#i was half conscious when i thought of this and i just HAD to doodle it real quick lol

[en-chi-la-da]

they're being "bow"-friends haha heehee get it

#hinasouda #kazuhina #sdr2 #i was half conscious when i thought of this and i just HAD to doodle it real quick lol #danganronpa #kazuichi souda #hajime hinata #AND FEATURING #fuyuhiko kuzuryu #ari art #kazuichi is SO fuckin fun to draw.....i lvoe him <3 #anytime i think abt hinasouda it's just 'FELLAS IS IT GAY TO- 👉🏼👈🏼🥺' situations lmao #pink tag

[thechaoticdruid]

~My Tav for roleplay and story purposes~

Name: Winnie (Winnifred)

Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Class: Druid (Her favorite form being the direwolf. I also like to imagine she has some doggy-like characteristics because of it lol), she's also multi-classing as a wizard for reasons.

Age: 23

Race: Human

Hair: Reddish brown

Eyes: Pink

Height: 5'3

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral (With a bit of a good lean I suppose)

Love interest: Astarion

Backstory: Winnifred was raised deep in a hidden forest village, amongst her fellow druids. Her grandmother was the archdruid of their circle and took to raising her after Winnie's parents went missing (aka the likely died horribly on an adventure.) Winnie lived a peaceful, but boring life in the village for thirteen years until eventually it was raided by goblins and everyone she'd known and loved was slaughtered before her very eyes. Winnie was captured by the horde's leader, a strange drow wizard who only allowed her to live because he thought she'd be the perfect test subject for his 'experiments'. She never learned his name, but since the event his face has haunted her nightmares. Winnie remained his lab rat for weeks following the raid. Eventually however her suffering came to an end when a band of adventurers came to her rescue. Apparently they were old friends of the family though she had never once met any of them. They freed her from the prison she'd been held in before setting fire to the goblins camp, killing every last one of the circle's murderers....Well all except for the drow...

Sometime after that Winnie was taken in by Arva, a half elf who just so happened to be the leader of her rescuers. She brought Winnie back to her group's hideout in Baldur's Gate's under city and for ten years Winnie learned how to survive on the streets, using some not so heroic skills Arva had taught her....

•Just stuff about Winnie•

Winnie is weird.

She rarely takes anything seriously and will usually use humor as a way to keep herself sane as she puts it.

She's definitely not a saint but there are some big no nos for her when it comes to morals. No harming innocents, children, or animals.

Self righteous rich tits can suck it tho

"Think you can just spit on me? Huh!? I'll bite your fucking ankles!"

Winnie is an insomniac with permanent raccoon eyes. Shh...don't say anything she gets self conscious!

She has really low self esteem when it comes to her appearance.

Growing up all the other children in her village used to call her ugly a lot. Pretty much all of them aside from a gnome child named Demi.

Winnie liked Demi. Demi used to call her tall.

Winnie isn't particularly romantically experienced. Mostly due to her low self esteem and urge to faint or run away screaming when around someone she finds attractive.

Astarion is her first everything really.

Moving on from that Winnie has a bit of an obsession with cheese. It's like her favorite thing ever.

If you have any she will steal it.

Her handwriting is awful.

She has a habit of pretending to be dumber than she actually is to throw people off.

She identifies herself as being interested in men exclusively, but if I'm honest she does have a bicurious streak.

Mostly because Karlach once asked her what she would do if Astarion was a girl.

Karlach is like her best friend, but don't tell Star he'll get jealous. Shhh...

Has a little plant in a small pot that she affectionately calls Vern.

Currently writing erotic Bloodweave fanfiction titled 'Blood Mage' as a side job to afford Astarion's costly wardrobe. Shhh.... don't tell Gale.

Likes to draw exaggerated doodles in her journal a lot. Usually illustrating important events in her life.

She often dwells on something she remembered one of the older druids saying before the raid. The elder druid described Winnie as "a weed amongst the flowers."

Winnie used to flip the old lady off behind her back all the time.

Will probably be updated and expanded on. Feel free to ask questions. I might make a separate one of these for my Durge .

IMPORTANT: While I am open to doing a little roleplay here and there I'm only doing it with users above the age of 18. Anyone without their age on their blog will be blocked or ignored. Also I'm not comfortable roleplaying the canon characters at this time so don't ask please.

#bg3 #bg3 tav #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #bg3 rp #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 roleplay #my tav #baldur's gate 3 roleplay

[hearts4juzi]

do you have any ideas in mind for how swap!evans scrap baby design would look, assuming its different from regular scrap baby? (since yk, its implied(?) they rebuilt themself after getting kicked out of ennard)

oh and how did/do evan and circus baby interact/feel about each other?

-cross

I DREW THIS ASK TODAY AND CANNOT SHARE THE ART BC ITS. ON PAPER. AND I DONT HAVE MY PHONE

But i thought id answer anyways, ill rb with a doodle if i can manage one (maybe in my animation class?)

first of all, he'd not be half as smashed up as liz was. he wanted to be cute and whatever, and his goal is. not killing ppl lmao.

so he goes back and gets a discarded unused circus baby faceplate from the bunker. its old and the faceplates dont move well at all (rusty and stuck together, mostly) but its not horrible. its also cracked a bit but. what can you do?

instead of wires and whatever i think hed want something softer to use for hair so i gave him some sort of fucked up string. its thick and fluffy but falling appart :( poor dude he also got other discarded animatronic concepts that william and henry kept in case they wanted to use them elsewhere. evan still has the claw on one hand but the other is an unnecessarily large paw (he cant exactly remember why at this point, but he loves bears so the paw caught his eye)

his outfit is just cloathes he found in the garbage and therefore doesnt fit well. and his torso is just the usual circus baby torso if not a bit fucked up by all the time itd been left in the bunker. its also cracked and rusty similar to his mask

his feet r just whatever he could find, but those wont even be seen a lot bc hes in the vents so who cares

the big paw is also one of the same as what molten freddy dug up to replace the rubber hose esque hands ennard had (not REALLY rubber hose but meant to look the part yk?)

as for evs relationship w cbby, its complicated. he initially wants nothing to do with the animatronic or possessing it, but when he sees liz he suddenly wants to seize control (hence bouncing between circus baby and evan)

at that time, there was still a pretty clear line between evan and cbby, bc of how hed avoided her n shit in a way bc he cant. he cant leave her lmao but he just didnt try to BE her. still while SL takes place the line does blur between him and cbby.

post scoop he finds mike and tells him about elizabeth and for a while michael keeps him seperate from the other animatronics bc yk, having someone he KNEW was his sibling and who KNEW his identity helped him and michael is the most conscious of everyone. and so he once again was aware of who he was but when michael and the funtimes both dumped him they reallty merged and it became unclear who was who (which lead to his memories getting fucked wehn he was rebuilding himself) and just overall hes weird and Not Evan Anymore. especially because evan being rejected by michael compared to circus baby being abandoned by william and the funtimes and that pain of being thrown to the curb causing anger in both that ended with them having such similar ideas and feelings that they might as well be the same entity

as far as interactions go, they really didnt interact much for a VERY long time and when they did it was quick and uncomfortable. but when evan tried to wrestle control back its started a weird silent relationshi

Circus baby did not want to get rid of him, she didnt entirely know what he was ("I still hear her sometimes" yk?) other than shed killed him and sometimes shed say things she didnt think.

evan didnt like how everything was going with elizabeth, so he wanted to subtly steer her elsewhere. however, between his own bitterness at her leaving him alone and inadvertently causing his death, and circus baby and him becoming one, he eventually began leading her to the scooper.

and evan is a lot more convincing than circus baby was.

its not until he's set free that evan is actually evan again

#tzu asks #tzu rambles #swap au #evan afton #circus baby #THIS ASK HAS BEEN HERE FOR TOO LONG!!!!! #I NEED TO ANSWER IT!!!!!!!!!! #also yeah mike fucks evan over in every universe #<33

[xkuraitenshiart]

*TW: DEPRESSION, ANXIETY, SELF HATE, ABUSE

*TL:DR: I have a shit relationship with my mom, and made a comic about it... And I'm just depressed about being a failure of an adult. 🤷🏽

•

•

•

Once upon a time, I wanted to do a doodle comic, but my AuDHD brain kept wanting to add too much detail, and I was struggling with being able to make a comic in what I thought was a "reasonable amount of time". So I scrapped them... But... I think I may give them another try with a different purpose....

I.. just feel like absolute shit all the time. My depression is eating me alive. And my anxiety keeps me constantly worried about everything. I'm so tired. So I'm using these to kind of get my frustrations out and grieve.

The best I can do backstory wise, without writing an actual autobiography, is that I have a garbage relationship with my mother because of RSS... and the fact that as an infant, she left me with her mother so she could go live her life because she wasn't ready for me at 19 when she accidentally got pregnant... And my grandmother was no saint. She didn't want me either, but came from a time where it was considered lowly to relinquish unwanted children to CPS. She was also extremely racist, and I was a "half-breed", so my treatment growing up was abysmal. There was also my uncle, who still lived with my grandmother, who became my biggest abuser

After she had had my younger sister and gotten married, she offered for me to live with her, when I was about 9. I didn't take her up on this until after a particularly violent incident when I was 15, and simply couldn't take the abuse anymore. My uncle had pushed the line hard enough to feel like if I let myself stay in his presence, I would meet a very painful end.

So from 15 to 18, I finally lived with my mother, and we DID NOT get along. I never really got to know her as a person growing up, and then struggled with her need to constantly be the center of attention.... And with the fact that it was pretty obvious that she liked my sister, but not me. At 18, I was told that under no certain conditions, was I allowed to try and move back into her house. I was also told that the decision wasn't made lightly, but as a disrupter of peace, this was for the best.

I accepted this, and lived in a tent on and off until I was 21. Everything that's happened to me since then has just been hell, with the occasional happy moment... I... Don't blame her, though... I was a lot... And I really should have been able to care for myself by now.... I guess I'm just sad that I feels like it'd be easier for everyone if I wasn't around. Because I shouldn't rely on someone else to help me with things I don't understand. I'm suppose to understand this stuff at my age. I don't have an excuse. I'm simply a failure.

...I'm sorry to anyone that decides to read this... I'm just too afraid to post it anywhere one of my step dads may accidentally see it and show my mother.

I know that sounds highly counterintuitive, but... I admit I'm just tired of how my mother reacts when I finally vent like this.

THAT'S the only time I get a call or text message. I HAVE to look like I'm in crisis to matter. And I don't want that... I just want... I just want her to actually care. Because when she ONLY comes to me when it looks like I'm at the edge again, it feels like she just doesn't want it on her conscious, and that's the only reason she's reacting... I'm sorry...

#tw depressing thoughts #depressing shit #sad comic #comics #original comic #digital art #procreate #send help #fml

[lovemesomesurveys]

Have you stayed up past 3 in the morning this week? No, but the other day I was up until a little past 2. That's really late for me nowadays because ever since I got home from the hospital last year, I started going to bed around 10 or 11PM and sticking to that routine majority of the time. I used to be a night owl who would be up when the sun came up, so I've come a long way.

What was on the last sandwich you had? Turkey, Swiss, mustard, mayo, spinach, and pesto.

What does the soap you use smell like? Like.... soap.

Do you prefer to wrap gifts or use gift bags? I like wrapping gifts. Some gifts require a gift bag.

The last person you spoke to, do you know their eye color? Yes, he has blue eyes.

Does anyone you know have their hair bleached? Yeh, I've bleached my hair several times.

When you're on the phone, do you doodle? I'm never on the phone long enough to start doodling. My phone calls are rare and brief.

Is there anyone you know by the name of Frank? No, but I automatically thought of Shameless lol.

Do you own a trenchcoat? No.

Name the hardiest piece of technology you own? I'm not quite sure what you mean.

Have you ever written with a pen that had pink ink? Yeah. I actually just used a pink Sharpie recently.

Do you remember the last thing you took a picture of? It was a selfie.

From where you're sitting, can you turn the lights off? Yeah.

When was the last time you accidentally slept in? For me, sleeping in is like 11 or 12. I generally wake up around 9. I don't recall the last time I accidentally slept in, like I haven't missed an appointment or something. I love when I'm able to sleep in.

The last argument you had, who started it? I don't recall the last time I had an actual argument. I have disagreements and some bickering, which I had recently.

Do you wear a ring on your left hand middle finger? I do. I have a ring on most of my fingers (some have two) except for my left pinky and both thumbs.

Can you remember the title of the song you last sang aloud? "Numb" by Linkin Park.

If a stranger smiles at you, do you smile back? Yeah, albeit a small half smile most of the time.

Tell me the current time? 8:07PM.

Are you currently listening to music through earphones? No, I'm watching YouTube without earphones.

What color shirt are you wearing? Is it your favorite color? It's a light blue t-shirt dress.

Do you own a pair of rubber boots? No.

Have you ever owned a tire swing? Nope.

Does anyone you know own a bird that can talk? Not that I know of.

What make-up are you wearing currently, if any? None.

