#we need to think of elaborate scenarios of women falling in love with each other from a single conversation or glance

[theblob1958]

we need to dykeify the bechdel test again

#we need to think of elaborate scenarios of women falling in love with each other from a single conversation or glance #be as delusional about femslash that the sherlock fandom was with shipping lestrade and mycroft when they didnt have a single scene togethe

[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

[prose-for-hire]

Shared Affection

Pairing: Willow x fem!reader; Xander x fem!reader [Bi reader !!]

Request: Hey! can you please write a Willow/Xander x fem reader story where they both have crushes on the reader and they're trying to figure out if she likes boys or girls only to find out shes bi?

Requested by: Anon

A/N: I feel like I’m still a little rusty but I did like writing a little something for this request !! Hope it’s what you wanted and I’m sorry about the wait 💖

You were a new transfer to UC Sunnydale. You could sense that you were on a Hellmouth as soon as you set foot in this new place you would call home. You could sense things, energies and what some may call magic. It just hadn’t occurred to you that this was any different to how other people felt and experienced the world. This would all change, however, once you met who would be your new group of friends. They would show you new possibilities as well as showing you just how powerful you truly are.

You met Buffy in a class you had both taken and subsequently bonded over how much you regretted it. From that first day you both vowed to help each other get through the year. It was as if you just clicked, she was an instant best friend, you could feel it. She then introduced you to her other friends, Willow, Anya and Xander. The latter didn’t actually go to college but he would sneak onto the campus so often and he was good company so you were pleased at this. You got on with everyone so well, it was clear that they had become fond of you almost instantly. Some, more than others.

Over the next five months, Xander and Willow had found themselves adoring you. Neither realising that the other held feelings for you. Xander and you both loved films. You would watch them together all of the time and it became a weekly tradition. You would either go to his basement or he would spend time in your dorm. Sometimes you would forget that the film was on and laugh until you cried at the comments he would make. He was so funny and you couldn’t help but feel so comfortable in his presence.

Willow and you spent time together, she had shown you some small spells for you to practice and you described to her the energy you felt especially now you were in Sunnydale. You could spend hours through the night, just talking. Laughing and sharing your deepest thoughts. She was so sweet to you and you really valued all of the time she spent with you.

Both of them had made you feel so welcome and you enjoyed the attention you had been getting more and more of from them both. You couldn’t lie and say you didn’t suspect that one or both of them may have feelings for you. Although, whenever you thought this you berated yourself for assuming more from their friendly natures.

You couldn’t help loving them, they were so kind and they both looked after you in their own ways. Willow and her magic, Xander and his courage. They were truly now extremely important people in your life. You were thinking of this as you saw Buffy saving your usual seat in your class.

She smile and got you up to speed on all of the latest news you might have missed since you saw her last night on patrol. She was now your closest friend and you basically told each other everything. She had finished telling you all about Riley and what she had found out after the Gentlemen had finally been taken care of. Although, she suddenly changed the topic with a smile and a glint in her eye. She wouldn’t go into detail although she happened to hint about you having a ‘secret admirer’. 

Your mind went to Xander and then to willow in almost the same second. Who you suppose you wished it to be. But then, would you want to choose between them? Hurt one at the expense of the other? Would you even be able to choose? Or could you share them both, forget about monogamy, or would that put a strain on their friendship?

Stop. You had to halt all of the scenarios spinning around your head. It was possible it was nobody in your new little friendship group. Perhaps it was a pretty demon that Anya used to know from the olden days that had seen you from afar.

Willow and Xander were sat in the college canteen while you and Buffy were finishing your lecture. Xander had slid in with a group of guys that had finished a game of football so that nobody would question him. They sat and talked for a little but both of their minds had been on you. On their feelings for you. Neither knew that they had never felt this strongly for another person before. They just didn’t know how you could take it.

Willow had been thinking though. She had told Buffy she was gay. She had finally done it. She was a lesbian. She liked girls and only wanted to date girls now. Specifically, you. God, she adored you. Buffy had been surprised at her coming out but after a few months found herself being Will’s biggest supporter. It was easier to accept as Buffy already knew about your sexuality. You had always been open with her about being bi, you just hadn’t gotten around to telling anyone else.

“So, what do you think?” she asked after her usual rambling as she tried to broach the subject with Xander. She needed to see what he would say. She had realised instead that he had zoned out. His eyes watching for someone who was supposed to be here soon.

“Hm?”

“About y/n. I was thinking of asking her out-”

“You can’t!” Xander said, his voice had gone high-pitched at the suggestion. He then coughed and deepened his voice more than he would usually speak it to compensate, “…She’s not gay, Will”

“You don’t know! What are you th-the king of gay people now?”

“No!” Xander said quickly but his heart wasn’t really in their conversation. All he could ever do now was think of you. There was a pause for a while as both of them thought of the other, knowing now that they both felt the same for you. Then they thought of you. Of how close you had become. How kind and affectionate you could be with them. You cared for each of them but neither of them could help but wish for more. Xander suddenly spoke up again, still staring into the distance, “I know, of course I know. Do you, uh, really think… you know?”

“Sometimes she looks at me and I forget to do the breath-y thing” Willow admitted, now rubbing her hands together in her anxiety.

“Well, yeah she does. She’s- Y/n!” He suddenly said, his voice announcing you as he saw you walk towards them. You smiled and waved a little as you weaved between the tables to get to your friends.

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean she’s-” Willow replied, not realising you had been standing behind

“Hey, Y/n! Our Y/n, uh, Y/n our friend!” Xander said a little more urgently, over whatever Willow had been trying to say about your sexuality.

You smile and slide into a seat beside them. Both of them made you so comfortable to be around, you had this sense of home around both of them.

“Buffy caught up to Riley in the corridor, so it’s just me today,”

“That’s good!” Willow said, “Well, n-not good that she isn’t here but good that you are and that they have time together”

“Yeah, I think they’ll be okay. I hope so anyway, he could be good for Buffy right? I don’t know much about Angel but she looks so sad every time someone talks about him”

Willow nodded but Xander wasn’t quite listening. He was trying to think of a way to subtly change the subject from Buffy’s love life to yours. He ended up throwing subtlety out of the window an blurt it out.

“So, Y/n, how would you describe your type. What would your ideal man-”

“O-or woman! Or anybody else!”

“Oh, uh, well I’m not sure I have one type. I fall for people for more than their looks I guess. It just depends on the person!” You smiled but faltered slightly as their brows furrowed at your answer. It wasn’t specific enough for them to gauge who you might be interested in.

However, Willow loved your answer, as did Xander. He was usually a little insecure that he wasn’t the best looking guy or that he made too many jokes to be taken seriously by anyone. But of course, with you, it was different. You could sense goodness from them. You could sense love and promise and potential and you adored spending time with them so much.

But you could feel there was a slight tension. As if they were competing where usually they wouldn’t. Or that they were in some kind of unresolved discussion.

“Why do you ask?”

“Curiosity! We are, um, curious cats”

“If for example, Willow asked you on a date and uh, for the sake of this totally hypothetical situation, I also asked you out too – who would you pick?”

“Well, I think that I would be happy with either of you” You shrugged. And their mouths both widened in surprise at the same time. Neither of them had even considered you might like men and women. Even after you said this as you had to elaborate, “I’m bisexual”

They smiled at you, somewhat satisfied with this answer and both hugged you tightly at you admittance. You couldn’t help grinning so wide at their warmth. Then they caught each other’s eye and saw that they mirrored each other’s expression. That they saw that they had a chance with you. At your love. As you got up and excused yourself that you had to get to another class, there was a silent agreement. Both of them were set on competing for your attention. Especially now that they knew they definitely could have a chance to be by your side.

You weren’t really sure what to make of their question, you told yourself not to think too much into it. Just in case your mind began to spit out unrealistic scenarios that would disappoint you. You left them, not aware that they were both intently watching you leave. Your form dancing away from them in that way that they loved. Their eyes never left you and their thoughts lingered even longer.

One day, you would probably have to make some kind of decision. For now, you were just pleased that they accepted you for who you were. That you couldn’t sense even the smallest change in their fondness for you when you told them. For now, you could enjoy their love, whether platonic or otherwise and keep spending as much free time as you could with them.

#Willow rosenberg x reader #xander harris x reader #xander harris #willow rosenberg #willow x reader #xander x reader #willow rosenberg imagine #xander harris imagine #willow rosenberg x you #xander harris x you #btvs #btvs x reader #btvs imagine #Buffy The Vampire Slayer #buffy the vampire slayer imagines

[wolvesandpetals]

Postscript. Part 2 of 3.

Loki x Sylvie "Our divorce never went through" Modern AU. Angst, Rated T.

Masterlist of my fics here.

---

He meets her again next week, same place, same time. This time, he doesn't buy coffee, just donuts.

[[MORE]]

She sits down with a fond smile. "You've grown your hair out", she comments, remembering the short brown mop that is now long and black.

His smile is tight, and he doesn't speak. He digs into his briefcase and wordlessly pulls out the papers and a pen.

It hurts how he wouldn't even talk to her, but she knows it's what she deserves.

She picks up the pen, ready to sign and get it over with. The familiar proximity to him, combined with the unfamiliar coldness, makes her feel things she can't quite describe. She feels like she might break in his presence, and she needs to get out fast.

"Don't you want to at least read that first?" He asks, amused.

She shakes her head, and continues signing.

"How do you know I'm not making you sign your possessions away to me?"

"Enough!" She finally snaps. She closes her eyes, willing the tears back. "I was twenty-one, I was scared, and I was foolish. I made a huge mistake. Do you have to keep reminding me of that constantly?"

A solitary tear slips off her left eye, and Loki melts. He is defenseless against her tears, his carefully acquired armour insteantly falling away. He has never been able to see her cry and sit idly by. "I'm sorry." He says at once. He lets out a small, nervous laugh. "I guess I'm still a little bitter. I don't know why. It was so long ago."

She takes in deep breaths, trying to calm herself.

"Do you want something to drink?" He asks hurriedly.

She shakes her head. "That's not a good idea."

He pauses. It's a decision he has to make within the next ten seconds, and he does. He picks up the papers, and puts them back inside his briefcase. Sylvie stares at him, perplexed, as he orders two coffees for them.

He smiles softly. For the first time, she notices the wrinkles that are starting to form around his eyes. Time, it has been kind at least to his physical appearance. "How have you been?"

"I'm okay." She says quietly. "I've been... busy, I guess."

"Travelled the world?" He asks. That was one thing she wanted to do, one reason she wanted out. He told her he'd go with her. "You go, I go", he said. But she didn't believe him.

"Yes." She says sadly. "The world gets old quickly though."

"Really?" He asks, a little surprised.

She nods. "Everywhere I went, I just-" she hesitates. She really doesn't want to confess, it hurts her pride. But this might be the last time she's seeing him, and if she doesn't say it now, she will never get another chance. "I travelled from city to city, country to country, and the only place I wanted to be was back at our old apartment in The South Bank."

He's stunned by her unexpected confession. "I moved." He informs her. "I couldn't stand to be there after you left."

She nods again, forcing a smile on her face. "Did you ever go back?"

"I couldn't." He tells her honestly. "I dropped out of college, as you know, moved in with my brother, and started a business. I've been working on it since."

"What kind of business?" She asks curiosly.

He ignores his lawyer's voice in his head warning him not to disclose anything about his financial situation. "A bar."

She laughs. "You always did love your alcohol."

He chuckles, a hundred memories flashing back.

---

The very first night he saw her was at a bar. She was with her friends, and he was with his, and he asked for her number. He kept texting her right from the moment, until his friends teased him mercilessly and he had to pause for a while. They talked till 4 am that night, till his cell phone died.

Their first kiss was also at a bar. They were out with their friends, drunk out of their minds, and though they had both agreed to take it slow, she cornered him near the basins and pleaded. "I can't." And he understood. He felt it too, the need to crash his lips against hers.

"You're mine." He had told her one everning, while she rested her feet on his lap and leaned back against her chair. She had nodded, flushed. Right there in the open rooftop bar, she knew, she would never be the same again.

"I need you." And off to his dorm it was.

---

"What about you?" He asks.

"I am a stunt coordinator now." She says proudly.

It's his turn to laugh now. "You always did love your daggers."

There's a silence that's comfortable, and Loki takes a moment to steal a glance at her. She's still just as beautiful as he remembers, and it hurts.

"How are your parents?" He asks.

"Fine." She says with a smile. "How are yours?"

"Same." He doesn't elaborate. He always had a strained relationship with his father, and that hasn't changed.

Sylvie steadies herself before she asks the next question. "And is there a future Mrs Loki in the picture?"

He shakes his head. "No."

"Really?" She asks, surprised. "I'd imagine there would be a line of men and women."

"Yes. There have been a few." He confesses, and she feels her heart sink, until he speaks again. "But nothing real."

She nods, knowing exactly what he means. "It's been the same for me." She tells him honestly.

The waitress calls his name, and he gets up to grab their coffees. Sylvie watches him leave, his silhouette the sole object of her focus as everything else fades away, and suddenly she realises exactly what has been missing from her life.

Loki hands her the coffee. Sylvie takes a sip, burning her tongue a little.

