#me. one already had their stuff on the conveyor belt and the other was about to put their stuff there too

[perilegs]

every time i try to do something scary on purpose for my social anxiety the universe decides to add in unexpected situations 😔

[https-milo]

the baker's daughter - a wild todoroki!

synopsis

Y/n L/n works at a small bakery owned by her parents. One day, a pro hero in training shows up asking for 400 cupcakes

Chapter 2 - a wild todoroki!

prev. / m. list / next

TAG LIST..!

@aejabba

Three days have passed since Todoroki came into the shop. Right now I am currently on an afternoon mission. A mission to get all the ingredients needed for 400 cupcakes by the U.A School Festival. The wind felt therapeutic as it brushed past me, I smiled warmly at the feeling. I walk to the closest store, enter it, and greet the workers with a wave. I grab a basket and walk over to the baking aisle.

"Cocoa power... Vanilla extract... Sugar... Flour... Don't we already have most of this stuff?" I groan in annoyance. I scoop everything I need into my basket. I walk to the noodle aisle and see soba - my favorite. There was only one left, so I quickly grab it. I hear a sigh from beside me and turn around. It was Shoto Todoroki.

"Oh! Hello, Todoroki," I greet. "I hope you weren't trying to get the soba..."

"I was actually, but it's fine. I can just go out to eat somewhere," Todoroki explains.

"I'm sorry, if you want it, you can have it?"

"No, it's fine. Thank you."

"Okayyyy, well I've gotta get to the bakery... It was nice seeing you!" I say. Being close to him made me flustered, and I did not like that. I rush away from Todoroki, barreling towards the cashier.

"L/N, hold on," He said.

I was halfway to the register, almost free from embarrassment. "Uh yes?"

"Would you like to join me in getting soba? I figure you'd prefer it fresh and not prepackaged," Todoroki asked.

"Uhm, me? Like me-me?" I look around, trying to find anyone else he could be talking to.

"Yes, you. You don't have to, of course. Just thought I'd offer."

My eyes widen, "Yeah! Of course, I wanna go with you, but I kinda have to run these to the bakery first and change -" I look down ashamed at my 'no-one-will-see-me' outfit. "I'm sure you don't wanna be seen with someone who looks like this," I vaguely gesture to my outfit.

"I don't care what you're wearing. But if you want to change, I'll wait for you."

"Come with me in line?" I ask. He nods and catches up to me, from there we walk to the register. I place the ingredients on the conveyor belt. The worker scans my items.

"That'll be 10,000 yen," the worker explains. I wince.

"Mom is so going to kill me," I joke. "My budget was 8,000..."

Before I can say anything else, Todoroki takes out his father's credit card and pays for the ingredients. "To-Todoroki!" I stutter. He looks at me confused as he enters the PIN number.

"What? I don't want you getting in trouble."

"It was a joke, Todo. My mom wasn't actually going to kill me," I sigh as the worker bags my items.

"Oh."

"Thank you though, I really appreciate it. But now I feel bad!" I pout.

"Don't feel bad, my father has enough money," Todoroki replies. "Let me help you." I nod and he takes a few bags out of my arms. We walk out of the store.

"What're you doing out here anyway? I thought you'd be in school?" I ask.

"We had the day off today. I thought it would be nice to head into town, and I was right because I ran into you," he said this so easily I thought he was joking.

"W-what?!"

"I enjoy your company," he shrugged.

"We just met... like literally the other day."

"I know, but I was never allowed around other kids when I was younger. I didn't have a single friend before I started attending U.A., so I don't really know what it's like to have one. But after we met, I couldn't stop thinking about you. So I figured I just had to meet you again, and I was right. I think that's what happens when you want someone to be your friend."

I didn't think I could get any more flustered. But, of course, a quirk user just had to prove me wrong. "I enjoy your company too. We should talk more! You know, outside of the cupcakes," I smile at him - trying to ignore the bubbly feeling in my chest.

We walk in silence for the rest of the way to my bakery. It wasn't uncomfortable, I honestly enjoyed it. "I'm home!" I shout as we enter the bakery.

"Welcome back, Y/n," my dad says. He's rubbing his face with a rag as he enters the front of the store. Once his eyes open, they narrow in on Todoroki. I wince and look between the two.

"Dad, this is Todoroki Shoto, he's the customer who requested the large order. Todo, this is my dad," I introduce. That doesn't help the one-sided tension. Todoroki looked confused as he looked between me and my dad. I gestured for him to speak.

"Good afternoon, sir. I came across L/N-chan in the store, I offered to take her out for lunch... if that's ok with you?" Todoroki greeted with a bow. My father grumbled.

"Come with me while Y/N changes, bring the groceries," Dad instructed.

"Is that really necessary?" I groan.

"Yes," Dad firmly said. I roll my eyes.

"Don't worry, L/N. I will be fine," Todoroki replied.

I look between the two and hesitantly make my way upstairs after handing Todoroki the remaining bags. I head to my room and hastily throw on a pair of jeans and a band shirt. It had been 7 minutes since I left the storefront, and if I'm being honest; I was scared of what I was going to walk in on. Pushing my fear aside for the sake of Todoroki, I walk downstairs. Surprisingly, I see my dad engaged in a friendly conversation. I quirk an eyebrow at this. With just as much prejudice quirk havers give us for being quirkless, my dad gives the hatred tenfold toward quirk users. So imagine my shock when I see him shaking Todoroki's hand and thanking him.

"Soooo can I go with him?" I ask.

"Yes. Take care of my daughter, Todoroki," my dad says.

"Of course, L/N-sama," Todoroki replied. He nodded toward me and we made our way out of the bakery. "Did you know my favorite soba place is only a few blocks away?"

"I know of a soba place a few blocks away, but obviously I didn't know it was your favorite," I tease. I swear I see a faint smile on his face. "What did my dad say to you?"

"He started asking about my intentions for hanging out with you. I told him you were good company. Then he started saying how you three were quirkless, but that wouldn't stop him from hurting me if I offended you in any way. I told him that wouldn't be a problem because we were just getting Soba," Todoroki explained. I could tell he was either keeping something from me or some part of what he said was a lie. "I didn't know you were quirkless."

"It's not something we go around telling everyone. There's really no pride in being 'normal'," I shrug. This was the conversation I was dreading.

"Well, I think being quirkless can be just as great as having a quirk," Todoroki calmly said. I look at him ridiculously, not believing what he said.

"How so?" I asked. I figured he was just trying to be nice to me, he didn't actually believe that. I mean, who would?

"Well, if the majority of the world relies on quirks and quirk users, the fact that quirkless people can get through the day without using a power is remarkable. Your parents built that bakery themselves, right? They didn't need quirks to do that and the business they built is incredible. I guess quirkless people just don't get enough credit, I think we forget there was a time we didn't use quirks," Todoroki explained.

"And you mean that? Like you're not just trying to be nice or whatever?"

"Yes, I mean it. Why wouldn't I?"

"Not many people share the same sentiment. I'm used to being thrown into lockers and bullied, not appreciated," I chuckle.

"My friend Midoriya helped me see quirkless people how I currently view them. My father told me they were defenseless and weak. I let this sentiment slip during a hangout once while we were watching a movie, Midoriya paused it and went on a whole rant. I hate my father for the way he made me see people, quirklessness is not a disability as everyone makes it seem."

"Well, tell Midoriya I appreciate him showing you the light," I joke. Todoroki smiled faintly.

"Well, we're here," Todoroki said.

© https-milo. please do not repost, steal, copy, or modify my works!

Thank you so much for reading <3

[cutecurly-hair]

Hearts Unleashed (Part 1)

Pairing: Nick Nelson x Black!fem!reader

Warning: Fluff, Smut in later chapters, Body Shaming

Words: 2234

Please interact and comment to keep it going. I always love to know what you think.

"What does this mean?" I stared at the piece of paper clutched tightly in my hand. My mom's eyes held an unmistakable unease as she replied, her voice tinged with worry, "This is our plane ticket to England."

Excitement bubbled up inside me as I glanced at the tickets. "We're going to England for a vacation! I had a feeling this year would be different. Do you think we can visit Paris while we're there? I heard it's just a quick train ride away."

My mom chuckled nervously, her laughter quivering. "That's the thing, honey, this isn't just a vacation; it's permanent."

My brows furrowed as I examined the ticket more closely, finally noticing the bold "ONE WAY" printed in the upper right corner. "What do you mean, one way?" Confusion washed over me, and I couldn't believe what I was seeing.

"It means we'll be officially moving to England. I applied for a new job there, and I got it," my mom explained as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She saw the panic in my eyes and hurriedly added, "I understand it's sudden, but I think this will be a great change for us. I've even found a fantastic school with an amazing film program that I know you'll love."

My mind raced. "I don't even know what to say. Why are you telling me this now?" My whole life was here in America, and the idea of packing up and moving to another country was almost too much to bear.

"Honey, I know it's sudden, but they called me today, and they need me to start immediately. That's why we have to leave tomorrow."

"Tomorrow! I don't even have time to pack, let alone say goodbye to my friends. We can't just uproot ourselves from LA and head to England." I looked around our apartment, a cozy haven that had been my home for the past seven years. It felt like things were finally getting back to normal.

I glanced at the ticket again and saw the fine print: Departing from LAX tomorrow at 10:45 am. "I should really start wearing my glasses," I muttered under my breath.

My mom tried to reassure me, "Everything will work out fine. I've hired movers to come during the week and help ship the rest of our stuff. Tonight, all we need to do is pack our personal things and head to the airport first thing in the morning."

I felt like I wanted to argue, but then I saw how tired my mom looked. Her face seemed really worn out, and she had a tired look in her eyes. It made me realize that maybe I hadn't been paying enough attention to how she was feeling lately.

