ve been devoting all your free time to working on it, including play time. All the children, including Norman, were getting worried. Yet you insisted that you were just fine and were simply working out some things.

It got to a point where you skipped meals and even stayed up instead of sleeping.

Norman would wake up in the middle of the night to see you sketching out a layout and taking some notes before thinking of the pros and cons, then crumpling up your failed idea and throwing it to the side before starting anew. He’d quietly scold you before bringing you to bed with him and holding you tightly in his embrace so you couldn’t escape, you eventually giving up and staring around the room, instead doing the calculations in your head. You usually only got 1 hour of sleep if not then none.

Norman eventually got used to you not showing up to meals, and would keep your food hot to the best of his abilities whilst eating his food. Once eating time was over, he’d walk up to your room and bring you your food. Though he’d begin to notice how you only took a few bites before completely ignoring it and focusing on your work.

He soon got fed up and confronted you about it, but you wouldn’t budge. He soon gave up and instead just tried to take care of you to the best of his abilities. But over time, the sleepiness and hunger caught up to you, to the point you could barely function. You awoke in the infirmary after passing out in a pile of crumpled papers (luckily Mom didn’t find a single one), with a worried Norman by your side.

“Please (Y/N), never do that again..” You could only be ashamed of yourself as you saw the albino whimper and cry. You hadn’t realized how much you were hurting him. When you got out of the infirmary, everyone assumed you were fine. But in reality you were still out of it. Walking and talking was a challenge, so Norman walked with you and didn’t question it when you didn’t respond to something. He saw this as you learning your lesson, but didn’t rub it in your face.

Eventually, the physical effects had long since healed, but you were still mentally exhausted. You tried your absolute best, but you had no motivation to do anything, instead only being able to lay on your bed all day and occasionally eat. Norman assumed you were overworking yourself again but was surprised when he walked i to your room to see you nowhere near your work, instead you seemed to be avoiding it like the plague, getting stressed and uncomfortable when it was brought up. Finally, you gave up the act, and collapsed onto Norman’s lap with tears filling your eyes.

“Norman… I can’t do this anymore. I can barely function. I don’t want to do anything anymore..” You sobbed, soaking his shirt, but he didn’t mind.

“Lay down and rest for as long as you need to. I’ll get everything done for you.”

“Really?…” You could barely lift your head to look into his ocean eyes, but when you tried to, it was pushed back down into his chest.

“Yes, now stop pushing yourself to do things. Your body is exhausted. You and your body need rest.” You could barely listen to his words as you made yourself comfortable on your bed. Norman smiled at your sleeping form before walking over to your abandoned work. He looked over your sketches and notes and quickly built a plan, one that wouldn’t fail. He disposed of all the evidence and hid the final paper behind his bed, where he’d tell everyone the plan tomorrow. For now, he needed to give you the attention and care necessary to get you back to your old self.

Ray:

You just had so much on your plate. It was so little work that could be done within just a few hours, but today was just not your day. Everything around you was stressing you out and you didn’t know what to do.

Mom wanted you to do chores, the kids wanted you to play with them, Ray wanted to read with you, you have to help with the escape plan, and you have to pretend you don’t know the secret. It was too much for you to handle, and not knowing what else to do, you cried. You hid yourself deep in your blankets and sobbed into a pillow.

Ray was walking towards the library when he suddenly heard a noise coming from your room. Cracking the door open and peeking in, he saw you sobbing your little heart out. His soft spot immediately came out and he rushed toward you, patting your head.

“(Y/N), what’s wrong?” He pulled you out of your hiding place and allowed you to sob into his shirt until you could speak.

Your tears finally came to a stop and you pulled away, drying your face with your sleeve, telling him your worries. The boy laughed a bit and ruffled your hair.

“I could easily help with that.”

“You can?”

“Yeah, I can take care of your chores, Norman or Emma can play with the kids, and I can just read to you. The Mom part is easy, just be yourself. Don’t show any signs of fear and don’t be suspicious. You need to think of reasonable excuses on the spot. I know you can do that.” You smiled at the raven haired boy and fell into his embrace once again.

“Thank you, Ray…”

“Yeah, now lay down. You want a snack or anything?” You shook your head no and he nodded, laying down next to you and pulling out the book he was holding before he came in here. Flipping to the page you two finished on, he began reading aloud to you as you rested your head on his shoulder and finally relaxed.

Emma: (this one is more female-based but still gn!)

You were on your period and just didn’t feel like doing anything, so you did just that. You and Emma were best friends, and did everything together. You were inseparable. So she of course began to get worried when you stopped hanging out with her to instead stay in your room. Did she do something wrong?

Eventually she decided to confront you about it, so she marched upstairs to your room and knocked on the door. When there was no answer from you, she opened the door and let herself in. She was mortified by the sight.

You were curled up on your bed, clutching your stomach and grumbling, shifting around trying to get comfy. There were tissues, toilet paper (let’s pretend there’s no pads cuz you aren’t expected to get your period at this age, so you gotta do it the tp way 🥲) and snacks covering your night stand. Your hair and room was an absolute mess. Emma got the hint that something was wrong but didn’t know what, since none of the orphans knew what periods were, not even you since this was your first. You just knew you were in pain and bleeding like crazy.

She ran over to you and held you in her arms.

“(Y/N) what’s wrong?! Are you hurt?!” You weakly nodded, and she began screaming for Mom.

Isabella came rushing in, seeing the mess of you. You were put in the infirmary, and you told Isabella your symptoms. She laughed, soon realizing what was wrong with you.

“You’re on your period, dear.”

“My what?”

“Your period, it comes every month.”

“Why?”

“I’ll explain when you’re older, dear (Y/N).” You grumbled in defeat, staring down at your stomach which felt like it was eating you from the inside.

“So I have to suffer every month?”

“I’m afraid so. It usually lasts for a week, but there are ways to ease your pain. I can also help you with the blood.” Isabella got you pads and a heating pad. She was shocked you were the first to get a period, she’s never had to deal with this before. First time for everything I suppose.

You told Emma what Mom told you so she’d somewhat understand your situation, but you made her promise not to tell anyone, especially the boys. She happily pinkie promised.

Whilst you were “sick”, as Emma told everyone to cover for you, you were completely unmotivated to do anything. It hurt to move, and you felt exhausted. Either Mom or Emma brought you your food, and Mom put your testing thing on a platform with wheels so you could take your daily tests in bed. Emma would visit you multiple times a day, only leaving your side for testing or when she had to go do something. You eventually told her about your lack of motivation and your mood swings, to which she was quick to comfort you.

“Don’t worry, I know your period makes you feel certain ways you wouldn’t normally feel. Mom said these usually last a week, and it’s been 5 days! You’ll be back to your old self in no time!” You smiled at her positivity and opened your arms for her, to which she happily collapsed into.

“Thank you Emma, I love you.”

“I love you too (Y/N)!” You felt better already. Yes, she was right, things would be back to normal soon.

🩷☁️N E R D Y S L E E P Y B U N N Y☁️🩷

[brokenpaladin]

10, 20, and 38! (I rolled a dice so I have no idea which ones these are 👀)

And A for the creator ask!

Oh boy, a fun selection!! This'll be long, hopefully I can put a read more here via mobile. Also, I'm gonna answer the creator one first,

A) Why are you excited about this character?

*drags over a chair* WELL I'M SO GLAD YOU ASKED. Though I guess an easier question would be what am I not excited about over Talis. I love him!! He's my boy!! He'll second-guess himself into the ground over something as simple as small talk, and he'll commit physical violence to protect a frightened stranger. He's convinced he's a terrible, foreboding presence and he gives off the biggest kicked puppy energy ever

He's seven feet tall and tries to stand as small as he can. He knits and mends to calm himself. If he stares at the sky too long he'll cry. He'll swear on his life to help someone get somewhere safely and he fully means it. He can't spend more than a few weeks traveling with someone before he's convinced he needs to leave for their own safety.

He once became a crux-point person in the change of power in an entire city, was nearly executed in another's place, and I'm not sure he realizes it. He befriended an injured owlbear. He's functionally homeless. He's absurdly powerful for a random forest stray living outside a town in the middle of nowhere, and he still will hire himself out as a day laborer in exchange for a meal

More seriously, he's become a very near and dear representation of an archetype I've always felt drawn to but never really sat down to extrapolate or write with abandon-- the self-sacrificing hero. The one who will put himself in danger to protect others. And specifically, the toll that takes, time and again, throwing yourself between another and cruelty you can't stop. The way it warps your thoughts and your view of yourself

And hopefully also how you learn to redirect that protective instinct into a healthy direction, how to grow and heal and value yourself again >:T But we're working on that bit

10. What lie do they most frequently remember telling? Does it haunt them?

I mean, tbh, everything haunts him-- he lets nothing go :') But the lie he tells most frequently, and actively, is probably about his own state or well-being. The simple regular ones, "I'm fine" and "it's nothing", the ones you tell to keep going. He doesn't think much of it, actually. He's sturdy and has survived worse, so to fuss over a bout of fear or a single wound feels painfully pointless

20. If they were asked to explain the difference between romantic and platonic or familial love, how would they do so?

Oof….. um, that would be a tricky one for our paladin lad. For you see, he's aromantic! He's never really felt a draw towards any particularly romantic relationship? But he's always been an affectionate, friendly lad, even as a kid, so growing up it was a little tricky to navigate-- he and his mom had many a long talk about how it felt weird when people made a big deal about holding hands, or how sometimes the way someone insinuated around him spending time with a friend felt uncomfortable. But she listened to his anxious talking over it, and helped him figure out that while he was fond of folk, he didn't feel drawn to them in a coupling sort of way-- just general affection or physical attraction, though he always got embarrassed to bring that up (I mean he was an absolute goob as a kid)

Now though, you're mostly just going to get a momentarily puzzled look and a shrug. He's not so talkative, these days

38. What memory do they revisit the most often?

Consciously, none. Or, he tries not to think on anything that has been, but he finds his memories of living in Neverwinter intruding most frequently when he's awake. For good or for ill, that was his safest and best home when he returned to the surface. He'll push those memories away as often as he can, because he doesn't think he has any right to miss his home there. He left voluntarily, after all. They would have kept him and looked after him forever, if he let them…

[craziechwiv]

Junk and Justice: Revenge for their Mother (PREVIEW)

(Hey, remember that lil story I made about Ana adopting Junkrat and Roadhog? I'm remaking it, and here's some part of it.)

Today was like any other day for Overwatch, a problem needed to be solved. And when a problem needed to be solved, they sent in their best. And when the best get the briefing of what they need to do, they immediately gear up, train their skills, and get ready to venture to wherever their mission takes them. All said and done, simple as that. 

Well, not so simple when you're Ana Amari. A very skilled sniper and healer for Overwatch, but also a caring mother. Which a very caring and protective daughter.

"Mother, are you certain you don't need any back up for this? After what happened with your- I'm just worried for your safety." Fareeha stated towards her mother, hanging her head low as her mother kept on loading her gear onto the helicopter.

Fareeha was also a member of Overwatch, going by the codename 'Pharah'. Unlike her mother who is more to comfortable sticking behind her comrades, she prefers to go head on into battle. Sporting a rocket suit made specifically for her expertise with a rocket launcher to boot, she will always be seen up in the air when she's needed. And when she isn't, she is possibly bickering with her mom or relaxing. Neither both.

"Fareeha, you mustn't think about the past too much. I'll be fine." Ana said back, hugging her daughter and planting a soft kiss on her cheek. "Plus, someone has to watch those two rascals, right?"

Fareeha was still against the idea on her mother going on a solo mission. Well, the mission itself wasn't a massive problem to her. It was a simple criminal retrieval type operation. A well-known terrorist somehow smuggled a highly dangerous bomb that leveled a city block. First responders and Overwatch were on the scene quickly to rescue those they could and apprehend the ones responsible for such a disaster. The main culprit escaped sadly, but they managed to get a tip on where they were from. And this, is where Fareeha's worriedness came to bloom.

Junkertown.

What once was a proud and civilized Australia, was now a never-ending apocalyptic region. Due to some failed defense during the Omnic Crisis, Australia's core blew up, turning itself and its residents into lunatics fighting for survival. The area was warped and changed, to fit the dire state and endless craving of chaos for its residence. Three of which are now temporary agents for Overwatch due to their skills in battle and helpfulness. But the real reason? So that everyone else can keep an eye on them, hopefully to rehabilitate them as well to be fully functional members of their team too.

And while all of this is alone is terrifying, Fareeha just couldn't let her mother go to such a place by herself, not knowing what could happen to her. But as much as she hate to admit it, her mother went to her own kind of hell already. And proved just how strong she can be once she was back on the field. She's nowhere near her prime, and certainly not as durable as Reinhardt, but that still doesn't stop Ana Amari from getting the job done.

"Listen, I know you're afraid of what might happen. But I promise you, as soon as I am done; I will be back home. Then maybe you'll not babying me? That's my job to do to you!" Ana said back towards Fareeha who only looked at her was a stern look. However, Fareeha's cold demeanor when acting serious is rarely broken, and this is a perfect moment of what happens when it is. As Fareeha sighed and let out a soft laugh, she looked at her mom with a sad smile, before hugging her one last time.

What followed next happened with no sound to Fareeha. She watched as her mother said her last goodbyes to Fareeha for the time being, boarded up the helicopter set towards her destination, waved one last time as the doors closed, and then the Heli was ascending. Up it went further and further till it made course away from the HQ, then it was out of sight from there. Fareeha just stood there for a while before breathing in a heavy sigh, then returned back inside to rest up or train.

Whatever could take her mind of this gut feeling something wasn't right...

[catt-marp]

A Shoulder To Lean On

“This sucks so much shit, dude.”

Kyle almost spat the words, his frustration boiling over. Star pitcher of the prestigious Driftveil University baseball team, knocked out for the indefinite future because of his own shitty anatomy and bad luck. At least, that’s what he thought. Big burst of pain on the inner side of his elbow after throwing a pitch deep into a game. That’s all it took. Apparently he tore a ligament in his arm? Bullshit. 

Surgery on his ligament took place a few months back. During the intervening time, countless people assured him that only the best surgeons worked on his precious arm. They better have–those knife-wielding playing-god motherfuckers held his entire future in their shaky hands. When they told him about the expected recovery time, he flipped his lid faster than his Arceus-damned fastball. A year? 

Which led him to today, mulling over the inherent unfairness of the world from his spot on an exercise table in a physical therapist‘s office in downtown Driftveil. 

He’d suffered through months of nothing but the simplest of exercises and stretches on the recommendation of his trainer. No throwing, no sprinting, nothing. The most excitement he’d had was riding a stationary bike at a leisurely pace through a computer-generated meadow projected on the screens of his exercise equipment. Absolutely thrilling stuff.

He’d protested, but doctors and trainers alike insisted that any more “strenuous” exercises could risk increasing the time to return to peak form. Worse, the wrong “stress” could lead to permanent losses. Kyle was stubborn and frustrated and annoyed, but he wasn’t an idiot.

Give it time and do what you’re told. That mantra repeated in the back of his mind over and over. 

Finally, FINALLY, the news came that he could advance on his treatment plan. Did that mean he’d get to throw the ball again? Some Janitor throws, or step back pivot tosses? Maybe even a towel drill?

No, of course not. It just meant it was time for some slightly different silly stretches. He wanted to scream.

Instead, he worked his shoulder muscles for the billionth time.

“All of the shit. Just draining down the back of my throat. Nasty, disgusting, diarrhea shits.”

“You humans are strange sometimes.”

The voice had come out of nowhere, a deep baritone woven within an electronic pattern; the sign of a functioning translation device. The sound heralded Kyle’s villain for the day, the reason for his sour mood.

Stupid Pokémon.

Kyle turned to face the perpetrator. A colossal wall of a Throh greeted him, a stoic look on his face. The standard physical therapist’s outfit of loose, dark blue scrubs replaced the more traditional judogi his species normally wore. Located over the left side of his chest, a badge held an ID photo of the Throh, his name written above in text too small for Kyle to make out. The text he could make out was more important, after all. Physical Therapist. 

Who decided it was a good idea to let their pet play pretend? 

“Listen, Mr. Muppet Man, I’m just trying to work through the stress of my life being thrown directly into a blender, alright?”

A bit more venom escaped in his words than he expected, but his frustration felt justified. His Physical Therapist left him with these useless repetitive motions before leaving the room to take a call. She said Kyle would be fine with her partner, who was standing off to the side of the room for the duration of his appointment until this point. He spotted the Judo Pokémon greeting him with a small wave when he first got settled in his exercise room, but he had not made himself known until now.

The Throh arched his brow at the remark, but if it upset him, he made no note of it. He slowly ambled towards Kyle. 

“My apologies for this…thing,” he said, gesturing toward the translator device pinned to his uniform near his badge. It took Kyle a moment to realize that the deep voice lacked any electronic hum. “I can speak Human, but…must be clear for care of patients.” 

With a flick of a switch on the side of the device, it lit up again with a brilliant green light, indicating it was working. The Throh pulled a chair alongside him and sat down next to the table Kyle was using. He made eye contact with Kyle, a calm look on his face.

“Sorry for the late introduction. Toshiro’s the name, physical therapy is my game, believe it or not. I just felt your words were strange. But many humans say strange words here,” Toshiro said, tilting his head to the side in thought. 

Kyle realized quickly he much preferred when the big lug of a Pokémon pretended to be a statue and not his trainer. 

“We do that when we are frustrated, I guess. Start spewing whatever’s on the top of our head. Like yes, my elbow is getting so much better by stretching my back and shoulder. Of course that makes perfect sense.”

Toshiro nodded along, not appearing to pick up on the sarcasm dripping from Kyle’s words.

“That was ironic, Throh. This is stupid,” he growled, putting a little emphasis on the words to make his meaning clear to the stupid fighting creature.

A frown split Toshiro’s neutral expression. “Did Sarah not explain at the start of this visit? Or did I mishear her?”

Kyle had not misheard her; he just didn’t care for the details. He needed to ease himself in and strengthen muscles. Not mess things up long term. Things he knew, but he found that thinking about them repetitively was worse than the physical repetitions he was oh so familiar with at this point.

“No, please enlighten me, Mr. Physical Therapist,” Kyle said in the most sickly sweet voice he could muster. 

Without a word of complaint, Toshiro got up and walked over to stand on the right side of Kyle. 

“May I examine your arm?” the Throh asked, tone professional. 

Arm held out, Kyle internally rolled his eyes at the lack of a rise at his words. It looked like the big lug was actually trying to help him, so he would do as asked and pay attention. He could do that much, even though he just expected a parroting of what he heard before from Sarah.  This was her Pokémon after all, right? 