Name one thing you are glad you accomplished today? Ha, I didn't get shit done. I slept most of the day.

Name one thing you wished you accomplished today but didn't? I have a list of things I'd like to do, but just never get around to doing for some reason since I have nothing but time. It's the energy and motivation I'm lacking.

Have you ever been afraid to call someone, even if you knew them well? I get phone call anxiety regardless of who I'm calling. The only exceptions are my parents and brother.

Do you ever not speak to someone because you're afraid you'll annoy them? Yeah. It backfired majority of the time cause then they wouldn't talk to me either so we ended up just not talking and it messed things up. Like with guys I was interested in was when it backfired the most.

Is there any drama going on in your circle of friends? Yes. It doesn't really involve me, but I'm friends with the people involved so that makes things awkward and difficult. Plus one of my friends has her own drama she's dealing with and it's a lot.

Have you ever known a guy who caused a lot of drama? Yeah.

Is there anyone you know who wears their hair in pigtails regularly? Probably my little cousins.

Personally, do you think you have a nice smile? No, I'm extremely self-conscious about my smile actually.

Do you have a nervous twitch? My eye twitches sometimes.

Does the idea of snowpeaked mountains and a large lake sound appealing? It does. I live a couple hours away from a place like that and it's beautiful.

Pick any number that has personal significance to you? 8.

Have you ever lost your luggage at an airport? No.

Have you ever been on a rollercoaster that actually scared you? Yeah, I don't do roller coasters. Well, the only two exceptions are the Cars coaster and Big Thunder Mountain Railroad coaster at Disneyland. I love those. It's just the right amount of adrenaline rush I can handle, ha.

Do you know anyone who can fluently speak more than two languages? Yeah.

How many windows are open on your computer right now? I have two windows side by side cause one of them is YouTube and I like to watch videos while I'm on Tumblr or doing a survey.

Do you have a fairly fast or slow internet connection? >> it's fairly fast <<<

Have you ever gone in a sauna? >> I haven't, I think that level of concentrated humid heat would be a bit much for me <<< Gah, sameeee. I could not handle it. I don't do well with heat as it is. It doesn't sound appealing or relaxing in the slightest.

Out of these colors, which appeals most to you: orange, blue, or green? Blue.

Have you celebrated your birthday yet this year? Yeah, back in July.

Is there anything you're saving up for? I should be spending less and saving just because, plus the holidays are coming up, but damn Temu and Shein are taking all my money. It's a problem, ya'll. My fam will probably be getting presents from those sites this year lol.

Are you taller than most of your friends? Ha, no I'm always the shorty.

Know anyone with a really annoying laugh? Not that comes to mind. I don't particularly like my laugh, but I wouldn't say it's annoying.

Have you ever punched someone and broke their nose? I've never punched anyone or broken anything. I've never hurt anyone physically at all. Well, not purposefully anyway.

What is the longest time you have gone without sleep? Like 36 hours. I don't know how cause there's no way in hell I could do that now. I'm fighting sleep all day.

Have you ever been someplace tropical? No, I wish.

If given the opportunity, would you act in a commercial? I wouldn't do any acting. I did used to want to do commercial acting when I was a kid, though. I used to practice and pretend I was making one all the time lol.

You see an ant on the ground, do you squish it? Okay, call me cruel but when I was a kid I used to purposefully roll over them (in case you're new here, I'm in a wheelchair). But think about how many we all probably accidentally squish.

Have you ever baked a pie? No. I've never had any interest in baking one. I'm not a pie kind of gal.

What is your favorite social networking site? Tumblr, duh.

Who was the last person to call you? My mom.

Does anyone in your family tell funny stories? Yeah, a lot of my family members do. One of my aunts who I'm super close with is always making me laugh. My brother always makes me laugh, too.

Do you believe in finders keepers in most situations? No, I wouldn't necessarily say that. It depends.

Is there a war memorial where you live? Yeah.

Has anyone in your family fought in any of the wars? My papa did.

Would you make any changes to your current bedroom? Oh, I'd love to do a lot of changes but my room is too small and I have too much stuff.

Has a stray dog ever tried to bite you? No.

When riding a bus, do you prefer to sit up front, down back or the middle? I always had to sit in the middle cause that's the spot for wheelchairs.

Have you ever been on a cross-country train ride? No, but that sounds fun. I'd be interested in doing that.

Are you normally a person to tell people off? Noo, I'm not confrontational at all.

Name an object that most would consider odd that's special to you? Who knows, I have a lot of random knickknacks and stuffed animals and other stuff and I love 'em all.

What animal have you always wanted as a pet but couldn't have? I mean, if it were possible and I lived somewhere with the space and could be able to care properly for it, a giraffe would be an amazing animal to have.

Do you currently have any bugbites? No. I very rarely get bug bites, thankfully.

Is where you live on a boulevard, road, street, or avenue? It's called a lane.

Is there currently any caffeine in your system? Of course there is. It's me we're talking about, duhhh.

Look around, are things organized? No. There's definitely clutter. I need to go through things and try to gt rid more stuff and organize things.

Know what you're planning to do after this? I may play the sims, I'm not sure. Or scroll through Tumblr for a bit.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

[bcdaily]

Official (James/Lily, Drabble)

A/N: What’s this? A canon drabble? Is it 2014?

The important part is that I finished something tonight. Miracles of miracles, these rusty fingers still work! (I didn’t say well, they just work.)

A03 ~ FFnet

“Shit,” says a cool, familiar voice, filtering in through the thick shelves of the Ancient Runes section. “This isn’t—I’ve got my bloody boyfriend’s textbook.”

In an instant, James's feet sputter beneath him. Trip, topple, thump. It's a clumsy dance, an off-kilter lurch, halting only in the nick of time as James's arm flails out to grab hold of the adjacent shelf. An angry plume of dust mites fly up, flaking and floating before his nose. He stifles a cough, wildly conscious of his noise level. The keeling ship rights itself slowly, one hand still gripping the burnished wood of the library shelf.

The other clutches a thickly-bound textbook—Lily's textbook—tightly to his side.

I’ve got my bloody boyfriend’s textbook.

Boyfriend.

Boyfriend.

“How do you know?” comes another voice, as James finally finds his feet. Marlene McKinnon's, idle and casual.

A pause. A put-upon sigh.

“Well, for one, it hasn’t got my half-finished Transfiguration essay tucked up front.” Lily sounds resigned, a bit impatient. There is a brisk sound of flipping pages. “For another—doodles."

"Doodles?"

"He doodles. Incessantly."

"In the textbook?"

"Let them eat cake."

James swallows his snort, even as Marlene fails in the same task. There's a slower, crisper rustle of pages turning.

"Hey...these are actually quite fun, aren't they?" Marlene says brightly.

Lily's laugh—low, intimately familiar to his ears—weaves through the shelves.

"Don't you dare say that to him," she warns, though it's warm, amused. Crinkle, crinkle. "Look at this one—or...where was that...truly, how does he come up with these things?" Another snort from Marlene, a softer sound from Lily. "Do you see this? Different inks and layers...dedicated, isn't he? They're everywhere. Well, except—"

An abrupt stop.

Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle.

An excited suck of the air.

"Except in the back...where he writes the answers for assignment questions in the margins—a-ha!" A decisive thump, book against table. "The bored little genius. Quick, jot these down—"

As the light clatter of parchment unrolling and rattling inkwells sound from the other side of wood and books, James finds his eyes narrowing, even as his chest bubbles and brews, a cauldron full of warmth. The feet that had failed him so ardently minutes before suddenly rediscover their rote mode: sleek, strong steps, as he slips around the tall bookcase and appears at the corner of the quaint study table beyond.

Without a word, he drops into the empty seat beside Lily.

Blinking in surprise at his sudden appearance...it is nonetheless noted that she smoothly pushes his open textbook across the table to Marlene, who cunningly and casually collapses her arms over it, covering their tracks.

Sly, his girlfriend.

(Girlfriend.)

"Hullo," he says.

"Hullo," Lily replies sunnily, tossing her hair over her shoulder. A silky, sneaky toss, accompanied with a small, innocent-looking smile.

James's fingers itch. They know all too well what those silky red strands feel like sifted through his hands. He knows, too, what that small, innocent-looking smile feels like when it's pressed against his own. Knows that glint in her eyes, the green darkest around the edges. Knows the sound of her laugh, and how it fills his veins like a heating potion. Knows what makes her laugh, and sigh, and frown, and sigh (that kind of sigh). Knows all these things, but hadn't known what to call the cumulative collection of these bits of knowledge—or, rather, knew what he wanted to call it, but wasn't certain what she wanted. Couldn't bring himself to press, to push, to make a misstep somehow. So they've remained in this halfway, undefined area.

Until now, suddenly defined.

Boyfriend.

It's the best word James has ever heard.

"What can I do for you?" she asks, shoulder nudging his.

He lifts his arm and drops her textbook onto the table. "Yours, yes?"

She barely glances down at it, batting her eyes at him. "So it is, so it is." She pulls the book closer, does her shiny best to blind him with her smile. "Thank you for the delivery. Goodbye."

"Don't you have something for me?"

"Something for you?"

"Yes. About...this high. Yay wide. Remarkably similar to what I've just handed you."

Lily's tongue briefly swipes across her lower lip. James's eyes are like magnets to the pearly glisten. Her hand lifts, and she taps idly at the slick rose with her finger tip.

"No," she finally says, as his body revs, tightens. "Can't say that's familiar."

His girlfriend is a siren.

Girlfriend.

"Hm." James leans back in his chair, lifting his arms to rest lazily against the back of his head. Because two can play this game, and even as Lily's eyes narrow, they do their unavoidable, perfunctory, predatory sweep across his chest.

"Do I need to leave for this?" Marlene asks dryly from across the table.

"You can't take that textbook with you," James shoots back, to Marlene's sulky pout. Then his eyes dart stealthily right. "Of course...if, say, my girlfriend kindly requested to filch my textbook…all my hard, hard work..."

When he turns his head fully, he finds Lily staring at him. Green eyes squint with suspicion.

"How long were you hiding behind those shelves?" she asks.

James grins. Leans down and kisses her. Because he can lean down and kiss her.

"Idiot," she says, though she's stroking his face as she says it.

He cocks an eyebrow. "I thought I was a bored little genius?"

She snorts loudly, and the hand on his face gives a playful swat before reaching out to snatch his textbook back from Marlene. As she ducks her head and flips pages again, James can see the red cresting her cheeks, blooming down her neck, and he wants to kiss her again.

"You better have two weeks of assignments I can filch in here," she mutters, but when he laughs and reaches out his hand to twine easily with hers, she doesn't pull away.

Instead, their fingers interlock, warm and tight atop the table, and James reckons he quite likes officially being a boyfriend.

Quite, quite likes it.

"Now I'm definitely leaving," Marlene mutters.

#jily #jily* #bcdaily #my writing #drabble

[aerynwrites]

New Future

Helmut Zemo x F!Reader

A/N: So here we go - a little Zemo soft thought that came into my head today! Hope you guys enjoy.

Word Count: 933

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, fluff.

»»————-　♡　————-««

The sun filters through the curtains in a soft yellow dappled pattern, creating a comforting glow in the large bedroom. Consciousness comes to you slowly, and unconsciousness threatens to pull you back into your peaceful slumber as a familiar warmth surrounds you. The blankets are soft and the arm wrapped snugly around your waist is enough to tempt you back to sleep. However, thoughts from yesterday's revelation occupy your mind and cause butterflies to erupt in your belly as it comes to the forefront of your half conscious brain. 

Gentle puffs of breath ghost along the back of your neck, and a smile tugs at your lips as you roll slowly over to gaze upon the source. Helmut lays fast asleep with you in his arms, his expression is peaceful. Brows relaxed, mouth slightly ajar as he breaths, and a slight scruff of beard adorning his face. You take this moment of peace, reflecting on all the hard work you both have done to gain it. 

After years of fighting and running and escaping, you have finally achieved peace with the man you love. You both settled in one of his estates in Sokovia, overlooking the large lake that had taken place of the crater that was the forgotten country. You were worried it would make Helmut sad, being here with all the ghosts of his past. However, being close to the things he lost while also beside the person he gained...he seems to finally be at peace. 

The man that occupies your thoughts must feel your gaze on him in his sleep. Because soon after you turn in his arms and start to admire him, his breathing changes as his eyes crack open. He gives you a tired smile as his arm tightens around you and he gives you a gentle kiss.

“Good morning, my love,” he greets, voice gravelly with sleep but still comforting. 

You smile back, reaching a hand up to place on his cheek, the scruff scratching gently at your palm. “Morning.”

“What has you up at this hour, Schatz?” he finally asks, leaning away slightly so he can take you in.

Your mind returns to the thoughts that woke you up, and the butterflies appear once again. But now, nerves appear alongside them. He must be able to tell, because his brows pull together in concern. 

“Is something wrong?”

You shake your head quickly, eyes darting up to meet his own, “No. No, nothings wrong, Helmut. Everything’s….” you take a deep breath and smile at him, “Everything is perfect.”