I decided not to bring up my concerns because I didn't want to make things worse. I didn't want to fight with my mom when she already seemed so tired and stressed. So, I chose to keep quiet and let it go for now, even though I still had my worries.

As we stepped off the plane in London, the dark grey skies clouded my vision, and the unfamiliar air filled my lungs. Instantly, I began to miss home. With half of my life packed away in two large suitcases and three duffel bags, this was definitely going to take some getting used to.

"Have your other bags arrived yet?" my mom asked, her eyes darting to the time on her wrist.

"Sorry for making you wait," I replied with a sigh. "When you're packing your whole life into a bag, it tends to take a while." I was far from being in a good mood after only managing to grab a couple of hours of sleep, spending one of them writing an overly dramatic paragraph to my friends about where I'd be for the next few years.

"There's no need to get sassy with me, Y/n," my mom chided. "I'm just worried about the time. I don't want to be late for the shuttle. If we miss this one, the next won't be for another three hours. And I'm sure you don't want to spend that much time at the airport."

Before I could respond, I spotted my color-coded bags moving slowly along the conveyor belt. I collected them and loaded them onto a trolley, then couldn't help but add a mockingly sweet tone, "Now, we can go."

My mom led the way to the shuttle, looking a bit lost in the bustling airport. She approached a stranger for directions, and I listened intently, realizing I needed to get used to the distinct accent. My mom thanked the stranger urgently, and we hurriedly made our way to catch the shuttle, leaving behind the life I'd known in America.

Arriving at our new home in England I couldn't help that there was a mix of excitement and trepidation. I had seen pictures of the place, but it was entirely different to stand in front of it, knowing that it was going to be our home for the foreseeable future. My mom, ever the optimist, had put in tremendous effort to ensure it was the best flat on the block.

As we approached the building, I noticed the quaint charm of the neighborhood. Rows of terraced houses with colorful front doors lined the cobblestone streets. It was a far cry from the sunny, palm tree-lined avenues of Los Angeles that I had called home.

My mom had informed me earlier that her new job had provided relocation money, and she had spent hours researching and visiting potential flats to find one that met all our needs. She was determined to make this transition as smooth as possible for me, especially since I wasn't exactly thrilled about changing schools.

The flat itself was a cozy two-bedroom apartment on the top floor of a charming Victorian building. It had large windows that let in plenty of natural light, and I could see the spires of an old church in the distance. The living room had plush sofas, and I could just imagine the walls being adorned with artwork from home. She had even managed to find a flat with a small balcony where we could enjoy tea on sunny afternoons.

As we stepped inside, I couldn't help but be impressed by how homely it felt, despite being in a foreign country. My room, though smaller than what I was used to, had a window overlooking the quiet street below. I packed some of my posters and photographs from our life in LA, making it feel like a small piece of home.

As I unpacked my belongings, I couldn't help but reflect on the whirlwind of changes that had brought us here. My parents' divorce had been a long and sometimes painful process, but with me finishing up middle school, it seemed like the right time for a fresh start.

In my mom's perspective, this move was a chance for something new and exciting, a way to turn the page on a difficult chapter in our lives. But for me, I felt like I was just along for the ride, caught up in the decisions made by the adults in my life. It wasn't easy to accept that we were starting over in a completely different country.

While I tried to look on the bright side, I couldn't shake the feeling that my mom should have told me about it much sooner. The truth was that I was still deeply hurt and confused.

But as I glanced out the window of our new flat and saw the quaint streets of our new neighborhood, I knew that, in time, I would find my place in this new chapter of our lives. Change might not come overnight, but I was determined to make the most of it and find the silver lining in our fresh start.

—-----

A whole week had passed, and I swear my boredom had reached Olympic levels. Our furniture from LA finally showed up a few days ago, and let me tell you, I became the world champion of room redecorating in record time. But apart from that impressive feat, my life had all the excitement of a cardboard box. School isn't kicking off until Monday, which gives me a gentle nudge that I should probably check out the film program my mom's been raving about. 

Feeling all organized and responsible, I sat down and sketched out the route from our place to the school. It's like a 20-minute walk, which I can totally handle once I get the hang of it. But if I'm feeling a bit lazy (which happens, like, all the time), there's a nifty 10-minute bus ride option. Plus, my mom's still knee-deep in paperwork to send our car overseas, so it's official I'm becoming a bus pro.

Then I checked out the school's website, and the film program doesn't look half bad. They've got this YouTube channel packed with short films that are more interesting than binge-watching cat videos. And here's the real kicker they've got a partnership with Netflix! I mean, seriously, how did they manage to pull that off? They're talking about workshops and internships, and I'm just here thinking,

"Who's the magician that got Netflix on board?" That seriously is impressive.

Looking out of the window, I couldn't believe my luck the sun was actually shining for once! After days of nothing but gray skies, it felt like a small miracle. I was starting to understand that sunny days were a rare commodity in this place. So, I thought, why not make the most of it while I could?

I swapped out my usual outfit for a pair of comfy shorts and a cool graphic tee. In a flash, I was out the door, ready to savor every bit of that precious sunshine.

As I continued my stroll through the neighborhood, I stumbled upon a charming park nestled amidst the houses. The sunlit meadow was dotted with people, and what caught my eye was the number of folks out and about with their dogs. It was becoming evident that this was definitely a big dog-loving community, and the park was their social hub.

I watched as playful pups frolicked, tails wagging with unbridled enthusiasm, and their owners chatted amicably, forming a tight-knit community within the community. It felt heartwarming to witness such camaraderie, and I couldn't help but smile at the sight.

I stumbled upon the perfect photo opportunity, one that would fit perfectly in my collection. I'd forgotten my camera at home, but my trusty phone would have to do. As I aimed to capture the moment, an unexpected collision sent my phone tumbling to the ground.

Before I could get a word out, the other person beat me to the punch. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I wasn't watching where I was going," he said, hastily bending down to retrieve both of our phones. It turned out he had dropped his phone as well.

I felt a flush of embarrassment creeping up. "No, no, it's alright. It was my fault for standing right in the middle of the walkway," I replied, cheeks tinged with a hint of red.

He handed back my phone with an apologetic smile. "Sorry about that. Hopefully, it didn't crack," he said, his own cheeks taking on a shade of pink.

I shook my head, trying to conceal my own embarrassment. "No big deal. You might have done me a favor, actually. It's about time I got a new phone, and this could be the perfect excuse," I quipped, waving my phone playfully. The boy chuckled warmly.

"Thanks for not making me feel awful about it," he admitted, appearing relieved. "I'm Charlie, by the way." He extended his hand, and I shook it with a friendly smile.

I responded, "I'm Y/N. Nice to meet you, Charlie." The friendly atmosphere that had enveloped us earlier seemed to dissipate, leaving an awkward silence in its wake.

Charlie finally broke the silence, his voice tinged with shyness. "Sorry, but I can't help but notice the accent..."

I smiled, realizing his curiosity. "Oh yeah, I'm from America. We just moved here last week, right down the block," I stated, hoping to ease the awkwardness.

Charlie's eyes lit up with excitement. "Right down the block! I live right down that way." I couldn't help but feel my own excitement grow.

"I live where the new flats were built, I think they're called the Avalone Suites or something," I mentioned. Charlie's face instantly lit up with recognition.

"I live right across from you! Everyone around the block has been raving about the new building," he exclaimed,

As Charlie and I walked back to my apartment, he chatted animatedly about the neighborhood, sharing tidbits about the local shops, nearby parks, and the best places to grab a bite. It was clear he was friendly and genuinely excited to have a new neighbor.

During our conversation, we made another delightful discovery – we were both going to the same school. It was a pleasant surprise that eased my earlier concerns about not knowing anyone in this new place.

By the time we reached my apartment building, Charlie had almost talked my ear off, but I didn't mind one bit. With a warm smile, I turned to him and said, "Thanks for walking me back, Charlie. I guess I won't be starting school completely alone."

Charlie grinned in response; his eyes filled with genuine friendliness. "Anytime, Y/N. I'm looking forward to seeing you at school."

We added each other on each other's socials before we parted ways.

Part 2: https://www.tumblr.com/cutecurly-hair/727972531449020416/hearts-unleashed-part-2?source=share

[wolfiemcwolferson]

hey logaaaaan💖 i'm here to request a fic for number 16!!

Hi Justi babe,

This song is uh, not what I would normally write as a prompt, because it’s not exactly. Happy. BUT, I’ll give it a hopeful ending.

Pierre moves back in with his parents.

It’s not like he’s got a choice.

He was barely making ends meet living with Lance - with Lance and his stupid money paying most of their overpriced, overinflated rent and Pierre’s entire life really while Pierre dumped EVERYTHING into traveling and promotions and last minute club nights.

Because Lance believed in him and he loved him.

And yeah, no one expected the two of them to last - not even Pierre - but, he hadn’t expected the two of them to go out like THAT.

Pierre can’t think about it too long or he starts to feel nauseous. And he can’t think about the impossible trek he’ll have to make from fucking Sacramento into the city so he can still DJ at the few nights he’s managed to secure in advance.

He’s decidedly not thinking about it now, standing in line at the grocery store down the street with an armful of last minute things his mom needed for their dinner party, trying not to feel like a loser while he clutches the 40 dollars she slipped him.

He can’t even pay for some whole grain mustard and some lemons and a bottle of wine.

It’s shameful and ridiculous and he is burning alive with the need to…go.

To burn off this rage. This nastiness that he’s feeling towards his friends in the city. The bubble under his skin that dancing or DJing or fucking would release.

Instead, he’s watching a cashier move slower than the melting glaciers and clutching a bottle of wine.

“Pierre?”

Pierre is lucky he doesn’t die on the spot because that voice…

“Pierre,” he says again, as Pierre turns towards the voice to find Charles behind him, smiling in that brilliant way he does, already moving around the side of his own cart - a cart piled high with fresh vegetables and normal person food - reaching out to hug Pierre.

