#people who share risk factors with me are saying this shit like

[thana-topsy]

Ok I gotta come out and say it. I envy you. Like, to a painful extent. The amount of people you get interested in your characters, how you're incredibly skilled in both visual art AND writing, how readers your fics have. I absolutely adore your work, but seeing it fills me with so much envy it's honestly ridiculous.

Did you deal with similar feelings towards other creators when you started writing fic by any chance? If so, how did you deal with those feelings? I feel genuinely stuck feeling worthless about my fics. I'm not as verbose with my language despite over 10 years of writing under my belt and it seems as though my plots don't interest people as much either. So I feel like there's just nothing of worth about any of my work.

I know that this is a lot to dump on you, but I felt like I would burst keeping this all in. Much love to you and I hope you have a wonderful New Year!

Hey there my friend, I've been sitting with this all day trying to decide how I want to answer you. I genuinely appreciate your honesty, because I know this is a familiar feeling for a lot of people, myself included.

I remember when I first rejoined Tumblr in early 2019, desperately trying to find anyone to talk to about TES, I would look at all these blogs gettings asks about their OCs like they were little celebrities and feel envy and longing. Now, when these feelings start to bubble up, I force myself to take a break from sharing my work, be it art or writing, if only to remind myself why I'm creating it and who I'm creating it for: myself. I know it sounds cheesy, and I probably sound like a broken record, but genuinely I just do this because it's bursting out of my skull. But I won't lie and say the engagement and the support doesn't have a big impact on my motivation. I love sharing with people and getting an enthusiastic response.

I think something people might not realize, or maybe they just forget, is that I used to write a lot of smut. Like...a lot of smut. (I still do). Hahaha and it doesn't get a lot of comments or engagement, but it does draw a lot of eyes. Once my smut stories started taking on heavier plotlines, a comment I'd get a lot was "came for the porn, stayed for the plot." And I wasn't writing smut because I thought it would get me an audience, I was just horny LMAO. But it encouraged me to branch out and experiment with the types of stories I was telling.

Anyways, art is another big part of it, yes. But that also didn't get a lot of engagement in the beginning, and my skills were rusty as hell. I was getting maybe 15 notes on here, 30 likes on instagram. But that didn't really matter to me, I was just insane with inspiration. I'd reach out to people and ask to do art trades, got ghosted a lot, made some good friends, (some people who are still my good friends to this day!). But it took a lot of risks, and I made a lot of accidental enemies and learned a lot of hard lessons. But having visuals to go with the stories I'm writing is like advertisement in its own way. I'm just lucky enough to hyperfixate on this shit like it's my lifeblood. I've always obsessively drawn my favorite characters, ever since I was a wee bab. Long before social media was a factor or the words "content creator" even existed.

And I think that's what it all comes back to. Above all else, do what you do with unbridled joy. If someone else finds joy alongside you, all the better! Even if it's just one person. Take risks, make friends, make enemies, draw that blorbo unapologetically and with wild abandon. Love what you create, even when it's bad. Even when it makes you cringe years later, don't delete it. Even when people try to find every reason to hate what you do and who you are. Don't stop.

Every act of creation is bringing something into the world that didn't exist before you made it. And that alone gives it worth.

Happy New Year!

#topsy's asks #long post

[mdhwrites]

Self Defeating Endings With Grom Factor by MoringMark

A link to the comic's, Grom Factor by Moringmark, beginning.

(If you want to skip the preamble about endings and tragedies, I've bolded the start of the paragraph when I actually start talking about Grom Factor) So I don't like making this. I don't really want to comment too much on fanworks. I have no reason to shit on people who are just celebrating The Owl House. My goal is not to make people despise it, it's to analyze, process my own thoughts, and hopefully teach through sharing those thoughts.

But... I can't talk about tragedies with TOH. The VAST majority of media I consume wouldn't give me the chance and, well... Endings are important. Happy Endings actually happen the most often because they're the most safe. The most gratifying. Everything the characters worked for had the simple point of success and a better future. And, you know, I like that. Their ubiquity though makes them a common point of lazy criticism as people will try to nitpick all the things not fixed or it being so happy because, well, the story had to end eventually. It's why I've never really been like "HoW dO wE aCtUaLlY kNoW tHe IsLeS wIlL bE oKaY!?" I don't care. The show says they're happy because they got rid of the evil guy then fine. It needed to end and at least this means our characters can know peace. The only things I really interrogate about the ending is what it says about those characters and the story that was told because that is part of your ending.

But if you want to claim a more complex story, especially if your story is already ripping off so many elements from a previous one (I'm sorry but Grom Factor is just Grom+Eda's Curse but missing the emotional cores of either because we don't know these characters and there's been no real build up. Not to talk about how ripping off your own series' biggest stories is already going to tank investment), a 'tragic' ending can be a way to do that. A bittersweet ending can be a way to do that. A way to undercut the happy ending everyone expected by instead ripping out their heart.

But you run the risk of making the whole story pointless.

Most people will argue that most tragedies are pointless. Romeo and Juliet is so confident in how pointless the love story is that it tells you the two people die at the end at the BEGINNING. But... It's not. The tragedy of Romeo and Juliet sticks with people and is something people want to retell because the tragedy of it all has a point. It talks of the brashness of youth, the collateral damage of endless fury, of how dangerous emotions can be, even the best of them like love. How things can be torn apart and destroyed, futures ended futilely because people will not let go of their emotions or even try to be calm when they have only ever been told to hate. Romeo's passion is both his most attractive quality but also the dooming element that makes sure he kills himself at the end, a trait that Juliet shares and both have from their families who never let people rest. Never allow there to be more than just extreme emotions and so anytime they're emotional, it's big and dangerous.

And so the ending has a point to it. It is the only one that fits the thematics and condemns properly all the damage that was done. That sweet words cannot fix an endless cycle of hate. It is an ending forced by the entire point of the story. Something is only self defeating when there isn't really a theme, core or narrative goal that requires that sort of tragedy. Or, worse yet, when the ending actively undermines all of those elements.

So let's finally talk about Grom Factor. For those who haven't read it, my description earlier is not far off. Luz and Amity's child, Ayzee, causes herself to be named as the next person who will fight Grom. She does this for the most bog standard next gen reason: Wanting to prove herself in contrast to her successful parents. To be her own person and prove that she can be great too. Meanwhile, her girlfriend Milan doesn't want this, partially due to being a healer and following the hypocratic oath, but then commits to helping her girlfriend no matter what. In this process, she gets a part of Philip's journal that shows that Grom is actually a small, scared child. So while Ayzee is preparing to fight Grom, her girlfriend prepares to try to cure Grom.

Big fight ensues, the elixir they bring (yes, just Eda's eliixir, nothing specialized or more complicated) doesn't work and Grom EXPLODES into something more dangerous than ever before. Ayzee and Milan are given a petrification glyph by Amity and Luz after showing Ayzee doesn't have magic of her own, they do a dance to get to the core of Grom to use the glyph... And Milan instead uses Lilith's spell from the end of S1 in order to split the pain of Grom and take the curse onto herself. It works but now anyone who touches Milan gets their fears shouted at them because her hair is now at least partially Grometheus. Then the two leads talk, kiss but we see in Ayzee's head that she is being tortured during the kiss with her fears of inadequacy and the idea that she will always end up hurting other people.

So there you go. A story about one person selfishly throwing themselves in danger without a care about others or the harm she may cause due to her potentially ready for this while the other lead preaches a stop to all harm and even pushes to save a monster because they're in pain too. All the while, the arc tries to sell us on the relationship and how much they theoretically care about each other, especially since this is their first arc together as a couple.

So the actual way to go for a tragic ending, that has similar results to what the comic does, is actually not that hard to see. Ayzee's fears and inadequacies, and her need to prove herself, has HER save Grom while thinking that this will fix her mistake and make her girlfriend happy because she's now taking part of her girlfriends beliefs: To let no one suffer. She could see about someone else taking the pain or not take charge in this situation her flaw, the thing that set all this up for failure which is a component of tragedies. is being unwilling to allow others to do that. To put the burden on herself. So, knowing that killing Grom would hurt someone she cares about by forcing her to take a life, but also needing to do something to set things right, especially as she sees this as her mistake through her original sin of wanting to fight Grom for glory, she sacrifices her happiness to do a selfless act and save the creature. It's bittersweet because of all the curse will do to her but it does actually resolve an arc to the episode and has something to say about how looking for danger for glory is always going to lead to more trouble than you want to have found. It has a POINT.

Instead... Milan's just such a dang good healer! It was so foolish of her to be a good doctor and not want harm upon others. If she had just been like Ayzee and focused more on herself, she might have been willing to let Grom rot and get to have anything resembling a happy life afterwards. Instead, this genuinely just good trait of this good person who did nothing wrong the entire story, means that she will NEVER have relationships again. Not just with Ayzee but ANYONE because she inherently harms people around her by mentally torturing them. By her own character motivations, this means she isn't going to be okay EVER unless this is cured.

But that doesn't track with the reveal of Grom's backstory. Because, you know, that did happen. The story ends so fast after Grom is saved and barely lets her have any time that it's almost easy to forget. But... Grom was made into what she was by cursing herself for the sake of power... To protect others. She was selfless. With it being Milan who saved her, this is meaningless. At best, it's cycles repeating. If Ayzee had, it would have been part of the point the story theoretically sets up for how one needs to do things for others, not for themselves. Instead, I guess the lesson is no good deed goes unpunished? It's not even that personal glory hurts those around you as collateral damage because that's NOT what Grom did.

And finally, there's just the last comic in general that REALLY highlights how little Milan or Grom matters here. She shrugs off the curse. She shrugs off the consequences. Her pain doesn't matter. The only pain that matters is AYZEE'S because this is still her story and NEVER was Milan's. All of this trivializes the tragedy and sacrifice Milan made, as well as the saving of Grom, because those things had nothing to do with the actual focus of the story which doesn't even payoff because the ending shot is making sure we know just how miserable Milan will make Ayzee's life.

THAT is a self defeating ending. The relationship that this arc ostensibly solidifies and sells to the audience? Dead. Ayzee's fears and worries? Made WORSE. Any themes about the need to do what is best for all instead of best for yourself? Falling on the character who already knew that OR saying that doing so always sucks for the person who actually gives a fuck. Any payoff for this? Dismissed so it can only focus on the person SPARED any consequences from her actions except tangentially. And yes, tangentially since Ayzee just needs to get over a teenage crush while Milan will never be a healthy partner to anyone.

The closest you might want to say is that because Ayzee's life did get worse, it sticks to a theme of her brash actions having consequences but then why is the ONLY person to explicitly be harmed by all of this Manila who didn't share that same flaw? At least in Romeo and Juliet, they BOTH die because they BOTH suffer from dangerous levels of brashness and passion. Not many main characters in tragedies get out unscathed for a reason. Usually even if others do get killed during their story, they still suffer just as badly, if not worse.

You can't even go with "Well, at least this version allows Ayzee to be her own person," something that would have been undercut by fusing with a creature" " which is ostensibly part of the point of this sort of next gen arc. To prove they stand alone from what came before... Except no. Ayzee's angst at the end, blaming herself for this, thinking everything she does will always end up hurting others, is literally just Luz's angst arc post Hollow Mind and just about as unreasonable for self hate as her justification. So even that theme, the most basic, number one next gen theme is pointless here, especially since it doesn't even get resolved in any way. The ending, and even the comments recognize this, reinforces that Ayzee is right: People will only ever see her like a little Luz instead of a strong witch herself.

So is there ANY point to this ending? Well... because it's a next gen retelling. Because TOH already did Grom. Already had Luz wanting to prove herself through being Grom Queen. Literally Ayzee's entire arc here is a more blatantly selfish, less interesting version of what her mom did one generation ago. The twist of Grom actually being a good person... *gestures to every character arc in TOH* so that adds literally nothing new, especially since it ends the same way as Eda's curse with the same spell. As such, if it ends happily, and with the couple okay and stronger than before... It literally is just Grom. So you have to give it a tragic ending or else there's no point to this story existing. There's nothing to say except that it's a worse version of the original and why didn't you try to shake things up at all?

It highlights the fact that yeah, this arc is just flawed from a conceptual standpoint which isn't surprising to me. This arc is much of why I made a post a couple days ago about the Isles being an objectively terrible setting for a follow up story. This story is the epitome of everything people dislike about next gen stories, even up to every change they make in a retelling being just worse than the original.

And here's the final nail in the coffin: I will never care about these characters because of this arc but especially because of this ending. We knew almost nothing about Milan before this besides her being Ayzee's girlfriend. Hell, we barely knew anything about AYZEE because we haven't gotten that many comics with her so the only trait that's really been established is that she's a gamer. And yet, in their first outing, a chance to really show who they are and to make them more distinct than Luz and Amity... Well, doing literally anything for your girlfriend and being a damn near saint is just what Amity turned into eventually and I've talked about how much the arc hammered in that Ayzee is literally just Luz all over again. It's a miracle she's not named Buz. Then the ending says screw you to any payoffs or themes for the sake of having ANYTHING to distinguish this from the original and little else. Even the idea that these characters could lead to a fun, silly extension of the show by how absolutely miserable the ending is.

So at this point... Why should I ever bother with these characters again? That seems like a self defeating goal for myself as a viewer.

======+++++======

As a note, this isn't because someone brought it to my attention. I still follow Mark and have since even before his started his final Star Versus comic story. I want to support him, I don't think he's a terrible writer and I like plenty of his comics, but it's rough when he took like two years to finally do a large arc like this again and it's just... not good. And no, I don't like A Hint of Blue either unfortunately but unless I just want to talk about how a boring romance happens, I probably won't ever do a blog like this on that.

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

#the owl house criticism #toh critical #toh #the owl house #Grom Factor #moringmark

[chaos0pikachu]

Top has gotten the shortest end of the stick of all the characters. (Imo) He seems like a plot tool for Mew’s development, not a real person. I thought they would delve deeper into the insomnia but they have not. They brushed over him doing coke so quick as well. That’s literally the only interesting nuggets we have about him. We don’t know about his family life either. It’s hard to feel sympathy or connect with his character at this point when motivations are still so unclear. So Jojo shouldn’t be surprised that he’s so ‘hated’.

I wish he was hated because he's under-developed but I think him and Boston (who also has a lack of nuance issue in the narrative) are hated b/c they had non-monogamous sex. Which the crew (not just Jojo, I'ma call them JNBD for Jojo, Ninew, Best and Den lol) must've realized too b/c they specifically cut a scene where Top was gonna have sex w a rando and cry about it.

Know, that's unfair, I think both factors can be true at the same time. I think some people are struggling to connect with Top b/c like you said, he feels more like a plot device for Mew's character than his own individual character with their own motivations. AND I think it's because he had sex with other people who were not Mew. Because Forcebook is a branded couple and I saw those stans on twitter wildin out.

I think one factor is valid - him being under developed makes it hard to the audience to connect with him as a char - and the is not - who fucking cares if Top, the fictional char slept with someone not Mew they are not Force and Book jfc.

I think it says a lot about the state of the type of hate Top is getting that JNBD are seeing that the scene they cut was a sex scene specifically. Only now that it's gotten to the point of being outright undeniable are people even a bit more sympathetic to Boston. But like, I saw people calling Boston a predator and a rapist like, 3 episodes ago lol and rooting for Mew to share the revenge porn of Boston with his father.

Obviously this is not the entire~~~ fandom but suffice to say fandom hasn't been actually all that understanding of slutty (or really, non-monogamous behavior, y'all know being poly isn't like, an ao3 trope right? boston isn't "self-harming" himself by sleeping around he just...enjoys sleeping around? but the show has been kinda regressive in terms of poly/open relationships anyway they tease at threesomes but never follow through. At this point it feels like a meta joke, lol look at ray saying him and sand should have a threesome don't worry firstkhao fans we're just teasing they're true love fr!)

I think a big factor is fans have to strong a para-social relationship with Force and Book along with First and Khao (like holy shit y'all calm down about these two). So Top sleeping with Boston was seen as a "threat" to the endgame of their ship which should be TopMew but is actually ForceBook (don't even try with me SandRay had like 100 fics before the show even aired, and so did Top and Mew).

I spoke to a friend about this, they don't watch BL themselves but they said it sounded like part of the appeal specifically with branded couples is viewers know going in their ship "wins" they are endgame, there's a low-risk factor involved so it's easy to buy in. And I think they're right tbh I don't follow branded couples because, well frankly I don't care much, so I wasn't expecting this level of fandom bias nor the existence of the branded couples interring actively with the narrative itself. It was a very new experience for me and I think I'll just pass on gmmtv shows in the future.

I don't mind knowing where a story is going, I've watched plenty of romcoms, I'm not in this shit for plot twists, but if the journey really pushes the couple shouldn't be together and I know they'll end up together anyway well then I'm annoying lol

I think it's a shame that Top is gonna end up with Mew. I don't think they fit well together, the narrative hasn't shown me that they work or even could work long term. They have all the chemistry - to me - of white sauce casserole Carol brought to my cookout and only added some pepper for flavor. But narratively, what does Top even want? Why does he want to be with Mew? Because he opened up ONCE to Mew? We never even saw his perspective of their dating life just him giving up drugs in exchange for sex which chepie that was NOT romantic to me.

I'd love a fic that explored Top more as an individual char, why him and Mew don't actually work b/c Top's trying to contort himself into someone else because he's clinging to the sense of security Mew gave him. But what else is there to their relationship? Really? Maybe Top is actually aromantic or maybe he just enjoys being un-committed but feels pressured by society to do so, to "settle down".

There's potential there to explore that I hope fandom does but either way don't bring casserole to my cookout ever again gmmtv

#chaos pikachu speaks #its late my brain is crumbling but yeah

[lloydfrontera]

honestly, it's javier's fault that lloyd pushes himself so hard to solve Every Problem Ever. in the cremo city arc he had a sense of proportion like "giant monster out of my jurisdiction" but after he overcame that it's like "self-preservation who, i'm gonna give it my all to save everyone bc I'm the real protagonist now" lol.

honestly??,,, yeah. yeah,,,

lloyd was so down to not get involved in all of that he was totally realistic about his actual abilities and he was completely ok with leaving the responsibility to others.

that all went out the window when he realized that 1. "oh i have javier with me i'll just throw him at the problem and we'll be fine :D", 2. "oh no, i actually do care a lot about everyone here and i need to help them", 3. "oh shit if i don't solve every single problem that pops out everything i worked for will go down the drain and all my loved ones will die" and 4. "i gotta do it all on my own because if i tell javier he'll die for me and i cannot allow that"

which is a hell of a bicycle ride downhill to make in terms of self-preservation instincts

and like?? i hadn't quite thought about it like that but you're so right??? like up to that point you could maybe argue that javier was still the protagonist of the plot, because despite everything lloyd had already done for the estate, it was still not quite "world's main character, the universe bends to your will" level y'know? but after cremo, when lloyd delivered the final hit to the gigatitan, right after javier failed to kill it by himself?? it was over for them, there wasn't coming back from it. or if there was, lloyd completely missed the exit sign.

and it was thanks to javier being so goddamn stubborn about saving people that lloyd got dragged into the main plot. had it not been for javier refusing to leave without trying to help, lloyd would've probably stuck to his guns and laid low until things calmed down. he was completely convinced that he was just,,, a guy. hardworking yes, but not nearly strong enough to take down a monster like that. but javier insisted on fighting and what was lloyd supposed to do? leave him behind? lose his best asset?? just let him die like that???

so he goes and kills the gigatitan.

and after that their dynamic shifts completely. it's no longer javier running into danger and lloyd following him reluctantly, but lloyd risking his life trying to solve every new problem that comes up and javier asking him not to do it and then following him when he inevitably does it anyway.

i think there's a lot more factors that helped shift lloyd's perspective in what he can and can't do (along with something that he simply,,, doesn't allow himself to be unable to do. like there's somethings that are just lloyd going "actually i'm gonna do this because it needs to be done. i'm not asking if it's possible i am saying i'm gonna do it" which is,,,, crazy but we'll get to that later) but i don't think i had ever made the connection between cremo and javier and all of this.

fascinating

thank you nonnie for sharing this with me as you can see it completely woke up the brainworms <333

#hey i got an ask #Anonymous #tged #the greatest estate developer #lloyd frontera #javier asrahan

[throttlegainwell]

Actually, related to one question from that ask game, I'd say there are a few cases where I was concerned enough about the reaction something would get that I psyched myself out of writing it entirely. Usually that just happens for ongoing works where I've already shared part of it or it's part of a posted series.