He still looks unconvinced, “Then why do you look like you have the weight of the world on your shoulders, my love?”

Your eyes fall from his face down to where his hand has intertwined with yours and suddenly, you feel silly for being nervous in the first place. 

“I was just wondering…” you bring your eyes back up to capture his own gaze, “Have you ever thought about having kids again?” you ask softly.

You expect him to change the subject, knowing that the topic of his late son was one he was never able to talk about for long. However, he surprises you when a soft sigh escapes his nose and a fond smile tugs at his lips. 

“I hadn’t…” he begins, “Until you came into my life.  But then again, I never thought I would ever see the outside of my prison cell,” at those words a small frown replaces his smile and you quickly lean in press a kiss to his lips before pulling away and giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Well, we’re here now,” you say softly, “that’s all that matters.”

He hums in agreement before you ask, “You never really answered my question.”

“Ah, yes,” he says, “To answer your question - yes - the thought of children has crossed my mind. More frequently as of late.”

You smile at him, “Good,” you say softly, moving the hand that’s intertwined with your own to rest gently on your belly, “Because it might be happening sooner rather than later.”

It takes a moment for the news to click in Helmut’s mind, but when it does, you feel your heart swell at the sparkle in his eyes. He quickly props himself up on his forearm, looking down at you in disbelief.

“Are you sure?” he whispers, rubbing soothing circles on the skin exposed by your shirt riding up.

You bite your lip and nod before speaking, “I’m sure, my love. I’m pregnant.”

He’s on you the moment you finish your sentence. His lips capture your as he shifts on top of you, on hand supporting him while the other cradles your cheek softly. You relish in the way his lips move against your own, the way his facial hair scratches pleasantly at your delicate skin. You only pull away with a surprised squeal as he rolls you both over so you are lying against his chest and he peppers your face in kisses.

“We’re having a baby!” he finally exalts, voice full of reverence as he gazes up at you lovingly, arms wrapped securely around your waist. 

You nod down at him, running your fingers through his hair slowly, “You’re happy?” you ask.

Helmut smiles wide and bright before tucking your head beneath his chin, “You’ve just made me the happiest man alive, schatz,” he says, one hand running soothingly up and down your back. 

You hum in acknowledgment before settling into his embrace. The warmth from earlier seems to return tenfold and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear begins to usher in sleep once more.

“I love you, Helmut,” you finally whisper, the excitement from the moment giving way to exhaustion as unconsciousness begins to tug at your eyelids once more.

“I love you too,” he says, just as you both slip back into a peaceful slumber where dreams of a happy future and the laughter of children greet you both.

»»————-　♡　————-«« 

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#helmut zemo x reader #zemo x reader #Baron Zemo x reader #daniel bruhl #marvel x reader #Marvel #the falcon and the winter solider spoilers #the falcon and the winter soldier

[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

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Snow Covered Mountains // (F.W.)

Summary: A wintery escape with the one you love.

Prompt 41: Renting a winter cabin

Prompt 93: “You are very endearing when you are half asleep.”

Prompt 94: “How about a kiss?”

A/N: My entry into @vogueweasley‘s writing challenge! Congratulations on your milestone, I am so happy for you!! I’m so sorry it has taken a while to get to! I really did love writing this fic, it’s just so fluffy! I hope you like!!

Warnings: a lot of fluff, post!hogwarts, no angst just happiness

Word count: 2.1k

“Where exactly are we going?” Fred questions: bags in one hand as he holds the other out for you.

You smile, “You’ll see when we arrive.”

Fred goes to question you further; happy to drop the bags and question you until he’s blue in the face but you grab his hand before he can start, apparating the both of you to the winter cabin you had rented for a long weekend.

It wasn’t a large cabin, big enough for the two of you to enjoy the time away together. Fred remained speechless as you led him up the stairs to the porch, digging around in your bag for the key to the door.

Pushing open the door, you step aside for Fred to enter first. He drops the bags to one side before walking further into the large living room. A rustic feel to the room, a great couch takes up the centre of the room, a cream blanket laid over the back of it. In front of the couch, a fireplace sits unlit. Smiling to yourself you follow Fred into the living room, making a mental note to light the fire as soon as possible to warm the both of you through.

Fred moves to walk through to the bedroom, spying the queen size bed from his spot in the living room. Instead, Fred turns to you, eyes bright with happiness and love as he asks, “When did you do this?”

You shrug, “A couple of weeks ago. You came home from the shop looking dog-tired, so I spoke to George and he let me take these days for you. That night, I booked the cabin.”

Fred rushes over to you, taking your face in his hands and tilting it back slightly. His eyes run over your face, searching for the answer to a question you don’t know. “I love you; you know that right. I love you so very much.”

You cover his hands with yours, smiling up at the redhead that had occupied your heart and mind for years now, “I love you too.”

Fred beams, refusing to say another word as he presses his lips to yours in a kiss that effectively ends all conversation for the rest of the day.

--------

The morning starts deliciously slow. There was something incredibly sweet about waking up naturally, without aid of an alarm. The absence of the piercing shriek happily noted by the both of you as you stretched, reaching out for Fred across the bed.

Fred meets you halfway, humming happily in his sleep as he feels your body curl around his. Your legs slip in between his as your hand runs across the flat expanse of his stomach.

From there, the morning turned even more languid. Fred waking, kissing you immediately before rolling you onto your back where he pressed you further into the mattress. Fred in the mornings was really something to behold: sleepy smiles, messy hair and intoxicating kisses. He was a dream in the mornings.

Breakfast is late. Fred cooking shirtless as you sat at the counter, admiring the man you fell in love with so many years ago. You couldn’t keep the smile from your face as you twisted the ring that sat on your finger; a proposal whispered in the middle of the night; an answer swallowed by a kiss.

From there, the day is moved to the large couch in the living room. Fred falling backwards onto it, tugging you down on top of him. After years together, the position is second nature, the weight of each other being nothing but a comforting presence.

It doesn’t take very long for either of you to nod off. Fred’s breathing slows first; his fingers that were doodling aimless patterns onto your back stops, a sign that he’s fallen asleep peacefully. You follow soon after, drifting off with a hand resting on Fred’s chest.

------

Similar to the morning, you wake slowly, finding that neither of you had moved through the late morning nap. Sighing in content, you become aware of a hand playing with your hair. Turning your head, you meet Fred’s gaze. It’s soft and filled with nothing but love. He doesn’t say anything, but a small smile spreads across his face.

“You are very endearing when you are half asleep,” You whisper, tilting your face, brushing your lips against his in a manner that has Fred craving more and more and more.

Fred smiles against your mouth, conscious of the fact that you currently reside on top of him in a manner that could quickly become counterproductive to the day he has planned in his mind.

He taps your hip, fingers slipping underneath the hem of your shirt. You shiver against him; a reaction that Fred never got sick of. He pulls back from your mouth, a smile still on his face. “We really need to get up, love,” He states, shifting underneath you, keeping a tight hold on your waist.

“Do we have to?” You question softly, the whisper of suggestion in those four words has Fred’s body under yours heating. He wants to cave; he wants to fall back onto the couch, his mouth attached to yours as his hands wander further under your shirt, brushing against your skin in a manner that will leave you gasping.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he laughs quietly, shaking his head at your words. “I’m afraid we do. It’s snowed some more when we were asleep, and I know you want to make a snowman before we leave.”

You purse your lips, weighing up the decision in your mind. Stay warm and make out with Fred or brave the cold and make a snowman – your only aim since arriving at the cabin three days ago.

“I suppose we should,” You sigh dramatically, moving off Fred and standing from the couch.

He pouts as you move, missing the warmth of your body already. Your eyes run over his naked torso unashamedly, drinking in the sight of the man you had pledged your forever to. It was a sight you could never grow tired of, but now Fred needed to put a shirt on.

“Babe, grab a shirt and then we can head out.”

Fred wiggles his eyebrows at you; relishing in the fact that he can fluster you so quickly even after all the time together. He doesn’t argue; the quicker he has a shirt on, the quicker he can get you back to the cabin and back into bed.

------

Snow covers the ground, untouched and pure. It’s breathtaking, Fred thinks to himself as he rubs his hands together to force some warmth into them. He reaches for the gloves in his pockets, tugging them on as he turns to face you.

He stops halfway round; caught off guard by the smile on your face.

You aren’t looking at him. You’re focused on the view from the porch of the cabin. The freshly fallen snow blanketing tree branches and weighing them down; the crispness to the air and the bright sky that only promises further snow fall.

To be loved by you, Fred realises, is an honour. A continued honour that he will always take above everything else. To know that you love him just as intensely, as encompassing as he loves you has his body feeling whole once more.

There was a time, not too long ago, where he doubted everything. A time where he couldn’t tell reality apart from the nightmares that had haunted him since that fateful day at Hogwarts.

Then you entered his life as a force to be reckoned with. The friendship that he had cherished for years was rekindled when you entered the Burrow and offered him a short and sweet reality check. Fred likes to joke that that was the exact moment he fell in love with you.

But as you smile up at the sky; a peaceful look on your face, eyes shining with happiness so deserved that Fred realises he’s been falling in love with you every day since.

How could someone as wonderful as you love someone as broken as him?

That is very question he asks himself as you turn away from the view, focusing your attention on him. The very love you feel for the redhead written across your face, shining from every pore as you reach for his hand. The gloves make it difficult to tangle your fingers together, but you hold his hand just as tightly as you did that day you whispered yes to him.

How could someone as wonderful as you love someone as broken as him?

Fred remembers the very first moment he asked himself this question. The anniversary of the battle was fast approaching, and Fred could feel himself sinking to a dark place he now visits so rarely, but at one time spent most of his time there. He could feel the weight of it pressing on his chest, constricting his breathing and worrying his mind.

He remembers how you banished the very thought from his mind. How you pressed yourself against him; taking his face in your hands as you listed the ways in which you loved him. By the end of the list, you were both reduced to tears, but he had understood. He had understood perfectly how you could love someone as broken as him.

You were broken yourself. Broken but healing with the help of Fred, just as he was broken but healing with your help.

Still, sometimes he has to take a moment. Only a moment to question how he got here; how he got to this point in his life where he’s in love with someone as lovely as you and the ring on your hand to prove it.

The snow crunches under your feet as you step down onto the first step, turning back to Fred with a large smile. “Come on magic man,” You laugh, “I want to make a snowman!”

Fred cannot help but laugh along with you, following you down the front steps of the cabin and into the fresh snow. It freezes his feet, and the cold begins to seep into his bones, but when you turn to find him following you, the smile that crosses your face instantly warm his body up once more.

You haven’t strayed too far from the warmth of the cabin when you pause, spinning in a circle. “Here,” You state plainly, “Here is where we’ll build Sebastian.”

“Sebastian?” Fred asks, eyebrows flying to his hairline.

“Sebastian is his name,” You explain, bending at the knees to gather the snow.

“Why Sebastian?” Fred asks, a curious but slightly envious tone to his voice.

You shrug, crushing the snow in your hands, “It’s a strong name for a snowman.”

“I’m glad you’ve thought this through,” He states, “But does it have to be a man?”

“Fred,” You gasp, the beginnings of laughter curling in your chest, “Are you jealous of a snowman?”

Fred shakes his head, refusing to answer, “I was just wondering why Sebastian couldn’t be Samantha?”

You fix him with a plain look, still holding the now formed snowball, “It’s a snowman, Fred. Sebastian was the first name that popped into my head. Now, do you want to build a snowman before we freeze our fingers off?”

Fred laughs, jealousy forgotten as he bends down, gathering masses of snow to make the bottom of the snowman. The ball slowly begins to grow as Fred shifts through the snow, pushing the snowball along with a now cold hand.

It’s as he’s doing this when something wet and cold smacks into his face. He splutters, snow freezing his cheeks as his eyes widen at your actions. “What was that for?” Fred all but shouts, enjoying the sound of your laughter at the sight of his sopping wet hair that now falls over his forehead.

“For being jealous of a snowman!”

Fred holds his hands up, admitting, “Alright. I was jealous of the snowman – are you happy now?”

You smile, victorious, “Much. I’ll get to work on the middle section if you’re happy to continue with the bottom?”

“More than happy, love.”

You turn back to your work, gathering and collecting the snow to start rolling into a ball. Fred smirks as he breaks up the snowball in his hands, beginning to creep in your direction, the idea fully formed in his mind.

You screech as the snow falls down the back of your coat; soaking your jumper and everything else you wear. You turn to Fred, scowling playfully as you tackle him into the snow, straddling him as he lays in the cold. Sebastian the Snowman now long forgotten by the both of you.

“Shall we head back to the cabin?” You ask, heat alight in your eyes, love alive in your smile.

“I’d follow you anywhere,” Fred whispers earnestly, “But I have something to ask you first.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Now I have to hear this.”

Fred pushes himself up, propping himself on his elbows; pure happiness written across his features, “How about a kiss?”