Pierre desperately wants to hug him, but Charles sees all of Pierre’s armful of groceries and he laughs, bright and high, shifting to tug the wine from his grip, placing it in his own cart.

“I did not know you were in town,” Charles says, taking the mustard from him too. “I just had dinner with you mom two weeks ago and she was talking about you getting booked into this festival in Ibiza.”

He says Ibiza like his mom does. Eeeeeebeeeeezah. Pierre finds, in the face of it - in the face of Charles - his oldest friend, the person who went to prom with him, the guy he thought was lost to him after that drunken hookup during Pierre’s freshman year of college - he doesn’t mind so much.

“Cha,” Pierre hands him the mustard, “you look -“

Charles laughs as he throws himself into Pierre’s arms. “All grown up?” He asks in Pierre’s ear, “or were you going to tell me how beautiful I look now?”

He pulls away and bats his eyelashess and Pierre throws his head back and laughs.

“Well, I am grown up.” Charles says, pinching the skin of Pierre’s wrist.

They stare at each other.

Pierre has so much he should say.

He should apologize for what happened between them. He should ask why Charles was having dinner with Pierre’s Pascale. He should ask what Charles is doing in Sacramento when last he heard, he was in San Diego.

But Charles reaches over again, soothes his thumb over where he just pinched Pierre, and Pierre stares down at the contact.

“I know your mom is doing that dinner party thing tonight,” and then he says softer, “but I’d like to see you while you’re in town.”

Pierre looks up at him. At his blush. At his eyes.

“Catch up.”

Pierre shouldn’t.

But.

“If you drop me by my parents, I’ll run this stuff in and then we could -“

“Yes,” Charles cuts him off and then Pierre watches as the blush deepens. “I can’t promise my cooking is near as good as your mom’s but -“

Pierre has to fish his bottle of wine from Charles’ basket because the conveyor belt now has space for his items.

“I’d love to catch up.”

Pierre smiles at him. “I’d love to catch up too, Cha.”

[theladyofdeath]

Short prompt: Rhysand accidentally finds Feyre's wedding dress before the wedding.

A/N: I love the whole "my wife is going to be pissed at me but I just can't help myself" dynamic, always. lol. Enjoy!

Warnings: language

Rhysand looked down at the checklist that his wife had given him, wishing he had a bottle of whiskey to accompany him on his mission. There was something about wedding planning that made him want to drown himself in liquor, but he also knew that it stressed Feyre out, so he wanted to help relieve the burden. With only two weeks to go, there was so much to do that Rhysand had sent Feyre away to the spa with her sisters, hoping it would ease some of the tension.

Even if that meant he had to pick up some of the slack.

Looking down at the list Feyre gave him, he sighed. He'd already gone to the grocery store to get their toiletries for their honeymoon and picked up Feyre's bridal party gifts from a local shop on the other side of town who specialized in embroidered gifts. It seemed that she only left him to do the minuscule tasks, which he supposed he should be grateful for, but he was also slightly offended.

For her, he'd do them anyway.

After slipping off his shoes and organizing everything he'd brought home on the kitchen counter, Rhysand was going to the guest bedroom to pull out their luggage. Finding their suitcases was the third thing on the list. Cleaning them off was the fourth. Why did their luggage need to be cleaned when they would be tossed around filthy conveyor belts, anyways? Rhysand didn't know, but he wasn't about to complain about something he could get done in ten minutes.

Swearing they were in the guest room closet, he strode inside, flinging open the closet. There wasn't a lot in this closet. It was mostly storage, which meant that it was a mess to sort through. Nonetheless, he stepped into the walk-in closet and took a look around.

There were a ton of boxes, one or two from Rhys's childhood - stuff he didn't want to throw away, but didn't want to display, either. There were also totes filled with Christmas decorations that he was glad he wouldn't have to see for another six months.

As Rhysand approached the back of the closet, he chuckled, knowing full well what he'd find. Feyre was horrible about getting rid of anything. While he only had a couple of boxes from his childhood and his youth, Feyre had piles on piles of stuff. He understood it. She hadn't had a lot growing up and wanted to hold onto what she could. There were boxes of toys, cds, and photographs, all of which he had looked through before with his future wife, laughing at what horrible tastes she'd had as a teenager. On the rack near the back were a couple of prom dresses. The only one Rhysand had seen her in was her senior year dress, which is when they had met, once she and her sisters moved to Velaris.

He looked at it now, black and glittery with a slit up the thigh, and the image of her that night popped into his mind perfectly clear. She had been beautiful. He swore that was the night he had fallen in love with her, even if they didn't start dating for another few months later.

He looked at the other dresses then, from prom and other dances. When he made it to the end of the line, he frowned. There was a dress in a big, black bag. One he swore he had never seen before. He pulled it out and froze when he saw the cursive script written across the front. Starlight Bridal.

This was where she had hidden her wedding dress.

Suddenly, Rhysand hesitated. He knew he shouldn't look at it, knew Feyre wouldn't want him to, knew that he wasn't meant to see it before it was on her as she walked down the aisle.

But fuck, he was tempted.

Surely a little peek wouldn't hurt. Right?

Before he could think better of it, Rhysand unzipped the bag, just a smidgen.

The second he saw the ivory lace, he zipped it back up, quickly. No. She wouldn't want him seeing it, so he wouldn't look.

Well, he wouldn't look more than he already had.

After putting the dress back where Feyre'd had it, he took their suitcases off the top shelf and hurried out of the guest room, just as the front door opened.

"Rhys?"

He swore quietly as he brought their empty suitcases down the hall to their bedroom. "Hey! Have fun?"

"No." He could hear her sigh from upstairs. "I couldn't relax. All I can think about is this damn wedding."

"Maybe we should just elope," he said, putting the suitcases in the corner of their room. When he walked into the hall, she had just made it to the top of the stairs.

He smiled.

She raised her brows. "You look guilty."

Rhysand froze. "Hmm?"

"You have that look that a toddler has when they've just done something to get them put into timeout." She stepped closer to him, eyes narrowed.

"I..." he hesitated, trying his best not to look toward the guest room door. "Forgot to call the florist before they closed."

Feyre stilled. For a second, Rhysand thought she would call bullshit, even though calling the florist had been on the checklist and, no, he hadn't gotten around to it. At last, she shook her head. "Seriously? I give you five things to do. Five. And I give you the whole day to do them. And you don't-"

Rhysand had walked toward her as she ranted, but before she could finish scolding him, he pulled her close to him and met her lips with his.

Instantly, she shut up and slid her arms around his neck, melting into him as his tongue brushed hers. They sank into that kiss, and Rhysand let it linger - both because it was relaxing her and because he needed a second to still his hectically beating heart.

When she pulled back, her eyes were bright and her lips were swollen. "Can you do that every time I bitch at you?"

"If it shuts you up, absolutely," Rhysand muttered, and she gave him a playful shove before kissing him again.

"Seriously, though," she said, meeting his gaze, "please call the florist first thing in the morning-"

This time, when Rhysand claimed her mouth, she didn't pull away. Instead, she let him carry her to the couch and lay her down, her stress slowly leaving her body as they made love.

He wouldn't dare tell her what he saw.

Or didn't see.

But he imagined it every damn day until the moment that he finally saw her in that dress, walking down the aisle to say I do.

[chidoroki]

182 Days of TPN - Day 139

Chapter 139: "Demon Search, Part 2"

Yo demons can be so rude. Norman's extermination plan is extreme and while I think it should only target the aristocrats and those in charge of any farms instead of drag down innocent lives down as well, these select few randos can bite the dust too simply because they're making fun of one of the kindest demons this series has to offer.

I know this world runs differently and the demons only see us as food, so this scene is essentially like us watching fish or something on a conveyor belt being tossed out, but it's still a hard scene to witness as these are literal babies.

His panic over stealing from the farm is actually kinda cute and I love how quickly his intentions changed, even from him switching from saying "it" to "her." He could've very well just had her for dinner, possibly improving the state of his face (since eating other humans haven't really worked in the past so who knows if she would've helped or not), yet he decides to treat her as family instead because of the empathy he feels simply because both their faces are a little messed up.

Someone please help this precious demon, he's trying his absolute hardest to figure out how to raise a human child and it's adorable! It means everything that he's raising her as his own daughter and not as food like the plantation mothers/sisters are forced to do. I wish he has an official name though aside from us just referring to him as Ayshe's dad because he's just so special and I love him. He's tied with Lucas & Alex as one of the best parents in the series and I'll go as far to say he's my second favorite out of the whole roster. (no need to ask about number one when it's obvious.)

I don't have any strong opinions on Zazie, like he's okay, I don't necessarily like or dislike him a great amount, but I gotta say that killing this amazing dad ain't gonna reward him with brownie points.

A moment of relief for me that this scene wasn't animated because I'm sure it would've made me tear up. Poor guy didn't deserve this.

Of course, by extension, this means that Ayshe didn't need to suffer this unfortunate loss either. This whole event sorta parallels the shelter raid, to the point where Andrew & his men invaded the escapee's home & ended up killing Yuugo & Lucas. Only difference is the children managed to escape their pursuer while Ayshe was basically captured by hers. We learn later on that Norman was already knowledgeable with the demon language at this point, so it's pretty bold of him to bring this traumatized girl back with him to paradise knowing fully well that she's hellbent on ending their lives.

I'm.. starting to remember why Norman is my least favorite of the fullscore trio and unfortunately it's partly due to all the pain he caused Ayshe to experience. Granted, her father's death was a direct result of Zazie's attacks, but it goes without saying that the kid was acting on Norman's orders. Sorry not sorry but I don't do well with people who make my favorites suffer, just look at all the dislike I have towards the demon god (the effects the reward had on Emma), Andrew (killing bunker dads & the injuries inflicted on Dominic & Chris), the GF demon (taking my queen's life), and Peter (he's a Ratri, there's literally so much I could list here). Norman isn't as bad as the rest of them, but eh, I can't find it in myself to adore him as much as Ray or Emma.

