#i hate hate hate all of the posts that circulate around here complaining about people not doing x

[ragnarokproofing]

i wrote a big long response to a post that made me angry. it was saying that people love to complain about not being able to find new media because they aren't willing to "do the work" to go deep and find the things that they want that don't exist in the popular sphere.

i don't think that this is a particularly fair criticism because today's media landscape is incredibly difficult to navigate if you're looking for anything except for what is Within The Zeitgeist.

like, there's this book series that i love, skybound by alex london. it's a YA gritty dark fantasy series that's actively queer. it's fantastic, highly recommend. but the thing is, it's impossible to find. I got the first book at barnes & noble a year or two after it came out. after i read it, i went looking for the second book, and couldn't find it. the series disappeared from the barnes & noble shelves at some point. i looked at a local independent bookstore, well-known for its huge LGBT section - an entire room of the store. they have a big wall that's all queer YA. well, they don't have anything by alex london at all, presumably because his books aren't advertised as queer at all; they're stealth, dark, serious, and inaccessible, not something easily marketed on social media, and shelf space in these little bookstores is at a premium, because the stores are struggling to survive. these books don't have any sort of fandom or cult status, and they were never particularly popular, so they're not likely to ever end up in used bookstores. so because i already knew about them, i was able to order copies of the rest of the series - but if i didn't, i would never have stumbled across them. how would I have?

this is especially true of movies. despite living in the golden age of remasters, with old, forgotten movies finding new life through AGFA, vinegar syndrome, alamo drafthouse, etc, there are many, many wonderful movies that are still completely under the radar. but most people don't really have access to these - 4K blu-rays are expensive, and how would anyone find out about them if they're not already involved in the space? it's not like there are many video stores around anymore - and all of these streaming services are circling the drain, their catalogues scattering to the winds. shudder is great if you want horror, but movies and franchises come and go, and while they have a lot of gems their catalog isn't that big, and anyway, that's another subscription. so how the hell are people supposed to find the offbeat movies that they want?

the answer that i would give is in-person screenings, but those sure as shit aren't accessible. they're only really a thing in cities, and unless you're a college student and your school has film clubs they're probably at boutique theaters and tickets are pretty pricey, and besides, learning about screenings at the Music Box Theater means joining their mailing list, or following them on facebook or instagram, and you can't do any of those things unless you already know that they exist. if you're already passionate about film, then you know about the resources in your city, but if you're just a rando with a passing interest, you never learn about them.

i don't like this criticism because it doesn't acknowledge how fucking hard it is to find new things. people on social media who talk about not being able to find what they want aren't stupid or lazy, they literally don't know how, because nobody ever taught them. i'm lucky enough to have been able to go to free film screenings for several years in college and now i have an extensive library of hard discs that i screen myself or lend to my friends, and i have a pretty deep knowledge of the genres that i prefer - and i still have a miserable time finding anything new that i'm interested in, because that process fucking sucks, and none of this even acknowledges that a lot of media was/is actively repressed because of its controversial nature.

so, instead of bitching about how people are lazy and aren't willing to do the work because they're not as serious about art as you are, why don't you roll up your sleeves and give them actual advice, you prick.

discovering media is a skill. the way that people learn and refine skills is not by being berated. it's by being taught.

#my posts #angry posting #i hate hate hate all of the posts that circulate around here complaining about people not doing x #without acknowledging that the reason they're not doing it is that it's really hard or miserable or that no one ever taught them how #or that they don't even know that doing x is a thing it's possible to do

[gunitnekoh]

Dear Tumblr (this is not a well thought out post)

Y’all need to stop being assholes about tiktok

I know why you hate tiktok

I see the posts and I agreed with them even though I just enjoy both of these websites

BUT

I’m paying closer attention to tiktok hate posts… and y’all sound like Congress

I don’t like or want tumblr live on this website, I want my anonymity hellsite to stay as it is and want it to NOT BE tiktok

But I like tiktok too and for a good reason

As a tiktoker put it “tiktok has become the global public square”

There is so much connection to be had and circulated on there I don’t know if you guys even realize

Y’all’s hate posts talk avoid the vanity and stupid dance trends but y’all do t talk about the POC voices, the neurodivergent voices, ALL the minority voices and the global crises that can be seen in real time on there that is NOT filtered by the news that we all agree is run by like 10 US corporations that modify it for their benefit

Y’all are annoyed by the censoring on tiktok: do y’all understand how clever the go arounds tiktok users come up with are?

Does tumblr have freer text speech than tiktok, yeah

Is any site perfect (side eye @staff) 😂 no!

Like, I want y’all to understand quickly that tiktok users don’t talk the way they do because they’re afraid of the filters or they think it’s trendy they do it because it works on that site. The site has so many problems that need to be worked out but OMG it tiktok important.

I urge you to try it

You can kinda follow the same rules there as here: change you name a use an icon to show you are human but you don’t HAVE to show you face or make any videos, just LURK and search for what you like

People worry about the algorithm but I assure FIXINg you algorithm is not that hard

The people who complain about the algorithm fucking up really only have to deal with it for a few minutes if you scroll away from what you don’t like enough or like enough videos in a similar vein.

Same as tumblr really, don’t like what you see? Block and keep moving.

Tumblr and tiktok are alike in a lot of ways except one is visual and the other is more text

I don’t want them to be the same and they shouldn’t be BUT one doesn’t have to be BETTER than the other

They can both exist and be good

(Y’all can expect a lot of tiktok vids from me soon because shit is happening and I don’t see tumblr talking about it much)

#tiktok #tiktok and tumblr #tumblr #social media #me #my post

[megamindsupremacy]

Hi! I just want to say that for a megamind blog you have very little megamind content. I understand you might have switched fandoms, so it's cool! I love your Captain Marvel stuff! Do you have a megamind tag?

Ah. So. Hold up this is a long story let me just

So back in like 2020 on my main account @aromanticgoldfish-deactivated237 (note the deactivated bit is a joke) I made thisss post

Which is unfortunately the version of the post that started circulating. Megamind, allegedly, (I have not watched the movie) has a similar thing going with his hero/antagonist, and people promptly started telling me this in every single goddamn comment.

Which got annoying after like, a week. And I complained about it enough in a discord server and also on tumblr that it became a joke that I hated Megamind. So for about a year it was a whole thing where my friends would tag me on posts about Megamind, I would complain loudly, every so often someone would tag my post as Megamind and I would threaten them with violence etc. Around August 2021 I finally gave up and changed my blog name from @aromantic-goldfish to aromanticgoldfish-deactivated237 in one last bid to get people to stop fucking following me (I gained like over a thousand followers from that post unfortunately). One of my mutuals, I still have no idea who, took my original blog name and made a Megamind fan account out of it and recently they deleted the blog so I have the account name back again.

That’s a huge block of text anyways. In January of 2022 I, while joking with some discord friends, said I should make a blog called megamindsupremacy, because I hate Megamind and it would be ironic. And then I immediately did. So that’s how I made this blog. Unfortunately, I forgot to clarify to people that this is a satire megamind hate blog and not a fan account, so whoops. The blog was dead for about a month because I didn’t use it outside a one-time joke, but then I started reblogging all my fandom stuff to here instead of my main because I was clogging stuff up so much. Then a few of my posts accidentally blew up and I once again have gotten a sizeable amount of followers, and half of y’all don’t know my lore. So honestly the real clown here is me. Anyways I DO have a Megamind tag on my main it’s #megamind hate central and I complain about Megamind on it, which is not what you were looking for but that’s what I have

Additional lore: my main account got nuked for a hot minute like a year ago and my friend made me a 21 gun salute of megamind tshirt cannons

So that’s where I got this account pfp from

Also this \/ whole saga happened like, a week ago, so the original post is in fact gone and replaced with asexual no bitches Jason todd death

#i should make an ask tag #if y’all scroll down far enough on this blog y’all will find me messing w my friends for like five posts followed by a month of silence #and then I start Danny Phantomposting #this is not what you were looking for anon mb I am not a megamind fan account

[tiger-moran]

Anyway the post I was trying to find was me complaining about how someone once said essentially if you only/mostly ship same gender pairings then you're fetishising same gender couples unless you love those characters and how they interact so much that you'd still love them and ship them in any gender combination and any incarnation.

And I still think about this and what absolute bullshit this is quite a lot.

And I mean even if people can accept that there are loads of reasons for only/mostly shipping same gender pairings that have nothing to do with 'fetishising' anyone...

This idea that we're all supposed to inherently accept and love (and ship) any and every incarnation of the characters still exists, it still circulates around even if it's not always said explicitly.

Or sometimes even it's more like that we're all supposed to be absolutely ecstatic about someone doing something ~radical~ with the characters even though doing something ~radical~ usually means basically this character is just an OC with the canonical surname slapped on them.

Can it just not exist, can this idea just die. If you want to create an OC and slap the name Moriarty or whatever on them then you do you but why should I care? And why the hell should I be made to feel bad and wrong for not caring when expecting me to inherently care about these totally different versions of the characters is as absurd as someone expecting me to inherently care about all the thousands and thousands of characters from every other piece of media I haven't got the slightest interest in.

Also why should I care about shipping versions of the characters together from an adaptation where the creators not only changed almost everything about the individual characters they also absolutely went out of their way to wreck the pairing and any closeness between them? It's like... they don't give a shit about the pairing but somehow I am still expected to just because these characters have the surnames Moriarty and Moran? (Guess which adaptation I'm mostly talking about here. Begins with E. LOL)

But I'm still being made to feel bad and wrong and like a ~bad fan~ for not giving a shit about these things and these versions of the characters and not being able to ever get excited about any new/upcoming things that do these same things.

I hate this so much.

#and this is on top of how can I possibly ever get excited for things that I can't access anyway?

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

Baby, some people are meant to be loved and others just naked

So take what I’m willing to give, love it or hate it.”

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

A/N: alright SO!!!! the original part 3 ended up being at the cusp of 50k words (because i have no self control) and that is a LOT to read in one go so it’s getting split into parts 3 and 4! which means!! double update laidese and germs!!!! part 4 will be posted this SUNDAY, AUGUST 16th at 5PM PST/8PM EST :D we hope you enjoy this chapter, feedback is greatly appreciated, and please please PLEASE!!! if you like it, reblog it!!! and if you want, go nuts in the tags!! every single one is read!!! it keeps content creators motivated 💌leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ took the liberty of making an incredible playlist to go along with our story, so feel free to check it out and see if you can find any clues as to what’s in store for the characters 👀without further delay, here she is...buckle up 👁👁this is gonna be quite the ride

ysijwa masterlist : andrea’s masterlist : leyla’s masterlist : ysijwa playlist

word count: 24.2k

content/warnings: cheeky banter over texts, The Crew dragging Niall to shit, more banter over a glass of cheap wine, vampire!harry showing up to “interior design” sessions looking like a runway model, some fwb smut, degradation kink, very mild mentions of blood, and some ugly tapestries that somehow lead to sexting

///

Y/N definitely puts Harry’s number to good use. Very good use.

In fact, during the span of the next month or so, Harry reckons that she pulls up his contact on her phone so often that she probably has him listed on speed dial. The assumption is dramatic and probably incorrect, on behalf of his arrogance, but with how much time they start spending together, it’s hardly a stretch.  

It all begins exactly a week after their first time meeting. 

Harry still hates clubs. 

He hates them more than he did last week. He hates them more than he did yesterday, more than he did this morning, and even more than he did a minute ago. He fucking despises them. 

And yet, as Harry stands here before the mirror in his enormous double-sink bathroom, fiddling with his damp hair as his flouncy dress shirt hangs unbuttoned from his broad shoulders, he’s absolutely positive he has never hated clubs more than right now. 

Niall got to pick the venue this time. He’d texted his choice in the groupchat (which is respectfully named Dinner Plans) about four hours ago, making sure to get the word out decently early so that everyone could start making their preparations, all in order for the crew to be on the move by nine P.M. 

It’s now nine thirty-seven, and everyone is fully set to leave at the agreed upon hour. Everyone except Harry. 

This, however, is not uncommon. He’s always the one that takes the longest to get ready, no matter how soon he starts. No one can remember an instance where Harry has ever been ready on time— which says a lot, considering most of the gang has years of memories from which they can pull. Mitch especially. With almost a century of friendship behind them, not once has the older vampire ever seen Harry stick to a deadline. His flare for being fashionably late is less a flare, and moreso an irritating burn. It always throws off their game a bit, but at this point, everyone has gotten used to the seemingly young vampire’s theatrics. 

So on this Friday night, there isn’t much more to do other than mold to his habits; Harry answers to no one except himself and it’s been that way for decades now, for a reason he’d rather not reminisce. He doesn’t owe anything to anyone, especially since he’s the one that always takes charge of getting them where they need to go, as well as getting them inside said destination. Complaining about their leader wouldn’t do the gang any good for a number of reasons, especially because Harry rarely ever listens. It is what it is— he’s just the way he is, and they’ve all learned to live with and respect that.

The funny thing? Harry does it on purpose, though his friends aren’t aware of it. He drags out the process of getting prepared simply so he can put off having to step inside one of those circus acts people refer to as clubs. He goes as slow as possible and does as much as possible, spreading seconds into minutes, and maybe— if he’s insistent enough and feeling particularly pesky— an hour. His record is an hour and twenty-eight minutes, which he wears with pride, much to his group’s unamusement. 

Harry knows no one will ever say anything about his annoying tendencies, unless they’re willing to volunteer themselves to take the reins for the night. Vampires are alert and productive, but only when they want to be— which is usually only when it benefits them— and only if they can muster up the patience for it. And frankly, none of the creatures he associates with have the patience required to deal with security, driving, and other obstacles the way Harry does. He’s indispensable, and therefore, everyone puts up with his shit. Quid pro quo has never been more effective. 

So here Harry stands, now thirty-eight minutes past the original time sorted for departure, carefully combing volumizing mousse into his slightly wet curls and spinning each ringlet around his index finger to give them the definition and bounce he’s so well-known for. Here he is, finishing up his post-shower routine as all of his friends mill around downstairs in his living room, waiting for him to come down so they can pack into his car and head out for the weekly hunt at whatever establishment has been deemed fit for the night. And here he is, taking his sweet time so he can be the signature pain in the ass that everyone hates to love. 

Once Harry has thoroughly coated all of his hair with the fluffy white cream, he pulls out his hair-dryer from the cabinet below his sink, snapping its accompanying diffuser into place and flipping his head upside down. He carefully scrunches his curls to his roots with the attachment, moving in thoughtful circles as he hums to the rhythm of a song he can’t be bothered to remember the name of. Staring down at his polished jet black heeled boots, he absentmindedly taps against the porcelain ground to the beat of the music, sighing wistfully as warm air circulates its way across his scalp. 

Harry turns his shoes to the side, admiring the detailing along the back of the heel. Across the curved surface is the word SUCKER, bedazzled onto the article with multicolored jewels, glitzing beautifully under the fluorescent lighting of his bathroom. The shoes had been a gift from a friend with connections in high places; more specifically, connections to the man who sits on the throne of the Gucci brand. Harry hadn’t questioned the present when he’d received it— only an idiot would bat a cautious eye at such a luxury. He’d fallen in love with them the second they landed in his palms, decked out in a gorgeous satin box and wrapped with sparkly black tissue paper. The only words that had dared leave his lips were, “Fuck, I think I just got hard.”

The shoes had fit like a charm, and he had wanted to save them for a special occasion. But given that he has hundreds of years worth of special occasions lined up for his future, he’d shrugged off his pickiness and yanked them out the back of his closet for tonight. What better way to show them off than at an overhyped disco hall? 

Harry flips his head right-side up once again, ruffling his fingers through his soft, shiny curls to check for any wet patches or stringiness. He rolls up the wire to his styling tool and puts it back in its designated spot, grabbing his favorite paddle brush and attentively filtering it through his hair until he gets the tousled waves that he’s grown so fond of sporting. He musses them until he’s satisfied with his appearance, nodding at himself casually in the mirror as he proceeds to wrap up the last few necessities he has left. 

Harry buttons his blouse, admiring it in the fogged mirror. It’s a flowy sheer black piece with holographic threads sewn through its expanse, the fabric continuously shimmering with every shift of his muscles from underneath. He leaves the last three holes empty to better show off the dark butterfly inking on his lean chest and the swallows suspended in flight along his collarbones. He doesn’t really have to leave the shirt open, given that the material is see-through to the point where it leaves very little to the imagination, obvious in how all the tattoos along his arms are clearly visible. But he does it either way— he likes it when people stare. He’s got the assets, he might as well flaunt them.

Harry loosely tucks the hem of the shirt along the brim of his high-waisted beige slacks, which he’d ironed with precision to an ideal fold. He opts out of a belt tonight, wanting to display the array of elegant buttons that line the front of his pleated trousers. The pants hang slightly flared around his ankles, and if someone’s interests were intent enough, they might catch a glimpse of his favorite socks underneath the cusps, the words FUCK IT printed across the dark cotton fabric. He always makes sure to have an aspect in his outfit that could make for neat conversation.  

The vampire pulls out one of his drawers, ghosting his fingers over his collection of jewelry before picking out a pearl necklace and his father’s gold-plated cross necklace, as well as a colorful array of rings. He makes sure to retrieve the most significant two, as always— his lionhead amethyst daylight ring and his mother’s opal. He never goes anywhere without them. 

After he’s slipped on those accessories, bending and stretching his fingers for good measure and feeling everything settle into place, he picks out the gold cross earring that matches his necklace. It used to be part of a pair that belonged to his sister. As he watches the gold twinkle in the artificial light, he briefly wonders what happened to its twin, but pushes the thought away before it leads him down a path of pessimistic speculations. 

Harry loops the dangly piece through his earlobe, sighing through his nose as his gaze jets around his entire look, searching for any possible faults he could tend to that would prolong the inevitable— another night of drunken morons and thick synthetic smoke. 

Harry decides to fold the cuffs of his shirt up to his elbows, knowing that it makes his veiny forearms look appealing. He rummages through his selection of colognes before deciding to go with his trusty Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, spritzing a bit along specific pressure points on his neck where a pulse would otherwise be present, following along with the insides of his wrists. The scent of cloves, sugar-frosted vanilla, and cedar wood envelope him in a warm ambiance. After that task is complete, he fusses with his necklaces for a minute or so, settling the cross between his pectorals and resting the rosey pearls across his clavicle, fingering at their smooth surface in thought. Much to his defeat, everything seems to be in order, down to his freshly lacquered black nails. It’s not his fault he’s nearly flawless. His long— and unfortunate— extension on life had given him a plethora of years to work himself into a state of physical perfection. There’s only so much one can do to their appearance before it becomes superiorly stagnant. 

Harry tunes his heightened hearing for a second, listening in to the conversation his friends are entertaining on the first level of his condo. Niall’s voice is the first one that comes through, unsurprisingly. He’s always the loudest and has zero filter, present in how he’s freely ranting about Harry’s exaggerated mannerisms as he paces back and forth across the floor, footsteps heavy. No one seems to be paying him any mind— As usual, Harry thinks to himself, snorting softly— because everyone appears to be caught up in their own personal lives, too lost in gossip and exchanging opinions to give the Irish vampire any thought. 

None of his gang seem bothered by his lack of rush, but Harry knows he can’t keep them waiting forever. Fridays are the day they’d all collectively agreed to hunt together and it had been as so for almost twenty years. Being the leader, Harry can’t let his childish distaste for nightlife get in the way of what’s best for the group. He needs to hunker down on his selfish inclinations and be a responsible friend, or else a human might not be the only person Niall sinks his fangs into tonight.

With one final lingering stare at his reflection, Harry goes to retrieve his phone from its face-down position on the dark marble counter, simultaneously reaching for the light switch to begin powering down his apartment for the next couple of hours until he returns. Hopefully with a pretty girl hanging off his arm and less of a burn in the back of his throat. Although Harry may be cynical, he’s also practical; if he’s going to have to spend eternity on this planet, he may as well try to conserve enough energy to make it bearable. After decades of adjusting to electricity, the last thing Harry wants is to return to candlelit rooms and going to bed in time with the sun. 

The sudden chime that shrieks from his device causes him to jump a tad, brows furrowing in mild confusion for a few reasons. First, because it’s such an odd coincidence that right as he went to grasp it, his smartphone had gone off; it’s almost spooky. Second, because anyone who would normally dare message him at this hour is currently sequestered downstairs on the cushions of his sectional sofa, waiting for him to emerge from his room. Who else could possibly need to contact him this late, especially at the beginning of the weekend? 

Harry flips his red iPhone curiously (yes, he’d bought it in red for the purpose of irony), peering down at the unknown number shining back up at him from the screen. 

The text is simple enough: Hey, accompanied by three disco ball emojis. 

After a few seconds of blank blinking and adamantly searching through his mind for a clue as to who this could be, the answer smacks him square between the eyes. The memories come to him in quick flashes. 

A bald bouncer with a stupid name. A two-story room with seven foot tall speakers and a bar nuzzled in the corner. A group of loud, tipsy girls in stilettos and glittery dresses. One girl, sitting amidst the ruckus looking alone and indifferent while everyone around her gave into inebriated chaos. Mitch urging him to go talk to her. The overwhelming smell of honey and lavender. Gentle caresses placed across the tattoos painting his arms. Pretty lips the color of fresh blood, drained glasses of liquor, and witty banter exchanged between suggestive glances and cheeky grins. Shouldering through a crowded dance floor with the young woman in tow. Settling her into the passenger’s seat of his Cadillac and feeling heat explode across his cold cheeks when she’d yanked him down by his collar, kissing him like his lips were her only source of air. 

A quaint apartment complex, flickering lights in a corridor, and a worn couch. A warm mouth, smudged lipstick, teary eyes, and the gentle, shaky echo of, “I want to make you feel good.” High-waisted silk pants discarded on the floor, a cream lace blouse, and pastel pink lingerie. Thighs squeezing his head as her sweet taste spilled across his tongue. The mortal’s bare back pressed to his chest as he worked his hips roughly into her, mumbling dirty promises against her ear. Sugary whimpers and needy pleads. The warm, tangy flavor of her blood filling his mouth and sedating the burning in his throat. Childish giggles shared in a tiny flat, her warm fingers sewing between his icy own and tugging him into her room. A sleepless night full of steady breaths and only one heartbeat. A stupid tapestry and an ugly popcorn ceiling. A late morning strewn with sarcastic jokes mumbled over the rim of a coffee mug. Pulling his favorite t-shirt over his head and inhaling the sweet smell that had been glued to every thread. 

Making a drastic decision and typing his information into her phone. 

Harry doesn’t mean to speak aloud, but the name slips down his tongue as easily as he’d drawn moans from hers. “Y/N.”

It’s not like he didn’t remember her, because he did. And it’s not like he hadn’t thought of her since, because he had. But it’d been in passing and barely relevant— faint recollections in the form of fleeting seconds. 

He’d thought of her a couple days ago, when he’d been wandering around the mall with his friends. They’d passed by a candle shop where, among all the mixed scents, there had been the unmistakable aroma of lavender and honey somewhere inside, smelling vaguely like her. She’d unwillingly made her way to the forefront of his mind when he’d gone to do laundry, picking out his baby blue Marc Jacobs t-shirt from his hamper and feeling his eyes dilate and fangs protrude— a result of animalistic instinct. As it turns out, she had left a bloodstain along the inside of the yellow collar of his tee. It was dried and crusted over by the time he found it, but the effect it had on him remained the same as the night he’d drawn it fresh from one of her arteries. He’d chucked the garment into the wash carelessly with hardly any hesitation. 

The girl had even elbowed into his brain during an important self-care session. He’d been sitting in his glorified bathtub— which, in shallow honesty, is just a jacuzzi— with his cock twitching in his palm while his head hung over the edge, an orgasm teetering along the trench of his stomach as he’d repeatedly thumbed over his tip. When he’d finally coaxed himself into a climax, moans running freely across the empty halls of his home, the image he saw in those short moments of pure bliss was of her. It was Y/N, sitting in front of him with her hands clasped between her bare thighs obediently, his prick running along the length of her warm tongue as her eyes pleaded for him to cum. 

But, as he’d stated before, the picture had only lasted a handful of seconds. As soon as his high had died down, it had disintegrated to ash, and he’d been left with a slightly startled mental imprint in its wake, which had faded away within minutes. He hadn’t thought of her since. 

That is, until now. Until the surface of his jade eyes are reflecting the message his phone had just received at nearly ten P.M., her identity obvious in her choice of emojis. 

A disco ball. The exact same character he’d assigned himself beside his name in her contact list. It was an inside joke; a result of the hatred they both shared for clubs, juxtaposed by the fact that they had met in one. It was a cute determining factor in their minimal acquaintanceship, and he’s always a sucker for a good paradox. 

Harry continues to stare down at the text message, trying to conjure up some type of answer. She couldn’t have caught him at a better time, quite literally. She could be his saving grace tonight, if he plays his cards right. Maybe if he swoons her enough, she’ll invite him over again, and he can avoid another night full of shit-faced idiots and blinding strobe lights. 

After careful consideration, he swipes open into their new text conversation and taps back a reply he deems appropriate, satisfied with how it shows his personality— the same one the mortal girl had been so taken with upon their first encounter. 

Well, this is awkward. I don’t remember giving my number to a disco ball.

The vampire waits idly for a response, watching as the message delivers and is immediately marked by a read receipt. He doesn’t know why, but he likes that she has them on. 

A swift pause follows— in which he has no doubt she’s probably attempting to come up with some type of witty remark to his— and then the three grey bouncing bubbles pop up, signifying that she’s typing back. His device bloops with her response, vibrating in his large palms.

Funny as ever, I see. It’s Y/N, from the club last Friday. 

Harry’s slightly disappointed by her humor-lacking answer, but he’ll keep the interaction going for curiosity’s sake. Some people are fun in person and just not that bright virtually. Can’t always have it all.

Oh, hey, Y/N! So are you translating on behalf of the disco ball that wanted to talk to me or…?

He can practically see her eye rolling up at the grungy ceiling of her room and that notion makes his lips twitch. 

Ha. Ha. Hilarious! But no, I’M the one who wants to talk to you, actually.

Harry can feel her sarcastic tone through this specific message and that gives him hope. Maybe she does have social networking skills. 

Oh. Well, give the disco ball my best regards then, will you? Don’t want it to think I’m being rude and casting it aside.

The creature can’t see it, but now Y/N’s lips are the ones jolting as she sits on her bed in nothing but a towel, damp hair beading water down her naked shoulders and back.

How caring of you! I’ll pass on the message.

A full grin begins to edge across Harry’s cheeks as she returns his banter just as easily as she would face to face, dimples threatening to indent into place. That’s more like it. 

His fingers poise over the keyboard, mind flicking through the different scenarios he could steer this conversation towards. He has to be perceptive and respectful, but also keep her entertained. He figures asking about her intentions is the best route to take, but he’ll do it subtly. Being too direct could come off pushy. 

So...what gives me the honor of basking in your presence tonight, hm?

He adds a thinking face emoji to the end of the text as an afterthought. He rarely uses emoticons, but now is as good a time as any to start, especially because he has to seem like someone who belongs to her generation, rather than a Victorian era immortal.

Well, you said if I wanted more interior design advice to shoot you a text so...here I am, seeking your expertise.

Harry allows himself to break into a wide simper at the shrouded compliment. It goes right to his ego, just as he likes it. She’s smart. 

My expertise, huh? I take it that my taste in wallpaper left you pretty satisfied last time, then?

A similar grin buckles Y/N’s face at his playful smugness and she bites into the side of her index finger to try and suppress it. After a moment of thought, she releases her digit from between her teeth and taps back. 

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

Harry scoffs coyly, leaning his shoulder against the lightly fogged black marble wall of his bathroom, his friends and plans for the night all but forgotten. He’s having too much fun flirting to pay anything else much mind. 

My pleasure, love. I’d be more than happy to give it again, anytime you need it. Just make sure to fill out the customer service survey my boss emailed you. I’m shooting for a raise and could really use the brownie points. 

“Cute.” Y/N murmurs to herself in amusement, her chest fluttering as a result of the pet name, alongside how well they’re getting on. It’s almost like no time has passed at all. Almost as if they’re friends. 