*********

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @lunalovegxxd​ @big-galaxy-chaos​ @annasofiaearlobe​ @imboredandneedalife​ @levylovegood​ @mytreec​ @haphazardhufflepuff​ @stupxfy​ @chaoticgirl04​ @accio-rogers​ @starlightweasley​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @lestersglitterglue​ @msmimimerton​ @obx-beach​ @izzytheninja​ @slytherinprincess03​ @bbeauttyybbx​ @breadqueen95​ @acciotwinz​ @kashishwrites​ @slytherinsunrise​ @kylosleftbuttcheek​ @remmyswritings​ @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon​ @ria-rests-here​ @superbturtlemakerathlete​ @inglourious-imagines​ @ithilwen-lionheart​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @ilovejjmaybank​ @theonly1outof-a-billion​ @phuvioqhile​ @moatsnow​ @missmulti​ @storyisnotover​

Fred Weasley taglist: @whiz-bangs78 @susceptible-but-siriusexual @seppys-return-to-madness @hexmione @ickle-ronniekins @oh-for-merlins-sake @somekidinacoma

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley #fred x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley imagines #vogueweasley1k

[talsiaa]

Tattoo Shop AU - wolfstar

*not my art but it’s stunning <33 it’s by @savysami !*

Pairing: Sirius Black x Remus Lupin (I love wolfstar sm)

Summary: Sirius owns a tattoo parlour. Wolfstar fluff ensues. Also, they’re not wizards and Remus isn’t a werewolf :)

Warnings: tattoo stuff -needles, blood, pain. 

Word Count: 1420

A/N: This is apart of @band--psycho​ ‘s bingo challenge, I’m so excited to be apart of it :)) Disclaimer though, never once have I ever been into a tattoo parlour so this is what I assume happens but I could be wrong so read it with a pinch of salt if you actually know about tattoos. Hope you all enjoy <3

The soft glows of sunset brushed upon Remus’ skin, bringing out his freckles, as he paced back and forwards in front of the tattoo parlour he was booked into about 15 minutes ago. At first, he had not been phased by the idea of getting a tattoo - ever since he was a teen he thought they looked incredibly attractive and was so sure he wanted one. Now, however, as he stood reaching for the door handle for what must have been the fifth time, he was unusually nervous. What if it hurts too much? What if he hates it? What if he flinches and causes the artist to mess it up? With the many doubts running through his head, he had not yet spotted the amused-looking tattoo artist watching him through the window from the front desk. Deciding he could no longer sit and watch his 5 o’clock appointment pace in front of his shop, Sirius Black made his way outside, startling Remus as he opened the front door.

“So are you going to pace out here all night or would you like to come in?” Sirius mocked, still giving the other young man a warm smile as to not scare him off. 

“S-sorry, I just, erm...well...” Remus stood like a deer in headlights at the (rather attractive) man in front of him, not really having a reason for his pacing that wouldn’t completely embarrass him.  

“Don’t worry, most people who come in are nervous for their first tattoo.” Sirius reassured him, nodding his head into the parlour and holding the door open for Remus who very uncertainly took the hint to go inside. 

The parlour was unexpectedly cosy - a small fireplace opposite the front desk making the art-covered walls glow orange. Pictures of past work hung above the desk and Remus couldn’t help thinking how beautifully talented you must be to be able to do any of it.

“I’m Sirius, by the way.” Sirius walked past Remus, towards a crooked spiral  stair case in the corner of the room. Remus supposed he should follow.

“I’m Remus. Sorry, I am quite late.” Remus with his six-foot-something frame struggled to fit in the passageway at the top of the stairs, ducking his head when he went under a light.

“Oh, it’s okay. You’re my last appointment and anyway,” Sirius now turned around to smile at Remus once again, walking backwards through a door that let to a tiny break room. “I enjoyed watching you pace, it was cute,”

“Oh, er, you saw the full fifteen minutes, huh?” Remus decided to chuckle instead of just combusting with regret, scratching at the back of his neck. Sirius hummed in response, flicking a kettle on.

“It’s okay, though, honestly. Loads of people get nervous coming in for their first tattoo...” the reassuring speech Sirius started was muted in Remus’ mind as he finally got to look properly at the artist.

Sirius Black was covered with tattoos. Tiny doodles peppered his skin, filling the space between some of his bigger pieces. On his forearm Remus noticed a constellation, although half of it was covered by the white shirt arms he had rolled up and untidily buttoned halfway up his arm. His skinny jeans didn’t quite go with the rather smart looking shirt, but once again Remus’ mind was racing because wow, Sirius Black was hot.

“So yeah,” Remus tuned back into Sirius’ words, both of them sitting round a small coffee table in the middle of the room on battered leather armchairs. “Drink your tea and we’ll talk about what you actually want tattooed. I’ll draw some designs and you can pick your favourite - oh, you don’t take sugar, do you?” Sirius asked just as Remus put his mug to his lips and shook his head. “I’ll answer any questions you have too, it might make you less nervous?” 

Remus gave a small, grateful smile at this and murmured a thank you, placing his mug onto the table while Sirius opened his sketch book. “I actually had a few ideas, but I’m not sure which I’d like to go with. So, one of them was the phases of the moon, maybe just below my collar bone. Or, this on my bicep,”

Remus quickly took out his phone and showed a picture he’d saved a few weeks prior.

“Not the writing, though, sort of just the circle bit,”

“Alright, great. Here, might be able to choose if you can see them drawn out.” Sirius thrust the sketch pad at Remus and he took it, biting his lip in concentration. The paper showed the tattoos he wanted drawn onto a rough sketch of both body parts. “If you want both that’s okay too. Like I said, you’re my last appointment so I really don’t mind if it takes a bit longer than expected.”

“Erm, can we do the moon phases one today and the other one another time? I’d hate to keep you late.” In reality, Remus wasn’t sure he’d stay 100% conscious if he got both done one after the other. He had just a little fear of needles. Sirius could definitely sense this was the real reason but didn’t push it.

“Definitely. Come on, we’ll go into the studio.” Remus followed him back out of the room and into the tiny corridor again but luckily went straight next door. In this room, everything was sleek and clean and smelled like disinfectant. A black couch stood against the wall, facing the tattoo chair. Drawers and plastic boxes of various equipment were organised about the room.

“Jump on the chair and pop your shirt off,” Sirius flicked the lamp attached to the chair on and sauntered across the room to get the tattoo gun, ink and disinfectant. 

Pulling his David Bowie tshirt over his head, Remus started feeling even more shaky and nervous. A pit was starting to form in his stomach and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Nothing to worry about, okay? You’re perfectly safe, I promise.” Sirius had made his way back to sit on a stool next to Remus with everything he needed sprawled out next to him. His voice low and soothing, making Remus suppose that even if he was in an unbearable amount of pain in the next five minutes, at least he’d have a really attractive man telling him it’s okay in the most enchanting way he’d ever heard. “If you need me to stop for a few moments just tell me. Afterwards I’ll get you a lolly if you’re a really brave boy, yeah?”

Although mocking, there was a quite a suggestive undertone to Sirius’ words. Remus took a deep breath and nodded while the other boy got to work, cleaning the area under his collar bone. The tattoo gun then graced his soft skin, making him wince and screw his eyes shut, tensing up a little.

“Just try and relax for me, Remus. You’re doing great, it’ll be over in a minute.” Sirius’ soothing words caused Remus to relax into the chair a little, the pain becoming a little duller as blood prickled to the surface of his skin, making it numb. 

After not long at all, the pain stopped and was replaced by an ache instead. Looking down, a perfect depiction of the moon phases was etched into his collar bone and he immediately loved it, even if it was reddened at the present. 

“There we go, all done. See, that wasn’t too bad was it?” Sirius started cleaning the gun, putting various bits back where they came from and helping Remus out of the chair. “You good?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m alright. I really like it, thank you!” Remus was grinning at him, and Sirius couldn’t help but grin back. 

Another five minutes and Remus had had his tattoo carefully wrapped up and was at the counter downstairs again, being given instructions on how to look after his tattoo until it heals.

“That’s a pack of all the stuff you’re gonna need to keep it from getting infected and swollen.” Remus was handed a plastic toiletries bag of different lotions and anti-bac stuff. “As promised, a lolly for being brave,” Sirius smirked as he handed Remus a strawberry flavoured lolly. “And, er, this is my number.” A small piece of paper with small digits was also handed over. 

“In case I have any problems with it?”

“Yeah, I suppose that too. But also,” Sirius leaned in over the desk separating them, his smirk only growing. “In case you wanna text me so I can ask you on a date.”

Remus had never blushed so hard.

#band--pyschos bingo challenge 2021 #wolfstar #sirius black #remus lupin #sirius x remus #gay #fanfic #fanfiction #marauders #au #tattoo shop AU #harry potter #tattoos #harry potter au

[elysianslove]

Congratulations on 5K! That's amazing and you deserve way more!

I was wondering if I could maybe request a timestamp? Idk how to do this very well but uh...

1:30pm + Sugawara doodles in his notebooks?

💙💙 congrats again!

thank you so much!! and omg the request is so cute tysm for sending it in <333

5k Followers Event! — sugawara kōshi doodles in his notebooks 

[1:30 pm]

the desk your arms are folded up against is cool against your skin, your eyes faltering slightly as you shiver. you’re on a much needed break, a free class, in the middle of the school day, head resting in the crook of your arm, eyes half lidded as you lazily watch your best friend as his eyes skim across his textbook. usually, you’d have it in you to complain about the lack of attention he’s giving you on one of the only free classes of yours that coincide with one of his, but today, you don’t entirely mind. 

he’s pretty. sugawara is really pretty. silver locks neatly styled, some of his fringe disarrayed and falling over his eyes, barely hiding the small beauty spot by his eye. his skin is fair, and his lips are a pretty, pale pink. his features are gorgeous, and of course you know this. he’s your best friend, and you see him everyday. you’ve long since studied and memorized all that he has to offer, from the tiniest specks in his eyes, to all his different smiles and laughs. 

it’s nice to watch him when you’re this sleepy. it’s like looking at a dream. a little hazy, but calm, reassuring, and it settles a warm feeling in your chest. 

“pretty,” you mumble underneath your breath, words dissolving into a small yawn. you no longer are capable of fighting the overwhelming need to sleep, and slowly, your eyes shut, your body easing by the second. you’re not entirely sleeping, still conscious, but it’s a relaxing state in between. 

you stay like this for a few minutes, reveling in the peace you’ve been offered, but eventually, your body wakes up, forcing your brain to be just as alert. it leaves you relatively groggy but, it honestly excites you more than anything for the afternoon nap you’re bound to take as soon as you’re home. you lift your head up, your arms following and lifting up as you stretch, sighing as the tension in your body eases. 

and then, just as you’re fixing up your hair, your eye catches it. sugawara’s arm is mostly covering the textbook, so you barely see it, but when he moves and readjusts to hold the pen against the textbook at a better angle, you see it even clearer. 

it’s not very distinct, more so an outline of a figure than a detailed drawing, but anyone that had passed by a moment earlier would’ve recognized what the doodle is. it’s a messily, vaguely drawn outline of your head tucked into your arms, eyes closed and mouth slightly parted. he even adds a few z’s above your head for extra effect, and god, it’s so cute.  

he seems to be mindlessly doing it too. his cheek’s resting against his unoccupied palm, other hand moving lazily and sketching on the textbook. he hasn’t entirely noticed that you’ve noticed yet, so as quietly as you can, you lean your head down, until your chin is resting right by his doodling hand. “whatcha got there?” you jokingly wonder. 

he tenses momentarily, before an easy, teasing smile paints across his lips. “nothing special,” he replies, shrugging. 

“why fawn over a drawing when you have the real thing right here?” you grin, head lifting up to meet him at eye level. 

he hums thoughtfully, pen lifting up to his lips, eyes glancing all along your face, down to your lips, before back up to your eyes. his gaze leaves you shivering, much more than the cold desk had. “yeah, you’re right,” he finally decides, smile widening. “can i fawn over you across a dinner table, next friday maybe?” 

you laugh lightly, heart fluttering weakly in your chest. “i thought you’d never ask.” 

sugawara kōshi is very pretty, but he’s prettiest when you’re the only thing on his mind. 

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #sugawara x reader #suga x reader #sugawara koshi x reader #sal's 5k event <3

[kaderp]

ALRIGHT FUCKERS THIS IS GONNA BE A HELLA LONG MEGAPOST AS I WAS GIVEN THE OK

BASICALLY this is gonna be a collection of bullshit me and @blackfliesinbluesugar have come up with and drawn

It starts with Goldie still living in Ireland at 17-19 and Scrooge from ages 18-20 staying in Scotland. And long story short they're dumbasses as teens. Cliche forbidden romance type stuff. Goldie's dad has shot people in the foot for trying to mess around with Goldie or just even talk to her for too long. So the only logical explanation they have is make Scrooge hide in the barn when he visits.