They used to do this every single morning in the campus. Meet for coffee, talk about everything and anything in the world. It was their thing. She hasn't been able to have a cup without thinking of him ever since.

"Thor's married now." He says, rekindling the conversation.

"Sif?"

He shakes his head. "Jane. He met her a few years ago."

Sylvie stares into the brown of her coffee, stirring it and watching it swirl, like the thoughts in her head. She never thought Thor would marry someone other than Sif, but she guesses people are replaceable.

She is irreplaceable.

One day soon, Loki would marry someone that isn't her. The thought hurts more than it should ten years later.

It hurts to look at him and feel the same surge of feelings that are supposed to have gone away. After all, it was her decision to end things, and she has no right to feel this way now.

She wonders if he-

"Do you remember Mobius?" He asks abruptly, before she has a chance to truly indulge in the thoughts in her head.

How can she forget? He was a senior, and one of Loki's best friend.

"You'll never guess what he does for a living." Loki says, grinning.

They used to play the guessing game, and she'd always lose, but she wants to try nevertheless. "FBI Agent?"

"No." He says, his grin widening.

"Boy band manager?" She tries again. Finally, her eyebrows rise in curiosity, signalling her defeat.

He looks excited as he says the words. "Jetsky salesman."

"No way!" She laughs. "Those things still exist?"

"According to him, they do." He joins her laughter. "According to him, they sell."

"I don't believe him." She says bluntly.

"Neither do I." He agrees.

She glances at him, then at the campus grounds outside the window. There are more trees now, and more students, and more shops with "Free WiFi" signs. "This place has changed quite a lot."

"Ten years." He whispers. "Everything changes. You've changed."

She knows she has. But she's curious to see the changes in the eyes of someone who once knew her best. "Me? How?"

He shrugs. "You're... less wild now."

She snorts. "I assure you, I'm not."

"Less headstrong then." He corrects. "Less impulsive."

She doesn't respond, doesn't tell him he's right. Instead, she says, "You've changed too. Less... mischievous."

She's right. When she left, she took that part of him with her. For the next few months, he was severely depressed, barely coping. Mischief was the last thing on his mind.

He takes the final sip from his cup, and hers is empty too. He picks them up and throws them in the nearby bin, and the dreaded moment arrives again. He pulls the papers out once more, and she steadies herself.

"Do you ever wonder..." She stares into the distance, unable to look him in the eyes. "What would have happened if we had met a few years later? When we were older and wiser?"

"All the time", he admits. He has pictured a hundred different scenarios in his head over the years, where they stumble upon each other, and their romance awakens one more time. He also pictures scenarios in which they meet differently, and at nights, while he locks up his bar, sometimes he can picture her walking in for one last drink.

"I'm sorry." She tells him sincerely. "I shouldn't have given up on us so quickly."

"We wouldn't have made it if we kept going." He counters. "It would be toxic. We would have resented each other more."

"Do you resent me any less, though?" Her voice is timid, young.

"I don't resent you, Sylvie." He clarifies. "I just... I just don't think I can relive that hurt again. It was the worst phase of my life."

She nods, and picks up the pen, ready to sign. He places a hand over hers, stopping her, and she knows he feels the familiar jolt of electricity too, but neither of them dare to comment on it. "I'm sorry too." He tells her sincerely. "We got married too young. I shouldn't have proposed so soon."

She gives him a tiny smile, and continues signing away. He looks at the menu on the wall, so that he isn't staring at her. He reads the name of each item but comprehends nothing at all, his mind focused on one thing and only one thing.

It takes less than ten minutes for her to sign all the papers and for him to put it away in his briefcase. They both get up, knowing it's time to go their separate ways again.

"Take care of yourself", she says, teary-eyed.

And he can't help it. He can't resist the temptation to hold her in his arms one last time. He hugs her, tentatively at first, then tighter when she reciprocates. It lasts longer than what is appropriate for two people who are now strangers. When they part, tears are falling down her cheeks and clouding up his eyes.

"Take care of yourself, too." He tells her, his voice hoarse with emotions he's struggling to hold back. He holds out the door for her this time, and walks her to her car, and for the second time in his life, watches her drive away from him forever.

(To be continued. Don't kill me.)

#fanfiction #sylki fanfic #sylki #pro sylki #loki disney+ #loki x sylvie #sylvie x loki #lovedaggers

[smol-and-grumpy]

Dear Dean (Chapter 8)

Re-post

Pairing: Dean Winchester x OFC (Jamie Blum)

WC: 5.4k

Summary: After taking Saint Lo, by sheer dumb luck, Lieutenant Dean Winchester from the 29th Infantry Division, Baker Company, received a truckload of replacements for his platoon that was falling apart. Little did he know, that one recruit would change his life forever.

Chapter Warnings: Fluff and there’s some adult things in it but I don’t wanna give too away too much

SERIES MASTERLIST

August 14th, 1944

Dean was whistling as his platoon stood at attention. He hadn’t been in this good spirit in what seemed like months, but today was a good day. Maybe because he finally found some time to meet Bambi after dinner.

“Sir.” Bambi looked up at him through her thick eyelashes, her large brown eyes sparkling in the sunlight. “Can I help you with something?”

“Actually, you can.” He shifted his weight awkwardly, trying to keep his stomach from doing summer salts. What was he, fourteen? He’d been with women before, just not like that. None like her.

“Care to elaborate, Lieutenant?” Her smile grew, challenging him.

“I need your assistance at Twenty-one hundred hours, Bambi. Needs to sort through ammo supplies. See if we still have enough.”

“I don’t know, Lieutenant. I may be busy. That’s around the time that Trenton tells his wild tales about his newest love interest. I can’t miss that, sir.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow, as if to ask her ‘seriously’?

She smirked in response. “But I guess I can do it for our fearless leader. Since you’re asking so nicely.”

They’d been tip toeing around each other, unconsciously and consciously touching when their hands would meet, and Dean felt himself blushing every damn time. They’d sit across from each other during meals, their eyes meeting, and toes brushing under the table. It was like there was a magnet pulling them together by their chests. He ached to kiss her again.

She would ask him questions, even when she knew the answer, just to get him to come closer. 

“Where does this piece go on the rifle again, sir? The bolt, isn’t it? I never can quite get it right.”

“Just takes practice, Bambi.” He said with fake annoyance. “Let me show you.”

He’d lean over, pressing his palm to her back.

She’d sit up a little straighter and bat his hand away. There were eyes everywhere, and just because she was a woman didn’t mean that it was any less dangerous for them to be together.

“Don’t tell them, Dean. You have to promise me. I can’t go home, not now.” Her fingers were laced with his. “Not while my brothers are out here somewhere. I just can’t sit alone doing nothing.”

They’d stand too close. He’d feel her breath on his skin, and he would jump in the opposite direction. Tension was high, to say the least. He couldn’t wait to get her alone, even to just talk. When he was with her he wasn’t a superior officer talking to his private. He was just Dean, and she was Jamie. There was something unbelievably peaceful about that.

But it was only Oh-nine-hundred, so it was still a damn long way to go, but Dean couldn’t help feeling giddy.

Right then, Dean was trying his best not to think about her soft lips on his. Not to think about how she tasted on the tip of his tongue and how his name sounded whispered, breathless on her lips.

She’d got under his skin, snuck up on him and crawled inside. She was a spitfire and Dean was glad that he she wouldn’t let herself be tamed. Not by him, or anyone else. Somehow it made him worry about her a little less. There was no question that Jamie Blum could take care of herself.

“Physical training at Eleven-hundred-hours. You’re dismissed.” Dean shouted and his men walked away with some yes sirs.

Bambi looked back to him, her nose wrinkling with the smallest smile. If he hadn’t been staring so hard he wouldn’t have seen it. She turned her head and went with Trenton. Dean really couldn’t wait for the evening to arrive. He’ll be meeting Bambi at Twenty-one-hundred hours at their spot which Dean scouted over and over to see if it really was safe. He was thankful that he was her platoon leader so it made it less suspicious. Maybe he was wrong, but Dean liked to believe it. It made him a little less sick to his stomach at the thought of getting caught. Worst case scenario they’d think they were queer, shoot first and ask questions later. Best case scenario, they’d find out she was a girl, and they’d send her home. Neither were options that Dean wanted to explore.

Of course his plans would get thrown out of the window when Castiel called for an emergency briefing at Twenty-thirty-hours. They would move out in less than 48 hours toward Brest. Another combat. Another city to capture and it was a big one. They talked about what would happen and Castiel gave them the little intel he had. Telling them that they would notify their men tomorrow after the morning briefing. It was just informal for now. The meeting was long for an informal one, though, and Dean flipped his wrist to look at his watch. It was Twenty-one-oh-two. He was already two minutes late. Dean turned his attention back to listen to Castiel, but shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

“Winchester, somewhere you need to be?” Castiel asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, sir.”

The answer was good enough for Cas. He asked if they had more questions, and Dean hoped that Gabe would shut his mouth. He was always the goody-good boy. Trying to crawl up the ass of whoever was CO.

Castiel looked at their faces and when no question came, he dismissed them and Dean let out an exhale.

Dean walked with the others to their billets, then excused himself, saying that he had to check the latrines because his platoon had latrine duty. He looked at his watch when he stood outside of his billet building. It was now Twenty-one-twelve. He was already 12 minutes late. She was probably gone. He started to run then, as good as his healed up ankle would let him.

He was out of breath when he arrived in front of the supply room and looked around to see if someone was following him. When the coast was clear, he pushed the door open just enough to wedge his body inside and closed it behind him carefully.

It was dark already, only the faint light from the night sky shimmered through the windows and his eyes needed time to adjust to the darkness.

Dean didn’t know what to do. Didn’t know if she was still there or if she was already gone. He took a tentative step into the room and was about to call out for her when he was thrown off his balance by her body. Jamie jumped on him with a faint shriek and a huffed giggle. She hooked her legs around his waist, still laughing as she rested her forehead on his. “You’re late, sir.” She whispered against his mouth before she kissed him. He could still taste the coffee on her lips as he smiled into the kiss. He held onto her thighs to keep her up.

He paused the kiss to let out a breathy, “Sorry,” before he walked her further into the room, with one hand secured around her waist and one hand at the back of her neck. He pulled her closer, to the back of the room where the darkness would swallow them whole.

Dean pressed her back against the far wall, kissing himself stupid on her taste. He smiled as he felt her cheeks heat up against his. She held his face between her hands, letting her fingertips brush against his heated skin before she went further down, unzipping his jacket. Her fingers danced along his suspenders. She pushed them down on either side. Dean gladly let her. He shrugged his combat jacket off one arm after another and pinned her back against the wall when he was freed of the fabric.

He was busy with her intoxicating kisses, the way she pushed her tongue into his mouth without any preamble, the way the tip of her tongue tickled the underside of his. He felt how his dick started to swell at the new found excitement. It had been too long since the last time he did this very thing. He rolled his hips up, this time fully aware that there was no friction to be met, but she moved down a bit, grinding down on his bulge. Dean breathed out a strangled moan into her mouth.

She tapped on his arm, and he let her down. She leaned her back against the wall standing on her toes, as Dean continued to kiss her. It was all tongue and teeth, too fast and probably clumsy. She was inexperienced, but hell, if it wasn’t perfect. Dean’s heart was thumping hard and he couldn’t remember when he’d ever been that excited. He recalled that it was probably never.

Bambi’s hand were on the front of his pants, the pressure of it made his dick twitch and Dean jerked a little as she ran her fingers over the length of him through the fabric. He bit down on her bottom lip in the process; the friction was too sudden and fuck, he wasn’t prepare of how good it would feel. “Shit, sorry,” He whispered, his forehead on hers and she giggled, looking up to mold her lips back to his again.

Her small hands were quick on his belt working it open, the clink of metal echoing in the tiny space. She loosened his buttons with deft fingers, and Dean tried to do the same but immediately abandoned his mission, because he was way too impatient to work them open. He wanted to feel her. To connect. His hand squeezed it’s way past the buttons of her combats, and then he pushed past the elastic of her cotton army underwear and cupped at her sex with the heel of his palm, his fingers threaded through her slick. She bit down on her already red and swollen bottom lip, and Dean could even see in the dim lighting, that she was flushed. Her cheeks were burning up and Dean almost forgot his ministration from how cute she looked.

His fingers parted her folds and Dean held in his breath when he felt her getting wetter. He lowered his head to hers, kissing her again, his nose bumping against hers clumsily, and he smiled against the corner of her mouth. His fingers worked her open while he circled her clit with his thumb. He groaned into her mouth when she pushed her hand into his underwear and he jerked his hips away from her touch a little. Her hands were damn cold, and Dean needed a second to compose himself. Jamie was grinning cheekily and he kissed it away like he had always wanted to the past few weeks.