I had this problem, a little bit, with Circadian (a canon-divergent, HTP Captain America: The Winter Soldier series). (Warnings for non-graphic discussion of torture below cut.)

I haven't talked much about Circadian here because I think only a handful of people following this account have read my MCU stuff (and because that's the stuff that earned me my fandom rep), but this beast of a series is one of my biggest writing accomplishments. I wrote it based on a pretty sparse kinkmeme prompt, but it turned into a whole >40k story, with another ~20k in additional series installments. I planned, partially outlined, and started to write a whole sequel, but it never quite got off the ground.

One of the reasons it stalled out was because I originally wrote it for and posted it to a kinkmeme where everyone was either into that kind of fucked up shit or at least had the grace to skip over it if it wasn't their preferred flavor of trash. (Man, do I miss that dumpster. Good times.) But I posted the other installments directly to ao3 because they weren't really HTP, merely HTP-adjacent.

The problem with ao3 versus the dumpster is that it's a completely different audience, with a wider variety in terms of preference, tolerance for weird shit, and priorities. I worried a little about the content (seriously, I warned more extensively for that story than anything else I've ever posted), but I was also nervous that people wouldn't be happy that Steve and Bucky aren't romantically together and don't end up together in the end. (And if this seems like an absurd thing to worry about--and it is!--then please know that I did get some obnoxious comments specifically over this issue. To be clear: there is horrific and graphic abuse in this story. It's a harrowing journey through immense cruelty and exploitation. And some people were pills because Steve didn't end up romantically involved with the guy who [while brainwashed and not realizing that he was also being victimized! something that he slowly came to understand and be utterly sickened by! something that was, in fact, a driving factor for both plot and character development!] spent tens of thousands of words as a tool of his degradation.)

There was also some discontent about Steve supposedly "rejecting" Bucky, after he discovers the betrayal. He's angry, and he expresses that anger very directly, though he's powerless to defend himself much more than that. (Not gonna quote that bit here because it's very heavy.)

Also, later, this happens:

Steve finally looked away, unreadable as always. When he looked back, shutters closing to wait out the coming storm, it was his turn to lower his gaze. “I forgive you. But I don’t want to see you right now. I understand that you can’t leave yet. That this plays out. So I’m going to turn around, and you do what you’re going to do.” Without so much as a moment to see the impact of his words, he turned as he’d said he would, lying down flat with his face in his arms. [...] He couldn’t risk Steve knowing, not with the advantage they had with Steve seemingly defeated and docile. But he ached every time he set foot in that room, every time he approached him. Steve was done talking, done asking questions. He’d forgiven, but somehow that was worse. The absolution was more painful than the accusation by far.

I felt like Steve was entitled to some complicated feelings on the matter. That it was fair to let him lash out a little at first and then set the only boundary he could. In fact, after what I put him through, I thought that I wrote him downright magnanimous, almost to the point of martyrdom. At this point in the story, he's been held captive, tortured, and isolated for something like a month. That's pretty damn extreme. To discover that this has been at the hands of 1) the person on whom he's come to rely as his only connection to the world (Call Me Jimmy) and 2) his best friend (Bucky), for whom he grieved...

Look, romance was the last thing on his mind and not what I was interested in exploring. I wanted to see what this experience would do to their relationship with a particular dynamic in place: one where they were neither romantically nor sexually involved in the past, and one where the events of the story made it difficult for them to be around each other and rebuild their friendship. Bucky, in this story, was in love with Steve in the past, and he still is, in a way, but that's not necessarily the be all end all. Sometimes it's more complicated than that. For his part, Steve simply never thought about Bucky that way. Steve, in this story, was in a steady relationship with Sam before his abduction; the reason it never came up in Daybreak was because he would never have given up any information that could get people hurt. So he didn't talk about Sam under those conditions. But that also meant that people were surprised by this, once I posted the coda (Eclipse).

And this wasn't a shipping thing. This was simply because it was the dynamic that I wanted for this story. Because I don't actually care about shipping at all.

But fandom can be such a strange place. I was writing Steve/Bucky fic before TWS came out, so obviously I enjoy these two romantically, but fandom got so pushy about it. There was also this strange pressure to woobify Bucky and make everything about his pain, while basically ignoring Steve (or milking his pain for Bucky). But Steve got royally fucked in this story (and so did Bucky), and I wanted to look at both sides of that and be fair to both of them. So I was nervous about how much people would care about Steve here and whether they would react negatively to the extreme and prolonged abuses committed by Bucky in this story (despite that being a dumpster staple and despite me warning up front, as clearly as possible, that Bucky was gonna do some awful shit). It was a very popular theme, at the time, that their love was special and could conquer all and they could just move past anything difficult. And that wasn't the story that I wanted to tell.

Anyway. The sequel (Nightfall) is all about that fallout, in which Sam gradually learns the truth about what happened, we examine the extent to which Steve and Bucky's relationship has been damaged and each has been traumatized as individuals, and they try to learn how to even be around each other again. I wrote part of it, but I got in my head about it because I knew that parts of it wouldn't be well-received, at least at the time. And it felt like there was more pressure because I'd already posted some of it, so it wasn't just something that I was writing for myself anymore.

So I don't always follow my own advice. Sometimes, I do let it get to me. Something to work on.

#long post

[beazt]

if continuing to publicly enjoy and especially throw money at the Harry Potter IP isn’t making a difference to JK Rowlings platform then explain why I just got an ad for Harry Potter hersheys kisses on YouTube. if you’re struggling to connect the dots here: don’t stop to look anything up until you’ve reflected.

when’s the last time you saw Hershey take a risk on a big collaboration where the product is candy (opposed to, say, candy-themed apparel)? when’s the last time you saw this for such a controversial bit of pop culture? where the pop culture in question has been protested so strongly for so long and isn’t promotional for a brand-new media? when’s the last time you saw it advertised on major platforms like YouTube ads and not just silently showing up in a weird corner of a candy aisle or being online-only?

all of these factors are decisions Hershey made. yeah hersheys fucked up, we know, but that’s partly (definitely not exclusively) because they tend to cover up and censor any discussion of their own injustices that they can— they’re advertising this. this was safe enough for Hershey to openly advertise

whether most of the money is going to Hershey or most of its going to JKR or it’s an even split, it’s still increasing her platform and any money she gets out of this and its aftermath is extra to throw into bigoted violence

which with violent antisemitism currently rising so much in the areas she has the most reach, and violent transphobia currently rising in those areas as well, do you see the positive feedback loop? as in, her violence is safe enough for hershey to sign onto and advertise, which is an indicator shits getting Bad, then this event also increases her platform and power and allows her to funnel more into the violence, overtly and covertly

brief disclaimer about israel because I’ve seen several people who have just mentioned the rise in antisemitism recently get immediately lumped as pro-Israel anti-palestine: free palestine, fuck the Israel forces for genocide, fuck hamas for also having genocidal aims. (I am not as well-studied on the conflict as I’d like to be, but this is what I feel confident enough to share concisely— you can send me information/sources to help inform me further, but if you are gonna be openly antisemitic, anti-palestinian, or transphobic in response to this post, fuck off)

#I could’ve worded this better probably but #earlier I spent 5 hours on a post without realizing and still never posted it #so I’m not gonna get hung up on revising this further #I’m just tired enough and medicated enough to push past the anxiety for this one #let me know if I used any inaccurate terms #lous clues

[jacenpetertodd]

Hi, sorry to disturb, but could you share a summary of how the Jason death/Red Hood plot goes in the Titans show? I heard a bit about it and I'm curious, but I'm now interested in watching the series (it's just not my thing, no judgment)

Absolutely!

Okay, so the thing about Titans is that if you asked me for a list of things not to do when writing Jason Todd, Titans hits almost every single one of them.

And yet! It still manages to be one of the most compelling and sympathetic takes on the character that I've seen. (I leave to you to consider what that says about most comics featuring Jason.)

Detailed (and slightly opinionated) plot summary below the cut:

So we start off with the cardinal sin of Jason Todd stories: making him angry and violent from the start. However, unlike most stories which do this, Titans makes it very clear that he has his reasons to be angry and that his violence is targeted towards people who use their societal power to oppress others (particularly cops) (as a side note- I could write a whole essay about Titans' mixed messaging regarding the police.) Titans also makes sure to give us just enough scenes of Jason being an absolute sweetheart to make it clear that he's a good kid at heart. (He's also heavily implied to have been a victim of both sexual and physical abuse, which definitely colors his characterization.)

Titans!Jason's main motivation is his determination to prove himself to both Bruce and Dick. This doesn't tend to be a major factor in pre-death comics!Jason's characterization, but it's not entirely out of thin air. Unsurprisingly, it tends to get him into trouble. Which leads us to the first major event in the Red Hood plot: Jason is kidnapped by Deathstroke and almost dies.

He's rescued last second by Superboy (because sure, why not), but ends up with a pretty classic case of PTSD and a very understandable fear of his own mortality. He tries to shake it off, but he's noticeably messed up, and Bruce insists he take some time off from being Robin and talk to a therapist. Jason resists at first, but eventually starts getting along with his therapist and making some progress. Which is of course the point where Bruce decides that actually he won't be letting Jason return to the role of Robin no matter how well his therapy goes, because Bruce worries that he messed up with Dick and can't risk making the same mistake with Jason.

Jason, naturally, takes this poorly.

There's also a subplot involving Jason's wlw bff from before Bruce adopted him

And this is where things start getting... weird.

Jason has convinced himself that Bruce's concern is actually a lack of trust, and becomes determined to prove himself able to overcome his own fear. His solution is to visit Scarecrow in jail and get chemistry lessons to create an anti-fear toxin.

Under the influence of said anti-fear toxin, he goes after the Joker with no backup. Jason's actual death at the hands of the Joker is disturbingly fast and almost anti-climactic. No bomb, no complicated plot involving Jason's mother. Just the Joker, and Jason, and a crowbar.

And then, with equal speed and lack of fanfare, Bruce kills the Joker and, disgraced by his failure to uphold his own code, leaves the city.

In Doylist terms, this is an excuse to get Batman out of Gotham and leave the Titans in charge. In Watsonian terms, this is probably the most shocking departure yet from Bruce's usual characterization.

Crane has his goons revive Jason via a Lazurus pit under Gotham. With Bruce having violently avenged him, Jason's anger is shifted to the Titans, and particularly Dick, for failing him during his first life. So he does a lot of fucked up shit to them as Red Hood.

Jason is also, at this point, addicted to Crane's anti-fear toxin and fully under his control. This is absolutely delightful if you like fucked up mentor-mentee relationships, but otherwise completely nonsensical and honestly not handled very well, as the show seems more determined to toy with the audience about whether or not Jason is really evil than to actually give Jason consistent motivations.

Crane has a whole thing where he tries to promote Red Hood as his new alternative superhero who (unlike those mean nasty titans) has the city's best interests at heart. Imagine the plot with the riddler from the batman but shittier.

Crane poisons the water supply, Gotham turns into a war zone, and Jason finally decides he's done with Crane and teams up with the Titans to save the city.

Dick makes it clear that Jason can never be a Titan again, but does reunite Jason and Bruce, who have clearly both been changed by what they've been through. Jason asks if Bruce killed the Joker for him, and Bruce confirms that he did. Jason thanks him, entirely sincerely, and then leaves the manor to find his own path.

And that's why I love Titans Jason while also sitting here screaming about how nothing they did with him makes sense...

#titans #dc #jason todd

[queen-of-the-icemark]

Taking a break from poetry today to vent as a librarian about some common misconceptions amoung library patrons.

1. Place things on hold! Holds drive purchases. If you don’t put it a hold on it, we don’t know you want it. Yes, you can tell someone at the desk, but unless it’s the right department AND they remember to properly make note of it, that doesn’t help.

2. Make purchase requests! Like holds, purchase requests tell us what our community wants us to buy. Even if only three people check it out - or just the one person who made the request - it’s still oodles better than us buying something we think might be interesting to people and then it never being checked out. Purchase requests also tell us when our patron want materials we consider “higher risk,” in the sense that they might not appeal to our readers, such as self-published book, small press books, and debut titles. Yes, your library might have limits on how many purchase request one person can make each month, but we still want you to make them!

3. ILLs are not an inconvenience! If I have one more person say they don’t want to make an inter-library loan request because “they don’t want to be a bother” I’m going to loose my fucking mind! You think that after spending 10+ minutes trying to find if this book is available anywhere in the fucking country, I don’t want to see if they’ll send it here for you? Are you fucking kidding me? ILLs let libraries share resources so they can get patrons what they want - books, movies, CDs, videogames, basically any physical type of media - without overspending their budget. ILLs are also a great way to get books that are out of print and too expensive, or just plain unavailable, to buy for the collection. Also, those check-outs count towards the home library’s circulations stats. You know, one of the big things used to decide if it stays in the collection. So ILLs help keep materials available for longer for the whole country.

4. Check out things you might not use! Speaking of circ stats. I struggle not to kill folks who say, “Oh, I wanted to check it out, but I wasn’t sure it’d get to it.” Who cares! If it’s in high demand and you don’t want to keep other people waiting, fine. But most books are weeded if they don’t go out for 3 years; sometimes 2 years at smaller libraries. Movies and video games have similar weeding criteria. Even if you don’t end up reading it, checking out a book shows us you wanted to read it, and if our stats show enough people our still interested in an older title, we’ll do more to keep it in our collection. Likewise, if materials are too worn or damaged, circ stats are a big factor in whether or not the item gets replaced or not.

5. We don’t throw away usable items! I want to smack people when they give me shit about items being weeded from the collection, because it’s usually phrased something like, “I can’t believe you threw away all those books!” We didn’t! Items in good condition are resold at the library for insanely cheap prices along with donated material we can’t add to our collection. Heavily worn items are donated to organizations like Better World Books, which gives them to low income communities along with other resources to foster literacy. The only stuff that gets thrown away is the same stuff you’d throw away if it were in your house. Things that have mold, severe water damage, beg bugs, books lice, or are just literally falling apart in my hands. Yes, some libraries are very big, but no matter how large the building might be, physical space is always limited by being physical. Just like your bedroom, their is literally only so much room for stuff. When we do have to get rid of something, we do everything we can to put it in the hands of someone who will love it.

Okay, that’s my library rant. If you stayed, thanks for listening and I hope this helps you make better use of your local library.      

#writing #books #libraries #got really annoyed helping a patron earlier this week #and the annoyance has been festering #needed to put it somewhere #so why not share it with all of you :P

[sheepwasfound]

Honestly the only things keeping my neutral are a) logic and b) CC response

a) as in - why in the everloving fuck would a guy as successful as dream lodge a career ending bomb into the hands of the stranger? He's always been excessively paranoid about anything that could endanger his image - this part just does not make sense to me in the slightest. Hell, this thought holds only more true on the assumption that's he's a complete asshole who only cares abt the cash and nothing else - all the more reason he wouldn't do anything to put himself at risk. I'm not trying to sound parasocial at all - its safe to say that none of us can vouch for his morals, especially after all of this. What anyone on earth CAN vouch for is his business sense - and this is a bomb noone in the right mind would consider, especially over the course of several years.

b) CC response - and I agree this is pure theorising. Only at the beginning did some smaller CCs speak up on his abhorrent behavior and they were those who had already spoken negatively of him before all of this. The other CCs have said nothing. Even the CCs that dislike him have since, to my knowledge, said nothing. This is. Very strange for a number of reasons, and coupled with the one above, highly suspect.

Overall, I have major doubts about the instagram dms and is due to lack of rationale - why her, of all people on earth ? Someone who has been previously expressed obsession with a particular cc, and would take immense pride in any and all attention shown to her? I strongly believe that some of the instagram dms are fabricated, especially the latter ones from 2022. I fully believe the earlier ones are real based on confirmation from dream himself.

yeah, these are some of the factors that make this still uncertain for me too. but also gotta remember that sometimes men do really stupid shit when they're horny (as in completely illogical -- even when there's easier ways to relieve the horniness, they still pick the one fucked up thing they're obsessed with instead), and dream might be able to make cc's not talk just by showing them legal action really is happening. still, very weird stuff that definitely lends some context.

the instagram dm's are also a bit interesting in the sense that we know for sure she deleted some of her messages. we can't know if anything else has been deleted, particularly leading up to the snapchat part. personally i guess my best hope would be that just the snapchat part of those dm's is fake, but...that's pretty damn wishful thinking, let's be real. but it's not like the chances are zero.

still, if the snapchat really was shared, we don't know the context of why because dm's leading up to it may have been deleted and we don't know what messages were actually sent in the snapchat app itself. still, sharing a snapchat account to a fan is a major red flag cus of the connotations of the app as the "no proof to show" app. we know that dream just happens to love the app and therefore maybe he wanted to talk on there instead cus he actually uses it, but also, maybe the reason he loves the app is cus he can do whatever on there. there's no knowing. and also why did he want to talk to this fan so badly anyway? her being hot is sort of a more logical reason than the help-me-become-a-streamer messages, and if her being hot is the reason, thennn...you know

however, snapchat isn't fool-proof either, is the thing with that. it's not actually that it's some guarantee no proof will be left behind. how much authorities can recover (especially when allowed access to the actual device the stuff was sent from) is one thing, but also, people can take photos and videos of their phone with another camera and there's no knowing. it's insanely risky to do. snapchat doesn't actually really lend any more secrecy to anything unless you're too dumb to figure out there's so many ways for people to be saving what you're sending. it is hard for me to imagine dream being that stupid (especially with how versed he is with snapchat), but still, he might be

as for why her specifically, there's no answer to that though. the kind of people that exploit their fans in these ways tend to specifically target the people who are very intense fans who won't condemn anything. and he most likely had no knowledge that she had been posting tiktoks of their conversation and stuff like that anyway. then again, in the messages she seemed less like an intense fan and more like someone who was aspiring to become a cc and tried to get some kind of advice or an in. that could still be the type of fan that gets targeted though, because you could use their aspirations to bribe them with things to get things from them. no one is safe really. any kind of fan could fall into these types of things, and it's scary as hell.

but getting falsely accused of it would be fairly scary too, and i believe everyone should be listened to and everyone should be scrutinized. as crappy as that is for everyone involved, it's the only way to the truth. glad legal action is being taken

#sheepy ask #Anonymous #cw discourse

[keylawd]