She’d been nervous to reach out, fearing that he’d see it and ignore her— or worse, leave her on read. Needless to say, this is going way better than she could’ve hoped

Already filled that out. Gave you five stars and everything. Would’ve given you six if it was allowed. 

Harry shifts his weight against the surface he’s using for support, chuckling softly as he gnaws along the inside of his cheek. He feels like a teenager with all of this borderline childish back-and-forth. He’s not mad about it, though. It’s pretty enjoyable. 

Thank you so much for your input! It’s taken into deep consideration. VERY deep consideration, if I recall correctly.  

Warmth pours into Y/N’s cheeks at his innuendo, and she somewhat hates that he can get her all flustered without actually being present. He’s really good at this. A true lucky strike, to put it in his own words.

I’m glad my standards are held so highly, especially since I’m trying to book another advising appointment with you. 

Is that so?

Very much so. How about tonight, if you’re free? I’ve got a dire situation with some wood paneling that I just can’t handle alone.

The vampire’s irises flare crimson red in triumph. It looks like he won't have to put himself through another mortifying ordeal tonight, after all. 

I’m on a tight schedule, Y/N. These expertise are highly sought after, yanno?

Y/N snorts at his pompous joke. “Moron.”

Another text comes in from Harry before she can even think of a response.

However, I think I might be able to squeeze you in for a help session today. Say in about 10 to 15 minutes? 

With newly brightened eyes, Y/N gives the message five repasses to make sure she’d interpreted it correctly. She can’t believe he’d agreed, especially at an hour when most people already have weekend plans cemented for the night. And by the length of time he’d given her to prepare, she’s extremely thankful she’d decided to shower prior to attempting a booty-call. 

Sounds perfect. Do you need me to send you my address or do you remember, by some miracle?

Don’t worry about it, pet. I have a pretty good memory of that night. You made it hard to forget. 

Another layer of heat crawls up her neck and into her ears. She knows this is a casual thing, at best, but for some reason, the idea that he had deemed her unforgettable makes her entire body feel like it’s glowing. She tries to brush it off, chalking up his compliment to how they’d seen each other barely a week ago so of course he remembered. It was fairly fresh in both their minds. 

But Y/N is from an area where she was just another face in the crowd— another timid girl in an ocean of a hundred small-town carbon copies— and she’d certainly never referred to herself as anything particularly special. To have Harry, who is such a refined and attractive person, who most likely has dozens of hook-ups under his belt, call her that? Of all people? It just hits differently. 

She shakes herself out of her head, remembering that a very interesting boy is waiting for a response on the other end of her phone.

Alright, then. See you in 10 to 15 minutes, Mr…? 

Y/N comes to the realization that she doesn’t even know his last name. She doesn’t know the last name of the guy she’d let into her house and between her legs. God, if her parents could see her now...They’d blow California into a crater. 

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles. 

She immediately recognizes the reference, chewing at her bottom lip to keep a tab on a girly giggle. It’s probably not healthy how easily he reduces her into such a dopey puddle. 

Alright, then, Mr. Harry Styles. See you soon?

Very soon. Can’t wait to show you the wood samples I just found.

With a sly smirk dimpling his cheeks, Harry pushes off the elegant stone wall of his luxury bathroom, locking his device and absentmindedly tapping it along his palm as he does a quick mind-sweep of the interaction he’d just had. He’s going to get his needs taken care of—both intimate and carnal— by a girl with whom he meshes with so well, no less. This night has taken an unexpected turn for the better, and he’s never been more thankful for making such a rash decision the morning after a one night stand. 

The shrill boom of an Irish accent breaks Harry out of his flirty stupor, the sound bounding up the stairs of his flat and echoing off the tiles in his bathroom. “Harry, did you fucking desicate up there, you prick?!”

The vampire’s head snaps to the side towards where the sudden intrusion is originating, clearing his throat softly before answering, mostly to anchor himself back into the present. He’d been too busy floating in a daydream bubble to give his friends any proper attention. “I’m on my way down!”

Harry flicks off the light switch to his master bathroom, heading into his dimly lit bedroom and scooping up his wallet from its usual spot on top of the dresser. He tucks it into the wide front pocket of his slacks along with his cell phone, rounding the king-sized mattress at the center of his space, footsteps muffled by the thick maroon carpeting across the ground. He stops under the doorframe, giving his room one last calculating glance to make sure he isn’t leaving anything important behind. Once the creature is sure he’s set, he reaches over and slides the switch meter all the way down until the hanging lamps on the ceiling fade to black. 

Harry clambers down the glass and metal staircase, passing the collection of original paintings organized across the expanse of the largest wall in his home. His friends spot him from the huge couch once he’s halfway down the steps, and of course Niall is the first to make his presence audible.

“Fucking finally.” The blue-eyed vampire groans in exasperation, shooting up from his seat beside Xander, arms falling across his lean chest. “I thought you’d died. Really died.”

Harry dismounts the last stair carefully, heeled boots making a soft clicking sound against the polished light-wash wood of his floorboards. He pushes a few rogue curls out of his eyes, the corners of his mouth jilting upwards teasingly as he regards the fellow immortal. “If I have to keep staring at that shitty paisley button-up you’re wearing, I just might.”  

Niall’s irritated expression shatters into one of sheer hurt, hands fumbling with the silk fabric of his shirt, lips melting into a pained pout as he contemplates it sadly. His tone comes out whiney and defensive. “Hey! I really like this one!”

Harry side-steps the boy, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Your fashion sense makes me question my friendship with you.”

Niall’s face pinches with anger, thick brows furrowing as he roughly swats the brunette’s wrist away. “And your dickhead attitude makes me question mine.” 

Harry’s jade eyes dance with evil glee as he returns his palm to where it had been resting before to give a curt squeeze, his rings playfully digging into the muscle beneath Niall’s top. “And yet here you are, sitting on my couch, waiting to get into my car. Funny how that works, innit? We benefit from one another. Mutualism at its finest.”

The Irish man shrugs himself free of his friend’s hold once again, glaring at him with darkening eyes, but there’s no true malice behind it. “More like parasitism.” 

“So are you two gonna kiss now or what?” Mitch’s soft, mocking voice butts in as he drifts up beside Niall, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark denim straight jeans and his long hair tied back into a low ponytail. He’s wearing a light-wash Rolling Stones t-shirt he’d gotten at a concert he and Harry had attended back in the eighties, along with a pair of scuffed up sneakers. Pretty casual for a club— too casual, in Harry’s opinion. “The sexual tension is killing the audience.” 

The green-eyed boy cranes his sight back onto Niall, raising his eyebrows in question and puckering his lips. “What d’you say, Ni? Wanna kiss this little disagreement better? I’m down.”

The pale young man makes a gagging noise, stepping away. “Don’t know where your mouth’s been. But if your bed fellows have anything to say about it, it’s nowhere good. I’m going to respectfully decline.” 

“There was absolutely nothing respectful in that response.” Adam chimes in, chuckling as he bumps Niall’s shoulder with his own, hands clasped casually behind his back. “You need to work on your people skills.”

“My people skills are fine.” Niall quips back sarcastically. “Harry just isn’t a person, he’s a demon.” 

“Technically, we all are.” The curly-haired vampire points out, walking over to his matte leather couch and retrieving a pin-striped, grey-black fitted blazer from its backrest. He tosses the jacket over his shoulders, shrugging it on and fixing the material over his torso, the curves of the piece accentuating the strong muscles of his back and the dip of his slender waist. “I just don’t care to hide it, really. Especially not when it comes to Niall’s taste in clothes. Which is rubbish, by the way. If that wasn’t clear before.”

“It was.” Niall deadpans, gaze half-lidded and petty.

Harry fixes the sleeves of his coat around his forearms, smoothing out any wrinkles and buttoning the cuffs. He momentarily ducks into the kitchen, his enhanced eyesight spotting the small digital time-stamp of the oven even from across the room. He has less than thirteen minutes before he has to be at Y/N’s flat. He should’ve suggested a longer time span.

Harry turns back around to fully face his crew, situating his collar into place by folding it along the back of his neck, appraising their expectant appearances. They’re all waiting for him. He’s the one driving, after all. 

The immortal clears his throat, hands dropping to pat at his blazer pocket, making sure that his keys are in his possession. He sighs lightly through his nose, a knowing grin trying to force its way onto his lips but he keeps it at bay, wanting to maintain a straight expression to garner less backlash for the news he’s about to break. 

“I’m not going.”

The pause that fills the atmosphere and the blank faces his friends dote are almost comical. Harry bats his eyelashes at them without a single twitch or jerk of his features. He wants them to understand he’s being serious.

After at least ten heartbeats— a guess, considering no one in the room has one to provide an accurate measurement— a raging exclamation explodes from behind the other three vampires in front of him. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Harry watches in mild amusement as Xander stomps up from behind the group, shouldering between Mitch and Adam and sticking him with a glower dark enough to instill fear in any living being. But Harry is hardly living, and he’s definitely not scared of a vampire who’s practically a newborn. Xander’s the youngest of them in terms of the immortality scale— he’d transitioned back in nineteen ninety-six when he was thirty, which gives the illusion that he’s older when in reality, he isn’t— so Harry’s strength easily outmatches his. Xander is basically the puppy of the circle, and he’s certainly yappy and annoying enough to support that title. His lack of age and wisdom is also probably why he’s the most explosive. 

Harry kinks an eyebrow up at the taller, tanned man, looping only one button through its designated hole in the middle of his jacket. That will allow him to show off what lies beneath it while also making sure the article won’t be a pest in the windy California night. “I’m not kidding. Something else came up that...peaked my interest.”

Xander’s fists momentarily clench by his sides and he then folds his arms across his lightly heaving chest, trying to hide his anger away along the insides of his elbows. He spits his words through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his cadence level. “What could have possibly come up so late that you only let use know after we waited for you for over an hour?”

Harry can’t stop himself from smirking this time around, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards with condescension. The statement that he produces is all too familiar to Xander, given that it mirrors the reply he had used on Harry exactly a week ago, when the leader of the group had asked him what his intentions were once they’d gotten inside their club for the night. “I have a date.”  

Xander’s entire face flushes a faint shade of cherry red. His forearms tighten across his body, tone more strained than before as he actively wills himself to remain calm. “A date?”

The shorter vampire smiles at him with fake innocence, working his every nerve like it’s his job. Harry doesn’t know why, but pissing Xander off is always such a delectable pastime. “Yup. With a girl I met last week, actually.”

“You don’t go on dates.” Niall pipes up, looking around at the other men in the room in confusion, almost as if his comment should be obvious. “You rarely even spend the night. Said so yourself.” 

Harry shrugs one shoulder indifferently, checking his reflection in the closest section of the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline, the lights of the cars and buildings below twinkling otherworldly. “I guess it’s less a date and more a booty-call, to be honest. I only agreed ‘cause it’s easier than having to drag my ass to that horrid club you chose to spend hours trying to find someone. This meal’s already prim, proper, and served. And I know for a fact I’ll enjoy it, so there’s no real harm.” 

He turns back to Xander, the man’s peeved reaction tickling him more than he thought it would. “What was that you said last time, Xanny?”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Oh, yeah! I'm just grabbing a to-go box for my already prepped meal.”

Harry’s friend’s cheeks dye a deeper shade of crimson, dark veins webbing across the iridescent whites of his eyes for a flickering second. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Harry counters the angry expression with a bright smile, his dialect dripping with arrogance. “Girls dig it. And you seemed to dig it, too, if I recall correctly. Remember? You might not. Post-orgasm amnesia and all that.” 

Xander takes a measured inhale, releasing it slowly and allowing his anger to ebb away gradually, ignoring Harry’s blast from the past. His next question is physically directed towards their ex-chauffeur, but is truly aimed at the gang as a whole. “Who’s going to take us, then?”

The curly-haired vampire shrugs his shoulders once again, uninterested in the topic that is quickly growing old. “You could take Niall’s car. Problem solved.”

The whole clique lives in the same condo complex, mostly due to convenience. It’s already tricky for vampires to find others of their kind, so it’s a miracle that they’d all managed to end up together in the first place. And it’s an even bigger miracle that they got along well enough to form a tight-knit coven, which is the closest thing any of them now have to family. Living in close proximity is the ideal way of maintaining that rare bond, plus it allows them to help each other in staying safe and keeping their urges in line. 

Since they all live in the same building, Niall’s car is in the garage right beside Harry’s, so transportation shouldn’t be an issue. They just always take his vehicle because he’s the only one that actually enjoys driving. 

“Are you mental? Like actually, genuinely insane?” Xander sputters in appalled shock. “Niall drives like a lunatic!” 

“Oi, piss off! Maybe you should learn to drive then, huh? Instead of having all those guys you shag take you everywhere.”

Xander ignores Niall’s insult, putting his palms up in disgust, backing away. “I refuse to get in a car with him behind the wheel. Dying once was good enough for me.”

“Did I miss the memo?” Niall snaps, glimpsing around at all the monsters standing around him, attitude tight with annoyance. “Y’know, the one where you all just decided to shit on me tonight?”

Harry bursts into an airy cackle, listing his head to the side as he gives Niall a humorous once-over, his dangly cross earring dabbing across the crisp cut of his coat’s shoulder blade. “You don’t necessarily make it hard, love.” 

Niall’s jaw clenches as he narrows his icy blue eyes. “Xander’s right— you are an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, he’s also right about you driving like you’re on tranquilizers.” Adam sighs, running a palm up his face, using his index finger and thumb to massage either of his temples, despite the fact that they lack a pulse. “I guess I could drive? I hate it, but Mitch hates it more, so I’m our best bet. Better than Road Runner over here.” 

“Yeah, just keep talking about me like I’m not present. That’s fine. I’m spitting venom in all your drinks tonight.” 

“Well,” Harry boasts abruptly, interrupting the game of verbal ping-pong happening in front of him, taking a quick peek at his phone for the time. As much as he loves causing some good-natured chaos between his friends, he has less than ten minutes to make it to Y/N’s apartment on time and traffic’s a bitch at this hour. “I have nothing to do with this anymore, so I’m just gonna take my leave. You lot have fun figuring this out.” 

He swivels around on his heel, striding away with his usual haughty air straightening his back, heading towards the corridor that leads to the front entrance of the apartment. The softly lit hallway swallows his silhouette and for the first time since he’d left the secluded confines of his bathroom, he allows a giddy smile of excitement to tweak his lips. Just for a second and not a moment longer. If his friends had seen it, they would’ve taken the piss.

Niall’s accent cuts through the air, prickling at his ears as the glossy, cold doorknob comes into contact with his even colder fingers. “I can’t believe you’d abandon us just to get laid!”

“Lock the door on your way out!” 

///

When a sharp knock echoes across Y/N’s flat, she nearly screams. 

Her nerves have been on edge since the last text she’d received; only after reading that final cheeky message had the reality of the situation hit. 

This isn’t her. This isn’t her at all.

Inviting a total stranger into her home and into her bed was something she’d never experienced before last week. One night stands were very few and very far for her— she could count all the ones she’d had on a single hand, and even then they had been with people she had known to some extent— and it was due to the fact that this type of situation is slathered in mystery and unsureness. Giving herself up in such an intimate manner to someone she wasn’t acquainted to in some shape or form…It comes with a certain amount of risk, both physically and emotionally, which is why she hardly ever engaged in such activities before Harry.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with having that type of exhilarating fun in your life— she praises the women who can go around so confidently and express their sexuality however they please— but she herself had been raised under a roof that was moderate and conservative, and that environment had molded her into the person she had grown up to be. Those traditional concepts ran through the core of her being, and no matter how hard she tried to shake them, they refused to break loose. They weighed on her shoulders, constantly making her second-guess her motives and desires, most of which go against the status quo that had been implemented into her brain from a young age. This— whatever this is— is a huge step for her; it’s the first attempt she’s made to take over her own life and go against the grain she’d been accustomed to her whole existence. 

From the second Y/N had arrived here in Los Angeles and set a foot off the plane, she had been alone. Everyone who cared for her was miles and miles away and she was starting a new chapter on a completely blank page, with no one to guide her hand as she wrote. For the two months she’d spent settling in and trying to meld into her new environment, she had gone at it with a sense of emptiness hollowing the pit of her stomach. No one was there to comfort her during the rough patches, and no one cared enough yet to assure her that things would turn out alright. No one had bothered to tell her she was safe and that nothing would hurt her. No one made themselves available the way people did back home. 

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago. 

Their encounter had been purely for sexual gratification, but during that short time they shared, she vividly remembered him telling her that she could trust him. It was a preposterous statement to make— asking someone to trust you when you didn’t even know their last name— but the gaze in his emerald eyes had seemed so genuine and encouraging, and his voice had been so gentle and soothing, and his touch had been so delicate and consoling...That strange young man— with the pretty curls, intriguing tattoos, and dazzling smile— had somehow managed to untie the knot of unease that had been sitting in her belly for the last couple of weeks. She’s stumped on how he’d managed to wriggle it free; the only thing she can effectively say took a part in it was his eyes. There was just such a glass-like quality to them that reminded her of a mirror. It was like they were reflecting all her emotions back at her, using their familiarity to compel her into a state of mental peace. She’d appreciated it more than she’d let on. 

Something tells Y/N that this is the reason she had contacted him. She wanted to feel that safety net he had provided her with once again. She didn’t need an emotional connection from Harry, she just needed a bit of mental relief. She wanted something to take her mind off all her troubles. Something to distract her, even if it was only for a few hours. And with the way Harry had handled her last time, she knows he’s more than capable of helping her reach those goals. 

Y/N doesn’t think anyone has ever made her feel how Harry had that semi-drunken Friday night. She’d been with a few other people before, and had even been in a long-term relationship with someone she had once thought would end up being her husband, but none of those men came close to this peculiar stranger. 

In the town she was from, it was typical for people to marry their high school sweethearts. It was a small region where everyone either knew one another or knew of one another, so it wasn’t difficult to find someone that could fit into the role that needed to be filled. The person she had found was a boy by the name of Bradley, who she had begun to date their freshman year of high school. 

They’d met through mutual friends and he’d invited her to their first ever homecoming dance, where she had felt like everything was falling into place almost like in a movie. He was cute, with hazel eyes, sun-bleached hair, and freckles that jolted every time he laughed. He was polite, funny, and treated her with enough respect and dignity to keep her hooked for a while. Things had gone pretty well the four years they were together in high school; their relationship wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exciting either. It was just...secure. He was there, and he was willing to give her his attention, and that’s all that really mattered to her at the time. She thought that was all she needed. 

Then graduation came and went, and so did Bradley. He left for college, set on the intention that they would make long distance work somehow. To keep a long story short, it hadn’t worked out how they expected. As the months passed, she noticed he started to separate himself from her more and more. The video chats are what disappeared first; what used to be a daily FaceTime call turned into a weekly one and then, if she was lucky, a monthly one. Phone calls followed the same fate. Texting became a chore rather than something to look forward to and she could feel him slipping, which left her feeling helpless because he was in another state, far away and too out of reach to appropriately solve anything. Energized conversations slowly faltered into five-word messages, which eventually teetered into barely any communication at all. 

When Y/N heard the news that he’d cheated on her, it didn’t even come from him. It came from his roommate. Things ended swiftly after that, which was the saddest thing of all. Almost five years of her life, completely gone to waste. Handling the pain was a whole other misery she’d had to shoulder, alongside the embarrassment and humiliation, which stemmed from the fact that she was aware her peers had heard about the whole ordeal. With the help of her family and friends, she’d eventually gotten over the heartbreak. The weird thing is, she doesn’t think she loved him. She loved the idea of him— loved that he represented everything she had been raised to seek in a relationship. They’d grown up together, their families knew one another, they shared the same friends, they had common hobbies. It was like a match made in heaven, though after it broke off, she quickly came to the realization that it hadn’t been made in heaven at all. Made in a test tube was a more fitting analogy. 

Y/N’s love life after that painfully slow cliche disaster consisted of random boys around town she recognized from school and work. The hook-ups were fleeting and hardly satisfying, but at least they were something. She soon found out that she could do better on her own, but whenever she craved someone else’s touch, she was grateful to have anyone she could get. She’d mainly stuck to the same guys for the sake of consistency; it was easier having people she already knew how to please and vice versa, though she’ll admit it was mostly a one way street. Men can be so clueless sometimes that it’d be funny if it wasn’t so irritating. 

Then Y/N had skipped town and closed off sexually for a while. She had stayed shut down until Harry had walked into her life with that stupid sly smirk and his unorthodox— yet surprisingly attractive—fashion sense, sipping straight tequila like a fucking psycho from the cup in his jeweled fingers. He’d waltzed right onto the stool beside her at the bar, right out of the club with her hand in his, and then right past the doorframe of her apartment, kindly gifting her the best sex of her entire life. He’d worked her every desire with a certain skill and awareness she had never experienced (not from any of her past lovers, and definitely not from Bradley’s vanilla tendencies), dismantling her body as if he’d known her for decades, leaving her sore and aching in a way she didn’t know was humanly possible.

And now here Y/N is, pacing back and forth from her small living room to her even smaller kitchen, chewing along the knuckle of her forefinger as she tries to tie down the jitters running amuck in her belly. 

She repeatedly smooths down the dress she’s wearing, claiming that it’s to get rid of the wrinkles, but in truth, it’s to wipe the dampness from her palms. The outfit had been a birthday present from her cousin the year before and she’s rarely worn it since the move, which is a direct result of her lack of socializing. She only ever really leaves her home for groceries and to attend work, neither of which call for a pretty sundress and strappy tan sandals. Despite having gone out to the club a few times, the dress doesn’t fit that scene either. LA gets a bit chilly at night and she has yet to grow accustomed to the city’s weather. Wearing this after-hours would surely end with her acquiring a mild case of hypothermia. 

The garment is a light blue baby doll design, littered with tiny daffodil prints of varying shapes and colors. It stops about three-fourths down her thigh, fluttering outwards in layered flares, its bandeau-style top held in place by thin straps of the same fabric. She figured she’d deck herself out nicely; from the one interaction she’d had with Harry, she can tell he’s a person of refined taste. It was evident in his expensive clothing and his wide variety of precious rings. She doesn’t know why, but there’s a toiling in the pit of her tummy urging to impress him. 

Y/N’s hair has been freshly washed and blow-dried, her legs thoroughly shaved into silk, and she’d applied a light layer of makeup, done in anticipation that anything heavier would likely end up smeared across her face— a result of sweat and Harry’s dominant persona. Simply reflecting on his commanding sensual presence makes her self-pedicured toes curl in her sandals. 

Y/N hadn’t been sure on how to prepare for his arrival. She wasn’t versed in advanced hook-up culture— her raunchiest experience was in the backseat of someone's 2004 Toyota Corolla. She doesn’t want to get this wrong. Going overboard would make him feel smothered and awkward, but underselling would give him the impression that she doesn’t have any respect for him, save for what lies between his legs. Those are the last two things she wants him to gather from this. 

She’d settled for pulling out a bottle of red wine that had been a house-warming present from the landlord. Not too shabby, but not too loud. And who doesn’t enjoy a cup of half-decent wine on a Friday evening, right?

Y/N had just finished arranging two glasses— which she’d found at the thrift shop down the street for a steal— onto the counter of her kitchen when that swift rapping sound had broken through the tense air of her home, echoing from the front door and causing a yelp to lodge in her throat. 

Ice shoots through her veins. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She takes a handful of penetrating breaths, concentrating on how the cool air feels expanding her lungs. The technique aids in calming some of her nerves, grounding her just enough that she can will herself to move without her knees giving out. Y/N tentatively makes her way down the corridor that leads to her front door, heart hammering against her ribs. She shouldn’t be this riled up— he’s literally already been inside her. There’s pretty much nothing she can hide from him at this point. 

On the other side of the door, Harry is blissfully ignorant to the panic attack threatening to overcome Y/N. 

The vampire leans his shoulder against the frame of the somewhat raggedy door, arms crossed over his thick chest as his gaze bounces judgmentally around all the patches of peeling paint. He chews at a piece of gum— which he’d popped into his mouth on the drive over to make sure he tastes as delectable as always— in slow, lazy motions, jaw flexing as he unconsciously pops an array of tiny bubbles with his teeth, waiting for Y/N to emerge. 

Harry glances up at the flickering light bulb in the hallway of the complex, nose scrunching in distaste at the annoying flashing. She really needs to get a better place, he thinks, reaching up and dragging the pad of his middle finger along the curve of his bottom lip, absentmindedly wiping off a bit of extra chapstick that had colored outside the lines when he’d applied it. He always tries to keep his mouth soft, especially when he knows he’s going to be using it. Plus, the vanilla bean flavor pairs well with mint. 

The sound of a seal cracking open yanks his attention, the door before him slowly swinging inwards. Cool air pours from inside, bathing him in a scent that his frenzied instincts had been subconsciously craving the last couple of days. Harry cranes his neck over his shoulder, spitting his gum out and not bothering to watch where it lands. He turns back just as Y/N’s familiar figure comes into view.

The first thing he notices is the dress. 

Fuck, the dress. 

It’s nothing too fancy, just a casual sundress, but it fits her like it was made specifically for the purpose of testing his restraint. He rakes his gaze up and down her body shamelessly, much like he had on the night they met. 

The light blue background and rainbow miniature floral print compliments her skin tone nicely, making it stand out below the dingy light hanging above their heads. The piece lands about halfway down her thigh, fanning around her legs slightly in frilly folds, tempting him with that bit of innocent exposure. An image of him ripping the dress up her thighs races across the forefront of his mind and he can feel his fangs momentarily break through his gums.  

As Harry draws his sight upwards, the minimal throbbing between his legs only amplifies. The dress cinches just below her bust, accentuating her chest, and he comes to the painful realization that she’s not wearing a bra underneath; she doesn’t need it due to the bralette-like top. One simple tug of his index finger would leave her completely bare and that conclusion causes a sweltering itch to erupt along the back of his throat.

Harry’s irises finally come to rest on her face, finding that the rest of the human girl’s look appears just as it had last week. Minimal makeup, no accessories, and the smell of chamomile shampoo strung through her hair, though it’s easily smothered by her natural scent of flowers and sugar. He also finds that while he had been blatantly undressing her with his eyes, she had delighted herself in doing the same. Watching her gawk at him hungrily caresses his ego immensely, evident in how the edges of his mouth kink. 

Y/N doesn’t mean to ogle, she really doesn’t. But from the instant he’d come into view, standing there propped against her threshold with his ankles crossed and his lean arms folded over his strong chest, she couldn’t control it. He just looks so fucking good— better than last time, which she didn’t think was plausible— and she gets the feeling that he knows he looks borderline godly. 

Harry’s clad in what appears to be a sheer mesh flouncy button-up with holographic threads speckled through the material, shimmering under the dim atmosphere of the hallway. The last three holes of the shirt are left open, exposing his tanned pectorals and thoroughly inked chest. Last time they had been together, she’d been too distracted by the aching between her thighs to properly notice the swallow tattoos along his collarbones and the giant butterfly at the crest of his stomach. But now, she stares at them freely as they expand and contract with his easy breaths, her mouth beginning to water. 

The blouse is covered by a dark pinstriped blazer, the crisp shoulder blades of the jacket complimenting his broad frame as the curves dip along his waist alluringly. The loose top is tucked in along the brim of yet another pair of high-waisted trousers, though they are creme-colored instead of copper. The ironed pants give way to a pair of glossy black heeled boots, which are bedazzled along the back of the two-inch elevation, the jewels twinkling in the shape of a word that she can’t make out at this angle. 

Harry’s collection of luxurious rings and necklaces adorn their usual spots and she gets the impression that he never leaves home without them. His gold cross earring sways back and forth lightly, her warped reflection cast across its surface and staring back at her numbly. 

Harry breaks through the haze his physique had cast on her brain.

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.” 

A shiver slithers down her spine at the deep baritone of his voice, English accent slathered across every syllable and dripping with suggestive teasing. She’d forgotten how sultry he sounds, even when he’s not actively striving for it. 

Y/N’s attention jets up from where it had been pasted to his body, the expression across his handsome features one of snarky self-assurance, which tells her she’d been caught. Indents cave into his cheeks, twitching with glee as he bats his lashes slowly, eyes going half-lidded in amusement. He looks so sinful with those shiny ringlets curling around his small ears, framing his sharp jaw and kissing the nape of his neck, alongside those raspberry red lips and the emerald hue sparkling around his pupils. She can’t tear herself away.