It's smart of her to remain quiet though. She can't risk acting out, whether it be on her desires or just being rebellious, since she's seen first hand how powerful the Lambda crew is.

Not really relevant to these panels but it's what made me think of this.. I wish we got to see Ayshe and Emma interact more. Or at all, actually. Ayshe learning that someone like our best girl actually cares this much for demons must have been such a relief to hear. I get that Ayshe kept quiet around the Lambda crew because of the stuff regarding her father, but she couldn't really bond with the other paradise hideout kids either since they all have opposing opinions about demons than she does.

HELP she is so darn adorable!! I would've been fine if Ayshe remained this cool assassin throughout the whole story because I really do love those cold, silent characters but being able to see her have a little silly side is such a pleasant surprise.

Just because Ayshe is now an ally doesn't mean that the idea of assassins magically goes away! That's still a concern!

Favorite panel/moment:

I pretty much adore every moment of the flashbacks between Ayshe and her dad, even the tiny moments we get in this panel are super cute. Norman wondered in ch127 if it was possible to refrain eating your favorite food if it asked you, so let me tell him that this tiny, happy family is living proof of that! Aaahh, they deserved so much better! (ALSO, the lights on the small table behind them are identical to the ones Ray & Mujika used back in ch45, so it's cool that all kinds of demons use those plants the same way.)

Ayshe has many lovable panels as well, but the tiny one here has a special place in my heart for some reason.

[firespirited]

Got screwed by LaPoste again. Flatmate woke me up to pay €11: more than the cost of the item with postage: I'd already paid import taxes, it was tracked so they could have emailed me for the €3 custom fee, it had a CN22 that said both these things but it was folded inwards so their shoddy machines didn't scan it.

A few years ago this would have ruined half my day. But I've been doing whatever therapy technique it is to take your strong emotions and break it down into every single component and examine every facet until it's something you understand, can accept and form solutions

Here's a little peek at what comes out after lots of uncomfortable moments of digging down:

ANGER because this is ethically wrong and entirely avoidable:

If they'd bothered to open the CN22, i wouldn't have to pay. As is I was presented with losing the item and reorder (with wait time) or hand over the money. Their corner cutting on personnel led to this.

Customs fee was actually €3. The extra €8 is a handling fee for laposte. If your parcel has tracking, customs contact you by email and you pay online. I did it last week for the Japan parcel. I was not sent an email for this.

None of that €8 handling fee goes to the postie who has an extra five minutes to make up for. I wouldn't mind if it was a tip, we cash-tip regularly for difficult deliveries.

There's no receipt and most people pay in cash so an unscrupulous postie could ask for whatever whenever. Half of my spam is claims from various delivery companies claiming my parcels are held up and need money, they opened a terrible can of worms

Laposte is not great at what they do and have not operated as a public service for a long time now with massive inflation on the cost of sending stuff. A postcard stamp (in country!) will set you back $1.6

RESENTMENT because I was extremely strict about hobby money.

A €11 loss would have meant two yarn or partial reroots to make up for it. Possibly selling one of my personal collection. At least four hours of work.

Every single supply and unexpected expense like parcel loss or extra fees came from the hobby fund which would be in the red if it wasn't a current sales moment. (My first rotary tool was bought with hobby money even though it had non doll purposes for example.)

I knew at the time that it was unhealthy thinking but hadn't found an alternative or ways to mentally unblock.

IMPOTENCE:

recourse is nearly impossible the post office system is designed that way: no receipt and they can claim bad formatting of the CN22 masked the barcode. It's always something. They sent my australia parcel to austria, billed me, i opened a case and checked in every month and nothing.

poverty mindset: if you've ever felt the sting of removing an item from the conveyor belt to afford the total, you know that someone else's small change is something big and important and painful. Even once you have some money it doesn't go away: donating to others is easy, being cheated by a system is awful.

Solutions:

As much as possible, I don't use LaPoste and their extortionate prices for sending to France and the EU. My two posties get regular tips and cash gifts at Christmas but I don't use the post office unless I absolutely have to. Mondialrelay or Point to Point get my money whenever possible. That feels good and makes losses feel less bad.

I treat unexpected expenses like a lost parcel, disgruntled client or new fees as a tip to myself. I put in the work, did everything I could and something out of my control happened. The expense is marked down but cancelled out from my personal kitty. I have been inconvenienced: I'm not going to let it hurt or work it off.

Hobby supplies that are multipurpose are a third category. I was putting glues, chemicals, thread and needles under expenses when I use them for all sorts of repairs.

More importantly: the hobby money spreadsheet became a guideline not a business expenditure book.

Since about 2019 I've also been trying to integrate the idea of the joy of the hobby having its own cost and reward built in:

If i make no money back from a €30 gunky bundle of dolls, there was still €30 worth of enjoyment in fixing them up. The experience of practising even if it comes out all wrong is also valuable. And you often get a tutorial out of it 😁 (see my "mistakes I make so you don't have to" tag)

There was a time before handicap benefits where every cent counted but even then we all managed to make tough choices so we could save small amounts of 'cushion' money - We'd all learned to be so cautious that the cushions went mostly untouched until benefits hit and something unlocked despite still being under the poverty line: the cushion had gone from €30 (100 if we had a good series of months) to €300 emergency funds and no medical expenses were paid out of pocket (as opposed to upfront with a potential refund later) and that made all the difference.

But also a big change was the mindset:

Normal people's unwinding experiences often aren't free even if it's just eating your own snacks at a local bit of grass.

Really throwing out the idea that hobbies should be monetized (that part was hard to unlearn, not just because it was so prevalent but because of shame at not "having a job"- i know now that my full-time job is to keep this body alive and I get maybe 3 hours max to not be about surviving)

Even in poverty you deserve treats because those make priceless memories. Hobby time is valuable because it's what's makes us human not just productivity/survival machines.

-----------------------

Anyway I've also been trying to apply this to my rejection sensitive dysphoria, knowing I'm going to lose Lily soon, frustration with how slow core muscle rebuilding is taking, as well as the very real fear of alienating my sister by accident or just clashing needs (NGL I spiralled most of the day when we had the odd confrontation last week).

but I'd rather break down something less personal in public. ^^;

Here's hoping this little thing that would drive me batty from feeling powerless, which now doesn't sting as much helps someone

[dawsonskyelar]

The Spaces Between Us - chapter 6

Master post

Full work

Sebastian and Nick came to the detergent section of the store. Nick stood on his toes to take down the sleek minimalist bottle from above him but was stopped when Sebastian kicked his shin.

‘Get the one down there.’

‘Why?’

‘Are you fucking blind? It’s almost two times cheaper!’

‘But this one smells nicer!’

‘Haven’t you learned anything from having expenses? We need to save money in case an emergency came up!’ Of course Nick needed to cook up a storm when Sebastian needed it the least!

‘You’re not even the one who does the laundry! And I like my clothes to smell nice!’

‘W-what’s the matter?’ Heidi came up from behind them, wheeling a small tower of boxes.

‘Heidi! This idiot here is being unreasonable!’ Nick said hotly.

‘Me? Who’s the one who does chores based on smell?’

Heidi gave them a small smile. ‘How about I g-give it to y-you w-with my discount?’ she suggested.

‘You don’t need to help us,’ Sebastian said quickly. He hated someone being charitable to him. He saw it as burdening them with his problem.

‘It’s n-no troub-ble. It’d prevent another f-fight. I’m s-sure that’s much l-less of a has-sle.’

‘You saved me, Heidi!’ Nick gave her another hug, leading to another blush. ‘I dunno how to thank you!’

‘Make sure you give him a double shift,’ Sebastian said as he tossed the fancy bottle into the basket as though it were a hostile animal.

‘I-I’m j-just happy to help m-my f-fr-friends out,’ Heidi said, and smiled again as she went off with her boxes.

‘From now on I’m doing the groceries since you can’t be trusted,’ Sebastian said crossly.

‘Whatever,’ Nick huffed. Sebastian was relieved; it meant that Nick had no motivation to continue the argument.

They gathered the rest of their items in relative silence and approached the short queue for the checkout. It dissipated after four minutes and Nick unloaded the cart onto the conveyor belt.

Is this store run by nepotism or something?’ Sebastian asked Kevin, Heidi’s boyfriend who was managing the cashier machine.

‘There’s a self-checkout machine over there if you don’t like me, you know,’ he said.

‘Kevin’s the cashier machine whisperer,’ Nick said. ‘He can scan something when the rest of us can’t. Heidi and I think he’s a ninja,’ he added conspiratorially.

‘Meanwhile you’d fail a ninja exam twice because you can’t keep your mouth shut,’ Sebastian snorted.

Kevin sniggered. ‘You two are like boyfriends!’

‘Boyfriends!’ Nick let out an ugly guffaw that drew scandalised stares from the new customers. ‘I swear you make the best jokes, Kevin. We’re already like this. Can you imagine if we were actually together? I think the whole world would crash and burn.’

The fact that Nick agreed with Sebastian’s assessment didn’t make him feel better. He watched the two friends interacting animatedly–Nick telling Kevin about Heidi’s generosity and Kevin affirming that he made the right choice in a girlfriend. Nick and Kevin would go well together. They made each other laugh, had similar personalities and fashion tastes and worked in the same place.

‘…On to our next destination!’ Nick said, raising his arm to pose like a superhero.

‘Where are you going?’ Kevin asked.

‘Someplace where Sebastian can loosen up.’ The way Nick said the expression and waggled his eyebrows made Sebastian feel uneasy. He hoped it was his imagination.