Toshiro took hold of Kyle’s arm, one hand on the upper part and another on the lower. 

“You had a total tear of your UCL–it’s the ligament on the inside of your elbow that connects the bone in your upper arm and lower arm. The surgeons took some tissue from somewhere else on your body or had a donor to replace the torn ligament. You most recently had the elbow brace removed that was being used as a support for the last month or so. All this sound correct?”

Kyle nodded, uncertain where Toshiro was going with this, but willing to play along. 

“Studies suggest the best way to give athletes a chance of full recovery is through ensuring surrounding muscular structures remain active and strong. These have also revealed that these injuries can lead to long-term balance issues and problems with shoulder joints. This leads to muscle deficits in the medial flexor-pronator complex because of maximum activation during–oh sorry, I got ahead of myself there. Does that make sense?” Toshiro said, pausing for a moment with a sheepish expression on his face.

Kyle blinked. Sarah had not gone into this amount of detail. The young man had goals of being the best pitcher he could be, so he knew more about the mechanics of arm muscles and structures than most people thought. That the Pokémon next to him knew this much and could go into even more detail if pressed surprised Kyle. Thoughts of books and judging covers crossed his mind before he returned to the conversation.

“Yeah, it does. What else ya got for me?” he said, a sudden burst of energy filling his words.

A smile grew on Toshiro’s face as his hand on Kyle’s upper arm moved up to the athlete's shoulder as he continued, “Well, the elbow itself functions as a sort of kinetic chain, where all the structures in tandem work together to ensure proper delivery of force and power. Because of this, strengthening not only surrounding muscles, but the muscles in your core and in your hips, will give you a greater chance of recovering well and getting back to your pitching goals.” He paused for a second to wait for questions. Kyle had none, but watched Toshiro with rapt attention, as if asking for more. “Research has shown that focusing on the shoulder, wrist, legs, and your abdomen decreases stress on the elbow and aids in its own recovery.”

Kyle mused on these thoughts for a moment. Strengthening the body as a whole could improve the individual parts, huh? He supposed that made sense and could work with that. Better than nothing. The question from before barged its way into his mind, however, demanding an answer.

“Okay, I understand that. More detailed than Sarah, but still the focus is on everything but the injured part of my body! Why can’t I start with elbow stuff? Isn’t doing nothing about it also bad?”

Toshiro kept his same polite expression, moving the hand on Kyle’s forearm up to the elbow proper while the other remained on Kyle’s right shoulder. He gently took hold of the elbow, and then rotated Kyle’s arm at the shoulder joint a few times to test something only he was aware of. No wince or grimace of pain appeared on the young man’s face.

“Right, here’s the thing. The plan was to move forward by adding elbow-focused exercises, but only once the soreness improved and you could move your elbow without pain. We will continue to provide pain relief–like the ultrasound machine, electric stimulation, muscle manipulation, and more throughout all this. Not to cause any grief, but, well, Sarah mentioned this near the end of her explanation, but you appeared a little…distracted, I suppose, and may have missed it?”

Kyle groaned and looked back on that conversation about half an hour prior. Yes, she had mentioned something about “next steps,” hadn’t she? Ugh, how embarrassing, he thought. He blamed the frustration and lack of specific answers. No one had tried starting off with this much detail before.

“Okay, yeah, uh…shit, she said something like that? I wouldn’t miss shit like that if people didn’t baby me, though. I care enough about my future to look into this stuff, y’know?”

Toshiro kept manipulating his elbow and doing the soft-tissue mobilizations they told Kyle about previously while he spoke without missing a beat. “Did you ask? Everyone on our team is happy to share as much or as little information with patients, as long as you understand the important stuff.”

Heat filled Kyle’s cheeks. He had not, in fact, asked. Stupid, idiotic, boneheaded play. The frustration from before swelled, but not directed at any of the people he had worked with. No, this was all directed straight at himself. He stewed a bit in these thoughts, but his lack of an answer was one enough for Toshiro.

“Hey, it’s fine, you know? You’re not wrong. It is a major, life-changing event for you, and even doing everything right can lead to injuries like this,” he said, taking a hand off Kyle’s shoulder and clapping his back in a reassuring manner. “Your frustration, your fears, these are valid feelings. We are only here to help you through this and get you to where you yourself want to be, aye?”

The room was still, with neither of the two moving for a moment as Kyle processed the words. He would never admit how touched he was by the words. A rueful smile spread across his own face, thinking of his behavior and his own first impressions of Toshiro. He had definitely jumped the gun on this guy. 

“You’re right. I am frustrated. But I apologize for my words earlier. They were fucking rude,” Kyle said, moving to rub his left hand on the back of his head. “And, uh, I’d like to hear more if you’re willing to work with me.”

He looked away as he said this, more embarrassed with himself than anything. A chuckle escaped the Throh, untranslated; the sound felt like it came from a deeper register than possible. It finally, truly hit Kyle how his trainer actually was a Pokémon, not human.

“Of course, Kyle. What other questions do you have?” Toshiro moved back, ready to continue this session in Sarah’s absence.

The frustration at his situation no longer overran Kyle’s thoughts. It was still there, and he didn’t think it would go away throughout the entire length of this recovery period. This was bullshit. But the drive to improve, to listen, and to better himself was never stronger, and all it took was a brief chat with a Pokémon.

Actually, Kyle thought, it was a chat with a good physical therapist.

[sunlaire]

Well...okay I'll take a swing at this. Quick note; I lived codependent for most of my life and then went on a 3 year therapy and research quest to Figure It Out. That being said, I can see some codependent qualities between Harry and Kim but I don't think its at a critical level or anything.

Yeah, in real life situations there's obsession and possessiveness and resentment ect. But those are kind of like the effects of being in a codependent situation. It doesn't actually describe what's happening. Codependency, it's basically when someone takes responsibility for someone else's feelings and actions. There are no boundaries between the two people.

This is a bit from Codependent No More by Melody Beattie (this is The Book about codependency) "Sometimes we rescue because it's easier than dealing with the discomfort and awkwardness of facing other people's unsolved problems. We haven't learned to say, "It's too bad you're having that problem. What do you need from me?" We've learned to say, "Here. Let me do that for you."

The problem with this is, of course, people can't control how others feel. And so in a codependent situation, there's someone trying to emotionally catch another person, save them from having to feel bad. And it doesn't work. Yet more and more effort will be put into it until the 'Saver' will eventually lose themselves.

Meanwhile, the one getting 'saved' will feel even more helpless and unable to handle situations. Relying more and more on the Saver, the caregiver. Addictions is very often part of the dynamic. And these codependent relationships will only lead to less control. Because when someone is being rescued from responsibility at ever step, then it's difficult (impossible) to have any sort of control over their addiction. It's been taken from their hands by someone who thinks the addict is incapable of taking care of themselves or doing the "right thing". When youre in that situation with someone you love and they just wants to take care of you, its hard not to start believing it too. Like i'm a fuck-up, of course i can't do it on my own. How can i possible go up against the Infinite Beast that is addiction. You can see where the problems are building up. neither people in the relationship are driving their own car anymore, or focusing on their side of the street. metaphor.

Now okay, in the game it's nowhere near that bad. Kim shows some compassion and understanding for Harry. Really, they are not on the level where Kim is trying to remove obstacles from Harrys path. In fact, Kim insists Harry talk to Billie after they find her husband. He encouraged him to believe in himself and to function independently. And Harry does. He is surprisingly capable for a man who forgot the concept of money and Wömen (Men of Wö).

But the conditions are there. Textbook. Harry was an alcoholic who is barely keeping himself together. his self esteem and confidence in his abilities are critically low. And theres Kim, who is very capable and he knows it. There's one moment he stops harry from asking Joyce about the Pale. That might be the most overt codependent action in the game. He made the decision that Harry was not ready for that. Then theres Kims tendency to feel he knows best.

If these two were a shade more messy, then they'd have a doozy of a codependent relationship. I'm talking resentment, worthlessness, helplessness, clinging to each other, feeling insane, no boundaries, all of it. As far as game text go, its not that. They are both independent, and they look out for each other. as far as i can tell, in a healthy way. Or what can be expected of two people, in the midst of a brewing civil war, with only each other to rely on, in a town on the edge of the world. Considering all that, i think they're fine.

I'm not sure how I feel about fan dialogue regarding codependency in disco elysium, so I'd love some input from others. esp since it's a game that deals a lot with the stigma around addiction, disability, and the concept of social murder

I mean I am definitely in the camp that whatever behaviours most people think of when they think of 'codependency' are indeed unhealthy! of course!! manipulation, obsession and isolation whithin relationships are obviously negative things. (that imo can be compelling to read about! please don't think I'm saying 'don't write this stuff'. that's not what I mean here. if I wanted to exclusively consume content about healthy characters then I wouldn't be a de fan lmao)

but from what I've gathered in my research, 'codependency' as a definition isn't something formally identified in academic literature. the term itself is often touted around very loosely by self-help pop psychology circles, frequently from a lens that is very prejudiced against addicts, disabled people, people with illnesses etc.

so when people throw that term around in regards to characters and the dynamics in their relationships, it's hard for me to keep a track of what they mean, exactly.

[sunflowervolvimp3]

42 Hours

Content: an enemies to lovers au in which Harry and Y/N are forced into a cross country road trip to make it to their best friends’ wedding on time

Warnings: language, mentions of nsfw content

Pairing: Harry Styles x reader

Word Count: 20k 

A/N: I actually cannot believe that this is finally being posted over almost a month of working on it!! originally, I was going to make this one long stand alone fic, but once I hit 35k with no end in sight, I decided to split it into two parts so that it would be easier to read for you guys.  I’m hoping to have part 2 posted within a week, so keep an eye out for it!! this fic was partially inspired by this post by @avhrodite​ (thank you miss bailey!!) and can I just say that I had so much fun writing it!! I love road trips!! it makes me so sad that I had to split this fic because there are so many fun music scenes in the next part but those will all come in due time!! I would also like to give a big thank you to miss andrea @adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy​ and miss alex @darthstyles​ for putting up with me bouncing ideas off of them and for proof reading for me!! and miss andrea again for editing this stunning header pic!! also everyone I tagged is a wonderful writer and if you’re looking for more to read after reading this then I HIGHLY suggest taking a look through their masterlists. and as always, if you like this fic, please like and reblog it!! and shoot me a message!! feedback is always appreciated, not just by me, but by all content creators <3

{masterlist}

also!! if you want to set the mood for a road trip with Harry, here is a link to the playlist that is mentioned and referenced in this fic!!

When she was a little girl, Y/N’s grandmother had told her about Murphy’s Law.  Grandma Sarah’s favourite activity was staring at her granddaughter over the kitchen counter, a knife in one hand and half an onion that she’d been cutting in the other, spouting various wisdoms at the young girl, who would often be sitting and peeling vegetables for her.  The old lady had hoped that, after being lectured enough times on life’s difficulties, Y/N might be able to avoid making the same mistakes that she had made in her own time.  She always had a list of advice that she’d cycle through, as if she were a record on a loop.

“Always look both ways before crossing the street.  Your great uncle Albert didn’t, and he never regained full function of his left hand.”

“Beauty fades, but there’s no shelf life on your mind.”

“The grass is always greener on the other side, so stop staring at it, and focus on taking care of your own lawn.”

All of the advice was, by any accounts, useful for anyone to know, especially a young girl.  Of course, sometimes the advice would get a little scrambled after Grandma Sarah had had a few glasses of wine, but even her tipsy thoughts were useful to Y/N in her later years.  To this day, Y/N still sets a glass of water on her nightstand before going out to a bar, and her hungover self is always grateful the next morning.  And Y/N had yet to find anything that smelled as sweet as a vanilla dabbed behind her ears and on her wrists when she runs out of perfume.  However, perhaps the most important piece of advice Grandma Sarah ever gave her came one afternoon when Y/N was eleven years old, and her older cousin Grace was due to get married the next week.

Grandma Sarah had cracked egg after egg into her mixing bowl, always without getting any unwanted pieces of shell in the egg whites, and gave her granddaughter a long look across the kitchen counter.

“When you get married, Y/N,” She had said, voice firm. “Remember Murphy’s Law.  Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.  When Murphy’s Law comes into play, there’s nothing you can do except roll with the punches.”

Eleven year old Y/N had nodded her head seriously, as she always did when her grandmother told her seemingly important things.  The advice, despite its usefulness, however, didn’t stick around in her head, and Murphy’s Law didn’t cross Y/N’s mind for fourteen years.

It takes fourteen years for Y/N, who is standing in front of a flight check-in at LAX, two large suitcases next to her, one of which contains two gold wedding bands, passport in hand, and a distressed look on her face, to remember the law her grandmother had once told her about.

“When you get married, Y/N…anything that can go wrong, will go wrong, and at the worst possible moment.”

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, Y/N pushes the echoing words of her grandmother out of her head. “I’m sorry, just—” She gives a pained smile to the lady working the check in. “Can you explain that to me again, please?”

The lady also takes a deep breath, the smile on her ruby tinted lips just as pained as Y/N’s. “There’s a storm system moving through Utah and Colorado.  These systems have the potential to become tornadoes, and because of that, the conditions for flying are too dangerous right now, so all flights through that area are grounded until further notice.”

“So my flight is cancelled?” Y/N holds up the ticket in her hand that’s stamped with LAX – JFK. “This flight, this flight to New York, which is nowhere near Utah—that’s cancelled?”

The check-in lady, whose name tag reads Brynn, gives another tight smile. “Yes, ma’am.  It’s cancelled.”

“Okay, no, I’m sorry, Brynn, but that doesn’t work for me.” Y/N shakes her head fiercely as the manic rush of emotions through her begins to set in.  The denial, she finds, keeps the oncoming panic at bay, and so she decides to focus on that to ground herself. “My best friend is getting married in the Catskills in one week.” Y/N holds up one finger, as if her words are hard for Brynn to understand. “That’s one week from today.  I’m the maid of honour.  I have to be there to help organize, keep her calm, and make sure she actually makes it down the aisle, because—between you and me—she’s got some commitment issues—” The more Y/N speaks, the more her panic begins to spill out in her words, like a dam with a leak that’s about to burst. “And she forgot the goddamn wedding rings, so I have those too, and I just—I really need to get to New York, like, now. Right now.”

Y/N finally pauses to take a sharp breath, and Brynn, who had been waiting for her to finish, speaks again, her voice flatter than before.

“I’m very sorry to hear that, ma’am, but as I said, all flights are grounded right now.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, Y/N takes another deep breath.  Roll with the punches, her grandmother had told her.  What else is there to do? “Okay.” Y/N is careful to keep her voice in check when she speaks again. “Alright.  Do you know when they’ll be ungrounded?”

“As I’ve said,” Brynn’s smile is more of a grimace now, and Y/N knows that she’s treading on thin ice. “All flights are grounded until further notice.  We’re not sure when we’ll be able to open them again.  It could be a day, or it could be five.  If you’d like, I can put you down on a list to be called when flights are available again, but I’m afraid that’s the best I can do.”

“Let’s do that, then.” Y/N relents in a tired voice, already making plans to pick up a coffee on her way back to her apartment.  In the back of her mind, she begins to wonder if she has any Baileys Irish cream liqueur left in her kitchen cabinet—and if 8:30 A.M. is too early to be drinking Baileys with her coffee.

…

It takes Y/N two cups of coffee with Baileys (it had been 10 A.M. by the time she arrived home, thanks to L.A. traffic, and she had decided that 10 A.M. was a fine time to drink when one’s flight gets cancelled indefinitely) to work up the courage to call Jo and tell her that she isn’t sure if she’ll be able to make it to the wedding.

Josephine Waters, or Jo to anyone who doesn’t want to get punched in the arm, has been Y/N’s best friend since the girls were five years old.  They became fast friends on the first day of kindergarten, as Jo liked how Y/N could already colour inside the lines, and Y/N liked how Jo tackled a boy who tugged on Y/N’s pigtails.  From the very beginning, the two were a perfect match for each other; where Y/N was reserved, Jo was wild.  Where Jo was disorganized, Y/N was focused.  Each girl balanced the other in the most natural way, and it’s this fact that Y/N and Jo credit for the two of them staying friends for twenty years. As they grew up together, they grew together, taking the very best traits from the other and using it to help themselves develop.  Y/N had been the first person that Jo came out to, confessing to her best friend during an eighth grade sleepover in a quiet and nervous voice.  To Jo’s pleasure, Y/N had been completely supportive, and returned the favour from the first day of kindergarten by punching a boy in the nose for calling Jo a homophobic slur.  Jo helped Y/N through her parent’s divorce.  Y/N helped Jo manage her ADHD.  Jo talked Y/N through discovering her bisexuality in university. Y/N answered every 3 A.M. phone call to comfort Jo after a panic attack.  In every sense of the word, the two girls had been there for each other.

And now Y/N is going to miss Jo’s wedding.

The harsh realization digs a pit in her stomach as she opens her phone and clicks on Jo’s name.  It’s noon in L.A., which means it’s 3 P.M. in New York time, and Y/N knows Jo will answer.  She always does.

Sure enough, after three short rings, Jo’s voice chirps through the phone. “Hey, Y/N!  Has your flight landed already?”

“No, there’s—there’s been an issue.” Y/N downs another gulp of her coffee, wishing she had added more Baileys when she had the chance, and clears her throat before continuing. “There’s, um, a storm in Utah, and apparently it’s bad, and so all flights from L.A. to New York are grounded until further notice.”

Jo makes a scoffing noise, and Y/N can practically picture the indignant look on her face that she’s seen so many times before. “That’s ridiculous.  Did you tell them that New York is nowhere near Utah?”

“Uh huh.”

“What about that my wedding is in one week?”

“I told them that, too. Brynn didn’t seem to care.”

“Bitch.” Jo mutters under her breath. “Okay, just wait a second, Laure just walked through the door, so I’m putting you on speakerphone—”

Y/N hears rustling on the speaker, as well as muttering in the background as Jo speaks to her fiancée, and then Jo’s voice is back, sounding slightly more distant.

“Okay, so I told Laure what happened—”

“That’s awful, Y/N.” Laure’s voice is laced with stress, and Y/N can only imagine how much anxiety this information is adding to her already full plate. “They won’t tell you when flights will be leaving again?”

“Nope.” Y/N pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her free arm around them, leaning her head against the back of her couch.

“Okay, well, planes aren’t the only way to get here.” Laure says, always the more rational out of the two. “Maybe a car—?”

“Y/N doesn’t have one.” Jo chimes in, a hint of teasing in her voice, despite the serious problem that’s in discussion. “She’s scared of driving—”

Y/N sits up, an indignant look on her face. “I’m not scared of driving!” She says hotly, setting her empty coffee mug on the table with a thud. “I just hate L.A. traffic, and honestly, there’s no point!  I can walk to work, and Uber anywhere else I need to go!  A car would be completely useless to me!”