After an elongated second of silence on her part, Harry raises one of his sculpted brows expectantly, letting her know he’s waiting for a response. Heat overflows Y/N’s cheeks and buzzes across the shells of her ears.

“H-Hi. Uh— Nice to see you. Too. Nice to see you, too.”

An odd sense of déjà vu flags in the back of her skull and she’s reminded that this is exactly how they’d met the first time around— with her making an utter fool of herself, much to his entertainment.

The crescent above his top lip curves upwards as a result of his grin widening. He taps the tip of his elegant shoe patiently against the cement ground, arms shifting against his chest and she can see the way his biceps strain the fabric of his coat. He’s just so fit.  

Harry’s tone comes out playful and lighthearted. He doesn’t need to be invited in again since she’s already explicitly allowed him in before, but he asks anyways, out of courtesy. “Can I come in? Or are you planning on taking me dancing or summat?”

The laugh that escapes Y/N is dense with a nervous edge, but it’s better than a stuttering jumble of incoherent words. She moves out of the way, flushing her back to the wall of the tiny entrance corridor and leaving just enough room for him to squeeze by. “Yes, come on in! Sorry.” 

“You’re alright, darling.” The tall vampire steps forward into the mortal’s home, turning sideways as he does so, chest pressing against her own. He glances down at her lips for a flash of a moment, then back to her eyes. “Thank you.”

Y/N’s grip on her doorknob tightens. She looks up at him through her lashes, bottom lip barely trembling. “No problem. Thanks for coming over on such short notice.” 

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth, pressing it to the inside of cheek as he absorbs the mildly erotic image of Y/N decked out in a frilly dress, glancing up at him shyly as her chest heaves slightly against his own. “Well, I couldn’t leave you to handle that pesky wood paneling all on your own, now could I?”

A smile ghosts over her delicate lips as she shuts the door and locks it, not breaking eye contact. “How generous of you. My hero.” 

Far from it, love.

Y/N slips out from where Harry had wedged her to the wall, beckoning him after her with a gentle turn of her head. The creature tucks his hands into his front pockets, following her down the narrow stretch. They drift past her room (he makes sure not to look in and spare himself the horror of seeing that dumb tapestry) and past her bathroom, into the expanse of her living area. It’s just as small and cozy as he remembers it and he can’t stop himself from scoffing lightly as his sight drifts over the couch. Good memories. 

“Would you like some wine?” Y/N’s question carries softly from inside her kitchen. She’s already gripping the glass bottle in her hand, attempting to pull out the cork, and she hadn’t thought of needing a wine-opener until now. Fuck. 

Harry makes his way to join her, passing underneath the archway and taking the spot across from the girl. He leans his lower back on the counter, hands remaining perched casually in his slacks. “I’d love some.”

“Great.” She huffs, twisting stubbornly at the spongy cap with all the might she can muster, the rough surface scratching her palm. “Let me just— just get this open.”

Harry’s head lists sideways as he wards off a chuckle. “Want some help?” 

Y/N releases an irritated grunt, shoulders slumping a tad as she fails to get the top loose. She holds out the bottle towards her visitor, titling it from side to side in surrender. “Be my guest.” 

The immortal pulls his hands out from his pockets, taking the container from her grasp and the human notices how they dwarf the bottle. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. 

Harry wraps his ring-clad digits around the cork, giving it one easy twist and Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off as she hears a pop tinge the air. Harry offers her the wine and cap in return, licking his lips to avoid laughing in her face. Supernatural strength always delivers. 

“How…?” Y/N’s owlish eyes flicker back and forth between Harry’s cocky expression and the object in his hands. “How did you even...?”

The brunette gives her a nonchalant shrug. “Guess you loosened it up for me, Thor.” 

She gingerly takes the beverage and its accompaniment from his outstretched palms, blinking at him in mild shock. Her slight unease is swiftly phased out, however; a result of his cute banter. It was probably just a lucky coincidence. “I guess so.”

Y/N pours out two glasses of the dark red liquid, handing one to Harry, feeling her heart skip a beat when he wraps his hold around the stout flute and their fingers brush. He stays like that for a heartbeat, with his icy digits sifted between hers, the amber specks in his irises glittering like diamonds. Then, the moment is over and he pulls away slowly, guiding his drink up to his plush lips. She hates how he can leave her so breathless without a single hitch. 

The girl watches as Harry takes a leisurely sip of the alcohol, his gaze dancing around her kitchen curiously as she finishes recapping the bottle and scooting it into the corner of the counter. 

A thought dawns on her as soon as she focuses back onto the boy before her. Harry looks weird. He looks so weird standing in her small, dingy kitchen with its worn wooden cabinets and fake marble tabletop. He looks so out of place, dressed head to toe in designer brands and fancy fabrics, hands and neck decorated with posh jewelry, and the unmistakable smell of an expensive cologne wafting from his masculine throat. And he most certainly is out of place when it comes to who he’s associating with. He’s out of Y/N’s league, not only physically, but in his behaviors, as well. It’s so obvious it almost hurts. 

Yet here Harry is, looking polished and stylish, while she’s sporting a mere sundress that was probably bought off the clearance rack at Kohl’s. It just doesn’t mix, and she finds herself wondering why he’d chosen her in the first place. When she had voiced similar concerns the day they’d slept together, he had told her it was because she was timid and he wanted to see if he could break through that. But Y/N isn’t stupid. There has to be some other reason. Why else would a rich bachelor pay attention to a small-town runaway in a measly floral—

“I like your dress.”

Y/N glances up at Harry from where her mind had fallen, startled by the sudden interference in her dark thoughts. She’d been tracing across the slope of his structured jaw, mesmerized by how it would grow taut every time he swallowed down a gulp of his beverage. 

She had ambled so deep in her head, she barely manages to mutter a passable answer. “Oh, thank you! I’ve had it for a bit, but I barely wear it.”

The edges of the vampire’s mouth quirk around the rim of his glass, creases wrinkling along the corners of his bright eyes. “It suits you nicely. A beautiful dress on a beautiful girl.” 

Y/N’s belly somersaults, a sheepish giggle running along the undercurrent of her next mumble, so low it’s hardly audible. “Thank you. Again. Thought I’d bring it out for a special occasion.” 

Harry’s eyebrows jump upwards at her comment. He draws his wine glass from between his lips, resting it against his hard stomach and gifting the human a cheeky once-over. “So I’m a special occasion, now, am I?”

Y/N looks down at the straps of her sandals, fighting off a grin. She shrugs one shoulder offhandedly, bringing her cup to her mouth and taking a long drag of the sweet liquor, feeling it wash across her tongue and leave a warm glow in her tummy. “Maybe.” 

Harry hums teasingly in his throat, tapping his pinky pensively along the bottom of his glass, opal ring clinking against the crystalline surface. The color of his drink makes the black polish on his nails stand out almost artistically. “I’ll take any compliment I can get, especially from those pretty lips.”

Another wave of heat flushes across the apples of Y/N’s cheeks. “You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”

The monster tips back another swig of wine, savoring the notes of wild cherry and pomegranate in its palate. Not bad, especially for what he can tell is a ten dollar bottle. 

He cocks his head to the side, irises glitzing knowingly amidst his long lashes. “I think we’re both aware that I most certainly know how to flatter a girl.” 

Y/N’s stare snaps up to lock with his, the faintest whimper stringing her vocal chords. If it wasn’t for Harry’s heightened hearing, he would have never known it’d happened. But he does, and he can feel the throb between his thighs spike as a result. The sounds she makes are just as wonderful as he remembers.

The sexual tension suspending in the room is practically palpable. After a bundle of her heartbeats— which is gradually rising in intensity— echo in his ears, he decides to speak up again. 

“I’ve been thinking about you.” 

The statement can be taken into so many different contexts and that’s why Harry chose it. She could interpret it as innocent admiration on behalf of a smitten lover, or as another layer of sensual praise. It’s versatile, successful either way. 

Y/N blinks at him exactly three times in surprise. “You have?”

She’d been thinking about him, too. Non-stop. And now that she knows it’s mutual, she doesn’t feel so nervous anymore. It reassures her that they’re on the same page of this messy novel written about their undefined association. Or that they are at least within the same chapter.  

Harry bobs his head in confirmation, indulging another sip of wine, letting it filter through his taste buds slowly. His glass is almost empty. “Mmhm. Walked past this candle store at the mall the other day and they had one burning that smelled just like you.”

His confession is sweet and it makes the tips of her fingers tingle. Y/N copies his action, taking another gulp of her beverage, attitude airy and inquisitive. “Is that so? And what do I smell like?”

Harry’s response is immediate and confident, almost as if he’s spent time thinking on the subject prior to today. “Honey and lavender.” 

Y/N nods her head in wonder, laughing gently. “That’s oddly specific.” 

Harry feels like he’s been smacked between the eyes with an iron rod. That was an idiot move. Absolutely moronic. 

He just now comes to terms with how intimate the comment he’d made had been. It suggests that he’s pondered on this topic, which gives the impression that he could be more interested in her than he actually is. He doesn’t need this loose connection turning into some type of cliche romantic comedy; he doesn’t have the space, patience, or emotional stability for it. And certainly not with someone he’s only fucked once. 

The vampire clears his throat, figuring that he can clean up this metaphorical spill by throwing a bit of crudeness at it. “Then yesterday I had a donut, yeah? One of those cream-filled ones. And when I took a bite of it, all the cream just came oozing out and I was like, ‘hm, this reminds me of someone…’”

The slightly endeared expression on Y/N’s face crumbles to dust, voice shrill and indignant at his lewd analogy. “You fucking perv!” 

Harry sputters into a round of boyish cackling, nearly wheezing when her foot reaches over and strikes him on the shin. He clasps over his stomach with his free hand, head falling back in glee as her features pinch in embarrassed disgust. He manages to speak between bursts of giggles, water gathering along his tear ducts due to how hard he’s laughing. “I’m just being honest!”  

“No, you’re being a gross little fourteen year old asshole!” Y/N exclaims incredulously, but she can’t keep herself from joining in on his boasts of amusement. 

His laughter is contagious. It’s loud and unapologetic in a manner she rarely sees in anyone and he just looks really fucking cute with his dimples jolting and smile lines creasing. It’s hard to stay mad at him, though it’s not like she’d truly been upset in the first place. 

Harry reigns himself in, inhaling deep breaths and wiping at his tears with the back of his large hand as a joyful groan rumbles in his chest. A few more giggles sneak out when he sees Y/N’s flat expression, but he manages to stifle the rest. His tone is jesting, poking fun. “If it makes you feel any better, I was respectful enough to wipe the donut down with a napkin, as well.” 

“Fuck off.”

Harry grins down snidely at the last inch or so of alcohol left in his glass, bringing it to his mouth and downing it all in one go. He places the cup down carefully on the counter behind him, his arms finding their way across his stomach, fingertips momentarily tapping at his elbows. He appraises a playfully grouchy Y/N, pursing his lips to hide a smirk. 

He watches as she takes another small taste from her drink, her pulse lulled by its contents. She’s not drunk by any means— not even buzzed— but it had helped calm the tittering in her throat that Harry had been able to detect earlier. She’s relaxed now, all anxiousness washed away by the small serving of liquor and his inappropriate (and extremely funny, if he does say so himself) jokes. 

The creature thinks it’s proper time he gets what he came for. 

“I really am glad you reached out, though.” Harry starts, an easygoing smile nudging across his alcohol-swollen mouth. “Truly.” 

Y/N snorts sarcastically, attempting to hide how his comment had made her pulse sharpen. He’d heard it anyways. “Oh, are you? Truly?”

Harry pushes himself off the edge of the counter, slowly sauntering over to Y/N, who instinctively draws back further against the tabletop behind her. She ogles at him from below heavy lashes, glass still perched between her tinted lips, excited anticipation written all over her body language. He can practically feel the heat radiating off her, rising a few notches the closer he gets. 

“Yeah.” Harry’s arms unfold, one stretching over her shoulder to prop his palm against the cupboard behind her head, the other fiddling with the seam of his blazer. He slides his forefinger and thumb along the single buttoned hole, giving it a rough tug and allowing his jacket to spring open. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun interior designing with anyone. Not for a while.” 

Y/N glimpses down at where his coat had parted, drinking up the sight of his lean torso behind the see-through material of his shirt. Now that he’s nearly pressed against her, his scent is stronger than before, burying her under smoky notes of vanilla and seasoned firewood. A familiar heat pools between her clasped thighs. 

When she pipes up, it’s shaky and whispered, covered in a dreamy undercurrent. “Yeah, me either. It felt...nice.”

Harry’s irises flash crimson for a millisecond, but she’s too occupied gawking at his tight stomach to notice. His dialect takes on a low, seductive twang, the breath of his words fanning across her face. All she can smell is wine, mint, and...vanilla chapstick? 

“It felt really nice.” 

Y/N’s view drags up to land on his lips. They look as soft and appetizing as last time, tempting her to just drop her flute onto the floor and replace it with his mouth. “Extremely nice.” 

An outside force suddenly tips her glass upwards and she realizes it’s Harry’s fingers. He nudges her cup until the liquid inside funnels towards her mouth, his intentions set on helping her finish it off. She drains the wine obediently, staring up at him dazed and moony, feeling a few drops escape along the sides of her mouth and tickle down her chin. The jade-eyed boy then gently pries the glass from her fingertips, reaching over and placing it inside her sink to be handled later. 

Y/N’s hands fall flat against his thick chest, feeling it rise and fall steadily below her grasp as he takes a step forward, their bodies completely flushing together. His palm trails up the exposed sliver of her thigh, diving a couple of inches below her dress and giving the outer area a hard squeeze. He doesn’t go any further; he won’t until she explicitly asks for it. He’s a prick about a lot of things, but never consent.

Harry leans down, running the tip of his cold nose along her clenched jaw, his warm tongue peeking out to collect the streams of wine that had dripped out. The contrast in sensations makes her knees buckle and what he murmurs hotly against her skin doesn’t help in calming those motions at all.

“Wouldn’t mind making you feel that nice again.” 

Y/N’s mind stalls, overwhelmed by his touch and smell. She can feel him sponging tender kisses at the corner of her mouth, and she can feel the palm of his hand massaging at her thigh needily. She can feel his breaths quickening in pace the longer he’s around her, and she can feel the foundation of a moan building in his lungs in the form of small vibrations, which run across her palms and twitch her fingers. She can feel everything; she’s never been more hyper-aware of her surroundings than now. And all because of this one mysterious young man. 

When Y/N finally speaks, Harry feels relief flood his system, though it is swiftly replaced by intense desire. 

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.” 

That’s full permission if he’s ever heard it. 

Harry’s other hand drops from its spot against the cupboard behind her, joining its partner on her opposite thigh. He coasts his palms fully below her flowy dress onto her hips, a lascivious simper crawling across his cheeks at the lack of extra fabric beneath her clothes. “No panties tonight?”

The human swallows heavily, shaking her head as she leans it back against the wooden cabinets, giving him access to her throat. At the sight, the vampire’s fangs protrude, cutting into the inside of his lower lip as venom fills his mouth. He wills himself to maintain control. It’s difficult, considering his sharp eyes can make out the chiseling of her arteries pumping blood just beneath her delicate skin, but he forces composure into his behavior nonetheless. With all of the lights on and Y/N completely sober, he knows he won’t get away with another mid-fuck stunt like the one he pulled last time they were in this position. 

Instead, he distracts himself with what he can draw from her at this very moment— another unbelievable orgasm. 

“Such a filthy little fucking thing.” Harry growls, smearing his lips down the center of her jugular, nipping love bites into her flesh but making sure not to split it open. “S’that how bad you wanted it when you texted me? So bad that you didn’t even bother to wear anything underneath?”

Y/N whines softly when he passes over a particularly tender spot along her neck, shuttering against his chest. “Y-Yes.” 

A low chuckle rolls from Harry’s wandering tongue as he hones in on the area that had coaxed such a delicious reaction. “Fuck, that was such a pretty noise. Are you sensitive here, baby?”

Y/N nods with fervor, running her touch up his pectorals and over his strong shoulders, diving under his coat and fisting at the mesh that strains across his muscular back. Her eyes roll closed, her next confession coming out in the form of a feathery sigh, legs parting wider for him to comfortably fit in between. “I just...I just need you.”

Harry eagerly accepts the invitation, sifting between her thighs and hiking them up onto his hips. The fact that he can suspend her so effortlessly, almost as if she weighs nothing, makes the pit of her tummy boil. “You need me now, d’you? How much, doll? Want you to tell me how much you missed my cock.” 

The young woman winces ever so slightly at the crude word and it amuses him to no end. “So fucking much, Harry.” 

He can confidently say his name has never sounded sweeter than when it trickles from Y/N’s tongue. 

When he speaks, it’s packed with all the pent up turmoil radiating deep in his abdomen. “Did you think about me the way I thought about you?”

Y/N’s reply falls breathily from her mouth without any hesitation. “Y-Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

A cocky hum tinges the air on his behalf. “And why’s that?”

“Because…” The girl struggles to swallow, finding it difficult to match how easily brazen he can be. She pushes through. “Because you fucked me better than anyone else ever has.” 

The compliment is one Harry gets often, but for some inexplicable reason, it hits so much deeper coming from Y/N. “Mm. Poor baby just needed to get properly rawed, didn’t you?”

“Had no idea how badly I wanted it until you came along.” 

A dark chuckle rolls from the creature’s lips at her bluntness. He repeatedly passes his textured tongue over the pressure point on her throat, flames igniting in his chest when she releases another watery, desperate mewl. “God, look at you. Practically already dripping. Like it when I play with you like that?”

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

And so Harry keeps going, and he doesn’t stop. Not at her neck, and not anywhere else. Not until she begs him to hours later, when he’s whittled three orgasms out of her trembling body, each one more intense than the last. 

The first one takes place right there on top of the kitchen counter. He boosts her up onto the table, bunching her pretty sundress around her quivering thighs— as he’d fantasized prior— while she fumbles with his trousers. He tends to her every breathy whimper as she eases him out of his briefs, marking his teeth all over her throat with the assurance that his blood will fade the bruises by morning. He tears his jacket down his broad shoulders, panting into her mouth as she undoes all the buttons that line his elegant iridescent shirt, moaning softly when she breaks their kiss to paint her hot lips down the expanse of his heaving chest and tight stomach. Y/N ducks down as far as her angle will allow, wanting to taste as much of his skin as she can. She wants to memorize its salty smoothness for as long as she lives. 

Harry watches her with bliss-drunken fondness twitching his mouth, head falling back to hang between his shoulders as a low, “Such a good girl.” rumbles from his throat. His ring-clad fingers tangle into her locks and scratch at her scalp lightly, strained exhales encouraging her to keep going as she delights herself with tainting love bites all over him. He yanks the girl back up by her roots, grabbing her hips and roughly scooting her forward towards him, clammy foreheads pressing together as he fixes to fill her up for the first time in what feels like eternity. 

The monster’s voice is as dominant and thick as she likes it. “Eyes up here. Want to see you come undone while I fuck you.” 

The way he spreads Y/N open makes her choke out a scream like nothing else she’s ever heard. Harry simply clamps one of his palms over her mouth, continuing to ram into her at a harsh stride, gasping against her ear with every thrust as she rakes her nails across his back. “Gotta keep that pretty mouth quiet. Thin walls.” 

The human feels like her heart is going to break through her ribs and what she doesn’t know is that with every passing beat, Harry feels it tenfold. And it’s driving him fucking insane— she drives him fucking insane. Especially when she looks at him with that glossy, begging gaze, biting into the mound of his hand as he slams his hips inside her so hard, the glasses in her cupboard shake. “Like it when I give it to you rough? Yeah, I thought so. Just like that? Harder? Say please…Christ, you’re a fucking angel.”

Y/N is dirty. So fucking filthy, and Harry loves every second of it. Loves that anything he throws out, she returns with as much enthusiasm, if not more. Loves that she can take his cock as hard as he’s willing to give it, which says a lot, considering his stamina and strength usually surpasses most humans. He’d met very few mortals who can match his sexual prowess and she happens to be one of them. She not only takes it, but pleads for more. She doesn’t just seek her own pleasure, but insists on delivering his own. And though they’re polars opposites at their core— she’s timid, physically standard, and boringly normal, whereas he’s confident, attractive, and unusually superior in every sense of the phrase— they fit together better than he’d ever care to admit. They’re perfectly compatible, down to their personalities and their intimate needs. 

As Harry stands there— fingertips leaving welts across her waist as he grunts brokenly against her throat, stretching her out like she was meant to take him this deep, her moans sounding like classical melodies to his ears— he thinks that maybe...maybe he’ll keep her around. A friends with benefits situation would be the most ideal. And to quote his own clever motto from before, it would be mutualism at its finest. 

The alliance would be nothing emotional; simply for the sake of providing each other with requited relief, as well as providing Harry with a convenient feeding arrangement. Neither of them would have to submit themselves to going to those terrible clubs, they both already know what the other enjoys, and the banter they share is pretty fulfilling. Plus, her blood is one of the sweetest he’s ever had. Whatever magic lies in her veins tides over his cravings in a fashion he’s never quite experienced. They both get what they want and don’t have to deal with the disasters of real commitment; neither are in a place in their lives where they can shoulder such a big responsibility. Harry is emotionally unavailable, as he has been for the past two centuries and as he intends to be for the next dozen. Y/N has just started anew in a place where she has so little to give and so much to lose, dating is the last thing on her mind. A casual no-strings-attached arrangement would be a perfect gift, bow and all.

And with the way they make each other cum multiple times that night— once on the counter, and twice on that trusty old couch— there’s not a single doubt in Harry’s mind that this is most definitely mutualism at its peak. 

///

During the span of the next few weeks, Harry learns a lot about Y/N. It’s surprising how informational someone’s sex habits can be. 

The second week after they had met— and the first since their second very heated, very satisfying encounter— she shoots him a text on Wednesday, of all days. 

Harry isn’t doing anything particularly interesting when he receives her message. He had gone to see Mitch play at the bar that had recently booked him as a semi-permanent gig, sitting in the booth furthest in the back from all of the ruckus, fingers tapping along the waxed table to his best friend’s skilled jazzy guitar chords. Mitch always teases Harry about how he doesn’t have a job, which the vampire always waves off. Working for money is stupid and unnecessary; any materialistic wants and needs that plague him, he can get with the help of compulsion. Therefore, what’s the use in condemning himself the horrors of customer service or a constricting office cubicle? 

His best friend is halfway through his set when Harry’s device vibrates against the sticky surface before him, tittering fingers coming to an abrupt stop. He flips over his iPhone, eyes flickering over the screen, a coy grin spreading its way across his blushed lips. Y/N’s contact beams up at him in return. He’d set her profile as just her name alongside three disco ball emojis, for the sake of their little inside joke. 

I’m getting off work a bit earlier than I thought today and was wondering if you wanted to help me with my ceiling fan.

Harry bites into his bottom lip to muffle a chuckle, shaking his head lightly as he stares down at the comical request. 

That’s odd. Last time I was there, you didn’t HAVE a ceiling fan.

Y/N sits on her lunch break in the backroom of the cafe where she’s employed, a veggie wrap halfway suspended towards her mouth when Harry’s text bloops in, pointing out her embarrassing mistake. She blinks at his correction blankly, eyes closing in faint humiliation as her true intentions are now painfully clear. 

After a second of recollection, she types back some damage control, though it hardly has an impact. Harry’s already chortling to himself just thinking about how contorted her face must look at the moment.

I’m aware, thank you. I meant I wanted help picking one out. I’ve got a few tabs saved as potentials. 

He decides to be a little shit about this whole thing, continuing to mock her.

You could just send me the links right now and I can tell you which one I like. You know that, right?

Y/N knows that. She also knows, by the tone and texture of his response, he’d only mentioned that alternative to be annoying. He knows she’s not talking about ceiling fans, and he just wants her to chase after him. Unfortunately enough for Y/N’s pride, she’s more than willing to.  

I just think your opinion would be much more valuable and effective in person, since you’d be able to help me search for other ones at the same time. We’d cover more ground. Two heads are better than one!

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

I personally think so. A dynamic duo for the books, honestly.

A soft round of applause cuts through the air around the vampire, signaling the end of Mitch’s performance. Harry glances up to see his best friend mounting his guitar back into its case, smiling bashfully at the crowd and nodding his head in thanks to all their praise. Harry coins his luck; things couldn’t have wrapped up at a better time. 

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

Y/N stops mid-chew through a bite of her meal, cheeks puffed as the corners of her mouth twitch at his nerdy reference.

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7. 

I’ll see you there, then. 

See you there. Also, why do YOU get to be Sherlock? Seems a bit sexist. 

Harry rolls his eyes at her quip, smirking to himself as he types out his final response.

Well, first and foremost, I’m literally English. Secondly, last time I checked, I’m always the one in control. And frankly, you seem to like it that way. See you at seven, darling.

And at seven on the dot, Harry’s outside her apartment. His friends would be amazed at his punctuality. He only shows it when it’s worth the trouble.

The creature walks up the steps to the mortal’s complex with his Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, keychain tucked into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, and his tan Chelsea boots clicking against the cement ground. A light wind whips his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt against the broad muscles of his back, drawing a soothed sigh from his lungs. He loves the California weather. 

He gives her door three swift knocks with his ring-clad knuckles, stepping back from the entrance and clasping his large hands behind his back as he waits. 

When Y/N answers, Harry tilts his chin down a smidge, looking at her over the brim of his chic black glasses with his signature dazzling smile dimpling his cheeks. He lists his head slightly in a formal greeting. “Detective.” 

The girl’s irises flit up to the ceiling as amusement twitches her lips. She plays along. “Nice to see you again. Detective.”

She moves off to the side, beckoning him to come in and he gladly takes the offer, striding into the flat and down the narrow corridor he’s grown quite familiar with. Y/N follows him back into her living room, gaze quickly drinking up his appearance. He’s casual today— less jewelry, more comfortable clothes— and he works the normal fit as effortlessly as he works his fancy brands. Especially with those tight dark jeans. They hug his thighs in a fashion that should be illegal. 

Harry twists around on his heel to face her, reaching up to remove his sunglasses and tucking them along the collar of his tee. A handful of curls fall across his forehead, framing his face and sculpting his jaw, as usual. A sweep across Y/N’s physique tells him everything he needs to know. 

She’s still in her work clothes, clad in a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of dark skinnies similar to his. Her hair is down, though the strands have a dent that suggests she’d been wearing a ponytail. Her mascara is smudged a tad under her seemingly tired eyes, but her attitude is as bright and lively as always. She appears messy, but he likes it. It’s a type of unconventional beauty that’s natural and genuine, which he can appreciate.

He contemplates her with a certain slyness that makes her shift in her socked feet. 

“I got a message earlier. Sounded kinda frantic.” He drifts closer to the human, a sultry tension growing taut between them. He glances upward for an instant, as if recalling a thought. “Something about ceiling fans…?”  

Y/N chews into her cheek to keep from giggling, allowing him to press his chest to hers. He slowly begins to back her up towards the shabby couch, which has seen this interaction happen one too many times. “Yeah, I’m thinking of getting one. Figured it’d help. It just gets really hot in here sometimes, y’know?”

“Mmm…” Harry thrums in agreement, deep in the back of his throat. His hands crawl onto her hips and grasps them somewhat roughly, index fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans as he leans down to brush his soft lips over her own. She’ll never grow tired of the electricity that passes through them every time their mouths touch. It kindles her needs unlike anything else. “It does get pretty hot in here sometimes. Especially if you’re working up a sweat.” 

He pushes her further towards the sofa, movements gradual as she drifts backwards, careful not to trip her. She glimpses down at where their lips are flirting, breath hiccuping when he licks his lightly in anticipation, his tongue just barely grazing her Cupid’s bow. “Absolutely. A fan would definitely help relieve some of that stress.” 

“Yeah.” Harry nudges the tip of her nose with his own, feeling her grab at his biceps for security as he continues inching her backwards blindly. “It can work wonders for when you’re all pent up, too. Especially when you’re really tight, which I know for a fact you are.”