His hard cock was twitching and throbbing in her small hands and she worked his shaft, rubbing him the right way along his lengths, the pressure was perfect. Dean had a lot to compare her to, but he didn’t want to. If he was being honest, he couldn’t remember anyone but her in that moment. It was more than he thought it would be. She slipped her other hand into his underwear too, cupping his sac and twirled his balls in her palm, and he thrusted his cock into her fist gently. When she thumbed his slit and let her fingertip that was coated in precum brush over his sensitive string of nerves, Dean almost lost it and he had to stop with his ministration, taking his hand out of her pants to brace himself against the wall, mumbling curses to himself. He was not going to last with the build up. It’d been too long, and she was too fucking perfect. His elbows were resting on either side of her head as he kissed her again, breathing unevenly in to the kiss and his heart was pounding out of his chest. He kissed her again and again. All over. And still it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough.

“Fuck.” Dean let out another hot breath, as he rest his forehead on her shoulder, his nose bumping against her throat.

“What?” She whispered, breathless.

She looked up with a glint in her eyes and Dean chuckled softly. Not the good kind of chuckle, it was a chuckle that said I’m a stupid fuck and I can’t believe that I came here without a solid plan.

“I wish I still had the condoms they gave us for waterproofing when we crossed the channel. Fuck…” Dean buried his head in the crook of her neck, smelling the familiar smell of soap and camouflage cream. Both of her hands now worked his dick and shit, if she didn’t stop, he won’t be able to hold it in any longer.

“You used them all?” If he wasn’t mistaken, she looked a little jealous.

Dean could almost hear the sinking of her heart and he felt her releasing the grip around his cock. Actually, he was glad about that because it gave him a breather.

“No.. oh no, no. I abandoned them at the bottom of the sea when I got rid of my haversack.”

“Oh..”

She smiled, and laced her arms around his neck to scratch at the short hair at the base of it. Dean closed his eyes, it felt great.

“We still could, you know…” She stood on her tip toes and whispered against the shell of his ear. Dean looked down to her, his eyebrows raised.

“What do you mean?”

“I want to, Dean.” Her large brown eyes bore into his. “I haven’t had my period, since before I was drafted. You could pull out.”

He frowned at that, the lines on his forehead showing. Then she smiled again, her hand cupping his cheek, her thumbs brushing along the scruff before she spoke. “I want you to.”

“I..I –”

It was probably not the best thing Dean could do, but god knows how much he wanted it too.

“Sir, if you don’t do it, I swear I’ll–”

Dean kissed her, cutting her off and he murmured a, “Yes, Ma’am” into her mouth.

She toed off her boots and it left Dean stunned because they were already unlaced. “Always be prepared, Lieutenant.” She said with a wink and if Dean didn’t feel anything for her before, he sure as hell would then. But that was irrelevant because he was head over heels smitten with her.

Bambi pushed him away to shimmy herself out of her combat pants and rid herself of her jacket when Dean watched her. He put his palm to his mouth and spit on it before he took his cock in his hand, fisting it up and down as he waited for her to finish getting out of her clothes.

She wiggled out of her pants, and lost balance. She slipped on the pant leg and fell on her face clumsily and Dean didn’t want to, but he couldn’t help the laugh that threw his whole body back and logged itself in his throat. He composed himself quickly, though. Remembering that they needed to stay quiet and almost kicked himself in the ass for not being more careful.

She stood up again soon after, hitting him across his chest for laughing at her, and it hurt, but Dean totally deserved it. She met his eyes and swatted his hand away from his dick and grabbed it roughly, tightening her grip around his length and squeezed a little too tightly. Dean hitched his breathing and he guessed that he also deserved that.

He looked down to see her grinning at him.

“Jump,” He whispered holding his arms out, ready to catch her.

“How high, Lieutenant?” She giggled as she jumped up into his arms. Dean wrapped his arms around her tightly, pinning her back against the wall.

“You sure about this?” He asked her again, lowly, because if she wouldn’t be, he was ready to back out of it. But she nodded and Dean pressed his lips to hers slowly in response, drinking her in. Bambi, the one he could never have. The kisses were demanding and all want, weeks of pent up energy. She tugged on his hair, proving that she needed him just as much as he needed her. He licked her bottom lip as he lined up his cock at her entrance, brushing the tip through her slick before he pushed his hips forward, sinking himself into her hot heat. She hitched her breathing and tensed a little from the pressure, but she didn’t tell him to stop. He stalled for a moment, resting his forehead on hers, their breathing mingled. “You okay?” He asked her and waited for her okay, before he pushed himself in another inch.

Dean worked his hips forward gently, sinking into her tight pussy, inch by inch, and fuck, it felt so fucking good that he had to stall when his pelvis was flushed to hers. They were there, connected on the inside, skin on skin with no space in between. An inaudible moan rolled off her tongue and the sound alone almost made him lose his shit. It was a moan that got under his skin and paired with the stimulation, it felt like heaven and beyond.

She was crawling at his back, holding herself up. “Dean?”

“Huh?”

“I won’t break, you know.” Her eyes were alert, bright and expecting. Those fucking eyes.

“Yeah.. uh.. I know.” He said, his heart was pounding fast and he was sure that she could feel it through the fabric of their shirts. “I… just… fuck, Bambi, I won’t last long.” He ran his fingers through her short hair.

She laughed at that and Dean should’ve maybe felt embarrassed but, he didn’t. Instead he listened to the sound of her laugh, drinking it in, memorizing it to keep it in his mind forever.

Dean moved, thrusting his hips forward into her and she kissed him, her breathing ragged with each thrust. She squeezed her hand between the two of them as she began to rub at herself while he fucked into her.

Jamie left open mouthed kisses on the corner of his mouth, sucking at his jaw, dragging her teeth along his throat, and Dean moaned at the sensation overload.

“Shit, Dean.. I.. ah..” Jamie came with a whimper and his name that rolled off her lips like the sweetest melody Dean’d ever heard. He couldn’t count how many times he’d imagined hearing her say his name like that. Wrecked and breathy, her lips still smelling of his skin. Her thighs pressed against his waist, squeezing it hard in between as her walls cramped down on his dick, holding it captive and fuck, it was all too much. Too tight, too good, too damn perfect.

“Shit..fuck,” Dean squeezed his eyes shut as he moaned and pulled out, but it wasn’t fast enough. He had already spilled half of it inside of her and the rest was visibly on her inner thighs and the floor. He let her down quickly and took a step back before running his fingers through his hair, his eyes wide. “Shit, Bambi. Fuck, I’m sorry. Shit. It shouldn’t have happened. I fuck.. I shouldn’t. Shit!” Dean lowered himself onto his knees, his legs felt wobbly all of a sudden.

He’d fucked up.

He put his dick back into his pants and buttoned it up before he sat himself against the wall some inches away from the spilled cum. Jamie got dressed quickly and came to sit beside him quietly.

Dean clasped his head in his hand and rubbed through his hair. Back and forth, back and forth. “Shit, Bambi. I’m sorry…” He sounded like an old record. Repeating himself over and over.

“Shhh..” She moved closer, hushing him as she laid her head on his shoulder. “It’s not your fault.”

“I.. I, just.. really haven’t done it for a very long time and I guess, I miscalculated. You were so fucking tight too and it.. fuck, you were perfect, alright.”

Dean didn’t lie. Last time he hooked up with someone it was back in England and he was drunk then, didn’t even really remember what happened when he woke next to a broad in the middle of the night. He jumped out of the bed, scrambled around the floor for his clothes and was glad that he found a used condom near the bed, so at least he still had enough common sense to use one. Unlike now; and he knew that it’s also on him.

She smirked at that. “Dean, really. It’s ok.” She repeated again and Dean frowned at first but he spread his arm for her to curl close to his body. Dean kissed the top of her head, his lips lingered there. Her short hair pricking him a little, but he didn’t complain.

“Thanks.” She said then and Dean looked down at her. Her doe eyes looking back at him.

“For what?”

“It was nice Lieutenant. I’d love to do it again sometime.” She was smiling cheekily.

Dean blushed at that and he hoped that she didn’t see it. “Yes, Ma’am. Come here.” He maneuvered her over his leg to sit between his thighs and he let her lean the back of her head on his chest.

“Do you know that you’re less grumpy nowadays?” She asked out of the blue and tilted her head to look up at him.

“What’s that?”

“Yeah, the men said that they don’t know what happened to you but apparently you got soft and you smile more.” She giggled and shifted herself to her side, so her face was resting in the crook of his neck and he was holding her with both arms.

“Is that so?”

“Haha.. yeah.” She laughed. “Did you know that they used to call you Grumpy?”

He’d been called many things in the past and he knew that his platoon had a nickname for him, but he didn’t know what it was. When he heard the name, he frowned down at her. “What?”

“Grumpy. I mean, you gave them the name Dopey and Sneezy. So…”

“Who said that? It’s Tran isn’t it?” Dean murmured and she just shrugged.

“Not going to kiss and tell, Lieutenant.”

“Remind me to put his name in for latrine duty from here on out until we get Hitler’s head on a stick, will ya?”

“Oh, come on, cut him some slack,” She punched him in the chest playfully. “And in his defense. You were really grumpy.”

That was probably true. Dean has no valid explanation for why he was such a stick in the mud, and he was not going to deny it.

They stayed a little while longer, sitting there in the comforting dark silence. Jamie fell asleep in his arms, listening to his heartbeat against her ear. Dean really didn’t want to wake her, she looked peaceful. He’d seen her sleep before, but never quite like that. Her lips were parted slightly, and her eyes were completely at rest. Her face looked relaxed, beautiful even. He smiled down at her, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. He had to be the bad guy, and wake sleeping beauty, because at Twenty-three-thirty-hours he had to check their billets.

“Hey.” He mumbled, kissing her awake.

“Shit, what time is it? I should be heading back.” Jamie jolted up when he kissed her.

“So soon?” He joked, but he knew that their time was up. There was never enough time.

She stood up and held out a hand for him to take. “Yeah, my platoon leader is really strict. He’ll come by every night at the same time and if someone’s not in their bed, he tends to be dramatic and raises hell. You know, being all tough and puffing out his chest, hanging out his alpha male behaviour and all.”

Dean got on his feet and hugged her around her waist. He lowered his head to whisper in her ears. “He sounds like an asshole.”

“Ugh.. he is. But I like him.”

“I bet he’s a handsome asshole.” Dean kissed her lips one last time before he let her go out first. He stayed behind a couple of minutes longer, just to be safe.

Before he went for inspection, he read Sam’s letter that he didn’t have the time to read earlier. He tore up the dirty envelope and took out the pages. There was dried blood on it too and shit, he hoped that Sam took care of himself.

Dear Dean,

Never fucking joke like that ever again, alright? You know that you’re not funny and the fact that you almost died is even less funny. I should court-martial you. Fucking jerk! I bet I would find a good reason to do it, too. Especially after you said that you did something stupid. What did you do? Steal Cas’ socks? I know what a goody soldier you are, and I can’t say that I’m not worried when you, of all people, tell me that you did something stupid.

Dean, please don’t do anything stupid, alright? I have my hands full here. I can’t come and get you out of military jail. They won’t even let me. I’m begging you. Don’t do anything stupid. We want to get out of the war alive, remember?.

But honestly, even if it was something stupid, I still believe that it’s something that could be fixed. You could always fix things, Dean. Remember how you keep fixing my bike? I kept breaking it, thinking I could do stunts with it. Thankfully I never broke more than my leg. How could you not have told me to stop?

I’m good, though. Jess wrote to me. She’ll keep waiting for me to come home. Shit, Dean, I wanna go back home. Wanna see Jess again. I think I’m going to ask her to marry me. You think it’s too soon? Or stupid? I know that you’ve kept mom’s jewelry in your desk drawer at home. I know that her wedding and engagement rings are in there and I also know that you’re the older brother and you can call dibs on it but since you have no one to propose to - and don’t take it as an offense, alright, because you and me both know that I don’t mean it like that - would you mind.. I mean, would it be okay for me to propose to Jess with it? I know mom would have wanted it to, I just wanted to double check with you, is all.

By the way, Anna wrote to me, too. She said that you were not writing back to her. Now, I know that it’s not my place, but maybe you should tell her that you don’t feel anything for her, because even though I love you brother, but I’m not doing the dirty work for you. I have to clean up other people’s messes on a daily basis and I have got no patience left for your mess.

Keep yourself alive, jerk!

Sergeant Sam Winchester

August 17th, 1944

The back of the deuce-and-a-half was uncomfortable to say the least. One and Two platoons were cramped in narrow spaces, and Tran just fell asleep on Jamie’s shoulder. She let him sleep, though. Even though she felt his saliva wetting her jacket. They didn’t get to sleep a lot, and she could hear all the whimpers at night when the men would jerk awake with nightmares. They usually were not able to go back to sleep because they wanted to escape the faces of fallen friends and gaping bullet wounds. War did that, it invaded even the quietest places of your mind, nestled in, and stayed with you.

Jamie didn’t really get a lot of sleep herself, but apart from the dark bags under her eyes, her spirits were still high. She scanned the men around her, looking for the familiar face of Dean and there he was, laughing and joking with Harvelle. When he saw her looking, he grinned.

“Tran!” Dean shouted from across. “Hey! Corporal Tran!”

Jamie shot Dean a look that said so much as it’s ok, let him sleep.

“Tran!” Dean shouted again, waking him up and Tran jerked, slurping up a string of saliva.

“Sorry.” Tran mumbled and she smirked at him, telling him that it was alright. “What’s up, sir?” He shouted to Dean, his hand wiping away the sleep from his eyes.