“Except now, when you’re about to miss your best friend’s wedding.” Jo points out. “What about renting one?”

Y/N sighs, her moment of indignation already fizzled out. “I tried that already.  There’s nothing available for a cross country trip.”

“And the drive is so long.” Laure murmurs, and Y/N knows it’s more for Jo’s benefit than hers. “It’s over forty hours.  She can’t do that by herself; it’s not safe.”

“But—”

“Look, Jo, don’t worry about this, alright?” Y/N cuts across her best friend’s anxious voice, assuming her usual role of protector. “I’ll figure this out.  I promise you; I will make it to your wedding on time, looking pretty in my dress, and with your wedding bands.  I promise.”

“We’ll keep thinking about it and see what we can come up with.” Laure promises through the phone, her voice sounding further and further away. “This is just—it’s a bump in the road, but it’s fine.  We can work around this.  We’ll find a way.”

…

The way that Laure finds for Y/N pounds on her door at 7:30 A.M. the next morning.

Y/N, like any exhausted and stressed out adult who has already begun her ten days of vacation time that she booked off for the wedding, is fast asleep in her bed when she hears the knocking.  The loud noise pulls her out from her dreams abruptly, and she cracks one eye open, squinting through the sunlight that’s lighting up her room.  When the knock echoes through her apartment again, she pulls herself from her sheets with a groan, grabbing her robe from the back of her door and tying it around herself as she makes her way to the front hallway to yell at whoever has the audacity to wake her up.

When she opens the door, Harry Styles is peering down at her with an irritated look on his face.

“Took you long enough, Y/N.” He rolls his eyes as he speaks, finally stepping back from the door that he had been pounding on a moment ago. “Are you ready to go?”

Y/N rubs her eyes, suppressing a yawn as she does so. “Styles, I have no idea what you’re talking about.  What are you doing here?” She demands.  She doesn’t have the energy to deal with him right now, she thinks, let alone the mental capacity to listen to anything he has to say.

Harry crosses his arms across his chest, and it’s then that Y/N notices the duffel bag strewn over his shoulder. “It’s a forty-two hour drive from L.A. to the Catskills.” Harry’s eyes scan over Y/N’s appearance, the very corner of his strawberry pink lips twitching, and Y/N tightens her robe around herself with a glare.

“A drive?” Y/N asks, uncertainty growing in her voice as she crosses her arm over her chest. “What are you talking about?”

“Your flight was cancelled, right?” Harry’s voice grows more impatient as Y/N’s half asleep brain struggles to piece together what’s happening. “So was mine, so I decided to drive to the wedding, and then Laure called me last night, begging me to take you with me.” He shrugs a bit, fixing his sunglasses on top of his head as his jade eyes scan over her appearance one more time. “Not my first choice of road trip partner, but I don’t think the best man can say no to bringing the maid of honour.  And splitting the cost of gas will be nice.”

“Okay, wait, I…” Y/N’s finally coming out of her fog of exhaustion, and the newfound clarity of her mind is causing a newfound pit to develop in her stomach. “Laure and Jo didn’t tell me any of this.”

“Well, I expect they’re a bit busy, given that they’re getting married in a week.” Harry adjusts the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder with a sharp sigh. “Look, are you ready to go or not?  It’s over a five day drive, so we need to leave as soon as possible.”

“I—yeah—” Y/N nods before taking a hesitant step back from the doorway, positioning herself to the side so that Harry can get by her. “I just have to get dressed and grab a couple last minute things, so…come in, I guess.”

Harry flashes an insincere smile to Y/N as he steps into her apartment, his eyes darting around at the furniture and home decor.  Y/N watches as his gaze lingers on her library of books, her yellow bicycle leaning against the wall, and every other little touch of herself that she likes her home to have, and she can see the judgement that’s clearly apparent in his eyes.

“You can sit, if you want.” She mutters, turning on her heel to go back to her bedroom. “I’ll only be a few minutes.”

The first thing Y/N does when she shuts her bedroom door behind herself is assess the situation in the analytical way that usually calms her.  Alright.  So a road trip across the country isn’t exactly ideal, and a road trip across the country with Harry Styles is even less ideal.  But, at the present moment, being stuck in a car with Harry seems to be the only sure way that she’ll be able to make it to Jo’s wedding on time. And for Jo, Y/N would put up with anything.  Even Harry.

As she rummages through her drawers for some leggings and a tank top, Y/N wonders what she could have possibly done to bring this much bad karma into her life.  While she gets dressed, her mind flickers back to Murphy’s Law, how everything that can go wrong will go wrong, in the worst possible way, and then she thinks about being in a confined space with Harry for five days, and—yeah.  That seems to be the worst possible thing she can think of.

Y/N remembers the first moment she’d met Harry seven years ago, and the unfortunate circumstances under which that meeting had happened.  Jo and Laure had just barely met back then, and Jo had begged Y/N to come out on a double date with her and “this really hot girl from my women studies class who I’m, like, 83% sure swings my way.”

Y/N had groaned at that comment, flopping back on her bed in the tiny dorm that she and Jo shared. “No! I have an essay due in three days that I haven’t even started!”

Jo rolled her eyes as she flopped down on Y/N’s bed as well, ignoring her own half-made bunk that was across the small room, favouring her best friend’s bed like she always did. “We both know you’re not starting that essay until the day before it’s due, and that it’s just an excuse because you don’t want to go!”

“I don’t want to go.” Y/N had agreed with a sharp and fervent nod.  She shut her laptop and pushed it to the side of her bed, knowing from experience that she wasn’t going to be able to focus and argue at the same time. “Why would I want to hang out with a complete stranger while you make googly eyes at a girl from your class?”

“Okay, first, I don’t make googly eyes.” Jo made a face at that comment, nudging Y/N’s calf with her own foot. “And second, he’s her best friend from high school, and he’s coming to visit all the way from London!”

“So?  He’s still a stranger!” Y/N pointed out, her eyes drifting to the sticky note covered novel beside her.  She picks it up and begins to flip through the marked pages as she speaks. “Knowing where he’s from doesn’t change that!”

“It should, because he’s only going to be here for a week, and Laure almost cancelled the date because she doesn’t want to miss spending time with him—” Jo grabbed one of Y/N’s pillows and tossed it at her arm, knocking the book from her hands. “Focus! So I said that he could come, but she said that she didn’t want him to be left out, so I said that I happen to have an incredibly beautiful and witty best friend who would be able to entertain Harry while we all hang out together.”

Y/N inhaled deeply as she gave Jo a withering look. “Did you already tell her I’m going?”

Jo, in return, gave Y/N her most dazzling smile. “Yes.  We’re meeting them for dinner at 7.”

Y/N shakes herself from her memories as she runs to her bathroom to toss her toiletries back into the bag she’d taken them out of the day before, working as quickly as she can. It does her no good to think of Harry in the past, she thinks, because the present Harry is currently sitting in her living room, probably snooping through her stuff, and the longer she takes to get ready to go, the more he’ll go through.  Not that there’s anything incriminating in her apartment, really—or at least, nothing incriminating in her living room.  When Y/N makes it back to her bedroom, however, to quickly zip up her suitcase, she does make sure she grabs her favourite vibrator from the box under her bed, tucking it between her half-folded underwear.  If she’s going to be gone for a week, she’ll need something to help her relax.

Within a few more minutes, Y/N is repacked and ready to go.  Her hunter green bridesmaid dress is carefully arranged on the very top of her clothes in her suitcase, all of her makeup and toiletries are packed inside, and Jo and Laure’s wedding rings are secured in little velvet boxes stashed between her socks.  As far as physical preparedness goes, Y/N is ready to go on a coast to coast road trip. As far as mental preparedness goes, however…that’s the thing that Y/N’s not quite sure about.

…

“What are you doing?”

Y/N glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, her hand still half stretched out to the radio dials in his car.  Although Harry’s green eyes are hidden behind his sunglasses, and his face is turned towards the long road in front of them, he still somehow manages to catch her motions, and it irritates her to no end.

“I’m changing the radio station?” Y/N answers after a moment, giving him a puzzled look. “I don’t know why you listen to this weird oldies station, but—”

“First of all—” Harry’s hands turn the steering wheel slightly to guide his car over the curve of the road, his jaw twitching as a smirk works its way onto his pink lips. “This isn’t a radio station, it’s my Spotify playlist.  I put a Bluetooth connection in Stevie a year ago. Secondly—”

“Stevie?” Y/N repeats incredulously, twisting her whole body as best she can to look at Harry straight on. “You named your car?  You’re one of those guys?”

Harry finally gives Y/N a flicker of a glance, the glare obvious in his eyes even behind his dark sunglasses.  He turns his attention back to the road before replying. “Secondly—” He continues from before, ignoring her comment as his right hand readjusts the gear shift. “Driver picks the music.”

Y/N makes a face, the corners of her lips pulling down into a grimace as she settles back into the passenger seat with her arms crossed. “So we’re just going to listen to ‘Tiny Dancer’ for the entire drive, are we?”

“Not the entire drive, no.” Harry flicks on his turn signal with a ringed hand before shoulder checking to change lanes.  Y/N glances at him, her eyes training on the strained muscles in his neck as Harry continues. “We’ll listen to ‘Don’t Go Breaking My Heart,’ too.”

“Great.” Y/N exhales slowly and presses her head back into the seat’s headrest, closing her eyes as Elton John’s voice continues to float through the speakers. “Really looking forward to it.”

“You know, maybe you should try to sleep.” Harry says, his voice prickled with irritation as Elton John bleeds into The Zombies. “I think you’ll be in a better mood after you take a nap.”

Y/N readjusts her crossed arms as she mutters a short reply. “Don’t tell me what to do.” Still, she shuts her eyes again, twisting her body towards the window in an attempt to get comfortable enough to sleep.  Being in the car with Harry is already giving her a throbbing migraine, and they’ve only been on the road for less than two hours.  Sleeping through most of the trip will probably be the only way she’ll be able to survive it.

Despite that realization, however, her phone vibrates in her lap three minutes later, pulling her away from her thoughts.  Y/N glances down at the now lit screen, catching her bottom lip between her teeth when she registers the name on the message.  Opening her phone quickly, she reads over the reply as a guilty feeling begins to build in her stomach.

BRANT: Hey, what are you doing tonight?  Want to grab some dinner?

“What’s wrong?”

“Hm?” Y/N’s head snaps back up, her eyes jerking in Harry’s direction.  Like before, he’s watching her from the corner of his eye, catching every one of her movements, and the constant surveillance is annoying to no end.

Harry, it seems, is either oblivious to her annoyance, or is choosing to ignore it. “I asked what’s wrong. You have a weird look on your face.” Harry’s blunt words are accompanied by the sound of him tapping his ring covered fingers against the gear shift. “Everything alright?  Is it Laure and Jo?”

“No, it’s just—” Y/N glances down at her phone again, fingers poised over her keyboard as she crafts a reply in her head. “It’s no one.”

Harry snorts once, a short and harsh sound that grates against Y/N’s nerves like nails on a chalkboard. “I don’t buy that for a second.”

“It’s no one to you.” Y/N updates her retort, turning her full attention back to her phone. “My personal life is none of your business.”

Y/N: I’m sorry, I can’t!! Caught a last minute ride to New York with somebody.  Maybe once I’m back?

“Personal life, huh?” Harry clicks his tongue once, and the childish noise is even more irritating than his snort. “What, you can’t talk to me about whoever you’re shagging?”

The blunt remark hits Y/N like a shot to the chest, and she sputters for a moment as she struggles to form a response. “I—we’re not—” Taking a moment to gather herself and clear her throat quickly, Y/N avoids Harry’s gaze as her cheeks begin to burn. “We’re not like that. We’ve just…had a few dates, that’s all. There’s nothing…official.”

“You don’t need to be official to have a shag, now, do you?” Harry lifts his hand from the gear shift to fix his sunglasses, settling it back down on his jean covered thigh once he’s done. “If you don’t want to date the bloke—”

“I didn’t say that.” Y/N cuts over him, pulling herself from her embarrassment enough to give him a cold glare. “He’s very nice—”

“Boring, you mean—”

“And I—this is none of your business!” Feeling the flush of embarrassment rise back to her cheeks, Y/N once again turns her attention to her passenger seat window, avoiding Harry’s pressing gaze. “I’m done talking about this.”

Harry gives an indifferent shrug. “Whatever.” He says casually, tapping his finger against his thigh as his shoulders once again lift slightly beneath his fitted black t-shirt. “I just feel bad for the guy, that’s all.”

The comment is bait. And the thing is, Y/N knows it’s bait.  She knows that the only reason Harry is saying it is to get under her skin and keep her talking about Brant, further embarrassing herself in the process. She’s been around Harry enough to know how he works, and she knows that the only reason he would say that is to bait her.  She knows she shouldn’t take it.  And yet—

“There’s no reason to feel bad for him.” Y/N scoffs as she fidgets with the position of her seatbelt, trying to stop the strap from cutting into her chest. “We’ve been talking for a month, and there’s nothing official happening.  Just because you can’t go that long without trying to stick your dick in someone—”

“You have no idea what I can do, Y/N.  Don’t pretend that you do.” Harry’s tone of voice is just as scoffing as hers, his eyes still set on the road in front of them intently as he gives his sharp response. Y/N watches as he shifts the gears of the car and speeds up, just enough to make the engine roar, but not enough to lose control of the car.  Part of Y/N wistfully wishes that he would just slip up and crash the car, just so she wouldn’t have to continue this conversation.

“All I meant,” Harry continues, unaware of the dark daydreams running through Y/N’s head. “Is that I feel bad that you’re clearly not interested in him, which is proven by the fact that you haven’t wanted him in your bed.”

Irritation flares through Y/N’s body again, stronger than the embarrassment of discussing her sex life (or lack thereof) with Harry, and she half considers just grabbing the steering wheel and yanking it into a passing cliff so she can finish them off herself. “For Christ’s sake, Harry, sex isn’t the only way to—”

“I don’t mean actually having it, that’s not a given.” Harry rolls his eyes from behind his sunglasses as he slows down for a curve in the road, his practiced hands once again changing gears with ease. “You don’t have to fuck him.  But you should want to, especially if you’ve had a month of dates, and you clearly don’t want to.”

Y/N doesn’t hide the incredulous stare of disbelief on her face as she turns to look at him. Harry’s face, though turned towards the road still, has a look of amusement mixed with contemplation on it, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control not to smack the expression off of him. Although there’s the ghost of a smirk on his strawberry coloured lips, his brow is furrowed behind his sunglasses, as if he’s thinking hard about the conversation between them.  Normally, Y/N would be amazed that Harry is thinking hard about anything.  However, given that their conversation is apparently turning into whether or not she wants to have sex with someone, Y/N’s not too thrilled about his sudden investment and serious contemplation of the topic.

Shaking her head decidedly, Y/N finally spits out a finishing phrase. “You don’t know what I want.” She says decidedly, reaching into the backseat to grab the sweater she stashed back there.  She clumsily pulls it over her body without taking off her seatbelt.  Harry keeps the AC cranked as high as he can, and she knows that he’ll kill her if she tries to change it. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know more than you think.” Harry counters, the tip of his tongue running along his bottom lip. “And I’m pretty good at reading body language.  You don’t really want him.  He—what’s his name?”

Despite her better judgement, Y/N answers in a flat voice. “Brant.”

The corners of Harry’s cherry lip twitches. “Brant.  Yeah. It’s clear you don’t really want him, and you’re wasting your time.  You’re wasting his time, too.  Poor Brant.”

“Poor—you’re such an ass, you know that?” Y/N’s irritation bubbles over as she gives Harry a nasty look, her hand squeezing her thigh hard in an attempt to ground herself in their conversation. “You can try to pretend otherwise, but you don’t know anything about me, or him, so—”

“You think I’ve been friends with Laure and Jo this long and haven’t learned anything about you?” Harry cocks an eyebrow, risking a glance at her as he presses a heavier foot onto the gas. “I told you, I know more than you think, and that includes your type.”

An incredulous scoff leaves Y/N’s mouth, and she shakes her head in obvious disbelief before responding. “My type.  Right. What is my type, then?  What’s Brant like, exactly, since you seem to know everything?”

Harry goes quiet then, his brow furrowing again as he returns his full attention to the road.  With his incessant chatter gone, the only sounds in the car being “Maps” playing quietly in the background and Harry’s ringed index and forefinger tap on the steering wheel.  Y/N breathes out a long sigh of satisfaction as she relaxes back in her seat, her attention turned back to the blurred landscapes speeding by her window.  Finally, she’s managed to get Harry to stop with his ridiculous assumptions—

“You like someone that’s stable and secure, so he probably works in some corporation, or an office job. Majored in business, I’d think, but has a minor in something like mathematics.” The side profile of Harry’s nose wrinkles in disgust at the thought. “He wants to work his way up in the company, but never wants to actually start anything on his own.  He likes the stability of a blueprint. You’re obsessed with punctuality, so he’s probably always on time to pick you up for dates—and he has to pick you up, because you don’t drive—and your dates are never really dates. Dinners, or movies, or something like that, but they never really have that spark.” Harry’s shoulder lift slightly as he continues to make his conclusions. “Which, honestly, is probably a big reason in why you don’t want to fuck him, because as much as you like stability and safety, you also like the idea of a grand gesture, or something like that.  And you probably split the bill a lot at dinner, right?  Because it just seems fair, but really it’s because you know it’s not a real date.  But it passes the time, and he’s nice, so it’s fine.  But it’s only fine.” Harry licks his lips once more as he collects his next thoughts, his teeth catching his bottom lip just barely as his tongue retreats back into his mouth. “And he’s probably already talking about you coming to meet his family for some holiday.  Not in a romantic way, but just because he likes to plan everything in advance to every minute detail.  Just like you.”

Halfway through Harry’s speech, a flush had begun to creep up Y/N’s neck, continuing to warm her jaw and ears before settling on the apples of her cheeks.  She keeps her eyes trained on her window and her mouth pressed into a tight line, refusing to look at Harry and give him any hint of just how shocked she is that he’s guessed so much.

Harry, however, doesn’t plan on letting her get away from his inquisition. “Well?” He impatiently prompts after a moment, and even though she’s not looking at him, she can feel him looking at her, his emerald irises burning into the back of her head. “Am I right?”

“I—” Y/N clears her throat quickly, but her voice is still strained and tight when she replies. “No.”

Harry hums low in his throat, and his voice is laced with curiosity with he replies. “Really?” The irritating tap of his fingers on the steering wheel to the beat of the music continues. “What did I get wrong?”