Basically Scrooge chills in the barn for a while cause Goldie's the only one that ever really goes in there because she's in charge of all the chores there. Which is where the context of this post is from

After the first time they fooled around Goldie was like 'oh crap what if I got pregnant D:' and told her mom she's going through a phase of flowey/big dresses when in reality she's trying to hide a potential baby bump. Now her mom doesn't care because she's too caught up in the fact that Goldie is finally 'acting like a lady.'

So eventually because they never put together that 'hey, if we keeping doing this we're gonna end up with a baby', Goldie does end up pregnant. And because her dad is a dick and a 'I catch you with my daughter then you die' type of shotgun dad, Goldie is freaking tf out.

About a month after she finds out she's pregnant, the O'Gilt's (well mostly just Goldie and her mom lol) get invited to a fancy dinner and Scrooge is really wanting to see Goldie again. So what better way to see her than to travel to Ireland, steal a uniform, and sneak into said dinner party as a busboy. Problem is he can't risk Goldie's dad seeing him again so he tries to slick back his whiskers

But while Scrooge is running around, he eventually spots Goldie across the room. Now he's never seen her in anything fancy, usually just the flannel and green work skirt. And he just about dies 😭

By now she has a bit of a baby bump she's had to hide so she normally goes for high waisted dresses that immediately flow out.

Anyways, as Scrooge is putting on the uniform he realizes he has absolutely no idea how to actually be a busboy. He doesn't know the first thing about dining and stuff so he's just like AAAAAAA

As they both see each other, Scrooge gives a dorky grin and Goldie smiles before realizing he snuck in. Right when Scrooge goes to see her he gets dumped with a bunch of dishes he has to set. Goldie sees him struggling to figure out how to set a table and he just gives her a nervous grin while she's like 'oh you beautiful dumbass -_-'

She's turning red cause she's trying so hard not to burst out in laughter as Scrooge slips and a bunch of silverware falls on him

He's getting yelled at by the director but he's just giving Goldie a goofy grin from across the room.

Her parents: remember to be calm and not make a scene no matter wh-

Goldie watching Scrooge trip on the tablecloth: BWAHAHA

But as the dinner progresses, Goldie remembers Scrooge doesn't even know she's pregnant. So she keeps trying to tell him but they both constantly get pulled away to do other things.

Towards the end of dinner Scrooge gets a free moment and realizes then that 'holy shit I actually like really love her!' So he darts to wherever she is and is struggling to get it out cause he doesn't know how much time he has left. He eventually spits it out and tells Goldie he loves her and is immediately called away. Scrooge takes her hands and quickly kisses her cheek before running to wherever the director is calling him from.

Goldie is shocked and stays still for a moment but by the time the shock wears off she realizes Scrooge is already long gone and they don't see each other again. And now Goldie's like 'crap crap crap, he said he loves me and I didn't even tell him I'm pregnant.'

They aren't able to communicate for a while cause Goldie's so focused on trying to keep her family pleased while still hiding her baby bump, and Scrooge keeps getting sidetracked and forgetting to write. (You can't tell me that isn't something he'd do because he kept getting distracted in the life and times when coming back home). He has her address, and he has started a letter, and even his family knows about her. 3ish months pass of no communications until one night Goldie starts contractions.

She darts to the barn after the first contraction and realizes she has to do this alone. A letter takes a day to get to Scrooge and going to Scotland herself would take closer to 7 hours. At that point it would be safer to not move.

It's like 3am by the time she lays and the egg ends up being pretty small. The entire time Goldie was just getting sicker and sicker. She ends up too weak to even hide the egg and has a high fever. She seriously thinks she's not gonna make it for the first night she can barely stay conscious.

The next morning she has just enough strength to lazily hide the egg in the hay and sluggishly make her way back to the main house. Her parents are already up and she explains she started feeling iffy while doing chores and collapses.

Because her parents aren't completely heartless and she still is their daughter, her parents' main focus shifts to trying to nurse her back to health. They assume she fell with a bad flu and don't know she had spent all night laying an egg.

During this time she writes to Scrooge telling him to get over here asap, it's an emergency.

Goldie's parents take over her chores in the barn and the moment they said that Goldie went into panic mode again. During a lunch break she climbs through her window and runs to the barn to hide the egg better. She does, and she successfully makes it back to her room but collapses again and sleeps until the next day.

Scrooge arrives 3 days after she lays and now she's really panicking. She's still weak and sick, and her parents are coming closer and closer to finding the egg. Scrooge when he sees her is genuinely freaking out. Not only for the future and that he now has an egg, but because Goldie did it by herself in a dirty barn. She's still a little loopy even though it's been a few days and Scrooge just feels heart broken that he wasn't there to help. He starts going on a tangent about how she could have died but Goldie just kisses him to get him to stop blabbering.

Scrooge helps her clean up a bit cause even with her parents looking after her, she's still a mess. But as he's washing her and the egg up, they hear fighting from the main house. Her parents realized she wasn't in her bed. She starts crying and tells Scrooge he needs to run home asap because if her dad finds out he'll most definitely kill him and/or the baby.

(This was the first doodle for the au before deciding on an exact age/place/look so don't mind the sloppiness)

Scrooge escapes right as her dad comes in. She pulls the excuse of she thought she felt well enough to do chores.

Scrooge rn is running like a madman back to Scotland. He went from chilling with his family to being a father who's child needs to be kept secret within a day.

By the time Scrooge gets back home it's the middle of the night and is ngl feeling pretty overwhelmed. He tells Downy that he messed up and she's just like ??? So Scrooge holds up the egg and Downy just purses her lips like 'ah'

The next morning Scrooge explains to his family what happened and doesn't leave out any detail. Fergus and Downy obviously have mixed feelings. Scrooge is barely 19 yet he already has a kid??? But in the end they realize they can't change what's happened and focus on helping Scrooge protect this child.

Once the baby hatched, all mixed feelings from Downy erased and she just went into 'this is my grandbaby and no one will touch her' mood.

Scrooge and Goldie kept in contact from the moment Goldie gave away the egg. Because of the little incident of Goldie 'trying to do chores while sick,' she was put under close monitoring for the next few months and couldn't visit each other. After constant writing back and forth, they find a date to meet up half way between Scotland and Ireland so Goldie can meet her baby. They try to decide on baby names through the letter but they can't agree on anything. Goldie finds out that Scrooge moved out of his small Glasgow home and into McDuck Castle. He gives her the new location on the map as well.

The first time Scrooge tries to sneak out with the baby Fergus is just standing right outside with his brow arched and Scrooge starts freaking out.

Before Scrooge can apologize for trying to sneak out, Fergus just asks if Scrooge would like him to go with.

Scrooge is a little shocked but can't talk with the frog in his throat and just nods. Along the way Scrooge explains how he and Goldie have been trying to find the right time to sneak out for weeks because it was so hard for Goldie to get free time. She was sent to go across country to get supplies and uses that opportunity to go meet up with Scrooge and the baby again.

Fergus just nods and continues.

When they do see Goldie, she almost breaks down at the sight that the baby survived and is being raised in a good house hold and can't stop holding her. The baby is about 3 months old by now. They finally agreed on a name and she ended up being named Maryanne. (Yes Jelly and I chose that because it means Star of the Sea)

She has to give the baby back to Scrooge cause stupid teenage and still getting over pregnancy hormones are getting the better of her and she starts full on sobbing as she sits on the ground. Scrooge freezes cause he's like aaaaaa what do I dooooo while still holding the baby.

But Fergus crouches down to her and asks if she wants a hug. All Goldie can say is 'uh huh' and he just wraps himself around her. She hugs back and Fergus rocks back and forth until Goldie's calmed down.

'I'm sorry I pulled your son into the mess. I-I was just so scared that my papa w-would kill one of us that I didn't know what else to do.'

Fergus pulls her away so he can actually look at her. And part of him feels that tinge of fear and sadness that the two teens had experienced. He grabs onto her shoulders which causes Goldie to look up at him.

'While I dinnae agree what you two did was right. Ah'm proud of you. Because what you did, finding the will to give up a child for their own safety, took a lotta strength there, lass.' And before she can react, Fergus pulls her in again and let's it sink in.

Scrooge is still holding the baby but now he's sitting down and bouncing the cooing baby on his knee while watching the scene unfold.

Over the course of the next few months, Goldie visits as much as possible and she grows closer to the family and Scrooge every time. On the times she can't visit, Fergus accompanies Scrooge in order to protect them from Goldie's dad. She's had a few close calls with her dad, but nothing too serious

After those events, Goldie practically moves in with the McDucks and they work on raising Maryanne. However like in the Rosa series, they're still experiencing tax trouble and Scrooge says he's gonna have to go to South Africa. The baby is about 2 by now and Scrooge is almost 21, while Goldie is about 19 and a half.

(This next section was an accident but basically it started as jotting down ideas but turned into a fic after I said it would take 20 seconds to write but turned into 2 hours fjdbfndn)

Scrooge is torn between whether or not to go until Goldie says she'll go with him. And because she's stubborn, no one objects. So the three travel across the world together. Maryanne practically grows up on the sea and all of those adventures where Goldie is present in the DT17 Rewriting History book happen.

On adventures they trade off tying the baby to their backs until she's old enough to not need to anymore. Although for the more dangerous ones, one of them stays behind.

But because they weren't married and had a kid in their teens, they were generally looked down upon. It got to the point where they just started saying they were married in order to avoid conflict with others. And after a while they actually forgot they weren't in fact married

'Huh, I forgot we're not actually married.' 'WAIT WE'RE NOT???'

Or

'We're married' 'Oh ok, can i see your marriage records?' '... oh right'

But some old lady or old guy either way starts criticizing Goldie for being a young mother and they just deck the shit outta them and run. Or Goldie fighting someone with baby tied to her back.

Maryanne grows up to be an ocean cartographer and leads sailing expeditions and that's all we have for her. Also she has super blue eyes lol

That's basically almost all of the things we have for this au lol

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #disney #duck tales #don rosa #scrooge mcduck #goldie o'gilt #au #glittering goldie #scroldie #teen scroldie au #long post #really long post #megapost

[tenspontaneite]

Pigment

Callum discovers the wonders of elven pigments.

(The first of two pieces written for @falling-for-you-a-rayllum-zine, which is now having leftover sales!) ('Future' chapter; takes place post-s3, naturally not canon to TTM. Oneshot. 4k. Ao3 link)

---

The first time Callum was introduced to the concept of elvish pigment was, ostensibly, by Rayla’s skin. He’d noted the marks under her eyes in the same hurried, panicked glance that picked out the horns, the ears, the alarming points of the weapons in her hands…

He wondered about them, of course, but in the first frantic two weeks of their acquaintance, there really wasn’t a lot of time to ask about it. Not until the Storm Spire, when he sat mulling over the flight-runes on Ibis’ wings, and how they might have come to be there.

“…So, I’ve been wondering,” he said to Rayla, apropos of nothing, while she was tending to her equipment. She looked up as he began to speak, the armour momentarily forgotten. “Those…markings you have, the ones on your face—and the ones a lot of other elves seem to have—what are they?”

She blinked, and for a moment, her fingers rose to her face, as though only just remembering the marks were there. “They’re pigment?” She offered, squinting at him a little. “…Is that a trick question, or…?”

“No, really, I have no idea what they are.” He assured her. “I was never sure if they were tattoos, or…weird elf birthmarks, or something. But—pigment? Does that mean it’s like…ink? How do you get them on?” Tattoos, as he understood them, involved needles. He hoped elven pigment didn’t involve needles.

For a moment, Rayla stared at him, looking decidedly nonplussed. “You…paint them on?” She offered, still thrown. “With a brush? And then they stay there for a while. Half a year, maybe. Depends on how good your pigment is.”

“Huh.” Callum mused. For a moment, he was tempted to press further, to ask about the intricacies of various pigments and the application thereof…but he’d been asking for a reason, after all, and his attention remained there.

If they were painted on...then that boded well. That meant that it was something that he could do, if only for the presence of the pigment and a brush.

It wasn’t much later that, after a guilty rummage through Ibis’ things, Callum stood at the pinnacle of the Storm Spire and painted flight-runes onto his skin. That was his first true introduction to the pigments of elves. As an artist, he couldn’t help but marvel at it. The pigment was white, yet it entirely obscured the darker colour of his skin with only a single, easy stroke. Only one layer, and it was solidly opaque. It glowed a little—then settled utterly dry, clean, and steadfast upon his arms.

For a moment, he spared a thought to wish that his paints could be like that. He’d dabbled in every form of art medium he could get his hands on over the years, and he’d never worked with any pigment like this one. It would be gorgeous to paint with.

But then he was too distracted trying to fly to think about art any longer, and that was the last mind he paid to pigment for a while.

*

After the battle of the Storm Spire, he prevailed upon the use of a finer, neater brush, and filled in the edges of his flight-runes until the shape of each was perfect and immaculate. Ibis watched him with a critical eye, and nodded.