No sea salt

I used to put sea salt in my hot chocolate, it enhances the flavour, makes the other spices more present. Actually, I used to put lots of weird things in my hot chocolate. For science, for the shits and giggles, you know? People limit themselves to cinnamon, marshmallow, ginger and sugar, but they just lack imagination, any condiment one can find in a kitchen can and should end up in a steaming cup of hot chocolate, even just once. You name it: cardamon, curry, tabasco, corn starch (for the texture), garlic, soy sauce, maple syrup. It’s like that Forrest Gump quote, but liquid and hot. Since that day, though, I don’t use sea salt anymore. It was a pale winter’s day, one for the tales, had it not been a work day. The sky was empty and the sun timidly shone above the roof, not quite enough to warm your skin, but enough to make you squint your eyes. I was on my way to work, muttering in my scarf about the warmth of my bed and the failure of capitalism that had me out of it in winter, my left hand out of my pocket only to hold the only redeeming factor of this wretched situation: a thermos full of liquid happiness, with three drops of tabasco to help with my runny nose and a few grains of sea salt. It was still untouched, because I walked fast and didn’t want to risk spilling any, which would have convinced me that the day was doomed, that I was myself deeply cursed, and then I would have had to call in sick, that if I did I would lose my job, and then I wouldn’t be able to buy dark chocolate to melt and trap in a thermos and then depression and death would surely follow, wouldn’t they? But as I stopped rambling and slowed down my pace to take the first sip, I heard a gasp. On the other side of the street was a tiny man with an angelic face, who looked in his twenties, in shabby brown clothes. He had stopped walking and was staring at my thermos, completely transfixed. After a few seconds, he seemed to get out of his torpor and gingerly crossed the street, his gaze still locked on the lid of the thermos. He finally seemed to notice me, and his eyes very slowly went up to meet mine. He asked, almost pleading, in a voice as frail as he was, if he could taste it, that “it had been eons” since he had some. (It would take an embarrassing lot of time before I wondered if he really meant it) Now. I’m not a man that shares his morning chocolate, especially not on cold winter mornings, especially not on terrible work days, and definitely not to creeps in the street. But as I opened my mouth to refuse, I found myself unable to say anything but a weak “please, help yourself, I haven’t touched it yet”. His face broke up in a childish grin, oh so pure – I could’ve cried. Maybe I did, as a matter of fact. Reverently, he opened the lid and sniffed the chocolate. Then he coughed violently, and for a second his whole body convulsed violently, twisted in a way that didn’t seem entirely human. In an instant it was over. I felt like I had missed a step, or blacked out, and there he stood, and with the most heartbroken expression he said: “I can’t drink it. Sea salt, you understand. It burns.” And just like that, he was gone. And by gone, I don’t mean that he ran away. I had this strange sensation that the planet axis had tilted for the tiniest fraction of degree, and suddenly he wasn’t there anymore. The rest of the day went on painfully normal, when I got to the office, I drank my – now tepid – chocolate, the delicious sea salt a reminder of my adventure. But the next morning, as I was choosing how I would season my hot chocolate, I looked at the salt jar with something akin to disgust. How dare it, I thought to myself, how dare this salt make the tiny man look so sad, how dare it make him disappear? I put it in the back of my cupboard and stared at my kitchen, wondering. The tiny man really had looked out of this world. So very young when he had smiled, and so very old when he had realised, he couldn’t drink. I added a small chunk of butter and watched it dissolve – what my nan called the fae’s treat. For once, I went to work with a spring in my step, watching the street with alert eyes to see if I would again meet the tiny man, my hand clenched around the thermos, unbothered by the cold. Just when I was about to pass the place where I had met him, I heard, like an echo, the same gasp than the day before. And sure enough, when I turned my head, the tiny man was there, in the place my eyes had just left, but this time he was looking with longing. He sighed and tore his gaze from the thermos, resigned. I crossed the street and said: “there’s only butter, I change every day, you can have it if you want.” Wearily, he grabbed the thermos and gave it a prudent sniff, then stopped and his eyes opened to the size of saucers, then he sniffed it again with delight, and downed the half pint of steaming chocolate in one gulp. He shuddered and again, I had this blackout sensation, and suddenly I was holding my thermos again, full to the brim. He smiled a very kind smile. “This was very nice, I hope it stays warm for you.” He looked pointedly at the thermos and added, “won’t it?” and he disappeared. The chocolate did indeed stay warm, as I paused in the middle of my path to work to sip it pensively. To this day, I haven’t had another tepid chocolate. Neither have I used sea salt.

#no sea salt #fae #hot chocolate #silly little guy across the street #winter tale #btw I have tried all of these recipes and you should too #sea salt in your chocolate WILL change your life #trust me bro I swear bro just put sea salt in your hot chocolate bro

[septemberbells]

.

#cw co.vid / #extremely wild still having people treat me as nuts for my co.v.id precautions #like idk do you think i would still be making sure to wear an n/95 every time i go indoors even though it literally makes me so nauseaous #that i cannot think #and need to leave within 30 minutes to avoid throwing up #cw emetophobia #like do they think that i'm just... making myself sick for funsies? #wearing a fabric mask is what i do outside and i can generally go for closer to an hour without a break like that but #i'm (several risk factors) #i was sick five (5) times in winter of 2019-2020 (not co/vid) #like.... #people who share risk factors with me are saying this shit like #idk i can't tell them what to do but also like.... #what they're being told is safe is not safe #just.... hate this lol

[phoenixyfriend]

ok. karin vs anakin's genome being 50% the Force. go

Jesus fuck, okay. Uh, fair warning, I know very little about this subject, so it’s 90% bullshit. I am in no way qualified to talk about biology past the high school level.

Anakin's sixteen. He's part of a set of Jedi assigned to a weird mission regarding making contact with an isolated planet of near-humans with superpowers but no space travel. He doesn’t really have a Job here and now, he’s just there as Obi-Wan’s plus-one. There's an underlying plot about Sidious trying to acquire people from Ninja Land, but none of the Jedi are fully aware of it. Mostly they're distracted by all the ninjas and their bitching.

They call it the Shinobi Planet, because nobody can agree on a name for the planet when they ask and the last major international alliance was named after the shinobi profession, right? Good enough, you can change it later when you idiots can agree on literally anything, oh my god. The Samurai are very offended and it's a whole thing.

Anakin wanders a lot. He runs into various strange people and is mostly polite because, listen, half his friends are distinctly not human. When your immediate circle includes nautolans and besalisks and twi’leks and whatever the fuck Yoda is, you’re not gonna blink at a Hoshigaki or... uh... okay that kid just turned into a giant fox, is anybody gonna--no? That’s normal? Just him? Cool, cool, cool.

There’s a kage summit involved in the negotiations going on. IDK what’s being negotiated, probably something to get the ninjas to set up a singular spaceport so there’s somewhere to land WITHOUT ships being regularly shot down by village defense systems powered by that massive flaming purple skeleton warrior or the girl who punched down a mountain or the.. the literal desert? There’s a guy that can control the desert? Is there any way of keeping him away from Anakin?

(Gaara’s tickled pink that the reason someone wants to stay away from him has nothing to do with fear or respect for authority, and everything to do with ‘he is also from the desert and fucking hates it, so he’s staying away from the sand powers,’ because it’s very novel and kind of funny.)

ANYWAY where was I. Uh. Right, kage summit, lots of villages, they invite smaller villages to pitch in, but nobody ever ever ever wants Orochimaru anywhere near this situation, for hopefully obvious reasons, so Otogakure sends Karin.

Really, who else was it gonna be? Suigetsu? You want Suigetsu representing you on an interstellar political field? You want Juugo before he’s stabilized? You want Sasuke, master of ruining kage summits? You want these idiots representing you at the big kids’ table?

They send Karin. She’s a bitch with a temper, but at least she’s not as big of a political risk as... literally anyone else from the snakepit.

Anyway, Anakin wanders around, meeting people, trying foods, showing off when asked for demonstrations. He doesn’t have an Entire Protocol Droid, but he did cobble together a little floating helper that can do translations for him. Assume all translations are accurate and being done by the little helper bot. Bot’s name is G1-0T. Anakin calls it Glot.

He runs into Karin at one point, who’s not super into the whole situation, but at least Anakin’s interesting. She’s not interested in him, because he’s sixteen and she’s like... mid-twenties. And his hair is stupid. But! All these force-sensitive people feel weird to her, because sensor stuff, and it’s not chakra but it’s... something. Anakin is, of course, the weirdest.

(There are non-sensitives in the envoy, so she knows it’s not just a space thing.)

She strikes up a conversation about it, because hey, she hasn’t made it this far to not lean into... you know, being the kind of person who barges ahead with Weird Questions that might lead into fun science stuff.

Anakin is like. Well. This woman’s very strange, but it’s not like there’s anything against talking about midichlorians to random people. It’s easy enough to look up in the core. Not everyone knows about them, but it’s not a secret or anything.

“Wow,” Karin says, though not in so many words, “that sounds incredibly strange, and actually a lot like it functions completely differently from chakra, though maybe it intersects with nature chakra somehow. Can I take a blood sample?”

Anakin doesn’t want to give a blood sample to a stranger. Karin isn’t stupid enough to try to steal one. She’s seen what this Force Stuff can do, and this kid’s got a lot of it. She hasn’t got enough information on hand about it to know if he’d notice.

“How about I let you look at the blood of a guy that can turn into water?” Karin asks, because she’s not going to let him look at her blood. “I’ve got it with me.”

“...why?” Anakin asks, reasonably disturbed.

“He owes me,” she says, and does not elaborate.

“What, there’s nothing weird about your blood to share?” Anakin demands, like the ornery little bastard he is.

“People took my blood against my will for over a decade,” Karin says, with the kind of smile that threatens a stabbing. This is not secret information. Her healing factor is in the bingo book. Plenty of people still want her dead. “Nobody gets my blood except me.”

Anakin has no idea what to do with that answer. Most people wouldn’t know what to do with that answer. It’s not exactly a standard answer.

“So there is something weird about your--e chu ta what the fuck are those scars?”

Karin looks at her arm. She looks back at him. She raises an eyebrow.

“What do you think they are?”

He stares a little longer, and then very carefully does not say anything as she pushes her sleeve back down.

“So can I look at your blood?” she asks again.

“Uh--”

“You can look at mine under a microscope,” she wheedles. “You can’t take any, though.”

Anakin... does eventually agree. Eventually.

-----------

There is a very angry redhead yelling at a machine, and Anakin does not know what to do.

“Is something wr--”

“What the fuck is your blood?” she demands. “It’s glowing in ultraviolet. It burned the dye up. I tried to sequence your genome--”

“Woah, I did not agree to that.”

“--and look at this. Look at this!”

“I don’t know how to read your graphs. None of this is a language I know.”

“It’s garbage,” she hisses at him. Glot takes a few moments to process it. “Look at this. This is supposed to--fuck, where’s the Jiraiya file, he’s standard--this is what it’s supposed to look like for most humans with chakra. And this is a civilian, and a few bloodline users--”

“Do you just carry these around with you?”

“Shut up, you don’t exist. You have--you have more in common with summons than people. I ran a blood test on one of your human diplomats, the ones that aren’t monks--”

“When did they agree to that?”

“They didn’t, I’m just sneaky.”

“I should tell Obi-W--”

“STAY THERE, I’M NOT DONE YELLING YET. Do you see this? Do you see this shit? This is the one and only time I’ve managed to perform any kind of analysis on a bijuu. They don’t usually have blood. Shukaku is sand. Matatabi is literally just fire. This was almost impossible to make happen, but I did it because I’m a dedicated biomedical resea--”

“Because you’re unhinged.”

“--rcher, and you know what? You know what I’ve found?”

“What?”

“Your blood looks like you’re half demon,” she says, grabbing him by the shoulders and shaking, a little wild-eyed and clearly pissed at him. “Half of it’s human! Half of it looks like the non-physical chakra manifestations that were torn-apart remnants of a godlike demon. The fuckers can’t die. They also can’t breed. They don’t have reproductive organs! This isn’t just demon-tainted like a jinchuuriki, I’ve got that analyzed--”

“Why?”

“Because my cousin’s a moron, don’t change the subject. You--you shouldn’t exist. Your blood is stupid. Fuck, is this what I’d find if I analyzed the Sage of the Six Paths?”

“The what?”

She ignores him, frowning at papers. “Is--I need to call Haruno, she might still have some of Kaguya’s blood dried on her old gloves from the war, I know she kept those as a souvenir from the whole ‘punched a god’ thing.”

“I’m sorry, the what?”

“There was a thing a few years back, godlike alien demon princess who got sealed into a moon by her sons a thousand years ago, but her immortal sentient goo child brought her back with a giant tree that consumed all the tailed beasts-the flaming fox you saw earlier is one of them--and then used a giant eyeball to reflect off the moon to put everyone in a hallucination at the same time so she could eat our life-forces,” Karin dismisses. “It’s not important.”

“There is--what?”

Jedi see many things. Many of those things are very strange.

This is a little much even for Anakin.

“It’s over, if you want the actual details, talk to my idiot cousin,” she huffs. “But now I need to run comparisons between the actual nonsense that is your entire existence and the actual nonsense that is my cousin’s existence, and maybe Sasuke’s... fuck this is going to be a mess, I’m going to have to cross-reference all the clans with bloodlines we know are derived from Kaguya, she’s the only angle we have on gods like that, unless... maybe there’s still some black Zetsu goo somewhere... Orochimaru must have kept a sample...”

“Uh, can I--can I go? I’m not comfortable here.”

“I need to find Naruto so he can call the Sage of the Six Paths out of the afterlife so I can see if I can get blood from a ghost to compare to yours.”

#Anakin Skywalker #Uzumaki Karin #Karin #Karin Uzumaki #Naruto #star wars #mini fic #Phoenix Posts #Phoenix Answers Asks #this is so stupid and I have no idea what I'm talking about #bijuu don't even have blood but Anakin's has more in common with THEM than with humans

[pushpinsheep]

Hopefully this puts things in greater perspective because some tourists just don’t get it and need to hear this. For those who are curious and looking to travel in the future I hope you find this is informative! :) We could all use more perspective on linguistics and traveling imho. I have made some of these mistakes in the past too. We can all learn to be better guests/tourists. This mindset people have that not only is it okay for tourists to exploit and mistreat local populations, but it’s something that should be encouraged is wrong. You’re not entitled to anything special as a tourist just because you have enough money to play around somewhere “exotic” for a few weeks. Regardless of where people travel to. As a guest in someone else’s home you should put more effort into not being a total asshat. You will have a better time and you might learn something cool along the way. I will mostly be using France as an example since I live here and have more insight, but everything I say applies outside of France as well. Note: This information only applies to tourists. Immigrants and refugees are a unique situation and thus face different challenges and have different needs. A tourist chooses where to go and has time (and money) to plan for their trip, which is often only a few weeks or days. Immigrants and refugees often don’t have that same luxury and remain in the country for far longer. (in many cases permanently) Moving to a country places a greater linguistic and cultural demand on an individual. Remember to check your privilege. tourism =/= immigration/asylum. A) English is not the only language in existence. It might be a widely spoken language, but it’s not the most widely spoken language (that honor goes to Chinese) nor is it the only lingua franca. Chinese, Hindu, Spanish, French, and Arabic are all widely spoken across multiple borders and where you are on the planet will obviously dictate which one of these people go with. If you expect that to be English because your sphere of the internet happens to put you in that bubble of “my language or bust” ignorance then like... that’s on you pal. Get with the times and stop assuming everyone should just speak English. English speakers are not the only tourists and English, though widely used, is not the only other language a person might need. I have a friend from Laos who speaks absolutely no English. He doesn’t need it and never has. (even now) He speaks Lao (the regional dialects can be as different as Thai is from Laotian btw), Chinese, a bit of Thai, and French because they still use a lot of French for business dealings there. (something I didn’t know ngl) Assuming he should just speak English because “everyone else does” is ignorant. It’s rude. It puts no thought into his situation. It’s entitled. He’s traveled to visit friends in England and he has an English phrase book. He doesn’t need a lot of English so like... the phrase book is absolutely perfect. Most of what he does in England is sight see and speak Chinese with his friends. Be more like my friend from Laos. B) Official languages may not be the only language a country speaks within its borders. Regional and native languages exist and expecting the locals to speak a 3rd language on top of all that is unbelievably entitled. France has a number of them. There are people who are born and raised in France who don’t speak French in their day to day life. (or at all) Basque, Breton, Occitan, Alsatian, Yiddish, Ladino, Arabic and a number of others are all spoken within French borders. Many are at risk of being permanently lost (that’s why our new regional language law is important btw) and as a result a greater emphasis is placed on preserving them as opposed to learning something new. Most people have to learn the official language as it’s the only language a lot of countries will accept for paperwork, but anything else is up to the individual and you can suck an egg if you don’t like that. (this also applies to immigrants and refugees btw) Heck there are places in the US where people don’t even speak English day to day! Some places actually speak French or Spanish. I heard more Spanish in my day to day life than I did English where I grew up in NC! (moved to Florida and Spanish exploded. loved it!) C) Borders are a thing. People working and living across borders exist and English is often not the language they chose to go with as a result. France borders Germany, Spain, Italy, Belgium, England, and Switzerland. People who share these borders often choose to go with these languages. English is in there, but please note it’s not the only one. D) Culturally speaking a country may not like [insert common language here] and as a result may refuse to speak it. That’s entirely their choice. If you don’t like that then don’t visit the country. It’s really that easy.  Colonialism is often a major factor at play in these situations. Respect that choice. You do not get a say in how people reclaim their identity. As for France? This might come as a shock to some people, but France doesn’t like England. I’m 100% certain these two places exist solely to punch each other in the nuts. (ball tap. an international past time) As a result getting English people to speak French or French people to speak English is about as easy as pulling your own teeth. I’ve been spit on for speaking English because people here just assume I’m from England or they hate “annoying Americans” and after seeing how y’all responded to the last post I made... yeah I totally get it now. Granted, that’s no excuse for someone being hostile, but it is something to keep in mind when you visit and applies to more than just France too. E) Retail workers and small shop owners don’t owe you shit. You have absolutely no right waltzing into a shop and demanding the staff speak your language (I don’t care how common it is) for the two weeks you’ve decided to play around in their home. Always ask them first. If they can’t or choose not to then tough luck. This is why a phrase book is important!

Retail workers and small shop owners get treated like shit enough. Some of y’all have never worked retail a day in your life and WOW does it show. Please respect retail workers and small shop owners. You don’t know what their day or life has been like. If they’re tired and don’t want to speak to you in a foreign language then that’s their right. I have had no issues using my phone or a phrase book to help communicate concepts when there is a language barrier. (and I fucking live in France. I’m not even visiting) Emergencies also happen and a phrase book or medical card in the native and/or official language is absolutely essential! Even if you just have an allergy to something! This is a great way to stay safe! When you visit another country being aware of and researching cultural differences includes linguistic differences. Tourists are guests. You don’t live here, you don’t get a say. Remember, learning a second language (esp if you don’t use it often) is really hard. If you’re visiting a country do not expect them to just use whatever language you speak. Mind you a phrase book is also important because people within a country may not have a strong grasp on English even if they do speak it. You can very easily get lost or injured without a phrase book to help you. These things allow you to better experience a country and communicate without actually having to learn the entire language... or any of it. And, once again, they exist for free online! You do not need to learn an entire language to visit somewhere, but you need to be prepared for there to be a barrier. People assuming I mean you need to learn a whole language are uh... really something else. Like do you guys think half the people bending over backwards to communicate with you know the full language? Go ahead. Fuck around and find out. ;) Obviously I’m not saying you should be treated poorly when visiting if you don’t know the language. Unfortunately no matter how much effort you put in there will always be someone who’s a jerk and I’m sorry for that. All I’m saying is as a tourist you owe it to yourself and others to be better prepared. Trust me. You’ll have a better time in the end. (and if you did the research you’d find that Paris is not the best first place to visit... even if you’re french lol) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GS64ZT4eWUA Please watch this guy’s video. It is hilarious and touches on a lot of the same points I just made. Thank you for your time. :) ---------------- Cultural tidbit for those who are curious about where I live in France: I live in Alsace currently! (moved from Lyon, but my spouse is from here) In Alsace you might meet people who speak English, but it’s also entirely likely you won’t! Alsace is also a very tourist heavy area because it looks like a German fairy tale and has a lot of tiny villages with cool stuff to do! I highly recommend visiting here over Paris! We have so many storks! (clackclackclack)

Our logo is a pretzel!

That being said, Alsace has its own regional language!

It’s not uncommon to see bilingual signage or to pass someone on the street and hear them speaking Alsatian. You’ll usually hear it from older people, children, or those from rural areas. It’s really fun to listen to and absolutely wild to see written on museum signs!  Kids here will start school learning French, regardless of what they speak at home, which has resulted in a downswing of Alsatian speakers in recent years. That’s why the new regional language law I mentioned waaaaaay above is so important. It’ll allow schools to teach most of the day in Alsatian instead of French with the goal being fully bilingual adults! :) As of right now, most kids here choose German or English (depending on the school) as their second language. Some kids pick Alsatian and honestly? Good for them! I’m glad!