“He—” Y/N hates the way her skin is burning from his interrogation, how her voice shrinks smaller and smaller the more she speaks.  If Harry knows her so well, then he knows how much she loves being in control, and in this situation, with Harry managing to pull every one of her most secret inner thoughts and feelings out of her without trouble, she feels anything but in control. “He has a minor in accounting, not mathematics.”

The laugh that leaves Harry’s mouth is loud and bombastic, and his whole body curves over the steering wheel as the sound rolls out of him, his eyes just barely managing to stay on the road while his sunglasses slide down his nose. “Right.” Harry says between belly laughs, his voice stretched out in amusement. “But everything else was spot on?”

Y/N keeps her stiff body turned towards the window, refusing to engage in the conversation any further. That doesn’t stop Harry, however, who fixes his sunglasses as chuckles continue to roll out of him.

“I take it back. Maybe he’s the one wasting your time.” His hand runs through his hair lazily, fixing the curled strands that had fallen into his eyes as he laughed. “I don’t blame you for not wanting to sleep with your bore of a boyfriend—”

“He’s stable!” Y/N breaks her silence to protest Harry’s words, her voice heated. “And he’s not my boyfriend.  We’ve been seeing each other, but we’re not—it’s not exclusive, or—nothing serious—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.  It’s fine.” Harry waves off her arguments with a flick of his tattooed hand. “Besides, like you said, it’s none of my business, right?”

Y/N can practically picture what Harry looks like in this moment.  His chestnut curls are probably a mess from fidgeting with them, and his cheeks are most likely rosy beneath his stubble from the peels of laughter that left his equally red lips a moment ago.  Most infuriatingly of all, his dimples are probably present, making little indentations in his cheeks to show how entertaining he’s found embarrassing her. Bastard, she thinks, clenching her fists so hard that her nails dig into her palms, pressing them into her sides beneath her makeshift blanket.

She refuses to let herself confirm if her suspicions about Harry’s appearance are correct, and instead keeps her gaze on the blurred trees whipping by outside her window. “Right.” She mutters, leaning her head against the headrest as she closes her eyes. “It’s none of your business.”

…

As soon as the paint-peeled door to the motel room swings open, Y/N knows that she’s not going to be sleeping soundly tonight.

She’s not sure what her first hint should have been.  Perhaps it was the half-flickering blue and red light of the Motel 6 sign that should have tipped her off, or the front-desk attendant who looked as though he was hiding a few secrets himself.  When Y/N and Harry had first approached the front desk of the tiny, vaguely mildew-smelling lobby, their clothes rumpled from the drive and their attitudes just as bothered, the employee in the Motel 6 uniform had barely raised an eye at them, not bothering to look up from his computer until Y/N and Harry were directly in front of him.

“Hi.” Harry had said, his voice taking on a cautious but polite tone that, Y/N remembers thinking, she would have appreciated hearing throughout their eight hour drive that day. “We’d like two rooms, please—”

“Here.” The attendant’s gum snapped in his mouth as he reached behind himself and grabbed an old key with a flimsy blue plastic tag from a wall of empty pegs. “Queen sized bed, the first door on the left.  It’ll do you two nicely.”

“Um, no.” Harry cleared his throat loudly as he gave a slight shake of his head. “We need two rooms.”

Finally, the attendant looked towards them, his eyes scanning Harry before Y/N.  The latter had self consciously pulled her sweater around her, as there was something in the attendant’s eyes that had bothered her. “Don’t have two rooms.  I got one room left.  Everything else is booked.”

Harry had glanced at Y/N then, and she knew that his thoughts mirrored hers: there was no way that they’d share a queen bed together.  No way in hell.  They’d barely survived eight hours in the same cramped car without one of them driving them off a cliff.  If Y/N had to share a bed with Harry, even for just one night, she’d probably end up smothering him in his sleep before the first snore left his obnoxious mouth.

“That’s really not an option.” Y/N had stepped forward then, crossing her arms around herself as the attendant’s eyes canvassed her again. “Isn’t there something—”

“Look, lady, I’m telling you what’s available.” The attendant’s eyes continued to flicker between her face and her chest, making Y/N’s skin crawl more and more with every word that fell from his gum-filled mouth. “The room might have a pull out chair—some do, but I couldn’t tell you which.  Now do you want to share the room with him or not?  If you don’t want to share, then I could try to find something else for just you—”

Before Y/N had the opportunity to respond to the lewd suggestion, Harry was already stepping forward, his body angling protectively in front of her own.  She watched from behind as his broad shoulders squared beneath his black t-shirt, his shoulder blades flexing as he straightened up to his full height.  When Harry answered, his voice was just as firm as it was dark, lacking its previous polite tone.

“We’ll take the room.” He had said coldly, reaching into his back pocket to pull out his wallet before tossing a few bills on the front desk. “Thanks for the help.”

Yes, Y/N thinks, all of that should have been a sign for the state of the motel room that they now find themselves standing inside.

The same mildew smell from the lobby surrounds them, permeating through every inch of air that Y/N breathes in. Dust seems to coat every surface as well, with thick layers of it covering the decades old TV and stand, the small coffee table, and the ledge of the window to her right.  To her relief, there is a small arm chair in the corner, which must be the pull out that the attendant had mentioned.  However, her relief is short lived when she sees the ratty beige comforter on the bed, and wonders if maybe sleeping in Harry’s car, which she had sworn to him that she didn’t want to do, might have been the better choice.

Harry shuts the door behind them with a firm thud, turning the deadbolt lock before attaching the chain from the door to the door frame. “Let’s keep that locked, yeah?” He mutters, walking to the window and making sure the beige curtains—everything in the room is a sea of beige, like some sort of khaki coloured nightmare—are pulled closed tightly. “I don’t trust that front-desk prick not to sneak in here.”

Y/N nods, fixing the strap of her duffel bag with her overnight clothes on her shoulder.  She’s not quite sure where to set it down, as everything around them seems to have been sitting stagnant and uncleaned for a while. “Yeah. Thanks, by the way.  For that.”

Harry acknowledges her thanks with a small grunt, barely lifting his head to look at her. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Despite her gratitude for his actions, Y/N can’t stop herself from rolling her eyes at his gruff response. “Jesus, can you not just say you’re welcome?”

Harry chooses to ignore her comment, and instead sets his bag down on the arm chair, unzipping it roughly. “You can take the bed.” He says simply, tossing his sunglasses into his bag before pulling out a small bag filled with what Y/N assumes are toiletries. “I’ll take the pullout.”

“Fine.” Y/N reluctantly sets her own bag down on the creaking bed, pulling back the covers to check for anything unsightly.  To her relief, the interior of the bed looks cleaner than the exterior, and she returns the covers to their previous position before grabbing her phone charger from her duffel.

Harry glances at her as she gingerly sits on the bed and plugs her phone into the wall. “I’m going to shower.” He says slowly, as if gauging her reaction to the simple phrase. “Do you, um, need in there, or—?”

“Nope.” Y/N shakes her head, her cheeks flushing slightly as she checks her messages. “You’re good.” She keeps her eyes glued to her phone until she hears the click of the bathroom door behind Harry, signalling that she’s alone.

Taking advantage of what she knows will be a rare moment of solitude over the next week, Y/N changes from her tank top and leggings into her pajamas, wishing that her past self had realized how likely it would be that she’d be sharing a room with Harry. She’d brought exactly two pairs of pajamas with her on the trip, and neither pairs were something she wanted Harry to see her in.  The first pair, a baby pink silk set she’d bought on a whim from her favourite lingerie shop, is eliminated before Y/N even considers them, leaving her with just her usual casual pajamas.  Unfortunately, Y/N’s usual casual pajamas consist of an old sports bra that she’d had since moving to L.A., and a pair of men’s boxers that she stole from an ex in college.  Still, despite her hesitancy, she knows that plaid boxers and a faded grey sports bra are better than pink silk and lace, and she changes into them quickly before sitting cross-legged on the bed and dialing Jo’s number.

Jo, like she usually does, answers on the third ring, her voice extra chipper to compensate for the verbal lecture that she knows is coming. “Hey, Y/N!  How was driving today?”

“It would have been better if I’d known Harry was driving.” Y/N sighs, rubbing her palm over the cold skin of her exposed thigh. “Shouldn’t I have been informed of that decision?”

“It completely slipped my mind, actually.” Jo says casually, and Y/N can just picture her leaning her chin into her palm. “How was the first day?  Are you calling to ask me to help bury his body in the desert?  Because, like, you know I would in a heart beat, but I think it may put a damper on mine and Laure’s nuptials if my best friend murders her best friend.”

“No one’s been murdered. Yet.” Y/N glances at the bathroom door, the sound of the shower echoing through the vents and into the bedroom. “Although a ‘help me hide the body’ phone call may be coming soon.”

“Uh oh.” Y/N hears something crackling against the speaker, and pictures Jo shifting the phone from one ear to the other. “Is it that bad?”

Y/N pinches the bridge of her nose as she contemplates the easiest way to answer Jo’s question. “He’s such an irritating ass.  He really is.” She lowers her voice, but only slightly.  If Harry’s eavesdropping, she thinks, then let him hear.  It would serve him right. “He wanted to pick a fight over every little thing, and he’s so particular about his car—did you know he named it?  He named it, Jo.  He talks about it like it’s a person!”

A loud sigh echoes through the speaker. “That’s really not that weird, you know.” Jo replies in her best peace keeping voice. “And, by the way, did you know that you’re really the only person who finds Harry irritating?  Laure adores him, and I really like him, and everyone who meets him thinks he’s very thoughtful!”

“Then they haven’t been trapped in a car with him and his playlists for eight hours.” Y/N begins to tap her fingers against her knee in a quick staccato pattern. “He practically interrogated me about Brant today, as if he has any clue about the people I date.”

“Did he?” There’s a trace of curiosity in Jo’s voice now, and Y/N can imagine her leaning forward in interest. “What did he say?”

“He said he thinks he’s boring.” Twisting a lock of her hair behind her ear as she speaks, Y/N leaves her hand resting against her cheek. “He was rude about it, too.  I didn’t ask for his opinion.”

“Well, honestly, Y/N…” Jo’s curiosity twists into hesitation. “Brant isn’t exactly the most thrilling person.  You know that.”

Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, her cheeks flushing for what seems to be the millionth time that day. “I’m aware of that.  But he didn’t need to be so smug about it!”

“Okay, well, what’s done is done.” Jo says as she takes on her mediator persona once again. “So there’s nothing else to do now except go to sleep, get back in the car tomorrow, and continue driving.”

The sound of the shower stream cuts off, leaving just the pitter patter of rain beginning to hit the roof of the motel as ambiant noise. “I guess.” Y/N mumbles, fidgeting with the waistband of her bra. “I’ll talk to you later.  Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

After the line clicks dead, Y/N flops back on the squeaking mattress and begins to scroll through her phone, opening her work email to check if everything is running okay back home while she’s gone.  On top of all this, the last thing she needs is for her work to completely blow up in her absence.  Within minutes, Y/N becomes so engrossed in her phone that she doesn’t even notice the bathroom door creaking open and Harry walking out with just a towel around his waist.

Until she looks up, and then her mind goes completely blank.

Immediately, Y/N feels overstimulated.  There’s just…so much going on that she doesn’t even know where to look first, let alone have the ability to remind herself that she shouldn’t even be looking at Harry like this in the first place.  

Harry’s curls are soaking wet, curling down around his flushed cheeks in a way that, if it were anyone else, she’d immediately describe as attractive.  Droplets of water are clinging to every inch of his skin, his toned and tanned and tattooed skin, that seems to continue forever as her eyes travel down his bare chest, noticing every curve of his muscle.  His jade cross, which is almost the exact shade of his eyes, sits between his pronounced pectoral muscles, moving ever so slightly with each step he takes.  Y/N notices tattoos she’s never seen before, like the giant butterfly across his toned stomach, and—her mind goes blank for just a moment—two vines that are tattooed over his prominent pelvic muscles, which just barely dip beneath the white towel that’s wrapped loosely around his hips.

As Y/N’s eyes glue themselves to the way Harry’s towel is moving as he walks, arousal begins to pool in her stomach, travelling all the way down to her core and back again.  For a split second, she thinks that maybe Harry is right.  Maybe she doesn’t want to fuck Brant, because she knows for certain that she’s never thought about him the way she’s thinking about Harry in this moment.

But it’s Harry, she reminds herself, as she tries to force herself to snap her gaping mouth closed. Underneath all those muscles and tattoos—and there are a lot of muscles and tattoos—it’s Harry, who annoys her to no end, who is one of the most self-absorbed individuals she’s ever met, and who has had it out for her since the day they met.

“Sorry.” Harry’s low accent snaps Y/N from her thoughts and pulls her wandering eyes back to his face. “Forgot my clothes out here.”

“It’s—” Y/N’s voice cracks in the middle of the word, still hyper-focused on just how it’s possible for one person to be as attractive as they are irritating, and she clears her throat before trying to speak again. “It’s fine.”

If Harry notices the slip in Y/N’s voice, he doesn’t say anything.  Instead, he just walks to his open bag, locking one hand firmly over his towel as the other searches through his clothes.  He pulls out a t-shirt and a pair of shorts, examining them for just a moment before nodding in satisfaction and heading back to the bathroom. Y/N almost swears that she sees him glance at her one last time before he shuts the door, but then she gets lost in the taut muscles of his back, and forgets what she’s thinking entirely.

She’s only just begun to contemplate that maybe she should pull herself together when the door opens again, and Harry exits the bathroom in a way that’s a little more presentable.  His hair is still damp, but his body is dry, proven by the faded Rolling Stones t-shirt that’s now clinging to his arms and the boxers that are hanging low on his hips. His tattooed hips.  His incredibly sexy tattooed hips that could probably—

“What are you wearing?” Harry asks, raising an eyebrow at her as he moves his bag from the chair to the ground.  He begins to unfold the bed from the armchair cushions to reveal a creaking twin bed, carefully stretching it out as he waits for an answer.

“I—pajamas.” Y/N glances down at herself self consciously, fixing the strap of her sports bra as she does so. “I just—I didn’t think we’d be sharing a room, so…”

Harry nods tersely as he finishes setting up the bed, his expression unreadable while he walks to the closet and grabs a set of sheets and a blanket. “Cute boxers.” He says casually. “Are they Brant’s?”

Within a flash, the intense rush of attraction and desire Y/N had been feeling is gone, and is instead replaced by the familiar irritation as she watches a smirk grow in the very corner of Harry’s mouth. “No.” She says flatly, turning her attention back to her phone.

“Interesting.” Harry says slowly, laying the sheets and blanket on the bed in a haphazard manner. “Whose are they, then?”

Y/N gets up from the bed and grabs her toiletry bag from her duffel before answering. “An ex.” She says shortly, tucking the patterned bag under her arm. “And why does it matter to you?”

The sound of the rain against the roof and windows gets louder and louder as they speak, and Harry raises his voice to be heard over the precipitation. “It doesn’t.” He shrugs as he maneuvers his lanky body under the blanket without causing the bed to fold in on itself. “Just curious, that’s all.”

“Well, you don’t need to be curious.” Y/N opens the bathroom door, sparing one last withering glance at Harry over her shoulder.  He’s sitting up on the bed with one leg hanging out from beneath the covers as one hand plays with his hair, the other fiddles with a ring on his finger, and the way he looks at her from the corner of his eye lights a fire in Y/N’s chest.  Except she can’t tell if it’s a fire of anger or arousal.  

When she slams the door behind her, it’s her own confusion over that distinction that frustrates her more than anything else.

…

“Took you long enough.” Harry scoffs while leaning against the side of his car, his white t-shirt a contrast to the dust covered body of the black Chevy Impala.  His dark sunglasses are perched on top of his head, keeping his unruly curls out of his eyes, while his arms are crossed over his chest impatiently as he waits for an answer. “I dropped off the keys ten minutes ago.”

By way of explanation, Y/N holds up the cardboard drink tray in her hands, a brown bag balancing in between the two coffee cups. “I was getting us breakfast, Styles.  Calm down.” She walks to the passenger side of the car, opening the door and climbing in one handed. “I figured you’d be even crabbier hungry.”

“You mean you’d be crabbier without caffeine.” Harry retorts, climbing into the driver’s side in one smooth motion. “Here—” He takes the tray from her so she can buckle her seatbelt, carefully removing the two coffees and setting them in the cup holders between them. “Just be careful not to spill anything.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she picks up the coffee closest to her (she’d gotten them both black). “Why? Worried about me ruining Stevie?”

Harry reaches into his pocket, pulling out his keys as he gives her an irritated look. “Yes, actually. I’ve put a lot of work into her.” The car roars to life as Harry turns the key in the ignition, buckling his own seat as the motor warms up. “Adding on two thousand miles to her in five days is already worrisome enough, and that’s not even counting the other two thousand she’ll get on the way back.”

Y/N doesn’t respond to the comment, and instead lets the sound of Harry’s playlist fill the silence of the car as Harry peels out of the Motel 6 parking lot.  She’ll be glad to leave that place behind, she thinks, and focus on finding something better—and more private—for tonight, wherever they end up.

Harry, however, doesn’t seem content with letting silence fall between them. “How did you sleep last night?” He asks after a few moments, one hand on the steering wheel as he takes a sip of his coffee.

Glancing at him from the corner of her eye suspiciously, Y/N reaches into the paper bag and grabs her Danish, taking a small bite before answering. “Not great.”

“Was the bed bad?” Harry asks curiously, his brow furrowing while his eyes stay glued to the road, moving only to glance at the occasion sign directing him back to the highway. “The pull out wasn’t great, but I’ve slept on worse.  I would’ve thought the bed would be better than that.”

“No, it—I mean, the bed wasn’t amazing, but it—” Y/N clears her throat and swallows the bite of pastry in her mouth. “I, uh, I don’t sleep well when it’s raining.”

At this new information, Harry’s eyebrow quirks up, and he risks a look in her direction to attempt to read her face.  Y/N’s own eyes are focused on the Danish in her hands, refusing to meet his gaze as she lifts the pastry to her mouth to take another bite.

“You don’t?” Harry asks after a moment, the confusion in his voice almost visible within the space between them. “But it’s like white noise, isn’t it?  Supposed to be relaxing, and all that.”

Y/N gives a half shrug of her shoulders. “It’s—well, it’s not the rain, exactly, just—what it’s usually paired with.” Y/N hopes that her clear hesitancy to answer will be enough of a signal to Harry for him to drop the subject.  Harry, however, doesn’t seem to pick up on the reluctance in Y/N’s voice; or, at least, he doesn’t care enough to acknowledge it.