‘What kind of food do they serve?’ he asked suspiciously.

‘Just trust me.’

The evasiveness wasn’t putting him at ease. ‘You’re not exactly trustworthy, you know?’

‘C’mon, Sebastian. Would I ever let you down?’ The cheeky grin was back in place as they carried their nearly-bursting bags to the car.

‘I don’t have enough fingers to count how many times that happened.’

‘Use your toes, then!’

‘I’d use your fingers instead.’

‘You always say to keep my stuff to myself!’

‘Hn.’ Sebastian leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. Undeterred, Nick resorted to talking about the drawing tablet he dreamed of buying yet again as he started the engine. Sebastian had the feeling that the day wasn’t over despite the stars twinkling into life. What could go wrong with a simple dinner out? Plenty, if Nick was around. He just hoped it was kept to a minimum.

[blueeyedrat]

Steam Next Fest, fall 2024. A quick one this time, but still a few games worth discussing. More thoughts under the cut.

I don't play point-and-click adventures that often nowadays. Always had other stuff on my plate, I suppose. But if I do ever feel the urge to get back into the genre, Loco Motive might be a good one for it. The writing and voice work are spot on, the pixel art is good, and the puzzles in the demo never felt too obtuse. And who doesn't love an old-fashioned train murder mystery? Worth keeping an eye on, I think.

The puzzle games I tried out were a mixed bag. There were a few that seemed alright but didn't really hook me (Toggle Tile, CLONY, The Valley of the Architects), and at least one that definitely did (Block Shop; like I've said before, it's hard to go wrong with conveyor belt puzzles).

The Book of Buja left a good impression. It's a top-down adventure, kinda old Zelda-ish for better or worse. The movement feels kinda restrictive, but not to the point where it becomes a problem in combat (you can only move orthogonally, but your spear has a deceptively wide arc so you won't get caught on diagonals). It seems rather puzzle-focused in a way I appreciate, with some familiar tools and some unique mechanics that I'd like to explore more in the full game.

Likewise, Glitch Dungeon Crystal has the makings of a solid puzzle-platformer, with an interesting set of powers to use and things to interact with, that play off of each other in satisfying ways. The glitchy aesthetic may not be to everyone's taste, but fortunately there are options to tone it down a notch so it's easier to parse.

If you're looking for another city-builder to throw on the pile, the classical Greek-themed Polismós might be worthwhile. It didn't draw me in as much as some others in the genre, but there's some potential there.

I also tried out a couple of the more puzzle-oriented builders. Cosminomy had an interesting hook (building up multiple miniature planets) but didn't quite land for me, being more akin to an idle game where you spend your resources to unlock more places to build on and earn more resources, and felt kinda bare outside of that. Dorpie is more focused in some ways (working towards objectives to earn new building pieces) and more freeform in others (you can use any piece you have available at any time, rather than a limited queue of pieces), which works out to something that still feels unique and lets you build some nice-looking, blocky constructions.

I'm torn on TetherGeist. This is a precision platformer that wants to be like Celeste: vibrant pixel art and music, a strong narrative and cast of characters, and gameplay that's challenging but still accessible. I think it succeeds at most of these goals. That last one is a problem. The main gameplay gimmick sounds interesting in theory, but in practice it quickly feels overwhelming or inconsistent or both. Something about it just didn't click for me.

Closing out with the one title that was already on my Steam wishlist, Symphonia. I wish I had more to say about this one, but the demo was much shorter than I was expecting. What I did get, though, I liked a lot; the visuals and audio are excellent, and the platformer gameplay is loose in a fun way, particularly in wide open spaces where you can bounce off the walls and launch yourself in large strides. One more to look forward to.

[hislittleraincloud]

is your content 18+? i wanna read your stuff when i get the chance (work and such) but i know a lot of writers on here are uncomfortable with people under 18 on their blogs. i am 17 though lol

It's labeled as such on AO3, but I have always used the MPAA label "NC-17" (even though these aren't movies). That's the old school MPAA label for things rated X.

I know that my haters are going to love this, but I honestly don't give a crap about who reads what (unless they're really young, see below) since people are going to read whatever they can get their hands on regardless of age.

What people — writers included — don't comprehend is that writers are not babysitters. And as cute as I'm sure some of y'are, I'm not here to babysit anyone. I'm here to write and publish, and whatever moral arguments I'm having about what I write and publish, I assume that those who want to argue with me over them are other adults 18 and over.

Someone asked the question "What responsibility do I have towards very young readers?" over on the Reddit 🤖 and I think the responses are sound: Writers don't have any responsibility than to write what they write and tag it appropriately. You wouldn't be a very young reader (the kid the above Redditor was concerned about was 12 and I'd rather not 12-year-olds seek out/read my work), so there's that. Websites in general have a lowest age threshold of thirteen (this place, AO3, Facebook, LiveJournal, etc.), so it's really up to your parents to babysit you when you're that young and approaching/reading online media. Older teens don't need babysitters though, so tread as you will through the online forest of fandom salaciousness...no one's here to judge you (they're here to judge me 🥲) and no imaginary entity is going to send you to Hell or prison for reading what I write.

And as much as my haters would love to see it, I'm not going to Hell or prison for what I write...I live in the States, where Free Speech/freedom of artistic expression applies and there are strong laws protecting this kind of written word. 🫠🇺🇲💕✨

I will only strongly advise anyone reading what I write that: It is fantasy* fiction, take it for the fantasy fiction that it is, just as you would take any horror or gore writings/films/media as fantasy fiction. People get all twisted and bent out of shape about sex and relationships while permitting gore and violence, which has forever intrigued and baffled me. I mean, to me it's choosing between sensation/feeling alive and desensitization/feeling dead inside.

Anyway, the content published on AO3 is labeled as 18+ as that's how the site is/how most sites run for works containing 'adult content'. My (completed) 10-year-old Borgias story here is rated R, but if you never watched the show you'd be a little lost (just a little...but if you love Renaissance Italy/the time of Alexander VI, you might be o.k.). I would probably label Under Virgin Circumstances more benignly than Afterburn, if only for that Cairo is 18, while Wednesday is (currently, where she is stuck in November 2022) 16. (However, placed side-by-side, Wednesday's mental maturity is comparable to, if not surpassing that of, Cairo's...I have yet to publish, but UVCCairo has some cuckoo bird issues that Afterburn Wednesday doesn't have, and that makes her a little less mature, even though she's technically older. But I digress. 💀)

The Teal Deer: I'm not one of those writers who is uncomfortable with 17-year-olds on here because I was once a 17-year-old who had already read and written (and drawn) dirty stuff by that age; as well, it's a neverending conveyor belt of fandomers coming into their own (we're just at the tail end of a Gen Z phase right now...in just a year, the Gen Alphas will be the thick of younger fandom (14 to 16 year olds), and they will grow/mature just as the Z's are ageing out of fandomish things/the bulk generally move on towards functional adulting). As a longtime Gen X author of fan fiction, my only responsibilities here are to write and comply with the rules of publication.

(Wow, kinda scary to think that the oldest Gen Zer is almost 30...damn....)

[maester-of-spreadsheets]

Okay, despite being gleeful all week, I do have some thoughts/musings on IWTV and fandom commentary on ableist tropes. Probably will get a little spicy idk

So pretty much since the episode dropped on streaming platforms, I’ve seen people hoping Daniel still has Parkinson’s despite being turned and that it will be ableist if most or all of the symptoms are ameliorated (the terminal illness aspect is already gone.)

And well….. I really fundamentally and completely disagree with this.

I get why people are wary about miracle cure storylines. Truly I am. I love FMA but I think it’s obnoxious that everyone gets their disabilities wiped away at the end of the plot.

But … but but but but. I have an invisible illness myself. Started up late 2017, is mostly just annoying, but it interrupts my sleep every single night without fail. The cumulative lack of sleep leads to constant fatigue and the subsequent brain fog. It’s had a cascading considerable ripple effect across my whole life. Through a lot of trial and effort I’ve come to build a life I’m increasingly happy with. I’ve come to be very proud of how much I can do despite it all. I have greater internal strength than I realized.

And if someone offered me a miracle tomorrow even with a terrible trade off I’d take it. I’d take it even if it was only 3 full nights of sleep a week instead of 7. I’d take it in a heartbeat.

Now, Daniel……… clearly didn’t get to make that informed decision lol. Knowing what Armand is like. But he is super hype at the end of the show and I get it. I get it.

The worst symptom (which, again, is DEATH) is gone. Even if he has some of the other symptoms the worst one is gone gone GONE. Of course he’s ecstatic. Throughout the series he’s loudly and repeatedly said he wanted a cure. Hell, he explicitly says as much to Armand. His manic joy at the end is just so…….

Also it’s not actually a cure. He’s largely traded Parkinson’s for a host of other terrible things I.e. now the sun will kill him, he’s eventually going to see his daughters die (which he’s worried about before). He can’t taste nachos anymore for Christ’s sake.

If the quality of the writing remains up to par than this isn’t going to be the story of someone who had a redo button pushed on their disability. The trade off is enormous and we’re bound to see the negative side of vampirism with him.

In addition, this isn’t a like … Glee-tier style portrayal of a disability. Daniel isn’t sequestered from the main plot except for a few special episodes about how sad and inspirational he is. He has a lot of other things going for him (I wrote a whole post about this.) He’s also very vocal about how much it all sucks and he wants to feel better. You also see a lot of the mundane stuff you have to do with doctors and meds etc. The only thing we didn’t get was a depiction of the fairly common experience of him crying and screaming in a car because nothing exists that will make him feel better and confronting that yet again after being on the 15 minute conveyor belt in and out of the doctor’s office.

Not that I’ve been there or anything.

(I also thought I was alone in this until I started reading personal essays about invisible illness and kept coming across scenes like it.)