The backs of the girl’s knees hit the edge of the couch and she topples into its cushions. She sits up onto her elbows, sheer need inking into her irises as he patiently begins to undo his belt. His long, nimble fingers work with ease and he seems to be in no particular rush, which pricks at her nerves because she feels completely the opposite. She’d been thinking about him since Friday night— or rather, Saturday morning, when he had actually stayed for breakfast that time around. 

Y/N had sat on top of her small dining table while he took the seat before her shirtless, leaning forward with his arms crossed nonchalantly over her lap as she fed him bites of lemon blueberry pancakes. The pads of his calloused fingers had drawn random shapes across the warm skin of her thighs, attempting to cheekily slip beneath her pajamas shorts and he’d giggle boyishly around mouthfuls of food every time she would swat his hand away. He looked so fucking pretty that morning, with his curls tangled in tuffs and the vague imprint of her teeth scattered across his grinning mouth, angry red scratches decorating his bare shoulders. That wholesome yet dirty image had left her head spinning for days. 

The sound of Harry’s zipper ripping open blinks Y/N back into the present and she nearly gawks as he grabs onto the hem of his graphic t-shirt and yanks it over his head, arms crossing as he does so. He tosses it onto her playfully, laughing as she smacks it away from her face and gives him a deadpan look. Harry leans forward, propping his palms on either sides of her head and bracketing her in, the unmissable scent of his delicious cologne invading her senses as his dark tattoos ripple over the lean tendons of his stomach and arms. His strangely cold forehead flushes against hers and he nips at her top lip, tugging it between his teeth and releasing. His voice comes out as deep and hypnotizing as ever. 

“Get undressed for me. Want your thighs wrapped around my head.” 

Harry comes to find that for such a reserved girl, Y/N has a pretty intriguing sexual mindset. She’s open to a lot of stuff he’d never expect from a rural-town escapee. Her kinks surprise him, but pleasantly so, considering they cross over with a lot of his own. She’s into choking, which he adores. There’s nothing hotter than feeling her pulse slam against the palm of his hand as his array of rings mark into the delicate skin of her throat. She likes being restrained, which translates into Harry pinning her wrists above her head while he slams between her drenched thighs. It’s difficult to achieve that on the sofa, so they end up rolling across the rug on the floor, her legs tangled around his hips like a vine as he pants into her mouth, damp hair flopping over his forehead and tickling her eyelashes. Ideally, he would have used his belt to tie her hands to a headboard. If they were at his place, he would’ve just reached for the metal cuffs he has hanging casually off the railing of his bed, which he keeps there for easy access. But they’re in her living room, so he makes do with what he can. 

The vampire doesn’t stay over that night, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he promised Niall he’d help him out with a car issue. Apparently the motor is making a weird noise and Harry isn’t shocked one bit. Niall barely has the brain cells to be alive, much less to handle the upkeep that comes with owning a vintage vehicle. He thanks Y/N for a good time as he slips into his tight jeans and recovers his sunglasses from the floor, pulling his tee over the already fading hickies littering his collarbones, fitting his accessory into his sweaty curls. 

Harry leans down to where she lays limply, splayed over the couch where he had placed her after picking her up off the ground (only after he’d made her cum twice). He plants a nonchalant farewell kiss to her parted lips, thumbing over her bruised nipples jestingly and grinning into her mouth when she whimpers. “I’ll see you later, Watson. Let me know which fan you decide to buy.” 

Two days later, Harry’s phone chimes again, this time with the unique ringtone he’d assigned just for her. 

He’s relaxing in his bathtub, submerged up to his chest in hot water mixed with Epsom salts and jasmine bubble bath, his locks sudsy with shampoo. He’s in the middle of shaving his face, dragging the straight razor (his time in the nineteen thirties made him picky towards any other tool, especially those simpleton plastic ones) down his jaw carefully, making sure not to nick the little moles under the corner of his mouth. When his device goes off, he halts all his motions, glancing over from the hand mirror he’s holding before his face. He’d changed her contact name to Watson as homage to their funny little dynamic, but he’d kept the disco balls in their place. He respects the roots of their acquaintanceship.

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

He had a nagging suspicion he’d hear from her today. It’s another Friday night, after all. He’s just happy she’d texted earlier than last time so he can flake on his friends without forcing them to wait for an hour. 

Wow, you chose two day shipping? You must be itching to see me.

Don’t let it go to your head. The only thing I’m itching for is your professional opinion. 

Right. Well, me and my professional opinion are washing up at the moment so give me thirty minutes and I’ll be there, yeah?

Sounds good to me, Sherlock. 

Harry decides on an outfit that falls at the center of his dressing spectrum— something comfortable but not lazy. Something semi-formal. He doesn’t really have to impress her anymore (not that he had to try that hard in the first place) but he wants to look good, either way. There’s nothing wrong with showing off what he has, both physically and wardrobe-wise. He chooses a horizontal-striped fitted tee made of thick cotton, the lines alternating between brown, beige, and a light caramel. He tucks the shirt into a pair of mid-rise corduroy flared pants that are a dark mustard shade, shrugging on an olive green jacket with red and white stitch detailing along the edges, large images of cacti embroidered along its expanse. His pearls, cross necklace, and he opts out of his earring this time. Rings, vanilla chapstick, mint gum. Keys, wallet, starch white Vans. 

Before he knows it, he’s being roughly pulled into her home from his spot just outside her threshold, his cherry-lacquer nails carding into the silky hair along the nape of Y/N’s neck as his teeth skim over the hollow of her throat. The human grapples to push his coat off his wide shoulders, backing further down the small hallway of her flat and kicking the door shut. She holds his head firmly to the sensitive spot in her neck that he’d toyed with a week prior, and he can’t resist the way his eyes blink crimson— a hunting impulse, stemming from the sound of her blood rushing through her carotid artery. He hadn’t fed last time— vampires only need to feed once a week to avoid desiccation— so he surely intends to tonight. 

Harry’s hands fit perfectly around the dip of her spine, pulling her body tight to his as he paints sloppy kisses over her jugular. He gets his teasing words out in between desperate gasps and breathy chuckles. “And here I thought this was genuinely going to be about the fan.”

“Shut up.” 

Y/N makes a sharp turn, tugging him into her room instead of the living room and it dawns on him that this is the first time they’re going to fuck in her actual bed. All those instances of sleeping together and not once had they done anything on the piece of furniture that was intended for that sole purpose. It’s ironically hilarious and he voices that opinion as they stumble onto her mattress. 

“You know,” Harry murmurs into her mouth as she shoves him flat onto the rumpled sheets (she hadn’t made her bed this morning and that’s endearing, for some reason), straddling his lap as she hurriedly pulls his t-shirt out from along the waistband of his trousers. “Out of all the times we’ve done this— which is quite a few— we’ve never done anything on your bed other than sleep.” 

That’s a lie. He’s never actually slept in her bed. After staring at the ceiling blankly two weeks ago for about eight hours, he had been smart enough to grab his phone from his pants the second time around. He spent that stretch of time playing Mario Kart and watching Unsolved Mysteries on Netflix with the volume down just out of human earshot, so as to not disturb her slumber. 

Y/N ducks in order to drag her wet, pillowy lips down the butterfly inking on his tummy and over the spines of the two ferns on his pelvis, licking across his happy trail. He jerks in response, a soft grunt gurgling in his lungs as she uses her index finger to trace the outline of his hardening cock through the velvet fabric of his slacks. Her voice is distant, giggle breathless. “Yeah, you’re right. How counterintuitive.”

Harry swiftly pops the button of his trousers, helping her coax them down his legs, releasing a stuttery moan when she immediately bends down and mouths at his prick over his briefs. The soiled stain forming around the tip of his cock would be embarrassing if he didn’t know she found it hot. 

His tone is tight but humorous as she continues licking at him eagerly through his underwear, nails digging into his inner thighs. “Am I your first?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes for a moment before she realizes the joke. He’s referring to if he’s the first person she’s slept with on her new bed in her new home. “Yes, you are, actually.” 

Harry’s juts his bottom lip out into an overly-sweet exaggerated pout, talking in a honeyed drawl. “Aw, I get to christen your bed with you? We’re practically married now. When’s the baby due?” 

“God, you’re a moron.” Y/N bursts into a fit of laughter as she mounts back onto his lap, pinching at his torso in fake spite and feeling her insides flutter at the airy giggles that escape him. She gnaws on her bottom lip thoughtfully for a second, watching with hunger as he finishes removing his shirt and momentarily sits up to chuck it onto the ground over her shoulder. 

Harry falls back onto the mattress, folding his taut arms behind his neck, biceps flexing with the movements as his strong chest and toned stomach look as appealing as ever. She runs her palms over his tanned skin, feeling the sturdy muscle shift beneath her touch. Shit.

The immortal slinks his head to the side, eyes going half-lidded in suggestive mischief as he sees the way she’s objectifying him. He doesn’t mind; he actually lives for it. “Are you just gonna keep staring or are you gonna fuck me?”

His lewd comment washes warmth across Y/N’s ears and spurs her into action. In less than a minute, she’s fully unclothed, bouncing on his cock with a type of need that boils the pit of Harry’s belly. His fingers are digging bruises into her waist, slamming her down onto his prick with enough force to make the old bed creak wildly. She may be on top, but he’s still the one pulling the strings. 

Y/N collapses forward, anchoring herself onto her forearms on either sides of his head, burying her face in his auburn ringlets. She bites onto her tongue, trying to keep a tab on the atrociously loud sounds threatening to spill from her mouth. They come out as broken whines instead, which Harry drinks up like a glass of aged bourbon. She fists at his roots, jolting with every thrust he gives upwards, her knees digging into his love handles to keep balanced. At this point, she’s barely riding him at all. He’s just ramming himself into her from below as he guides her hips and she doesn’t have an issue with that at all. She likes when he leads.  

His growl comes out low and raspy, riding on a moan, his warm, choppy exhales pebbling her bare nipples. “How’s that, darling? How’s that cock feel?”

Y/N nods her head frantically, not trusting her tongue to form an appropriate response. 

“Tell me.” He grits out through bared teeth, back arching a bit as he feels the knot of white hot pleasure in his stomach twist and turn. 

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

One of Harry’s hands coasts down the small of her back and onto her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. She yelps at the new sensation, pain and bliss intermingling. “Yeah, you fucking can. You will. Use your words. Tell me how much you like it.”

A violent shutter runs through Y/N’s limbs and she instinctively pushes back against his palm. Harry’s eyebrows kink in question as he feels her draw her face back from his hair. One look at her eyes tells the entire narrative: She wants him to spank her. 

Harry slowly lifts his hand from her skin, brows raising a bit higher for confirmation. Y/N smears his lips against his forehead and left cheekbone, bobbing her head desperately, whispering a tiny, “Yes, please.” that sends smoky tendrils of hot air cascading down his straining neck. 

When the vampire’s hand comes down, it’s fast and hard, his cold rings biting into her flesh and leaving welts, the sound echoing off the glossy walls and tall bookshelf in her room. The cry that betrays her could probably be heard down on the main floor of her complex. 

The shattered noise makes Harry sanity slip and he’s lucky she’s too lost in her own bliss to see the way his eyes glow dangerously red. “Fuck, you’re such a slut for it.” 

Harry suddenly boosts himself forward, toppling Y/N backwards until she’s the one wedged against the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into the crook of his sweaty collarbones, cracked cries pooling into the junction of his clavicle as he hikes her roughly up his thighs. He sinks further between her legs until he bottoms out with a loud garbled groan, pushing so deep she can feel him in the trench of her belly. 

“Oh my God, Harry— I— fuck, just—just— oh!”

His pace rises in intensity, strokes messy and unforgivable as he fucks her into the bed, the cracking of the frame warning him that it might give away. “Oh, so you liked that, did you? Like it when I call you a slut and stretch you out like one?”

Harry feels Y/N’s teeth rip into his shoulder in order to evade a scream; a strong shiver pin-balls down his spine as a result. Her voice is absolutely wrecked as she talks over her muffled mouth. “Loved it. Loved it so much. Want—Want more. Please, please, please.”

Harry holds her down firmly to the sheets, pounding into her with a form of unrestrained force he’s never exhibited. She just drives him to the brink like no one else has in nearly twenty decades. “Can you feel me in your tummy, pet? Can you feel how I fill you up?” 

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?” 

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”  

“Hands off.” 

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.” 

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind. 

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.” 

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked. 

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better. 

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts. 

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged. 

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then. 

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level. 

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that. 

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold. 

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him. 

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane. 

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home. 

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him. 

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device. 

I need interior design advice. 

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time. 

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh. 

Genuinely? 

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot. 

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it. 

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl. 

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall. 

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry? 

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide. 

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback. 

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits. 

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall. 

Immature? 

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry. 

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs. 

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks. 

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries. 

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up. 

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her. 

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours. 

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play. 

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex. 

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective. 

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures. 

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet. 

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.  

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.  

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue. 

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs. 

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect. 

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching. 

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh. 

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives. 

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark? 

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache. 

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief? 

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else. 

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her. 

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry. 

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants. 

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants. 

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly. 

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way. 

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot. 

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack. 

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally. 

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background. 

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination. 

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish. 

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes. 

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever. 

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going. 

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours. 

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it. 

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure. 

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core. 

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right. 

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth. 

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now. 

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen. 

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit. 

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders. 

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance. 

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person. 

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

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[girlactionfigure]

There is a popular quote that circulates every once in a while that reads “One person can make a difference and everyone should try.”

This individual holds a special place in my heart and also the hearts of many long-time Peace Page followers, who found this page after reading a simple story which mentioned her and which became one of the most popular posts on the Peace Page. Her name is Harriet Glickman, she is the teacher who decided to write a letter to Charles Schulz and ask him if he could create a black character on his Peanuts comic strip - that character would become Franklin, one of the first black characters in a popular comic strip. Harriet Glickman passed away Friday morning, March 27, 2020, at her home in Sherman Oaks. She was 93. Her passing was reported by a Peanuts-based website, which quoted a personal friend who said, her passing was "peaceful, in her sleep" and that the former schoolteacher had been "well prepared for this." They say representation matters, and Franklin, even though he was a fictional character, was noticed by many who did not feel they were being represented enough during those days. The original Peace Page post started: "On July 31, 1968, a young, black man was reading the newspaper when he saw something that he had never seen before. With tears in his eyes, he started running and screaming throughout the house, calling for his mom. He would show his mom, and, she would gasp, seeing something she thought she would never see in her lifetime. Throughout the nation, there were similar reactions. "What they saw was Franklin Armstrong's first appearance on the iconic comic strip "Peanuts." Although Charles Schulz deserves the accolades and credit for having the courage to create Franklin and standing by him when he started receiving racist demands to remove him, it was all started by a school teacher who decided to write a simple letter. "Harriet has a very interesting place in history," according to The LAist. "In 1968, she wrote to 'Peanuts' creator Charles Schulz asking him to do something remarkable at the time: integrate his famous comic strip." "Harriet Glickman was a white, 42-year-old suburban Los Angeles school teacher and mother raising three children when Martin Luther King was assassinated in 1968," according to the Press Telegram. According to NPR, she wrote, “Since the death of Martin Luther King, 'I’ve been asking myself what I can do to help change those conditions in our society which led to the assassination and which contribute to the vast sea of misunderstanding, hate, fear and violence.'” Glickman decided to write a letter to Schulz, not knowing whether he would actually read it or even whether he would receive the letter. Glickman was especially aware of the power of comics among the young. “And my feeling at the time was that I realized that black kids and white kids never saw themselves [depicted] together in the classroom,” she said in the Washington Post. She hoped this would bring the country together and show people of color that they are not excluded from American society. At the time, Schulz, the creator of the enormously popular “Peanuts” comic strip, was already being "published in hundreds of newspapers around the United States reaching nearly 100 million readers," according to the Press Telegram. Surprisingly, Schulz did respond, but wasn't sure whether it would be right, coming from him, he didn't want to make matters worse, he felt that it may sound condescending to people of color. Glickman persisted, however, continuing her correspondence with Schulz, even having black friends write to Schulz and explain to him what it would mean to them. She told Schulz that "the gentleness of the [Peanuts would be] 'the perfect setting' for such representation," according to CBR. “I am well aware of the very long and tortuous road ahead,” she added. “I’m sure one doesn’t make radical changes in so important an institution without a lot of shock waves from syndicates, clients, etc. You have, however, a stature and reputation which can withstand a great deal.” This conversation would continue until one day, Schulz told Glickman to check her newspaper on July 31, 1968. On that date, the cartoon, as created by Schulz, shows Charlie Brown meeting a new character, named Franklin. Other than his color, Franklin was just an ordinary kid who befriends and helps Charlie Brown. In a speech at American University of Health Sciences in Signal Hill, California in 2018, talking to a group of children and adults, Glickman said, the 1960s in the United States was “a time long before any of you were born, a time when not everyone was understanding of other people, when young African Americans couldn’t go to the same beach as white children and when schools were separate.” According to the Press Telegram, the Rev. Gregory Johnson, co-founder of American University of Health Sciences who invited Glickman to the event, said he wanted her to know what a profound effect her action with Schulz had on him. “I appreciate so much what you did in improving relations. I wouldn’t be here without you,” he said. Glickman was born in Sioux City, Iowa, and lived in Chicago before moving to Southern California and a job in the Burbank School District and eventually UCLA before retiring. Glickman explained in previous interviews that her parents were "concerned about others, and the values that they instilled in us about caring for and appreciating everyone of all colors and backgrounds — this is what we knew when we were growing up, that you cared about other people . . . And so, during the years, we were very aware of the issues of racism and civil rights in this country [when] black people had to sit at the back of the bus, black people couldn’t sit in the same seats in the restaurants that you could sit . . . Every day I would see, or read, about black children trying to get into school and seeing crowds of white people standing around spitting at them or yelling at them . . . and the beatings and the dogs and the hosings and the courage of so many people in that time." Glickman, according to The LAist, said someone once commented to her that "‘It took courage [to do what she did, to make a stand].’ I said, ’No it didn’t, it didn’t take courage for me to sit in Sherman Oaks in my comfortable home with my three children and type a letter.'" "Courage," she said, "was little Ruby Bridges, the little girl who integrated a school in the south who had to come with the National Guard with people spitting at her and yelling at her and throwing things at her and the parents who drew their children out. That was courage." Because of Glickman, because of Schulz, people around the world were introduced to a little boy named Franklin, and even today, when Franklin is mentioned, fond memories are evoked, such as those like the young, black man, who with tears in his eyes, started running and screaming throughout the house because he was introduced to Franklin for the first time. Barbara Brandon-Croft, the first African American woman to have a nationally syndicated comic strip in the mainstream press, was 10 years old in 1968, said, “I remember feeling affirmed by seeing Franklin in ‘Peanuts.’ ‘There’s a little black kid! Thank goodness! We do matter.’" When the Peace Page first shared its story about Franklin's birth, one Peace Page reader commented, "I normally don't comment on Facebook but I feel compelled to now. As a black child growing up in the 70's and 80's U grew up in mostly white neighborhoods. One of the most difficult things at that time is my sense of where I belonged in the world. I didn't have anybody in my position i could relate to on TV or in the movies. Then I started reading Peanut cartoons and I met Franklin and I saw myself for once. As a character, Franklin was so important to me I named my third son after him. thank you . . . for helping me find my place." That Peace Page story has now reached 22,498,877 people, receiving 2,091,450 reactions. It has inspired an Upworthy article and has been shared all over the world, including by media companies in Australia and Italy. When the Peace Page contacted the Charles M. Schulz Museum in Santa Rosa, California, one of the representatives said that Glickman regularly visited the museum and she was fondly called "Franklin's Mom." When she saw that Peace Page post, she commented on the Peace Page, "It's always a joy for me to share the Franklin story. I consider him my fourth child and he is very much loved." In the speech in 2018 at American University of Health Sciences, she told the audience that it still “feels like yesterday [when Franklin was introduced].” She said some things have changed, but others have not. “We still have so many problems on how we see each other,” she said in an article by the Press Telegram. She told the children: “You can make a difference in making the world a better place. When you see something that makes you feel angry or upset, don’t just complain, do something about it. And remember that we all care for each other; we’re all the same loving, caring people.” She then autographed a book introducing Franklin to Charlie Brown, “Nice to Meet You, Franklin!” and urged each youngster “to make a difference.” Thank you, Harriet Glickman, also, for making a difference and making the world a better place. [Photo courtesy of CBR]

The Jon S. Randal Peace Page

[latte-fairytaekwoon]

Ateez: Their Little Sister Is A Popular Idol

Kim Hongjoong:

Hongjoong and you debuted roughly around the same time, and fans lived for your sibling interactions because they were just outright hilarious. You would always end up yelling at each other or having cute little banters.

One day, you were both invited on a special sibling episode of Weekly Idol with other idols, such as Jessica and Krystal, Izone's Chaeyeon and Itzy's Chaeryeong, Oneus' Xion and Onewe's Dongmyeong and Ex Boyfriend's Youngmin and Kwangmin. It was filled with competitions and Hongjoong and you just seemed to struggle to work together. It was especially hilarious when you two played the 'Shout In Silence' game.

"Knock Out!!" You shouted once you saw the word, which was coincidentally your debut song.

"Huh?!" Hongjoong couldn't really understood what your lips formed.

"Knock Out!" You repeated, louder this time.

"Blocked cow?!" He asked, unsure of his answer.

"Stop messing around Kim Hongjoong! Think! My debut song! Knock Out!" You were getting desperate.

"Wait what!" Hongjoong asked.

"My debut song!!!"

But Hongjoong stayed silent, his brain trying to think.

"Didn't you watch it?! Knock Out!!!" You hollered even louder.

"Jumped Out?!" He tried answering.

"Kim Hongjoong I will knock you out if you don't get it!!! Knock Out! Knock Out! Ugh! Stupid!" Your voice was hurting at this point.

"Hey!!! I understood 'stupid'!!! I'm older than you!" He warned you.

Yeah, you had the entire set laughing.

Park Seonghwa:

As your older brother, Seonghwa was extremely protective of you growing up and that didn't change even after you debuted. In fact, his desire to protect you intensified. You often complained about it, hating how he was always fussing over you, reminding you to eat healthy and annoying you at times.

Seonghwa lived for it though. His members were even surprised by how soft he turned for you only. And of course fans thought you two were so adorable. Atinys often liked to tease him about it, often asking him about what he'd do when you started dating. That always seemed to annoy him.

"She's not allowed to date until I'm dead." Was his response every time.

Being Seonghwa's sister, of course you were beautiful, and a lot of idols had their eyes set on dating you. But of course, Seonghwa was always there to cockblock them. Even on tv, he had no chill when telling them to back off.

"Seonghwa have you heard the news?" The tv host asked.

"What news?" He asked.

"Well, with your sister acting in the new web drama, there's rumors going around that she's dating her co-star."

Seonghwa's eye twitched at that, and the other members started laughing.

"I don't think he likes that idea." Yunho chuckled.

"Any words about the situation or to her co-star?" The host asked.

Seonghwa looked to the camera for a few seconds before holding his microphone up.

"Over my dead body." He responded causing the members to go into chaotic mode over his response.

Jeong Yunho:

Yunho was the most supportive brother and he often said he was your biggest fan. Any chance he got, he'd promote you and your group, and was always dancing around to your songs. He'd even post dance covers of them, just to show his support. Every interaction you had, whether at music shows, ISAC or variety shows, he was your personal cheerleader.

He was also extremely clingy towards you, often hugging you, tangling his long limbs over your tiny body.

"Let go Yunho! You're squishing me!" You often told him.

"No! Let me love you!" Your protests would only encourage him to squish you even tighter.

Of course, the dancing genes ran strong in your family. Fans often praised your dancing abilities and were often wondering if you two would ever collaborate together to come up with a choreography. That's exactly what they asked Yunho one day when he was reacting to your comeback music video.

"Wow! As usual, Y/N slays the dance. She's getting better than she already was."

He looked at his phone, reading the fan's comments and landed on a particular question everyone was wondering.

"Would we ever create a dance together? Hmmm."

He thought about it for a moment.

"Honestly, I'd love to do it. What do you say baby sis? Wanna help your Oppa create a choreography? Just us two?"

He snickered when he thought about what you'd say when you saw his VLive.

"She's probably going to say no, tell me I'm annoying and to get lost. She has such a temper........"

He paused before smirking.

"You know what they say. Tiny creatures are more feisty cause their tiny bodies can't hold a lot of rage."

"She's going to kill you when she finds out you said that." Yeosang said from behind the camera.

"Probably. She hates being called tiny." Yunho agreed.

Kang Yeosang:

Although Yeosang was super proud of you for debuting, he kept the fact you two were siblings a secret for a long time and honestly you liked it that way too. You were both introverts and preferred to lay low.

Fans of your groups often compared you two, saying how similar you looked, how you were both the savage ones of your groups, even your little habits and love for chicken was extremely similar. Of course, both of you saw their posts and videos comparing you two, and you both cringed when some thought you'd be cute together. That's when you two stepped in and clarified you were siblings. Now it was fan's turn to be shook at the revelation.

And that became the topic when your groups were invited on a variety show. At one point, Ateez was complaining how Yeosang roasts them so much that they're scared of him and can't ever say anything back. You burst out laughing at that.

"He may be my older brother, but I'm not scared of his sharp tongue." You bravely admitted.

That's when the hosts suggested you expose something about your brother, like he did to his members on Weekly Idol. All of Ateez were super excited about the suggestion.

"Try your best. I'm not scared." Yeosang said confidently, but you knew deep down he was nervous about what you would say.

You couldn't help the smirk on your face as you thought about how to embarrass him.

"So my Oppa here, in front of cameras and with his members, likes to be cold and aloof, hating aegyo and skinship......not wanting Seonghwa or Wooyoung to baby him.......but it's a lie."

Everyone gasped at that.

"Cause at home, our parents are always babying him and he basks in their affection. He's always doing aegyo for them too. Atinys don't be fooled. Kang Yeosang is a literal baby."

Everyone started laughing at that, San and Wooyoung standing up and exclaiming that he was such liar and fake.

For once, Yeosang was so flustered at getting exposed, by none other than his little sister. He was speechless.

"Finally! The great Kang Yeosang had a taste of his own medicine!" Mingi exclaimed, having been Yeosang's constant victim.

No one had the power to make Yeosang scared like you did.

Choi San:

Your number 1 hype man, your caring brother, your part time manager, your personal photographer, and your cuddle bug, there's nothing Choi San wouldn't turn himself into for you. Would legit run a fan blog dedicated to you if he could. Is always praising you and saying the sweetest things about you.

Tries to get you to show off more of your skills and talents. You're shy and somewhat quiet, so people tend to look more at the other members, that's why San is always promoting you and encouraging you to not be afraid to show your true colors.

If you two are in public together, he's always holding your hand or holding you close. Yeah, definitely wants pics of you two to circulate the internet. Spoils you to no end. And he enjoys having you spend time with the other members. They adore you as well.

"Isn't she the cutest? The most adorable thing you've ever seen?" He gives you endless aegyo constantly.

"Did you just call me a thing?" You raised an eyebrow at him.

But you can't stay mad at him, not with that sad pout.

That being said, sometimes you do feel embarrassing by him. You're more reserved and somewhat conservative and so used to seeing cute San, that whenever he turns into demon San you're covering your face or screaming loudly.

"Aaahhh! What the heck San!!! What was that? Oh my god!" You screeched one day when you were reacting to one of his fancams.

"What happened to my older brother?! The one that carries Shiber around everywhere?! What have you done to him?!"

You grabbed your bottle of water dramatically and pretended to throw some at the screen.

"Be gone unclean spirit! Off with you!"

That's the one thing you two have in common: you're both super dramatic and so extra over the smallest of things.

Song Mingi:

He's the older one? Really? That's what everyone was thinking when you confirmed you were siblings. It's not that you looked older or him younger, no. It was your personality. You were extremely mature for your age and were often captured taking care of Mingi or scolding him. Naturally, people thought you were the older one.

Mingi honestly didn't mind. He often joked that he was indeed the baby and you were the older one. Every time you got asked why you babied him, it was the same thing.

"Have you seen him? He'd be dead if it wasn't for me. I'm the reason he's alive."

Mingi actually didn't mind you saying those things.

"That's how she shows her love. She knows she enjoys my company."