“What do you mean, what it’s paired with?” Harry takes a small sip of his own coffee, careful of the temperature of the liquid. “Like…wind, or—?”

Y/N debates back and forth with herself internally, but she knows that Harry won’t drop the subject without getting a satisfying answer. “Thunder.” She answers finally, setting her coffee down in her cup holder before turning her gaze towards her window. “I don’t like thunderstorms, ever since I was a little kid, and when it’s raining, it always feels like thunder is around the corner.  Puts me on edge, like I’m waiting for it.  And I can’t sleep.”

“So you never sleep when it rains?” Harry asks slowly, and the tone of incredulous disbelief in Harry’s voice is enough for Y/N to be able to imagine the expression on his face. His forest green eyes wide, strawberry pink lips agape, brow furrowed in confusion, his jaw slack as he contemplates a response to a grown woman admitting that she’s afraid of thunder. The image in her head is enough to make the back of her neck flush.

There’s a tightness in the back of her throat, and Y/N attempts to clear it again before answering. “Never.”

“Huh.” Harry taps his fingers against the gear shift in succession three times. “You’d hate London, then.”

The casual comment catches Y/N by surprise, but she doesn’t allow herself to lower her guard. “That’s why I don’t live in London.” She mumbles the words as her fingers pick at the napkin wrapped around her Danish. “I picked L.A. for a reason.  It has lots of heat, barely any rain, and I’m reasonably close to Disneyland whenever I feel like I need something magical.” The last part slips out without Y/N thinking, and the flush creeps further up her neck as a surprised laugh leaves Harry’s mouth.

“Something magical?” Harry repeats, new crinkles appearing next to his eyes as he laughs, as if the dimples that crease his cheeks aren’t proof of his amusement enough. “Do you frequently feel like you need something magical?”

It’s Y/N’s turn to give an incredulous look now, her body half twisting towards Harry to observe his confusing reactions. “How did I just admit that I’m afraid of thunder, and the thing you’re focusing on is that I like Disney?”

Harry shrugs at her words, flicking on his turn signal to exit towards the highway. “I don’t know.” He says as he peers over his shoulder to check for oncoming cars. “I mean, everyone has fears.  Not liking thunder isn’t exactly uncommon, you know.  However, hearing that Ms. Serious Type A Perfectionist likes magic—” His grin grows bigger by the second. “Now that’s surprising.”

“Oh, shut up.” Y/N mutters, finishing her Danish in a few more bites.  She waits until she’s entirely finished chewing before continuing the conversation over the voice of Billy Joel coming through the speakers. “Since I’ve admitted something I’m afraid of…” She starts, glancing at Harry from the corner of her eye. “I think it’s only fair that you admit something, too.”

Harry snorts in response, his hand freezing its movement with his coffee cup still half lifted to his lips. “Is that so?”

“Mhmm.” Y/N hums as she slips off her shoes in order to pull her legs beneath her to fold into a cross-legged position on the car seat. “Not so much fun when it’s your turn, huh? C’mon, what’s the Brit scared of? Not enough biscuits for afternoon tea?”

A short and harsh breath of air leaves Harry’s nose, half a snort as he sets his coffee down in his cupholder. “No, actually, diminishing biscuit levels are a low level fear for me.”

“Then what’s a higher one?” Y/N prods, watching as Harry’s neck muscles tense as he shoulder checks to change lanes.  There’s something about the movement that catches her eye, but she can’t quite figure out why—or rather, she can, but she’d rather pretend that she’s unaware.

“Uh…” Harry’s fingers nimbly switch on his turn signal before he transitions to the left lane, his right hand moving the gear shift to its desired place. “Crowds.  I’m not a fan of big crowds, really.  Like when everyone’s pressed together, so tight that you can’t breathe, and you can’t hear yourself think because it’s so loud…yeah. I don’t like that.”

The simple answer surprises Y/N as much as she imagines her answer surprised Harry. “Crowds?” She repeats back to him, a forgotten memory of long gone conversations coming to the forefront of her mind. “But what about, like, concerts and stuff?  Laure always told me when she’d go to shows with you…”

“That’s different.” Harry shrugs as one of his ringed hands comes to his lips, rubbing over them slowly as he contemplates his next words. “I…When I’m at concerts, I always go with someone, and if we’re in the general seating area, where there’s a lot of people, I always stick with them.  Like, sometimes, if it’s getting crowded, or people are pushing, Laure will hold my hand, so…” Redness begins to creep up Harry’s pale neck, staining the tops of his ears a deep berry colour as he trails off.

Not for the first time since their conversation began, Y/N is surprised at how candid they’re being with each other.  As she watches Harry’s blush grow, she feels her own diminish, a physical representation of her trading her embarrassment for something more empathetic.

“I get it.” Y/N says after a moment, once it’s clear that Harry isn’t going to continue. “When there’s thunderstorms, um, I feel better when I’m with someone, or talking to someone. It makes me feel less…”

“Alone?” Harry finishes for her, his eyes flickering from the road to her profile.  His green irises capture hers for longer than they should, his focus completely gone from the stretch of highway for at least five seconds before Harry’s attention turns back to driving. “Yeah.” He says slowly, pulling his sunglasses down from his hair to hide his eyes. “Yeah, less alone. It helps.”

Y/N nods slowly, unable to look away from Harry’s side profile.  It’s apparent that he’s on edge after their conversation, and she knows her body language is the same.  Tight in the shoulders, hands clenched, back rigidly straight.  And yet, seeing her own body language reflected in front of her bothers her.  Part of her wants to reach out and take Harry’s hand, soothe him like Laure does in the crowd of a concert, but she knows that’s ridiculous.  It’s ridiculous, and it’s Harry, and Harry, of all people, does not need her comfort.  Not in the slightest.

She watches as Harry clenches his fist on top of his thigh.

…

“Is this really necessary?” Y/N asks, slamming her car door shut as Harry does the same on the other side of the vehicle.  She leans over the roof of the car, crossing her arms on the cool metal as she tilts her head to the side in an inquisitive manner.  The clouds in the sky are getting darker by the minute, signalling the beginning of the storm that canceled her flight, and the angry black colour above their heads is making Y/N anxious.

Harry, however, seems unbothered by the gathering storm, and nods tersely as he pushes his sunglasses up onto his head before opening the door to the backseat and grabbing his army green jacket. “Of course it’s necessary.” He says, slipping the jacket over his broad shoulders before slamming the door shut and locking the car. “I’ve never been to Utah before.  I want a souvenir.”

“Okay, but—” Y/N follows Harry as he walks towards the dilapidated building in front of them. “Here? Really?  Does this seem like the best place?”

Harry glances at her over his shoulder at her, pausing his long strides to look up at the building he spotted from the highway.  If the chipped grey paint that was once pastel blue and dust-coated windows are any sign, the structure is probably older than Harry and Y/N combined, with a splintered front porch wrapping around its small perimeter.  The building has one faded sign above the door that reads “SOUVENIRS/SNACKS” in hand-painted capital letters, and seems to be hanging onto the outside façade by three small bolts and sheer willpower.  Y/N’s almost certain that she’s seen this exact building in a horror movie before someone gets murdered, and while getting back into the car with Harry isn’t at the top of her list of wants, it’s certainly preferable to getting stabbed to death by a serial killer.

“It’s fine, Y/N.” Harry waves off her concern without a second thought about the appearance of the shop. “If you’re really bothered, you can wait in the car.”

Y/N considers it for a moment, but decides against it.  She needs to stretch her legs, and honestly, Harry seems too trusting.  He probably wouldn’t be able to tell if someone was sketchy until their knife was in his back.  And, seeing as how he has the keys to the only getaway car available, Y/N kind of needs him around without a stab wound carved into his flesh.

“Let’s just get this over with.” She sighs, pulling her own jacket around her tighter as she steps over the worn wooden steps to the door. “We’re on a schedule.”

When Harry pushes open the door, the smell of stale air hits Y/N before anything else.  Despite one open window and a fan in the corner of the shop that’s being used in a weak attempt to circulate the air, it feels like nothing fresh has been in the shop for a while.  Y/N shoots a glance at Harry, caution and warning written all over her face.

While Harry sees her glance, he waves off her concern, turning his attention to the few shelves and wire racks around the small shop that are lined with inventory.  Within a few moments, he’s entertaining himself in the post card section, comparing different photos of the Utah landscape to each other with great care and concern.  Y/N observes him for a few moments before wandering off on her own towards the snack section of the shop.  Although there are a few items that she thinks about picking up, the thick layer of dust over the packaging puts her off from purchasing them.  She grimaces as she continues walking, stopping in front of a tower of silver key chains in the back corner of the shop.  Most of them, she finds, are crosses and bible verses, and all of them give her an ominous feeling in her stomach.  Y/N runs her finger over a miniature silver version of the Ten Commandments, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth as she does so.

“I think we should go, Harry.” She calls to him without turning around, setting the key chain back down on the rack carefully. “Just pick your post card and—Harry?”

When Y/N turns around, Harry’s broad figure is nowhere to be seen.  She walks back over to the post card section slowly, her brow furrowed with confusion as a knot tightens in her stomach.  Where could he be? She wonders, running her hand along the dusty wire rack in front of her.  It’s not like there’s anywhere for him to go in the small shop, and she would have heard if he left, or if he drove away.

“Harry?” She calls again, her steps slower now as worry fills her voice. “Where did you—fuck—!” Y/N screams as something grabs her from behind, its fingers digging into her sides harshly.  She whips around to find Harry standing over her, loud outbursts of laughter spilling from his strawberry pink mouth at the look on her face.

An indignant flush rushes over Y/N’s face. “You’re such an ass!” She hisses, gripping his shoulders and shoving his laughing frame away from her. “I swear, you’re like a five year old—”

“Did I worry you?” Harry snickers between his words, a wicked look of mischief alight in his dark green eyes. “Were you afraid something happened to me?”

Y/N’s cheeks burn with anger as she turns away from him, crossing her arms defiantly. “No.  I wish something had happened to you.  Then I wouldn’t have to deal with your immature antics.”

Harry’s lips stay quirked up in a smirk as he follows her, his voice falling into a singsong tone. “You were worried.” He insists, chuckles still rolling out of him every few moments. “I could tell.”

“Oh, fuck off.” Y/N snaps at him in an irritated voice. “Just pay for your stupid post card and let’s go.”

“I already did. There’s a sign on the desk saying the clerk is out for lunch, so I left some money.” Harry nods to the small desk in the corner with a few dollars left tucked under the dusty service bell. “I think that’ll cover it, yeah?”

“Whatever.” Y/N can’t resist shoving Harry one last time before walking towards the shop door. “That’s enough.  Let’s go. I want to make it to the motel before the storm hits.”

…

The nice thing about Grand Junction, Colorado, Y/N realizes, is that their motels have multiple single rooms available on short notice.  While she didn’t realize the importance of this fact before this trip started, having an evening of solitude and her own stable space away from Harry for the first time in two days is nothing short of a blessing.

When she gets inside her private motel room, which, while still shabby, is leagues above their previous motel, Y/N locks the door before breathing a sigh of relief.  Just the silence in the room is wonderful, and even though she knows Harry is right next door, having a wall between them is a luxury that she doesn’t take for granted.  When she showers, she doesn’t have to worry about being quick, or toweling off as fast as she can so she can get dressed inside the bathroom without Harry seeing. There’s no need to worry about anyone hearing Y/N sing quietly to herself under the (albeit weak) stream of the shower, nor is there an uncomfortable stick of her sports bra to her back caused by water droplets that she couldn’t reach in her hurry to dry off. And after her shower, with some of the knots from her back finally worked out, Y/N is able to stretch out on the double bed in the center of the room, her phone in her hand as she reaches for the takeout menus stacked on the bedside table.  She peruses the menus available before settling on Chinese takeout, and within five minutes, her order of a two entrée plate and fried rice is on its way.

Y/N sighs gently as she leans back on the pillows, wishing that she and Harry had stopped at a liquor store before coming to the motel.  She knows she could probably walk to one, but now that she’s showered and comfortable, the last thing she wants to do is wander around Grand Junction until she finds a bottle of Moscato.  Instead, Y/N flicks on the TV with a click of the ancient remote, and begins scrolling through the channels until she finds a rerun of Dirty Dancing that’s just starting.

An amused yet wry smile appears on Y/N’s lips.  It’s this movie’s fault that she and Harry are on an impromptu road trip, really. Jo and Laure both loved it, and were insistent that they had to get married at a resort in the Catskills similar to one from the film.  As her two friends cross her mind, Y/N settles into the sheets as Baby begins her narration, contemplating whether or not she should call Jo to check in.  Just as the thought pops into her head, however, the phone rings.

Y/N answers within a moment, not bothering to check the caller ID.  She and Jo had a strange habit of calling each other the moment the other thought of it, and when she raises her phone to her ear, she expects to hear her best friend’s familiar voice reply. “Hello?”

What voice she actually hears, however, surprises her. “Hey, Y/N.  I’m glad I got through.” Brant says easily, his voice crackling slightly through the speaker. “How are you?”

“Brant!” Y/N jerks up in bed in surprise, the remote falling from its perch on her stomach onto the sheets. “I—I’m fine.  How are you?”

“Oh, alright.  Just busy with work, but that’s the usual.” Y/N can practically picture the neutral expression on his face, and how he’d shrug his shoulders as he speaks. “How’s the road trip?  I can’t imagine driving for as long as you have to drive.”

“It’s…it’s alright, yeah.” Y/N speaks slowly as she puts her phone on speaker, balancing it on her knee while her hands begin to fidget with her rings. “Long, but not too bad.”

“Well, that’s good.” Brant clears his throat thickly, as if what he’s about to say makes him uncomfortable. “I miss you, though.  And our weekly dinners.”

A feeling of guilt washes over Y/N.  Truthfully, besides Harry’s inquisition on the first day of driving, Brant has barely crossed her mind.  Granted, he isn’t usually at the forefront of her mind while she’s in L.A., either, but for the last few days, her thoughts have been constantly consumed by the stress of making it to the wedding and her annoyance and frustration with Harry.  

“Y/N?” Brant’s voice crackles through her speaker again. “Are you there?

“I—yeah.” She says quickly, pulling herself from her thoughts. “Sorry, just—long day.  I’m tired.”

“I can imagine.” Brant says sympathetically, but there’s something in his tone that almost sounds patronizing. “Who are you driving with?  Have you been taking turns?”

Y/N pauses the fidgeting of her rings before snatching her phone from its balanced place on her knee. She quickly opens her messages and scrolls to her thread with Brant, searching through the text bubbles for a reminder of what she’d said to him.  Had she not told him that she was traveling with Harry?

Within a moment, Y/N confirms that she hadn’t.  All she had said was that she was getting a ride with someone.  Why had she done that, she wonders?  She’s sure she’s mentioned Harry in passing to Brant at least once.  When she talked about the wedding, probably.  As she thinks about it more, however…what had she told Brant about the wedding?  About Jo? How much does he actually know about her personal life?  Most of their dinner conversations revolve around work, or some book both of them have read.  Had the topic ever come up in detail?

“I’m, um, I’m driving with one of Laure’s friends.” Y/N brings the phone closer to her mouth as her other hand works its way to her mouth.  She begins to chew on a hangnail absentmindedly between her words, something she always does when her nerves begin to get to her.  She can’t count the number of times Jo has grasped her wrist and pulled her hand from her mouth to chastise her about the habit. “We’re…we’re in Colorado now.”

“Oh, Colorado.  That’s nice.” Brant says over the rustling of papers. “Listen, Y/N, I’ve got some work to get back to, but I’m glad we had this talk. I’ll call you again soon.”

“Uh, yeah.  Sure.  I’ll talk to you later.” Y/N nods, and then the line goes dead.  Out of curiosity, Y/N checks the length of the call.  The time 3:09 blinks back at her.

Tossing her phone back down on the covers, Y/N resumes her relaxed position in bed, despite being anything but relaxed after that phone call.  She should feel guilty, she thinks, for not telling Brant about Harry. But then again, what’s there to tell? She said she was getting a ride with one of Laure’s friends, and that’s true.  She hadn’t lied.  And even if Brant did know that the friend is Harry, why would he care?  It’s just Harry.  There’s no reason for Brant to be alarmed, because there’s nothing going on. And she and Brant…Y/N glances down at the call time again.  Things are different between them.  There’s…they’re comfortable as they are, she thinks.  They’re not dating, and they’re comfortable like that.  So there’s no reason to tell him about Harry, because there’s nothing to tell.  Nothing at all.

Y/N refocuses on the TV screen, where Patrick Swayze is dancing in a tight black tank top. Right.  Nothing to tell.

…

When Y/N leaves her motel room the next morning with her bag over her shoulder, Harry is already waiting by his car, leaning against the dusty black body with two coffee cups in his hands.  He’s dressed in another black t-shirt (Y/N wonders just how many identical copies of the same shirt Harry has) with usual jeans covering his long legs.  His curls are tied out of his face with a dark green bandana, and Y/N knows that if his eyes weren’t covered with his black sunglasses, the bandana would make them even brighter than they usually are.

“Hey.” Harry calls to her, extending a ringed hand that holds a coffee cup towards her as she walks over. “I got the coffee this morning.  You drink it black, right?”

Y/N nods as she takes the cup from him, careful not to brush over his fingers with her own. “Yeah. Thanks.”

“No problem.” Harry crosses around to the back of the car, opening the trunk with a turn of his key. “Here.” Harry holds out his free hand for Y/N’s bag, taking it from her and setting it down on top of the suitcases in the back. “I got it.”

Y/N regards Harry with a bemused look as she wraps both hands around her coffee cup. “Thanks?” She says again, more questioning this time as she looks at him strangely. “I can do that myself, you know.”

“I know.  I’m just trying to be polite.” Harry’s voice takes on its usual bite like he’s flipping a switch. “Is that alright with you, princess?”

Within a second, the familiar irritation with Harry returns to Y/N, and it’s almost comforting to snap back at him in a testy voice. “Don’t call me that.”

Harry snickers under his breath, and although the sound makes Y/N’s annoyance grow, she detects a different tone in it than a few days before.  Before she can place a finger on why it sounds different, however, Harry is climbing into the driver’s side of the car and starting the engine.

The two of them are silent as Harry finds his way back to the highway, and they stay in that silence for the first few hours of that day’s leg of the trip.  As the third hour begins to pass, Y/N is content listening to the throaty and captivating voice of Stevie Nicks fill the cab of the car. By the second chorus of the song, Y/N is humming along quietly, her foot tapping to the same beat that Harry’s fingers are spelling out against the steering wheel.  It’s comfortable, she thinks after a moment.  The silence between them.  It feels different than it did on their first day, when Y/N was questioning her choice to get into a car with Harry and commit to a 42 hour drive. The silence seems to be fueled more by comfort than tension.  It’s…refreshing.