There’s a lot of reasons to be wary of disability rep in fiction. Right there with you. Totally get wanting to see stories of disabled joy.

But … I’m not there yet. I might never be. For me, the disability rep that currently resonates with me most is a miracle cure narrative. It’s the biblical story of the woman who can’t stop bleeding. Who touches Jesus’s robes to try and get a cure. And she does. But the cure is secondary to me. It’s what comes before; the desperation, the isolation, the mention that she spent all her money on doctors that didn’t help. It’s bleak, but it’s also an emotion I recognize in myself. That parable was clearly written with very real emotion involved and I can feel people in similar straits over the millennia reaching out to me through it. This too is yuri a disability narrative.

And yes it gives me comfort. Invisible illnesses can be very isolating, and many people have dark nights of the soul where you wonder if it’s going to be worth it carrying on like this, what you’d trade to get your old life back (if I do get it back…. I won’t actually because these years have changed me.) You learn a lot about the depths of your desperation and the heights of your strength. And yeah, that’s what I’ve felt through Daniel’s narrative.

He’s a weird fucking dude with a different illness than me but (not to use this word again) a specificity to his depiction that actually makes him feel way more relatable to me than inspiration porn or corporatized Pride ™️. And I can’t stress how much I apparently needed that. The care in his character has me curious to see what comes next. There’s a trust there that they’ll continue mining this side of his character even if the symptoms have changed. I just really highly doubt we will get something as blithe about it as FMA. Future Daniel will probably have moments as harrowing as All’s Well by Mona Awad (which I haven’t finished yet despite plodding away through it for years because it’s so accurate about chronic pain it makes me cry. But it explores miracle cures as an unsettling fever dream. The excitable anger that comes along when you have Good Days and can really contemplate how much goddamn bullshit you’ve been through.)

And yeah I …. Don’t know how to end this. Maybe I’ll just quote Pain Woman Takes Your Keys:

This raises the question of which woman is a better writer—me in pain or me without. The pain-woman speaks in a pared-down voice; she is a dreamy laser. You can’t tell her a single thing. She has room for only one emergency. She has to creep slowly and hold onto the backs of chairs as she moves, but she has a strange superpower. She cares more about the vulnerable soft flesh of everyone than my normal busy pre-pain self. She aches in slow motion for everyone’s crumbling life. She sees dead bodies wrapped in skin, sees the present moment as death in reverse. She is in a kind of ecstasy—not the way we understand the word as joy, but the older definition in Webster’s Dictionary: “an emotional or religious frenzy or trancelike state, originally one involving a mystic sense of self-transcendence.”

And then there was a day, a quiet landmark on the couch: the first day that I realized I wasn’t depressed because I was in pain. I realized my mood could separate from the bad news broadcasted by my nerves. I was okay in here, in terrible pain, but alive and watching it. Pain explodes, over and over. It’s also super tiring. And then I need food and sleep.

Later tonight I’ll get depressed because I have lesson plans to do, and I want to be more than this ecstatic, shattered, staring beast looking at the swirls. But for now, I see swirls, and I feel the weather in my bones. And I am two bodies, and one is the history of me. And the other is a lava-lamp Ghost Girl with a new voice I have to listen to—no, more than listen to. She wants the keyboard, and she doesn’t care about the life I had before she was born.

[copperbadge]

Oh, that's a bit disheartening, the fact that considering thoughts as separate from oneself is so necessary for DBT (which in turn is how I had hoped to do some more emotional regulation, yes).

I mean, my thoughts are me, I don't really exist without them, so I don't think there's anything to separate. I don't know if neurologically I'm even capable of whatever it is DBT is asking me to do when I'm told to watch my thoughts. Although on the other hand I may already be doing it instinctively -- I've found that a lot of the things that confuse me about DBT end up being things I assumed were harder and more complicated than they were because I was already doing them and thought I should be doing something else.

We did something about identifying thoughts at the start but I mostly ignored it because I thought it was like a clearing-your-mind metaphor, one of those stock phrases they say in guided meditations that don't really mean anything, like "breathe from your pelvis". Visualizing internally is very hard and stressful, so the idea of imagining my thoughts as stones dropping into a lake or items on a conveyor belt seemed counterintuitive for me. The discussion we had about it wasn't very in-depth, though, so maybe it wasn't quite that either.

It does explain a few reactions I've seen to stuff I've said, like everyone in class being bewildered when I kept pressing for how Wise Mind "feels" until the teacher just laughed and told me I wouldn't levitate. For everyone else it's probably just hearing different words. (It turns out I spend about 90% of my time already in Wise Mind telling myself not to be an immature dickhead about whatever is infuriating me, so the discussion was moot to start with.)

In terms of the mind-body connection, I mean, I must HAVE a dive reflex and other such things, but I suspect much of the body stuff doesn't work because I know I'm just doing it deliberately, so it feels like a bad lie. Like when I tried grabbing an ice cube and all I thought was 'oooh, an ice cube, how edgy,' and felt dumb. Sure my hand was cold and wet and that was unpleasant, but that just compounded the shitty mood I was trying to "tolerate". But I can see how if people envision their thoughts and their bodies separately and think of themselves as being part of the body, not the mind, a shock to the body might do something more productive.

(No worries on the stalking, that never occurred to me; I've spoken about all of this very publicly and I assume while most people just kinda skim past it, some folks engage heavily with it the same way I do with other peoples' posts.)

People who don't have aphantasia, who can see images in their head and such, I have a question.

When you have thoughts, do you hear them in a voice in your head? Like, if I "think to myself" something like remember to do the dishes, I don't actually think it as a phrase, its...conceptual, just a thing I know. Until recently I've always thought things like "I can hear it in my head" or "I thought to myself" were just idioms.

If I think about needing to do the dishes I don't hear it or get a visual of the dishes or whatnot. Do you?

I'm struggling yet again with DBT partly because I keep running afoul of the wording, and I can't tell if I'm taking it too literally or if it's asking me to do something a lot more abstract for me than for other people or what. We're in "mindfulness of current thoughts" at the end of the distress tolerance unit, and they keep saying things like notice the thought, don't judge the thought, watch the thought to see where it came from, you are not your thoughts. And like...okay...but I am. They come from me, they're part of me, I cannot watch a thought, it's a thought. Why would I judge it? It's me, I don't have emotions about my own thoughts, they're in my head so nobody can see them anyway.

But I'm beginning to think that there's a certain binary most people have where they don't consider their thoughts to be so integrated into their consciousness. I thought maybe it's because they can hear them or similar, and with aphantasia it's not a binary or even a spectrum, it's just in you. At least that's how it is for me. It'd be like telling me to notice but not judge the function of one of my kidneys. I mean, mission accomplished on not judging, but I don't have a way to consciously observe the kidney, it's on its own journey.

Anyway I just wonder. I'd like to understand at least one thing from this unit before we finish, but my track record suggests that I would do better to radically accept the reality that I will not.

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

[10:38 am]

(cw: food, parent!reader, a child)

“Should we get the strawberry lemonade or the strawberry peach lemonade?” Taeyong asked, looking carefully over the two cartons he had in his hands. 

“Lemonade was not on the list honey,” you chide, instead grabbing the apple juice to his right. You placed the carton in the cart and continued down the aisle.

“Do we always have to only get the stuff off the list? C’mon let’s be a little spontaneous! Let’s get the lemonade!” 

“No, no lemonade. Come on, we have other errands to run before the day is done,” you told the two of them, quietly telling you husband,”Please don’t make me the bad guy. We have too many sweets at home as is.”

“Lemonade!” The small voice in the cart called out.

You sighed with a playful roll of your eyes, mumbling something about going back to get some fruit you forgot. “I’ll meet you in the frozen section after you both pick one lemonade. Just this once, no more straying off the list you two.”

Taeyong watched as you made your way back to the produce. Once you left his line of sight his eyes snapped back to the carbon copy in the cart. “Let’s go get our frozens, baby.”

“Ice cream?”

“We can’t my love, maybe next time ok?”

The little pout and the slowly watering eyes were Taeyong’s biggest weakness. He had to be strong, he didn’t want to spoil your child or be the pushover parent. He was standing firm until the little bottom lip began wobbling and without even thinking Taeyong heard “Do you want to be sneaky?” come from his own mouth.

The child’s eyes lit up, nodding excitedly, giggling as Taeyong made his way down the frozen aisle quickly. “We’re going to sneak some ice cream, but we have to keep it a secret ok? Only you and Pa can know, got it?” 

“Got it,” the little voice whispered back with a giggle. Magically those big eyes filled with tears and pouty face were gone and instead replaced with a big smile. This kid was going to get him into a lot of trouble.

Taeyong set to work grabbing the different ice creams chosen between the two of them and hiding them under the piles and piles of other foods you had already gathered. It was pretty apparent you both had set off grocery shopping for too long. 

He was quick to adjust the food when he saw you coming back, “And we need to get some rice cakes and dumplings from this aisle. Have you gotten them yet?”

Taeyong smiled brightly, “We got them, is that all we needed?”

You chose to ignore the almost suspicious identical bright smile from the seated toddler: You looked over the list to make sure you got everything you needed, then began pushing the cart towards the checkout. 

“Do you want a candy?” You asked the toddler on your hip who had done so well not complaining and being patient your whole trip. It was honestly a little surprising. You weren’t even paying attention to your husband behind you who was swiftly and slyly hiding the ice cream behind the other foods on the conveyor belt while you grabbed the gummies your child had chosen.

When the mountains of food were piled into the car and the toddler strapped in, you were finally on your way back home. Peacefully unaware of the secret between the other two in the car until you heard, “I’m so excited to eat my candy and ice cream when we get home.”

“Ice cream, huh? Taeyong, what did I tell you?” Uh oh.