It was extremely hilarious for fans to see you guys spend time together. You two once did a VLive collaboration and it became a trending topic for days because it was extremely chaotic and funny.

"Mingi! I told you to flip the eggs!" You shouted at him.

"I tried! But it was stuck!" He tried to excuse himself.

"You're just a scaredy cat! Afraid of getting burnt!" You told him as you turned off the stove.

You immediately grabbed a kitchen towel and started fanning it over the smoke that accumulated in the kitchen.

"God! Mingi I know for a fact you have brain cells.....so fucking use them!"

Mingi gasped at your words.

"Y/N! There's a camera!" He reminded you.

You went wide eyed and panicked. Mingi began laughing at your reaction.

"Oh my god! You cussed live in front of fans!"

Mingi was cracking up so hard at what happened. You were so embarrassed by your mistake. You banged your head on the counter.

"Kill me now." You groaned.

Mingi came up behind you and hugged you.

"Hey don't worry little sis. At least now they know not to mess with you."

Finally, Mingi showed that he was indeed your older brother who was always there to comfort you when you needed it.

Jung Wooyoung:

"You're Ateez' Wooyoung's younger sibling right? What's he like as your brother?"

You often got asked that question and it was always accompanied by you sighing.

"Honestly.....he's a pain. I love him, but he's too much."

Yes Wooyoung loved you as well, but he was super annoying and his past time was teasing you to no end. Even if you threatened to smack him, which you did, or threatened to tell your parents, he'd still keep going.

"And here we see our tiny main vocalist getting ready, and like most females, she's going to take an hour on just her hair then spend 45 minutes on foundation, then-"

"Moooom! Wooyoung is narrating my life again!" You interrupted his narration.

"Snitch! Don't you know that snitches get stitches?" Wooyoung exclaimed, pushing the camera he was holding closer to your face.

"Bitches get stitches too.....Bitch!" You glared at him.

"Oooh! You! I should upload this to the internet and let all your fans know their sweet honey vocalist cusses like a sailor." Wooyoung threatened you.

"Do it no balls! Just remember who taught me those words in the first place." You smirked at him.

"......Shit! Why'd you have to inherit my blackmail skills?" Wooyoung said as he finally stopped recording.

Wooyoung was always reacting to your content though, often making fun of you, but he wasn't mean all the time. He often complimented you on your singing abilities. He was always saying you had the voice of an angel. And if there was something he was extremely vocal about was about any hate comments you got. He was quick and eager to call haters out.

"Dying dolphin? Who you calling dying dolphin? Have you even heard a dolphin dying? This is what it sounds like."

Suddenly Wooyoung began screeching at the top of his lungs, startling the member in the next room.

"What the hell are you doing on your VLive Jung Wooyoung?!" Seonghwa called out.

"I'm showing some bastards the difference between a dying dolphin and an angel singing so they can stop saying bullshit!"

Choi Jongho:

Jongho hates people acting cute, doesn't react to his Hyungs doing aegyo, and is never soft with anyone.....except you, his little sister. It was extremely surprising, even for the members of Ateez. You were the complete opposite of Jongho: you were tiny, cute, adorable, full of aegyo and were not afraid to show it off any chance you got. Loona's Chuu and Lovelyz' Kei had nothing on you in cuteness.

It never failed to amaze people how he smiled that bright gummy smile he had every time you did aegyo for him. The first time you did it was during an episode of Idol Room. It was a game of trying to get Jongho to smile, laugh, react to anything and all of the Ateez members failed. Then you came up with your pigtails and bright smile.

"Oppa! Why so angry? Can't you smile for me?"

The whole room burst into screaming and groaning when Jongho immediately smiled for you and patted your head.

"What the heck!" "That's impossible! He hates aegyo!" "This is rigged! That's sibling privilege!" "What the hell did I embarrass myself for?!"

Anytime anyone mentioned you, he'd immediately light up. He was so soft for you.

"Isn't my sister the cutest?"

Don't push him though. He's also very overprotective of you. Anytime he sees an idol staring at you too much, he flexes his muscles. Anytime the members said you looked cute or pretty, he'd warn them he'd split them like apples if they got too close.

Jongho nearly had a heart attack when he was watching your group's comeback with the other members. And it was because your group suddenly changed your cute concept for a more mature and sexy concept. He was flipping tables, literally.

"What did they do to my little sister?! What happened to her space buns and oversized sweaters?! Why is she wearing that short skirt?! Why are you guys staring?! Stop looking at the screen!!"

The others were cracking up at him as he tried to cover the screen with his body.

Gifs not mine, credit goes to their respective owners.

#ateez #ateez reactions #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines

[tamakissimp]

D.T/T.A- sharing is caring

𝕤𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪: you didn’t expect your night to end a strangers bedroom with not one, but two hot men. But who are you to complain? 𝕨𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘𝕤: alcohol, mention of weed, griding? kissing 𝕨𝕠𝕣𝕕𝕔𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥: 2674 𝕒/𝕟: did I already post this? yes. did I delete it cuz I hated it? also yes. anyways, @uhhh-i-like-yaoi here u fucking 

Truth be told, you didn't know what to expect when Mirio dragged you along to this party. All you wanted to do was lay in your bed and fall asleep but here you were, dressed in a way too tight outfit dancing along to shitty music.

The six shots you took before stumbling over to the dancefloor finally start to kick in. The soft buzz of alcohol flowing through your veins as you let your body move. Your hips sway along to the music while your hands run up and down your body.

It was probably the number of lustful gazes you got in this outfit but your confidence was skyrocketing. You open your eyes slightly as you gaze over the dancing crowd. Most people are grinding against each other like animals in heat, though one guy is standing stiffly amidst the crowd.

His dark eyes lock with yours. A smirk plasters itself on your lips as you curl your fingers in a 'come hither' motion. The guy's cheeks burn into a bright red as he takes quick strides towards you.

Once he's close enough, you wrap your arms around his neck and press his body against yours. "Hey, handsome," you say. His body stiffens as he looks down at you.

"Wanna dance with me?" you ask. He quickly nods as awkwardly places his hands on your hips. You move one hand from his neck to his ears, fingers carefully running over one of the pointy tips.

A whiney moan falls from his lips as he instinctively grabs onto your hips tighter. "I'm Tamaki," he says. His deep voice sends heat to pool between your legs.

"I'm Y/n," you say before turning around. He moans as you press your ass against his crotch. You can feel the muscles of his chest and abs against your back as you press yourself against him.

One of his hands travels down to press your hips against his while the other moves to caress your neck. His hips start to move against you, swaying in sync with yours.

You two stay like that for a while, grinding against each other to the beat of the songs playing. Your lustful dancing gets interrupted when a raven-haired man moves to dance in front of you.

Scarred skin adorned his face multiple piercings glow under the multi-coloured light. Three on his nouse and two on his bottom lip. His rough appearance makes you desperately want to press yourself against him, though he beats you to it.

He moves to press his hips against yours, his face moving to press itself into the crook of your neck. Burning lips press desperate kisses against your skin. His teeth drag themselves over your neck, earning whiney moans from you.

Tamaki groans with jealousy. You were dancing with him first, why is this guy suddenly getting all your attention? He moves to kiss the other side of your neck.

You feel like your on cloud nine as both men sandwich you between them. Your hips rut against Tamako's while your hands caress the other men.

"I'm Dabi," he says. Good, so he has a name. You moan out his name as he sucks on your neck. You'll probably have some hickeys tomorrow but there's nothing a good old turtleneck won't cover.

The three of you get lost in the music, swaying and grinding against each other. The alcohol takes its full effect as your mind become fuzzy and warm. Movements blur together as all you can focus on become the feeling of both Tamaki's and Dabi's bodies pressed against yours.

Their hands roam over your body, grabbing and squeezing any flesh they can. You probably shouldn't be dancing like this with strangers. But you knew their names, they aren't strangers anymore, right?

You push your doubtful thoughts to the side as you press your ass against Tamaki. He groans into your ears and he lets his head rest in the crook of your neck. You look at Dabi with half-lidded eyes.

Mischief glints in his eyes before he reaches a hand out to cup your face. He pulls you towards him and captures your lips with his. The roughness of his lower lip compared to his pillowy upper one makes you moan into his mouth.

His tongue glides over your bottom lip, begging for entrance. You place another sloppy kiss against his rough lips before letting your parts slightly. Dabi quickly pushes his tongue in, exploring your mouth.

You groan at his taste. Smokey yet fresh, like someone set a field full of mint ablaze. Tamaki pulls away from you slightly to enjoy the sight in front of him.

Dabi's hungry hands running over your body and your needing whines. It almost feels wrong to watch you two. Tamaki pushes himself over the edge and starts to place wet kisses onto your neck. You moan at the feeling of his teeth scraping against your skin. He leaves hickey after hickey, not caring about who might see them.

Ecstasy runs through your veins. Your nerves are tingling at the touch of the two men. You're pretty sure you've died and gone to heaven, that's the only explanation for this divine feeling.

"Do-Do you want to get-fuck. Get out of here?" Tamaki says loud enough for both you and Dabi to hear. "M-My place is just around the corner.".

You pull away from Dabi, letting your head rest against Tamaki's chest instead. Nodding against him, you looking at Dabi. Lust clouds his azure as he licks his lips sinfully. "God, yes," he growls. Tamaki locks his hand with yours while the other rests on Dabi's shoulder. He drags both of you out of the dancing crowd. Sweaty bodies bump into yours though you can't bring yourself to care.

You don't even register that you've left the party until the old night air hits your skin. Tamaki wraps his arm around your waist as he looks behind him for Dabi.

The raven-haired is fishing a carton of cigarettes out of his pocket. Tamaki sends him a sharp look though he only shrugs at it. He places a cigarette between his lips before taking lazy strides towards the two of you.

"Want one too, hotty?" he asks as he holds the carton out for you. You reach out to grab one but Tamaki slaps your hand away.

"Don't," he says lowly. His growly voice sends heat through your body. "I don't need you two to smell like smoke.".

Dabi rolls his eyes before stuffing the cigarette that was dangling from his lips back where it belonged. "You're no fun," he groans.

Tamaki simply shrugs before starting to walk towards his apartment. While he still has his arm around you, Dabi hand creeps down to rest in right against your ass. He gives it a squeeze earning a squeal from you and a chuckle from him.

You three remain relatively quiet for the rest of the walk. You bask in the fogginess the alcohol has left in your mind. A droopy smile adorns your lips and your steps are slightly wobbly, though you have Dabi and Tamaki to help you walk straight.

It's only now that you see the flush on Tamaki's skin and the haze in his eyes. He clearly had his fair share of drinks himself. And even though Dabi seems sober, the sticky sweet smell of weed wafting of him tells you differently.

Tamaki suddenly comes to a halt. He unwraps his arm from you and starts to fish his keys out of his pocket. Dabi takes this opportunity to smoothly press you against the wall. The cold bricks hit your burning skin.

His breath fans over your face. You try to push your lips against his but he just pulls away with a teasing grin. "Come on," Tamaki says as he holds the door open for the two of you.

You stumble into the building. The hot air circulating through the house is a stark difference from that of the cold night. "Up the stairs," Tamaki says with slurred words.

The three of you stumble of the steep staircase, praying to God that none of you trip and fall. You giggle to yourself as you think about how badly this situation can go. You, drunk off your ass in some strangers home.

Your worries get silenced when you see some of Tamaki's roommates walking around the house. The fact that there are others around in case the two men have malicious intents makes your muscles relax.

That's when you spot a familiar blond mop of hair. "Mirio?" you call out. Your tall friends turn around to face you. A girl with bright purple hair is clinging onto him, kissing up and down his neck. You had no clue when he left the club.

"Hey!" he says with a smile. "What are you doing here?". His eyes dart over to Tamaki and Dabi stumbling up the

stairs after you. "Oh, I see. Have fun!".

He sends you a wink before darting into his room with the girl. "Didn't know you knew 'im," you slur. Tamaki nods before pointing to a deep purple door, most likely his.

"I know him from school," he says before striding over to his door and holding it open for you and Dabi. "And he's my roommate.".

Dabi darts past you and into the room. He lets himself fall down onto the small couch in Tamaki's room. "Nice place you got here," he says. "Real nice.". His calloused fingertips run over the plush material of the couch.

Tamaki lays his hand on the small of your back before leading you into his room, closing the door behind him. Sweet citrus flows into your nose. His room is spotless. Light blue led lights illuminate the room.

"Want a drink?" he asks both of you before stumbling over to the mini-fridge standing beside his desk. You nod before walking over to the couch and letting yourself fall down next to Dabi.

Dabi wraps his arms around your shoulder and pulls you to lay comfortably against his chest. The rhythmic beating of his heart calms you down even further.

Tamaki pulls three bottles of beer out of the fridge, holding them up in the air for you to see. Dabi nods approvingly prompting Tamaki to open the bottles up for you all.

The soft pops of the caps being removed sound through the room. After the bottles are opened he walks over to the couch. You greedily grab the ice-cold bottle out of his hands before he sits down himself, beside Dabi.

You take a sip of the beer, savouring the bitter tingle it leaves in your throat. Dabi takes a swig of the bottle as well while Tamaki keeps on staring at the bed in front of him.

"Got some music?" Dabi asks. Tamaki nods. He pulls his phone out, quickly connecting with the speakers in his room. He opens up Spotify before handing the phone to Dabi.

"Y-You choose," he says before finally taking a sip of his beer. Dabi smirks as he browses through the app.

You perch up as familiar tunes start to fill the room. "Arctic Monkeys? Jezus christ, you're predictable," you say before taking another chug of your beer.

"Shut the fuck up. It's good music. Besides," Dabi says before leaning in to whisper in your ear. "It's good music to fuck too.".

Heat rushes up to your face. You already guessed that that was the reason why Tamaki asked you to go to his place. But Dabi confirming your suspicions still makes you get flustered.

Tamaki chokes on his beer as he hears Dabi talks. Dabi chuckles as he gives Tamaki's back a couple of slaps. "There there, shy-boy," he says. Tamaki holds his hand up to signal Dabi to stop. He obliges and leans back into the couch again.

It stays quiet for a moment as the three of you sip on your beers. Dabi's hand slowly creeps up your thigh, squeezing the soft flesh slightly.

"Bunny," Tamaki says. You gulp at the nickname, fuck, is it hot. "Why don't you come to sit on my l-lap for a bit?". His dark eyes bore into yours. You nod before handing Dabi your beer.

His eyes are glued on your eyes as you crawl over him before sitting down on Tamaki's lap. "You're so pretty like this," he says. Your skin is flushed, eyes droopy and smile loopy. One of his hands rests on your hip as the other moves to caress your cheek.

"You're gonna be a good little bunny for us, right?" he asks as he glances over to Dabi. He is still sipping his beer while his eyes are focused on your hips and the way they subconsciously grind into Tamaki's.

"If you don't want this, just-just tell me," Tamaki says. You shake your head as your hands move to play with Tamaki's hair. "You gotta say it.".

"I want this," you say. A smile creeps up on Tamaki's lips. He leans in closer. You quickly take the hint and press your lips against his.

The bitter of the beer he just drank still lingers on his lips. His lips move against yours softly and sloppily. His hand cups your cheek while yours tug softly on his hair.

He lets out a groan at a particularly harsh tug. Your hips grind into his on the beat of the music. Tamaki relishes in the heat radiating off your body. Your soft skin pressed against his, your sweet taste on his lips and fingers tugging on his hair.

Tamaki pulls away, earning a whine from you. "Fuck, bunny," he groans out. Your hips don't stop their movements even when you can feel him becoming hard under you. You let your head rest against Tamaki's chest as you look at Dabi.

He is still holding onto a bottle of beer in one hand while the other is palming himself through his jeans. He licks his lip, running over the cold metal of his piercings.

"You two sure know how to put on a show," he says. His voice borders a growl, making it all the hotter. You make grabby hands towards him.

Dabi obliges by placing his beer on the floor next to the couch and leaning forward until his body is pressed against Tamaki's. He starts to run his hands over your body. His fingertips linger around your hips and thighs.

"Whatever will we do with you?" he asks while looking at Tamaki. The indigo-haired in question leans towards Dabi to whisper something in his ear.

All you can do is stay seated in Tamaki's lap and grind your hips against his at an agonizingly slow pace. The small amount of friction goes straight to your stomach and helps to build up the knot forming.

Dabi smirks at Tamaki's words before he stands up off the couch. "Baby," he coons. "Why don't you go sit on the bed and be nice and pretty for us?". His cooky grin makes your heart skip a beat.

Tamaki nods at you as he lifts his hands off your body. With wobbly steps, you make your way over to the bed. You sit down on it, noting the plushness of the covers.

Dabi and Tamaki take their stand before you. They gaze down at you with lust in their eyes. "Think you can handle the two of us, baby?" Dabi asks. You nod at his words.

"Of course they can," Tamaki adds. He takes a step closer to you to gently cup your cheek. You melt into his touch. God, you could stay like this forever. "You'll be a good bunny for us, right?".

"If not, we might have to punish you," he adds, earning a chuckle from Dabi. You look up at the two men through your lashes. You can't help but get turned on beyond belief at the sight of them. You're in for a long night, that's for sure.

#bnha #mha #mha imagine #mha fanfic #mha x y/n #bnha fanfic #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #my hero academia #my hero imagine #my hero imagines #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero x reader #hero academia #boku no hero academia #boku no academia #tamaki x reader #tamaki #amajiki tamaki #Tamaki Amajiki #amajiki tamaki imagine #amajiki tamaki x reader #Dabi #dabi imagine #dabi x reader #dabi fanfic #dabi x you #dabi smut #touya #touya imagine

[coffintownkids]

I had the rare occurrence of having the house to myself for the entire day yesterday, which hasn’t happened since...last September maybe?

Which means I got to bang out translating all of Ch.34 while I was distraction-free!

This chapter had lots of fun moments with the junior disciples. To set the scene, WWX and LWJ come across the juniors in Coffin Town and the kids are freaked out by the sound of a bamboo pole drumming against the ground.

Long Post Ahead!

“That was It again…It really has been following us this whole time!”

Wèi Wúxiàn said, “It’s been following you?”

Lán Sīzhuī said, “After we entered the town, the fog was so heavy that we were worried about being separated. We gathered closer when suddenly, we could hear that noise. At the time, it wasn’t so fast. One sound after another rang our very slowly. Ahead in the white mist, we saw a hazy, short silhouette slowly walking by. We chased after it, but it disappeared. After that, the sound kept following us.”

Wèi Wúxiàn said, “How short was it?”

Lán Sīzhuī gestured around his own chest, “It was rather short and very petite.”

I guess that very technically counts as the first time Ā-Qìng gets described! She’s so little!!!

Jīn Líng said, “I knew I should have brought Fairy with me. This is all your damn donkey’s fault.”

Just hearing the dog’s name had chills running up Wèi Wúxiàn’s back while he listened to Lán Jǐngyí say, “We haven’t even blamed your dog! It bit first so Little Apple just kicked out at it. Whose fault is that? Anyway, now neither of them can move.”

Wèi Wúxiàn said, “What?! My Little Apple got bit by a dog?!”

Jīn Líng, “How can you compare that donkey to my Spirit Dog? Fairy was given to me by my xiǎo-shūshu. If something were to happen to it, 10,000 donkeys still wouldn’t be enough compensation!”

Wèi Wúxiàn started spouting nonsense, “Don’t rub Liǎnfang-Zūn in people’s faces. My Little Apple was also a mount given to me by Hánguāng-Jūn. How could you bring Little Apple down the mountain for a Night Hunt? You also let it get hurt?!”

All the junior House of Lán disciples spoke in unison, “Liar!” They would absolutely never believe that with Hánguāng-Jūn having such good taste, that he would give such a mount to someone. Even though Lán Wàngjī didn’t refute it, they firmly refused to believe it.

Ha! Ain’t nobody buying what WWX is selling. Also, JL refers to JGY as xiǎo-shūshu. It means that JGY is his father’s youngest brother (aka JL does not consider MXY to be his uncle, despite him also being his father’s half-brother and younger than JGY!) LSZ, however, is a good boy and explains the situation-the elders evicted Little Apple for being too noisy in Cloud Recesses :P

Jīn Líng also didn’t believe that he had been given the donkey by Lán Wàngjī, “I hate looking at that donkey. Why is it even called Little Apple? It’s so goddamn stupid!”

Lán Jǐngyí was still thinking about it. If it really had been given by Hánguāng-Jūn, then this wasn’t good and he promptly spoke up for it, “What’s wrong with Little Apple. It loves to eat apples, so it’s called Little Apple. It’s that simple. The name is miles better than you naming your fat dog Fairy.”

Jīn Líng, “How is Fairy fat?! Go ahead and try to find a Spirit Dog that’s in better shape…”

All of a sudden, there was absolute silence.

After some time, Wèi Wúxiàn said, “Is anybody here?”

From nearby came “uhhhhh” and “wahhhh” to indicate where they were. Lán Wàngjī coolly said, “They were causing a commotion.”

…He actually cast the Mute Spell on all of them at once. Wèi Wúxiàn couldn’t help touching his own lips and felt extremely lucky.

LWJ ain’t got time for your shit lol. I also continue to waffle with whether I’m calling it the “Mute Spell” or “Silence Spell” or “Gag Spell” etc etc etc. It’s another case of me being an overly nitpicky overthinker! I’ve mentioned it before, but I figured it’s worth sharing again that it’s written as 禁言. Very technically, it means “speech is banned/prohibited.” which ties into all of the Lán rules that also use 禁 when saying something is prohibited. I’ve been wanting to convey that, plus I’ve seen it used in a more modern sense to “mute” sound. Also 禁言令 is used as “gag order.” So, like, I know it’s one of those things that doesn’t need to be changed, yet here we are.

Naturally, here’s where some zombies show up. LWJ gets rid of a bunch, but...

Another House’s disciple said, “It looks like there’s more zombies!”

“Where is it? I didn’t hear any footsteps?”

“It sounded like strange breathing to me…” The young man realized how ridiculous that was once he finished saying it and shut up out of embarrassment. Another boy said, “I’m done with you. You heard them breathing. Zombies are dead. How could you possibly hear them breathing?”

Breathing, huh?

LWJ decapitates one and...its body spews out a bunch of powder! And then the gravedigger that tried to steal the torso earlier in the book shows up!!! So while he and LWJ start fighting, WWX starts freaking out.

The current situation did not allow for optimism. The gravedigger’s sword was shrouded in black mist, its sword aura couldn’t shine through it, and the white fog was keeping him quite well-hidden. The sword aura from Lán Wàngjī’s Bìchén, however, could not be blocked. He was the light and the enemy was the dark. His opponent’s cultivation was not lacking and the Lán Sect of Gūsū’s swordsmanship was well-known to him. On top of that, they were both fighting equally blind in the fog. He could do so without having any concern, while Lán Wàngjī had to be careful that he didn’t accidentally injury his own allies. It honestly put him at a major disadvantage. Wèi Wúxiàn heard the sounds of their blades a few times and his heart clenched. He blurted out, “Lán Zhàn? Are you injured?!”

There was a slightly muffled sound in the distance, as if someone had received a critical injury. However, it clearly wasn’t Lán Wàngjī’s voice.

Lán Wàngjī said, “Of course not.”

Wèi Wúxiàn smiled, “Of course!”

I love LWJ being pissy over the implication that some scrub could have the potential to injure him. Sorry, Sū Shè. You’re not qualified to injure him, either.

Since WWX isn’t needed there, he starts checking on the kids that inhaled the powder.

Wèi Wúxiàn went to Lán Jǐngyí and touched his forehead. He had a slight fever. He did the same for the others that had inhaled the powder that had gushed out of the zombies. They were in the same state. He lifted Lán Jǐngyí’s eyelids and said, “Stick out your tongue and let me take a look. Ahh.”

Lán Jǐngyí, “Ahh.”

Wèi Wúxiàn, “Okay. Congratulations, you’ve been hit with corpse poisoning.”

Jīn Líng, “How is that something worth being congratulated for?!”

Wèi Wúxiàn said, “Because it’s the sort of life experience that you’ll tell stories about when you’re older.”

Life advice according to WWX: get poisoned for the lulz.

Meanwhile, poor LSZ’s little heart can’t take this.

Lán Sīzhuī was worried sick, “Mò-gōngzǐ, will anything happen to them?”

Wèi Wúxiàn said, “They’ll be fine for now. However, if we wait for their blood to circulate through their bodies and reach their hearts, we won’t be able to help them.”

Lán Sīzhuī said, “What…what will that do?”

Wèi Wúxiàn said, “Whatever happens to corpses is what will happen to all of you. If you’re lucky, you’ll just rot badly. If you’re not, you’ll turn into a long-haired jiāngshī and from then on, you’ll only be able to get around by hopping.”

All of the poisoned disciples gasped at the same time.

Wèi Wúxiàn said, “Want to cure it?”

They all nodded at once. Wèi Wúxiàn said, “If you want it cured, listen well. From now on, you’re going to have to obediently listen to everything I tell you. Every one of you has to listen to me.”

WWX is so goddamn dramatic. I love it! Also, I think it’s the first mention of jiāngshī in the novel. Jiāngshī (僵尸) literally means “stiff corpse” and are a folktale creature in China. They’re something of a cross between a zombie and a vampire. The legend goes that because they’re dead and rigor mortis has set in, their bodies are stiff and rigid. Thus, they can’t bend their legs and can only move by hopping instead of walking. Since it’s a pretty Chinese-specific myth, I’m opting to leave the term untranslated.

WWX’s first order is for the healthy disciples to carry the poisoned ones. And, of course, despite them all agreeing to do what they’re told, LJY has something to say about it.

Lán Jǐngyí said, “I can walk. Why do I have to be carried?”

Wèi Wúxiàn said, “Gēgē, if you’re frolicking around, your blood will flow that much faster and that much harder, which means it will reach your heart that much faster. Therefore, you need to limit your movements. It would be best if you didn’t move at all.”

WWX sarcastically calling him gēgē sent me.

And then:

One of them being carried by someone from his sect muttered, “The zombie that just sprayed the poisoned powder really had been breathing.”

The boy carrying him was gasping for breath as he complained, “I already told you the one that was breathing had to be a live person.”

I’m sure that’s not foreshadowing anything terrible.

Meanwhile, LSZ does not complain and just asks what WWX would like them to do next.

The one that was the most well-behaved, most obedient, and made him worry the least was Lán Sīzhuī.

LSZ is the bestest boy!

Next, WWX does order them to go door-knocking. Keep in mind that they have yet to come across anyone in the town except zombies and the gravedigger.

Jīn Líng put in quite the effort and banged on the door for a long time, but no response came from inside, “It doesn’t seem like there’s anybody in there. We’re going in, right?”

Wèi Wúxiàn’s voice floated over from far away, “Who said you could go in when there’s nobody there? Keep knocking. We’ll go in a building that has someone occupying it.”

Jīn Líng said, “Are you still trying to find people?”

Wèi Wúxiàn said, “Yes. Knock properly. You were knocking too hard just now. Don’t be so rude.”

Jīn Líng was so angry that he nearly kicked the wooden door in. In the end, he nevertheless…relentlessly stomped his feet against the ground.

Each building on the main road all kept their doors firmly shut. No matter how much they knocked, they remained looming and unmoving. The more Jīn Líng knocked, the more jittery he became. But he was at least being a little more gentle about it.

JL really is his father’s rude-ass son!

They do eventually find a shop with a creepy old woman, though.

“Shopkeep, when we first arrived in your land, the fog was too thick and we lost our way. We’ve walked for quite a long time and have grown somewhat weary. Would it be possible for us to make use of your shop and rest for a while?”

The strange voice said, “My shop isn’t meant for people to use as a rest stop.”

Wèi Wúxiàn didn’t seem to find this all that out of the ordinary and his expression was the same as usual, “But there is no other shop around in this fine place that still has someone occupying it. Shopkeep, are you truly unwilling to make things easier for us? We’ll reward you handsomely.”

Jīn Líng couldn’t stop himself from saying, “Where did you get the money to reward them handsomely with? Let me be the first to tell you I won’t be lending you any.”

Wèi Wúxiàn shook the dainty little money pouch in front of his face, “Look. What is this?” Lán Jǐngyí was terribly alarmed, “You really have some nerve! That’s Hánguāng-Jūn’s!”