A memory from the first day ignites in the back of her mind, a spark so bright and obvious that she can’t believe it took her so long to see it. “Stevie.” Y/N says suddenly, turning to Harry as a smile spreads over her face. “You named your car Stevie, as in Stevie Nicks?”

Harry laughs, his shoulders moving up and down beneath his black t-shirt from the motion.  One hand lifts from the steering wheel and points a finger gun at her. “Took you long enough.  I was wondering how many days you’d have to listen to my music to get it.”

Y/N gives his hand a light shove. “I was too distracted by the fact that you named your car.” She rolls her eyes, bringing her bottle of water to her lips for a short sip. “I still think it’s weird.”

“It gives her character.” Harry defends himself as he rubs a hand over the steering wheel absentmindedly. Y/N can see the mirth swirling around in his light irises. “A bit of personality.  Just because you don’t value personalities doesn’t mean anyone else doesn’t.”

“I don’t value personalities?” Turning in her seat to stare at Harry head on, Y/N raises an eyebrow in question. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just your taste in men, that’s all.” Harry says it casually, like it really can just be a “that’s all” type of sentence.

Within a heart beat, the comfortable atmosphere in the car turns to ice as Y/N straightens in her seat, her spine tense, tightening every nerve in her body along with it. “What the fuck does that mean?”

When Harry glances at her again, his eyes darken, his guard going up as he senses the shift in Y/N’s tone. “Nothing, just…motel rooms have thin walls.” Harry mumbles, having the decency to keep his eyes on the road as his ears redden slightly. “And from what I overheard, Brant doesn’t exactly seem…stimulating.”

Y/N sputters indignantly for a moment, unable to form a coherent response as anger rises in her chest. “You—” She sucks in a quick breath that hits the back of her throat harshly. “You eavesdropped on me?”

Harry licks his lips once, clearing his throat once before answering.  The tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel has resumed, his nervousness apparent in his movements as well as his facial expressions. “Not on purpose.  I told you, the walls were thin.”

“So put in head phones!” Y/N exclaims, gripping her water bottle so tight that her fingers begin to strain in protest against the metal exterior.  She has half a mind to throw the bottle at Harry in her anger, barely able to talk herself down from the ledge of the idea.

Harry’s posture shifts in his seat as his shoulders square, and Y/N can practically see his defensive side emerge from within his chest. “It’s not like you two were having phone sex.” He rolls his eyes at the idea. “It was the most boring conversation in the world, and lasted, what, three minutes?  Makes you wonder how long he lasts in other ways, doesn’t it?”

“Stop the car.” Y/N’s voice is low and void of emotion as she replies, her body turned back forward in her seat.

“Am I wrong?  It’s not like you know for sure—”

Anger bubbles over in Y/N’s chest, cancelling out any rational thought she has inside her and leaving pure, unadulterated fury. “Stop the car, Harry!  Now!”

Harry half jumps in his seat when Y/N yells, and he quickly jerks the car to the side of the highway without so much as a turn signal.  Pulling her seatbelt off as he pulls over, Y/N is out the door before Harry can so much as put the car into neutral.  While her more rational mind would tell her that she has nowhere to walk to along a highway in Colorado as the sky darkens to an angry black above them, the only thing she’s thinking of is getting away from Harry.  Stupid, self-absorbed, ignorant, and rude Harry.

“Y/N—” The sound of Harry scrambling out of the car and slamming the door behind him pushes her to walk faster. “Y/N, come back—”

Y/N turns around on her heel fast and hard, heart pounding so fast that she thinks it might break through her ribs. “What is your problem?” She hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at him. “Why do you insist on being so—so nasty about him?  You don’t even know him!”

Harry freezes where he is as the wind whips his hair around his face, his bandana barely keeping the messy curls in place. “I don’t—” His speech falters, and he sucks in a sharp breath before continuing. “I don’t think I’m being…nasty.”

“Well, you are!” Y/N takes a deep breath in, placing her hands over her stomach as it expands with air.  It’s a trick that Jo taught her back in high school, as a way to ground herself to her body. Feeling the movement of air in and out of her lungs helps calm her, even if by just a fraction. “Brant is just—he’s someone I’m talking to.  We’ve gone on dates, but we’re not dating, and even though we’re not dating, that doesn’t mean that you can insinuate things about him, or eavesdrop on our private conversations!”

Harry’s jaw tenses as he listens to Y/N speak, waiting until she’s finished her speech to respond in a harsh and clipped tone. “I already told you, I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. And I’m teasing you.  It’s supposed to be a joke.  Isn’t that what friends do?”

“But we’re not friends, Harry.” Y/N’s voice is flat, the fury in her tone replaced with a hollow emptiness. “We’re not friends.  I don’t need you teasing me about a boy like we’re buddies, or whatever, because we’re not.”

Although Harry opens his mouth to respond, no words cross over the edges of his pink lips.  His jaw tightens even more as he closes his mouth again, and Y/N can see a million things flitting through his green irises, which are getting darker by the moment.  Y/N’s not certain if the darkness is from her words, or the black sky rolling above them that’s sapping the light of day from the atmosphere, and she’s not sure if she can take the answer either way.  Part of her knows that maybe—just maybe—she’s blown this whole thing out of proportion, and maybe she should examine why Harry making fun of Brant bothers her like it does.  It’s not like she’s unaware of his shortcomings, she thinks, but then she wonders why she’s now seeing them as shortcomings, when a week ago, she saw them as positives.  Y/N never has to worry about Brant being too much for her, or forgetful, or scatterbrained—he’s organized, and secure, and stable, and that’s what she likes.  It’s always been what she likes.

Harry’s delayed response tears Y/N from her thoughts. “Not friends.  Got it.” He mutters, rubbing his hand over his stubbled and taut cheeks. “Just get back in the car, then.  Let’s go.”

…

“Hello!  My name is Gracie, I’ll be your server today.” The waitress in the tiny diner smiles at Harry and Y/N, a notepad in one hand and a half filled coffee pot in the other. “Can I get you guys anything to start?”

“Coffee.” Harry and Y/N speak at the same time, each person’s eyes flickering to the other before looking away.  Y/N keeps her eyes focused on her off-white ceramic coffee cup as Gracie fills it, refusing to make eye contact with Harry again.

The last hour has been almost unbearable.  After they got back in the car, Harry had turned off his playlist, and for the first time since the road trip had begun, true silence had fallen between them. Y/N had thought she would like it, but truthfully, it had been the worst thing she’d ever heard.  Every few minutes, she’d hear Harry shift, or sigh, or tap a tense finger against the gear shift, and she wished that she could say something, but she didn’t.  She couldn’t.  She’d been grateful when he wordlessly exited the highway and parked in front of a diner, as the conversations of stopped truck drivers and the clatter of a kitchen was a good distraction from their argument.

A movement in the corner of her eye catches her attention, and Y/N glances up just enough to watch Harry slip a pat of butter into his coffee, stirring the contents of the cup with his spoon until it’s melted together.  She wrinkles her nose in disgust, and almost opens her mouth to make a comment (“Really, Harry?  Just add milk like a regular person, instead of drinking a cup of grease.”), but bites it back before it can fall off her tongue.  They’re not exactly in the position to make quips to each other, she thinks, especially after she told him that they weren’t friends.

Which they’re not. They’ve never been friends; that fact isn’t exactly news.  Not getting along has been Harry and Y/N’s signature since the day they first met. So why is there a pit in Y/N’s stomach that gets deeper every time Harry looks away from her?

The click of heels alerts Y/N of Gracie’s returned presence before her voice does. “Have you two decided what you’d like to eat?”

“I’ll have a turkey club, please, on whole wheat bread.” Harry folds up his plastic menu carefully. “And a glass of water on the side.”

Gracie nods, taking the menu from him before turning her eyes to Y/N. “And for yourself?”

“Um—” Y/N had barely glanced at the menu, too lost in her thoughts to think about it. “I’ll just have a burger, please.  And a water, as well.”

Gracie nods as she writes down the order, taking Y/N’s menu and giving the pair one last smile before disappearing to the kitchen.  A fresh wave of silence falls between Harry and Y/N as each of them sips their coffee, both of them doing their best not to look at the person sitting across from them.

Y/N’s best, however, is not up to her usual standard, as she can’t stop herself from stealing a few quick glances while Harry looks out the window.  He hasn’t shaved in a couple days, she notices, as the stubble on his cheeks and chin is even darker than it was the day before.  There’s a permanent crease between his eyebrows, his face as tense as she’s ever seen it, and a darkness over his whole expression overall. It’s like there’s a new wall up between the two of them, and Y/N’s never felt more detached from him.  Which, honestly, is saying something.

She’s looking back down at her own half empty coffee when Harry finally speaks a few minutes later, his voice just as tense as his expression.

“Shit.” He says in a low voice, and then the next sound Y/N hears is that of someone ruffling through pockets.  

She looks up to see Harry doing just that, his hands digging through the outer pockets of his army green jacket. “What?” She asks, her curiosity outweighing her need to continue the silent treatment. “What is it?”

“I had the vows in my—my pocket, but they’re—” Harry jams his hands inside a pocket sewn into the lining of his jacket, and Y/N watches as his face visibly relaxes. “Oh, thank God. I thought they fell out.”

Harry removes his hand from his pocket, two folded up notes clutched within his hand.  Each one is labeled carefully, one with Jo written in Laure’s neat penmanship, and the other with Laure scribbled in Jo’s quick writing.  

Y/N recognizes the papers immediately.  It’s easy, really, considering the amount of time she spent helping Jo rewrite draft after draft of the same sentiments. “You have Jo and Laure’s vows?” She questions, her eyebrows raising in surprise. “Why?”

“The same reason you have their wedding bands.” Harry shrugs as he turns the papers over in his careful fingers, making sure not to crease them. “They forgot them.”

A small smile plays on the edge of Y/N’s lips at the memory of her forgetful friends. “Right.  Of course.”

Harry’s eyes flicker to Y/N’s mouth at the sign of movement, and he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth before responding. “Want to take a look?”

“At their vows?” Y/N looks around, as if someone could be watching and monitoring them. “I—that doesn’t seem right.”

“Fine.  Then don’t look at them.” Harry says easily, setting the note labeled Laure on the table between them.  His nimble fingers unfold the paper labeled with Jo’s name as his green irises begin to scan across the sheet. “I’ll read them.”

It only takes a few seconds of watching Harry read over the words for Y/N to crack. “Wait.” She brings her thumb to her mouth, chewing anxiously on her cuticle as Harry quirks an eyebrow at her. “Will you read them to me?”

When she asks, Harry spends so long staring at her that Y/N thinks he’ll refuse.  His jade eyes meet hers with an intensity that almost makes her flinch, but Y/N holds his stare, refusing to be the first to back down. Finally, after what seems like an eternity, Harry gives a sharp nod, looking down at the note before he starts to read from the beginning.

“‘My darling Jo’,” He begins, his voice soft and low, his accent thick. “‘It seems so strange that this day is finally here.  I feel like we’ve been building up to it ever since the day we first met, and yet it’s always seemed so far away.  When I was a little girl, I always’…” Harry trails off as his eyes continue to move across the words, and he clears his throat before attempting to continue to read aloud. “‘I always thought that there was something wrong with me.  I thought that the things that I felt, and the way that I loved, was dirty.  I thought it was wrong.  I thought that—that I was going against God, and against nature, and that I was going to be punished for it.  And then I met you’.”

Harry pauses to take a sip of his coffee, and Y/N does the same.  There’s a shine beginning to appear in his eyes, and Y/N recognizes it as the beginning of tears because she feels the same thing brimming in her own eyes. She feels a bit guilty for reading the vows, but reasons that it’s for the best.  If she were to hear them for the first time at the wedding, she doesn’t think she’d be able to keep it together.

“‘The moment I met you, I knew that the way I loved could never be wrong, or be dirty, because I was loving you’.” Harry’s accent grows thicker the more he reads, and although Y/N hasn’t seem Harry in many different emotional states, she can tell that this is a sign of how the vows are affecting him. “‘Being with you could never be wrong, and God could never get mad at me for it, because only God could create someone as perfect as you.  I promise to love you when you wake me up at 3 A.M. because you’ve stolen all the blankets, and I promise to love you at 6 P.M. when you almost burn down our apartment while trying to cook for me.  I promise to support you through everything, listen to your stories, and watch in wonder as you make a difference in this world.  I promise to never let my anger get the best of me, and to always give you the benefit of the doubt.  I promise to love every version of yourself that you grow into, just as I’ve loved all the versions you once were.  I promise to love you in every way humanly possible, and even in ways that aren’t humanly possible.  I promise to love, period.  I’—” Harry’s voice cracks, and he glances up at Y/N as he clears his throat to continue. “‘I love you’.”

Y/N doesn’t realize just how emotional listening to Harry read Laure’s vows has made her until the first tear wells over the corner of her eye.  She turns her head towards the window to wipe it away as quickly and inconspicuously as possible, but from the way Harry is looking at her when she turns back around, she knows that he caught what she was doing.

“That, um—” Now it’s Y/N’s turn to attempt to clear the emotion from her throat. “Wow.”

Harry carefully folds Laure’s vows back up, taking extra care to re-crease the paper exactly how it had been folded. “I didn’t know she…felt like that.” Harry says after a moment, his voice quiet. “Like she was…wrong.”

Y/N, unsure of what to say, just nods while reaching for Jo’s vows in front of her.  Like Harry, she takes great care when unfolding the paper, smoothing it gently between her hands. “I’ll read Jo’s, then?”

Harry nods as he takes a sip of his water. “Sure.”

Y/N licks her lips once, wetting them with what little saliva she has in her mouth before beginning. “‘Laure’,” She starts, emotion already rising up to form a lump in her throat. “‘I don’t even know where to begin.  I’ve tried to write down all the ways I love you a million different times, but I can never seem to find the right words.  The problem is, I don’t think that there is a big enough word to describe what I feel for you.  ‘Love’ is only four letters, and four letters is just not enough to contain everything I feel.  ‘Adoration’ is nine letters, but even that doesn’t come close.  I think the best way I can describe it is ‘permanent’.” Y/N pauses her reading to take a long gulp of water, the coolness soothing the dry and parched feeling in her mouth and throat. “‘Anyone who knows me knows that I have trouble committing.  The idea of having something forever, of being in one place, normally terrifies me. But the idea of having you forever, and being in one place with you forever…that’s all I want.  I want us to be permanent to each other.  Even when we struggle, and we will struggle, I know that we won’t fall apart.  Committing to you isn’t any trouble.  It’s as easy as breathing.  I’m sure of you, and I’m sure of us.  I love you, permanently.  I’ll love you when you’re sick and gross, and I’ll love you when you’re old with a bad hip.” A small laugh falls out of Y/N’s mouth before she continues. “I’ll love you when you haggle at flea markets for the best prices, and I’ll love you when you do something so stupid that it makes me want to tear my hair out.  I love you permanently, and I want all of our family and friends to witness me saying that.  I’ll never back out, or bail, or run away from you.  You’re the one thing in my life that’s never felt hard. You’re my home base, and my north star, and you bring me back down to Earth whenever I need it.  I love you permanently, Laure.  I’ll never stop’.”

As she finishes reading, Y/N folds the paper back up, wiping her eyes on the back of her hand before grabbing the other note sitting on the table.  She pushes them towards Harry, her misty eyes unable to meet his. “Here. Put these away again, somewhere safe.”

Harry takes the vows from her, slipping them back inside his inner jacket pocket for safekeeping. “It’s probably—” He clears his throat once more, and Y/N knows that the vows have caught him in his chest just as they’ve caught her. “It’s probably good that we read them now, so that we’re…prepared for the ceremony.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wraps her hands around her coffee mug, the warm ceramic surface heating her cold fingers. “You’re right.  They really…love each other.”

Harry taps his fingers against the table top, a concentrative and thoughtful expression on his face.  His eyebrows are knit together above his stormy green eyes, and his pink tongue swipes over his pinker lips once before he speaks. “You know, Laure is my closest friend.  I don’t want her to get hurt.”

Immediately registering the tone of Harry’s voice, Y/N’s head snaps up, her own eyes becoming stormy as they meet his own. “Jo would never hurt Laure.” Y/N says defensively, the hairs on the back of her neck pricking up at even the suggestion of her friend hurting someone. “Didn’t you hear her vows?  I’ve never heard her sound so sure of something in her entire life.”

Harry’s jaw flexes at the cadence of Y/N’s voice, and his is just as agitated when he responds. “I’m just saying, if anything ever happened—”

“And I’m just saying, it won’t.” The tension between them doubles as Y/N shoots Harry an icy glare. “Do you just look for the worst in people?  Is that all you do?”

“You think I look for the worst in people?  Really?” Harry barks out a harsh laugh, pressing one hand flat against the table as the other fixes his bandana. “Christ, if that’s what you think of me—”

“Why would I think anything else?” Y/N asks incredulously, tilting her head to the side as she regards him. “All you’ve shown me is—”

“Alright, I have the turkey club on whole wheat, and the burger here.” Gracie appears suddenly to Y/N’s right, her tray loaded with food. “Here you guys are…” She sets the plates down in front of Harry and Y/N, her gaze darting between them nervously as she reads the tension in the booth. “Is…there anything else I can get you two?”

“No.” Harry’s voice is hard. “We don’t need anything else.”

…

By the time Harry pulls the car into a motel just off the highway in Lexington, Nebraska, all Y/N wants is a moment alone.  The strained atmosphere during that day’s drive had been unbearable, and between the anxiety from her confrontation with Harry and the sound of thunder beginning in the distance, Y/N just needs some space to herself to relax and calm down.

Of course, just because that’s what she needs, doesn’t mean that she’s going to get it.  When Harry returns back to the car with a single key in his hand and a sour look on his face, Y/N knows for sure that the universe is against her.

This room, at least, she’s pleased to find, has two actual beds, which are pushed up against the wall perpendicular to the door with a small night table between them.  However, that’s where her pleasure stops, as the click of Harry turning the lock behind her just reminds her that she’s trapped in here, with no chance to get away from Harry, the oncoming storm, or any one of her problems that have developed over the last four days.  The reality of the situation hits her all at once, and it takes all of Y/N’s self control to toss her bag on the bed and walk brusquely to the bathroom, slamming the door and locking it behind her before she allows herself to show a sign of her emotions.

The rest of the evening passes in silence.  She showers before changing into her sports bra and boxers, but the amount of exposed skin sends a vulnerable shiver down her spine.  Y/N opts for pulling a sweatshirt over her body, and then sets herself the task of braiding her hair to distract herself.  After that’s done, she busies herself with her skincare routine, taking up as much time as she can in the bathroom before she absolutely has to leave its private interior.

