#i need to draw guy in his crop top its so funny to me. he looks like a starbucks girlie in his crop top and adidas leggings and boots

[rillette]

What do you think of the alternate versions of gl like earth-6 and the tangent one

i dont know much about them tbh!! i read the first couple pages of tangent green lantern but that's about as far as my knowledge goes! i do like the tangent gl design tho

#asks <3 #ty for the ask!! #i realized she wasn't hal and immediately tabbed out i will not lie #i'll read more about the alternate GLs eventually probably #right now i'm. well i WAS reading kyles run but i got bored so now i'm reading guy's run #joe staton is a bit in love with guy i think #also theres like a recreation of the last supper painting with hal as jesus and well. if i had a quarter for every time hal has been #drawn to reflect religious iconography i would have two quarters. which isnt a lot but still #i need to draw guy in his crop top its so funny to me. he looks like a starbucks girlie in his crop top and adidas leggings and boots #this has absolutely nothing to do with this ask my bad teehee

[therealpontius]

Draw me like one of your french girls

Cute fluff that came to me while drawing chris

Warnings: humiliation

You where working with the jackass cast. Basically the maid, bring them food, drinks and go out and buy stuff if they decided they needed it last minute. You had gotten quite close to the boys and obviously that came with a nickname, ‘fairy godmother’ was yours.

Days on set werent that busy, you drew alot to pass the time and often your drawings would get a heartagram or scribble over them by bam, chris was the only one who stuck up for you in these situations “bam stop being a prick” chris would say looking over your shoulder at the ruined art work “its what i do best” bam would reply slyly “too fucking right” chris would mutter under his breath into your ear making you giggle.

It would be the biggest lie in the world if you said u didnt crush on pontius alot. You would find yourself turning guys down because you felt like you wouldnt be able to live with having to see chris everyday. Yeah okay maybe there was no flirting between you and chris but he was just a breath of fresh air compared to the others. If you seemed down he would wait behind and make sure if you where okay so that he didnt embarrass you infront of the others.

This day inparticular was so quite, most the boys where off apart from bam, ryan, johnny and chris. Chris only had one bit to film but decided to hang out with you all day in the tent. You where both tired and you where drawing so he was alittle quieter than usual, staring off into space since nothing was distracting his hyperactive brain. You took your chance and decided to draw him, had to be quick tho so that he didnt move away. 20 minutes later the drawing was REALLY coming together, maybe it was because how passionate you where about him but you really done a good job.

*SNATCH* in your horror the picture was snached from you as soon as you took your pencil off it and you looked behind you to see bam, ryan and johnny laughing at it “what?” Chris laughed, nothing was funny but the sound of his three friends laughing made him giggle too. Behind you where the four men staring at your drawing, your face bright red. All you could do was walk away and tell jeff you where sick.

That night you couldnt even eat, your body greased with anxiety. You didnt get the picture back, you didnt even try to talk to any of the boys or try snatch it back. God what if he doesnt like me and now he thinks im a total weirdo. You couldnt help but toss and turn for hours.

The thing you dreaded most happened. You woke up. You didnt try to look better, just shoved on mom jeans and a crop top. This time you didnt bring your note pad. Parking outside work and seeing chris’s truck felt like needles in your shoes, instead of going to your usual seat you hovered around the cameras.

An hour had passed and you felt a soft tap on your shoulder, you turned round to see chris. A blush peppered over his cheeks “i.. um” he handed you a peace of paper and you looked at it blushing too. “I thought id try and draw you too. I really liked your drawing of me” the squiggly drawing was of you. At the top of the drawing it said ‘fairy godmother’ and had little hearts scattered around it. You giggled slightly and lifted your head to see his face bright red, you placed a long kiss on his cheek leaving red lipstick behind “chris cmon its time to film!” Jeff shouted pulling chris away, the kiss that he was unaware of still left on his cheek…

#jackass #chris pontius #wildboyz #ryan dunn #bam margera #johnny knoxville #fanfic #spotify #mtv jackass #dickhouse

[whataphantasia]

oog i keep forgetting to post here,,, i did a really big oc x canon promptlist on my alt twitter acc like, last year, and i like the stuff i did for it so im posting it here :3

day 1: dancing

needed to draw this for the fic where they dance at prom and a destroyed universe respectively ^_^

day 2: stargazing. the thumbnail image at the top :D

day 3: phone call

day 4: (not so) sneaky glances

ely sits inbetween these two in class. they have to deal with them staring daggers at each other. very stressful sorry ely </3 here's the doodle from like 2019 that made me wanna draw this

also like there's this moment in the fic where eadr is watching mysterious mysteries together and..... HSHSBDHSHDGDHDHS

day 5: "i'm proud of you"

THESE TWO NEED VALIDATION SO BAD RAGHHH don't @ me about the lighting on zim IK ITS REVERSED,,,

day 6: music/playlist. i didn't make any art for this but i did show off my playlists for zaeadr :D i will not elaborate here bc I Don't Feel Like It.

day 7: whispers

this is actually a redraw... :3c specieswap eadr! so cute :)

day 8: closeness

ok i didnt actually make any new art for this i just posted two old ones from 2021 LOL

day 9: protectiveness (CW blood)

dib and zim r dangerous to have as love interests come on ely 😔

day 10: "how was your day" (CW blood as well)

ely needs to tell him to stop tracking blood into the house.....