#sheep.txt #long text post #very long #txt #traveling #france #alsace #europe #tourism #language #languages

[localcactushugger]

Is anyone else amazed that Hawks was only "undercover" with the Leauge for 6 months at the most.

Not only that, one and a half of those 6 months were spent just trying to gain enough trust to infiltrate.

I know it seems like much longer since Hawks made his Manga debut 2 years ago. But he had such a short amount of time on this mission. Hawks was introduced in the manga with his role being the "double agent". We literally have not seen Hawks outside of his "spy" role. Even when he is interacting with other characters outside of the Leauge, his "mission" is still happening in the background.

It seems Hawks made contact with Dabi right before the Hero Billboard chart, this is when he starts trying to infiltrate. His interaction with Dabi in the warehouse begins immediately after Endeavors fight with High-End:

During this time, Dabi is testing out a High-End Nomu for doctor Ujiko. Which means by the time Endeavor fights High-End, the My Villain Academia arc is already happening. Hawks is assumed to be one of the "members" Dabi is trying to recruit:

The Leauge has already made contact with doctor Ujiko, and the Doctor sends Dabi to test his High-End Nomu out on Endeavor (even though Dabi didn't know it would be Endeavor) while the rest of the Leauge battle Machia. At the time, Dabi still doesn't trust Hawks at all and he keeps the hero at arms length. While Dabi and Hawks are sharing ominous phone calls, the Leauge is hauling ass and it take's Shigiraki a month and a half to finally beat Machia. (The MLA is "defeated" too):

After a month and a half of phone calls (while the Leauge gets their asses handed to them by Machia in the background) Hawks is finally allowed into the Leauge when the battle of Dekia City is finally over. Dabi let's him in because Hawks "kills" Best Jeanist.

But there's a problem. By the time Hawks is let in, The Leagues numbers have drastically increased. They have an army at their side, multiple High-End nomu, and are now called the MLA:

Hawks blames himself, saying that he was "too late". That so many civilians would be alive now if he had been faster. He couldn't round up the Leauge when they were a small group, and now they have an army. A powerful one:

He's in too deep now. And you can see the stress on his face. I bet he never expected to be part of an army. He was simply tasked to round up the Leauge members while they were a small group, but the MLA was completely unexpected. Still, he decides to improvise and do the best he can with the shitty cards he's been dealt. It's not like he has another option at this point.

So he slips a coded message to Endeavor ASAP. Basically saying "yo, in four months shits about to go down. Ttyl I'll keep you posted lol". He can't tell the guy in person now, because to make things harder, he has camera's on his wings. (and even though he's being watched by camera's, he also gets followed by guards at the mansion):

After Hawks relays the massge, he stroles around the mansion with his bodyguard and heads towards the cafeteria. With a little eavesdropping (courtesy of his feathers) he also finds out that the Leauges plan is to "Destroy Everything" in four months:

After he relays the massage to Endeavor, he listens to the Leauges plans of destruction as his thoughts run a thousand M.P.H.

Because now "capture the Leauge" has turned into "Holy shit I now only have 4 months to take down a full fledged terrorist organization/army from the inside-out by myself while I'm being monitored 24/7 with absolutely no privacy & also a full time job as a hero + a public image to maintain. And I can only contact my fellow pro's about this mission through code because if the villains find out I'm a double agent I could be killed and Japan could be destroyed. Also some heros have even joined the MLA so who on my own side can I trust? Only a select specific few for now I guess."

If you thought things couldn't get worse your wrong.

Because around 2 months before the raid Hawks' heart (that wants to be free & has a genuine desire to help people) takes shit a bit too far when it makes him get attached to a certain powerful villain.

Hawks quckily finds out that Twice is easily the second most powerful villain in the Leauge after Shigiraki. He's an S ranked villain and he'll kick your ass with the power of friendship anyday. He's a great guy, but him and the Leauge are still planning on doing horrible things within the next 2 months. Twice is going along with it because he wants to stick by his friends, which y'know, is a cool motive. But considering that fact that the people Hawks is trying to protect ALSO have friends, and family's, this makes shit difficult and sends Hawks on some major guilt trips. (I would show all the panels of Hawks sadly smiling as Twice calls him a "good guy", but alas- Tumblr has informed me that I've reached my 10 image per post limit)

And tbh who wouldn't feel bad about suddenly getting attached to such a golden retriever of a man and then realizing you'll have to double-cross him at some point! I'm not surprised Hawks would feel this way, especially considering the fact that he never wanted to take on this mission in the first place.

Hawks is very much a people person, and he HATES lying even when he has no other option. This is a man who got "shivers up his spine" when he had to put on a serious face while handing Endeavor a book with coded messages inside. He literally felt icky and thought "this is low even for me" just because he had to use a deadly expression so that Endeavor would get the gist.

And when the Commission made their "proposal" about this mission, Hawks' first reaction was to call them out on their B.S. for asking him to put civilian lives at risk. He even admitted that he was feeling bad about sending Tokoyami away while talking to Deku, Shoto, and Bakugo. Hawks felt guilty about not being able to spend more time with his student, but considering that things with the MLA were starting to get riskier, and that Hawks literally handed Endeavor a book with a coded message inside about an uprising 2 seconds later, I can see why he wouldn't want to risk Tokoyami being around him. The fact that the camera's on Hawks' wings caught his interactions with Endeavor & the students also makes the creep‐factor worse. The MLA saw everything AND talked about it in a meeting later. Continuing to train with Tokoyami would put him at risk.

I love the complexity of Hawks' character, he's incredibly intelligent, logical, and intuitive. But at the same time throughout this entire mission his heart is constantly battling with his mind. Even when he knows he has to grit his teeth and do something shifty, his heart never fails to put up a fight with his logistics. Honestly it's been a pattern for a while that Hawks' sympathy always "Trips him up" in some way, so idk why I didn't see it coming around to bite him in the ass later.

(Tbh it's hard for me to see Hawks as a this super "Morally Gray" person that the fandom likes to paint him as because of a mission that he only spent 6 months on. I personally, kinda see Hawks as a "good person" who works for a "morally gray" agency. But that's a whole different meta)

Basically, Hawks getting attached to Twice wasn't a surprise. But considering how powerful Twice was, along with his role in the League's destructive plans (He was a lieutenant in one of the MLA's "Units") the discourse going on in Hawks' mind makes sense. By this point Hawks has already figured out all of the MLA's "Units" along with the three "bosses" that support the lieutenants of those "Units". It's noted that those "bosses" are extremely powerful and can match the strength of the heros as well. It took Hawks an entire month just to figure out all of the "Units" members. (I would show the panels explaining all of this but I'm at my photo limit)

All of these members were tasked to follow their lieutenants and bosses, and the plan was to attack all of Japans major cities at the same time. Once the cities were destroyed and chaos had set in, Redestro and feel good inc. Would distribute support items to the remaining citizens in the name of "self-defense". It would create a country full of discourse and destruction where Redestro and Feel good inc. Would rule from the shadows. But Shigiraki would be the main leader. He would become "king" and sit upon a "throne of rubble". (At least this was the MLA's plan, Shigiraki himself just kinda wants to destroy everything. But I suppose this would make things easier for him to do that.)

needless to say, the stakes have been upped excessively. But it took Hawks an entire month to gather this info.

This post is honestly just me marveling at what an M.V.P Hawks is

My guy literally only had 4 months to take down an entire terrorist organization for the inside-out. AND he was being monitored during that entire time. He figured out the MLA's intentions within the first month of being there. And it took him another full month to go into detail and figure out all the members, bosses, and lieutenants, for each of their "Units". Hawks even went as far as to immerse himself in the MLA's ideology, and he had in-depth discussions with the MLA's members. HELL HE EVEN FAKED HIS CO-WORKERS DEATH JUST TO GET IN.

AND HE PRETTY MUCH IMPROVISED ALL OF THIS SHIT!!! The original plan was to capture the Leauge when they were a small group! But by the time Hawks managed to infiltrate, The Leauge already had an army! They were a full-blown organization! And Hawks just kinda rolled with it??? He just kinda bullshitted his way through??

Like, "okay I'm now apart of an army I guess. The Leauge is now an entire organization and they're planning on destroying Japan in March. Let's see how this goes. I'll just have to make this work"???

LIKE HOW THE FUCK IS HE NOT DEAD! WHAT A FUCKING MADLAD

#bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #hawks #keigo takami #takami keigo #bnha hawks #hawks mha #mha hawks #hawks bnha #bnha spoilers #bnha meta #hawks meta #pro hero hawks #mha spoilers #bnha manga spoilers #mha manga spoilers #bnha spoiler #mha spoiler

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

A/N: this idea started as just random concept drabbling between leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ and i and we never really thought it would amount to anything tbh!! but as we started putting more and more into the plot and characters, we made the spontaneous decision to make it a full on, multi-chaptered collab fic! we have so many ideas planned and so much to elaborate on and we’re just so mfing excited to share it with you guys :’) any and all feedback is greatly appreciated 💌 we hope you enjoy the first part and that you fall in love with this stupid emotionally unavailable moron the way we did! happy reading!!

andrea’s askbox : leyla’s askbox : ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : 

word count: 17.2k

content/warnings: vampire!harry being a lowkey asshole while downing straight tequila like a psycho, getting to know The Crew, Mitch being the iconic legend he is, mentions of smut, and Harry working his immortal charm on an unsuspecting human girl with a peculiar scent and intriguing personality

///

Harry hates clubs. 

In his two hundred years of life, through many trials and tribulations, through tricky scenarios and annoying encounters, through thousands of unappealing circumstances and patience-testing events, he doesn’t think anything quite compares to the crowded, nerve-wracking experience that is a Los Angeles club on a Friday night during peak hours. 

According to his wise, humble opinion, it’s absolutely fucking petrifiying. He’d rather swallow a stake than have to spend hours in a dimly lit room with synthetic smoke choking his lungs, half-conscious humans stumbling around into him, and the stench of sweaty bodies mixed with liquor fumes, alongside the faint yet unmistakable waft of vomit. 

Yeah, Harry would definitely rather eat a red oak spear than have to shoulder that.

Despite his intense hatred for this Californian city during its after-hours, he can’t deny that he fits right into the scene perfectly. Decades of grooming and practice have made him a prime candidate for the fast-paced characteristics that come with the party nightlife. 

Fitting into these aspects aren’t something he had learned willingly; he didn’t really have a choice on the matter, considering his entire existence depends on mortals immature tendencies to get properly shit-faced and make stupid decisions in tightly-packed glorified bars. Harry never understood that— how a fog machine, strobe lights, and an undergrad amateur DJ could ever seem more appealing than the quiet, stable ambiance of a semi-formal bar. How deranged do people have to be to actually enjoy strangers spilling alcohol on them while attempting to shag someone else two feet away on the dance floor? 

Whenever he dwells too much on that thought, he gets a spiking migraine. After this long, Harry’s just come to terms with the fact that humans are regressing as a species. His conclusion is a bit cynical, perhaps, but hardly difficult to accept. One look at a news outlet provides enough proof to launch an Ivy League research project on the matter. 

He really shouldn’t be complaining, however, because the combination of overflowed close quarters and dampened inhibitions makes it the ideal hunting ground. Picking up a living blood bag at a club is basically as easy as walking through a vineyard and plucking grapes right off the stems. It’s practical, it’s fool-proof, and if he plays his cards right, he gets to feed and gets his more intimate needs tailored (a combo that he and his friends refer to as Laid and Drained).  

So regardless of his distaste towards clubs and their eager inhabitants, Harry had learned to mold his persona to fit the bill, making himself as approachable and desirable as possible. His life literally hangs in the balance; he’d put up with throngs of drunk sorority girls and their affinity for shitty perfumed drinks if it means avoiding desiccation. 

It’s not like it’s hard. All Harry has to do is make himself look more appealing than the other hundred men milling around the establishment, which— if he’s being brutally honest— isn’t that challenging. The moral, physical, and ethical standards of men have dropped frighteningly low since his time. Most of the ones that creep around clubs are overconfident, overzealous, boundary-lacking douchebags who think they’re entitled to a woman’s attention, and therefore make complete, utter fools of themselves in the process of trying to court one into their pants. Buying a girl one Sex On The Beach and dry-humping to Daft Punk isn’t the way to convince her to come home with you. 

Harry has developed his own guidelines and tactics for securing a nightly bedroom companion, and his ideas have been working wonders for him for decades now. 

The first and foremost rule is to clean up nicely. Personal appearance is everything. Humans are visual creatures; they build first impressions solely based on outward attraction. That trait is enhanced the higher their blood alcohol content rises. The drunker someone gets, the shallower they become, and it’s Harry’s job to work that to his advantage. And at the risk of sounding shallow himself, he thinks he does pretty alright in that department. 

Especially tonight, present in all the elements of his physique. He’s clad in a pair of high-waisted tan trousers that have been ironed to a crisp, his fitted graphic tee tucked neatly along his waistband beneath his black leather belt. His t-shirt is probably his favorite part of the entire look. It’s a baby blue sturdy cotton number with pastel yellow detailing along the cuffs and collar and a giant cartoon puppy in a striped bowtie taking up its center, smiling cheekily at the onlooker. Arranged around the doodle in faded Times New Roman bubble letters are the words WE’RE IN THE SHIT. 

Harry loves the irony of the article— the innocence of the drawing juxtaposed by the crude message. The piece is a conversation-starter— people almost always comment on it— and that’s exactly what he needs. Something to draw attention to himself and shadow all the other men. Something that shows he has a personality; that he has taste and a good sense of humor and isn’t just another walking genital. Plus, what person doesn’t enjoy a funny little contradiction, especially when it’s this cute?

On top of his graphic top, he’s wearing a tartan cropped blazer (open, of course) with a creme background and royal blue lines. The hem ends at the bottom of his ribs, exactly where his pants begin, and the jacket's hand-sewn buttons and strap detailings show that it's an expensive garment. It shows that he puts money and effort into how he looks, which is something anyone would appreciate when scoping for a possible hookup.

Harry’s shoes are the most casual factor of his fit. They’re a pair of light yellow Vans that match the collar of his tee. They’re plain, but he keeps them clean and they tie the whole look together without a hitch.

Accessories are everything, as well. Aside from the pearls arranged around his prominent collarbones, the gold-dipped cross hanging from a delicate chain around his neck, and the matching dangling cross earring on his right earlobe (again, he adores irony), he’s sporting a plethora of chunky rings on his hands, each unique and effortlessly complimenting his appearance. On his left hand, his index finger dots a ruby jewel embedded into a thick rusted band, another large metal one with dancing bears on his middle, and two clunky golden letters on his last two digits— his initials, HS. On his opposite hand, he has a medium-width plated ring on his middle finger with peace engraved along its rounded edge, an elegant lionhead number with an amethyst stone snug in its mouth, and along his pinky is a decently-sized opal set into a delicate polished frame. 

His two last rings are the most important of all. The lionhead is his daylight ring, which he hasn’t taken off since he transitioned. It keeps him from bursting into flames everytime the sun hits his skin. The opal was his mother’s, and it was her favorite. 

Harry’s attire is something he’s immensely proud of, even though a good amount of people deem him eccentric in the eyes of modern masculinity. He couldn’t give less of a shit. With his lightly tanned skin, alluring cologne and lacquered nails, his shirt stretching across the defined muscles of his chest and stomach, his broad shoulders and tapering waist, his thick thighs, sharp jaw, jade eyes, loosely tousled chestnut curls, and the vast array of dark ink littering his arms...

He looks good and he knows it. And all the people whose gazes glue to him as he passes by know it, too. Especially a random group of young women in line, who ogle at him shamelessly as he casually strolls past. He treats them to a sly wink, an irresistible dimpled smile, and a soft, cheeky greeting of, “Ladies.”

He gets off on the way they swoon at his refined English accent, giggling and waving. 

The only other component Harry has for succeeding in the club environment is simple, but it’s important: Don’t seduce, romanticize. 

Anyone— even inebriated idiots— can try and seduce a woman. And if she’s had enough tequila shots to cloud her thoughts, they just might succeed. But only a real man can romanticize a girl, and it yields way better results. 

Females are an emotional sect (Harry says that with zero misogyny; it’s just a scientific fact and he actually praises it), which means that if you entertain their interests and fluff their egos, they are bound to fall right into the palm of your hand. It changes the game completely because then they don’t feel that they have to pleasure you, they want to. They pursue the guy who flirts without being too vulgar, who appreciates and acknowledges their efforts, and who can go head-to-head with their wit by carrying unforced banter. They chase after him because he’s showing genuine kindness rather than just sexual interests and if he’s that attentive on the getting-to-know-you front, one can only imagine how skilled he could be in other bases. Chatting up a girl the right way, with patience and courtesy, builds credibility and prowess. And as a thank you, they’re usually more than willing to pay special attention to your needs, as well. 

Thus, romanticizing is always the expert move. So, yes, Harry detests clubs and the disaster that is adult recreation. But he’s fucking amazing at playing it to his favor. He’s great at calculating everything down to the smallest detail and he’s going to piggy-back on those skills for the rest of eternity. He’s so good at what he hates that his closest friends have anointed him the title of Walking Paradox. He’s more than happy to keep it. 

All of these thoughts are circulating around his skull, hyping him up for the game ahead as Harry and his friend group walk up to the bouncer at the entrance of the club they had chosen for the night, faint stars twinkling in the dark sky as the sounds and lights of the city fall away into background static. 

They cruise by the long line of people, hearing sounds of disagreement and grumbling coming from the other patrons waiting to get in. Harry casually tucks his large hands into the pockets of his light brown slacks as he pulls up in front of the burly bald man, who is wearing a black shirt with the club’s name printed in neon letters. The security guard is at least five inches taller than him, overswollen biceps and pectoral muscles rippling under the flimsy material of his work outfit as he crosses his arms over his barreled chest, cocking a single thick eyebrow at the seemingly young vampire. 

Harry delivers a good-natured smile up at the employee, despite the man’s obvious begrudging disbelief at what he is about to try and do. His friends chat quietly behind him, uninterested in what is happening; after years of being acquainted, they know that Harry is going to get exactly what he wants. He always does. 

He’s the best of them, that much is obvious. Not only when it comes to his experience with persuading sexual partners and getting himself a decent dinner, but he’s the best at convincing just about anyone to do anything, neutral of gender. He’s the second oldest of the crew, yet he seems to have the most knowledge and practice under his belt; his easygoing charisma, undeniable good looks, and dazzling smile could sway even the most stubborn of souls. Frankly, he’s so successful in getting his way that no one cares to try and argue for the leader position. Not when they can just sit back and let Harry do all the work. 

“Good evening.” Harry’s deep voice chimes giddily in the direction of the bouncer, his accent particularly heavy for no real reason. “How you doing tonight, mate?”

The guard— whose name tag reads Brock and Harry has to actively stop himself from snorting at how fitting the name is for such a brick of a human— looks down at him with a stony expression, voice flat. “I’m good.”

“Well, that’s great to hear!” The curly-haired boy’s simper widens, dimples popping into place as he skates into his next question with dramatic friendliness. “Haven’t had anyone cause you any trouble tonight, have you?”

Brock blinks once, attitude remaining coldly indifferent even in the face of Harry’s cheeriness. His words, however, are snipped and pointed. “Not yet.”

“I’m guessing you’d like to keep it that way.” The young man comments sympathetically, nodding his head along with the worker. “Totally understandable.” 

“Good.” The employee remarks in the same detached tone, shifting on his feet, obviously growing uncomfortable and irritated with the conversation. “So I’m guessing that means you know you have to get in line.” 

Harry glances over his shoulder at the lengthy expanse of people gathered along the side of the building, a light wind filtering through his freshly-shampooed ringlets as he studies the way the bright sign on top of the club casts alternating rainbow colors across the crowd. 