Harry, however, seems to want to see as little of Y/N as she wants to see of him, and pushes past her to enter the bathroom the moment that she steps out of it.  His routine, it seems, is designed to take up just as much time as hers was, because by the time Harry exits the bathroom, the scent of his shampoo trailing behind him, Y/N is already tucked under the covers of her bed, although she’s far from asleep.

In the time it took for her to shower and get ready for bed, the storm had picked up, and the only thing audible in the room was the sound of rain pelting against the roof and window, the wind howling through the trees, and Y/N’s shallow, uneven breaths. She wraps the sheets tightly around herself, pulling them taut to her chin with clenched fists that tighten every time a clap of thunder echoes through the room.  Although she’s turned to face the wall, away from Harry, she can hear his footsteps pause as he gets a glimpse of her shivering form beneath the blankets, and she does her best to will herself to appear asleep.  Breathing in as deeply as her tight chest will allow her, Y/N attempts to even her breathing, forcing her shoulders rise and fall in a way that appears natural and normal.  But all it takes is one clap of thunder for the controlled motion to go out the window.

“Y/N…” Harry’s voice is low, but despite its raspy cadence, it lacks the rough edge that it had earlier. The bed behind her squeaks, signalling that Harry’s taken a seat on the edge of it. “Are you—?”

“I-I’m fine.” Y/N says quickly, pulling the sheets tighter to her chin as another shiver rolls through her body. “Go to sleep.”

There’s another creak of Harry’s bed, and Y/N imagines him climbing under the starched linen covers, his damp curls flopping into his eyes as he lays back on the lumpy motel pillow. The image is almost enough to distract her until there’s another clap of thunder.  The sound seems to shake the motel room, and Y/N can’t stop the small whimper that leaves her lips as her body jumps in response.

“When I was a little kid, my mum took my sister and I to the fair every year.”

Harry’s deep voice cuts over the rain, and Y/N shifts in her bed, turning over to face him.  She keeps the covers pulled up to her chin, but readjusts herself so that she can keep her head on her pillow while looking Harry in the eye. “What?” She asks, confusion audible in her quiet tone.

Harry shifts himself as she does, continuing to move down until he’s completely horizontal, with one hand tucked under his pillow as he speaks. “My mum took my sister and I to the fair.  It came to Holmes Chapel every spring, and there were always rides, and games to play, and so many things to see.  It drew crowds from nearby villages every year, really big crowds, and my mum always held my hand tightly so I wouldn’t get lost.”

“I don’t understand, what—” Another clap of thunder shakes the room, making Y/N flinch halfway through her sentence.

“You’re okay.” Harry says immediately, his calm jade eyes focused on her as the reassurance slips from his mouth.  He waits a moment, gauging Y/N’s body language and waiting for his examination to be positive before resuming his story. “So…my mum always told me not to wander off, but when I was six, I did.  I saw some older kids playing games that I wanted to play, and Gemma was busy playing some sort of game with a ball—I can’t really remember what—and when my mum turned her back, I ran off.”

Y/N’s about to open her mouth to ask why he’s telling her the story when the answer clicks into place in her head.  She thinks back to the conversation in the car the day before, how she told Harry that it helps when someone talks to her to distract her from the thunder.  That’s what he’s doing, she realizes, as she forces herself to focus on his quiet and level voice.  He’s trying to keep her calm, even after everything she said and did today.

“I don’t look like it now,” A small smile flits across Harry’s blushed lips. “But I was pretty scrawny back then.  And all the people around me were so tall, my eyes were barely level with their hips. Everyone was rushing around, going in all directions, and I kept calling for my mum, but she couldn’t hear me.  No one stopped to help me.  I felt like I was…trapped.  Like it was a huge forest of legs, running all around me, circling me, and I couldn’t get out.  I was probably only gone for five minutes, but to a six year old, it felt like an eternity.  And just something about it…I don’t know.  It changed me.  I still don’t like crowds because of that day.”

Y/N’s shoulders unclench the slightest bit as another gust of wind blows against the window. “That must have been scary.”

Harry’s own shoulders lift in a slight shrug as he shifts the sheet to cover him more. “It was. But I can’t change it.  I just have to deal with the repercussions of it. That’s all a fear is, really.  A side effect.  We just have to deal with them as best we can.”

More thunder booms loudly outside, but Y/N manages to keep her flinch to a minimum, despite her hands curling into fists again under the covers. “Harry…” She whispers his name into the darkness between them, his outline barely visible save for his green eyes. “I’m—I’m sorry about today.”

Harry shakes his head, his damp hair rubbing against his pillow. “You don’t have to apologize.” He whispers back, his tone as gentle as she’s ever heard it. “I was an arse.  I shouldn’t have pushed the topic.”

“I shouldn’t have been so uptight about it.” Rubbing her eyes with one fist, Y/N lets out a low sigh. “I felt so shitty all day because of our fight.  I’ve never…none of our fights have ever made me feel like that.”

“Maybe it’s because…” Harry’s tentative voice trails off, his eyes flickering to the ground for a brief moment before staring back at Y/N nervously. “I don’t know.  I thought we were getting along better.  For a moment, at least.”

“We were.” Y/N’s teeth tug on her bottom lip, and she feels a sudden shyness overcome her at the admission. “I’m sorry I said that we…weren’t friends.  I think…I don’t know.  I’ve been stubborn for so long, but I can see now that you’re different than I thought you were.”

“Yeah.  Me too.  I was wrong, too.” Harry runs a hand through his damp curls, a soft laugh leaving his mouth. “How did we even end up like this?  I barely remember what made us hate each other so much in the beginning.”

“Seriously?” Y/N raises an eyebrow, barely peaking out from beneath the sheets as another clap of thunder sounds. “You don’t remember?”

Harry mimics her expression. “Do you?”

“Yes!  It was the very first night we met.  We had that double date with Laure and Jo.” Shifting beneath her covers, Y/N moves herself into a better position on her side, so she can be more comfortable while still maintaining eye contact with Harry. “And you were rude, and made inappropriate jokes, and you left in the middle of the date to go chat up a sorority girl!”

“Wait a minute, no!” Harry protests the memory, half sitting up in his bed as he speaks. “That’s not what happened!”

“Yes, it is!” A small laugh falls off Y/N’s lips at his indignant reaction. “I remember it perfectly!”

“No, you remember it wrong!” Although a flush creeps up Harry’s neck, there’s an amused smile playing on his lips, a tiny hint of a dimple just barely appearing in his visible cheek. “I was making jokes to try and break the ice, which didn’t work on the Ice Queen, it seems—” Harry motions to Y/N teasingly. “And you’re the one who started talking to some bloke before I started talking to that girl!”

Another clap of thunder echoes through the room, but Y/N hardly notices as she thinks back to the night they met, and who Harry could possibly be referring to. “A bloke—?  He was a classmate of mine!  I had to talk to him!”

“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to enjoy it so much.” Harry grumbles, crossing his muscled arms over his sheets. “I had been so excited when Laure said she had an American girl for me, and then—”

“You were excited?” Y/N asks, her voice laced with surprise. “Really?”

The flush on Harry’s neck works its way to the apples of his cheeks. “Well, yeah.” He mumbles the words as his eyes drop from Y/N’s, slipping both hands beneath his head. “She said that you were funny, intelligent, witty, beautiful—”

“And then you met me, and realized that it was all a lie?” Y/N finishes for him, rolling her eyes in the darkness.

“No.” Harry gives a small shake of his head as his body shifts, the motel bed creaking under his weight. “No, she wasn’t wrong.  You were all of those things.  But I wasn’t, and it seemed like…I don’t know.  Like you didn’t think I was good enough for you.  I couldn’t keep your attention.”

The teasing smile slips from Y/N’s face as she registers Harry’s words. “You thought that I thought you weren’t…good enough?”

The nervousness is clear in Harry’s voice now, even over the pounding of rain against the window. “That’s what it seemed like, yeah.”

“I never—I didn’t think that.” Y/N says slowly, managing to relax her body beneath the sheets as she keeps her focus on the memory of meeting Harry. “I wasn’t exactly thrilled to be there, but that’s because Jo set the date up without telling me.  I thought you were handsome, and I liked your accent, but then you started to act weird, and you started flirting with that girl, so I thought you were an ass.”

“You still think I’m an arse, princess, be honest.” The teasing tone replaces the nerves, and for once, Harry’s joke has the intended affect on Y/N.  When she rolls her eyes again, it’s more playful, and the same tone is in her voice when she responds.

“I told you, don’t call me princess.” She replies, running her teeth over her lip gently. “So…I guess we both kind of fucked up that day.”

“Yeah.” Harry nods, a sheepish smile playing over his red lips. “I guess so.”

“Can we just restart?” Y/N’s voice is small when she asks the question, barely audible over the sounds of the storm raging outside. “Like, all the way from the beginning. No more grudges, no more yelling. Even if it’s just for this trip, for Jo and Laure—”

“It doesn’t have to be just for this trip.” Harry cuts in, his eyes catching Y/N’s again. “We’re going to have to be around each other for a long time.  It’ll be a lot easer if we get along.”

Y/N nods in agreement, tugging down her covers to extend one arm towards Harry.  She makes a fist, holding out just her pinkie finger to him with half a grin on her face. “Truce?”

The space between their beds is small, and Harry’s long arm easily makes it across the no man’s land to meet Y/N’s pinkie with his own.  He loops it together with a smile that matches hers, tired and content and just at the edge of a humble new beginning.  Harry’s response is almost inaudible as thunder booms loudly outside the room, but Y/N can still pick out the cadence of his accent under the noise.

“Truce.”

(pt II)

[husbandohunter]

Boys over flowers [Genshin Impact/Various x Reader] Part 2

Not everything had to be about fighting. Ahem Childe.

Genre: fluff, angst(?)

Characters: Zhongli, Childe, Albedo, Xiao

{Zhongli}

Out of all the bountiful possessions in the land he carved with his very own hands, the glaze lily had always been his favourite.

This flower was a nostalgia stained with time. As much as he loved them, the love he felt was more of a bittersweet sadness if anything. The loss of a friend, his mentor, someone he cherished so deeply, all of it was held into a single glaze lily.

Once as Morax, now as ordinary Zhongli, in those 6000 years he had seen it all. Even his grief for Guizhong faded into a memory.

Sometimes Zhongli felt like he was reading from a story book. Detatched while staring through an omniscient standpoint. It seems that his infinite years brought both experience and lonliness along the way.

"Zhongli? What are you staring at?"

But not when he was with you.

The glaze lily went on many journeys when he met you

He remembers the first encounter on a sunset night just as the petals  were about to bloom. You were there, crouched down, staring into his golden eyes.

“This is for you! Not many can be fully matured like this so make sure to take good care of it,” You held it out to him and he takes the stem out of your hold.

“A parting gift, I appreciate your thoughtfulness,” Zhongli sees it as a sign of a new contract, “It seems you possess a good eye when you were selecting them.”

He remembers the bouquet you presented during his birthday, the garland you placed on his head when he was reading, the vase by his desk always filled to the brim whenever you’d pay a visit to his parlour.

He remembers how the blue petals scattered across the floor the day you two married, everywhere he went so did this flower. Everytime he saw this flower, he thought of you.

Was it okay to feel like this? No one can ever replace Guizhong, was it okay to love again even when this being was much more perishable than she was? Zhongli was use to the experience of tragedy and loss as it was part of life.

Ah, so this must be what it feels like to live like a mortal.

To cherish every passing moment knowing that it won’t last forever. He will embrace it to the end. 

Old memories that were once dust rose from the soil, now reborn into a new beginning. Your curious gaze leans closer to his profile, sitting side-by-side under the blankets of your shared bed, the corners of his lips lift into a small smile.

“I’m only reminiscing, my dear. You don’t need to worry for me.” He kisses your forehead and tucked you to bed. The candle now blown out as his arms wrapped around your waist while spooning from behind.

Zhongli closed his eyes, knowing if he dreamt of a garden full of glaze lilies, there will be no sadness behind it.

{Childe}

Mother fucker would try to turn this into a sparring session.

This is why you NEVER invite Childe. If the valley were the air nomads, Childe was the fire nation. He’d stomp his muddy shoes in front of you just to get your attention simply because he knows it will piss you off.

An angry s/o means a potential fight. Win win situation.

Thus, no one blamed you for giving him a cold shoulder after that.

“Aha, looks like I went a little too far, didn’t I? Alright alright, I’ll stop trampling on your flowers from now on, you have my word. So talk to me, okay? Please?”

Alas you spare him a glance, “Make that a pinky promise.”

He didn’t know you were so serious about gardening. The Feiyun commerce guild took greate pride in cultivating the finest silk flowers in all of Teyvat and you being from that guild held up that legacy. Even if Childe tries to buy back the ones he stepped on, nothing could match the quality of your work.

Needless to say, your little hobby became a normal thing, Childe was very chaotic in nature so something more calm was nice to mediate that attitude. You taught him how to water plants, place the fertilizer and knowing which ones to pick.

But let’s be real, florist Childe isn’t that far-fetched because he is 10/10 waifu material.

Then Teucer comes in and tags along. He wanted to take some silk flowers back to Tonia until Childe informed him they’ll wilt on their way to Snezhnaya. 

“Aww, that’s too bad,” he would say while pouting, “Then I’ll give them to you big sister (Y/n)!”

“How sweet, you’ll be quite the charmer when you’re all grown up, Teucer. Maybe even better than your big brother.”

“Come on now, babe. You know that’s impossible.”

You twirled the silk flower right under your nose, the playful tone never leaving your voice, “Oh really? You and Teucer both share the same genes so yes, it is a possibility.”

An amusing glint dances in the ocean of his gaze as he gleefully remarks, “Well if you put it that way, I think Teucer would be at a very big disadvantage.”

“What do you-”

Before you could finish, Childe covers Teucer’s eyes and leans over to steal a sinful kiss, sliding his tongue inside. He purposely brushed his lips over yours after parting, completely satisfied by your flustered expression.

I love this bastard

{Xiao}

Hip hip hooray for having both Qiqi and Xiao in your party. Must be fun collecting their ascension materials.

“Adeptus Xiao!”

Your dumbass fell off the high cliff while obtaining the violet grass, Xiao yeets in from nowhere and caught you from death’s clutches.

Shall I mention that this had happened TWICE already?

Xiao carries you to safety and gently settles you down to your feet. He shot you the sharpest and most deadpan look he could muster because actions speak louder that words, he was trying to make a point.

You gave him a weary smile as the violetgrass batch limps in your hands along with the qingxins.

“I can hardly fathom how utterly stupid and moronic you can actually be. What did you think would happen when you tried to pull off that stunt? That you’d suddenly grow wings and be able to fly?”

His harsh words put you back into your place like a scolded child, “I’m sorry...I just wanted to help...”

Mah man does not watch what he says and always end up guilty. Your kicked puppy look is really going to be the death of him. He means well, just harsh when it comes to your well-being.

“Fine, give me those. I’ll take care of it.” He wouldn’t allow you to retort, he just took them from your hands and left without a word.

Let’s just say that Xiao isn’t the best when it comes to handling flowers as he would handle monesters, his touch isn’t the most delicate either and would prefer to get the job done fast. 

Sometimes he’d pull the roots our along with it, dirt and mud dripping from the bottom of the stem. Or the opposite. He pulls too hard and the stem just SNAPS and you’re left with just the blossom. 

“Does it matter? They’re only ingredients as you’ve said.”

That gave you a perfect excuse to teach him the ways of gardening and just be more delicate overall. 

At first he didn’t understand why humans were so meticulous about these things but when he saw a man present a bouquet to his wife, Xiao began to reconsider his methods. He doesn’t undersand mortal traditions as much and sticks to something simple and classy.

Don’t be surprised when you find a bunch on your desk for your birthday <3

{Albedo}

The sheer cold of dragon spine could naturally kill any botanical organisms aside from mints. The only flowers Albedo usually sees are the ones he artificially makes.

But being the genius he was, Albedo knew every variety of flowers to exist in the book. In this case, HE was the expert.

To him, the flower was the symbol of life. Albedo only knew the scientific facts of plant life and their natural functions, you on the otherhand were more familiar with the flower languages in a deeper meaning.

Today was a rare day where Albedo figured he’d step out of that freezing lab and conduct his research somewhere warmer, specifically Windrise where it’s quiet and away from the city.

“Dandelions may not be flowers but thei’re the main specialty of Mondstadt carrying the meaning of ‘freedom’! That’s probably how the Acting Grandmaster got her title.”

“Freedom...” He ponders, “I guess you cold say that.”

Albedo can’t understand why people would choose to associate meaning with plants. Where do their ideas come from? And why? Frankly, he can’t see the point in any of it. 

But at the same time, it made him happy to see you so enthusiastic about his research even if it wasn’t quite near the target. Albedo had always been so engrossed in his work and you’d just silently keep him company of the side, not many times where you both fot to nerd out on the same topic.

Emotions were still a mystery to him. It seems that even upon the most boring subjects, they don’t seem boring anymore when talking to his significant other. Soon enough, Albedo found himself putting his research aside and just listening to you talk. 

“And the Rose expresses romance and love. It’s common for lovers to give it to another during Valentines day.”

He hums cheekily, “Are you telling me that just to hint me to give one to you?”

“W-Well, I didn’t say that.”

He got nothing done. Perhaps his research can wait for another day, right now, he was more curious on what other meanings can a flower hold.

[life-and-law-studies]

My approach to law school // January 3, 2021
This is an overview of my approach to law school and general advice. **There isn’t one way to be a successful law student**


1. MENTAL / PHYSICAL HEALTH - your health is THE most important factor in your law school success. Unfortunately, law school tends to normalize constant stress and exhaustion. Prioritize your health over your studies and you will be a much more functional student. 


Do things that make you happy: read a book for fun or go on a long run/walk/bike ride with a friend. Do things that have nothing to do with law school!


Therapy: it isn’t accessible for everyone, but if you can, do it. 
Take sick days: rest and nourish your body when you are sick. You will recover faster and be a better student because of it. The same goes for mental health days.


Practice community-care: check-in with your friends and support your classmates. Ask your friends and family about their lives and don’t dominate conversation with law school stories. 


Drink plenty of water and eat well. 


2. ORGANIZE


Plan ahead: every Sunday I look over my schedule for the upcoming week and write my to-do lists for homework, law review, and my internship. 