“Just wanted to make sure you’re not soiling all of Bambi’s shoulder, is all.” Dean replied with a cheeky grin, thinking that he’d done her a favor, but Jamie was having none of it.

“Sir, I can speak for myself, and Tran clearly needed the nap. I haven’t seen him sleeping so peacefully in days.”

She could see that Dean wasn’t impressed with her talking back at him like that in front of his men, but he said nothing. Just curled and uncurled his fingers into fists before he took out the tin of cigarettes and lit up one.

“Bambi, I need to see you when we get off.”

“Shit.” Tran murmured to her. “I’m sorry, Blum. You didn’t have to stand up for me.”

“It’s fine. I’ll be alright.” She said, dismissively, her eyes never leaving Deans.

***

They’ve been waiting for orders as they stopped short of a tiny village. “We’ll be pairing with Easy company.” Dean said calmly as he took a knee to show them the map that was propped on it.

Someone was shouting from the back. “Thank god not Dog!”

“Shut your mouth, private.” Dean growled before he went on. “We’ll be clearing these houses on the west before meeting the rest of the convoy here.” He pointed at the red dot where the trucks would be waiting for them to take them further towards Brest. “Any questions?”

When none was forthcoming, Dean folded the map and put it back into his webbing before he nodded at his men.

“Bambi, I still need to talk to you.” He singled her out and they fell back as Baker and Easy company marched towards their objectives.

“What is it?” She asked him bluntly, even though she probably knew what he’s going to say.

Dean fell into step beside her, his breathing was heavy. “About Tran. Listen, I was just trying to help.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I didn’t need your help.”

“Just thought that you’d be annoyed that he was drooling all over you, is all.”

She stalled. “Really? Is this what it’s all about? Or are you jealous?”

“No.” It came shooting out of Dean like a bullet. Which, Jamie thought, meant that he probably was. She didn’t get it. They weren’t like that yet, were they?

“It’s fine, Dean. I can take care of myself. Hell, I went through Basic and Saint Lo without your damn help. You even made my life miserable, but I’m still here.” She walked again, faster this time, intending to leave Dean behind. She didn’t have time for this bullshit.

There was the sound of shells up front and they all crouched down. The platoons seeking out their leaders to go over strategy. “Rifle squad, move in on the left flank. The others, move right, prepare to lay down base of fire to support Easy company.”

Jamie was about to jog up to catch up on the rifle squad when Dean held her back. “What now?” She hoped that Dean could hear the annoyance in her voice.

“I don’t want you there.” He just replied, as he pushed her towards the other squad and they move up right.

“Where do you want me, sir?” She made it clear that he couldn’t overhear the annoyance in the tone of her voice.

“No further than five feet away from me.” He said as he stomped away, leaving Jamie to catch up on him and she ran, breathing hard as she finally reached him. “And that’s not negotiable.” He was hissing at her before he crouched down and pulled her with him, their rifle pulled up to their shoulders, as they waited to give fire support.

A mortar hit a couple of feet behind them and Dean shouted “Run!” before he sprinted across the street, his rifle pulled up to fire in the direction of the source. She tagged along and was never more than five feet away from him, as she’d been ordered.

There was another loud hissing, and there it was. She could see the mortar shell that flew high above, as if it was in slow motion. Jame stopped firing and looked at the shell and how it was flying directly at her. Of course that couldn’t happen, but in that moment, it did. Everything moved too slowly, but she couldn’t move. She stood there, frozen in space. All she could hear was a scream, and suddenly, everything went black.

CHAPTER 9

#dear dean #dean winchester #dean winchester fic #dean winchester fan fic #dean winchester fan fiction #dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x ofc #dean x oc #dean x ofc #nathalie writes

[spockuhurashipper]

“A Risk Worth Taking” - Chapter 16 - Hank Voight/OC Fan Fic

Comments appreciated. 

Chapter 16

Two days after Christmas, Layla headed to her apartment to catch up on laundry and check on things there while Hank drove Erin to the airport.

Incredibly, Intelligence had not been called in on any cases and the three of them had spent all of Wednesday together. Erin and Layla had gotten to know each other a lot better, which Hank loved - that is, until the two women started ganging up on him. He’d had to sit through Hallmark Channel Christmas movies instead of the gun-slinging western he’d wanted to watch.

But Hank couldn’t deny that lounging on the couch, watching movies with Layla and Erin, had been one of the best days he’d had in a long time.

Layla was just folding her last load of laundry when her cell phone rang.

“Hey, you okay?” She answered, knowing Hank was a little down about Erin leaving.

“Yeah,” Hank said on the other end of the line, “Erin is in the air back to New York.”

“Hey...” Layla said, trying to cheer him up, “...why don’t we go to the diner on 10th and pig out on a greasy, Chicago breakfast?”

Hank laughed on the other end of the line, then said, “That sounds great. I’ll come pick you up.”

When Hank arrived he knocked on the door instead of using his key and Layla had a flashback to the first night he’d stopped by.

Opening the door, she hesitated a moment, just taking him in and reflecting on all that had happened since that night.

“This brings back memories,” she told him as Hank walked in, giving her a kiss. As she closed the door, Hank said from behind her, “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about that.”

Layla looked at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

Sticking his hands in his pockets and looking up at her, Hank said, “Move in with me.”

Layla’s eyes widened in surprise and she walked over to the couch to sit down.

Hank remained standing.

“Wow. I… wow.”

There was a long silence before she said, “Are you sure? I mean, I love you but this is a big step. A big, forward-momentum step. We haven’t really talked about…”

Hank walked over and sat down beside her, taking her hand in his.

“Nothing would change, really. You’re at my place most nights.” Then he added, “And I do want to move forward with you. This is just the next step.”

Layla’s eyes snapped to his, reading between the lines of what he wasn’t saying. They hadn’t really talked about their future, and here was Hank hinting at… what? Marriage?

The thought scared Layla, a lot - more than she cared to admit - so she focused on the matter at hand.

“And you’re sure about this?” Layla asked, trying to process her feelings.

“Sweetheart, I’m sure.” He had a small smirk on his face, completely relaxed - completely Hank Voight.

His certainty stilled her nerves.

She loved this man. She felt safe with this man. The answer was clear in her mind.

“Okay, I’ll move in with you!”

The night of the concert, Hank got home and headed upstairs to shower. He found Layla digging through a box in the bedroom.

“What are you doing?” He asked, glancing around the room at clothes strewn everywhere. They’d finally finished moving her clothes in, but they were still in their boxes in the bedroom floor. They still had a few trips to get the rest of her things.

“I’m looking for my leather jacket. I want to wear it to the concert tonight but I can’t fin… Ah ha!” Layla stood up quickly, proudly holding the jacket in the air.

Layla was all ready to go, wearing tight, black jeans and an old Eric Clapton concert t-shirt tied in a knot, her midsection exposed.

Hank walked over to her and took the jacket out of her hands, letting it fall to the floor.

When he pulled her close and started kissing her, Layla sighed, “Hank… we have to pick Trudy and Mouch up in 30 minutes.”

“I know.” He said as his kisses moved to her neck.

She sighed and gave in to his touch. Since Christmas, they hadn’t had a lot of time to spend together, especially with every free moment devoted to packing up her things and moving them to his place.

“Did you solve the case?” Layla whispered, trying to stay clear-headed but feeling drunk on his touch and his kisses.

“Hmmhmm.” Hank mumbled, walking her backwards towards the bed.

“Hank… be good.” She warned him as the back of her legs hit the bed.

Hank pulled back, smirking, and looked at her. Then, his voice gravelly, he said, “Is that really what you want?”

The dangerous look in his eye made Layla’s stomach tighten with excitement.

Layla met his look with a challenging one of her own and pulled at his shirt to untuck it from his jeans. She noticed when he winced and pulled back from her touch.

Narrowing her eyes at him, she asked, “What’s wrong?”

Hank ignored her and tried to kiss her again but she pulled away.

Realizing the moment was gone, Hank sighed.

“It’s no big deal, I just took a small caliber round to the vest today when we went to apprehend a suspect. I’m just a little bruised.”

Layla’s mouth fell open. “You were shot?” She asked, her voice going up an octave at the end of her question, illustrating her displeasure. Lifting his shirt, she saw the purple bruise across his ribs on his left side.

Hank stilled her hands with his.

“That’s what the vest is for. I barely even notice it. I promise.” Hank told her.

Layla narrowed her eyes at him and poked a finger into his side. Hank grunted and winced.

“Yeah. Seems fine.” She said, sarcastically.

“It’s no big deal. I’ve had much worse.”

Hank didn’t think about his words until they were already out of his mouth and Layla scoffed. “Oh, great. As long as you’ve had worse, then I guess getting shot at is no big deal.”

Layla left him standing by the bed and went to pick up her jacket from the floor.

“And where was the rest of your team when this was happening?”

Hank felt a sting of anger at her words and his demeanor changed.

“What, you don’t think I can handle myself?”

Layla rolled her eyes as his machismo.

“I know you can handle yourself! I just wonder why it’s always you in the line of fire when you’ve got a whole team!”

Hank took a step closer to her, getting angrier that he was having to explain himself.

“Because it’s my team! I’m responsible for them.”

Layla, her back still to him, said, “I just wish you would rely on them more.”

Stepping forward, Hank said a little too loudly, “I didn’t know I had to check with you on how to run my unit!”

Immediately, Hank regretted his words.

“Layla, I’m sorry…”

“No!” She yelled, turning around to face him. Hank could see the tears in her eyes.

“No! You’re right. I knew what I was signing up for when I started dating Sergeant Hank Voight.” She said his name as if it tasted sour in her mouth. “I’ll just sit here and wait for someone to call me and tell me you weren’t so lucky next time.” Hank winced as the tears started falling down her cheeks, but this time it wasn’t from the pain in his side. Now he realized where this was coming from and he felt like an ass.

Hank closed the space between them and pulled her against him, ignoring the pain in his ribs.

“I’m fine. I’m right here.” Hank told her as he rubbed her back.

Layla took a deep breath and looked up at him, her eyes puffy and red. “I can’t lose you, too.”

Hank pulled back and looked her in the eyes.

“I promise you I will do everything in my power to come home to you each night, safe and sound.”

Layla nodded and wiped her eyes.

When they separated, Hank said, “Next time I’ll send Halstead in first.”

This made Layla laugh and Hank felt the tension in his chest release at the sound.

“Deal. Now go shower so we can get going.”

Hank kissed her cheek and headed into the bathroom.

Layla sat down on the edge of the bed and took a steadying breath. Grabbing her phone, she called Cindy.

“Hey, sis, I thought you had the concert tonight?”

“I do, we’re leaving soon. I just needed to talk for a minute.”

Cindy, now hearing the strange tone of Layla’s voice, said quickly, “What’s wrong?”

Layla quickly explained the situation to her sister. Then she said, “I guess I’m just not as strong as I used to be - sitting at home while he runs into danger every day. I’m not as strong as you are.”

Cindy let out a laugh. “Layla, you are so much stronger than I am. You know why? Because you’ve lived through the worst case scenario and yet you still love, you still have compassion for others, you refuse to let it beat you. Bottom line is, even though it scares us, their sense of duty and sacrifice is one of the things we love most about them.”

Layla nodded in agreement, even though she knew her sister couldn’t see her. The lump in her throat was too large to speak.

“Look, Hank loves you. Don’t you think he’s going to do everything he can to make it home to you?”

Clearing her throat, Layla said, “Yes.”

“Then try to let that fear go and enjoy being together. God knows, you both deserve a little happiness.”

Layla nodded, feeling better.

“You’re right. Thanks, Cin.”

Hank walked back into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, the bruise on his ribs a stark contrast against his skin.

“Anytime. Now put this behind you and go enjoy the concert!”

Layla laughed and assured her sister she would.

“Love you, sis.”

As she hung up the phone, Hank asked, “Everything alright?”

Taking a deep breath, Layla stood up and smiled.

“Yes.”

She walked over to Hank and kissed him deeply, ignoring that doing so got water all over her clothes.

Hank raised an eyebrow at her and smiled.

“Get dressed, Sargeant, we roll out in five.”

With that, she grabbed her jacket and headed downstairs to wait for him.

By the time they walked into the arena, Layla and Trudy were giddy with excitement. The two women had been talking non-stop for the last twenty minutes about the set list, possible encores and how close their seats were to the stage. Hank had managed to get seats on the fourth row.

“Ladies!” Hank said, trying to get their attention for the second time.

“Why don’t you two go ahead to the seats and we will get drinks.” Hank said, motioning to Mouch.

“That sounds great!” The two women took off and Hank and Mouch looked at each other, shaking their heads.

The closer Trudy and Layla got to their seats, the louder their squeals of excitement. Once they got there, they both took out their phones to take a photo of how close they were to the stage.

Layla was in the middle of sending a text to Cindy when she heard a voice behind her.

“Hey, baby! Damn, I’m glad you’re sitting in front of me. You are smoking hot.”

Layla and Trudy both turned around to find a group of frat boys, clearly drunk from pre-gaming in the parking lot.

Layla just ignored him.