He makes a disapproving sound by sucking at his teeth, lulling his sight back onto the guard. “I don’t know, man. At this rate, I feel like by the time we get to the front of the line, it’ll be last call.”

“Maybe.” Brock shrugs offhandedly. “It is what it is, right? Fair’s fair.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” Harry returns his gesture, but his posture shows no intention of moving, the corners of his rose lip set in a knowing smirk. “But since you’ve been having a good night, do you think you could find it in yourself to just let us through? We’d greatly appreciate it.” 

The bouncer’s face hardens, any shred of professional amiability washing out of his defined features. “I don’t think so.” 

The vampire’s shoulders sag in exaggerated disappointment. “Are you sure? It’s just five of us. Don’t think we’ll do much damage. Right, guys?”

Harry glimpses over his back to his friends, who let their conversation falter for a moment to throw out a chorus of half-assed agreements, trying to keep themselves from snickering. 

“We promise we won’t cause any problems.” Xander speaks up, jutting his chin encouragingly at the man as his lips twitch slyly. He lifts one of his hands, the smallest finger sticking out stiffly and wiggling around. “Pinky swear.” 

The rest of the group bursts into a round of light laughter, causing Harry to release a few airy giggles of his own.  

Xander looks over at Niall, raising his eyebrows and quipping in an innocent manner. “Right, Ni? No funny business tonight. That means no climbing onto the bar again and stripping down to your socks.” 

“That happened one time!” Niall exclaims incredulously, socking the taller boy in the shoulder as the others laugh harder than before, his blue eyes narrowed and face pinched. “Once! And it was only ‘cause Harry challenged me to a tequila shot contest.”

The Irish vampire’s accented voice drops darkly as he reminisces. “Fuckin’ hate tequila. Makes me act like a moron.” 

“As if you’re not one already.” Mitch pipes up in his usual soft dialect, chuckling as he ducks away from Niall’s vengeful fist. 

Harry cranes back to face Brock, thumb playing with his daylight ring as his hands stay relaxed inside his trousers. He shrugs one shoulder easily for emphasis. “See? You can let us through. We pinky swore.” 

The entire charade seems to have only infuriated the security guard more than before, his brows now fully furrowed and a deep, unamused frown etched across his previously pursed lips. His voice is on edge with barely controlled anger. “I’m not putting up with any shit. If you want in, go to the back of the line. If not, leave.”

Harry sighs grandly in defeat, head shaking slightly. “Guess I’ll just have to go the other route, then.”

The creature takes a step forward towards the employee, close enough that their chests almost press together. The bulky man stands his ground, though there’s a flicker of surprise in his eyes at seeing the smaller boy make such a bold move. 

“What the f—?”

Harry locks gazes with Brock, pupils dilating to twice their size, the usual emerald shade of his irises flickering a haunting red and looking sinister in the buttery light of the street lamps. Horror breaks across the worker’s face, the ability to form coherent sentences disappearing from his demeanor. Harry’s heightened senses can hear the way his heartbeat spikes, blood instinctively rushing into his chest as a response to the adrenaline materializing in his veins. The activation of human’s fight-or-flight modes is always so oddly pleasurable. Just feeling how they react so drastically makes Harry’s fangs tingle with longing. Fear is a good condiment, he’s learned; it gives blood’s usual metallic flavor a certain twang.

But at the moment, a beverage from this specific tap isn’t the one Harry has in mind. He has his interests set on something much tangier and full-bodied; maybe Casamigos golden tequila, or Don Julio's Blanco. Preferably mixed with a young office secretary or a Bath and Body Works employee instead of lemon and salt. 

All in all, Brock is just collateral for a much bigger prize, which lies behind the roped off area he holds dominion over. It’s Harry’s job to break that dam. 

Before the large man can fully react, the vampire begins working his compulsion strategy, tone coming out level and soothing, thick with persuasion and teetering along a sleepy undercurrent. “You’re going to let us through, and you’re going to forget we ever met.”

The guard’s pupils enlarge to match Harry’s, the look of utter terror on his face melting right off. His features go slack as the monster’s magical influence works its way through his brain, coating every neuron and bending him to the deliverer’s will. The man reaches over and removes the velvet rope blocking the group’s path, stepping off to the side obediently with an empty expression present across his appearance. 

The leader of the group smiles just as brightly as he had the second he’d walked up to the door. He passes by the worker, giving him a hard pat on the shoulder and feeling the muscular man strain under his supernatural strength. “Thank you very much. You have a nice night, Brock.” 

Harry’s friends follow behind him, echoing his parting message and sharing a collective chortle.  

The second the group dives past the frame of the club entrance, the whole ambiance of the atmosphere changes. Harry walks across the top ledge of the establishment, coming to a halt at the railing that overlooks the main level of the club, his inhumanly sharp eyes bouncing around all the corners of the building to construct some type of familiar layout in his head. Amidst the blinking lights, thick artificial smoke, and swaying bodies, his keen instincts sketch a mental image for tonight’s hunting ground. 

The bar is at the far left corner of the club, squared off and taking up a large chunk of the colorful tiled dance floor. The music station extends across the entire wall at the opposite end of the tavern, stocked with massive speakers and a professional turntable. Harry’s brows jump in mild surprise— it’s not every day that a club puts so much effort into their mixer. 

The animated dancing area is packed with people, the crowd all jumping and grinding to the beat of the bass, moving as one large mass while the rotating strobe lights hang from the cavernous ceiling, bathing their moving silhouettes in neon reds, drunken blues, groggy purples, and electric yellows. The dim surroundings and heavy fog make all the hues more intense, giving the endless party that timeless quality which people tend to enjoy about nightlife. It’s the night to remember effect that movies and shows always hyperbolize; he thinks this way because he’s well aware that not even a third of these people are sober enough to know what the fuck they’re doing, let alone recall it the following day. It’s comically ironic, really. 

But Harry profits off that liquor amnesia, so he brushes away his sardonic skepticism for the time being, settling his lean forearms onto the metal railing that lines the second story of the venue, which is meant to keep shit-faced customers from creating a messy lawsuit. He carefully absorbs the grandeur of it all, leaning his weight forward with a detached sigh, already flickering through the mental menu of his favorite drinks that he has expertly memorized. 

He’s in the process of choosing between a Manhattan— it isn’t a very complicated drink, which is exactly what he’s looking for; something simple and strong— or just straight tequila in a glass when he suddenly feels a familiar presence arrange itself beside him, bumping his shoulder playfully with their own.

Harry snaps out of his recipe retrieval, eyes casting to the side to land on his best friend of almost a century. He cocks an eyebrow expectantly, waiting for the thin, bearded man to make the first move towards conversation.

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?” 

The green-eyed vampire sputters into spontaneous laughter, the edges of his eyes crinkling as the small pits in his cheeks jolt awake. His tone is humorous and full of fake insult for the hell of the joke. “Wow, alright. So I get us into the club that you chose and that makes me a prick? Good to know. You can handle the muscle next time, then, if you’re gonna talk shit.”

Mitch cracks a gentle jesting grin, which is very on brand for him. He doesn’t seem like much, with his skinny, lanky frame, delicate features, shoulder-length hair, and somewhat scraggly stubble. He’s quiet, reserved, and hardly engages with anyone outside of their immediate group. He’s always been that way for as long as Harry could remember. 

When they had met back in 1924 at a speakeasy in New York, Mitch had given off a mysterious vibe that Harry had found amusing and intriguing. His slightly sickly appearance and distant persona made the younger vampire want to get to know him better; it was just so peculiar that this seemingly impassive man was working at an illegal bar as a live musician. One would think that a performer would have to display an engaging character to keep a loyal audience, but Mitch had been all the talk of the underground despite his unemotional coolness. It was startlingly unorthodox and Harry just had to know more. 

Therefore, with a bit of help from his convincing supernatural abilities, he’d secured a spot as the black market club’s leading vocalist. He wasn’t anything worth a Grammy, but he could keep his singing in tune and follow Mitch’s guitar rhythms easily enough, all thanks to his limited experience with piano. He fit right in. 

From the first show they had put on together, it was like they had known one another in a different lifetime. They clicked so flawlessly it was almost fictional. 

Harry was lively and charming on stage, working the crowd to his favor as easily as he could knock back a shot, wrapping every single patron around his jeweled pinky without breaking a sweat. His witty temperament countered Mitch’s timid disposition perfectly and that uncommon dynamic had been the foundation to their friendship. Their humorous shenanigans on stage (which included Harry pinching at Mitch’s ass and making vague vulgar motions at each other while harmonizing) was a hit within the drunken community, and it bled into their personal lives. They went from only interacting on stage to sharing drinks together afterwards, to hanging out outside of work, to deep late night conversations about the world and their experiences.

Soon enough, they were closer than either had expected to become. And once they found out each other’s true identities (Mitch had transitioned during the American Revolution, when a vampire in his battalion had given him blood to heal from a wound, unaware that the next day, Mitch would suffer a fatal gunshot to the stomach that would trigger his transformation) they grew inseparable. They had remained that way ever since. 

Despite his friend’s withdrawn tendencies, the older vampire never hesitates to make his opinions heard, obvious in how he’d just full-bodied Harry with that snarky comment. Even when it’s at his expense, Harry appreciates and respects the rawness of it. He loves the way Mitch is honest and straight-forward with everything that crosses his path— it’s one of his favorite traits about him and definitely one of the characteristics that had led Harry to deem him his best friend. He’s probably the most fulfilling person Harry has ever met and their friendship brings him a type of comfort that he doesn’t receive from anyone else.

Vampires can be so detached and cold not only towards humans, but towards one another, and it gets old at times. It’s unsettling not having someone to truly confide in, and Harry is grateful that Mitch had been so willing to fill that position.   

Due to this, Harry rarely takes genuine offense in Mitch’s digs. They’re normally expressed as a joke and they’ve both been alive for so long that thick skin is a default.

“How was I dick?” Harry inquires, slinking his head to the side with entertained curiosity. “If anything, he was the one being an asshole. I asked him to let us in nicely and he practically spit in my face!”

Mitch snorts in amusement, shaking his head lightly as his eyes streak across the humongous room in the same cunning manner Harry’s had. “You and Xander didn’t have to mock him that way.” 

That’s another thing that makes Mitch the better half of their power duo— he still has a decent shred of humanity in his unbeating heart. Pessimistic conclusions aside, Harry does have a bit, as well...but his is more like a paper-thin pencil shaving than a shred. Barely there, but there, at least. 

The young man returns his companion’s snort, rolling his eyes up to the hanging lights over their heads. “Was just some harmless teasing. Nothing bad came of it.”

Mitch scowls scoldingly. “It was unnecessary and mean.”

Harry mimics his expression with his nose scrunched sarcastically. “We were just taking the piss, and it’s not like he’s gonna remember it anyways. Stop being such a kill-joy.” 

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” 

“Or what?” Harry tilts his chin up challengingly, the amber specks around his pupils glinting tauntingly, faint black veins momentarily webbing across the whites of his eyes. He sweetens his voice into a honeyed drawl. “Are you gonna spank me, daddy? Have I been a bad boy?” 

Mitch belts out a feathery chuckle, shoving his friend with enough strength to send a regular human flying across the deck. But since the taller vampire matches his force, he hardly moves an inch. “Fuck off.” 

“I’m being serious!” Harry cackles, turning his hips and sticking out his ass towards his visibly disgusted acquaintance. “Go fucking in, if you want.”

He lowers his voice into a sultry hum, wagging his backside jestingly. “I like it rough, baby. Why don’t you bend me over this railing and show me who’s boss?”

It’s Mitch’s turn to roll his eyes to the ceiling, voice deadpan. “I think I’ll pass.” 

Harry juts his lower lip into a theatrical pout, sniffling faux tears. “You’re rejecting me that quick? Who’s the asshole now, huh?”

His best friend doesn’t even blink. “Still you.”

“I can live with that. And it’s probably a good call on your end to give up all this,” he signals vaguely up and down his tight torso with a ringed hand, grinning as he watches the veteran vampire pretend to gag, “because I don’t think Sarah wouldn’t be too happy about it.” 

Mitch’s humorous face immediately drops, eyes narrowing at the change in topic. “Very funny.” 

“I know, right? I’m a proper comedian.” Harry quips proudly, batting his lashes mockingly. “Where is Sarah, anyways? Have you heard from her lately?” 

Sarah and Mitch...They’re a complex couple, if they can even be called a couple. The two are more like occasional friends with benefits, “occasional” meaning “once every couple of months, if Sarah happens to be passing by.” 

Their relationship is open and very loose, mostly due to the fact that Sarah is fairly new to the world of blood-driven immortality and has decided to take full advantage of it. She’s been using compulsion to travel the world for the last three years since she changed, which had been the result of an unfortunate car accident. 

Mitch had been seeing her casually beforehand, keeping her around for the purpose of having a conventional feeding arrangement. Every time vampires feed, they heal the wounds they inflict with a bit of their blood, proceeding to then wipe the person’s memory with compulsion in order to eradicate any chances of getting caught. The caveat is that if a human dies with vampire blood in their system, they become one. 

Sarah’s death happened the day after she’d spent a night with Mitch, and one can imagine how distressed she had been when she'd awoken atop a metal table in a morgue within the basement of a hospital. Mitch had been there from the very first second she’d opened her eyes to her new life. Or rather, her dead life. He had helped her get accustomed to the next stage (meaning having to cut family ties in order to avoid a catastrophe— the less people that know the truth about the supernatural, the better) coaxing her through transition and teaching her the way to go about the rest of eternity without putting herself and others in danger. 

Vampires rarely have any compassion for life (usually out of spite, which stems from how their own lives were taken from them), so it’s not uncommon that bodies are found drained of blood in back alleys, abandoned warehouses, and washed up on banks of oceans and rivers. It could be either of two reasons, or even both: the monster doesn’t care about the consequences of their actions, or they never learned to control their urges. 

Harry’s crew isn't that careless. Through Mitch, they had learned restraint, taking up his practice of feeding enough to satisfy themselves without killing the host, healing them, and then erasing the occurrence from their memories. Mitch had come up with the tactic to cling to his humanity— to be as kind and nondestructive as possible— but if Harry’s being honest, most of their friends only play along because it’s convenient. No bodies means no police involvement, and no police involvement means being able to settle down in one place for an extended period, not having to stress about the annoying process of bouncing around the world for the rest of their lives to avoid detection. 

Keeping low was for the best, and when things get rough— whether it be a mistake on their part or a disastrous bender caused by another vampire passing through— they resort to drinking from blood bags until things tide over. Mitch has a contact at the nearest hospital, which is how he gets access to the stock, as well as how he managed to clean up Sarah’s passing so quickly. 

All in all, Harry had only mentioned Sarah to tease his friend, knowing the slight sensitivity that comes with the subject. Vampires rarely form emotional bonds, typically because it can get really messy, really fast, whether that connection be to a mortal or to another creature of their species. All of them have baggage of some sort— you can’t die, resurrect, be forced to abandon your family, and be a slave to drinking blood for the rest of eternity and just...be normal. That type of extreme emotional turmoil is corrosive towards love. It’s always better to just avoid it all together. 

That’s why this is so habitual to joke about; it’s a way to deflect. 

Mitch sighs grandly, Harry’s question echoing in his skull. “I don’t know where she is, to be honest. Last we talked was, like, four weeks ago, I think. She was in Japan, said she was drumming for a new upcoming band. Haven’t heard from her since.”

Harry nods his head once in understanding, itching to steer the theme of their conversation elsewhere now that he knows the topic is in a more sensitive state than he’d imagined. He doesn’t want to push Mitch into a depressive episode when they’re supposed to be having a good time. Spending the night consoling his sulky friend in the bathroom of a club is the last thing he wants right now. 

“I guess that makes Sarah the asshole, then.” He pokes jokingly, bumping the older vampire’s hip with his own. “She’s ghosting you. Get it? It’s funny ‘cause she’s actually dead.” 

Mitch’s sad expression shatters like glass, replaced by one of unamused secondhand embarrassment at the shitty pun. “I fucking hate you.”

“All the people who were ahead of their time were hated.” Harry sing-songs, turning up his nose haughtily. “Copernicus, Socrates, Einstein— all of them were hated for being geniuses. I’m willing to carry that same burden.” 

Mitch blinks at him three times. “No one hated Einstein.”

The curly-haired boy’s lips twitch darkly. “I’m pretty sure Japan did.” 

“You’re going to hell.” 

“I’m already there, mate.” 

Mitch shakes his head, but even through the black lights, Harry can see him trying to ward off a laugh. After a moment’s pause, he speaks up again softly. “It’s not that hard to refrain from humiliating innocent people who are just doing their job, H.” 

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, you’re still on that?” The broad monster groans in exasperation, palms slapping down on the metal rungs below him. “We were just having some fun! But fine. If it helps you fake sleep at night, I’ll try and keep my condescending flare to a minimum.”

“That’s all I’m asking.” Mitch responds peacefully, tapping his nimble fingers casually along the railing, his action much less violent than his companion’s. “S’not too difficult.” 

“Whatever.” Harry scoffs, returning his intent gaze to the dance floor, scoping out the scene once again in hopes of finding a proper meal for the night. 

He zones in on a group of young women gathered along one side of the bar, their messy giggling and lack of balance giving away that they’re obviously sloshed off their faces. Seems promising enough. 

When he talks once more, his tone holds an attitude that plays on a grumble, but it’s somewhat distracted. “The least you could do is let me have some fun, considering I didn’t even want to come.” 

Mitch huffs, making an entertained noise in the back of his throat. “You say that every single time we go out, and yet you always end up taking someone home. Don’t know why you’re complaining.” 

Harry side-eyes him from his peripheral vision, the corners of his pretty cherry mouth dipping down grudgingly, mood defensive. “You drag me to these things so I’m not going to apologize for making the best of it. I put a lot of effort into my pick-ups! I deserve to get my dick wet.” 

“God, please don’t say that again.” His best mate physically makes a vomiting sound. “You’re acting like a spoiled fraternity douche.” 

Harry’s gaze ignites into flames, his back straightening out as he fully turns to face the shorter man. He’s never been insulted so low before. “Take that back!” 

“Take that back!” Mitch mocks in an exaggerated, high-pitched British accent, attempting to stifle giggles. 

“Take it back! You know how much I hate Gen Z.”

“Okay, boomer.” 

“You’re older than I am!” 

“I know. Your lack of maturity is a constant reminder.”

Harry opens his mouth, prepared to make a sharp comeback about how Mitch should have left the shaggy-haired stoner aesthetic back in the eighties, but then a heavy Irish accent interrupts his rebuttal. 

“What’s all this about getting your dick wet?” 

Both of the vampires turn towards Niall, finding Xander and Adam accompanying him in a loose semi-circle. 

Xander isn’t paying any attention, too busy tapping away at the screen of his smartphone, apparently engaged in a very riveting conversation with whoever is on the other side. Adam has his hands tucked into the pockets of his plum purple wind-breaker, looking over Harry’s shoulder, seeming to be adamantly searching for someone in particular amidst the mob on the level beneath them. Niall is the only one interested in their dying conversation, probably only because he heard something crude being mentioned. 

“It’s nothing.” Harry dismisses, but he can’t help but stick Mitch with a glare. “What’s the plan for tonight, then?”

Adam speaks up for the first time. “Charlotte and Ny texted saying they got here about ten minutes ago. Mentioned they were dancing near the DJ station, so I think I’ll go find them.”

“Sounds good.” Harry bobs his head in accordance. “We’ll see you out there, yeah?” 

Adam returns his action, turning on his heel and heading for the stairs that lead to the bottom floor. The leader of the group watches him trot onto the large spiral staircase, disappearing into the thick throng of people scattered across its wide steps. 

Harry shifts his attention to Xander, snapping his fingers a few times in his direction and giving a two-toned whistle. “What about you? What’s got your head?”

“Not what, who.” Niall teases, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively and making kissy faces at their friend. 

Xander ignores him, glancing up at the green-eyed brunette to let him know he’ll be with him in a second, returning his focus back to his iPhone. After a few more elongated moments of typing, the older man finally locks his device. 