Tab, label, and index: I tab my Bluebook, casebooks, and notebook to find sections more easily. In my notes I include an outline/index of key concepts and cases with page numbers. (I will share a photo of an index in the future)


Keep your workspace organized: I clear my desk of all notebooks and casebooks except for the ones that I need for an assignment. This keeps me focused on one task at a time. At the end of each day I clean my desk so that it’s nice and neat for the next day. 


3. SCHEDULE


Treat law school like a full-time job: I have free time on the weekends and sometimes during the week because I stick to my work schedule. On weekdays I get up at 6:45 am and workout until 7:45 am. Then I eat breakfast. I begin studying/homework/class at about 8:30 am every day and work until about 6 pm. I give myself 45 minutes for lunch sometime between noon and 1:30 pm, but then I get straight to work again. Most days, I spend another 1-3 hours in the evening doing homework, but I always take time to eat dinner and hang out with my roommate for a couple hours first. 


Find a calendar/planner system that works for you: I use my planner for assignments and use my Outlook calendar to keep track of class time, homework time, and internship time. 


Schedule “fun” time to do things other than law school and put it in your calendar. 


4. STUDYING / HOMEWORK 


Pomodoro method: timing study session in segments of 30-45 minutes is extremely helpful because it keeps me on track with my schedule and forces me to take breaks to stretch, drink water, and use the bathroom. 


Note-taking: depending on the class, I handwrite 50-100% of my notes and type the rest in OneNote. I find that handwriting helps me absorb information better than typing, although typing does have its advantages (it’s so much faster). I read through an assignment/case and highlight it, then I go back through and take notes. (I will post a photo of my notes in the near future)


Highlighting: it’s no secret that law students dominate the highlighter market, and for good reason. I highlight reading assignments and my notes. I also use different colors to signal different things, such as statute law versus case law. 


Case briefs: some cases are so confusing that the holding is nowhere to be found and the entire thing seems to be in a different language. Do the best you can to write your own case brief before looking online for one. There’s no shame in using Quimbee every once in a while - in fact, it is a great source for reviewing - but you still need to do the work. 


Find a conducive study space: I spent a lot of time in the law library studying with friends because it is quiet and full of good study energy. Now that I’m working from home, I try to recreate that atmosphere. I even play “library ambiance” sounds on Youtube while I do homework. Make sure you are comfortable and that your space isn’t full of distractions. 


5. NETWORK


Make friends: as an introvert, I loathe socializing in large crowds for long periods of time and find networking difficult. However, I forced myself to network and socialize a lot during law school orientation and made so many incredible friends! I appreciate them all and I don’t know how I would survive law school without them. 


Internships: I recommend talking to 2Ls and 3Ls about their internship experiences. It’s great to talk to career advisors too, but you are more likely to get the most candid details and advice from fellow students. When I was a 1L I befriended a 2L who was interning at a restorative justice legal clinic. She gave me great advice and a great recommendation to her boss. Long story short, I now intern at the same restorative justice clinic and love it. 


Office hours: talking to professors one-on-one is terrifying at first, but in my experience, professors LOVE when students come to office hours. Talking to professors in office hours can make it less intimidating to raise your hand in their classes or when you are cold-called (the horror!). 


6. EXAMS


Outlining: write your own outline. Using another person’s outline as a reference is fine, but write your own! All of my best grades were in classes where I created at least 80% of my outline on my own. 


Go over your outline several times and cut out things you don’t need or won’t be tested on. A long outline isn’t necessarily the best outline. 


Practice exams: do at LEAST two practice exams for each class using your outline so you get used to using it as a reference. Time at least one of these practice exams so you get used to the pace. 


7. REMEMBER WHY YOU ARE HERE


On the first day of my internship, my boss said, “the first thing you lose in law school is the reason why you are there.” Law school is overwhelming, stressful, and at times, soul-crushing. It is easy to forget why you decided to go to law school and you are likely to second-guess every life choice you have ever made at some point or another (I do ALL the time). Therefore, it’s important to remember why you are here. If you want to go into social justice, look into social justice law courses you can take. If you want to represent athletes, look at sports law and contract law classes. Bottom line: step back and recenter yourself to remember why law school is worth the hard work.

[neonponders]

Okay I’m in this Flayed!Steve thing now. Here’s part 2 for this post ~

It’s the angsty middle (I don’t know if I’m doing a part 3 so this might just be angst with no conclusion LOL) so I’ll put it under the cut.

• • • • • • •

Billy frowned at Max’s gaggle of weirdos from atop his lifeguard throne. She had a pass to the pool - courtesy of his job - so the extremely obvious sneaking around was even weirder than that herd of freshmen usually behaved.

Whatever. It’s summer. It’s closing time, and Billy’s got plans to be nowhere in Hawkins tonight. He’s got a concert ticket burning a hole in his locker, and he can’t help but touch it fondly after he finishes his shower -

The lights go out.

He wants to slouch and tip his head back like Max does when she’s just over it. But since he’s the boss around here, he puts strength in his legs and barks, “HEY! Lights on and get out!”

When nothing changed, he quickly yanked on his jeans, t-shirt, and shouldered his backpack - ticket safely locked within an interior pocket -

Billy’s mouth opens to bellow, but someone else beats him to it.

“MAX!”

The voice is familiar but he can’t place it. Or rather, it’s out of place, so he doesn’t believe it until he sees Steve Harrington for himself.

“Max! Get out of the freaking sauna! I’m not interested in smelling like old men.”

Billy frowned. There was only one sauna, and women didn’t use it. A mild warning bell moves through Billy’s head at why Max could possibly be in the sauna at all, but instead he chooses to intercept the guy yelling for his stepsister.

“Hey, Harrington.”

It was convenient that Billy stood behind him; he got the full view of that Scoops Ahoy uniform as Steve turned around and -

Got a sandbag in the stomach. The pool staff used those to weigh down signs and traffic cones on busy days in the parking lot, but for the life of him, Billy had no idea where it had just come from. They weren’t stored anywhere near the locker rooms or sauna.

Billy gaped as the guy vocally coughed and flew backward. A good bit of spit got knocked out of him on the way into the sauna, and then the door slammed shut.

Freshmen swarmed around Billy, running at the door to bar it shut. Byers’ brother read the thermometer on the wall. “Almost at two hundred!”

“Max.”

Her red ponytail flew around her head as she looked at him and his confusion. “Billy, I don’t have time to explain.”

“You might!” Lucas intercepted. “We don’t know how long this will take!”

A new voice asked, “How long does it take?”

Billy analyzed this new person’s sailor uniform. “Who are you?”

“Robin. Who the hell are you?”

“I work here!” Billy growled. “What the hell are all of you doing after hours?”

“Steve’s possessed by something,” Robin said.

Billy’s voice went deadpan. “It’s July.”

She grimaced, “So?”

“So take your Halloween bullshit out of here - ”

Slow...quiet laughter turned their heads to the sauna door. Yet...the laughter didn’t match the sobbed, “Bullshit. My life is bullshit. Bullshit. Bullshit.”

“Two-fifteen,” Byers narrated by the thermometer. As if connected to the temperature, Steve got louder, wailing an atrocious sound that made even Billy wince.

“We’re all getting arrested for this if you don’t let him out - ”

“We can’t let him out!” Wheeler shouted. Jesus, the kid was just as bullheaded as his sister. “The Mind Flayer’s inside of him. Maybe you might be bored enough to let this thing take over our dimension, but we’re not!”

“Mike, he doesn’t know,” Max said as if trying to soothe the situation, but Billy’s eyes were on the sauna window. Steve had stood up. And Max stood too close to the door.

A fist broke the glass and gripped her hair the same time Billy dove for her. Max screamed as they both landed against the sauna door. Everyone was yelling, but through the chaos, a hand entered Billy’s vision and Steve flew away from the door as if pulled by a rope behind him.

Billy dragged Max away, but not without seeing how Steve landed on the floor, broken tiles following him from the wall. A girl stood beside them, but Billy didn’t know her. She had a nosebleed but didn’t seem to care. “Steve. Fight it. Fight.”

No laughter this time, but the sound of Steve crying was...hard to listen to. Billy and Max slowly returned to the others, all of them peering into the sauna at Steve slumped on the floor.

“I can’t. I’ve been trying. I can’t anymore. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

He held his bleeding hand, but all of him sounded broken. Billy heard himself ask, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Mind Flayer,” the girl said.

“Yeah, that doesn’t mean anything to me,” Billy remarked.

“It’s a creature from another dimension,” Byers said...a bit too calmly. “It possessed me last year.”

“You seem fine,” Billy retorted, even though Byers was pale, skinny, and for some reason stayed true to that ridiculous bowl cut.

“My mom and brother got it out of me, but it won’t be as easy this time. All of the flayed people have been eating chemicals. Steve’s house is a mess.”

Robin pointed at the window, “Does that look all right to you?”

Billy refocused on Steve...and all the black veins on his arms, his face.

“Two-forty,” Byers said.

The curly-haired kid...Dustin, Billy remembered from some locked cabinet of his brain, said, “The human body can’t survive past one hundred and ten.”

“What if he’s not human anymore?” Lucas said quietly, like a secret.

“Steve’s still in there!” Dustin yelled, even though his tone was soaked with doubt. “Steve, you gotta fight it, man. Come on! I know you don’t have the best track record, but this is a fight you can’t lose!”

“I ALREADY LOST!” he screamed. Max was crying in Billy’s arms. He hadn’t realized they still held onto each other. Steve cried, “I lost. Soon as this thing’s out of me...I’m dead. I’m so thirsty. All he drinks is bleach. I’m not okay. There’s no way I’m okay. I’m sorry. Robin. I’m sorry. I tried. I tried so he didn’t see you. I tried every time...”

Billy didn’t know what the hell was going on, but Steve’s veins were black, all of them bulging beneath his skin as he began to convulse. Will moved, gasping and weirdly riveted to Steve vomiting something that looked too thick to be saliva.

Then he deflated. “That’s not it. That’s not enough. Two-fifty.”

“What’s it look like?” Lucas asked.

“It’s a cloud - a vapor. It’s - ”

“A shadow.”

Like rats scattering, they retreated from the window where Steve stood again. Except the girl remained, gazing steadily back at him as he reached through the window...not to grab her, but to test the distance.

Steve smiled. Billy felt cold. “Limited human parts.”

Her jaw stiffened as her hands formed into fists at her sides. Opening. Closing. Opening. Closing.

Opening, and rising to point her palm at the window. “When the spider leaves, the web dies.”

Billy couldn’t believe that Steve moved because of this girl, but he landed against tiled wall again...and again.

Dustin was shrieking as Lucas and Mike held him back. “You’re killing him! Stop! Please!”

The girl sobbed through the blood dripping past her mouth -

A guttural hack of a sound wrenched out of Steve, and the sauna went dark. Not like the lights going out...but like dust out of a vacuum. Soot from a faulty firework making Billy squint and then dodge out of they way of Lucas wielding a lighter and hairspray.

To Billy’s horror, the soot cloud moved. Dodging and evading the hairspray flames - some of it even catching light and moving like cinders.

Lucas, Mike, and the girl chased it out of the building, but Billy and the others looked at Robin wrenching the sauna open. Steve lay unmoving inside.

“Steve? Steve! Oh...god. We need a hospital.”

They didn’t have a hospital. But they did have a lifeguard.

“Move. Let me see him.”

Billy still had no functional idea of what the hell was going on. All he knew was that he didn’t get paid enough for any of this, and his CPR training told him: when in doubt, keep compressions going until better helps comes.

“Max, call an ambulance. Then stand outside to flag them down. Robin, help me move him out of here. It’s too hot.”

For all of Max’s faults, an unsteady head was not one of them. She took off for a phone and Robin was thankfully nearly as tall as Steve and Billy. They lifted Steve with ease and got him to a locker room bench. Dustin and Byers put cool-soaked towels underneath Steve’s armpits as Billy began chest compressions.

Both boys flinched back at the sound of bones snapping. Dustin exclaimed, “That’s not right! That can’t be right!”

“I have to break the sternum off the ribs to compress his heart. Stay the hell out of my way.”

Maybe it was the sound, or the sound coupled with Steve’s sweat and slimed-drenched face, but Robin finally broke. She ran for a toilet and heaved. Then both boys held onto her, crying as Billy gripped Steve’s hair and jaw to open his windpipe and breathe into him.

It was gross. It was terrifying. And it felt like nothing was happening. Steve was cold and unmoving. He tasted strange. Soft lips made acrid and sharp.

Voices echoed in Billy’s ears but he didn’t stop. He counted to thirty and breathed for Steve twice.

Thirty.

Breathe.

Thirty.

He still counted even after an EMT ripped him off of Steve, and left him standing vacantly in the lot as the firework of a truck sped away.

[crystalelemental]

Sygna Suit Blue - One Year Later

Did you guys know?  Despite two years of powercreep, SS Blue’s still the best support.  Just ask Reddit, the bastion of truth.

If the intro wasn’t clear in its facetiousness, I do not respect SS Blue.

When I pulled on the Kantrio banner, SS Leaf was the primary target, who did receive 3/5.  SS Blue and SS Red hit 2/5 each, so they were imperfect, and this...probably explains a lot about my opinions on them.  We’ll get to Red, but SS Blue had an unbelievable amount of hype coming in.

SS Blue’s reputation is being functionally unkillable.  Massive defensive profile, X Def All, Force Field 4 to buff special defense 50% of the time when attacking, and two passive means of healing, one when taking damage, and one when dealing damage.  The big facet that made him unkillable was Safety Net.  When he uses his sync, everyone on the team gains Endurance.  This was a huge component of SS Blue’s ability to keep a team alive.

The other reputation was buffing every stat.  Pep Rally on trainer move means he buffs speed and crit.  X Def All is defense, Force Field is Special Defense, and Team Shout can buff attack or special attack or both.  As a result, SS Blue is able to buff every single stat over time, something only base Leaf can compete with.  And here’s where I get mean.

At 2/5, SS Blue really reveals where his problems are.  With only one of his two possible healing effects, that 30% activation rate really hinders his ability to heal up.  Force Field 4′s 50/50 also means you’re not always getting the special defense you need.  Team Shout is incredibly inconsistent for helping any ally buff their attacking stats, because you’re not guaranteed to get the offensive stat you want.  Worst of all, without 2/5, SS Blue can’t even cap crit, because he doesn’t have MPR on his trainer move.

I’d also argue that his hype back then is absolutely baffling to me, because...man, everything in the CS meta was about ruthless efficiency.  You want capped offensive stats on your EX Striker to explode a stage, and SS Blue cannot do that at all.  Moreover, despite high bulk, the high offensive parameters still smash right through him.  He worked better with long-term matches, but his inconsistent healing was begging for ultimate failure.  To say nothing of the fact that, for Stall, that lack of consistency was almost assured to fail, without someone like SS Leaf backing him up with real healing.  And you know who else could buff everything to stall, but was infinitely more consistent with healing?  Leaf.  A general pool unit.  SS Blue felt like a disaster.  He was fine, but nowhere near the level promised.

In fact, I’d be willing to argue that, for the CS meta, there was virtually no reason to use him after we got SC Jasmine.  SC Jasmine got Safety Net too, but was nearly capping offensive stats in three moves, while supplying Gradual Healing for some assured survival, capping special defense, and potentially debuffing special defense of the foe.  What did SS Blue do by comparison?  Physical defense, and arguably better gauge control.  He just never once appealed over Jasmine.

The first time I started to seriously respect SS Blue was when Gauntlet dropped.  With the lower power threshold, his massive defensive stats and ability to rapidly buff defense of the team really started to shine...right up until you ran straight into the 30% rate for minor healing.  With only one of those passives, SS Blue, legitimately, failed about as often as he succeeded.  Moreover, Gauntlet requires the concept of partnering your best supports with your worse attackers, but SS Blue never felt like he could handle it.  His best comps, and his constant showcases, always involved either incredibly self-sufficient offensive units who barely needed help to begin with, or other units with healing, neither of which you want to combine with someone who’s supposed to be a really good support.

When the Victory Road tutorial dropped, and we were given a chance to pick one of the Kantrio, SS Blue was the obvious choice.  I didn’t need SS Leaf, and...look, we’ll get to SS Red, so SS Blue made the most sense.  Because now, I could get his full range of healing.  Finally, I had full grid...and boy do I feel like he can’t quite get the things he wants.  He requires MPR on both trainer moves, while Natural Remedy and Quick Cure are essential for certain moves.  You take both healing moves...now do you get Impervious, Wise Entry 2, or Pep Rally?  Or Adrenaline, I suppose.  That’d be a great pick, but giving up the rest?  Wise Entry is nice to keep him alive quickly, but is pretty easily skipped.  Pep Rally is great, and apparently move gauge acceleration scales with speed, so it’s super useful as a combination.  But Impervious blocks the frequent defensive stat reductions that occur against things like Entei and Azelf.  Making those kinds of decisions is pretty rough, and it doesn’t feel so much like options as much as giving up certain major tools for others.

But I will give credit where it’s due: when he has both healing abilities, SS Blue feels drastically different.  Especially since the 3/5 skill is when he takes damage as opposed to making an attack.  When his healing is on par, his ridiculous bulk definitely carries its weight.  He really is one of the most capable options to sustain through a match with both.

Most of the time, anyway.  I’ve absolutely had him fail too many rolls in a row and lose allies.  If he fails MPR on his trainer move it’s almost definitely a reset.  He can just keep failing on Team Shout and can’t just help anyone.  He can deal damage, but in those scenarios often needs someone else with pop healing to prevent devastation.

SS Blue is...weird for me to talk about.  I feel like he has always been severely over-hyped, and I’d be willing to bet actual money that a huge reason for this is that everyone and their dog got the Kantrio to 3/5, immediately EX’d them, and then assumed this was a baseline default performance.  It is not.  SS Blue without EX does not tank nearly as well as advertised.  SS Blue without 3/5 does not have anywhere near the healing needed.  1/5 SS Blue is actively disappointing because he can’t cap crit, or really do anything at all.

In terms of changes, SS Blue is even weirder, because like...for a support, you’d look at what teams they enable, and whether certain offensive threats worked better or worse with them, right?  And yeah, you can, but SS Blue never had a specific set.  In one interpretation, this is because he’s good enough to support a wide host of options.  In my critical interpretation, it’s because SS Blue doesn’t enable anything worth talking about.  He works best with the units that are excellent at self-setup, and don’t need assistance with damage, just the defense to survive.  And I think there are plenty of units that can do that.  If you want to make people mad, Summer Hilda can do that.  SS Blue really hasn’t changed at all, or enabled anything particularly new.  He’s the same as ever, while plenty of new supports are coming in with life-changing role compression for some of the bottom of the barrel strikers.  So you’ll forgive me if I find the take of SS Blue being the best support, or even top tier anymore, completely laughable in the current meta.