Ahhh...LJY continues to be scandalized on LWJ’s behalf.

Although the old lady was hunchbacked and seemed quite elderly at first glance, she actually didn’t really have any wrinkles or age spots. One could say that she could pass for middle-aged. She opened the door and stepped aside. It looked like she was willing to let them go inside.

It came as a major surprise to Jīn Líng and he softly said, “She’s actually really willing to let people inside?”

Wèi Wúxiàn also spoke softly, “Of course. I also stuck my foot in the doorway, so she can’t close the door even if she wanted to. If she wouldn’t let us in, I would have just kicked the door in.”

Jīn Líng, “……”

WWX: *also rude*

JL: *shocked Pikachu face*

#mdzs #ctk reads mdzs #mdzs translation #my translation #junior disciples #the juniors are just so hilarious to me

[lizacstuff]

Liza that 3rd fragman 👀 "if I was born a 100 times I'd fall in love with you everytime" Eda saying this is their last obstacle and nothing can separate them, serkan's "I'll be right back, close your eyes I'm here" If this isn't all a red flag for shits about to hit the fan then I don't know what is LOL (but also how cute to Edser look and them telling each other they love each other very much 😭😭😭)

That fragman is both the SWEETEST and the MOST OMINOUS thing I’ve ever seen. ALL AT ONCE.  

Friends... we’re gonna go through some things.  That being said, everything is going to be great. These writers have been solid so far, and I have faith they have come up with something really interesting to increase the longevity of this show. And I don’t know about you, but I’m prepared to go through some things if it means keeping Eda and Serkan for longer.  (I heart them)

This show is about Eda and Serkan and their love story, at it’s core it’s a comedy, it will all lead to happy things, but... yeah, buckle up! 

I have a lot of asks both about the fragman and last ep, so I’m going to answer a bunch under the cut. 

Anonymous said: The fandom theories about episode 28 have gotten so wild that I literally think the most shocking thing would be if they actually got married and were not separated (emotionally or physically). What if the earlier painful episodes were to make us believe that things couldn't possibly go right in 28 and it's a reverse psychology trick?

You could be right!  I like your thinking. I checked on twitter and I had to back away slowly. The juvenile temper tantrums were too much for me today.  

Look, I think it’s clear something big is coming. It has to, there has to be something that shakes up the show. Some of the theories are more upsetting and catastrophic than others, but the writers won’t do anything that dings either character or their love for one another.  Whatever happens will showcase the connection between these two and the chemistry between the actors, that’s the point of everything, and anything that does those things is gonna be a-okay with me. 

@jan31​ Hi Liza. Do you think we are going to see the wedding in 28 or they will leave it on a cliffhanger for next week. Lots of theories going round mainly cos of Neslihan saying new dimensions coming in episode 29, which could just mean married life etc. I have seen suggestions of memory loss, it's all a dream since episode one. I would personally love Eda to wake up like in episode one but for it to be a total turn around and she is the boss and Serkan the employee. Eda being robot yildiz appeals to me!!! I know it will never happen but leave me here with my dreams!!

I started the day at 90% sure they’ll be married in 28/29, but now I’m down to like 30% that they’ll get married in these episodes. I really, really want them to get married before whatever happens happens, because every scenario I can think of for this reset or starting again, seems like it would be better if they were married.  

However, the shooting spoilers from today, make me question that. Namely the videos where Hande appears to still be wearing the ring on her right hand. We shall see, that could be for many reasons. 

Honestly, though, I wouldn’t hate a memory loss storyline. Seeing one of them (and Serkan’s line in the trailer makes it seem like it might be him) lose their memory and have to fall in love all over again? There are worse fates for a shipper than getting to experience that all again but in a different way.  

Anonymous said: Your response to the fandom drama anon was so good, it's exactly how I feel. While I don't know what the old posts that were like are (that's shady as fuck) I did see all the other drama go down and wow. The actresses def need to stay in their lane and some of the fans, hoooo boy, it's obvious they're young based off their reactions alone. Had to unfollow some people once I realized what they were like. Also some of the IRL shipping reminded me of col*fer stuff, reading into everything and blowing it out of proportion (which then gets picked up by paps....). But you're right in that at least the show related drama is tame compared to OUAT. But still, people being too careless even while they know the paps see everything and harass Kerem and hande (omg did you see the video of hande the other day stopped in the van and she looked so overwhelmed 😔)

You’re referencing this post here about yesterday’s drama. 

Today Neslihan made it worse by addressing everything and claiming she didn’t like all those Hande-bashing posts because... wait for it... she was HACKED. Oy. Hackers got in and went back two years to like gross posts about Hande? Sure, Jan. While I don’t believe that for a second, I guess that at least gives her cover with Hande so they can all pretend it’s true and move on so it’s not awkward on set.  But, yikes, she needs to consult a publicist, she took a narrative that was circulating in certain circles in fandom and made sure all her followers were aware. Not very savvy. 

As for the paps coming after Hande, yes I did see her in the car, she did look overwhelmed. Back off vultures!!! That’s why I think Kerem sometimes throws himself to the wolves so that doesn’t happen. She always handles them like a pro, but you can tell she’d rather be anywhere else on earth than talking to them. 

The pap stuff is worse than I’ve seen before, they’re like vultures circling for any conjecture (sometimes made up out of thin air) they can turn into a question and blame fans. OUAT actors dealt with nothing like this. Also I can’t believe they never ask about the show. Like after last week? They could legit ask about the sex scene which probably would have given them some angle on the actors that they wanted, (especially since it was too hot for Turkish TV) but they let that pass them by, and instead asked the same questions about being together that they never answer. Dumbasses. They are not only awful people, they are awful at their jobs. 

In Van, the paps pay off crew members for info, they always know more than fans. Also I don’t remember stars of my shows getting this level of tabloid attention before. Except for on Riverdale, Lili and Cole generated that level of interest, and while I didn’t pay terribly close attention to them, I feel like they rarely talked to the paps, were just photographed. Also I don’t suspected the CW of calling the paps on them, but I suspect either the network or production company of sometimes calling them on Hande and Kerem. 

Anonymous said: Do you think it’s weird that they didn’t touch the kidnapping at all in either trailer? They might not have filmed it in time for the 1st one but certainly the 2nd. And I’m definitely not complaining about the ones we got because its like a fairytale but the kidnapping was the cliffhanger...? 🧐 I think they should’ve just left the princes storyline at “he went back to his country” but then they didn’t so......

If they’d left his story at just going back to his country, then the Prince really wouldn’t have served his purpose. He was brought on to cause some sort of trouble, so they probably need him to cause the trouble before he goes, lets hope it ends with this kidnapping!

And to answer your question, yes, I do think it’s weird that neither trailer touched on it. On any other show I’d think it was a huge red flag, but on this show maybe not as much because  a) there’s obviously a lot of romance in this episode, it’s not crazy that they are focusing on that to draw people in with the promos  b) this show likes to do cliffhangers that end up being no big deal, that happens a lot.  

Who knows it could turn out to be a big deal that shapes the rest of the episode in some unexpected way (Eda’s captured the whole episode and she’s dreaming about wedding prep, or... who knows) but I think it’s more likely that they resolve in the first 5-10 minutes and then move on.  Since we know from the summary (not that I trust those) that Serkan goes on the bachelor weekend, it feels like the Prince is taken care of prior to that. I don’t think he’d leave her alone for a second if there was a chance the Prince was still a threat. Perhaps Babaanne is pissed he tried to kidnap Eda and tells them she’ll handle it herself???

Anonymous said: Semiha not being in the promo is highkey suspicious. The actress is promoting the episode lol. She's about to Evil Queen this wedding ceremony but you know what, I'm fine with whatever she has planned if they end up married at the end of the day. What's funny is that since a lot of fans these days will assume that there will be shocking negative plot twists, not actually having one here would be a plot twist so I hope the writers keep them together for whatever's next haha

You’re not wrong, at this point, having this wedding take place would be a shocking twist for all of us!  As for Semiha... hmmm... it will be interesting to see what her reaction is to Eda being kidnapped by her pick of suitor. Serkan Bolat might be the son of the man indirectly responsible for her parents death, but he would never hurt her. Take note, Grandbag!  

Anonymous said: Do you mind sharing your speculative scenarios?

After the trailer today, I don’t know if I can even remember some of them. 

Memory loss

Grandma forces Serkan to choose between Eda and his company/wealth,  he chooses Eda and they start over from scratch with nothing

Time jump

AU starting over, showing a different path they might have taken together

Dream

These actors playing different characters in a new story

I don’t think the last three are likely, but they did spring to mind after some of Neslihan’s teases. 

Anonymous said: So this show doesn't get like fantastic ratings (it actually seems to be on the lower end compared to all other dizis airing) but the social media engagement is off the charts. Why is that?!? Is the show just extraordinarily popular internationally? or that this is a "shipping" show? I'm floored by the numbers - its like no other show/fandom is even trying

The ratings were terrific during the summer. But to your point, it has a huge fandom both in Turkey and internationally, but it’s worth noting that most of those charts you see where it beats every other show in every imaginable social metric is just for Turkey.  

It’s one of those lightning in a bottle situations where you get the right property and the right actors together at the right time and magic happens.  And, for sure, the number one reason is the shipping. Shipping drives fandom engagement, and a fantastic ship with a juicy, fun, tropey love story is what this show offers. It also offers up two extremely attractive, talented, likeable leads with off-the-charts chemistry (plus the added speculation about an off-camera relationship that has intrigued more than a few fans, tabloids and gossip sites and fueled interest) who have done a good job of building the fanbase through their social media engagement. Plus the timing is part of it as well. I don’t know about you, but this show hit the spot during this pandemic and the horror of 2020. We all needed this escape. 

Anonymous said:Do you think something happened in the writers room after the backlash of 25 and fan disappointment after Ayse's announcement? I feel like a switch flipped and now we're in fanficland with how much good content we've gotten in these last two episodes. Like I thought maybe they should wrap up the series soon before the characters got completely off the tracks but they may be finding their groove now and I'm interested to see what their next twist is after they can write out Balca/Seymen.

I don’t know about a switch flip, this show has been fanfic land since the first episode!  The tropes! That is how I described it to multiple people when I first started watching: an AU fanfic come to life.

As for the writing changes, no, I don’t think backlash after 25 affected 26 or 27, because 26 was already 90% shot, and 27 already written. However, I assume they themselves could tell that 25 got just too dark and had strayed pretty far from the DNA of the series. While I didn’t think it was bad, it was not fun to watch and this show ought to be fun to watch. 

Let’s hope, however, that the backlash affects future episodes in that they know what works... and what doesn’t.  The last two episodes definitely felt reminiscent of the first batch of episodes. Light, funny, romantic. If they can keep that tone... I’ll be thrilled.

Anonymous said: i didn't realize how much i missed "together" edser until watching 27.. it's been so long since they were "officially" together and we also had such few episodes of it.. ppl have been comparing it to 12 and while in some ways i agree, edser are always so different here than they were there. 12 was them navigating their new relationship.. they were more shy and finding their footing.. here they are very much established, as they should be after knowing their love for so long in comparison to 12!

Yes, it was lovely. You know I’ve preached a lot about how even though Eda and Serkan were broken up, they’ve still been together all this time. And it’s true, but there is something about them truly being together that is magical. We never got enough of that the first time around (a writing mistake in my opinion) and they’re so good together it’s lovely to watch. 

Anonymous said: Serkan not asking for help from Balca when asking his team for help with the marriage gifts preparations and refusing her offer of help when she asked made me so happy. Good job Serkan! He's learning! She's not trustworthy!

Yes, that was a good moment. And he was eyeing her very warily when she offered. The thing I don’t understand is how has no one caught on that she’s working with Babaanne? That entire office is filled with nosy people, has no one remarked on the number of times Balca has gone up to the office or they’ve disappeared for lunch at the same time? Come on Leyla! Come on Melo! Notice these things!  

Anonymous said: Fingers crossed that we finally make progress towards getting rid of Seiman & Balca now that all the girls were drugged and Eda was put in the car in the last episode. Unless Seiman has a change of heart and takes Eda back inside before anyone wakes & the guys get there then the show has to address it. Although I do not think Balca is going to back down unless Serkan straight up tells her he has zero interest in her and never will. Totally fine if that happens in the next episode.

Will Balca backdown even if she’s humiliated like that? She’s so delusional I’m not sure. What I am sure is that she’s dangerous. This came in before we saw the other two fragmans that have no mention of the kidnapping. Hard to picture how that is so easily resolved. Unless she frees herself (which seems unlikely in her groggy state) or maybe Melo’s future boyfriend is able to stop it before they get far?  Or I don’t know. I just know that I want to see Serkan lose his mind and all the other characters see Serkan lose his mind and then I want it to be over. LOL.

Anonymous said: As much as I am loving everything Edser, I cannot wait for Seiman, Balca and Grandma to be gone. And I am even more annoyed to think that the show might try to redeem all 3 characters. All 3 of them are truly awful people and no need to waste air time trying to make the audience think any different. Just my opinion...🤷🏻‍♀️. Show please finally expose those 3 for the psychos they are and get rid of them.

Bye bitches!  I don’t think there’s any redemption for Balca and Seiman. They both have poisoned/dosed people, hard to come back from that.  And there is no need to redeem them because neither is compelling enough to be a long-term character. But maybe Granny, we probably will see a redemption arc for her. 

Anonymous said: i know you were worried a few weeks ago that with ayse leaving as writer, we probably wouldn't have the same sort of comedy as previous episodes... but istg the whole kiz isteme scene, especially with chef alex, had me almost crying with laughter. especially when serkan off the cuff just goes "well if that's an option..." to everyone misunderstanding alex "wanting" ayfer for 2 nights and then eda ready to beat him with the flowers he bought her... comedic gold lmao.

SO GOOD! I was thrilled to see that sort of comedy, the sort of comedy we’d come to expect, from these writers. I think it bodes very well indeed!  

That scene was amazing. I know Neslihan said that much of it was improvised. Probably that line from Serkan (since Serkan is SO out-of-his-mind in love I’m not sure he could even joke about having Eda only two nights a week! LOL) was improv from Kerem, and Aydan asking about the other nights, and Seyfi bringing up the weekend. And Eda’s very Hande-esque “Ser-KAN.” 

I just love rewatching that scene and checking out everyone who is breaking character and just losing it. Cagri most of all. He’s blurred aback there but you can see Ferit spends the whole time laughing or trying to stifle a laugh. Reminds me of Cagri in the scene in 18 when they’re watching the security footage he was losing it in that scene as well. 

Anonymous said: i'm scared - I think they are really about to give us all of these happy EdSer scenes only to have something happen RIGHT before the wedding ceremony due to Babaanne. Based on the last episode, I don't think there's any chance of a breakup (knock on wood) but what if Serkan gets arrested, goes to jail for 2 years, and we get a time jump?

This was sent before the last two teasers, so yes I think something is gonna happen. We shall see!  I don’t really think Serkan going to jail for 2 years is in the cards, at least I hope not!  Besides if Babaanne did that she would have no hopes of ever reconciling with Eda, so that seems unlikely she’d follow through and leave him there for so long a time. 

Anonymous said: With the last week's sex scene, they did a lot of fade outs but the scene was basically still there so it wasn't much wasted effort for the actors. But for what they're teasing in episode 28 - idk how they can get away with showing them in the shower at all if Serkan lifting Eda with her clothes on had required blurring? Is Eda dropping her robe even pushing it? It's intriguing indeed.

Great questions. We’re 36 hours from finding out (well I'm longer than that because I wait for the English subs, hee hee) All I know is I want to see these scenes.. one way or another! 

#sen cal kapimi #edser #Sen Çal Kapımı #sck spoilers #sck specualtion #sckask #sck episode discussion #asklizac #Anonymous

[nesta-stan]

Why the "Trauma and mental illness isn't an excuse" argument about Nesta doesn't make any sense

I don't hate the state but when some one usually says it the thing being excuse are the

ACTUAL SYMPTOMS OF TRAUMA AND MENTAL ILLNESS

Like you do realize that trauma and mental illness isn't a personality trait or this thing that makes you "sad."

I saw a video once that mentioned that comments like this are actually kinda of ableist. Which I think is true.

It reminds me of when I was labeled a "disturbance" when I would breathe and cough very loudly. I have asthma. I was told to try to "control it".

So what I hear when someone says this is "I acknowledge that you have a disease. I just want you to try really hard to pretend you don't by never outwardly displaying your symptoms because it makes me uncomfortable."

Like do people who say this even KNOW what the D in PTSD stands for

" mental health concern becomes a mental illness when ongoing signs and symptoms cause frequent stress and affect your ability to function. A mental illness can make you miserable and can cause problems in your daily life, such as at school or work or in relationships." -Mayo clinic

When someone has a mental illness it can hurt the people they love but their sick. They have a disease. It really isn't their fault. Which is why psychiatrist are considered actual medical doctors who can prescribe medicine.

I did a post with a link how Nsata's "laziness" was linked with depression but here are some more quotes.

Nesta's anger issues as it relates to child abuse

"Physically harmed children (relative to nonphysically harmed children) were significantly less attentive to social cues, more inclined to attribute hostile intent, and less able to manage personal problems. They explain possible cognitive deficits in abused and neglected children by suggesting that physical abuse affects the development of social-information-processing patterns, which in turn lead to chronic aggressive behavior. The experience of severe physical harm is associated with the "acquisition of a set of biased and deficient patterns of processing social provocation information" - the national academies press

Nesta's anger issues as it relates to ptsd

"Anger is also a common response to events that seem unfair or in which you have been made a victim. Research shows that anger can be especially common if you have been betrayed by others. This may be most often seen in cases of trauma that involve exploitation or violence.

The trauma and shock of early childhood abuse often affects how well the survivor learns to control his or her emotions. Problems in this area lead to frequent outbursts of extreme emotions, including anger and rage.

How Can Anger After a Trauma Become a Problem?

In people with PTSD, their response to extreme threat can become "stuck." This may lead to responding to all stress in survival mode. If you have PTSD, you may be more likely to react to any stress with "full activation." You may react as if your life or self were threatened.

This automatic response of irritability and anger in those with PTSD can create serious problems in the workplace and in family life. It can also affect your feelings about yourself and your role in society.

Researchers have broken down posttraumatic anger into three key aspects, discussed below. These three factors can lead someone with PTSD to react with anger, even in situations that do not involve extreme threat:

Arousal

Anger is marked by certain reactions in the body. The systems most closely linked to emotion and survival — heart, circulation, glands, brain — are called into action. Anger is also marked by the muscles becoming tense. If you have PTSD, this higher level of tension and arousal can become your normal state. That means the emotional and physical feelings of anger are more intense.

If you have PTSD, you may often feel on edge, keyed up, or irritable. You may be easily provoked. This high level of arousal may cause you to actually seek out situations that require you to stay alert and ward off danger. On the other hand, you may also be tempted to use alcohol or drugs to reduce the level of tension you're feeling.

Behavior

Often the best response to extreme threat is to act aggressively to protect yourself. Many trauma survivors, especially those who went through trauma at a young age, never learn any other way of handling threat. They tend to become stuck in their ways of reacting when they feel threatened. They may be impulsive, acting before they think.

Aggressive behaviors also include complaining, "backstabbing," being late or doing a poor job on purpose, self-blame, or even self-injury. Many people with PTSD only use aggressive responses to threat. They are not able to use other responses that could be more positive.

Thoughts and beliefs

Everyone has thoughts or beliefs that help them understand and make sense of their surroundings. After trauma, a person with PTSD may think or believe that threat is all around, even when this is not true. He or she may not be fully aware of these thoughts and beliefs.

If you have PTSD, you may not be aware of how your thoughts and beliefs have been affected by trauma. For instance, since the trauma you may feel a greater need to control your surroundings. This may lead you to act inflexibly toward others. Your actions then provoke others into becoming hostile towards you. Their hostile behavior then feeds into and reinforces your beliefs about others." - U.S department of veteran affairs

Nesta's Hypersexuality as it relates to assault

"The survivor of trauma is left with unmetabolized rage which is directed both internally and externally. Simultaneously, the traumatized individual is actively attempting to escape the emotions and the loneliness of their constricted, damaged state. Their sexuality awakens early, without direction, and is often intensely driving them to seek out partners. It is this highly ambivalent state which characterizes sexual compulsivity. Their vandalized love maps (which were previously discussed) are trauma-bonded and therefore predispose them to seek out destructive partners. transactions and sexual interactions. Compulsive behavior is a means to numb-out when beginning to think and feel. This behavior also produces a high which allows the person to know she is still alive and human when feelings of depersonalization, numbness, emptiness and physical and emotional analgesia pervade. Compulsive sexual behavior becomes a solution - a means of feeling something in the dissociative fog, an experience of perceived control when feeling powerless, an illusory sense of safety connection and temporary escape from the aloneness." -U.S department of justice

Nesta's drinking

"Substance abuse and addiction is commonly connected to co-occurring disorders like PTSD, depression, and anxiety. Among people seeking treatment for PTSD are 14 times more likely to also be diagnosed with a substance abuse disorder (SUD). Attempting to self-medicate can be a cause to why many people with PTSD also abuse substance. The thought is that by abusing substances, a person with PTSD, will null or avoid PTSD symptoms. Those with PTSD with a SUD are more likely so abuse alcohol over drugs, such as cocaine. Research has found that service members and veterans that have heavy drinking tendencies are more likely to have PTSD, depression. War veterans with a PTSD diagnosis, who also drink alcohol, tend to be diagnosed with binge drinking...One of the highest risk groups for both PTSD and addiction is the veteran population. According to the U.S. Department of Veteran Affairs, veterans who seek out treatment for a SUD are often diagnosed with PTSD. This is most likely due to the emotional stress, physical demand, and mental strain of combat.10 Service members that were deployed overseas to Iraq and Afghanistan are at a higher risk of developing PTSD. In addition, PTSD has also been linked to veterans that have been sexually assaulted or harassed during their military service or experience.  Military service trauma can happen to any service member, of any gender, during their military service. Sexual trauma includes sexual assault, sexual abuse, or sexual harassment.About 1 in 5 female veterans have been diagnosed with military sexual trauma by Veteran Affairs (VA)." -American addiction centers

#a court of frost and starlight #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #acofas #acomaf #acotar #acowar #nesta archeron #archeron sisters #sjmaas #sarah j maas #sjm fandom #sjm #acosf #a court of silver flames #nesta acotar #nesta #pro nesta #nesta deserves better

[iamanartichoke]

This is neither eloquent nor organized. I’m very frustrated and I just need to get things off my chest. 

Please do not reblog this post. 

Cut for anti-Ragnarok discourse, pro-Ragnarok discourse, the Ragnarok discourse war, mention of Thorki, and general venting. 

I’m not using tags bc I don’t want this post to show up in them. Very sorry and if any of these things is one of your blacklists, please keep scrolling.

Yesterday, I read a fic.

I was wandering through some of the Thorki content on twitter, and followed a link to one of the big bang fics, bc it was a human AU and das my jam.

I didn’t recognize the author’s name. The fic was extremely well-written, though: lots of feels, beautiful narration, a sweet ending balanced with a lot of sadness. It was one of those fics that gave me a lump in my throat.

I was only going to leave kudos, but then I figured I’d take the extra five seconds and leave a comment, bc we all know how much authors like comments. I mean, I’d rather someone leave a comment than kudos, especially if the fic really affected them.I get it and I gotchu, fam. 

Anyway, so I left a comment and proceeded to click on the author’s profile to see what else they’ve written. As you do.

I recognized their AO3 icon, even though I didn’t recognize the name. I’d seen them around on some Ragnarok wank on tumblr. I went to double-check, and it was the same user, and also they’d blocked me.

I do not know this person. I have never spoken to this person. Yet they’ve gone out of their way to block me, most likely bc I associate with the anti-Ragnarok crowd. This happens to me a lot. I’ve even had a couple of former mutuals unfollow and block me (without saying anything to me) and those felt like punches to the gut.

I understand not wanting to see content that you don’t like or that upsets you. Everyone has the right to block whomever they wish. But I can’t deny that getting blocked like that – by someone I don’t know, let alone interact with – fucking hurts. I know it’s not that deep but I can admit it. It’s a shitty feeling and it’s hard not to take it personally.

It’s not really about this particular person at all, although it’s a shame bc they’re a good writer I probably would have followed otherwise. But this entire anti/pro Ragnarok war has gone so far and it’s exhausting. I stayed pretty neutral for as long as I could. 

And here’s the thing. My observations, both from being neutral and also being someone who, despite often being quietly blocked, tends to fly under the radar are this:

The majority of the negativity comes from the pro side.

Look, I side with and agree with the anti side on this one. I can admit, however, that sometimes it gets tiresome to see posts get turned into Ragnarok criticism or tiresome to see more posts on my dash about this that or another thing that sucks about Ragnarok and why. It, like anything, can be tiring.

But I also see that the anti side largely does its best to keep to itself. The pro side complained about the Ragnarok tags, so the anti side made an anti tag, and the pros still come into it to complain. The anti side will post their discussions and criticisms and they largely just circulate within the same group of people. The discussions are almost always criticisms on the source material (ie, the film) and not about anyone who enjoys it.

Now, maybe I don’t see everything. Though I don’t think I’m biased just bc I agree with the anti side – in fact, it was these attributes that made me take a closer look at what they were saying bc maybe they had a point after all. I don’t follow every anti Ragnarok user, but I do follow a lot. I can’t say personal attacks and whatever never happen - but, I hardly ever see them.

That’s not the case with the pro side. I don’t think I follow many from that side, but I see so much negativity from them. It’s like this kind of underhanded negativity that I’m not quite sure how to explain. It’s tonal negativity. 

I mean, sometimes it’s blatant. Name-calling (Loki stans, lackeys, pathetic, delusional, and racist come to mind) is an example. But more than that, there’s this collective tone among the pro side that smacks of condescension and I can’t stand it.

They make fun of the “dissertations” that have been written.

They always include an “lol” or laugh emoji or something to express that they’re not the ones taking this seriously.

They fall back on saying they don’t care about a two-year-old movie.

They’re laughing and making fun and at the same time acting like they’re so above it all.

They want us to just shut up already.

What it comes down to is this: it’s not just a matter of being able to agree to disagree because the pro side actively acts offended that the antis are even having these critical discussions, even if the antis have gone out of their way to not involve the rest of the fandom at all.

(Again, this is not every pro person, but the majority. Tone does matter online, and the overall tone of the pro side is not positive. I say this from a mostly neutral place.)

And here’s a thing about “oh my god, it came out two years ago, get over it!” Yeah, it came out two years ago. So fucking what? You guys are still engaging with it, via fics and headcanons and art. How old the movie is doesn’t matter when you’re having fun with it, but when someone wants to engage with it in a (valid) critical way that you don’t like? No. That’s unacceptable. That’s pathetic. That’s being a lackey. Get over it.

Even writing this, I know that things are much worse for others than they are for me. I get stealth blocked; others are called out by name in public posts, receive anon hate, and are actively targeted.

It’s just, this shit is so fucking toxic to this fandom and it honestly needs to stop. Both sides need to not only stop engaging one another, but also stop acknowledging one another. We get it: you either like the movie or you don’t.

Let people do their own thing. Don’t be fucking obnoxious. If you disagree and genuinely want to talk about it, then try to remember there’s a person on the other side of the screen and be civil. If you disagree and don’t want to talk about it, then just fucking don’t.

If you see a post you disagree with, scroll past. And, yes, block the person if you need to (and sometimes it might be me that needs blocking and I recognize my hurt feelings are my own personal problem, not whoever else’s).

There are a lot of movies in the MCU that are not perfect. (Btw, it baffles me a little to get hated on for my stance on Ragnarok, when I am so much more vocal [and emotionally invested] in hating the Russos and IW/Endgame – but, whatever.) There are a lot of interpretations of characters that are different. There are a lot of people who project their own identity or issues or whatever onto any particular character that resonates (and that’s okay!) and there are a lot of people who don’t project but still identify with a particular character (and that’s okay, too).

Stop judging whether someone is a “real” fan of a character/franchise or not. Just because someone isn’t engaging with the source material in the way you are, and just because they don’t see it in the same way that you do, does not make them wrong. (Yes, this applies to the pro side, too. None of them are wrong or less valid for enjoying and even stanning the movie.) It doesn’t make anyone better than anyone else here. 