“I have a date.” He throws out casually, almost as if it should be obvious. 

“A date?” Harry reiterates slowly, not quite buying it. Xander doesn’t date. He couch-surfs just as much as Harry does. 

“Mmhm.” Xander glimpses behind his fellow vampire, eyes carrying intention. “It’s just a random dude from Tinder. I thought it’d be easier to set something up beforehand, just so I don’t have to spend the whole night trying to figure out if a guy is making eyes at me or trying to keep his whiskey down.” 

“Smart.” Harry shrugs his sculpted brows, impressed. A cocky grin toys with the corners of his mouth. “But we both know no one will ever compare to me.” 

“Right.” Xander scoffs in a deadpan manner, gifting him a tight, aggravated smile. “If only you weren’t such an emotionally unavailable prick.” 

“Oh, like you’re mentally stable enough for a relationship?” Harry bites back, but it holds no true malice, just some petty rivalry. “Piss off.”

“Happily!” The other vampire exclaims, clasping his hands together for dramatics. “Have fun finding someone out there. I’m just gonna grab a to-go box for my already prepped meal.” 

Harry doesn’t bother watching him leave. Instead, he turns to Niall, pointing at him to symbolize it's his turn to share his plans for the night. “What have you got, Lucky Charms?” 

His friend breaks into a jolly cackle at the nickname, arms falling crossed over his chest, hands absentmindedly squeezing his elbows in thought. “Well, I dunno, Tea and Crumpets. What’s your game plan?” 

Before Harry can answer, Mitch butts in, feeling left out of the banter and somewhat hurt that no one had assigned him an alter ego. “What’s my country-derived nickname?” 

Niall gives the American a slow once-over, shifting in his dark brown Clarks boots, fitted navy slack riding up his thighs and allowing his rainbow polka-dot socks to peek out. He hums lowly in the back of his throat, a grin spreading across his rosy cheeks. “Biscuits and Gravy.” 

Harry chimes in, his own arms casually folding over his strong chest, index finger tapping on his bottom lip as if mulling something over. “I quite like We The People, actually.”

The Irish lad snaps his fingers as if having a sudden epiphany. “Uncle Sam!”

Harry’s emerald eyes twinkle with glee at seeing the way Mitch’s go half-lidded, no longer entertained. “Four Score And Seven Years Ago.” 

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

Niall wags a finger at Harry, lifting one shoulder in question, seeking approval on his next idea. “Star Spangled Banner?”

Harry copies the boy’s motion from before, snapping his fingers and making jazz hands. “I Pledge Allegiance.”  

“Ok, I get it!” Mitch whines with annoyed finality, pushing off the metal railing with a curt grimace on his scraggly face. 

“You asked!” Niall rationalizes between hiccups of evilly delighted joy, cupping his stomach as if to keep it from splitting open. 

“Won’t make that mistake again.” The older creature grumbles, leaning his back against the rungs and looking off towards the distance, communicating that he’s done being a part of the conversation. 

Once Harry manages to reign in his giggles, he rubs at his nose with the side of his finger, releasing a wistful sigh. He refers to the question Niall had stated before their little bullying fest. “I think I’m just gonna do what I always do— sway a nice, pretty girl into doing some not-so-nice but very pretty things.” 

“Solid.” The Irish bloke remarks, toying with the plastic buttons on his silk beige top. “Not much to do other than that, to be fair. Adam’s usually my wingman, but I guess he abandoned me for a girl’s night.” 

“Mitch is mine, and he knows better than to dip on me.” Harry roughly nudges his best friend with his elbow, dodging to the side when Mitch tries to hit him in return. 

Niall hums softly in amusement. “Maybe I should make Adam sign whatever contract you drafted for that poor bugger.” 

The curly brunette snorts. “Good luck. Adam’s as stubborn as they come. But, hey, if you can’t find anyone, just come to me.” Harry’s irises flit crimson for a millisecond, an ominous smirk buckling his features. “You know I’m always happy to share.” 

“Thanks,” his friend exhales flatly. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“If you’re taking tips,” Mitch pipes up, vaguely signaling at Niall’s shirt with his chin, “maybe don’t wear that stupid shirt next time. The elephant doodles look ridiculous.”

“It’s a good thing I’m not taking fashion tips from anyone who actually enjoyed living in Ohio, then.” Niall snaps in an exaggerated American accent, middle finger jutting towards the other man. “The only thing you know how to dress is a cornfield scarecrow. Must be why you look like one.” 

Harry forces down more laughter, clearing his throat softly. “You’ll be fine. Just don’t get hammered— girls hate that.” 

“Note taken.” The pale boy runs his fingers through his hair, fixing it up and adding texture to appear more laid-back and rugged. “I’ll see you later, then.”

“Later.” The younger vampire recites, giving a big thumbs-up. 

“Good luck out there. You, too, Boston Tea Party.” 

With that, Niall saunters away, leaving a fully laughing Harry and a grouchy Mitch in his wake. 

The two acquaintances decide to follow in everyone else’s example, descending down the looped staircase and chatting about Mitch’s latest gig at a new bar downtown. 

Harry praises Mitch's talent with his guitar, specifically the fact that he found a hobby which he enjoys so much that he’s willing to keep it as a permanent part of his life. It’s easy to get bored of things when you have hundreds of years ahead of you; everything can seem pointless, in the end. But Harry doesn’t think Mitch has ever let himself fall into those types of dark headspaces and he finds that extremely admirable. 

Harry wishes he could say the same. He’s no musical prodigy, that much is obvious, but he is an expert at playing a few specific French songs on the piano by memory. He rarely does it, though; only when he’s in a low state of mind, which— given the origin of how he learned said classical pieces— isn’t something he’s proud of. They’re tied to a very gruesome part of his past that he’d rather bury deep inside, but he can only push back his troubles for so long before they begin to leak out, staining the clean sheet of recovery he had sewn into place. Those arrangements just bring him a warped sense of comfort he can’t explain.

Even though he’s aware of the destructive aspects of the songs, he finds himself humming one now out of instinct as he elbows through squished bodies and flailing limbs. The second he notices he’s doing it, he cuts it off, focusing all his intention on making it to the other side of the room to the bar. It’s a hard trip when it feels like the walls of the building are closing in on him. 

When Harry finally breaks free from the Human Centipede re-enactment that is the club dance floor, he practically collapses onto the sleek glass counter. Death was less painful than that walk. 

He cranes his neck to the side wildly, suddenly remembering that his much smaller, much skinnier, much more crushable friend had been in tow behind him. To his utter shock, he watches as Mitch calmly weeds around grinding drunk couples with the poise and grace of a swan, filling the empty spot besides him without a single ailment in the world. 

Harry blinks at him blankly in silence, almost as if he’d grown an extra set of fangs. 

Mitch flags the bartender from all the way down the counter, not bothering to meet the green eyes peering at him in disbelief. “You’re so fucking dramatic, H.”

“How did you not die? Again?” Harry sputters, sight jutting all around the older vampire’s body, looking for any battle wounds or missing appendages. “I almost lost an arm in there!”

“It’s a good thing it wasn’t your favorite one, right?” Mitch smirks at his own lewd joke, the simper molding into one of genuine kindness when the mixologist slides up in front of them. “Hi, how are you? I’m good, as well, thank you for asking! Yeah, I’ve got something in mind. Don’t worry, I’m not one of the ‘just make me something sweet’ type of assholes.”

Harry zones out the rest of the friendly chat Mitch entertains with the employee, letting his gaze wander around the large auditorium-like room. He dances his vision over the DJ remixing music on top of the stage, head beginning to bop along to the beat that is currently shaking the seven foot tall speakers. He’s pleasantly surprised at how good this specific producer is. 

He continues scoping out the rest of the venue, taking notes of the different clusters of people that seem to hold promise for the plans he has in store later tonight. A small group of hippie friends here, a two-party duo of tipsy stoners there, and a clump of college students at the edge of the ruckus, stumbling around loudly. Things are looking somewhat decent, in his opinion. The hippies seem to be catching his attention more than the others— specifically, the one that looks similar to Stevie Nicks. That’s a fantasy that’s been waiting to be fulfill for decades now. 

Harry lulls his head forward again when he feels Mitch give a squeeze at his elbow, telling him that the bartender is waiting to take his order. He decides to go for the gold tequila, asking for it straight in a highball glass without any garnishes. The worker’s eyebrows jump up slightly at the unorthodox request, but he drops a polite, “Coming right up.” either way.

“You truly have no flavor.” Mitch tuts once their waiter has stepped away to prepare their drinks. “No taste buds whatsoever.” 

“Yeah? Well, you can suck my flavorless dick.” Harry chimes brightly, eyes crinkling shut as a result of a theatrical smile. 

The younger vampire goes to turn back around, legitimately interested in the girl he’d seen that looked like one of his seventies celebrity crushes, already running through scenarios in his head on how he’d get her into his bed for tonight. Weed and ABBA are probably good conversation starters for that, if Harry’s undisputed people skills have anything to say about it. 

As he’s rotating his torso, a blurred image catches his eyes. He does a double-take, honing in on a group of girls that look faintly familiar. He scans them carefully as they huddle around the corner of the bar area, laughing and toasting along to the multiple conversations they all have going at once. They look like the typical posse that would be a backdrop clique in a mainstream movie. 

He knows where he recognizes them from— it had been the same girls he’d spotted earlier up on the second deck.

Harry expertly surveillances each woman, picking out potential candidates as easily as he’d pinch petals off a flower. The one in the center of the group is obviously the leader, present in how she’s the prettiest and is somehow managing to juggle all of these interactions at once. It means she’s used to being the center of attention— probably strives under it. He throws her out as a potential; the last thing he needs is someone who everyone knows and seeks out. He wouldn’t be able to sneak away with her quietly. 

The rest of the girl crew all seem to be the same status-wise, appearing as supporting characters to the main one in the middle. He could choose any one of them blindly and it wouldn’t make a difference. They all seem so tight-knit, they probably share personalities, at this point. It’s like dipping his hand into a jar of jelly beans and they’re all the same flavor. That notion makes him laugh to himself a bit; maybe Mitch was right about his lack of taste. 

Then, Harry spots her, and all the other women immediately go up in smoke. 

It’s hard not to spot her. She sticks out like a sore thumb, but not in a good way. 

The prospective contender is off to the side, sitting atop a barstool with her feet tucked along the footrest, tapping them against the metal rung awkwardly. She’s talking to one of the other people in the group, but the interaction seems forced and not very satisfying, obvious in both of their faces. She’s tracing her middle finger around the edge of her glass cup distractedly, the contents inside barely touched, the ice in her drink long-melted. She seems disinterested in the chaos her friends are causing, her expression bored and borderline regretful, as if she doesn’t want to be here. 

The further he sizes the girl up, the more appropriate she looks for the role he needs filled. Since barely anyone is paying attention to her, that means he can lead her astray without too much resistance from her acquaintances, if any at all. She appears somewhat unimportant to the narrative— merely a background extra— and it makes him wonder what she’s doing with this clique of women that can’t seem to be bothered by her presence. It’s sad, really. Sad, but beneficial, because that means he can succeed in making her the supporting protagonist of his narrative, at least for tonight. 

The girl is attractive, but not anything astronomical. She’s unconventionally pretty in a way that makes her relevant, but not particularly distinct in the eyes of regular men with presumptuous standards. She’s easy to pass up, and if Harry hadn’t been actively pursuing someone of her bashful persona to card into his plans, he wouldn’t have noticed her. At the risk of once again sounding shallow, Harry’s aware that— physically speaking— he’s very much out of her league. His above-average appearance gives off the vibe that he’d fit better with the leader of the group instead of with her, but he doesn’t want someone that would raise suspicions as a result of their absence. This girl, sitting along the edge of the party with barely any purpose and no one to really question her whereabouts, is exactly what he’s looking for. She’s perfectly imperfect for the cause. 

Harry continues to examine her meticulously, analyzing other traits that can give him a better feel for her character. She’s clad in a pair of high-waisted pastel pink silk pants that stop right at her ankles, accompanied by a flouncy creme lace blouse tucked into her waist. Tan wedges, no accessories, delicate rosey nail polish, and minimalist makeup. The boldest thing about her is the brick red shade of her lipstick, which is easily shadowed by the sparkly sequin dresses, five inch heels, and layered tops her friends are wearing. 

Harry likes her outfit, though. It’s concise and safe, which he can appreciate. Yes, perhaps she looks like she belongs in a dentist’s office rather than a Los Angeles nightclub, but he thinks there’s beauty in simplicity. She looks cute, and that’s good enough for him. 

“She seems interesting.” Mitch’s soft voice snaps him out of his detail-hungry haze, drawing him back into the reality that is the black lighting of the club and the deep booming of the music’s bass. 

His friend slides his tall drink across the glass counter, the amber liquid inside warping his reflection. 

“I suppose so.” Harry answers passively, shrugging one shoulder in indifference while accepting the cup, ringed fingers clinking against the crystalline surface. 

He takes a leisurely sip from the straight tequila, its tangy kick sending a warm surge up through his ears and down his throat, spreading into his chest and along the trench of his tummy. Alcohol really is the cure to everything. 

Mitch gives him a deadpan look, the strobe lights alternating across the glossy surface of his hazel irises, highlighting smugness. “You’ve been gawking for five minutes. Put your pride back in your pants and go talk to her.” 

The curly-haired vampire flashes him a light smirk over the rim of his drink, absentmindedly tapping his two initial rings along the bottom of the highball cup. “Ever so blunt, aren’t you?”

Mitch scuffs, taking a swig from his trusty beer bottle. Out of everything, that’s the one aspect Harry despises about his best mate— that he goes to a club and orders the same drink every time. Where was the fun in that? Where was the excitement of trying something new? When you have an eternity, the least you could do is utilize it to your advantage. Cycling through every cocktail in human history is a prime example of making the best out of immortality.  

But Mitch is a creature of habit— as are most of their kind— and Harry knows he won’t shake easily. Not when it comes to surrendering his preferred beverage, and definitely not when it comes to sticking his nose in Harry’s intimate business. Meddling and being irritating are what best friends are for. 

“What can I say? Pep talks are my forte.” The older monster remarks sarcastically, bumping his bottle against Harry’s glass in encouragement, using the spout of his container to point in the general direction of the mysterious girl. “Now go make dinner.”

“But, darlinggggg,” Harry whines playfully, a smirk still tugging at the corners of his slightly liquor-swollen lips. “I made dinner last night. Isn’t it your turn?”

Mitch rolls his eyes and shoves Harry’s shoulder harshly, with just enough force that it actually has some type of impact this time around. “Just go, before she gets creeped out by your staring.” 

Harry’s own irises copy his friend’s actions as he pushes himself up from the bar, rubbing at the new sore spot on his shoulder with an exaggerated pout present. “Ow.”

Mitch blinks at him flatly, fighting off a grin. “You’ve had worse. Go.”

Harry swivels on his heel, once again facing the group of tipsy girls at the other end of the counter. It appears that most of them have dispersed into the dance floor, having found partners to entertain them for the time being, moving to the music as if there are no other people in the room. They had left behind three of their companions, one of which is Harry’s aspiring hookup; he gets the feeling that the two girls had stayed behind out of the kindness of their hearts, feeling too guilty to leave the runt of the litter all on her own. He hopes that’s the case because if so, the second Harry inserts himself into the situation, they’ll take that chance and split, leaving him to tend his meal in peace.

He tucks one large hand into the front pocket of his trousers, the grip on his glass tightening a smidge, rings biting into his skin as the condensation of the chilled tequila cools the small spike of pain. He spins his lionhead ring around his finger within his slacks, gradually drifting closer as he goes through a checklist of prized pick-up lines he could use to garner her attention. He ducks and dodges inebriated club-goers with ease now that he’s had something to take the edge off, finally reaching the end of the bar, slowly coming to a halt right behind his target for the night. 

Harry nearly passes out as soon as her scent hits him. 

It’s faint and tender and nothing quite like anything he’s encountered before, a mixture of honey and lavender that permeates through her normal perfume. He feels like his head’s been put through a wringer, his whole body clenching for a moment as raging sparks erupt across the pit of his belly. He indulges a deep breath, willing the blazing current away in order to keep his cool, but all he can see flashing before his eyes are images of her leaving traces of that smell smeared all over his face as he bobs his head between her quivering thighs.

He takes another penetrating inhale, centering his mind back into the present. He needs to behave.

Her friends spot him immediately, their side of the conversation faltering to ash. They give Harry a wide-eyed once-over, mouths parting in slight shock as they drink up his attractive appearance, gazes lingering along his thick chest as it strains the baby blue material of his tee. Their sights drag across his broad shoulders, dainty collarbones, and strong neck, faces gawking without remorse, blinking emptily at the slope of his sharp jaw and the peaks of his prominent cheekbones. They seem to be at a loss for words the second his dimples indent into place, his brows shrugging in a half-assed greeting before he cocks his head to side a tad, voice velvet as it directs towards the girl they had forgotten existed.  

“I’m guessing you’re the designated driver?”

Y/N jumps slightly in response at the new addition to the painfully dying conversation, not recognizing the heavy English accent and deep baritone that booms behind her. She had been wondering why Melissa and Isabel had stopped talking so abruptly, and she now has her answer. 

Y/N slowly goes to cast a curious glance over her shoulder and Harry can hear the pulse flaring in her neck from the sudden intrusion to her surroundings. His fangs prick along the inside of his bottom lip due to carnal instincts; he has to will them back into receding. 

 When her eyes land on the owner of the random words, her finger immediately halts its swirling motions along the hem of her glass.

‘Fuck.’ is the only thought that registers through her short-circuiting mind. 

The lanky, curly-haired brunette that stands before her gives a gentle yet confident smile, the gesture dazzling even in the low lighting of the atmosphere. He’s absolutely gorgeous, with deep pits carving into his cheeks, perfect teeth complimenting full cherry red lips, eyes the color of a rainforest canopy, and a broad frame that is somehow not overwhelming. He’s sporting neatly ironed tan slacks, a fitted cotton shirt with a cute yet crude graphic at its center, a fancy plaid coat, and crisp yellow Vans without a single smudge in sight.

Y/N can’t help but take notice of all the little details of his fit, especially the accessories. A beautiful pearl necklace laid along his delicate clavicle, a cross resting between his defined pectorals, and a matching earring dangling from his earlobe. Not to mention the array of clunky rings arranged along nimble fingers, hugging a tall glass carrying caramel liquor and somehow managing to dwarf the cup’s size. The extra decoration is sensual in such an unexpectedly delicious manner. 

The hand he has tucked in his pants ducks out to comb through his dark auburn ringlets and Y/N can feel her mouth water at the new round of elegant rings. The action activates the cologne Harry had thoughtfully spritz in specific pressure points along his body, the scent of tobacco and vanilla traveling through the fog-heavy air and causing Y/N’s stomach to summersault. 

The young man is as close to flawless as anyone could ever come. 

Y/N feels an unmistakable sharp pain shoot through her ankle, and she comes to the realization that it had been the tip of one of her friend’s heels. The reality check jars her out of the embarrassing daze he’d spelled onto her, open mouth snapping shut and her lashes fluttering over her previously unblinking eyes. 

“Oh! Uhm—uh—” She clumsily twists sideways to fully face him, swallowing thickly and tasting the remnants of the alcohol she’d barely been nursing. “N-No. I’m not— well, I don’t think…? We Ubered here so that wouldn’t make any sense ‘cause I have no car to drive...so...” 

The boy chuckles softly at her choppy monologue, his laughter warm and inviting, similar to the look reflecting off his shiney irises, the golden flecks around his pupils seeming to swell and shrink from the rainbow lights cascading across them. Despite being caught off guard and utterly embarrassed, she can’t seem to break eye contact with him. The longer she gazes into his eyes, the more relaxed she begins to feel, a fuzzy heat stemming from the center of her belly and spreading up her neck and ears. 