“The spell will come easier if the runes are tidy.” He said, approvingly. “You’ll need to re-apply the pigment every three months. Any longer than that and it will begin to fade—which isn’t so great an issue when the marks are merely aesthetic, but with runes…”

“I can see how you wouldn’t want these fading, no.” Callum said ruefully, and accepted the little bottle of white pigment with a murmur of gratitude. He tucked it into his things for the next time he and Rayla went travelling, and she smiled at him.

“Packing your pigment for the journey, Callum?” She remarked, a little teasing. “Think we’ll be gone that long, do you?”

He laughed, and shrugged, glancing down at one of his arms. “I guess it’s just in case, really. I shouldn’t need to touch them up again for months, but…you never know. Wouldn’t want to end up flightless for some reason.”

“I suppose you are a tad obsessed with flying, now.” She agreed, as if she wasn’t always finding excuses for him to sweep her up into the sky for another flight. She reached out, absentminded, and trailed a fingertip around the curve of one rune with the trace of a smile on her lips. “Still, if it came down to it, you could always borrow mine.”

He glanced up at her, startled. “Your pigment?” He checked, eyes settling on the marks beneath her eyes. “I didn’t know you had any with you.”

“I don’t. Need to pick some up from Ethari, when we visit.” She said, succinctly, and he supposed that was another reason for their stopping at Silvergrove on the way to Katolis. How long had it been, since she last refreshed her pigment? Did she need to do it again soon, or was she just planning for the future?

He stared at her for a moment, contemplating her, feeling his heart flutter with a familiar warmth. If her markings had faded at all since he met her, it wasn’t immediately obvious to him. They looked as clear and lovely as ever; a natural part of her face. It was strange to think of what she might look like without them.

Rayla eyed him, when he’d stared a little too long and smiled a little too softly, and huffed at him. Her cheeks pinked a little, the colour darkening her markings. “What are you looking at?” She muttered to him, a touch self-conscious. Rather than look away, he smiled at her all the wider, and captured the hand she had on his arm to plant a kiss on its fingers.

“You.” He said, very contentedly, and watched with pleasure as her face coloured and her fingers twitched beneath his touch.

“Dumb prince.” She sighed, a smile spreading unbidden and affectionate across her lips. It was beautiful, so of course he kissed that too. He felt the widening of that smile against his mouth, and lingered there for as long as she’d let him before she prodded him away to finish packing.

She gave his arms a strange look, though, when he next bared them. Appraising, almost, with a narrow-eyed sort of consideration. “…What?” He asked, when she’d been staring long enough to warrant the question.

“Your runes are…neat.” She said, tone as considering as her eyes. “Tidy.” She shook her head then. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, with all the art you do. Of course you’d be good at painting skin-pigment.” He eyed her, because there was clearly more to this observation than just surprise that he’d managed some tidy brushwork, but all she said when he asked was “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

He didn’t believe her, obviously. Not with the way she kept shooting half-considering looks at him when she thought he wasn’t looking. But he didn’t press her, and she didn’t mention whatever was on her mind. In time, he forgot about it.

Until they were back in the Silvergrove.

*

Rayla asked Ethari, and within the minute he was pressing a small dark bottle and a fine brush into her hands. “I did wonder if you needed any.” He said, as she turned the glass over and the indigo liquid swirled around within. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” She agreed, pocketing the vial and the brush both. “It’ll start fading soon. So…thanks.”

He nodded at her, all warmth and familial affection. “Not a problem. Did you want me to help with that while you’re here?”

She hesitated, then, and for a moment…for a moment, her eyes slid to Callum, who’d been watching them idly over the top of his sketchbook. “…I’m good.” She settled on, eventually, and if there was anything particularly knowing about Ethari’s smile then, Callum didn’t notice it.

He kept drawing, content in that she was content, and happy to be in her home under happier circumstances than the first.

But then, later: “I wanted to ask you something.” Rayla said, abruptly, when it was just the two of them in what was ostensibly her childhood room. It had been adapted over the years for a growing teenager, but still maintained hints of the past lingering within its walls. He spotted a child’s doodle of a shadowpaw etched into the grain of the dresser, and suppressed a smile.

He turned to her, eyes crinkling a little at the thought of a tiny rambunctious Rayla who scrawled over the walls and furniture. “Yeah?” He responded, a little distracted, as he wondered if there were perhaps any baby or childhood portraits in residence somewhere. He should ask Ethari. If there were any to be found, surely he’d know.

That distraction fled the instant she spoke. “Will you paint my pigment for me?” She asked, directly, and his eyes shot to her at once. At his expression, she added, “You don’t have to. But it needs doing soon, or it’ll start fading faster.” She paused, looking a little more tentative as she said, “If you don’t want to, Ethari can—”

“No,” he blurted, clumsy, then scrambled to say “I mean, yes, I mean—I mean I’d like that. To help. To, er. Paint your pigment on.” He felt his face heat, in part from how he’d stumbled over the words, and in part because…well. He might not know a lot about elven pigment and elven markings, but he was fairly sure that they were…personal. That painting someone’s markings for them was personal.

His reply settled her, and she huffed, lips twitching with familiar fondness. “…Good.” She said, in the end, and surprised him by leaving the room without further word. He blinked after her, uncertain whether he was supposed to follow, but then she returned a bare few moments later with a towel and a wet cloth that she was already wiping her face with.

“Er,” he offered, perplexed, as she dried her face off and set the towel and cloth both down. He didn’t understand until she plucked the bottle of pigment from her dresser and pressed it into his fingers. “Now?” His voice was something of a squeak, and she rolled her eyes.

“When else?” She asked, procuring a brush and giving him that too. “We’re setting off tomorrow. Now’s best.” She paused. “…That okay?”

Her voice had gone tentative again, and his chin jerked up, fingers tightening around brush and bottle as if worried she’d take them away. “No, yeah, it’s okay,” he assured her, and then laughed, a little nervously. “I just…wasn’t expecting it.” He cleared his throat, and took a closer look at the brush. It was like the one he’d filled his own runes in with, fine and delicate and short enough that it didn’t seem liable to flick off in weird directions. “…So I just…paint this onto your face?” He asked, after a moment, feeling his cheeks heat for reasons he couldn’t quite put to words. It felt special, in a way that was hard to describe.

“That is how it works.” Rayla answered, dryly, and then tugged him by the rune-adorned arm until they were both sitting on the floor, towel and cloth at close remove. He supposed those were there in case of spillages, though considering how quickly elvish pigment took hold, he wasn’t sure how much good a towel would do. He wondered if there was some sort of solvent, magical or otherwise, that was up to the task of dissolving pigment like this.

“What happens if I make a mistake when I’m putting your pigment on?” He wondered aloud, only half directing it at her. “Do you just have to walk around with it on your face for months?”

She snorted, and shook her head. “Nah. There’s pigment-remover for that.”

A little tension eased from his shoulders. “Oh, good,” he sighed, relieved. “That’s much less pressure, then.”

She rolled her eyes again. “Just paint my face, Callum.”

He chuckled at her, a little nervously, and uncapped the bottle. The liquid inside was so much darker than the pigment he used, and bizarrely true in its colour. Usually, inks tended to look much darker than their actual colour when they were in the bottle. It was only when you painted them onto a page that you could see how light and bright they were. This, though…it was just solid, liquid indigo, as if someone had distilled the concept of the colour of Rayla’s markings and spilled it into a bottle. “This would be amazing to paint with.” He murmured, somewhat distractedly, watching the pigment shimmer in the low light.

Rayla didn’t answer that, which was unusual enough that his eyes darted to hers, and found her looking strangely thoughtful. She shook her head, though, as if to dispel some thought, and started giving the pigment bottle and the brush some very meaningful looks. He laughed, softly, and obeyed the unspoken command; he dipped the brush in, drained off the excess, and then lifted it. It was dyed the same solid, true indigo—a colour that he was about to put onto her skin.

It hit him then, or at least started to; he looked between the brush and her face and felt his breath catch at—at something. It felt a little like panic, a little like wonder, a little like the breathless infatuation she always managed to inspire in him. For a moment, he didn’t know what to do with it, and just…stared at her, heart beating wildly at—at the trust, and the honour, that he couldn’t help but feel she’d given him.

She was looking impatient by the time he finally moved, and likely would have spoken if not for how he shuffled closer, until their knees were touching. Her mouth closed, watching him, eyes settling on his own as he reached towards her. His fingers brushed the edge of her jaw, feather-light, as tentative as he always was when he remembered that someone as amazing as her had deigned to be with someone like him. His breath caught in his throat as he lifted his hand, thumb tracing tenderly along a cheek that warmed beneath his touch.

He cupped her face in his hand, then, unable to resist the impulse, and she leaned into it without even thinking. Her eyes fell half-lidded for a moment, the smallest smile twitching at the edges of her lips, and he wanted to kiss her. That wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing, but—but he wanted to, and she was smiling at him, and her eyes were soft and warm in the quiet and low light of the room—

So, he kissed her, and she huffed an amused breath against his lips, lifting a hand to trail affectionate fingers along the side of his neck. “This doesn’t feel like face-painting to me.” She murmured to him, fond and teasing at once, and he wouldn’t have been surprised for a moment if his heart stopped beating for the strength of how much he loved her. “Weren’t you supposed to be doing something?”

He laughed, a little breathless, and the warmth of it spilled between them. “Yeah.” He agreed, helplessly, drawing back with her fingers still warm on his neck and his hand still cupped to her cheek, and paused for a moment to treasure the sight of her looking at him like that. He couldn’t believe how lucky he was that she loved him. He didn’t think he’d ever believe it. “I’ll just…get on that.”

She withdrew her hand, and watched him. Waiting.

His fingers shifted on Rayla’s face, moving to press his thumb gently to the side of the marking under her left eye. Pulling at the skin, ever-so-slightly, to allow for painting it more evenly. Another urge struck him, but this time he suppressed it. He could kiss her cheek-markings later. For now, he was supposed to be painting them. And so…

With an almost reverent care, he lifted the tip of the brush to her face, hovering just above her skin with a heady mixture of breathless wonder and breathless trepidation. He exhaled, softly, and felt her eyes upon him. Watching, warm and fond and expectant.

Finally, with the utmost care, he touched the brush to her skin.

She flinched a little at the touch so close beneath her eye, but he’d expected that. He held the brush steady and traced a slow, perfect line down her cheek, along the edge of the extant marking, like a dark border to the fading colour. And it was fading; he could see that now. It wasn’t noticeable on its own, but with the contrast of the fresh pigment beside it, it was fully obvious that the old colour had begun waning.

With the brush to her skin, Callum’s hushed awe fell in step with the breadth of his skill and practice. He’d never put brush to someone else’s skin before, but that did nothing to diminish his skill. He knew brushwork, and he knew the delicacy needed for fine detail, and…and, in the end, this was easy. Just tracing around an existing marking, and filling it in. There could be nothing easier.

He drew the pigment across her skin in smooth, effortless lines. He traced the borders of her marking and then filled it in, up until when the brush began to run empty, and he had to go for the bottle again. The colour settled fast, immediate, and perfect upon her face, with that gorgeous fidelity he’d never seen in any other pigment or paint or ink in all his life. It was a pleasure to use it, and all the more that he was using it for this.

Callum fell half into an artist’s trance for the remaining minutes it took to finish. He filled the left marking in, stark and perfect, then shifted his fingers tenderly to her other cheek, and repeated the process. When he was done, there was nothing but perfect lines and perfect colour upon a face that he loved.

He smiled, small and satisfied, and set the brush aside. “Done.” He murmured, and leaned forward to press his forehead to hers, cradling her face in both hands. It felt strange, to risk touching her skin when he’d only just painted it. But that was the wonder of elvish pigment; it dried the moment it was applied, and permitted no possibility of smearing whatsoever. He stroked his thumbs beneath her eyes and felt more happy, more tender, more loving than he’d ever known. “Perfect.” He murmured, reverential, the words meant for more than the pigment.

Her eyes blinked across from his own, and he loved them. Loved her. She brought her arms up and drew him closer, one hand splayed on the back of his neck. “Maybe I’ll have you do me some new markings, someday.” She murmured to him, in the end, a small and secret smile at the edges of her lips. He stared at her, spellbound, for the three beats of his heart that lingered between her smile and her movement. She leaned in and closed the meagre distance between them, the kiss soft and sweet and all the more perfect for how dearly he adored her.

He imagined, for a second, drawing that ink-brush again along her skin. Imagined it between her fingers, along her arms, casting indigo whorls about her shoulders. He thought of new pigment, new markings, and the sheer delight of being the one who got to put them there. His heart fluttered. “I’d like that.” He said, against her lips, and she kissed him again.

“Good.” When she drew back, the markings were still stark and beautiful beneath her eyes, where he’d painted them. The sight of them left him a little breathless, even now, unable to shake the sense that he’d been afforded an enormous privilege, a gift of worth beyond measure.

Someday, he hoped, she’d afford him that gift again.

*

Callum saw the fruits of Rayla’s thoughtful consideration and furtive glances a while later, when July came around and he was startled from thinking about her birthday by the arrival of his own. She cornered him with palpable satisfaction, and gave him a parcel that she very clearly expected him to be delighted with.