Acting otherwise is honestly going to kill this fandom. Because it bleeds over. Fics will have less readers, bc they don’t want to interact with something posted by someone they dislike (or who blocked them). There’s less sharing of things like art and headcanons and content. People unfollow and block each other, people are having to watch what they say, people are losing friends (and potential friends) bc they may be a great person but they don’t agree with you about fucking Ragnarok.

I came to tumblr bc it was the only place where not only could I find other people who loved Loki as much as I did, but it was the only place where I could express that. Express it in fic, in headcanons, in meta. Being creative and starting dialogues and just interacting. I wish we could get that vibe back.

I wish none of this bothered me so much.

#again #please do not reblog this #i wanted to get this off my chest #i don't want this post to start any fucking wank #please excuse my lack of tags #i am sorry #heed the trigger warning at the top

[thenightling]

Preemptive Strike: Why Delirium is NOT ableist (because I probably will have to defend her when the Sandman series  comes out)

I have a bad feeling that with posts circulating about Wanda being problematic just because she faced Transphobia, and others calling Cain problematic (he’s supposed to be...)  that I might need to write this in advance.

Little Delirium if The Endless is Not ableist.

Each Endless represents an aspect of sentient life.  There are seven in all. Destiny, Death, Dream, Destruction, Desire, Despair, and little Delirium.  Each represents it’s aspect and the direct opposite.  

Delirium isn’t a character created to mock people with mental illness.  Heavily based on the goddess Mania (from Greek Mythology), in fact that was who she was to the Ancient Greeks, Delirium represents the state of delirium.  Delirium is a disorientation or confusion, often associated with hallucinations and incoherence.  It can come about from some forms of mental illness but it can also be the result of intoxication, lack of sleep, or extreme emotional distress. 

As Delirium represents the state of mental delirium she also represents mental clarity, sobriety, awareness.   Each Endless also represents their own opposite.  Destiny = Free will, Death = Life, Dream = Reality, Destruction = Creation (or the balance that is change), Desire = Hate, Despair = Hope.   Delirium = Awareness.    

Delirium used to be Delight so the implication is thousands of years ago her transformation was the result of some unspoken trauma.   

Delirium is not a cruel character, nor is she a parody.  Her condition treated as comedic. It’s simply how she is.   Delirium, in general, is very kind.   During Sandman: Brief Lives you find all she really wants is to be reunited with a lost sibling, Destruction.

Delirium is possibly the wisest of The Endless even if she might need a little help and guidance of her own from time to time.   

The cruelest thing we’ve ever seen her do is when she cursed a Highway patrol officer to see and feel insects crawling all over himself as punishment for yelling at her, being rude, and as she perceived it, mean.   

Delirium is generally sweet, and she does not like people who are rude, loud, or mistreat women.   

I’m only posting this now because I know that someone, somehow, some way will be offended by her very existence. 

I know there’s a weird motto here on Tumblr that “If you have to defend something as not being ‘ist’ it probably is” but here’s the thing.  I’ve seen too many false “Ableist” comments here on Tumblr.

I am visually impaired.  I have very poor eyesight.  It is considered borderline legally blind.  It’s optic nerve based. (Glasses will not help.)  I can read, can detect color very well.  I just can’t read fine print or see distance very well.  I’m very, very near sighted.   I will never be allowed to drive.  

As a child I dealt with some very real ableism.  In Kindergarten I was allowed on the old rusty jungle gym on the playground but for some reason they thought I would fall off the nice wooden one that all my friends played on.    

A song of  “Three blind (My last name here)” sung by other kids became a thing.   And “Oh, say can (my first name here) See…” (to the National Anthem).  At one point my bookbag was stolen and turned up later with the word “Cyclops” sprawled across it in permanent marker.    THIS is Ableism.

Now for what Tumblr does to the term:  

So when I see Tumblr posts ranting that Daredevil (Matt Murdock) is Ableist for calling Punisher crazy I get a little annoyed.   If a blind man calls another man crazy for killing people that’s NOT the blind man being ableist!  “But… But ‘Crazy is an offensive word!”  Pardon the blind guy, who was being chained up by a serial killer, for not being sensitive enough to gently say “mentally ill” at that exact moment.  

Here on Tumblr I was calling Ableist for saying that Rumplestiltskin (who walks with a limp and a cane) in the TV show Once Upon a Time, has a disability.  The reason?   Apparently it’s because the character smashed his own ankle and since he did it to himself that means the character forfeits the right to be considered as having a disability.  And so it’s Ableist to say he has a disability.  

Neil Gaiman was called Ableist on here for correcting the typo of an antisemite who sent him an anti-Jewish rant, somehow unware that Neil Gaiman is Jewish.   HOW the Hell does it count as ableist to correct the typo of an anti-semite?   It’s not just the disabled who make typos and many (with eyesight problems or dyslexia or even learning disabilities) prefer to be corrected, they don’t want mistakes left alone. It’s embarrassing, more embarrassing than being corrected, for most of us.

Guillermo del Toro was called ableist for having the mute character in The Shape of Water end up with the aquatic man (even though he turns out to be a God…)

He was also called ableist for not casting a real deaf girl in the role, even though the character is mute, not deaf, and finding a mute actress who can dance, swim, and has no modern accoutrements to compensate, uses ASL (American Sign language specifically), and fits the physical body type Guillermo del Toro wanted, is pretty rare.  And I have yet to come across an actual mute person complain about this.  Just able-bodied people bitching in self-righteousness on behalf of those who never asked for it and often LIKE the movie.

“But the disabled girl ended up with a monster!”  No, the woman with a disability ended up with a God.   She had no interest in human men.  And it had nothing to do with her disability.    

My point is when you throw around the term this loosely (and it’s usually perfectly able bodied people doing it, thinking they’re doing a favor to those with disabilities) the term starts to get diminished and lose meaning.

So I sincerely HOPE we won’t get “Delirium is ableist!” complaints when the Sandman series starts but I know this site too well at this point…

#Neil Gaiman's The Sandman #Delirium of The Endless

[myownpersonaldemons]

Self-Tober Prompt 5

Switch

Sans/Reader

Sorry for the late posting! This one took a while to think of the direction I wanted to take with it. I’m not really happy with how it turned out but it is what it is, I supposed. Anyways! Here we go!

You were elbow deep in dishwater, when the lights flickered rapidly and then cut out. The small amount of light still left in the day barely lit up the kitchen, and you sighed heavily. Sans had gone down to fiddle with the machine in the basement. He had said he was looking at disconnecting it for good...but he wasn’t ready to give up. You remember asking him what it was for and you remember that he told you...but you couldn’t remember what he had said? It was a blank hole in your memory almost, and the more you tried to think of it the harder it was to remember.

Sans probably blew a fuse or something.

Hopefully, it hadn’t fucked up the neighbourhood's electricity again. You had people giving you dirty looks for a week after that happened the last time, and Sans had promised to reroute it off the main energy grid.

You abandoned the dishes because you totally can’t do them in the dark. They could stand to soak anyways.

You hated it when it was dish duty night for you.

“Sans?” you called out drying your hands off on the towel over your shoulder, “What happened?”

There was a muffled oath before you heard him thudding up the stairs. You furrowed your brow slightly. That...was heavier than Sans normally was, and he rarely walked up the stairs. You were more startled by the sound of him walking up the steps rather than just teleporting up to the kitchen.

“uh...i was rerouting it like i told ya i was going to,” he said behind you.

“Should I light candles? Or can you fix the electricity tonight? If not we did buy the portable heater so I don’t get too cold tonight,” you said, shifting into a mumble at the end as you switched to talking to yourself. Without turning to look at him, you turned on the flashlight on your phone and headed towards the living room. Where did you put it in the spring? One of the closets...

“so...uh...we might have a bigger problem?” he said, voice sounding a bit strained.

Crap. Was this going to cost you two? You turned around, resigned to the fate of having to dip into your mutual savings account.

Instead of a skeleton standing behind you, as you were expecting, there was a fully fleshed human.

You instantly screamed and tripped over your own feet in your haste to dart backwards.

Where the hell was Sans and why was there a human in your house? Well...other than yourself!

“h-hey! babe, it’s okay it’s me,” Sans’ voice came out of the human as his hands reached towards you.

“What the hell?” you whispered, shuffling further away from the man’s hands.

“i don’t know?” the man admitted, dropping into a crouch in front of you, hands resting on his knees. He paused, staring down at his hands for a moment before he shivered and removed his hands. “that’s really weird.”

“What the hell?” you said a bit louder, and he glanced over and reached towards you again but you moved further away.

“babe. it is me. uh...you were embarrassed to wear anything besides pants in front of me because you have a skull tattoo on the side of your lower leg,” he tapped on your leg and then grinned at you, “the first time we boned you got all flustered cus I kept making skull puns when I was-“

You kicked at him lightly, “s-shut up.”

“there we go,” he chuckled, and then straightened and held out his hand towards you. “i...don’t know how this happened but i’ll figure it out.”

For a moment, you just stared at his hand but then you sighed. This was Sans...even if he was a human. You took his hand, and you both didn’t move for a moment. “That’s...weird,” you grumbled but allowed him to pull you to your feet. He didn’t let go of your hand but squeezed it lightly and his head tilted. “What?”

“you feel different s’all,” he explained, squeezing again and then smoothing his thumb over your head. You shivered.

“So do you, and it’s weird,” you insisted, “Get all used to your bones touching me and now it feels...weird.”

He chuckled, “really weird.”

Now that you weren’t in a panic, you actually assessed your boyfriend. He was still the same height but just fleshed out. His shirt looked like it was a bit too tight since it had been bought for nothing but bones. His hoodie still fight, and his baseball shorts as well since they were both loose on his frame anyways. You were suddenly glad that it was him who had turned human and not Papyrus, his clothes would’ve probably cut off circulation if he had switched species.

Wait...had it only affected Sans? Or could it have affected more?

“Uh...Sans?” you interrupted his focus on feeling up your hand and arm. His eyes flicked up to yours, a bright blue. “W-Would this affect others?”

A beat.

“crap.”

He stared at you for a second longer.

“shit.”

“What?” you asked, frowning.

A nervous look crossed over his face, “uh...can’t teleport.”

“Oh,” you hummed, “we could just...phone Paps?”

He nodded, but there was still a sense of nervousness washed over him as you bent down and picked up your phone. You could tell he was impatient as you quickly dialled Papyrus’ number, but then he placed a hand on your elbow.

“if he’s good, don’t tell him anything,” Sans whispered, “i don’t want to freak him out.”

You frowned slightly but nodded. There were times when Sans was just too much of a protective elder brother, and you thought that this was one of the times when it wasn’t necessary. What if Sans couldn’t go back to being a monster and was a human forever? Papyrus would eventually find out and be disappointed and hurt that Sans hadn’t told him immediately. However, you’d pester your boyfriend into telling his brother at a later date. Right now, you were just going to do as he requested.

Papyrus’ voice came over the phone boisterous and loud as always saying your name warmly. “HOW ARE YOU?”

“I’m good, Paps, how’re you?” you asked, trying to keep your tone as neutral as possible. Sans’ hand hadn’t left your elbow yet, fiddling with the fabric.

“I’M DOING GREAT! I WAS ACTUALLY JUST ABOUT TO TEXT YOU AND SANS AS FRISK IS WANTING TO HAVE OUR MONTHLY ANIME SLEEPOVER NIGHT TOMORROW!” Papyrus said, happily, “CAN YOU LET HIM KNOW?”

“Ah, yup! I can do that. He’s uh....working right now,” you said, shifting your phone to your other hand and lightly whacking Sans’ hand away from your elbow as it was getting ticklish.

“OH! THE MACHINE?” Papyrus said, and you blinked in surprise. Sans had told you that Papyrus wasn’t aware of the machine. Maybe that had changed? You glanced over at Sans but he didn’t seem to have heard what Papyrus had said, and was tugging at his shirt uncomfortably. Maybe you had an oversized sleep shirt that he could borrow? All of his shirts would be too small.

“Yeah?” you said, more of a question than a statement.

Papyrus huffed, “I DON’T KNOW WHY HE’S STILL WORKING ON THAT OLD THING. BUT THAT’S JUST ME. ANYWAYS! WHAT DID YOU WANT TO TALK ABOUT?”

“Oh! Right...uh, I was actually just calling to...” you trailed off, mind going blank. Sans quickly pointed towards the kitchen. “Uh...invite you over for dinner tomorrow? But since uh...we’re going to Frisk’s tomorrow for the sleepover,” you gave Sans a pointed look, “I guess we’ll see you tomorrow anyway.”

Papyrus was quiet for a moment, “HM. ALRIGHT! I WILL TEXT YOU WITH THE TIME! I’LL SEE YOU TOMORROW!”

“Yeah, see you, Paps,” you said, albeit a little distractedly as Sans had decided to strip off his hoodie and shirt. You waited for Papyrus to say his goodbyes before hanging up. “Why are you stripping?”

“the shirt’s way too tight,” he complained, tossing it onto the couch. You looked at it pointedly. “i’ll pick it up later.”

“Yeah, you gotta go fix the machine or figure out a way to tell everyone why you’re a human,” you said and then poked him in the belly. He jerked away immediately and lightly smacked your hand away.

“this is too weird,” he mumbled, and then ran a hand through his hair and flinched at the feeling. “how do you have hair?”

You shrugged, and then turned your flashlight back on, on your phone. “Stop asking questions and go fix the machine. Or...get the power working. I want to take a shower and I’d rather not do that in the dark.”

He nodded, before getting distracted by something. Then he shivered and shook his head.

“What?” you asked, “another weird new sensation?”

A hesitant nod.

“What?” you prodded, poking his belly again and he flinched away. Giving you a deadpan look.

“nothin’, don’t worry about it,” he waved a hand before yanking on his hoodie and heading back into the basement. You picked up his shirt, because he wasn’t going to pick it up later, and headed up the stairs. There wasn’t much to do in the dark, and it was getting late...so if he didn’t get the power up and running you’d just have to wake up extra early in the morning to shower.

So, you tossed his shirt into the hamper and then dropped down on the bed.

After an hour of playing games on your phone, you were down to 5% battery, and so you lit some candles and then got changed for bed for the night, and then picked up the book you had been slowly reading through.

Another hour passed before the bedroom door opened, Sans walked in still very human. He flicked on the bedroom light and you squinted.

“Little warning next time,” you grunted before closing your book, “So? Is my bonefriend going to be just a boyfriend from now on?”

He sighed, “the machine has to do a reset. apparently whatever happened not only blew the house fuses but it also blew the backup generator that the machine had been plugged into. shut it down completely. it’ll be ready tomorrow.”

You nodded, “So, did you learn your lesson about fiddling with the machine too much?”

Sans gave you a blank look before unzipping his hood and hanging it on the doorknob. “Nah, just taught me what not to do.”

You snorted, “that’s relieving.”

Without replying he walked over to the dresser and pulled out his own pyjamas. He held up a shirt for a moment before shoving it back inside the drawer and decided to go just pants tonight. You blew out the candle on your bedside table and returned to watching him. When he pulled off his baseball shorts you immediately flushed and looked away sharply.

“oh. right. that’s a thing,” Sans said with a slight embarrassed chuckle. You didn’t look at him until he turned off the light and then crawled into bed beside you.

For a moment, neither of you moved, and then he shifted closer to you. When you felt skin brush against your arm you jumped in surprise and he froze. Neither of you said anything as he pulled his hand away.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, feeling the sadness ebbing off of your boyfriend. “It’s weird?”

“i know,” he mumbled into his pillow, “jus’ wanna cuddle.”

Your heart clenched immediately and you scooted over to him and wrapped your arm around him, ignoring the weird sensation of hugging a fleshy being instead of a bony one. You pressed a kiss into his hair, again ignoring the surprising sensation of hair. “I love you,” you muttered against the side of his head, “and because of that I’m finding this weird. It’s like...you’re still you but when you touch me my mind isn’t processing it as you?”

He nodded, and then slowly turned onto his side and cuddled against you. “love ya too.”

“If you’re stuck this way...I’ll get used to it. I got used to your bony form, didn’t I?” you said softly, “because I love you.”

He nodded against you, and you gently ran your fingers through his hair. The two of you didn’t say anything for a while, just held each other under the safety of the covers. Then, slowly, Sans lifted his head from where he had tucked it against your neck, and looked up at you.

“would it be weird...if i kissed you?” he asked, voice so soft if the room hadn’t been dead quiet already you probably wouldn’t hear it.

“Yeah,” you admitted, and before his face could fall with disappointment you pressed your lips to his. He melted against you, hand stroking your side as you slowly deepened the kiss. You weren’t about to let your boyfriend go to sleep upset with himself because of you. He cut the kiss off way sooner than normal, and you realized as he panted that he wasn’t used to needing to breathe. You grinned at that, and couldn’t help but tease him, “normally you’re the one leaving me breathless.”

He simply grinned, “air you sure? cus i’m normally always breathless.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. He was making jokes again so he wasn’t as upset as before. You peppered his face with kisses making him snort out a laugh. “I love you,” you said once again, kissing his nose. “As weird as your fleshiness is.”

“says the normally fleshy one,” his fingers dug into your side slightly, not painfully but just enough to remind you that you were indeed also a fleshy individual.

“You like my fleshiness,” you teased and pressed against him a bit more firmly. He blushed at that, and you grinned triumphantly. His hand trailed down your side slightly and you caught his wrist before it could get too far. “Uh-uh, bud, none of that. You said cuddle so that’s what we’re doing.”

He pouted, actually pouted and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Not until we know how real this body is,” you said, kissing the corner of his mouth, “because human bodies aren’t like monsters after all.”

He sighed and cuddled back up against your neck, pressing a kiss to your collar bone. “fine,” he grumped, “just a bigger motivation to fix the machine.”

“I’ll love you no matter what, but making love? We’ll have to work up to that with this body,” you admitted and he huffed against your throat.

“love you,” he mumbled.

You smiled and pulled the covers further up his form.

You weren’t lying. This was Sans, and you’d love him regardless of how he looked. Your gross gremlin of a boyfriend...but you can’t say you wouldn’t miss his skeleton form. It had grown on you too much over the past three years. You kissed the top of his head.

You just hoped that he could switch back before tomorrow or anime night would turn into ‘LET’S DISCUSS KEEPING SECRETS FROM US, SANS’ night. Which happened a lot more than you would’ve thought since Sans had moved in with you.

But, that was a problem for future you. Right now? You were warm, cuddled, and falling asleep.

Future you could also deal with waking up in the fleshy arms of a man and not the bony arms you were used to.

Again, a future you problem.

#fanfiction #fanfic #myfanfics #my fanfics #undertale fanfiction #sans/reader #selftober #self insert #reader insert

[sweetdeathwrites]

silent night

Summary: Holiday shopping is always stressful, but somehow, Gokudera managed to finish shopping even with the added responsibilities of his duties as right hand man to Tsuna and the organization of the annual Vongola-Varia holiday party. Still, Gokudera can't shake the feeling that he's missing something... and he hates not knowing.

[23 year old!Gokudera Hayato/Reader] Warnings: angst, doubt, self-hatred, guilt.... the full package baby! plus some sexual innuendo/referenced sexual situations

Word Count: 6,253

(reposted [crossposted? idk what that means...] from my Luna/AO3 account!)

(Original author’s note and details:

[a gift for dark_wing19 in the 2018 Holiday Fic Trade!! Happy Holidays and I hope you enjoy!] A/N: Happy Holidays, Merry Christmas if you celebrate that, and Happy New Year! This was so incredibly fun to write and I never really pegged myself as the type of person to enjoy writing holiday fic!! I mention a few times about the Vongola having a Holiday party instead of a Christmas party because I wanted to be respectful of all readers, but also because don’t you think the Vongola would do just that?? I can imagine the Vongola and Varia getting into arguments about how to celebrate everyone’s holidays without having multiple parties because, as we all know, parties that extend well into hundreds of people are no doubt expensive, but more importantly, the Vongola and Varia are very busy people! And all that plane fare for those groups going from one place to the other?? That would just break the bank! I like to imagine the top bosses (yes, I’m including Dino) gathering together and deciding that they will all have one big party together, and celebrate every holiday and religious day that occurs within the season! I think the bosses can be very reasonable when it comes to parties. This fic is for dark_wing19!! I’m really sorry about the wait, I had this almost done by Dec 24th and planned to post on Christmas but time got away from me and blah blah blah… It IS still technically within the deadline so I hope you didn’t wait too long! I tried to use all prompts, “In search of the perfect gift,” “All I want for Christmas is you,” “Sometimes the best gifts aren’t materialistic,” and “It’s the thought that counts!”. Hope you enjoy it! It got weirdly angsty for a hot sec so sorry about that lol I imagine Gokudera and the gang are older in here, but not quiet 10YL! Yet. Maybe they’re 23?)

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It’s that time of the year again. Bells are ringing, children play in the freshly fallen snow, and the storefronts sparkle with unbeatable, slashed deals. It’s twilight, and Christmas trees and light decorations shine warmly in nearby parks, leaving the general feeling of contentedness twisting in the air. Couples walk down the street, arm in arm, blushing with a gentle passion as their little intimate bubbles of love remain unburst by the slow muddle of foot traffic. The one, teensy, ashen little smudge on the eve of the most magical time of the year is currently pushing against traffic, through lovebirds who squawk in protest and annoyance, and stepping in wide arcs much too harshly, crunching and slushing freshly fallen snow. Children complain and some throw feeble snowballs, but they all miss (did they want to deal with the consequences of if, by some terrible, unlikely miracle, they hit him?). Big, poisonous clouds of smoke curl out from his nostrils like some sort of fairy tale dragon, and lovers and young ones alike know to stay clear from him. This man is Gokudera Hayato.

Gokudera has his mind on other things, though. Right now, he’s thinking of his boss and friends– the people he’s been calling his family for years. He’s marking down everyone he’s gotten presents for and which gift wrap would suit them the best (because of course he’s going to color code them– how could he not?), all the while shouldering his way back to his shared apartment with you. Finally, his gift shopping was over! It was long and hard, with a famiglia as big as his, but the famous Smoking Bomber got through it all, even if he was cutting it a little close to the deadline! Confident in his memory, Gokudera checks his mental list (more than twice, in fact) to be sure everyone is accounted for. He is proud of himself for this, which isn’t something he can say about everything he does.

“Tsuna’s got a new watch, tie, and cologne set… Baseball idiot has a gift card to that stupid milk-based snack store and knife sharpening stones… Even Turf-Top has tickets to a boxing tournament… Lambo… that kid’s got candy… Who else…?” Gokudera murmurs to himself as he trods home, weary and eager to put down the multitude of bags that have been digging pale, red indents into his skin for the past few hours, cutting off circulation and making his already sour attitude almost unbearable. Gokudera hoists the paper straps higher up his forearms and regrips the about dozen in his hands with a new intensity: just a few more minutes and he would be home. Home with you– a hot chocolate in his hands, some soft holiday music playing in the background, and a blanket wrapped around him and the most lovely little minx he’s ever seen in his life: you! By now, the pile of presents under the Holiday tree (named so, by all of the Vongola to respect every member’s religion and beliefs!) must be taller than the tree itself!

Gokudera has hardly had a second to take for himself in the past few weeks, consumed by business and his duties as Tsuna’s right hand man, not to mention organizing the Vongola Holiday Hullabaloo (named by popular vote in order to be truly inclusive, and also, perhaps to be just the slightest bit silly. Gokudera can’t say it with a serious face. The Vongola family uses every possible chance to make him say it.) single handedly. Maybe the single handedly part was Gokudera’s own fault, as he stubbornly refused help from anyone… But besides that, and the gift buying, Gokudera sighs with the relief that comes from finally finishing all his tasks. Now that he has a second to himself, Gokudera can’t help but wonder what may lie under the Holiday tree for him… Maybe you got him some new jewelry, or perhaps a piece of technology from Giovanni that would allow him to modify his boxes with even more firepower! Or maybe a coupon for a couple’s massage excursion– no, a full on spa day together? With that thought, Gokudera takes a deep, slow breath.

Calm down, boy, he thinks to himself, Don’t get excited over what you don’t know.

In truth, Gokudera has been rather stressed lately. He misses the time he had, before this chaotic season, that he spent with you.

In his thoughts, everything seems perfect. Gokudera’s fantasizing about hurrying home and collapsing in your arms is a bit dramatic– what else can be expected of him?– but there’s something bothering him… Something at the back of his mind that just gnaws and gnaws until suddenly, but building ever so slowly, there are big holes of anxiety in his brain like swiss cheese. What the hell is missing?

“Shit,” Gokudera mumbles. He finally moves away from impeding pedestrian traffic and finds a small bench where he can rest his feet for a bit, but more importantly, riffle through his purchases. He feels like something’s missing. It’s a feeling he absolutely hates.

“Tsuna, Yamamoto, Ryohei, Lambo, Mukuro and Chrome, Hibari, Kyoko, Haru, Big Sis, some smaller stuff for the Varia… A box of chocolates for Tsuna’s Maman… Reborn…”

The more Gokudera digs through dozens of paper bags, the harder a feeling of emptiness sets in. His brow furrows as he counts every gift once more, grinding the butt of his nearly smoked out cigarette between his teeth.

What the hell is missing?

Feeling the frustration build, he pulls out his pack and lights another cigarette, rubbing out the used one on the bench. Gokudera fumbles around in his winter coat for a lighter he knows is in there and bites the fresh cigarette between his teeth. After coming up empty, he drops the rest of the bags the were weighing on his wrists to search his other pocket– he knows he has his lighter in there somewhere!

Gokudera’s fingers find it in the downy inner pocket of the overcoat, next to a small, but very important box that he’s kept in there for a few months, blunt nails bumping against smooth plastic that he’s so familiar with. The muscles around his mouth tug in what you, his darling beloved would call a slight smile; strangers that hurriedly pass him might call it different. The hunched man seated on a bench in the snow, surrounded by too many bags for a single man to carry, glaring pure heat indiscriminately at everything that moves would be more inclined to call that a grimace, or less politely, a full out snarl. However, the relief and joy Gokudera feels just grabbing the lighter make him feel like he’s walking on Cloud Nine.

He pulls it out, strikes the mechanism, and takes a long huff of that little stick of poison. The lighter is pink and covered with worn (or the term Gokudera prefers, “well loved”) stickers of kitties and hearts and cream puffs. You gave it to him on your one-year anniversary, before you realized how much of a problem his smoking habit was and how dangerous the consequences of smoking were. By your second shared anniversary, you totally denounced smoking and your previous gift, instead urging him to wean himself off and maybe start using nicotine patches, or get on prescriptions to help him off smoking.

Gokudera smiles at your concern, and with your help he’s been able to significantly reduce how much he smokes. But old habits die hard and he needs some instant relief right now. Taking another puff and feeling the nicotine swim in his lungs, filling him with a familiar sense of ease, he can’t help but feel little wiggling worm of guilt for smoking not just one, but two cigarettes in a single day. It’s been stressful, he tries to placate himself. Gokudera wonders how you’ll take the strong smell of ash on his mouth when you kiss him to welcome him home.

You kissing him is one of his favorite activities to do with you– among many others– and he wonders if you’ll abstain from that lovely affection again like you did when he last smoked this much in a day…

He doesn’t want to miss out on a single moment of your love.

Of a single moment of you.

Gokudera shakes off the build of ash that collects on the red tip of the cigarette. A little bead of recognition is rolling up into his brain, slowly, so very slowly… He takes another long puff and goes cross eyed watching that little scarlet circle rush towards the filter…

You.

“SHIT!” Gokudera vaults off the park bench, startling several passersbys and some mothers cover their children’s ears. Caring nothing for the delicate sensibilities of the general public, Gokudera scoops up all his purchases and runs back into the fray of holiday shopping in a panic.

A million gift ideas have come and gone through his head through the entire month of December, and for that whole month he’s pondered and entertained the idea of gifts, then rejected it with thoughts of “No, that’s too cheesy” or “Can’t get them that, that’s way overdone,” only to eventually forget that he failed to get you anything at all.