Y/N gulps heavily like before, willing her tongue to produce a less embarrassing comment. “Sorry. Let me...Let me start over…Hi.”

“Hello.” He quips back playfully, lopsided grin widening in fond amusement. He lifts his drink up a bit in greeting. “M’Harry.”

“Y/N.” The girl squeaks out, copying his gesture because it’s easier than forcing her disoriented brain to try and come up with its own. 

Harry flirts his intent up and down Y/N’s body slowly, checking her out without any subtlety. He wants her to know he’s interested. 

When his sight locks with hers again, he bats his lashes sultrily and pours as much passion as he can into his tone, accent weighing in just right. “S’nice to meet you, Y/N.”

Her entire face prickles at how her name sounds dripping from those faultless raspberry lips. She’d pay anything to hear him say it again. “You, too.” 

This is not what Y/N intended. This is most definitely not what she’d intended to happen when she’d reluctantly agreed to go out with some coworkers on a Friday night, giving in simply because she had promised herself she’d be more social within her new job. 

She had moved to California roughly two months ago, wanting to get away from her old life in the small, boring town she hated to call home. Buying the flight had been a drastic decision made when she had been under the influence of something she’d rather not admit, but the following day— after she had sobered up from a wicked hangover— she found herself not wanting to cancel the trip. Found herself craving the excitement and adventure of beginning anew somewhere far away from everything she had ever known. 

All of Y/N’s friends back home had supported her without hesitation, egging her preposterous idea and congratulating her on “getting the fuck out of here.” Her family had been a little less supportive, but after a few heartfelt chats about following your ambitions and a budgeting lesson from her cousin, they had gingerly gotten on board. They understood that keeping her trapped in that lame town where nothing really happened wasn’t the way to ensure her success in life. Therefore, the people closest to her had swallowed their opinions and respected her choice to dive off the deep end, in search of something better beyond the borders of their tiny city. 

Within a week, Y/N had secured a decent job at a semi-popular cafe, courtesy of a connection from a family friend. Within two weeks, after many sleepless nights full of Rocky Road ice cream and the bright white pages of ApartmentFinder.com, she had managed to book a nice flat close to her place of work. It was a miracle, if she’d ever seen one. Especially within the crowded, expensive community that is Los Angeles. Within three weeks, she had been walking out of the giant glass building that was LAX with only two suitcases in tow, boarding an Uber to her new life. 

Things had never seemed more picturesque, she’d thought. Everything was falling into place in a way that seemed almost blessed by the universe.

Then, the culture shock hit. 

California was different. It’s was so fucking different than anything she’d ever faced and she wasn’t prepared for the social difficulties she’d have to hurdle. All her life, Y/N had grown up with the same people around her, spending every school year with them up until graduation, expanding her friend group as time passed. Even after high school, she’d remained closely connected with most of her graduating class. The region she lived in was tiny, tight-knit and friendly; it was hard not to. She couldn’t even go to the store for groceries without bumping into at least three people from her Algebra II class. 

Point being, it had been ages since Y/N had been put in a situation where she actively had to try and make friends. She’d been through that challenge way back in kindergarten and had never been hit with it again. 

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

Y/N didn’t mesh well with Californians, she quickly found out. They were all about crazy parties and club-hopping, whereas Y/N had been raised on community cookouts and mass sleepovers. They enjoyed getting cross-faded and streaking down the beach at two in the morning, meanwhile Y/N liked stripping down to her undies and spending the night binging Queer Eye while stuffing her face with Cheeze-Its and Snickers bars. They freely boasted about their sex adventures while bussing down tables at the restaurant, while Y/N’s intimate life had been nonexistent since the move. 

It was just...startling, to put it lightly. It wasn’t what she had expected at all, and that’s mostly her fault for not doing the correct amount of research before jumping headfirst into a cliche LifeTime film. 

Therefore, Y/N had made a pact with herself one month in, swearing to let loose and allow her surroundings to sweep her into a new dynamic— into a new, social butterfly version of herself. She’d started accepting the invitations from her coworkers to go out at night, and she’d started putting more effort into being open to wild experiences, no matter how scary they might seem. Shutting down and refusing to mold to her environment would only result in her having to return home with her tail between her legs, and she’d rather jump naked off a pier than see her parents’ faces wracked with pity. 

And that’s exactly what she’d done a couple nights ago, at the encouragement of the group of girls she was at the club with now. It had, in turn, ended in her coming down with a mild cold, but at least now she’d be able to tell her friends back home a cool story about dropping inhibitions. 

Dropping inhibitions is also why Y/N’s here tonight, dressed in the most party-like outfit she could put together, prodding an overly-boozy drink into her system, attempting to release some of the tension that had been building in her head for the last couple of weeks since she’d left her old life behind. That’s why she’s here, with strands of her blow-dried hair catching on the dark red gloss Melissa has slathered on her mouth in a thick layer. That’s why she’s here, with synthetic smoke scratching at her lungs and drunken men and women bumping into her every two minutes, most of them too busy sticking their tongues down each other’s throats to realize they’d almost toppled her off her seat. That’s why she’s here, with a blasé expression plastered across her features as her coworkers talk over her head without a second thought, her mind far away from the walls of this overhyped horror house. 

Y/N had been thinking about how she’d just started her Disney+ membership, finding comfort in putting together a mental checklist of all the movies she’s going to plow through the second she sets foot past the doorframe of her apartment. Indulging on her childhood was an ideal form of escapism, in her opinion. She’s positive Walt Disney would agree. 

That’s what her brain had been lost in when Harry’s deep, melodic voice had interrupted her daydreams, sending her spiraling into an embarrassing performance of nerve-induced hysteria. 

Now here she is, blinking back at him dumbly, eyes the smallest bit damp from the smoke machine and neon flashes of light. And here he is, smirking at her over the rim of his glass, eyes raking down her wired up body suggestively as he takes a calm sip from what appears to be the straight tequila in his colossal, bejeweled hand. 

The English boy takes a gradual step closer to her, wanting to make sure he’s not crossing any boundaries that would make her uncomfortable. The scent of his cologne intensifies and she feels a fiery heat suddenly pour between her clasped thighs. It just hits her how long it’s truly been since she’s gotten laid and fuck, it’s sad.

Harry begrudgingly peels his attention away from Y/N for a second, aiming his words towards the girls standing behind her with their mouths still opened stupidly. Even from a respectful distance, his warm breath still washes across her jaw and cheek, causing electricity to zip down her spine. “You don’t mind if I steal her for a bit, do you?”

‘Yeah,’ Y/N thinks in the back of her muddled skull, ‘that’s definitely tequila.’

Isabel and Melissa slowly shake their heads in unison, glancing at each other as if to confirm he’d just spoken to them. 

The edges of Harry’s lips jolt into a kind, easygoing smile. “Thank you. Promise I’ll keep her safe.” 

Y/N feels her heart hiccup at his statement. If she’s not insanely mistaken, it appears to have carried an undertone of dirty intentions. God, she’s praying she’s not mistaken. 

The two girls clamber away on their tall pumps, rounding around Harry and pausing for a moment. They make moaning faces and vulgar motions behind him, encouraging Y/N to pursue the stranger. She then watches them disappear into the throng of crowded bodies, leaving her alone with the beautiful boy and her heart slamming against her ribs. 

Y/N focuses back onto Harry, licking her itching lips lightly, not knowing what to say next as he settles himself beside her. He rests his forearm on the counter along with his drink, tucking his other hand back into  his trouser pocket and fixing himself into a comfortable standing position, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. The friction between his jacket and the bar rides his sleeve up an inch or so, and Y/N gets a view of the anchor tattoo he has along his wrist, as well as the upside-down cross inked between his thumb and index finger. 

Harry catches her looking, mouth twitching with a smidge of arrogant self-assurance. He loves when girls drool over his tats. 

“I have more.” He remarks lightly, a pang of condescending pleasure shooting through his chest at the way she jerks and pins her gaze down to the floor. 

Blood rushes into her cheeks at the realization that she’s been caught and Harry’s teeth grind. It’s so hot watching her fidget for him. Maybe he finds her more attractive than he’d originally let on. “Would you like to see them?”

Y/N timidly coaxes herself into locking stares with him once again, looking up at him from beneath her lashes, barely nodding with a soft, “Sure.” 

She looks so pretty like that, he notices, staring up at him all doe-eyed and shy. It’d probably look even better if she were on her knees.

Yeah, he definitely likes her more than he’d thought. 

Harry proceeds to shift about, shrugging his coat off his strong shoulders, letting it slip down his lean arms and reveal the plethora of dark tattoos strewn across his left arm. Y/N watches avidly, drinking up every flex of his biceps under the black paint and every twitch of his pecs beneath his cotton shirt, the tendons along his throat going taut for just a moment. That moment is enough for her to etch the image into the back of her eyelids for the rest of her life. 

Harry tosses the article onto the table, extending his arm over its surface for her to get a better reading. She doesn’t miss the chance, her pupils tracing over every line and stroke of the pen, over every shaded area and meticulous detail. 

His voice comes out as a low, garbled murmur, his own irises studying her features with just as much intensity. “You can touch them, if you’d like. I don’t mind.”

After a moment of hesitation, the brim of her crystalline cup is replaced by the ridges of his smooth, tanned skin. She drags her digits over the naked mermaid, tracing the curve of her figure and the dip of her tail, then passing onto the stem of the large rose, ghosting over every thorn and prickle. Harry can feel her heartbeat through her fingertips and it’s making him throb. 

“They’re very pretty.” Y/N whispers, allowing her touch to fall away, palm finding refuge across the counter. “Did they hurt?” 

“A bit, yeah. But I’ve gotten so many done that I think I grew numb to the needle after a while.” Harry answers, shrugging one shoulder to show it’s no big deal. He grasps his glass once again and takes a drawn-out swig, extending the action just so she can see the way his Adam’s Apple bobs as he swallows. Once the cup is back in its place, his tongue peeks out and swipes any leftover liquid from his rosy lips, which then settle into a coy simper. “Plus, I kinda like the pain.” 

Y/N’s breathing stutters in her lungs and she swiftly swerves the topic onto something much less explicit. “So why’d you ask if I was the designated driver? That’s kind of an odd question. Very out of the blue.” 

Harry lulls his middle finger across the hem of his glass, exactly how she had been doing earlier, the motion weighed by an innuendo. She seems to understand it, present in how she bites into the inside of her cheek. “I just figured that a pretty girl like you would have easily found someone to dance with. So when I saw you sitting here looking all bored with your drink barely touched…I just assumed, I suppose.” 

And there it is again— the blood pouring into her face. Christ, if she keeps that up, he’s going to fucking lose it.

“Thank you, that’s— that’s really sweet. Proper gentleman.” 

Harry runs his bottom lip between his teeth, eyes snapping to her tinted mouth for a second, establishing some sexual tension that he’ll expand on as they go. “Who doesn’t like a guy who knows how to treat a girl, right?” 

Y/N clears her throat softly, obviously phased by his forward compliment, but she tries to play it off. “To answer your question, I— uhm...I’m not really one for the club scene, I guess. Don’t really like it, but I didn’t want to be rude and turn down the invitation.” 

‘Good girl,’ Harry thinks, silently cheering her on for having more brain cells than the typical human. 

“Well, that’s where we share some common ground, then.” He chimes brightly, a soft smile bringing his dimples to life. “I don’t care for clubs, either, but my friends have an affinity for them so here I am.”

He gestures vaguely towards the general direction where he’d left Mitch, continuing his rant. “The choking smoke, the annoying strobe lights, the crowded floor, the drunk morons—”

“Bumping into you without giving a shit.” Y/N finishes his sentence, her vulgarity drawing a boyish giggle from her companion and now she’s convinced she’d do anything to hear him laugh like that again. “And there’s always a faint smell of vomit coming from somewhere.”

Harry slaps his hand down against the glass table in passionate agreement, voice pitching up slightly as his brows jump in emotion. “Right?! It’s fucking disgusting. Don’t understand how anyone could genuinely enjoy it.” 

Y/N nods vehemently, sharing the same expression of utter distaste towards the subject. “It honestly doesn’t make any sense to me, either. Why come here when you can go to, like, a nice bar somewhere, y’know?”

Harry blinks at her in astonishment, her opinion mirroring his own with psychic-like accuracy. “My thoughts exactly.” 

“Great minds think alike.” Y/N responds playfully, taking a hearty gulp from her drink since the first time he’d spotted her from across the room. 

After a comfortable pause, Harry speaks up, also entertaining another sip from his own drink, which is now nearly empty. “Are you from around here?”

She can’t be. Rarely anyone born and raised here is willing to bash the status quo, and never so openly. 

She’s once again mesmerized by the attractiveness of his rings, but manages to get her composure in check. “Kinda. I moved here about two months ago.” 

Precisely his point.

Harry releases a curious hum over the cup between his lips. “Let me be the one to officially welcome you to Cali, then! Where people go to shitty clubs for fun and tan themselves into a strip of leather.”

Y/N sputters out a half-suppressed giggle and Harry’s brows almost furrow at the weird fluttering in his stomach. He rarely gets it.

Y/N takes another deep gulp of what he thinks is probably an Old Fashioned, silently praising the way she’d finished it off so quickly. She crunches an ice shard between her teeth and lets it melt across her tongue before engaging again. “I’m guessing you’re not from around here either though, are you?”

Now it’s Harry’s turn to chuckle a bit and she fights off an endeared smile. 

“What gave it away?” He asks, purposefully doing a thicker, fuller accent, his teasing nature making the grin she’d just stifled fully break through.

Y/N lifts a shoulder offhandedly. “Your accent seems a little too…posh for this area. Or even this hemisphere.”

Harry scoffs softly, the pinky around his glass sticking up jokingly as he kinks an eyebrow at her, a few rouge curls falling across his forehead. “Keen ears, mate.”

Y/N lifts her drink up a bit with a playfully knowing air, mimicking an English dialect. “Cheers.”

He places his empty cup down on the counter, his middle finger once more ghosting around the edge absentmindedly. She notices the pastel yellow polish covering his nails, tiny black smiley faces decorating the lacquer.

“I like your nails.” She admires, tipping her empty lowball towards his hand for significance. “Did you do them yourself?”

Harry glances at his fingers, stretching and wiggling them out, his features taking on a bit of pride. “Sure did.” 

“Don’t think I’ve ever met a guy at a club who could pull off nail polish so easily.” 

The left edge of his lips flicks upwards. “How do you mean?”

Y/N’s gaze bounces back to his and the tone twirling in his jade irises tells her everything she needs to know about keeping this conversation going: he enjoys being praised. 

She chooses her next words carefully, wanting to appeal to his interests. “I mean that it looks amazing on you. The color suits your skin nicely, makes your hands look good.” 

Harry breaks eye contact, glimpsing down at his shoes and she realizes he’s actually trying to hide a blush. The fact that she had managed to coax one out of him boosts her confidence while simultaneously making his own waver. He’s never like this— never so easily flustered. He needs to get it together.

Harry tilts his chin back up, lower lip strung between his two front teeth. His voice comes out as a flirty laugh.

“Known you for maybe,” he looks at the beautiful watch on his wrist symbolically, “ten minutes, and you’re already stroking my ego just the way I like it. I think that’s a record.” 

Y/N doesn’t know if it’s the liquor she’d just consumed too quickly, or if it’s Harry’s intoxicatingly alluring scent dulling the region of her brain that controls fear, but she’s suddenly filled with a strange surge of courage and her thoughts are spilling down her semi-numb tongue before she can stop them. “I’ve been told I’m pretty good at stroking, so an ego’s not too hard to handle.”

Harry cocks an eyebrow, surprised at her brazen reply. He might have misjudged her more than he assumed. However, he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy this girl more than the one he thought he was going to receive. There’s just something about how she can match his banter without a problem, and how they share a lot of the same thoughts and opinions, that just lights a fire in his stomach. 

“Is that so?” His voice lowers in pitch and he scoots a step closer, fingers just barely brushing against her arm as he repositions himself against the bar. His question comes out as a sultry murmur. “What else can you handle?”

Y/N knows that she’s starting to cross a line, and with every passing moment, the likelihood of returning to her friends is getting smaller and smaller. She’s not mad about it. Riding off of the wave of confidence that had inflated her ego earlier, she mumbles her response back with the same tone and texture. “How about you buy me another drink and then maybe you’ll find out?”

Harry gives her a boyish grin and the indents that pop into his cheeks nudge his appearance from an incredibly attractive man to an adorable cheeky boy. He motions to the bartender for another round of drinks, only letting his eyes flicker away from her for the moment it takes to do it. “How do you like LA so far?”

“It’s...alright.” It’s Y/N’s turn to move closer to him now, flicking her hair off her shoulder, hoping that the motion releases the perfume she’d dabbed on her neck while getting ready. Judging by the darkening of Harry's eyes, it does just that. “It’s definitely a change in pace from where I used to live, but I think I’m slowly gaining the reigns. I feel like once I get acquainted, I could grow to love it.”

“LA’s definitely a toggle. You could either vibe with it, or it’ll eat you alive and spit you back out.” 

She bats her lashes at him in stunned fright at his bluntness, his face deadly serious without any twitch or give. 

Harry then bursts into high-pitched laughter, eyes crinkling shut and nose scrunching. “I’m just fucking with you, love. Ease up, hm?”

“You asshole!” Y/N exhales grandly, half in relief and half in indignation, slugging him on the shoulder. All she feels is hard muscle beneath. 

He continues to cackle, sticking his tongue out at her. “Looked like you were about to cry.” 

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

The bartender arrives with their fresh drinks and Harry tells the man to but both of Y/N’s on his tab. She feels her cheeks glow, telling him he doesn’t have to, but he waves it off and says he’s more than happy to serve such a nice girl as herself. Especially if she “hates the same things I do. Think of it as your initiation gift into the Anti-Club Club.” 

A handful of heartbeats tick by, full of comfortable quietness as they both savor their new beverages. Harry pipes up first, regaining their topic from before.

“But, yeah, Cali’s for sure a special place. You meet some cool people if you hang around for a while. But sometimes,” he pauses for a second, eyes gleaming with something she can’t quite interpret. “But sometimes you can meet a really interesting person in just one night.” 

“I don’t doubt it.” Y/N clicks her nails against her Old Fashioned distractedly as Harry fixes her with that beautiful emerald gaze that makes her ears tingle. She cocks her head to the side knowingly, flashing him a soft smirk. “Sometimes, you just happen to meet that one in a million.”

“A lucky strike.” He adds, lifting his tequila an inch off the counter and tilting it towards her in what appears to be a toast, irises dancing with a certain type of suggestive mischief. “To meeting interesting people.”

The human girl clinks the rim of her lowball to the edge of his cup, shrugging her brows and reciting his comment back to him. “To meeting interesting people.” 

Y/N measures how the rest of their interaction goes by how quickly her drink shrinks. 

When she reaches down to the first ice cube stacked on top, Harry has managed to coax multiple rounds of laughter out of her, his humor startlingly similar to her’s in the most refreshing way imaginable. She quickly learns that despite his broad shoulders, lean torso, dark inking, and flawless features, he’s a complete and total dork. His personality consists mainly of voice impersonations and contorting his expression into an endless array of silly faces, which she takes to easily.

By the time Y/N’s amber drink has reached halfway down its container, the default touch barrier between the two has broken completely. There had been a few caresses prior, but now it’s more frequent, more noticeable, and each touch extends in time. She had been the one to initiate getting physical, which had sat so right in her stomach because that meant he was respectful and patient— definitely unlike most men in clubs. 

The mortal girl had gently shoved Harry’s chest when he’d made an nonchalant joke about how losing his swim trunks at a nude beach had been both the best and worst experience of his life, her cheeks boiling as she had felt nothing but more toned muscle beneath the cotton fabric of his top. She had gone back to tracing at his tattoos the further they got into sharing anecdotes and opinions, glancing up at him for permission in the middle of their exchange and smiling to herself when he’d nodded casually without a second thought. As the conversations continue, they both unintentionally get closer in distance to the point where the arm Harry had settled on the bar is now fully wrapped around the small of her back. She willingly leans into him, their knees and thighs brushing with every shift of their bodies and those minute moments begin to pile up their excitement.