She wasn’t wrong.

He unveiled an array of small bottles; thirty-six hues of true and perfect elvish pigment, distilled for the purpose of painting. He beheld them all with a nearly breathless joy, finding the little parcel of pigment-brushes, the bottle of solvent, the masking-fluid….

“You like it?” Rayla asked, with a broad and decidedly smug smile on her face. She clearly already knew the answer.

“I love it.” He pronounced, and set at once to trying them out.

The very first thing he painted was her. She watched him, and huffed as she saw the familiar lines of her own face taking form on the page, pleased and exasperated all at once. She never did seem to understand why he drew her so often, but that was okay. And, with these pigments…

The colours were spectacular, brighter and more intensely pigmented than anything he’d ever seen. He found himself utterly swept away in the delight of using them, and hours later, emerged from his artist’s trance to the completed work: Rayla in the early evening of the Silvergrove, her hair and eyes gleaming softly with the gentle illumination of the lights and moon-moths around her. It was one of the finest works he’d ever produced, and at the sight of it, he concluded the process of falling helplessly in love with Elvish pigment.

Rayla, for all her embarrassment at being painted, seemed to approve of it too. “You picked that up quickly.” She noted, handling the edges of the thick paper with the delicate care it deserved.

“These pigments are my new favourite thing.” He declared, arranging the bottles a little more tidily beside him. His eyes rested, a little consideringly, over another wide sheet of paper. He stared at it for a long while, growing quiet and solemn, and eventually reached out to take it.

He had his birthday traditions to observe, after all.

The second thing he painted with the elven pigments was his family portrait, atrophied and truncated by tragedy. There was no Sarai there, and hadn’t been for years. No Harrow, and that was a new pain. He felt the ghosts of their absence in the lines he didn’t draw, in the colours that never fell upon the page, in the voids of grief that they left in his life.

But there were new faces now, too.

With quiet, exquisite care, he drew himself. He drew Ezran, older now, wearing a mantle that had come for him too soon. He drew Bait in his brother’s arms. He drew Aunt Amaya. And, tenderly: he drew Azymondias and Rayla. The outlines took form, and as the hours passed, elvish pigment filled them in.

In the end, he had his family portrait again. Changed, and echoing with its empty spaces, but…

Quiet, from her place beside him, Rayla slipped her hand into his own.

“Come on,” She said, with the small but tender smile that he loved. “Zym has a present for you too. He’ll be disappointed if he can’t give it to you today.”

Callum exhaled, and let her fingers tighten around his, pulling him up to his feet beside her. His own smile slipped onto his lips. “Then we’d better go find him.” He said, casting a last glance at the portrait on the table. He didn’t resist it when she tugged on his fingers, pulling him away.

With a strange, quiet serenity, he followed her out into the light.

---

end.

This is word-for-word what was published in the Rayllum zine 'Falling For You'; I have made no changes. It’s the shorter and less impressive of my two pieces, but I hope you liked it anyway.

I’ll potentially be making some minor edits to the second piece before posting, given I intend to continue it - in fact, I’ve already got like three extra chapters of it written, though small ones. I’m considerably more excited about that one, so stay tuned!

#rayllum #rayllumzine #tdp fic #tdp callum #tdp rayla #seriously though the soulmate au piece is good times #looking forward to everyone being able to read it #had to do word count negotiations to get a piece that long into the zine lol #the mods kindly granted me a couple extra ks #and then I decided to reduce my word limit for this first piece by 1k so I could shift that to the more exciting piece too #it deserved every word I could give it #this one is nice don't get me wrong #i'm just not made for short decisive pieces #and the soulmate AU's ending is VERY MUCH open-ended #and inviting follow-up #which I then wrote and shared with my closest cohorts #awaiting the day it could be published #looking forward to seeing the comments on my baby

[sorenskyhigh]

How the Haikyuu boys would get their s/o out of their zoom meetings (for example, pretending that they are getting kidnapped and getting dragged off screen) My sister did this before and my teacher was cracking up. THANK YOU BEST FRIEND :)

YES! I love this! Imagine if they took you on a sweet little date afterwards and you both just mess around all day!!! o(≧∇≦o) and thank you so much for supporting me!!!!!

Also I want to apologize for not writing anything, there's been a lot going on and I've just had no will to do anything ˚‧º·(˚ ˃̣̣̥⌓˂̣̣̥ )‧º·˚

Includes Daichi Sawamura, Koushi Sugawara, Asahi Azumane, Yū Nishinoya, Tetsurou Kuroo, Kenma Kozume, Toru Oikawa, Hajime Iwaizumi, Koutaro Bokuto, Keiji Akaashi, and Satori Tendou

Not proof read

Getting You Out Of Zoom Class

Daichi Sawamura

Daichi may end up being a cop and he may seem like a stickler for the rules, but........

He is super smart

And I definitely wouldn't put it past him to break some rules here and there

Daichi knows you hate the particular class that you're sitting through right now

The teacher was an ass and the class was just not your forte

Daichi was sitting just out of shot and you angrily scribbled down notes. You knew you could lie and make excuses for why you didn't do the work but, your conscious just wouldn't allow you.

Every once in awhile Daichi would reach out a soothing hand under the table and rub his thumb a couple times over your knee to sooth you.

At one point Daichi got up and just stood there for a second.

He intook a large breath before picking you up out of the chair and swinging you over his shoulder.

Hus face appeared in your camera and he just smiled wide and said, "Sorry, they've got something more important to do."

With that he left, not even bothering to turn off anything before he walked out to the kitchen with you and started making a lunch for you two.

Koushi Sugawara

We all love our chaotic Sugamama

Suga though isn't exactly theatrical person

What he would do would be simple and easy but very effective

Koushi was in your kitchen making a cute little brunch for the two of you. He had set everything up in your living room.

Nice, comfy nest on the floor, open windows, a short table to set everything on.

You had been particularly stressed since you had had to start online classes. A lot of people could learn this way, but, you just couldn't

You were busy working and didn't notice when your feed cut out and froze then turned off.

He had asked Yamaguchi what he could do since Yamaguchi was surprisingly good with electronics.

He had gotten into your account and was messing with it. Somehow, since a computer and and his laptop were trying to use it at the same time it genuinely messed it up but that was a worry for later.

"Awww c'mon!" You said before you screamed in surprise.

Koushi had popped up from under your desk,"I think you need a break."

Asahi Azumane

Asahi is a super nervous guy, we been knew

But when he saw just how stressed his little baby was over your online classes

You were sitting in your living room on the floor, all your stuff spread out. You looked like you were spread so thin as you tried to keep up.

Suddenly your front door slammed open and big guy in a mask came in and snatched you up and took you outside after shutting your door.

You were of course until you got outside then you both started laughing.

Asahi had gone over this with you many many many times es just to make sure you were okay with it.

Aftwards he also kept worrying over you on whether he hurt you or not.

Nishinoya Yū

You know this boy would go all out for this

As loud and wild as he can make it

Yū had decided to be as obnoxious as possible. It was simple, yet highly effective.

Not only did you have to turn off your mic but your teacher asked you to turn off your camera as well.

Yū wasn't just a auditory nuisance but a visual one as well.

As long as he could be seen or heard he would either be being a pest or too funny for anyone to concentrate.

After your teacher had asked you to cut off your sound and camera you both obviously left.

Yū wanted to go and eat your entire fridge while you watch horror movies.

Tetsurou Kuroo

You know this man would bring in straight facts

He would cut down any of your teacher/professors excuses as to why you had to stay

"Too much time on a computer, phone or TV screen can cause serious retinal damage. If they can't see then they can't do the work you want them too. Life would be so much harder for them if they lost their sight."

With that he hurriedly turned off your computer and rushed you out of there so you guys could hang out and watch probably an animal science documentary.

Kenma Kozume

You know this boy is tech proficient

He would have your computer so screwed

Why even try

You go to get into your class but the potato filter is on and you can't fix it.

Your teacher is angry at you bc 'you're young and apart of the generation that grew up with this technology so figure it out and blah blah blah.

You're struggling so with the sound, you sound like you had just sucked on a can of helium.

Then the loud celebratory noise emitting from your computer and an all too familiar voice came over and said, " Not today, pudding." Then your entire computer "crashed".

Kenma entered the room very queitly as you sat there.

"It's not broken. But if you don’t play video games with me I won't fix it."

Toru Oikawa

This twink ass drama queen

I pity whoever dates this man if you have to take zoom classes

You know he would be super dramatic about it

You're sitting at your chair and are dutifully taking notes when your bedroom door is flung open.

There stands Toru.

His hands are on his hips and he's pulling his little pouty face.

"Now, little cutie. You have been ignoring me for weeks."

You look at him as if he had lost his mind. You just talked to him this morning.

"If I didn't know ow any better I'd say you had the hots for someone in that class!" He was slowly raising his voice.

"I thought we were happy?! I love you and I wanted to marry you."

Disconnected

After he had unplugged you're entire computer he giggled and kissed you, "Sorry little cutie, I just hate to see you so stressed from those stupid classes."

Hajime Iwaizumi

He gets enough drama from Shittykawa

So he's not going to create any of his own if he can help it

But he did think that video of someone "kidnapping" their friend was pretty funny

You were in the kitchen with a glass of water when Hajime very quietly came in. You had just baby heard your front door close.

He held his finger up to his mouth and pulled a bandana up over his mouth.

He skillfully it over him since this wouldn't be the first time you had had distractions from your friends during class.

You were curious about what he was doing.

Then all of a sudden you were grabbed from the side, the stool falling over as Hajime shut your laptop.

He carried you outside where Shittykawa, Mattsun, and Maki were waiting.

"No more classes for today."

"Yeah you get to have just so much fun with us," Maki said sarcastically.

Koutaro Bokuto

This man

This MAN

I love him to death but not only would he get the entire team in on it but he would screw it up somehow

You were on your bed with your laptop on a blanket in front of you as you listen to your teacher drone on and on and on.

Then you shrieked when your bedroom door was thrown open and three fairly big guys came rushing in.

Naturally you screamed in fear.

Koutaro was the one carrying you as the Konoha turned off your laptop and Akaashi stood there. He was so not with this.

The thing is, Koutaro didn't tell you on purpose so your reaction would be genuine enough to fool your class.

He got you so upset that Akaashi, Konoha, Anohori, Komi, Onaga, Sarukui, and even Washio were chastising him for it.

They weren't having his dumb shit today, no sir.

He made it up to you though, so did the rest of the team.

Keiji Akaashi

After dealing with Bokuto for what felt like a lifetime

He wanted to keep things simple and easy

Akaashi had just walked into your room while you were sitting at your desk.

He had pushed your chair out of the way and simple turned everything off. Saving any documents you may or may not have had open first of course.

Then he took your hand and he took you to a nice and quiet Cafe where you guys spent the rest of the day.

Satori Tendo

Itcha miracle boi

You know that when he starts to make you leave ethe teacher say soemthing he will fight them ლ(ಠ益ಠ)ლ

He's ready to dish it out

Straight up insults them

You were sitting in bed with your laptop while Satpri was sprawled across your lap.

He hadn't disturbed doubt thus far. He was actually being very well behaved.

Thankfully with how you and your laptop set up, no one saw him chillin' like a villain in your lap.

That is until he groaned and started to whine about how boring it was.

Your teacher addresses you and scolds you for having Satoir there.

"Why, it's not like I'm distracting you. You're not doing anything anyways. Let's leave, my Paradise."

After that Satori had a long argument with your teacher, your teacher very clearly losing. More than half your class was losing it at this point.

"Look, you abarrent brat,'" thats when you got mad.

"Excuse me? What did you just call him??!!" You slammed your laptop shut after that.

@kneecapstealingalien @multifandombrainrot @vaniatslover @popcorntime-doodles @i-need-coffee-now-pls @jiheonity @shadowsbutdead @goshikisimp @anothershadeofpink @mestayanon @ghostexhibit @smallmangi @thatfunnysprout @backalley-astrologer @itsallgonnabokayihope @g00s3 @boreateo @all-around-fandoms31 @weareallhumans123 @lil-mellow-bunbun @strawberrymakki @beelziee @mehreenackerman @taiyahhh @sakusasgerm @cr4z3d-cl0wn @detective-bakugou @mainnews32 @turtletris2tumble @oshun22 @syirahtorizawa @wouldsimply31

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu headcanons #daichi sawamura #sugawara koushi #asahi azumane #yū nishinoya #tetsurou kuroo #kenma kuzome #bokuto koutaro #akaashi keiji #oikawa toru #hajime iwaizumi #satori tendou

[bluest-planet]

Its finally done! I've been working on this on and off for... Probably a month? This is my interpretation for the character/insert of Red in You Belong to Me by @kaitieswritingstuff! Mainly the characters main look (left), and their outfits in ch 11 and ch 29 respectively (please click for better quality).