-

A/N: enjoy this small piece! feedback is appreciated!! <3

[cryopathiic-a]

Dōma, on the other hand, has a lifetime's worth of practice in the sport. And, as any expert liar ought to, he has developed his own techniques; of which lying by omission ought to be his second nature. They were, indeed, driving to one of Inosuke's Uncles, after all. And Dōma hadn't been here ever since he was about the boy's age. His Uncle Sano at the wealthier parts of town was real. There was no lie, there.

Eternal Paradise had a long reach. Some said their sources expanded all the way across the sea, into China and Korea. Some, even claimed to have heard mentions of the obscure foundation in American radio stations. Many people flocked to the founding family believing their preaching to hold truth. Many people who led dubious lives, that is.

So, in a way, Dōma had lied. Because the encounter he was about to have was predicted to be anything else but boring.

❝ Mmm, 'kay, but 'grown boar' doesn't sound as cute... ❞ Dōma muses. ❝ How about 'little piglet'? Hm? I like that a lot more. Don't you agree that it's a little more cool Inos-- hey, no, not for eating silly! This string here is what moves the sounds into your head! ❞ A bubbly laugh. And then, in between those jubilant pauses, an eerie silence would settle. Dōma's mind was visibly swimming in other places.

The cigarette he'd lit shortly prior was already devoured, its stem put out in the car's tray as they pulled into the driveway. And there, only after he'd parked, Dōma turned around abruptly. There was no click of a seatbelt unbuckling when he turned, either, though. His palms each cupped the headrests of the front seats as he stuck his face through the space between them and leaned into the back. His tall frame blocked the outside light as he nearly knelt on the front seats and offered the child a wide smile.

❝ Have I ever told you about this one place... it is called an 'All You Can Eat'. ❞ Thick lashes flutter, allowing the information a moment to settle in the child's mind, but cutting any protest off before it had a chance to properly form in Inosuke's head as well. ❝ Those are places that serve unlimited food. And how it happens is, you simply sit down and the food keeps coming. And I know one where they have those huuuuuge ... ❞ His arms splayed to highlight the massive length. How is he supposed to explain 'conveyor belts' to this wildling? ❝ — caterpillars that keep moving around the store and carry dishes on their backs. And, guess what, if you see a food you like, you can just chase them and grab it! So, it's like a hunting game and a meal all at once! And they have all sorts of meals going around, like anything you like, sashimi, yakitori, tempura... ❞

He stops for a second, head canting to the side in a darling fashion. For as pleasant as Dōma is trying to be, the random shift in topic was far from innocent. To keep Inosuke here by force would be a much more troublesome effort, after all; and he knew if he wanted any chance of walking in that place undisturbed, he had to buy the child's interest, first. Give him something else to work towards, instead of snooping around and getting in his way.

Dōma, as a child, had often been around people like this. But he was different. He was special. He was quiet and well behaved and spoke like an adult at Inosuke's age. And his adoptive son, on the other hand... was unruly, poor-mannered, unpredictable and, all things considered, rather feral.

It was just safer for him to stay in the car, for a bit. And then they'd go pick Naraku up and Dōma might get to experience that momentary high of rubbing a victory in his face.

❝ So, I'll give you two options. Either you come in with me now, in a room full of grown-ups who will want to pinch your cheeks and call you cute and ask you about school and all that boring stuff — ooooor.... ❞ A glossy nail reaches out to tap the boy's nose, making sure to keep a safe distance so that Inosuke won't be able to get his face if he lunges. ❝ — you let me do what I need to do real quick and we can leave faster, pick Nara up and go to the 'all-you-can-eat' for dinner. What's your call? ❞

[justbreakonme]

Good Enough

It didn’t take long for them to fill up a cart. Coffee and crackers were easy, but they’d committed to making an effort for Sidekick.

The grocery store thankfully also had a small section of non-food stuff. So a fresh bottle of shampoo and body wash, some floss, deodorant, socks, a pack of pens, and a book of sudoku puzzles. Assistant was gonna make fun of them but damn… Poor kid could do with at least a little entertainment.

They also grabbed some underwear (that they felt very weird buying but they also would feel weirder knowing that Sidekick wouldn’t have any but the pair they were wearing).

Food was less thought intensive. They still knew their culinary limits though, so quite a bit of frozen food made it’s way onto the conveyor belt. Frozen pizza, frozen chicken, frozen lasagna, cereal and milk, noodle packets, canned soup with the little hexagon crackers to go with it, a couple bags of candy, and at the very end two bags of salad and a bottle of dressing. They had kind of forgotten that vegetables were something that humans should eat sometimes.

“Preparing for the ice age?” the cashier joked, scanning the fifth can of soup.

“Yeah. Never hurts to be prepared.”

“True that. Cash or card?”

“Cash.”

Villain passed them a hundred, watching as they tested it and counted out the change, practically hopping foot to foot.

It wasn’t…nice, knowing what Hero had likely done. They’d never liked him, of course not, but they’d never thought about him with such bitter hatred.

“Have a good day,” the cashier passed them the change, “Watch out for wooly mammoths.”

“I will, thank you.”

Villain was out the door in seconds, and had the groceries loaded up and was pulling out of the parking lot in less than three minutes.

They checked their phone, nothing.

Well, no news is good news, right?

It turns out, no news can be good news, but that’s not a guarantee.

They were almost done putting away the groceries when they heard a clatter in the repair room, followed by…crying?

“Assistant..? What’s going on?”

“He’s waking up, we probably need- Ugh, get in here, I need to put him under again.”

They hurried in, half dragging an empty grocery bag along with them.

Poor kid…

He was half awake, his face screwed up in pain and sobbing weakly as Assistant tried to keep him from struggling and upsetting the half done cast.

“Hold his arm down again, there’s so much more than I thought.”

“Okay, okay, here,” Villain steadied his arm as gently as they could, unable to tear their eyes away.

It was bad.

Every inch of his skin seemed to be bruised, cut, or scraped.

“I’m sorry! Please, I’m sorry!” he pleaded, his voice cracking and breaking as Assistant stuck the needle in his arm again, “Hero, please!”

Villain and Assistant’s eyes snapped together as slowly, Sidekick slumped unconscious again.

“You heard that too right?” Assistant’s normal careless exterior was gone, completely gone.

“I’m gonna kill that bastard.”

“Not yet.”

“Soon.”

“Soon.”

They looked back at Sidekick.

Some of those injuries came from them. Some of this was their fault.

“I would have never laid a hand on him if I had know…”

“I know.” her heartless demeanor was back as she set back to work on the cast, “There’s nothing regret will do now. We just need to think clearly.”

“Can I help? I already got the groceries, and a room set up.”

“Start on his other leg. Gently go over the scrapes and shallow cuts with that,” she jerked her head towards a bottle perched on the edge of the table, “but leave the deeper ones and burns for me, I’ve got to look at them. If you’re not sure, ask me before you go over it.”

“Got it.”

Villain started at his ankle, and together they worked in silence.

It only took about twenty minutes for her to finish the cast, but they were still barely about his knee, and wondering how it was physically possible to be so scratched up.

Assistant pulled a small kit from her back, and began on some of the larger cuts, cleaning them meticulously before stitching any that had become reopened.

“He’ll need a lot of time to heal…”

“Yeah… poor kid.”

“If you don’t mind, I’m probably gonna crash here for tonight, because tomorrow he’s gonna probably need a serious check up.”

“You’re always welcome here, your rooms just the same as you left it. Empty water bottles and all.” Villain tried to be light, but the joke fell rather flat.

“What are you going to do?”

“About?”

“Him. He’s gonna need time, lots of it. At least a month for his leg, maybe longer depending on if anything else is severe. Are you gonna just, keep him here?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, you’d better start thinking about it cause Hero’s probably not gonna be pleased that you have his punching bag.”

“I am thinking about it. I just don’t know yet. At least for today, and tomorrow, he’s gonna stay here. I’ll keep thinking about it.”

“What other options do you have?”

“I don’t know yet. All I know is that if he’s here, he’s going to be scared shitless and that’s something to be aware of. Maybe he’s got family somewhere, somewhere he could go to actually get better. And if I kill Hero then no worries.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“I don’t know! I don’t have all the information I need yet to make a decision!” Villain snapped, then sighed, “Sorry. I just don’t know yet.”

“You just need to be aware of the possible consequences…”

“Like what? Hero coming after me?”

“Well, yeah, and possibly any of his friends too.”

“It’s not like he wasn’t already, and after seeing how he treats his ‘friends’, I dunno how worried I’d be.”

“Still. It’s good to be aware.”

“I’m aware,” they shift over, finally done with one of his legs, and they move up to his hand and wrist, “As far as I’m worried, we’re gonna get him fixed up, and once he’s awake, we’ll sit down, get him some food, and ask some questions. Apart from that, I don’t know.”

“Well, that’s good enough to start with.”

Starting a tag list for the Left Behind series:

@bleeding-letters

@jadeocean46910

[sour--disposition]

Take Me By The Hand

-

harry lewis x fem!reader

-

requested: Heyy, could you do the ‘take my hand’ concept that you did with JJ, but with Harry?? Love your writing sm! Xxx

please see my pinned post for masterlist and request info!

One taking the others hand to help them up

You were 4 when you first met Harry properly. You’d been running around the playground, chasing after one of your friends when you’d taken a tumble and ended up in a small heap on the floor. Harry had come trotting over, sticking out a hand to help you up.

“Is your knee okay?”, he asked you.

“I don’t think so. It’s bleeding”, you told him sadly. 

Harry kept hold of your hand, dragging you over to where the teachers on duty were standing. “She hurt her knee”, Harry said bluntly, poking one of the adults and then pointing to your knee.

Harry followed you and the teacher inside, sitting next to you as you had your knee cleaned and a plaster stuck on. The teacher left to fill in the accident book and write a note for you to take home. “I’m Harry”, the boy said as soon as she’d left.