Gokudera feels overly warm in his winter coat– suddenly, he remembers you were the one to buy it for him and why was it that you seemed to buy him all his favorite things?– and all around him it seems shops are closing their doors and turning over their cursive “We’re Open!” signs.

He runs up to a glassware store with tea sets in the display window– you like tea cups and those cute little spoons, right?– just as a teenaged employee turns off the display lights. He meets eyes with the teen and there must be a wild desperation in his eyes because she reaches for the lock on the door to let him in, but a yell from behind the young worker causes her to jump and turn away from Gokudera.

His heart is pumping loud enough he can hear it in his ears and feel the pulse high in his throat as he silently begs that something just fell over in the store. No managers here, no siree.

To his greatest dismay, the girl turns back to him, with the deepest pity in her eyes, and her hand falls away from the lock. Green eyes are reflected back to Gokudera in the glass door and he sees just how pale and panicked he looks. Through that, the girl in the closed store frowns and shakes her head slowly– no, and I’m sorry.

Breath shakily falls out of Gokudera’s lungs and a hot burn touches his lip and he spits the cigarette he forgot he was smoking to the ground. With a groan, he touches his lip to find it tender, most likely slightly burnt. But he has no time for that. He stomps out the cigarette, in case it didn’t fizzle out in the snow, and turns heel to run around the shopping plaza against, in the desperate hope that some store, any store, is open for him to get you a gift that isn’t absolutely terrible.

He sees a lingerie store across the plaza with its lights still on. Should he… Does he dare?... No time to find out, Gokudera thinks, as he shuffles as fast as he can to the store, the bags around him making the loudest and most embarrassing sound he’s ever heard in his life.

It’s the sound of the dumbest boyfriend in the whole fucking world.

He’s fifty feet away when he considers what sort of boyfriend he is to buy you lingerie for a holiday. On one hand, it’s a sweet, sexy gift that you can wear whenever you want, and he knows you enjoy that. On the other, isn’t it selfish of him to buy you lingerie? After all, you’ll probably be wearing it for him, and in most cases, for hardly ten minutes at a time. Wouldn’t this be more of a gift for him?

He’s thirty five feet away when he considers that, hey, maybe if you don’t like it, he wouldn’t be the worst boyfriend in the world. You would have something as a gift and he could always get you an apology bouquet of roses (“Sorry, I Fucked Up” written in sad, loopy cursive) and a box of bourbon chocolates. Maybe a stuffed animal to boot. Maybe it’s a nice, sexy way of saying how much he loves you, and how much he loves you in the more… physical sense, too.

No, Hayato shakes his head, that’s so stupid.

He’s twenty feet away when he wonders if they have anything in his size. You get dressed up to impress him all the time– why shouldn’t he as well? When you wear anything with lace and silk he feels all hot under the collar… Why can’t he do the same for you? He’s not entirely sure how you would react to him in a lacy bralet and some thigh highs, but if past experience has told him anything, it is more than likely you would pounce on him before he could say anything witty as a hello.

Not even “Is that a gun or are you just happy to see me?” Gokudera thinks to himself in a delirious, out of body way. Nope. Not even that.

“Is it hot in here or is it just you?”

No go, buddy,

“Hello, gorgeous?”

Sure, why not say it with a rose between your teeth, too?

He’s ten feet away when he thinks that, yes, purchasing lingerie for himself would be a nice present for you– maybe he could get a nice red velvet number with a white fur trim to match yours. The emotional bonding of two people, simply lounging around and being in love in lingerie must be rather significant. That skin-to-skin contact, the intimate traces of silk, lace, latex, or even leather?.. That must truly send a shock up the spine, right? It does for him, when you sit on his lap in teasing, almost see-through netting, in that fiery red color of his flame. And with the both of you in lingerie, what sort of gaudy opulence is that!

He’s five feet away when, all on board with his plan, in his mind the most significant barrier to his plan is the size restrictions all stores have. He’s not sure if men’s lingerie even exists, but that’s no matter to him. Gokudera is fully worried on whether or not he can fit the women’s sizes that this store provides. The holiday season must have wiped most of the sophisticated styles from the racks. He can deal with looking a little racy, but will he be able to fit the sizes? Gokudera doesn’t think he has enough time to get his bra sized, or if they even have his band size in stock. If they don’t have any bras that fit him, he supposes he’ll have to settle for a teddy or some sort of sexy contraption that fits around his chest loosely. For the bottoms… Well, he’s seen the underwear you have for special occasions and what’s on display in this shop, and frankly? The goal of the underwear doesn’t seem to be to conceal, so Gokudera thinks he will be fine in whatever he chooses. And he knows you have some lovely garters and stockings he can fit; from previous experiences, both of some sexy, but also of some simply curious endeavors.

He knows he has some high heels that he can wear as well– these are from a mission he had to cooperate with the Varia– Lussuria, in particular– that ended in satisfaction but the details of the mission are things he would rather not remember or talk about. In the end, though, he learned that Lussuria is not as unbearable as he originally thought, that Lussuria might actually be a pretty good friend, and that Gokudera looks damn good as a woman.

Gokudera is standing right in front of the store, face almost pressed to the glass, when he realizes that it is closed and the lights are simply a festive, though confusing, decoration choice. Shit.

The walk back to that sad little park bench is slow and each step fills him with a pitting sense of dread that makes his feet feel they’re chained. Yellow light flickers above him and casts Gokudera’s shadow long and mourning, as the lamp post seems to feed off of his dilemma. Gokudera’s palms press into his too warm eyes and he is completely at a loss for what to do next.

A sudden buzz in his pants pocket scares him out of his misery before he realizes it’s a phone call. After he realizes it’s a phone call, he’s even more scared. He’s sliding the cell out of his pocket when a million thoughts rush through his mind. What if it’s you? Would he lie? No, sweetheart, I have everything under control, don’t worry about a thing. I’m just the absolute worst boyfriend in the world– nothing you didn’t already know. Love you, be home soon.

It’s Tsuna. Gokudera moans in relief and answers.

“Hey, Gokudera, how’s the Hullabaloo coming along?”

“BOSS!” Gokudera shouts into the receiver. A small noise of pain meets him from the other side.

“Y-Yeah?”

“I’m…” hesitation pulls at the right hand man’s voice, “in a bit of a situation.”

Tsuna finally gets the full story out of Gokudera nearly ten minutes later, with many pauses for apologizes and his best friend agonizing about how he forgot the love of his life’s present. Silence falls over the phone when Gokudera takes a deep breath after his explanation.

“Well,” Tsuna’s voice is light and tinny over the call, “you do actually have a present.”

“What?” Gokudera’s brow furrows and his fingers twitch in the craving for another cigarette.

His boss laughs, not condescending, but in a way that gives Gokudera the sense that he’s missing something. And that is a feeling that Gokudera hates very much. Gokudera pulls out the cigarette carton: damn the consequences, he’ll have as many as he wants tonight.

“Hayato,” Tsuna says, “you have a ring.”

At that, all the blood drains from Gokudera’s face leaving him as pale as the snow that surrounds him. Now he really needs a cigarette.

Gokudera swallows and clears his throat after a pause that was longer than it needed to be. “S-So?” he says, and shakily lights what’s clenched too tight between his teeth. It lights but Gokudera doesn’t seem to feel any warmth from it.

“So? So, Hayato, you’ve been sitting on this for months. No, it’s closer to a year now, isn’t it?”

“Well, I– it’s more complicated than that– y-you see–”

“Hayato, you’ve been giving me excuses for months.” A tired sigh comes over the receiver and a quiet moment passes where Gokudera’s eyes lift. Now all the stores are closed and empty. A light, thin snowfall hides footprints just barely and lights in apartment buildings start to disappear. It’s late. He hopes that you’re sleeping, but he hopes even more that you waited for him so he wouldn’t miss holding you close in bed on such a special evening.

“I think it’s time.” Tsuna isn’t pressuring. Tsuna is concerned.

Gokudera takes a big suck from the cigarette and watches the heat from his breath and the nicotine tinged smoke rise white against the dark, velvet lined sky. His voice comes out weak. “I’m not ready.”

“Are you? Are you really?”

Gokudera closes his eyes and buries his head in his hands, fingers pulling at his soft silver hair, the hair you love to run your hands through and wash and brush for him.

“I don’t think I can do it.”

Tsuna snorts, “Of course you can!”

“I’m afraid.”

At that, Tsuna quiets. No one speaks. The man he trusts so implicitly and so completely, the man he found most capable in the world, the man who was his first friend– how could he doubt himself so? How can Tsuna help his best friend when he can’t help himself?

But he can.

They aren’t fourteen anymore. They’re grown. Tsuna has matured into a fine mafia boss, fitting for the Vongola. Fitting for his family. Tsuna is a man now.

“Hayato,” he begins, “it’s okay to be afraid. This is a big commitment. You’ve been thinking about this for years, saving up to buy a ring. Turning it over in your hands at night, right? When you think they’re sleeping and you’re just torn apart by it?” Gokudera laughs softly in reply. His boss– his best friend knows him so well.

“It’s okay to be scared,” Tsuna continues, tone growing rough over the phone. “But don’t you ever fucking say that you’re not ready.”

Gokudera almost swallows his cigarette in shock, choking on the smoke. He can count the times Tsuna has said “fuck” on his fingers. Maybe he would have to use his toes too, but Tsuna hasn’t really sworn much since they were handed their high school diplomas and threw fringed caps in the air.

“Do you think you would have bought a ring if you weren’t ready? That you would have come to ask my blessing, which you’ve always had, if you weren’t ready? Hayato, there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t see love in you. It’s in the way you talk, I can see it in the way you hold yourself. Your eyes, Hayato, I see that love there. It’s not just my intuition, it’s a fact. Don’t you ever doubt yourself about that.”

Gokudera, floored, immediately apologizes, assuming his position as right hand man and subordinate. “I-I’m so sorry, Boss, I didn’t mean–”

“For the love of god, Hayato, shut up!” Tsuna yells, “Don’t disrespect me like this! Don’t disrespect the family like this! Don’t you know how much we believe in you? In your future? How any of us would do anything to help you get a shot at happiness?

“So don’t you dare disrespect us like this. You’re ready, Hayato. Don’t you dare disrespect yourself like this, and don’t you fucking dare disrespect your partner like this.”

The line goes quiet except for Tsuna’s panting and Gokudera doesn’t know what to say.

He’s seen this love for family in Tsuna before, experienced it back in middle school when he almost blew himself to bits to win against the Varia, but it never fails to wipe him out with the depth and sincerity of Tsuna’s love. It’s a love that, to a stranger, could be easily mistaken for rage. But Gokudera is no stranger and he can’t stop the hot tears from spilling over his green eyes, palm pressed firm against his teeth so he Tsuna can’t hear him cry.

“T-Tsuna…” Gokudera manages to croak out, with not much else to say.

“Hayato,” his childhood best friend says in a much quieter voice, “Please stop holding yourself back. You deserve happiness. You’ve protected this family for so long, and we will always protect you… But you deserve to give yourself the chance to start your own family, grow your own happiness. It’s a risk, but please take that chance.”

Tsuna can hear Gokudera sniff on the other side of the line. He smiles.

“Yeah… O-Of course, Tsuna,” Gokudera swallows. “I think I’m ready.”

You’re worried. The clock reads well past midnight and Hayato isn’t home yet.

He left the house in the early afternoon, when the cool winter light hit him so softly and beautifully that you couldn’t help but kiss him goodbye so many times that he had to drag you on the couch and kiss you just as much in return. He promised to try to be home early so that you could bundle up together in front of the fire and plug in the tree lights, pull out hidden presents and put them under the tree. Hayato laughed and said that he wanted to watch holiday movies on the television with you, and yes, even the really awful ones because it was something he said he might actually enjoy if he experienced it with you. He laughs in this soft way around you, a laugh he doesn’t have with anyone else. It’s tender and he has this strange little smile that’s even softer when he looks at you. It could be love. It scared you at first, but you’re certain now, and it’s not so scary when it’s so gentle. You hope it’s love. You love him back.

You’re very worried.

For an hour or three, you passed out in front of the TV in the living room wearing his pajamas that are way too long for you. The spirit of the season made you sentimental, what can you say? But those few hours disoriented you and the sun had long since set. Through the glass windows above the kitchen sink, you can see the snow had started falling again. It had picked up.

Hot chocolate sits on the kitchen counter in lovely holiday mugs that you received as a present one year but the drink has been cool for the better part of an hour now. You don’t feel thirsty with the way things are now.

The small window pane in the front door shakes shrilly in its frame when the wind picks up and you jump. It’s even colder out now. You’re just barely tethering yourself from running headfirst into a panic attack but Hayato hasn’t picked up his phone calls and the last few went straight to voicemail. The house feels bigger without him, lonelier, but so much more claustrophobic as well. It’s the juxtaposition of the fearful, you know, but you can’t quiet those worries of him being stuck somewhere without help, freezing to death in the cold– you should have made him wear those gloves and wrapped that extra cashmere scarf around him as you kissed him goodbye for the second try. What if something bad happened to him? What if the worst happened to him?

You’re nearly burning a hole in the carpet with your pacing, and just as you’re about to call up Tsuna and wake him at an ungodly hour, technically the day of the Vongola Holiday Hullabaloo (you pushed very hard for that name), the front door rattles with the struggle of keys not turning the locks, you all but break down the door.

Gokudera, despite his quiet attempts to enter the house without waking you, curses and can’t seem to get his keys to cooperate and open the damn door. He’s freezing out here, he grumbles to no one in particular. He does say something rather nasty and biting about Jack Frost, though. Maybe the door is so hard to open because his hands are all but pieces of a cadaver with how frozen they are from the elements and refusing his damn gloves you tried to get him to wear earlier, and the combination of the heaviness and multitude of his many shopping bags.

Gokudera gets the shit scared out of him when the door knob flies out of his hand and he’s face to face with the love of his life, who is absolutely pissed the fuck off.

“Hayato!” You hiss, and drag him inside.

He’s startled by your abruptness but you’re wrapped in your favorite blanket from your shared bed and he notices, giddily, you’re wearing his pajamas and they’re just so big on you and you’re just so goddamned cute and–

“I swear! I almost called the cops, Hayato! But I couldn’t, because my man is the bane of their existence, so you know what I was doing? Just worrying my damn head off! If my hair turns gray and all falls out, I’m holding you personally accountable! What were you doing out so late? It’s freezing!” You rant and chastise and shake your head, but you help him put his bags down and take off his coat, putting it over the couch. You take his hands in yours and gasp.

“Jesus, Hayato!” You bring his hands to your mouth and blow hot air on them, rubbing and trying to warm them, “You feel like ice!”

“Tell me about it,” he groans, and leans his full body weight on to you, tipping the both of you over. Luckily, he made sure the couch would be there to catch you.

“Hayato, I’m serious! I was so worried!..” Your voice takes on a wounded edge as you trail away, burying your face into his chest, speckled with stubborn, melting snowflakes. The man above you looks down to see your hair wild from running your hands through it and that makes him uncomfortably guilty. Another feeling he hates, especially when it concerns you.

“Hey, I’m, uh,” he sits up and brings your face up to his. “I’m sorry.”

You don’t say anything but turn your face into his palm and sigh. He smells like ash.

“I lost track of time and Tsuna called me about–” he stops talking. When you look up at him he has a lost, helpless look on him. His hand on your face twitches against your cheek but it doesn’t leave. Hayato clears his throat.

“He, uh, called me about the party tomorrow. Then my phone died, sorry.”

“Hullabaloo,” you remind him, ghost of a smile creeping up your face.

He groans and the atmosphere is suddenly light, and the rest of the room returns in technicolor, high definition, 1080p. The crackle and lovely warm smell of the fireplace greets him and the television plays some god awful Hallmark movie softly. Gokudera finally feels the burn of the cold he’s been out in all night and he bunkers down further on the couch with his arms wrapped around you, pulling you half in his lap and you squeak a bit but don’t protest.

“Whatever,” he grumbles and buries his face in your neck. He missed you.

You squirm in his lap– his nose is cold!– and say, voice full of mischief, “It’s called a Hullabaloo,” and when greeted with another complaint from Gokudera you say more insistently, “What is it called, Hayato, love of my life?”

His hair tickles your neck as he shakes his head and says, in the resigned way only a man that’s hopelessly in love and fighting a losing battle can say–

“Ugh. Fine. It’s a damned Hullabaloo…”

He feels you roll over in his grasp so you straddle his hips and your face is looking up at him, gentle and kind.

“Thank you.”

“You’re not welcome.”

Within a commercial break, Hayato is settled in and donning a new set of sleepwear, snug and warm on the couch, and you have hot chocolate and sugar cookies in spades. He’s got an arm around you and you are all but tangled in him. You can hear his heartbeat in his chest, faster than normal, and it’s concerning but the debacle you were faced for the past few hours has exhausted you and the low, dancing lights from the Christmas tree lull you to a happy sleep. The both of you know you won’t be awake in a few moments.

“Hayato?”

“Yeah, babe?”

He feels your breath warm against his exposed collar and it’s almost as nerve wracking as it is a comfort. He’s all too aware of that little box in his coat, just behind the two of you to his right, slung over the couch. It’s the heaviest little box in the world, he’s sure.

“I was really worried. I thought something happened to you…”

“I know,” Hayato whispers and places a kiss on your temple, petting your hair. “And I’m so sorry. Really.”

“I know,” you reply back in a quiet voice.

You add on, as sleep has made you embarrassingly and so emotionally raw, “All I really want is you, Hayato… ”

The couple on the television kiss and orchestral Christmas music swells: the credits roll to the sound of a remixed, pop version of holiday classics. It’s really a pain to witness. Hayato can tell you’re trying your hardest not to drift away when you ask a question that freezes him up.

“Are you really okay?” you ask, pressing your ear to his chest, mumbling, “Your heart’s beating so fast…”

Gokudera coughs a little, then belatedly hopes that you can’t smell the ash on his breath. He knows you noticed he’s smoked, and smoked a lot, but you haven’t said anything about it. He’s grateful you’ve given him that small mercy.

“Yeah, just, uh,” he sighs, running his hands through your hair, “We can talk about it tomorrow.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Another Hallmark movie begins and the snow outside drifts to the ground, calm and steady. You’ll wake up to a beautiful, snowy Christmas morning, then go to the Vongola-Varia Holiday Hullabaloo (damn you for making him think it…), and be surrounded by friends and family. A truly memorable night indeed.

Your body leans heavily on Hayato and when he’s sure that he’s sure you’re asleep, he carefully reaches behind him, fumbles with his coat, and nearly drops the ring box on your head when he takes it out.

You’re damn right I’m not okay, I’m scared as fuck, he thinks, opening the box and running the flat of his thumb over the smooth parts of the silver ring. He didn’t want to get you anything too gaudy, but it’s still rather dramatic and pretty (just like me, he thinks in a detached humor). He knows you’ll like it. He hopes you’ll love it.

Pressing another kiss to your head, Gokudera takes a deep, steadying breath. Of course you’ll love it, he reminds himself– if Tsuna can see it, it has to be true. He knows, deep down, that you’ve been waiting for this for a long time. You’ve been ready for a long time. He’s finally ready, too. He thinks of a plan, as responsible as he is, but he knows it’ll all go to shit the moment he opens his mouth.

In the morning, you’ll wake up to soft winter light, and Hayato on one knee in front of you in pajamas; you’ll laugh at first, disoriented and sure you’re in a dream. Then he’ll make a little speech, fingers itching for a cigarette and instead occupying one hand on your thigh and one in his pocket, running over the edges of that little box over and over.

You’ll start to get teary, some stupid holiday movie that you love to hate will play in the background, and the lights from the tree will make Hayato look so beautiful, so devastatingly handsome with his heart bared wide open for you like that.

Eventually, you’ll shout yes, and Hayato will cry before you do, and he’s not afraid to admit it. Though Yamamoto will tease him about it, Ryohei will cry too and tell him he’s the most manly guy on the face of the earth. The whole Hullabaloo will be full of congratulations and love, friends and family– and presents.

And Lambo, that son of a bitch, will say, after all that fuss over the ring and marriage, “Wait, the ring is great, but where's the present you got them?"

And Gokudera will knock his lights out– or try his best to.

And you’ll forgive him and kiss him under the mistletoe to calm him down because really, all you want is him.

And the best present he ever could have gotten is you.

Gokudera takes another deep breath, and squeezes the box one more time in his hands before he hides it away safely in his pocket. He kisses your hair one more time before resting his chin on your crown and closing his eyes. Gokudera Hayato falls asleep with a slow burning determination to be the most loving and supportive husband he could possibly be for you. He smiles as he drifts away, dreaming of weddings and honeymoons.

#gokudera hayato #anime fanfic #reborn fanfic #khr fanfic #khr fanfiction #reborn #khr #katekyo hitman reborn #reborn gokudera #gokudera reborn #gokudera hayato/reader #gokudera hayato x reader #fanfic #fanfiction

[silverquillsideas]

Salmon and others were openly discussing rape and talking about drawing rape and there were people in the replies talking about how seeing a “rape drawing” changed the way they consumed content and shipped things (they meant that they liked the rape btw). If she hasn’t gone back to private, you can probably find those for yourself since they’re pretty recent. I thought you seemed nice but I’m really disappointed in you. Will be unfollowing and blocking.

Hello! I was debating on how (if at all) to answer this, since you seem to have already made up your mind to not hear anything further about this issue altogether.

But I do have a few things to say, regardless, because I found specific phrases you used, to be sketchy/unclear at best.

Warning tho : this is going to delve into a discussion of "rape and sexuality" from a real life perspective, since the fandom seems so bent upon drawing parallels to reality and compare fiction and irl examples. If you find that uncomfortable, block the tag "tw:rape" and scroll past.

_____

So, my first point of discussion : "Salmon and others were openly discussing rape and talking about drawing rape"

Putting aside the issue of the subject matter of the threads for a second, I'll focus on the other part : about *posting publicly*. I talked to three separate followers of the twt artist, who also happen to be my tumblr mutuals, and they basically confirmed the same thing : there was no "open discussion", in the sense, that, they did so either on Privatter (assuming you know how it works) or they did in the comment threads on their *personal twitter account*, and only those who were willing to engage in such a discussion, went ahead and joined. They did not encroach on anyone's space and invite them in forcefully.

I'm putting the screenshots of conversation I've had with one of my friends regarding this, and as you can see, none of it was *open for public viewing*

Also, here's the artist's own message that's pinned to their account :

Let me put this in perspective : suppose you're not into kpop (I picked a random example, btw) and find it weird and flamboyant, and you generally avoid it altogether. While scrolling through tumblr, you stumble upon a hardcore kpop blog, you're totally put off by the contents and you complain to your mutuals about how ABC person indulges in kpop and you found it weird and unappealing.

But my point is, there was nothing public about the said blog or account, because, by nature, every blog or account is a person's private space for expression of ideas. Yes, tumblr, twitter and other social media platforms are all *public* in the sense that they are hosted on public domains and anyone with an access to the Internet can stumble upon any website or blog listed therein. But, you, being a responsible, well discerning person, willingly stepped onto a personal blog or acc on which the owner was likely to present their own views, and started complaining about what you found there. Your statement implies, that you willingly browsed through the comment threads until the point you spotted these uncomfortable discussions and you voluntarily exposed yourself to the same.

My second point : "there were people in the replies talking about how seeing a "rape drawing" changed the way they consumed content and shipped things (they meant that they liked rape btw)"

I find it highly confusing how you generalised something as sensitive and complex as psychological behaviour on behalf of a bunch of strangers you never actually interacted with (or confirmed their views on the said matter) and proceeded to label them as "people who liked rape".

What does the statement "liking rape" mean anyway? And, does anyone who talk about or discusses rape, in the context of fanarts and fanfiction, and that too, "rape fantasy" in this case, (but I'll get to it in a moment) automatically becomes someone who likes the act? Or condones it happening in real life, to real people or situations? I'm curious as to which aspect of rape they talked about 'liking' (since your statement implies they explicitly stated so) : was it the pain, the trauma, the physical and psychological stress, or the violence and the sense of dominance over a helpless, real life person?

If you do have an answer supported by evidence, let me know, I'll modify my response gladly.

It brings me to my third point : these artists or the people who commented, were discussing, not about real life rape, but a fantasy situation in which they put two fictional characters together and made a fanart of them (the composition of the art in question is described in the conversation above).

Deriving pleasure from the actual act of rape or sexual violence is a pathological condition and needs medical or psychiatric treatment.

Deriving pleasure or indulging in paraphilic sexual fantasies, however, is not uncommon. I'll redirect you to @iamtrashforash 's post here that describes this issue more coherently. I'll also point you to articles written on PsychologyToday, based on research done on this specific topic of "Rape Fantasy" that I found, and I think everyone should have a look at them :

Article 1

Article 2

If I remember correctly, the actual comment I saw in the screenshot circulating around, regarding the controversy, went something along the lines of "I love seeing Ash's pained face in this situation", and that's what made people lose their minds. There was outrage over "How could you do that with Ash, a CSA survivor? It sends a bad message to them, it's triggering, it's disrespectful, you are disgusting, etc etc."

But, my own conversations with three people who are in real life CSA survivors, two of them who reached out to me in my DMs over the last two days, have given me a very different idea about what these people actually think regarding the art. Here's the hot take : they did not find it disturbing or offensive to themselves personally.

In fact, they pointed out, that they saw it as a fictional scenario, were well aware of the differences between the artist's intent and their potential real life behaviour (FYI, none of them drew the conclusion that either the artist or the people discussing it, "liked rape").

The fact that the comment threads were openly talking about indulging in such a fantasy is what seemed to baffle the more outspoken and outraged people, who proceeded to harass and send hate messages to the creators. But here's the fact : these fetishes have existed for as long as humanity has, and will continue to do so, regardless of whether you crucify a handful of people in a small corner of a fandom or not.

If you're familiar with the yaoi manga genre, or any adult erotica games (I can't cite any examples bc I don't have enough details, but I do know they exist), you'll find a plethora of works where all sorts of fantasy situations are presented : rape is fetishised, there's shape-shifters (vampires or otherwise), A/B/O dynamics, even bestiality. In other words, a major prevalence of themes like dominant, aggressive behaviour contrasted with helpless, passive behaviour as far as sexual situations go. And they are thriving. They have a huge pool of audience out in the world.

Whether these fetishes are "morally right or wrong" to indulge in, is not a question I have any authority to debate, because I'm not a clinical psychologist, or a behavioural scientist.

Personally speaking, I happen to be a demisexual person. Any discussion of sexual situations or scenarios outside of my own very narrow comfort zone or mental compatibility scares the shit out of me. And I find all of the above scenarios I described, as plainly unappealing and downright weird or scary. I will never, as long as I have my faculties in control, go out seeking any of them voluntarily, in either fanarts or fiction.

My point is, this is a complicated issue, I fully acknowledge that beforehand. We, as a fandom, got attached to Ash as a character, for so many different reasons. We all love him, respect him for standing up against all odds, and fighting against his fate all his life. That's the reason why the back-lash against these depictions got so violent, I think. People are more willing to see him heal, to see him make peace with his scars and move on. The general consensus with this line of thought was so ingrained in our minds, that people lashed out as soon as something "against the norms" and "potentially harmful" came to their notice.

But, the thing is, both these outcomes, are fictional. The fandom's biggest purpose is this : we weave fiction out of fiction itself. That's why we have fanarts and AUs and headcanons and a hundred other things. And different people will find different aspects of said fictional scenarios appealing. It's why we have so many ships on one hand and unfortunately, *ridiculous* ship-wars and toxic discourses on the other. But, it's okay to accept that there'll always be differences in such a wide space where everyone is coming together. It's okay to find content you don't agree with, and simply, move on.

But, I'll repeat myself : I'm not going to persecute people, who have carefully tagged, classified, and filtered their content, being mindful of the others in the fandom, and barge on their doors demanding "why they liked what they liked" and "how could they like such a thing??". Especially because it is fiction, involving fictional characters, separated from reality.

Had it been a real life discourse, involving actual people, I'd have definitely spoken out against it.

Also, to anon, if you find my views or ideas unpleasant, or find my completely sfw multifandom blog a safety hazard, then you're more than welcome to unfollow and block me. Your mental peace is all that I ask for. :)

#banana fish #analysis #discourse #bananafish #tw:rape #asks #anon #textposts #personal