Please go and check their work if you're into Hazbin Hotel! I gotta be honest, I was nervous about scoping out Hazbin considering all the backlash against it but I was pleasantly surprised to find how different it was. While it obviously has its flaws, I'm of the opinion that as long as you can recognize said flaws and think critically about a show then you're free to enjoy it. (Also side note: I like, never read x readers but i was like: what the hell this sound interesting and my god it was the best decision ive ever made seriously, if u plan on scoping out hazbin fic this is one i gotta recommend i just- Love It).

Initially when reading a fic and on the rare occasion its reader related, I can't picture myself and like to draw up a doodle instead and give them a name so as to better visualize them. In this case however, instead of that I decided to use an old character design for an original story that I never got far with.

(Insight into my design thought process and other information + a link to the fic below the cut, probably gonna be super long tho, you have been warned!)

So to start off with I will talk about the character Red, and the character Rosy.

That character design was an androgynous but afab robot/android esk character, their name was Rosy. Of course, being that there was already a Rosie it would get confusing or redundant quick so I decided to change them a bit.

Rosy had 2 main features before the redesign that remained throughout,

1. They had a tattoo/marking going across their cheeks/face spelling out: R.O.S.Y. given their robotic origins and their name.

2: Their hairstyle and its length. This was conflicting for me because, in the fic Red hates their hair being touch and especially yanked so was I supposed to shorten it? In the end I decided against it because it was important to Rosy's design and secondly I reasoned that, given Red's 50 plus years in hell and not being dead still growing in small pieces like nail or hair growth and that eventually they would just stop bothering to cut it or forgetting since they arguable felt safer around their allies. It also made sense that even if they hated it being grabbed they would braid it to keep it out of reach and since Nifty is also said to do their hair it is regularly taken care of.

These two important features stayed, they kept their hair and the tattoo across the face was changed from spelling R.O.S.Y. to A.M.F.M. in reference to radio stations and to associate them with Alastor.

With that outta the way lets move onto inspiration and details.

The first of the 3 is supposed to be how i envision Red most of the time. I took sometime looking into the description written and the timeframe for their clothes.

They wear a ribbon instead of a tie so as to not completely copy Alastor and at the end of their braid is a radio dial shaped bead to again, reference the radio demon.

Alastor died in the early 30s, the reader most likely hails from the late 30s/mid 40s/or at latest the early 50s. Alastor would probably like something reflective of his own era and -fun fact- the 30s suit for men at the time is very unique compared to other eras because of the cuts like high waisted pants and multiple layers.

In the fic they are described wearing a pinstriped suit but because I thought having only the pants be pinstriped looked better, I changed it. They wear popular women's leather oxfords of the time to better reflect the era.

For the chapter 11 outfit, a black/red flapper dress with a headband and gloves. I decided heavily between a historical approach or a mainstreamed one. In the end I picked historical because I think they'd find it more comfortable as it was designed to drop the hem line, appear androgynous, and be comfortable.

The dress is technically a dark purple but only to not drown the character in solid black. It has a red sash same color as the gloves, and sparkles so to keep it modern. The shear part lets the viewer see their binding mark.

They wear shoes popular during the 20s, a headband with red feathers, and red gloves unchanged from the description.

Lastly their hair style, I couldn't go historical because they had long hair to i went with it being let down but loosely contained with more silvery bands.

Finally, the outfit from chapter 29. Said to be a wide collared red shirt with rolled up sleeves, suspenders, and dark red pants.

If you've gotten this far- Thanks! I'm still not done lol, but we're almost there.

This was post-attack so they have scars (attempting to look like wire burns) along their arms which are covered in small white gloves. Maybe they aren't as self conscious about their scars but I can see Red preferring to wear gloves because hell is a dirty place i also added a pair of men's oxfords again to keep their 30s look intact.

Their hair is less restricted and kept in a half pony but it is poofy and much more wild when not carefully contained in its usual braid. We also see more of their branding along their arms and it fading when it reaches the scars.

First off, this has been in the works for a while now so you may notice a change in quality as i finished the first of the 3 before stoping for life stuff and coming back. Secondly this project has been fun! Researching things and sneaking them in for design or somethings that didn't work out but I hold as headcanons (like the WWL Louisiana's/New Orleans first radio station being the one Alastor worked at and having it embroidered somewhere on their clothing). This has made me do a lot of first and has been kinda hard- feet and detailed shoes are not my forte nor clothing this detailed, and my first ever detailed background redrawn from a hazbin screencap and its been a learning experience. Again, Massive thanks to @kaitieswritingstuff for giving inspo and a great story to read, keep the great work up!

#hazbin hotel #hh #hazbin fic #hazbin fanart #my art

[bellafarallones2]

a/n: t-rated indruck fluff from #21 on Veronica Bunch's college au prompt list: I get stuck with a late class that doesn’t end until 9pm and I’m always anxious about walking across the campus to the dorms, so you offer to walk with me and one night, I find out that it’s in the exact opposite direction that you need to go in

Duck had signed up for Performance Studies because he needed arts credits and because the meeting time, seven to nine in the evening Tuesdays and Thursdays, worked well with the rest of his schedule. He was less happy when the professor emailed out the homework for the first day: a reading that examined the question “what is performance?” for thirteen dense pages without managing to come to a conclusion.

By the time he showed up to the first class, he barely remembered any of the points the reading had made. Most of the other students already seemed to know each other, and were talking in groups when he arrived. Only one man, a tall guy with silver hair whose black roots suggested he’d spent an evening bent over a sink for it, was sitting alone and silent.

“Anyone sitting here?” said Duck.

“You?” said the guy hopefully. He was wearing jeans and a soft beige cardigan over his white shirt, and there was a small rainbow-flag patch on his black backpack.

“I’m Duck,” Duck said. “And my pronouns are he/him.” He still occasionally got read as a butch lesbian, and it was better to establish the pronoun thing right out of the gate.

“Indrid. I also use he/him.”

That was all they said before the professor showed up and class began. The professor genuinely cared about the material, which made the whole thing more interesting, though Duck was still distracted. Indrid had very nice hands, nails painted chipped black, and he doodled the entire class, filling a whole page with spiky fractals.

Finally nine o’clock arrived. The sky outside was pitch-black. “I’m not really looking forward to walking home this late,” Duck said as he stood waiting for Indrid to finish packing up. “Wish I had your punk privilege.”

“Excuse me?” Indrid looked amused.

“You know. You’re tall and you have piercings.” As Duck said that, Indrid stood up, revealing that he was even taller than Duck had previously thought. Jesus, this guy had Slenderman legs. “You look like you could throw a punch.”

“I could use my punk privilege to walk you home, if you’d like.”

“I’d appreciate it, if it’s not too out of your way - I live on High Street next to the REI.”

“Yeah, I’m going that way.”

Duck held the door as they left the building and walked together down the half-lit street. The planes of Indrid’s face looked almost unearthly in the streetlights.

“You an art major?” Duck asked.

“Visual arts and math. I needed to take something in theater or music as a distribution requirement and this was the least theater or music class I could find that was also after noon.”

Duck laughed. “Yeah, I’m in the forestry program and I had to take something artsy.”

Indrid nodded. They walked in silence for a while, but Indrid didn’t seem to mind, his hands shoved into his pockets and his face turned up.

“This is me,” Duck said when they reached the REI. The door to the apartments above was almost unnoticeable next to the brightly-lit storefront.

“Alright,” Indrid said as Duck fiddled with his key. “See you on Thursday!”

“Goodnight!” said Duck when the door swung open, looking around. As soon as Indrid saw that Duck was inside, he turned and walked back the way they’d come. Duck wondered vaguely where he lived; this block didn’t have many students. Ah, well. A question for another day.

--

On Thursday before class Duck stopped at the snack bar for dinner and spotted a familiar head of silver hair. Indrid was drawing, his head tilted at an odd angle so he could both look at the page and drink from the straw on a sixteen-ounce cherry slushy.

“Mind if I join you?” said Duck.

Indrid looked up and his face lit up. “Of course! I don’t mind, I mean. Please sit.”

Duck realized then that what he’d assumed was art was in fact math, that Indrid was taking notes out of a slim, intimidating textbook. Duck recognized a couple of integral signs and that was about it. “Math, huh?”

Indrid nodded.

“I had to take Calc 2 for my major, I wish I’d known you then so you could have helped me with it.”

Indrid laughed, tapping his pencil. “I’d have been happy to. Certainly numbers make more sense than people do, sometimes.”

“Probably more sense than that performance reading.” Duck leaned forward. “I don’t suppose you’d be down to walk me home again?”

Indrid shrugged. “You’re good company.”

--

Duck met Indrid again at the local park that weekend. Their homework for the week was to record themselves performing in a way they did in their daily lives, and Duck didn’t feel like getting into gender, so he’d decided to show how he performed when giving a nature talk, and he’d asked Indrid to help film. (He’d offered to help film Indrid’s performance in return, but Indrid had politely declined, joking about performance anxiety.)

It was less awkward than Duck had been expecting. He walked around the park, pointing out the fungus on a tree trunk and a frog sitting with just its eyes over the surface of the water. Indrid, filming on Duck’s phone, smiled encouragingly whenever he met Duck’s eyes, and it was all Duck could do not to break his train of thought to grin back.

“Thank you for helping me,” he said when he was done.

“Thank you for the free nature walk!” said Indrid as he handed Duck’s phone back to him. Their hands brushed against Duck’s smooth phone case. “I come here to draw sometimes, but I’ve never noticed all that before.”

--

They watched everyone’s videos in class that week. Most of them were pretty boring. Duck cringed through the playing of his own video, though Indrid had done a good job with the camerawork, and a few of the music majors in the class had recorded themselves playing their instruments, which was at least nice to listen to. And then it was Indrid’s turn.

The video opened on a close-up shot of Indrid’s face. I am an artist, the voiceover said, Indrid’s own voice booming across the classroom. Sometimes I even look like it.

The Indrid on the screen bent his head - he was looking not at the camera but at a mirror behind it, putting on heavy eyeliner and spotty mascara. He switched out the subtle studs along the shell of his ear for something heavier, flashier, chain running between the holes. Then he stepped back from the camera and shrugged on a black leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders. A punk jacket. He posed, self-conscious, and as he started laughing the camera cut sharply to his face, again large.

I had an internship last summer with an insurance company calculating risk. He rubbed the makeup off his face with a makeup wipe, his eyes reddening slightly at the contact. He removed the jacket and folded it carefully before placing it out of frame. And then he picked up a pale blue button-down and buttoned it carefully down over his undershirt, and tied a tie in a perfect Windsor around his neck. He removed the bar from his eyebrow and the chains from his ears, which looked rather naked without them.

I perform to look like the things I know I can do. He dabbed concealer over the rosy maple moth tattooed at his neck, one wingtip peeking over the collar of the shirt. Then he held his hand out for a handshake, a business handshake, and sure, he looked like the kind of person Duck would trust to sell insurance. But there was something about his smile, something Duck wondered if anyone else could see. Something that lingered no matter what he wore.

Duck probably should spend less time thinking about his mouth.

--

“So my lease ends in January,” said Duck casually as they turned the corner onto his street. “And I’ve been having trouble finding other places that rent to students in this neighborhood, so I was wondering how you found your place.”

“Oh,” said Indrid, sounding guilty. “Well, I don’t know how much help I can be. I live up by the corner of 16th street and Broad.”

Duck did some quick mental geography as he climbed the step up to the front door. “That’s completely the other direction!”

“I know.” He was dressed like neither an insurance salesman nor a metal punk, today, with gold studs glittering in his ears like grains of sand and a soft, oversized sweater falling off one shoulder. The black roots of his hair had grown since the beginning of the term.

“You told me the first day of class that walking home wouldn’t be going out of your way! You know I don’t need walking home, right?”

“Of course. I just. Uh. I wanted to spend more time with you. I’m sorry for misleading you, we can stop if it makes you feel weird.”

Duck looked down at him. Indrid stood silently, awaiting judgment. “How about you come in?”

Indrid looked up. “I don’t mean to impose, it’s no trouble to walk home -”

Duck held out his hand. Indrid took it and followed him up the stairs without letting go. “You aren’t allergic to cats, are you?” Duck said when he finally had to take his hand back to unlock the door.

“Even if I was, I’d happily resign myself to sneezing.”

Duck opened the door and, as soon as Indrid was inside, crowded him up against it. Indrid slowly lifted his hands, trembling, and rested them on Duck’s shoulders. His gaze beneath his glasses flicked from Duck’s eyes to his lips and back again.

“Can I kiss you?” Duck said.

“Yes please.”

Indrid’s mouth was warm and soft and yielded so easily to Duck’s tongue, fuck, they should have done this sooner. Class would have been so much more bearable if he could have been looking over at Indrid’s lips the whole time knowing that as soon as class was over he could drag him out into the hallway, into one of the gender-neutral bathrooms in the arts building and kiss him silly.

“You don’t have any morning classes tomorrow, do you?” Duck asked when he finally pulled away enough to speak.

Indrid shook his head.

“Want to watch a movie and make out?”

“That sounds perfect.”

#indruck