“Oh, why do you have to be like that?” The guy slurred.

Trudy turned around and pointed a finger at the guy, “Look buddy, you’re drunk so I’m going to give you a pass. We’re all here for a good time. But you need to cool it.”

The guy put his hands up. “Alright, ma’m. No problem.”

Trudy shot him a look, not happy about being called ma’m, before turning back around.

Moving on, Layla leaned over and said, “So, were you going to tell me that Hank got shot today?”

Trudy looked guilty for a moment before saying, “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to worry you. He’s fine, really.”

“So he says.” Layla gave her a look.

Then, in a quieter voice, Layla asked, “If it were Randy, you wouldn’t want to know?”

Trudy looked at her for a moment before nodding. “Point taken. Next time you’ll be my first call.”

“Thank you.” Layla told her, sincerely. Trudy got the sense that something had happened between her and Hank before they’d arrived to pick them up. Now she had a better understanding of what it might have been about.

Mouch and Hank arrived at their seats, drinks in hands.

When Hank got to his seat and handed Layla her drink, she kissed him.

“I love you. Thanks for getting these tickets.”

Hank smiled, glad she was feeling better after their argument earlier.

“You’re welcome. Now let’s relax and enjoy tonight.”

Hank put his arm around her waist, pulling her against him, careful of his side.

“Damn,” the drunk, frat guy exclaimed behind them, “I don’t have a chance with her anyway. She’s into old dudes.”

Hank looked at Layla and she made a face, “Yeah. We’ve already had one chat with this guy. He’s drunk. Just ignore him.”

Hank obliged and turned his attention back to the stage. A few moments later, the lights went dark and the show started.

As the show went on, Hank was more relaxed than he’d been in a long time. Layla was clearly having the time of her life and it made him happy to see her enjoying herself. She and Trudy sang along to every song. Hank even found himself singing along to some of the more popular hits.

At intermission, the ladies headed to the restroom and joined the long line of waiting women while the men went to get more drinks.

Layla and Trudy were busy talking about how great the show was when someone bumped into Layla, spilling beer all down her front.

Once the initial shock wore off, she realized it was the guy that had been sitting behind them.

“What the fuck?” Layla yelled, getting pissed.

“Oh, I’m sorry. It was an accident,” the guy smirked, obviously having gotten his second wind, and obviously lying.

“Okay, that’s it.” Trudy said, and walked over to the nearest security guard. After a moment of explaining who she was and what was going on, he and another guard came over and escorted the guy out of the arena.

Once he realized what was going on, the guy got belligerent and started yelling obscenities.

Trudy walked back over and looked at Layla’s soaking shirt.

“You okay?”

Layla, still pissed and now smelling like a brewery, tried to salvage her mood.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine. I’ll just try to soak some of this up.”

She did the best she could with bathroom paper towels.

When they got back to their seats, Hank looked concerned.

“What happened?”

Layla tried to put the same, light-hearted smile on her face as before intermission but wasn’t entirely successful.

“That drunk guy from before, he “accidentally” spilled his beer all over me. Trudy got him kicked out.”

Hank nodded his thanks to Trudy and she waved him off.

“He needed to go to the car anyway, sleep it off.” Trudy said.

Once the lights went down, Layla’s mood lifted and soon they were all four back to enjoying themselves.

The show ended with an encore of “Sweet Home Chicago,” much to the crowd’s delight.

Once the song ended, the lights came up and everyone started making their way to the parking lots.

“That was incredible.” Layla was saying, more like yelling since her ears were ringing from the concert, as they walked out into the fresh air.

“My favorite song was…” Trudy started saying, but was interrupted when someone approached from behind them.

“Hey, bitch! How dare you get me thrown out. I told you it was an accident.”

The same drunk guy approached. He was actually carrying a fresh beer in his hand, probably left over from pre-gaming.

From her right, Layla heard Hank say, “I’m going to enjoy this so much” as he started to turn around, fist poised to knock the guy out.

A wave of anger came over Layla and before she realized what she was doing she turned around and punched the guy in the face, hard.

Already off balance, the guy fell to the ground.

Trudy watched him go down with a proud smile on her face.

“Grow up, asshole.” Layla told him as he picked himself up, embarrassed, and walked back to wherever he came from.

Once he was gone, Layla held her right hand with her left, her knuckles already swelling.

“Damn, I think that hurt me more than it hurt him.”

Hank walked over, a smile on his face, and examined her hand.

“You’ll be fine. We’ll stop and get some ice.”

Layla, still concerned about her hand, looked up and saw Hank smiling.

“What?”

Hank brushed her hair behind her ear and kissed her.

“I love you.” He told her, holding her good hand as they walked back to his SUV.

After they dropped Trudy and Mouch off, they went back to Hank’s house. Their house, now, Layla reminded herself, as they got out of the car and walked up to the front door. That was going to take some getting used to.

While Hank was unlocking the door, Layla put her hand on his arm.

“Hey, thanks for tonight. I’m sorry I freaked out before we left.”

Hank turned to her. “No, I’m sorry I was such an inconsiderate asshole. Hopefully, tonight made up for it?”

Layla smiled and snaked her hands around his neck.

“It was a start.”

She kissed him suggestively and Hank raised an eyebrow.

“But I can think of an even better way to make up for it.”

Hank chuckled and kissed her back before opening the door, eager to get inside.

Neither one of them noticed the black sedan parked across the street, a long-lens camera poised in the driver side window, snapping photos as they kissed.

#chicago pd #hank voight #hank voight x oc #hank voight x character #fan fic #fan fiction #fanfic

[littlemisssquiggles]

I have a prediction that i just thought of this morning. Im thinking if there was qn attack on Atlas by Salem or even her faction, and the teams had to split up to fight different battles. My prediction is that before they do, Oscar gives Ruby a kiss on the lips before leaving. Making Ruby shocked and speechless and maybe even worried about him through the whole battle.

Doyou know what’s funny Rosegarden412? That’s a predictionyou and this RosegardeningPinehead of a squiggle meister share in common. Lately I’ve been watching thecurrent last season of Game of Thrones withmy sister and ever since we watched the third episode---the one where the Night King showedup with his full blown army of the dead to kill Bran Stark and everyone atWinterfell rose up to make one last stand against him, the first thing Ithought of is this is how I would picture the Battle of Atlas to be. While I still believe that Atlas is going tofall by the end of the Atlas Arc, this is how I think it would go before thatinevitable outcome. The People of Atlas and the Huntsmen---both from Beacon andAtlas coming together to make one last stand against Salem to defend their homeso that another school may not fall to her tyranny.

Ieven made a RWBYSquiggle Quote voicing the idea. Inthat theory, similar to how everyone came together at Winterfell to battle theNight King who was after Bran Stark, this is how I envisioned Salem showing upat Atlas, possibly riding on the back of a Grimm Wyvern with her arm ofthousands---if not millions ofWinged Beringels prepared to decimate Atlas if they didn’t surrenderOscar-Ozpin to Salem. The idea I had wasthat Salem wouldpresent the kingdom with a dire ultimatum---surrender the boy (meaning Oscar) or face Atlas’ destruction. She evengives them a deadline of 72 hours---3 days before theinevitable Judgement Day.

Whilesome Atlesian higher ups believed that the best bet would be to accept Salem’soffer, our heroes of course refused to give Oscar up. Not only because theydidn’t wish to have their friend killed but because they all knew that Salemwould destroy Atlas anyways regardless of whether Oscar was given up or not. Itwas a lose-lose scenario. So in that moment, rather than running orgiving up, our heroes and the People of Atlas prepare to fight.

Sincethey knew Salem was going to unleash her army in 3 days, they used that time toprepare. They gathered their forces. Hid all the vulnerable women and childrenwho couldn’t fight in safe havens or sent them away down to Mantle where theybelieved they stand a chance of surviving the onslaught. As for the huntsmenand huntresses of Atlas who have trained to protect the people---they allprepare themselves for the second greatest fight of their lives.

Ialso envisioned a scene like you described where Ruby meets with Oscar one lasttime before the two part ways. This was pretty much going to be the last time the two possibly see each other. Ruby was going tofight and Oscar was being forced to hide somewhere desolate but otherwise safeso that Salem may never find him. He was to be guarded by Qrow Branwen, who hadvolunteered to stay with Oscar with Ironwood delegating some of his finestsoldiers to assist him---like Winter Schnee perhaps. Snowbird tag team anyone?

Even though Oscarwanted to give himself up, his friends weren’t going to have him to that. Rubyespecially. So the two smaller, more honest souls meet one last time. This was basically their lastchance to say whatever it is they wanted the other to know just in case…theymight not get that chance ever again. Even Qrow and Ozpin provided them withthe privacy they needed to vent whatever they might need to sayto each other.

Theway how I pictured it is Ruby and Oscar both bickering at first. It’s a scenariowhere they both clearly desire to protect each other but where they butt headson is their choice of methods. Oscar believes surrendering himself to Salem andher forces would be best to ensure everyone’s lives because the last thing hewanted on his conscience was knowing that everyone he cared about diedprotecting him while he stood around and did nothing.

Rubyin turn believes Oscar to be naïve inbelieving that him giving himself up will change anything. To Ruby, whether Oscarsurrenders or not, Atlas is still doomed. Salem would kill them alleither way but at least this way, they have a fighting chance. They have a chanceto turn the tides. If Oscar surrenders then Salem will have him and to Ruby,she doesn’t want that on her conscience. To Ruby, if Oscar dies then that’s onher and she didn’t want that.

Thatin turn, causes Oscar to admit that Ruby dying to protect him was his biggestconcern. Ruby wants Oscar to believe in her like he usual does but hisknowledge of knowing the kind of evil Salem is capable of coupled together withhim remaining helpless to aid his friends with his fear of losing Ruby didn’tput him in a hopeful mood.

Thetruth was that Oscar was scared but not for himself. He was more scared to losehis friends--- the people he had grown to love as his second family. Above everything else, Oscar didn’t want to lose thegirl he loved. Oscardidn’t want to lose Ruby.

Hisconfession then prompts Ruby to confess as well. Firmly, Ruby tells Oscar thatshe didn’t plan on losing to Salem. Not again. Not ever. Even if the SilverEyed Girl had to go down fighting then she would do it fuelled by one thought. She wasn’t goingto allow Salem to take away another person sheloved; revealing to Oscar that his feelings for her werereciprocated. Just as how he desired to protect her because he loved her, Rubyfelt the same way about him. She loved him and she wanted to do everything inher power that night to ensure that he lives.

Oscar may not agreewith Ruby’s methods for doing things this way but the least she wanted him toknow was that she was doing it out of love. In this moment, I can see Ruby kindof coming to understand her mother’s actions in a way. While we still don’t knowthe full story of Summer Rose, I’m still holding onto the clues sprinkled in Red Like RosesPart II. That everything Summer did leading up to the day she diedwas to protect the people she loved---including her precious daughter.

Sonow Ruby was about to do the same. Fight to protect the people she loved. Oscarincluded. This is the part where I can see Oscar interrupting Ruby’s speech by kissing her.But instead of Ruby being speechless, she kisses Oscar back and the two share amoment that solidified their true feelings for one another.

I’ma firm advocate for the Mutuality in the RoseGarden pairing. What thatmeans is that any romantic interest that Oscar may display for Ruby will bereciprocated in her showing clear signs of having feelings for him as well. Imay complain about the writing that the CRWBY Writers have done for Oscar thusfar; however if there is one thing I felt they’ve handled quite nicely is hisgrowing relationship with Ruby.

WhatI love most about the RoseGarden pairing is that it’s a partnershipmostly. I never felt like one cares more for the other. Both kids havemirrored their interest and devotion to each other and that’s what I love aboutit. I hope that’s a key characteristic of the RoseGarden pairing that theWriters continue and elaborate further in V7. If Oscar is to fall in love withRuby then my headcanon is that Ruby will fall in love with him at the same time.

I’min love with the idea of watching these two kids grow closer whileunintentionally falling in love with each other in the process. I want theRoseGarden first kiss to be a moment where it’s not just Oscar revealing histrue feelings but Ruby too.

It’snot just that Oscar loves Ruby. It’s more that they love each other and that’show I’d hope this moment can be about. I actually plan to write a small RWBYSquiggle Script based on this but for now, that’s the idea I have in mine.

~LittleMissSquiggles (2019)

#squiggles answers: rwby #oscar pine #ruby rose #oscar and ruby #rwby rosegarden #rwby theories #rosegarden412

[spiftynifty]

Hey there! I’m the same anon that sent that confusion ask to jojo. I saw your reply and Read your post about LGBT in kids shows and how (at the time) it seemed probable for a m|m canon. I wanted to ask what your thoughts are now? I personally think it seems most likely that Keith will end in a het. Relationship (despite it seeming a little rushed and lm and jds saying they wouldn’t) Keith ending with no one when such a strong relationship with shiro was built up just doesn’t seem likely either..

To be honest, I was worried about Kacxa at first too. Many, many other hetero romances have started with less than that and seeing underdeveloped relationships just happen because “he was a boy, she was a girl, can I make it any more obvious” is something we are extremely accustomed to. Heck the show kind of plays right into this with Hunk/Shay.