“I’m Y/N”, you told him with a bright grin.

“Shall we be best friends?”, Harry asked with a toothy smile.

“Yes!”.

-

Holding hands whilst one walks on a small wall

You and Harry had stayed best friends from that day forward. There wasn’t anything that you didn’t do together. Harry would always be the first person you’d turn to whenever anything was wrong. He held your hand through every trip you took to the first aid room in your primary school and he shouldered his way through to sit next to you whenever you were in a classroom together.

Harry asked you out on your first date when you were both 15. You’d gone to his house after school, pestering him until he did his homework before you let him outside. He’d been pacing around the lawn in front of you, completely distracted from his kickaround with Josh, as you sat on the deck with Rosie.

“What’s wrong with him?”, she asked from beside you.

“I have no idea”, you told her. “You know what he’s like though”, you dismissed, all the while worrying about your best friend.

Rosie and Josh ran inside 20 minutes later to help set the table for dinner, leaving you and Harry alone in the back garden. “Are you gonna tell me what’s up with you?”, you asked him.

“Do you wanna go on a date?”, Harry blurted, leaving you stunned. The two of you were wide-eyed in surprise, both with words caught in your throat that you were desperately trying to say. 

“Yeah”, you smiled.

A week later you met Harry by the beach. You’d seen each other through the week during school and spending the evenings after school together, but this evening felt different. This evening would be the one that potentially changed yours and Harry’s relationship forever.

You walked side by side down to the sea front, stopping and sitting on a small wall there. The two of you talked for hours, like you always did. Harry telling you about his family, about what happened in the few classes that you didn’t share together, telling you about his day and you returning the favour. You laughed well into the sunset, a soft silence falling over you as you watched the sun dip beneath the Guernsey horizon.

“It’s getting dark, and it’s cold. Let’s head back”, Harry suggested. As soon as you’d stood up, you stepped up onto the wall you’d just been sitting on, making you ever so slightly taller than Harry. With your arms held out for balance, you took a few tentative steps.

Harry reached out, grabbing your hand to keep you steady. You looked over to him, a shy smile on his face that you soon mirrored, paired with a rosy blush. Harry kept your hands entwined as you walked along the wall, matching his pace with yours so he didn’t rush you and cause you to stumble.

When you reached the end of the wall and jumped down, your hand didn’t leave Harry’s.

-

Holding hands whilst driving

Harry had never let whatever Youtube success he was gaining get in the way of the two of you. He always made time for you, always made you feel important. As soon as he’d learnt to drive and got a car, you and Harry would spend hours traversing the coastline, wind pouring into the window and billowing through your hair as you watched the cliffs and waves pass you by.

If you were in his car, Harry would insist on you being in the passenger seat, no matter who else was joining you. His hand would always rest on your thigh as he drove, only ever moving to change gear before quickly returning to its place.

Your fingers were wrapped loosely in his, making sure he was able to let go and reach for the gear stick whenever he needed to. The roads along the coastline were fairly straight, only ever bending slightly and no sharp turns in sight.

With the road empty bar from the two of you, Harry snuck a glance over to you. Your face was illuminated by the soft glow of the sun, hair windswept against the headrest and over your shoulders.

“I love you”, Harry said simply. It was no massive declaration, it didn’t have to be. You and Harry had been friends for 13 years, together for nearly 2. He’d loved you for as long as he could remember.

“I love you, too”.

-

Possessive hand holding

The first time you visited Harry in London was quite the nerve wracking experience. Aside from helping him move his stuff into his flat with Lux and Freezy, you’d barely seen him since he’d left the small island you both called home.

You waited by baggage claim, leg shaking with restless, nervous energy. It was just your luck that your suitcase was one of the last to make its way through and round the conveyor belt, the hall almost empty by the time you’d got your belongings.

Harry was waiting for you just outside arrivals, just as restless and nervous as you were. His eyes had been glued to the door from the minute you’d text him to let you know you’d reached baggage claim. Every person that walked out of the sliding doors that wasn’t you irritated him even further. It had only been a few weeks since he’d last seen you, and he was going mad.

At last, you trudged through the doors, looking a little worse for wear and incredibly pissed off. But you were there.

Harry wrapped his arms around you, holding you tight against his chest. “I’ve missed you so much”, he whispered into your hair. “The guys are already at my place, I hope that’s alright”, he told you. “They’re really excited to meet you”.

At Harry’s apartment building, he kept a tight hold on your hand as he led you upstairs. “Harry, it’s okay”, you assured him, squeezing his hand.

“Just nervous”, he told you.

Harry led you into the apartment, pausing for a second so you could drop your case by the door and kick your shoes off. His deathly tight grip on your hand never waned, like he was scared you were going to escape.

“Lads, Y/N”, Harry said awkwardly as he led you through the doorway. “Y/N, both of the Cals, Ethan, JJ, Simon, Josh, Tobi and Vik”, he introduced, pointing to each man in turn as he said their names.

“Nice to meet you”, you smiled happily.

You sat next to Harry on the sofa, squeezed up against his side. His hand was still gripping onto yours, squeezing tighter whenever any of the guys started to talk to you. “Harry”, you whispered, wiggling your fingers in his grip. “What’s wrong?”.

“Someone looks a little jealous if you ask me”, Freezy poked, wicked grin shooting across the living room.

“Oh, give over”, you scoffed, flicking Harry in the chest. “You buffoon. There’s nothing to worry about. Now ease up, you’re cutting off blood flow to my fingers”, you teased.

-

Rubbing their thumb over the other’s hand 

“I don’t wanna leave”, you sighed, leaning further into Harry’s chest. “I miss you too much”, you whispered.

“I miss you, too”, he told you, wrapping both arms around your body and pulling you closer.

Harry watched over your shoulder as you opened your phone and pulled up flight times for a few weeks time, scrolling through them to find the cheapest option. Seeing Harry as often as possible was taking its toll on your finances and Harry knew you’d only accept so much help from him.

“What if this was the last time you flew home?”, Harry asked into your hair.

“What do you mean?”, you asked, thumb pausing over the screen.

“I spoke to Cal about it the other day, before you came”, Harry started. “How would you feel about moving to London?”, he asked.

You turned in his arms, facing Harry. “Are you being serious?”, you asked, a blossoming grin eager to bloom over your face.

“As I’ve ever been”, he whispered.

3 weeks later, you waited at the gate in Guernsey airport, surrounded by your family. “I’m so happy for you”, your mum whispered as she pulled you in for a tight hug. When she pulled back, you were both laughing through the tears that had begun to shed. “You and Harry deserve to be happy”, she told you.

They watched and waved as you walked towards the flight bridge, knowing that this would be the last time they’d see you for a while. You sat in your seat, watching as Guernsey got smaller and smaller below you. Although leaving home was never going to be an easy thing, you knew that you could build a home wherever Harry was.

You’d already shipped a lot of your stuff over to Harry, leaving you only to bring a large suitcase with you on your flight. You had no idea what to expect when you arrived, whether your stuff would be in Harry’s room or boxes strewn into whatever corner of the apartment they could fit into.

“Here”, Harry said as you sat in the car in the car park outside of the apartment building. He handed you a key on a keyring. “House keys”, he told you.

“Thank you”, you smiled

Harry pulled your case behind you as you walked up to the apartment. You stilled in front of the door, Harry pulling to a stop next to you. “Are you okay?”, Harry asked, voice filled with concern.

“Yeah”, you assured him quietly. “It’s just a lot, y’know”, you murmured.

“I know”. Harry’s thumb skimmed across the back of your hand in a soft, repetitive, soothing pattern. “I love you”, he reminded you, thumb never halting its soft reassurance against your skin.

“I know”, you smiled up at him. “But I love you more”.

-

Unconsciously searching for the other’s hand whilst asleep

If you were to ask Harry when he knew you’d be in his life forever, he’d have told you when the two of you were 5. Teasing from the other kids about you being best friends with each other was almost never-ending, but you and Harry always found a way to make light of it.

It wasn’t uncommon to see you and Harry playing with the dolls amongst the other little girls or racing around through the mud with the other boys. Everyone quickly learnt that where Harry went, you went and where you went, Harry went.

Harry knew you were going to be his bestest friend forever when he’d sat down on the grass to play and realised that there were no toys left. You’d come and sat down next to him and you’d played in the mud together, making daisy chains and mud pies and potions that you stirred with sticks, never caring about the dirt coating your pretty pinafore dress.

If you were to ask Harry when he knew that your relationship was meant to last, he would fumble and stumble over his words, not really knowing what to say. It was something that brought his friends great joy, asking what he saw in the future for the two of you. After all, you had been together since you were 15.

The night Harry realised you were his one great love was rather anti-climatic. There was no fireworks or mind-blowing kiss or Earth shattering sex. In fact, you were curled up asleep next to Harry, hair piled on top of your head and the hem of one of his Sidemen Clothing shirts riding up on your thigh.

He’d shut his computer down and gotten ready for bed, sliding in next to you as quietly as possible. Whilst he was lounging in bed next to you, attention focused on the screen of his phone, you’d started shifting beside him. Harry laid stock still, not wanting to wake you up with any movements.

Instead, you reached a hand across the bed, seemingly searching for something. When you couldn’t find whatever it was you were looking for, a frown settled itself onto your face. Harry was sure you were dreaming, but couldn’t resist closing the gap between your fingers and his.

The minute Harry hooked his fingers around yours, the frown on your face disappeared, replaced by a soft, blissful smile. Harry had known you long enough and knew you well enough to know that you were still fast asleep, the gentle sighs falling from your mouth being a dead giveaway.

So, if you asked Harry when he knew that your love was meant to last, he’d tell anyone that listened that it was the moment he realised you loved him even in your dreams.