By the time the alcohol in her possession bottoms out, she is nearly sitting in his lap, faces only a few inches apart. Y/N can’t recall half of what she had said, the subject having steered into so many different places that she couldn’t be bothered to keep track. Besides, she’s too focused on trying to keep a straight face as Harry plays footsie with her below the counter, his light yellow sneaker toying with her heeled velvet wedge. 

An important question on his behalf snaps Y/N out of her flirty stupor.

“So how do you like your new home?”

She blinks at him slowly, partially to try and give a seductive tinge to the interaction and partially because the liquor has started to truly settle in. It takes her a few heartbeats to process the inquiry. “I love it, actually. It’s a place of my own, for the first time ever. I couldn’t be happier.”

The corners of Harry’s swollen lips tick in genuine happiness on her behalf. “That sounds amazing. Congratulations on such a big step.” 

“Thank you! What about yourself? Renting anything neat?”

“Oh, I own a condo here.” He mentions casually, outlining the criss-cross pattern along the circumference of his highball glass. “I used to visit so often that I finally just decided to pull the trigger on one.”

“Look at you, investing in real estate.” She says in a teasing voice, her heel grazing around his calf slowly, cheeks sizzling as he parts his legs a bit to allow her the pleasure of traveling higher up.

“Mmhm.” Harry licks his red lips, free hand starting to trace over her own. The tips of his fingers are calloused and cold, the motion of them over her skin almost pulling a tremble out of her body. She does her best to restrain it, not wanting to give him the satisfaction. “Is it nice?” 

“Hm?”

His lips twitch in endearment at how he’s managing to make her lose her train of thought. “Your apartment, darling.”

She rests the rim of her drink on the bottom of her lip as she speaks. “It’s nothing huge or fancy, but it’s a decent size and l can call it home. Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N loves how Harry's eyes flit to her lips for what she thinks is the billionth time tonight, his vision sketching along the curve of her cupid’s bow and dotting every peak.

Another warm glow of confidence spikes through her veins and she’s talking before she can analyze her thoughts. “Well, at least I think it can’t get much better than that. Although, I could just be biased. Could probably use an outside opinion.” 

It takes Harry a moment to register what she’s suggesting, a light blush creeping up the base of his neck as he realizes how he’s stopped so abruptly. Humans usually never get him this unnerved and it’s one of many times she’s made it happen. “An outside opinion?”

Y/N lists her head to the side. It sounds like he’s accepting the vague invitation, but she’s so anxious to mess this up that she’s second guessing herself with every passing second. However, with every touch, she wants Harry more and more, and that’s enough to propel her towards a more direct approach. “Mmhm. Like yours, maybe. Would you like to come back and see it?”

Harry pauses for a few of her heartbeats, and then bobs his head in acceptance. She can breath again. 

He finishes off the last inch or so of his tequila, a wicked grin creeping its way across his pretty, flushed mouth, long fingers carding into his loosely arranged curls. “I’m more than happy to be of service.”

A smile works its way onto Y/N’s own face at his response, her foot dropping back down his leg slowly. “I’m glad to hear.”

“Mm.” Harry takes her hand completely now and she almost moans at how much bigger his are, his rings pinching a bit, skin rough in some areas, but silky smooth in others. And strangely icy, but she enjoys it. “Shall we say goodbye to your friends first? I wouldn’t want them to worry about you.”

He knows her “friends” couldn’t care less, but he wants to be as much of a gentleman as possible. Romanticize, romanticize, romanticize.

Y/N snorts, knowing full well that they’d probably purposefully embarrass her in front of him as a joke. 

She squeezes his grasp lightly, giving him a soft smile. “You’re sweet, but it’s fine. They were actually behind you earlier, encouraging this whole thing, so I’m pretty sure they won’t mind.” 

Harry hums deep in the back of his throat and the sound melts into a cute chuckle. “I’m glad they helped, then. Think you can deliver them my thanks some other time?”

The young woman chews on the inside of her cheek at his comment, realizing that it suggests he aims on keeping her occupied for the rest of the night and well into the morning. She has to will herself not to lurch forward and kiss at his annoyingly perfect lips right then and there. “I’ll make sure to pass the message along.” 

With one last cocky simper, Harry helps her down from the stool and pays off their tab, offering her his jacket since most of her outfit is made of flimsy fabrics. Y/N takes it appreciatively, lashes fluttering when his scent envelopes her like a blanket. It’s the unique smokiness from his cologne, mixed with a slightly sweeter smell that she assumes is his shampoo, and a bit of something that reminds her of a vanilla candle. The aromas are sewn into every thread of his coat and she can’t wait to have those scents glued all over her more deliberately later tonight.  

Harry turns and plunges them into the throng of partiers, weeding through bodies with a type of determination that makes her insides twist. His arm comes up in front of him as he plows people out of the way with absolutely no regret, leaving her to throw out a few half-assed apologies in his wake. The idea that he’s excited to be alone with her has Y/N’s insides churning. 

Once they escape all of the grinding limbs and tight spaces, stumbling into the cool air of the starry night, she takes a huge gulp of air. She prays it will tide over the jitters running along the inside of her tummy. She has just now realized how riled up he’d gotten her and it’s all coming to a raging boil. 

Harry paces past the bouncer, throwing up two fingers in parting. “Later, Brock.” 

The security guard gives the young vampire a confused look, not recognizing him at all and wondering how he knows his name. 

Y/N repeats Harry’s phrase for the hell of it, squeezing his hand jestingly and he glimpses over his shoulder, grinning at her with sheer amusement and something much deeper swirling around the specks of copper in his irises. If there was a bit more light, perhaps she would have noticed the way his irises had glinted blood red instead of olive green.

She ogles at the way his back muscles shift and flex below his pastel blue shirt, her mind vaguely taking note of the light yellow detailings along the cuffs and collar. The tee is intriguing and fun and she hopes he’ll let her sleep in it after they’re done. 

She also gets distracted by the baby curls decorating the nape of his neck. She’s itching to tug at them and see what his response would be. Would he shiver in her grasp and let out a soft moan, or would he smirk darkly and tell her to go harder?

Harry suddenly halts, snapping her out of her thoughts as he presents his car. Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off. “This is yours?!”

She gawks at the vintage jet black convertible before her, feeling like she isn’t worthy of its chic presence. It looks new, shining in the street lamps like a thousand diamonds, not a scratch or dent in sight. 

Harry unlocks the passenger’s door, opening it and guiding her inside with a gentle pull at their clasped hands, shrugging his brows playfully. “Hope it’s not too shabby for your liking.”  

“Are you kidding?” The human mumbles in awe as she ducks down into the patented leather seat, running her free hand over the elegant cover. She sighs softly at the way his smell is lingering inside the vehicle, just as much as it sticks to his clothes. “I feel like I should bow to it or something.”

He laughs fully now, leaning down to get a view of her sitting prim and proper in his favorite car, looking gorgeous in her flowy silk pants, lace creme blouse, and his own clothes. He gnaws at his bottom lip to withhold a needy groan. “I think you fit right in.” 

Y/N feels warmth erupt into her face and she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, trying to distract her fingers from shaking. “Looks like I’m not the only one that’s good at stroking egos.”

“S’hardly a task. You make it easy, doll.” 

It’s the second pet name he’s called her tonight— it’s strangely vintage, same as his car— and she can’t wait to hear what others he has in store. Preferably in the form of breathy pants and broken whines.

Y/N flicks her gaze up at him through heavy lashes, attempting to stifle a sheepish smile. “Quite the charmer.”

A moment of silence suspends in the air, a light breeze filtering through Harry’s curls, swaying the jewelry around his neck as well as the earring hanging from his lobe. Harry speaks up with a type of hushed desire she hadn’t heard from him yet. “Can I kiss you?”

She blinks up at him once in mild surprise and then releases a sigh of utter relief. “Fuck, I thought you’d never ask.” 

Her hand reaches upwards outside the confines of the car, knitting into the thick fabric of his shirt and yanking him down. The second their mouths meet, it sets off a dozen fireworks in the pit of her stomach. His is softer than she had imagined, wet and warm, and his tongue carries the sourness of the tequila he’d been swishing the whole night. 

Harry’s breath hitches in his throat, and then a quiet whimpery moan streams down his tongue onto her itchy skin. “Christ, that was hot.”

As much as she loves the taste of him— the tartness of the alcohol mixed with an inherent sweetness his lips carry— she forces herself to pull away, but keeps her sweaty forehead pressed to his. “Yeah. It was.”

With one hand still gripping the car door, Harry uses his other to cup her chin lightly, guiding her into another kiss. Now that they have both developed a feel for the other, this one is less tentative than the last. She tastes so fucking good on his tongue, like strawberry syrup—probably from her lipgloss— orange bitters, and bourbon. He just has to have more of it.

A helpless gasp escapes Y/N when Harry's teeth graze against her upper lip, only nipping enough that she craves more. More of anything he has to offer. 

He pulls away and the whine that plucks her vocal chords feeds his eternal soul like nothing else has in a while.  

The young man grins at her for a moment, half in smug satisfaction, half red-faced and desperate, before carefully closing the car door and making his way to the driver’s side. He slides in with ease, shuts his own door and buckles up with a click of the belt. The simple action has never looked so attractive before, but she’s certain that anything Harry does with his ring-covered hands would be attractive.  

He fishes his keys from his front pocket, asking her where she lives in order to try and orient himself. As it turns out, she’s not too far away from his own flat. He knows exactly which condominium she’s referring to without having to even search it up— a perk of living here for a few decades.

He also chuckles to himself a bit at the fact that she hadn’t mentioned he shouldn’t drive under the influence. Vampires have an extremely high tolerance due to their self-healing properties, so the drinks he’d had only gave him a soft, warm buzz. He just finds it comical— and slightly arousing— that she’s so eager to get at him that she’d let that detail slip her mind.

Harry starts the car, but doesnt pull out of the parking spot. Instead, he glances at Y/N as a crease appears in his beautifully sculpted brows. The idea of something displeasing him bothers her, and she’s about to ask what it is when he murmurs a quick, “Just a second, dove.” He reaches across to grab her seatbelt, pulling it over her body and securing it into place on her behalf, making sure it’s nice and proper before leaning back in his seat. He doesn’t know why he cared to do it, but he had. 

The simple action leaves another layer of heat on Y/N’s cheeks. Having him bent over her like that was just a teaser of what was going to unfold later and it already has her mind spinning. She can only imagine how much of a mess he’s going to leave her when there’s no clothes restraining them.

“Thanks.” She whispers, playing with the tips of her fingers.

“No need to thank me. Just wanna keep that pretty face in one piece.” 

He plops one hand on the steering wheel as he shifts into reverse, carefully backing out of his spot. His arm ducks behind her seat, head turning and veins chiseling into his neck. It takes all of Y/N’s willpower not to lean up and begin to darken his tanned skin with hickeys. 

Harry cruises up to the exit of the club parking lot, waiting impatiently for the turn signal, digits tapping away at the leather below them. Y/N can see him throwing pained little glances at her from her peripheral vision, obviously restless to feel her skin sliding against his. Each look causes the warmth between her thighs to swell. 

She’s talking before she can stop herself, voice bashful and soft as ever, yet full of boldness from the liquor she’d consumed. “If you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to do something to you that’s gonna get us both killed.”

The tapping of his fingers halts and he cranes his head to face her fully, ignoring the flashing green arrow on the stoplight before them. 

Harry reaches over the center console, his nose dragging up the length of her cheekbone, causing her to squeak out a tiny whimper at the feathery sensation. It’s the first time tonight he’s touched her so intimately. 

The sentence he grits out next makes her entire body visibly shutter, his breath hot against her ear, damp lips smearing over her jaw as his oath burns into her flesh.

“And if you say something like that to me again, I promise you I’ll pull this car over and make you eat every fucking word.” 

#harry styles x reader #harry styles x y/n #harry styles x you #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fic #harry styles smut #harry styles series #vampire!harry #harry styles #1d fanfiction #1d fic #one direction fanfiction #one direction fic #1d smut #one direction smut #ysijwa #harry styles one shot #harry styles dirty one shot #harry styles dirty fanfiction #vampire au #smut #harry styles blurbs

[kyejuns]

reaction ; 둘

✎ᝰ┆r : having an idol s/o

✎ᝰ┆fluff ; warnings : none

thank you to the kind soul who helped me out by requesting since i have no ideas 😭😭 I LOVE YOU 😭😭

also these gifs looks more coordinated i think ill start using these instead 🤩

+ i kinda got overboard with baekseung for some reason?? 😨

wish.

i feel like you two would meet via a mutual friend

like a mutual idol friend would introduce the two of you to each other and you'd hit it off and start talking

okay anyways, he would be so proud of you ngl

but as proud as he is he'll be so worried about you because he knows your competitive the industry is

he'll call you or text you during meal times to check up on you to see if you're eating

even if you're dieting he'd make sure you had enough so you won't faint while performing

anyways let's say you have to keep your relationship a secret

it'd absolutely pain him not to be able to hang out in public with you

but at the same time it's for both your career so sacrifices have to be made

so while you have private dates he'd try to lay off anything else he has to do for you and just company you

sigh tbh it would pain him not to wear couple items with you

but once y'all go public 🤩

he'd start wearing all those couple matchy things

and he'd also tweet stuff like ' please support us ' etc.

but overall i do think that he'd prefer getting a girlfriend that isn't a celebrity

keum.

keumdong 🤩

i feel like y'all would meet at like a dance sort of content (like dancing high or 1million dance studio)

so like if you're a singer uhh 😨

like i see him with an idol that's like a main dancer

someone who shares the same passion and interest as him

anyways keumdong

i feel like he'd know all your schedules and would text you after just to ask how it went

he would also send you many dance videos and you would do the same

you two would just help each other even if you're not face to face

tbh he wouldn't mind and would wear subtle matching items like earrings

like he wouldn't care at all 💀

anyways if you're dating in secret

he'd definitely try his best to keep the relationship but like compared to wish he would have his dates outside during night time where there isn't as many people

once your relationship goes public

he'd just bring you anywhere and he'd stop caring tbh

even if you're idols you deserve your own life

so he'd just stop caring and go out with you

he'd be super protective of you when someone says something about your relationship

sigh he's just be more protective about you if you're an idol

but overall he'd definitely prefer a non-celeb s/o

mu.

omg tbh i don't see mu with an idol s/o?

like i really don't see it

but okay let's imagine

i think you'd two be friends prior to debut

so you'd like kinda be known to be friends (like moonbin and sinb)

so like tbh fans who kinda speculate some shit is going on but you'll just play it off as you're just close friends 🤩

anyways he would watch your performance,, like literally every single one even if he's busy

and he'd compliment you on how pretty you were and how well you've done

and he'd tell you to rest and not to overwork yourself 😭

he would also promote your new song on his solo vlives and tbh it'd be so cute

anyways i think the both of you would have many chances to interact

like variety shows 🤩

and he'd be extra caring towards you but you know say it's because of your friendship 🤩

anyways you'd just date privately but like it's just so out there but people just brush it off as best friends 💀

once it's public i think many people will support it since you were previous friends even before debut

kinda expected

but anyways he can finally show more skinship towards you and talk about how much he loves you openly 🤩

but overall still would prefer a non-celeb s/o

a-min.

i heard some idols uses like the inkigayo sandwich to exchange phone numbers

yes i think he'll stuff his phone number in there and get a staff to hand it to you just because you were pretty 🤩

and tbh it'd be smart because it'll attract your attention and you'll begin to start talking and end up as a couple

anyways man's would promote you better than your company

he'd be like ' the song im currently obsessed with is (...) you should check it out! '

it'll be so subtle no one suspected a thing

and ngl he'll probably have a fan acc for you 💀

and he'll probably end up being known as your fanboy after 💀

he'll compliment you a lot public or not 🤩

anyways despite doing so much and hinting so much your relationship would still be private

like fans would be pretty sus of the both of you but it's your lives not theirs 🤩

anyways once you go public i think you would go on variety shows together quite often

it'd be cute

ngl i do see him with an idol s/o like compared to a non-celeb

since he can relate to them and stuff and just talk about their stresses together 🤩

baekseung.

i think you'd be going to the same school, in the same class and that's how met

maybe you've already debuted when you met or maybe you're just trainees then but idk man whatever it is y'all would be friends

and then yes relationship

anyways mans would be so proud of you and always bragging about you to the other members

the other members would end up being so sick of hearing him brag about you and tell you about it just so you could reprimand him and have it keep it on the low 💀

he would keep up with your variety show and especially aegyos so he can tease you about it 💀

just do the same to him so he would stop doing it once he realizes how shitty that feels

anyways like i said in the boyfriend series y'all would gossip together and it will be the same

except you have a lot more to gossip about 🤩

you'll talk about the entertainment industry, idols and your companies etc.

i would think that he would prefer to keep your relationship private and intimate so he'd prefer not to publicize it + do his best to keep the relationship a secret

even if it's made public, he'd act as if he doesn't know you during events that will make some fans think that you're having a fight but in reality you're doing well

he just prefers to do all the couple things in private you know

but like i think he'd prefer a non-celeb s/o too

ayden.

i have a feeling that if ayden was to fall for an idol, it would be an idol from his own company aka c9

like you'd probably meet when you guys were still trainees and have probably trained with each other before debut

and like so you'd become friends and eventually develop feelings for each other and you know date

to be honest i feel like as an idol he'd be a lot more low-key in front of everyone even his own members

to the point that sometimes they're wondering if you guys have broken up but no he was just low-key

he'd just quietly sit before he has to perform watching your performance as a source of motivation which is kinda cute💀

like he would work harder because of you and like there'll be a friendly competition between the two of you just to see who's better

since your relationship is so low-key no one would know about your relationship except for members 🤩

tbh the only time they'd find out would be when you personally decide to announce it yourself

like it'd be as unexpected as the daniel × jihyo pairing

overall i feel like he wouldn't mind if his s/o is an idol or not, as long as they have a mutual liking and understanding then it's fine

yewang.

i think you guys would meet by like a singing programme

like a duet special stage 🤩

anyways he would be extremely polite when you first met and you'd take a liking towards him

then you'd end up hanging out outside of your schedule and eventually end up dating

anyways he would stare at you a lot during like programmes where you meet each other

like he wouldn't care and just stare at you 🤩

during like award shows he'll text you and be like ' you look beautiful today '

tbh he would stare at you do much that fans would start to speculate something is going on between the both of you

like he wants to talk to you so bad but the fans just makes it hard

so he ends up publicizing your relationship to go out freely with you 🤩

but to be honest he would prefer an idol s/o

since he'd prefer sharing the same passion + having more common topics to talk about

jeff.

FINALLY JEFFF

alright to be honest he's another one i don't see having an idol s/o💀

like you two were probably friends before you were trainees and ended up debuting

and like somewhere in between you fell for each other and got into a romantic relationship

kinda like mu except you keep your friendship low-key so not many people knew you two were friends

till like past photos resurfaced

anyways i think he'd just be extra caring knowing that you're an idol

since there are many risk factors of being an idol

like wish tbh he'd text you a lot checking if you've eaten and if you're feeling okay in case you overwork yourself

and he'll restrain himself from looking at you too much just in case dating rumors end up surfacing

after all your career is more important considering how hard you've worked to be an idol

he'd only publicize it once dispatch catch you guys

but i doubt that'll happen💀

anyways he would have a personal vlive after telling fans to continue supporting the both of you despite the news

overall, he'd prefer a non-celeb s/o

wow this reaction took long to complete HAHAH

#c9 #c9rookies #c9 entertainment #epex fanfic #epex imagines #epex #epex reactions #wish #kwak dawit #keum #keum donghyun #mu #suh kyungmin #amin #cho minwoo #baekseung #kim hyunwoo #ayden #kwon yejun #seo yewang #yewang #jeff #lee jaeho