But Keith is different, he is a far more developed and story-focused character than Hunk is, and thus if he’s to be given a romantic partner then it needs to match that flow and level of development. One of the “rules” that we often get in media is that “romance is a higher level on the relationship chart than friendship”. And at this point, and even after 13 more episodes, there’s just no context this show could offer me where I could honestly believe that Keith could regard Acxa with a similar level of affection to how he regards Shiro, let alone higher. This was the biggest reason I stopped worrying; to be blunt, Kacxa doesn’t make sense on a narrative or character level. Keith aside, Acxa deserves to have a story told that doesn’t involve her following dudes around.

Also, revisiting the show I’m quite convinced that Keith is canonically in love with Shiro, that his feelings for him were intended to be read as so many of us do. There’s a reason so many people in and outside the fandom have written about their relationship with optimism and curiosity about where the show is taking it. It’s there, even for those who have never been looking for it. I know a lot of straight guys who have picked up on it despite never realizing Korrasami was a thing. 

But we definitely do a lot of speculating here in the Sheith fandom and I’ve seen some pretty elaborate meta for scenes that didn’t particularly resonate as shippy for me. So stepping back, shipping goggles off, speaking as a viewer and as someone who works in animation, there are really… 3.5 sequences that give me pause, that are so heavily coded and so… interestingly storyboarded and animated that I find it increasingly impossible to believe the showrunners and directors never intended for their relationship to be read romantically. They are:

Because there is something inherently romantic about the slow zoom on their smiles before the slow drift of them towards each other, the castle forgotten

Because this is blatantly highlighting how beautiful Shiro is and Keith staring at him in awe before he closes his eyes for the last time, resigned to their joint fate

Because I have run all the permutations and scenarios in my mind and there is literally no reason for Keith to stop mid lean, with his eye direction shifting lower than Shiro’s eyeline. It would have been faster and way less work to show him just hugging him without the pause.

And then this is the 0.5:

Because while the canon tempers this moment with “you’re my brother”, I am beyond convinced that that line was added because the scene was too romantically coded without it. And if you don’t believe me, check out this edit someone made of what the scene sounds like without the brother line. It’s incredible. 

But will we SEE canon Sheith? that’s… a little more complicated. 

My post ages ago about LGBT in cartoons was pretty optimistic but where I failed was considering the differences in studios. Some companies are a lot more chill about LGBT content in their shows. But they also aren’t the Big Two: Disney and Dreamworks, whose records of LGBT characters are utterly abysmal. Here are the two they had prior to July 2018: LeFou from live action Beauty and the Beast, and Gobber from HTTYD2 in a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it line that was ad-libbed by the actor and left in. Arguments could also be made for the Sheriffs in Gravity Falls (that had to be Dumbledore’d after the fact by the show creator who alluded to there being a fight over it).

NOT great, especially when you consider Disney is not just Disney: none, NONE of the 19 Marvel movies feature an LGBT character, nor do ANY of the Star Wars movies. It’s utterly inexcusable. Shareholders in these companies make things more complicated because they help dictate the direction a company will take and if a large portion of their major shareholders are say, more conservative, we’re going to notice that there is one area on the diversity checklist that is repeatedly getting passed over. The bigger the company, the more complicated the relationship is with shareholders. That’s why it’s difficult to compare Korra’s achievement, through Nickelodeon, to the potential of an LGBT relationship on Dreamworks. We should absolutely hold them to the same standards regardless of company size but we can’t expect to get an endgame LGBT relationship just because Korra did, or because of the giant 20-gayteen celebration going on for two wlw ships at Cartoon Network.

But we also got THIS on Voltron.  

And it’s a start. I think it outlines pretty clearly where the limits are for Dreamworks at this time, especially since many casual viewers seemed to miss the romantic implications of Zethrid/Ezor, and a more alarming number somehow walked away from Adam/Shiro’s fight completely unaware they were a couple. Which honestly, was certainly Dreamworks’ goal. Keep it vague enough to fool the shareholders, but implicative enough to pat themselves on the back for their achievement. Even though it only exists because JDS and LM fought tooth and nail for it. But at the end of the day, we still have Shiro, Shiro our canonically gay rep, and that’s so huge. I don’t think people realize how huge that is, and I wish his coming out party hadn’t been so marred by toxic antis and even non-antis who decided to take a really big moment in cartoon history and make it all about themselves and their own pain over the “more” that they didn’t get. 

It’s incredible that we are getting LGBT in cartoons finally, properly. 2018 celebrated three massive historical achievement in kid’s animation: A strong, muscular, leader hero was revealed to be gay and have had a boyfriends, and two wlw couples kissed–one of them got married, onscreen. 

This is HUGE. Prior to 2018 the biggest LGBT cartoon moment we had was Korra and Asami four years ago. 

It was like for four years everyone fought and fought and fought and 2018 was the breaking point and we got this glorious explosion of LGBT romance as a result. Audience reception to these couples has been immensely supportive, which is something the companies are definitely noting if it’s translating into dollar signs. It’s something that makes me much more optimistic for the future of cartoons in years to come. 

But I’m just going to come out and say it: the road to mlm is just a little bit harder. There are a ton of reasons for this but I’d say the biggest two boil down to: classic, gendered homophobia (the white conservative straight dudes with money supporting the studios have an easier time with the idea of two women making out, cuz that’s “hot” than two men, cuz that’s “weird”), and also because it is easier for people to accept that two overly-touchy women are “just good friends” than it is for them to accept that two male characters doing the same thing are. Guys Don’t Get Affectionate With Each Other, after all, because that’s not the Masculine Way. Or something. Tons of people watched the end of Korra and assumed they were just friends. Replace those characters with Shiro and Keith and it raises eyebrows. 

So where does that leave Shiro and Keith? It’s really hard to say and at this point it’s anyone’s guess. I truly believe Sheith was intentionally coded as romantic, but getting the green light is another matter entirely. In addition to the DW shareholders, JDS/LM have to deal with the Voltron ones and since that would include conservative-minded folk along with some Japanese shareholders and Japan has complicated rules about LGBT content… it’s a hot mess. Realistically speaking if you were hoping to see Shiro and Keith kiss onscreen, it’s time to come to terms with the fact that there is a 0.0002% likelihood of it happening. I think the best outcome we can expect at this point is that they both end up single, with bonus points if they’re still alive and on the same planet by the series’ end. I firmly believe that this IS something the showrunners are and have fought for and will continue to fight for until the last retakes are done and the show has been approved and shipped off to Netflix for distribution. 

My tinhat theory is that there is one, single scene/shot, that is blatantly canon, that JDS/LM and KR animated on the sly, and have at the ready that they are totally prepared to replace another more platonic scene with– should DW give the go ahead. But I doubt that go-ahead will ever come. At the end of the day the shareholders are the rulemakers and unless they’re convinced it’s worth the financial gain, Sheith is forever bound to be the “will they won’t they” friends we have seen for the last 7 seasons. And I don’t think that potential financial gain of the kids’ animation world’s first mlm couple is big enough to convince them. But god do I ever hope I’m wrong. 

#sheith #voltron #meta #long post #my current mood: optimistic for something half a notch above ambiguous #0p0

[watolocke]

Watolock Figure Skating AU

So this all came to me at once and I wrote a lot of plot points and possible moments down. I’m not much of a fic writer so if you want to force yourself through this disconnected block of text, have fun! I sent this to the Miss Sherlock Discord but I’ll give it its moment in the Tumblr tag lmao.

Sherlock began as a rising star in the junior figure skating community when she was 15, holding an excellent track record of consecutive wins. She had excellent technical skills and creative flair. Her interaction with fans was minimal but she remained popular regardless. 

Unfortunately her teenage years appeared to be the peak of her career when her abilities began to crash after the death of her parents (and some other secret angsty backstory involving figure skating) soon after she turned 20. She began crashing in competitions and her renowned self-choreographed routines fell flat. Her heart and soul was no longer in it.

The only time she feels fully at ease on the ice in her early 20s is in private.

Wato is a hobbyist when it comes to skating. While she is fascinated by the sport she is by no means a religious competition follower and while she could probably list a handful of names she's read about, she wouldn't be quick to recognise. Admittedly she is a bit of nerd surrounding the physics of figure skating jumps.

She uncovered years old tape recordings of the Olympics in her parents' attic and pored over the figure skating footage in her free time while getting through high school. (I honestly just needed an excuse for her not to be a Figure Skating Fangirl who would know Sherlock immediately).

She continues to practise into her college years when she has short breaks between working for her medical degree. It's always in public rinks and it is never more than a hobby.

Kimie Hatano is the rink owner. Gentaro Reimon is Sherlock's coach. Tatsuya Shibata is a pairs skater.#

Their first encounter is at the end of Sherlock's private rink time. She begins to unlace at the back to avoid being rudely talked to or god forbid, asked a question.

Enter the public. Among the groups of friends and couples, a shorter frantic woman stumbles in. She's hefting an assortment of bags and dressed terribly in Sherlock's opinion. Sherlock watches her hastily tie her laces connected to her ratty old skates and push in earphones before she steps onto the ice amidst the rush. For some unknown reason she seems to stand out despite the lacklustre attire. Her expression is just so full of will and determination.

She is soon gliding effortlessly and stepping rhymically across the ice the best she can amidst the admittedly sparse public. There are stammers and blips occasionally and it would be a lie if Sherlock didn't admit one or two falls escaped the woman. It wasn't completely fluent but the beauty and luminescence of the her character easily erased the most minor of errors.

She begins to slide into more advanced step sequences before launching into a series of single jumps. Sherlock hadn't been aware, hadn't even considered the thought, that what she'd seen had simply been a warmup for this assumed amateur. She throws herself without almost any hesitation, catching herself when she underestimates a landing. She continues, never letting the proud glow leave her eyes.

There's a moment where she seems to *prepare* herself, remaining motionless on the ice and taking a breath before she sets off again. Moving with unexpected strength and a spark in her eye. Jump. Sherlock holds her own breath as she sees this woman take off with the clear ambition of a toe loop. One revolution. Two. Three. Landing. Slicing into the ice on the right back outside edge, she lands with only a slight wobble. An almost flawless triple toe. Sherlock is enraptured. Of course, she can do such moves in her sleep but, here she is... Awestruck.

Frozen in place, Sherlock doesn't appear to notice the glee and surprise on the woman's face as she pushes herself to the exit, breathing heavily and reaching for a discarded bottle of water by her bag.

Sherlock practically falls out of her seat in an attempt to catch the woman during her break. Sherlock knows how much she herself despises being interrupted. She fills with a strange emotion as she approaches slowly in the building afternoon crowds. Nerves? She has not been noticed. She could still turn away. No, not Sara Shelly Futaba! She's a figure skating prodigy... with nerves of steel! And really she should take note of potential competition that could jeopardize her consistent wins.

Sherlock: Who's your coach?

Wato, pulling out her earphones: Eh? Sorry?

Sherlock: Do you have a coach?

Wato, looking bemused.

Sherlock, taking in Wato's scuffed and worn skates and attire: No! Of course you don't. What am I thinking! 

Wato, quickly growing angry and scoffing in disbelief.

Sherlock, failing lamely: No no... No! Sorry I just... Uh, what's your name? 

Wato: Tachibana... [Sherlock is clearly waiting for her to elaborate] Wato.

Sherlock: [to herself] Tachibana Wato... Listen- [cut off by phone buzzing, glances away] Ugh..! Listen- [Wato has disappeared; initiate frustrated Sherlock stomps and hair mussing]

Sherlock rushes out instantly, knowing she has no time to hunt down this newly named mystery girl without incurring the wrath of her ballet instructor. She spends the whole lesson a little out of focus and enamoured by Wato. It certainly doesn't go unnoticed. She's endlessly teased by Shibata on the sidelines as her (usually flawless) form is corrected. Sherlock obviously gives him a murderous look and already has 4 possible scenarios in which she can end his career.

The next time she's at the rink, she casually attempts to ask around about a Wato Tachibana. Yet we all know that Sherlock lacks any semblance of discreetness and of course Kimie Hatano, rink owner and Sherlock's designated moral support, knows the "sweet girl who has been showing up for about a week now and oh! She is so lovely, she'd probably even like you, Sherlock! Whoops, I didn't mean that..! Anyway, since you like her so much I'll introduce you both!". Cue Sherlock indignantly denying any interest but not denying the offer.

Mrs Hatano is endlessly encouraging Sherlock to speak to Wato but let's face it... She's a hopeless lesbian. 

Wato has just returned from a gap year in Syria she took in pursuit of her dream as a doctor. She was doing training as a nurse and was further encouraged to chase a higher medical career. Now in the summer building up to her final year in university before she enters medical school she is taking her free time to pursue an outside hobby she enjoys to lessen the pressure of such a demanding course.

She becomes close friends with Mrs Hatano during her visits and praises Wato each time she sees her but Wato is much too humble and even unaware to admit she's any good. Mrs Hatano remarks on her days as an ice dancer and all the many incredible men and women she met (in more ways than one). Wato laughs along at her stories that would be unbelievable if they weren't coming from her lips. Sherlock is often seen moping in the sidelines lamenting her inability to approach Wato after their awkward first encounter.

After some long, hard talks with Mrs Hatano Wato decides that she can afford to fish out money for a few lessons, purely to occupy her summer *obviously*. Sherlock, who is usually opposed to assisting any beginner's lessons jumps at the chance when Mrs Hatano mentions Wato. 

However, the instructor insists she just show what she can do first lesson while Sherlock is lurking in the back of the rink seating. Wato gets off to a shaky start due to her nerves but is soon smoothly gliding across the ice and doing moves, slowly increasing in difficulty. Amid this she is periodically throwing out single and double jumps. Sherlock is convinced she needs to speak to this girl and maybe advise her on how to improve her technique. Sherlock can already see the magic if Wato were to improve her rotations and unstable landings. Although these things never come out quite as smoothly she skates...

So unfortunately the first time they speak sherlock unintentionally comes off as pretentious and the two get into some verbal combat despite being interested in each other.

Kento definitely approaches Sherlock later and she pouts and mopes about how badly she handled that situation but that Wato was *totally* in the wrong too..!

Sherlock thought she was being constructive when advising wato on her technique but she was just pointing out everything wrong. She didn't have time to get to the positives before Wato was offended and began the verbal warfare.

They also both make the mistake of going to Mrs Hatano, wondering how they could apologise. Mrs Hatano, of course, has a genius idea: Coffee. However, when both women arrive and suddenly there's four coffees between the two of them. There's a lot of uncomfortable fumbling and light blushes as they talk over each other attempting to defend themselves. Sherlock tries to act cold and unaffected but they're eventually both giggling. 

Conversation is still awkward as they both lace up before Wato's first proper lesson but Sherlock lightly nudges Wato before shoving a piece of chocolate in her hand. Before Wato can reply Sherlock has turned away, shoved on her skate guards and marched off. And lucky she did because she may have melted if she saw the soft smile Wato had on her face.

Next thing you know Sherlock is pretending nothing happened and patiently leading Wato in a beginner's class. Sherlock notoriously doesn't have the patience for *anyone*. Period. On the side we have a slightly stunned Mrs Hatano. Sherlock is so caught up in explaining successful landing technique in detail that she doesn't even notice them. Shibata films it as "blackmail material" but Sherlock steals his phone. Before deleting the video she sends it to herself... because Wato looks so cute in it but she'll never let anyone in on that.

As first professional lessons usually go, Wato falls over an unimaginable amount of times by over-rotating on her jumps and Sherlock rushes over each time to check that she's alright.

Wato, grinning: You know I'm getting a medical degree, right?

Sherlock, holding the sides of her face gazing very intently at Wato's pupils: You can't determine your own concussion!

They probably look in each other's eyes for a few moments too long before clearing their throats and getting back to practice.

Sherlock leads Wato through the appropriate motions by lightly placing her hands on Wato's hips and waist and demonstrating the leg and arm movements for better balance. It's all in the name of sport yet it ends up achingly intimate.

By the end they are both glowing and Wato is gazing up as Sherlock rambles about everything and nothing all at once and she can't take her eyes off her. They end up beside each other once again, yanking off their skates and mindlessly discussing breathtaking routines from *decades* ago because of course Sherlock has endless knowledge on all her interests. They end up sat there late into the afternoon as the public passes in front of them and Mrs Hatano brings them drinks and snacks. 

Wato talks about her school life and how exhausting it can be but how much she adores it. Sherlock laughs at her affably for not following modern skating competitions. Wato jokes that Sherlock isn't as popular as she claims she is. Conversation is cut short when Wato cheekily requests to see one of Sherlock's apparently *incredible* routines. Sherlock stalks off with a less than friendly farewell and Wato has to use all her energy not to chase after this woman she's barely known a day.

Sat speechless she confides in Mrs Hatano who halfheartedly mentions Sherlock's "moods", although it seemed like more than a mood to Wato.

They each spend that night pondering the fun they had and just how much they want to see and speak to each other again.

The next time that they meet Sherlock stomps up to Wato with a phone number and a proposition. The number is to organise additional practises with Sherlock who gets extra rink access because "it's practical, Wato! Don't be dense!" The proposition is an invitation to witness one of Sherlock's routines privately during one of the previously mentioned additional practises. Sherlock requests that she set the date for it but Wato quickly agrees.

It takes a week more of practises in the presence of Mrs Hatano and various instructors before Sherlock finally approaches Wato to make good on her offer that night.

When Wato enters the rink it is the quietest she's ever seen it. She doesn't even see Mrs Hatano shuffling about. Admittedly it is quite late in the evening on a Sunday. She calls out, spotlights flash and as she blinks Sherlock appears from the other side of the rink all booted up with a long, *extremely fashionable* coat draped around her. Wato laughs loudly at her dramatics and Sherlock badly covers a smile as she skates to the centre of the ice.

Wato shades her eyes from the lights as she tries to see who's in the tech booth although she's almost certain she already knows. She hears a  yell of "catch!" before feeling the impact of a coat on her face. Before she can protest Sherlock has assumed her opening position and she is... *dazzling*. Her outfit is delicately sequined and elegant.

The music sets off at a somber pace and Sherlock possesses all the majesty and grace of a prima ballerina. The pace picks up and though she feels slightly wobbly in front of this new audience she slices through the air, elevating herself half a metre off the ice and landing with perfect balance.

Sherlock does the most impossible choreography and Wato is *beyond* amazed. She is void of speech or even breath to fully convey the beauty of what she'd just seen.

Sherlock bows deeply after showcasing one of her early successful routines and twirls, waving timidly to the audience of one.

As Sherlock begins to exit the ice Wato rushes over and grabs her arm as she sings her praises. Sherlock goes to shake Wato's arm off in habit but is stuck halfway through putting on her skate guards by Wato's fascinated expression and sparkling eyes.

Since this is just a very long sneak peak of my ideas... I’ll stop here. Feel free to send me asks with your thoughts and questions about this AU though. I am very invested in it.

#why am i posting this... i might post my royalty au if yall like this #miss sherlock #sherlock futaba #wato tachibana #watolock #my writing #that's a strange tag to write gfsjdka #au #my au #skating au #mine #this is so cheesy... why am i such a romantic

[youngwidowofbrooklyn]

At Least I’m Nobody’s Wife.

Here’s the cliff’s notes on what’s been going on since I left you last. 

-I gulped down tears on my husband’s birthday.

-I celebrated what would have been his fifteenth anniversary of sobriety, alone, and most likely drinking alcohol.

-I broke my fucking middle toe so badly I had to go to the ER to have it set properly.

-I took a solo trip to visit friends and have weird Hollywood adventures for a week without my kid.

-I turned 42, much to my disbelief, but did it relatively easily and peacefully, surrounded by friends I hadn’t seen in years.

-I began dreaming of my husband again.

-I celebrated Father’s Day this year, because goddamn it, I’ve already lost enough goodness in my life, it’s time to start reclaiming some reasons to celebrate.

-My son finally said it. He said the D word. I nearly vomited and sobbed.

-I took my son to an emergency room after a nasty fall at his preschool. The blood, the tears and the teachers’ concern didn’t phase me. But looking at the dirty base of the gurney in the partitioned area of the exam room nearly sent me into a full blown panic. It all came back....the long walks down a back corridor, hand in latex gloved hand, him in a surgical mask, back and forth we’d walk down this hallway, lined with gurneys like this one, walking, trying with all my fucking might to pretend that we were just a normal couple walking in Central Park, and not two helpless, lonely people who could almost touch but missed each other desperately nonetheless. I tried to pretend that I couldn’t see it....the mask, the long, dingy corridor in hospital beige, the dust on the sills, on the floor, the dirty plastic bases of the gurneys, each one a threat against the life of the man who was everything to me. I sat with my crying child on my lap and I was calm, I spoke gently to him and promised everything would be okay, and then....I saw that same dingy plastic base on another of those god-awful gurneys and I choked on my tears and thought, “What the fuck do I know? Maybe this is the last time I’ll hold him? Who the fuck am I to promise anyone that anything will turn out okay?”

I’ve been doing a lot of life stuff. A lot of stressful, time consuming, sometimes interesting, and sometimes fun life stuff. But mostly I’ve been scrambling to put out the immediate fires around me, and snatching small moments of peace in between. But the funny thing is that as much as I’ve been scrambling, I’ve felt my anxiety, my sense of unrest, uneasiness growing. I’ve been fidgety and unable to concentrate. I feel wound up and tense. And in the past few days, I think I figured out why. It’s because I haven’t been writing. You see, this is my only true form of therapy right now, and I’ve been kicking it to the back of my to-do list, over and over, but my urge to write, the demons that knock around in my brain, none of that has gone away. But I haven’t forced myself to deal with them. It’s true. I don’t want to write. This is hard for me. It’s hard for me emotionally to carve out the time to sit down and unload all of this dark and ugly shit out of my head and into this blog. I’ve been avoiding doing it, in hopes that I’d feel better by ignoring the pain. It doesn’t work that way, of course.

On the way back from the airport, after my week away, I rode in a cab driven by an older Caribbean man named Nathaniel. We had a pleasant and teasing conversation, until we got on the subject of “kids these days.” It started off general enough, both of us lamenting the state of the youth, he proclaiming that they don’t value education, while I gave a blanket agreement because he was nice enough and the cab ride would be over soon and I didn’t have the energy or interest to debate any of the finer points. And then he said something that struck me. He said, “Boys these days, they ain’t raised right. They don’t know how to grow up to be men. You see, boys and girls are different. You love ‘em the same, but you gotta treat ‘em different.”

I asked him what he meant. He elaborated by telling me that boys are brought up thinking it’s okay to be interested in feminine things. They shouldn’t have access to things that belong to girls, it’s confusing to them and could lead to trouble down the road.

“What kind of girl things?” I asked him.

“You know, dresses, shoes, makeup. Girl things. Boys gotta be tough. If they start taking an interest in feminine things, you gotta tell ‘em, ‘That’s not for you. There are boy things and there are girl things.’ And you can’t treat them softly. With boys, you gotta be rough. Boys nowadays like to cling to their mamas, always want their mamas. But boys need a man to show them manly ways, how to grow up right.”

And as he’s talking, I’m thinking about my sweet boy, who loves cars and nail polish in equal measure, who loves the flowers he’s planted in our garden and snuggling with me and who is mostly kind and sweet and sensitive, relatively speaking. And I think to myself, “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, mister.”

But instead, I say aloud, “And what kind of trouble are you talking about? What is it - worst case scenario - that you think would come of a boy taking an interest in dresses or makeup?”

He pauses, and answers as if it should be obvious, “Well, the concern would be that he thinks it’s okay, wearing dresses is okay. You have to tell him, ‘This is not for you!’”

I’m too tired to get angry, and I really don’t want to dislike Nathaniel. My heart breaks a little that he is so concerned about little boys not being tough enough. As if the real problem we are facing is that too many of our young men aren’t “manly” enough.

I say to him, “I’m interested in your thoughts on this because I’m a single mother of a little boy. My husband died about a year ago.”

Nathaniel offers his sympathy, and I believe that it’s sincere. He proceeds to tell me all the ways that I can ensure I raise a proper little boy even if there’s no father around to lead by example. I should not teach my son how to cook or sew or how to use the washer and dryer. That’s women’s work. He should learn when he’s older, of course, but not as a little boy because it would make the gender roles too confusing for him.

I laugh to myself, thinking about how my son insists on microwaving his own breakfast in the morning, how he actually throws a fit if I try to make the coffee, as he’s convinced himself that it is solely his responsibility, and how he makes me lift him up to the machines when the laundry goes in, so that he can push the buttons on his own.

I let the driver expound on the topic in detail for the remainder of the ride. As we pull up to my house, he expresses how nice it was chatting with me and wishes me well. I tell him I feel the same and wish him well. And then I tell him, “You know, Nathaniel, I’ve enjoyed talking with you, and also listening to you speak because your accent is a perfect for a character in a book I’ll be narrating soon.”

This is not a lie, by the way, I really do have a project coming up with a small appearance by a Jamaican man, so it was nice to sit and hear him speak, regardless of the content.

“So, I hope it’s okay with you, I’m going to use you as inspiration when I’m recording.”

Nathaniel laughs. He’s delighted. He gets out of the car and retrieves my suitcase from the trunk. We stand on the lawn, my lawn, and chat for several more minutes.

He tells me a story. A friend of his is a composer who cannot come up with a new song. The friend is desperate for inspiration and is discussing the writer’s block with Nathaniel. Nathaniel, who does not play music nor know a thing about writing it, asks his friend, “What does it sound like to you when you hear the birds chirping in the trees? Why don’t you write that?” The friend is suddenly inspired to write and thanks Nathaniel for his wise words.

“So you see,” he tells me, “inspiration is all around us. If you just pay attention, if you listen, maybe you can learn something from the world around you.”

And I don’t think he even knows how right he is.

[chantellehere]

Books I’ve read since I arrived Paris

Originally this was going to be an end of year post about books I’ve read up until that point. Alas no, I never got around to typing this blog post up and left it until now, on a supposedly snowy day in January (currently looking out of the window for the snow that has yet to fall). So here are all the books I have read from when I arrived in September, until now.

1) The Moth: All These Wonders

Back in the Summer, I did a book exchange with a friend back home. I sent her The Time Travellers’ Wife and in return, she gave me two books, both of which turned out to be amazing collections of short stories, not something that I would normally go for. This is perhaps my favourite out of the two. The Moth is originally a podcast for storytellers to share their stories, real stories. This is a collection of 49 new true stories from people who have experienced all kinds of things in life, from the loss of a loved one to growing up in multiple foster homes. The most poignant story was the very last one, called Forgiveness, by Hector Black, who relays the journey of how he came to forgive the rapist and murderer of his daughter. I was so shocked at how big his heart was and how he found it in him to forgive someone who has done such unforgivable wrong to him. It also made me feel ashamed for holding grudges against others, who thankfully has not done anything nearly as bad to me as what Hector has experienced. The fact that each story is true and lived makes the book even more interesting than it already is. It’s a wonderful, eye-opening book that makes you see things and consider the world from a fresh renewed perspective.

2) Blink: The Power of Thinking Without Thinking by Malcolm Gladwell

This is the third book from the writer that I have read. Blink talks about how we make snap judgments and why sometimes, these instantaneous feelings can be more right than heavily researched opinions. Malcolm Gladwell is no doubt an excellent author, and he makes all these scientific and fact heavy topics accessible, constantly making comparisons to real life scenarios and linking examples and case studies back to each other, reinforcing his findings, allowing the information to stick better. If you’re new to non-fiction, his are a great start because his writing is so accessible and not patronising in the slightest!

3) How to Be Parisian Wherever You are: Love, Style, and Bad Habits

Here’s a blog post dedicated to this book. All in all, it is an easy read, brilliantly funny and true

4) How to be both - Ali Smith

I am not a fussy reader but this book has left me so confused. It was highly recommended by other people on the internet and seems to always be on the chart and so I picked it up months ago, excited to finally read it. The story, its structure and its narrative - nothing makes sense to me and I have never looked forward to finishing a book more quickly just to get it over and done with (I don’t like starting and not finishing a book). Not on my list of recommendation, yet don’t let me stop you from giving it a go.

5) You Are a  Badass: How to Stop Doubting Your Greatness and Start Living an Awesome Life - Jen Sincero

A cult self-help book, which started off cringely optimistic but ended up being quite good. I wouldn’t say it stands out that much from other self-help books, in the sense that they all seem to be talking about similar things, giving similar advice and also reiterating things that you should know but do not have the self-discipline to already have done it. The tone is motivating, but at first, it can come off as cringy and very American. I like the fact that it recaps the main point after each chapter, which is quite helpful if you were to put everything she says in action. What I took home was the most repeated advise at the end of each chapter: Love yourself.

6) Everything I Never Told You - Celeste Ng

The fact that this is written by an American-Chinese author made me love the story even better. This story follows an American-Chinese family after the death of their daughter. It talks about the racism that Asians faces and the difficulties that mix-raced children experience growing up, as well as problems arising between the parents because of the different upbringing, social and cultural background. I find part of the stories relatable (like the pressure and expectations from parents, family dynamic etc), which makes it all the more interesting and intriguing, the fact that someone else (the author) understands! Celeste Ng writes so well I can’t wait to read more of her books.

7) Why I’m No Longer Talking to White People About Race - Reni Eddo-Lodge

As pointed out by the author, racism (especially in relation to Black people) is usually discussed in the context of American history. Reni has done many research and interviews to shed light on why race in Britain deserves just as much discussion and awareness, touching on black history, and the link between racism and feminism. She also suggests practical approaches to acknowledge and counter racism in our world today. This is such an informative and educational read, one that is desperately needed in our society today, given the political events that have happened over the recent years.

8) A Little Life - Hanya Yanagihara

Before I was even halfway through the book, it has already become one of my all-time favourites. This book follows the life of four friends, four American male characters and their lives over the decades. This book covers everything you wish for in a book: love, jealousy, friendship, guilt, trauma... It’s not often that you’d come across a book this thick and whisk through it so quickly that 720 pages do not seem long enough. The writing flows so well and even though I was juggling between two books at the start (because I needed a lighter book to take with me on the metro), I had no problem getting back into this one every time I picked it up again and very soon, I couldn’t put it down and was extremely sad to finish it (both because of the story and also knowing that I will have a hard time searching for something as good as this book)

9) The Tattooist of Auschwitz - Heather Morris

I finished this in a day - a true and touching love story between Lale and Gita, written in the form of a diary. Lale retold and entrusted his experience in the Camp to Heather Morris, who effectively replicated it in a convincing and persuasive piece. Although not as heavy as Anne Frank’s Diary, since it is historical fiction, rather than an autobiography, you’d be shocked at how much the couple has gone through, individually and separately and how miraculous their love story was. Reading Heather recounting her meetings with Lale and his son, you can believe she has done so much to stick to the truth while adding certain elements in the book to recreate the suspense and drama. If you enjoy The Book Thief and All the Lights We Cannot See, you’ll enjoy it.

10) Why Social Media Is Ruining Your Life - Katherine Ormerod

I heard about this book on this episode of the Ctl, Alt Delete podcast hosted by Emma Gannon. Her interview with Katherine Ormerod opened my eyes (ears) to see (hear) the truth behind these glamours Instagram accounts, which I already know, but not to this extent. The book elaborates on it, sure it tells you things that you should already know, but more than that, it’s packed with interviews and quotes from real life bloggers talking about the prices they pay to ‘live’ the life they have, plus, Katherine has lived and is still living that life herself, and so this book is full of first hand experiences. It’s also divided into sections, linking social media to motherhood, politics and work etc. It’s an informative read for sure and even more so in this age where social media is so dominating.

11) The Paris Wife - Paula McLain

I got this book from Shakespeare and Company, for the stamp and also, since I am in Paris, I thought I should read something that is set here. This book was one of the ones that caught my eye, from the many lists of ‘Books set in Paris’ that I googled and consulted. Written from Hemingway’s first wife, Hedley’s, point of view, I find it difficult to separate myself from the book. I find myself constantly bringing my anger towards the male characters and sympathy for the narrator to life, through the conversations I have with my boyfriend, projecting and magnifying my despise for the male characters onto others in real life (for that, I apologise.) But this just goes on to show how great the writing is and how easy it is to sympathise and get lost in the book. I have become obsessed with Ernest Hemingway’s life, in particular, his relationships with women and I reminded myself to re-read another book on the infamous writer and his wives, Mrs Hemingway by Naomi Wood.

#book #books #book review #book recommendations #bookshelf #my bookshelf #my books #good reads #goodreads #paris #diary

[verick-mage]

The Woman Men Adore Review

The Woman Men Adore Review

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The Girl Men Adore Review     A “should have” product for girls who need more out of their current (or future) relationship. The concepts and tips inside give girls deep insights into relationship development. They conjointly show you the way you can create your partner (or soon to be partner) follow together with it. The program is very action and results-targeted to mention the smallest amount.     Empowers ladies to require a additional proactive role in the link dynamics.     Makes girls realize that they need additional influence over the relationship. That's, women contribute to the direction of the relationship a lot of than they notice.     Tackles relationship problems from the inside-out. This approach is preferential over the standard gimmicky outside-in skilled therapy approach. The program works on developing yourself and your self worth. It’s not about providing you with ideas on what to mention when your partner’s angry and create him need to listen. Don’t get me wrong, there are discussions about conflict resolution and different relationship band-aids. However, it comes once dealing along with your own self first.     Applicable to girls of all relationship statuses. From single and dating all the means up to married and God forbid, pre-divorce.     Clean layout and nice presentation.     A nice mix of theoretical and insightful concepts. This is then plus practical and actionable advice. Cons     If you’re a man, this can be not for you even if it came from a male author. This is often a guided tour by a guy (the author) steering women through the inner workings of the male relationship mind and psyche.     If your scenario is trying to induce your ex back, there are way more specialized merchandise out there. This product falls short with couples who have already uneven, separated, or filed for a divorce.     Like all self development program, you don’t get to see results immediately. Individuals will’t modification overnight and you wish to offer yourself and your partner time.     The program could be a bit wordy. It would have been higher if some images fill the gaps here and there to interrupt the avalanche of texts.     The support didn’t come our inquiry. attend the official website The Woman Men Adore Vital Info The Lady Men Adore Product PackageThe Lady Men Adore may be a relationship development program for women. A lot of for those who want to be told how to get a lot of out of their current or future relationships. The latter applies if you’re currently single. It comes from a deep understanding of how men operate (since the author could be a man) in an exceedingly relationship setting. The end goal is to show ladies on what they will do to develop the relationship. In result, this would lead to a richer and a lot of satisfying association together with your partner. Speaking of the author, this program comes from Bob Grant. Bob is a Licensed Professional Counselor specializing in relationship recommendation towards ladies. He has additional than a decade of experience in the field. Known as “The link Doctor” within the trade, Bob is the owner of an on-line relationship advice resource (relationshipheadquarters.com). He is additionally part of the Savvy Miss (an online community for women) dating recommendation team. On a a lot of personal note (but still relevant to the present review), Bob is during a solid wedding with the lady of his dreams (Stacy). As of this writing, they have 4 youngsters. Nothing projects relationship recommendation credibility than a solid relationship from the author, right? On a side note, you ought to hear their love story, it’s cool. Click here for The Lady Men Adore instant access The Lady Men Adore Insider Look Focusing on the program itself, The Lady Men Adore starts off with an introduction. This can be like any alternative program or book. Throughout this part, Bob shares a little more detail concerning his professional background. He additionally bears why he is sharing relationship advice to girls despite being a man himself. In this section, Bob elaborates why he believes that girls are the key to relationship development. That's, women more so than men. He conjointly aims to encourage girls to require a a lot of proactive stance towards achieving this goal. After that introduction, you are then treated to the meat of the program. At first, it appears a bit in all places. Each chapter appears self-contained inside their own topics. However, a closer look shows a sensible program flow. The 1st few chapters house self concepts. That's, these ideas deal on how to enhance your self-image in an exceedingly relationship context. This, in essence, results in you being additional engaging to men. In reality, men find girls who are snug in their own skin terribly attractive. Chapters include how to create your perceived vulnerability as your strength. It also teaches how to understand what men want from girls. Then there’s a subject on what’s in women that build men need to commit only to you. Lastly, some sections deal about taking note of your heart and trusting yourself. The succeeding chapters embrace relationship ideas. You’ll learn about death traps in an exceedingly relationship that almost all girls fall into that shuns away their partner. You’ll additionally find out about conflict resolution and also the role of real forgiveness. Lastly, you’ll get to know the secret of great relationships. Top it off with the key parts that build a relationship bloom and fulfilling. The previous few chapters are actionable pointers which help you notice that, as a girl, you have more power during a relationship than you will notice. It helps you understand how to wield that power and develop your relationship with your partner. The chapters show you what you can do to take a more proactive role in the connection. On the manner, additionally get your partner to follow together with the process. At the tip of the day, making the connection a lot of fulfilling and satisfying for the each of you. move to the official web site Packages and Pricing $47, Customary Package     “The Girl Men Adore… And Never Wish To Leave” eBook.     “The Single Woman Quick Change” eGuide.     “The Married Woman Quick Modification” eReport.     One month free trial access to “The Woman Men Adore” membership club. Go here for The Lady Men Adore coupons and discounts The Girl Men Adore Banner Logo Our The Lady Men Adore Conclusion The Woman Men Adore may be a nice program for ladies. This offers ladies an in depth account within a person’s mind in the realm of relationship dynamics. Most men would possibly think about this as a betrayal of the species. However, this program by Bob may be a welcome and much needed toolkit for ladies. Men have their attraction tools (i.e. pick-up artist and seduction guides run amok). Why shouldn’t girls have theirs? It is to the present nice service, together with the presentation of effective information, that we tend to give this program a 4 out of 5 stars rating. The Lady Men Adore may be a distinctive product. As you recognize by now, it offers relationship recommendation to ladies from a perspective of a guy. That sort of knowledge offers a ton of credibility ought to have thought. Where better to learn how men operate than from a man himself? A person, that's, with more than a decade of relationship counseling expertise. He additionally specialized in serving to a ton of girls into successful relationships. A major knock on the program is the support team; or a lot of specifically, the lack of it. That fact prevents this program from getting a good score. At least for our attempt, our inquiry didn’t get any response. It may be an isolated case of misplaced email but it will raise a red flag. A weak or non-existent support team implies that download problems or product inquiries would go unanswered. It conjointly indicates that the product would possibly not be getting any a lot of attention. That's, the product is no longer obtaining any updates. This is a minor qualm. Still, you'll be able to pick a issue or two on how to develop your relationship through this program. It’s lucky that relationship dynamics and interpersonal concepts don’t go unfashionable as alternative fields. Other fields like investment programs or weight loss programs want frequent updates. Relationship programs don’t. The Girl Men Adore works within-out. It starts with developing yourself to developing your relationship. It helps you rework into a woman that men adore. This then results in you raising your attractiveness level to men. You prime men into a committing mindset. Then you create them wish to be a part of a satisfying relationship with you. Our Final Suggestion: Buy The Woman Men Adore

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