day 11: one wish

WOW something NOT ely related?! anyways ana and ad's whole love arc is kinda like... they both have responsibilities and unrequited feelings. moreso than my other oc x canon pairings. i think them a lot

day 12: matching accessories

cove jumpscare. IDK I WAS THINKING ABOUT THE MATCHING KEYCHAINS HE BUYS FOR MC... this is reiner btw i was playing as xim in my like 3rd playthrough >_< xe's fond of spoiling him with gifts, more than my other mcs...

day 13: nightmare

it took me 13 days to break and make sans x shelby art SJWKDJWJ anyway. shelby doesn't meet him pre-corruption but whatever i think they're cute

day 14: makeup

I HATE THIS DRAWING RAAAA but ely likes asking to do his nails ^_^ even tho theyre terrible at it but he doesnt mind :3c

day 15: "you are my happiness"

ok uhh my bad this isn't oc x canon LOL. but... erfi and ana... have a lot of angst like halfway/early in their arc bc erfi sees her as a beacon of light/savior, especially due to her current relationship with the ppl in her life.................... they get better dw!!! ad goes through a similar arc so i think that was how i tied it into the oc x canon promptlist LMAO

day 16: indirect kiss

SODA BOTTLE... IF YOU KNOW YOU KNOW. i've talked about this scene in the fic NON STOP to my close friends.... its when dib realizes he has a crush on ely...... i drew this like in 2021 SHWJSJW

day 17: morning cuddles

SORRY i just think it's a super funny possibility that zim becomes domestic. idc if it's out of character thats why its funny U_U!!

oh and uhm yea i have a fankid 4 these guys... have i talked abt her... i dont think i have... but ive drawn her a lot... maybe ill post more art abt her later...

day 18: photoshoot

uhhhmmm im gonna crop this for my tumblr.... yea.... anyways i love the possibility that when they're adults they become super popular, like in dib's wonderful life of doom X)

day 19: voicemail. THAT ONE THING I POSTED!! yes it was a shelby x error thing. i was listening to pick up the phone by fir at the time, which like, its not the errorshelby dynamic at all they're not toxic, but. the vibes... in the fic after shelby leaves the anti void he has a massive crisis... thats what the drawing is...

day 20: "what happened to you"

BRO I HAVE SO MANY IMAGES RELATED TO THIS FOR ANA AND ADAMAÏ... the images explain everything idc read them instead

day 22/23: hand made gift, late night drive

ummmm sooooo theres this chapter in the fic where they go to an echo flower field on the surface at night........ this is that.... DIES

that last one i never posted on twitter :0c and uhm thats all i did of the 30 day promptlist! it was fun! i got to draw so much... yay :3 thats all. explodes in embarrassment

#ph_art #ph_ramb #ph_iz #ph iz:ss #ph_ut #ph_wakfu #zaeadr #phoc_elycrowe #phoc_reiner #phoc_anastasieteilun #phoc_shelbyquill #phoc_erfi #ah yes ive madeANOTHER long ass post my FAVORITE

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

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

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

word count: 17.2k

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

///

Harry hates clubs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the f—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re going to hell.” 

“I’m already there, mate.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, boomer.” 

“You’re older than I am!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the culture shock hit. 

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

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

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Precisely his point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So how do you like your new home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[pi-cat000]

FMA:B/BNHA Crossover (2)

Summary: Ed gets stuck in the BNHA world after the end of brotherhood. He starts trying to find a way home and ends up inadvertently working for the league of villains.

Part 1 here

..

..

At one point, the ground level of Ed’s building had probably been a nice-looking shopfront, maybe a flower shop or grocers or something more befitting this weird world…like a tech repair store.  Now, the ground level doubles as apartment space, large windows caked with dust and grime, curtains permanently drawn to hide its occupancy. Heck, if Ed hadn’t been around to fix the glass with alchemy the ground floor would have been pretty much unliveable. Like many buildings in the area, it was a victim of a villain/hero confrontation which always seemed to generate an obscene amount of property damage. Great for leveraging his repair skills in exchange for free accommodation and about nothing else. Not that the people here saw it as much of a problem.

Ed scowls, flipping his OPEN sign to CLOSED, yanking the door shut, locking up as he goes.

Ed doesn’t quite understand the whole thing, and he had had one of the worst track records for property damage when it came to state alchemists. The difference being that he had always returned to reverse as much of the alchemical damage as he could and if he couldn’t Mustang had some other military alchemist/personal waiting in the wings to see to the problem. Rebuilding here was the responsibility of some external agency or other. Ed is a little hazy on how the system was supposed to work, seeing as the military had little to no involvement with anything hero related. Though, considering how the Amestrian military had been in the process of feeding the souls of its citizens to a loosely defined truth God, maybe that was a good thing. Honestly, researching how this place ran its bureaucracy was low on his priority list.

“Hey! Ed! You’re out early? Off somewhere interesting?”  

“Did you see the guy who just came through here,” he asks, eyeing his fellow apartment-liver who seemed to have nothing better to do than loiter outside and yell at people on the street. The greasy-haired man is puffing smoke near the corner of the building with his two equally scruffy friends. They all have a physical abnormally, a lizard tail, claws, bulging eyes, that remind him uncomfortably of chimeras despite knowing it was a result of more quirk bullshit.

The guy blows smoke in his direction, “Big, tall dude? Pretty suspicious looking with the hood and all. I saw him go in. Didn’t see him leave …funny that.”

“Yeah…funny…” Ed mutters, “Did you recognise him?”

“I might have.”

Ed huffs, rolling his eyes and continues down the road. He would leave bribing his neighbours for possible information as a last resort.

He passes the vacant lot holding a near identical half-collapsed block, followed by another nicer looking building, then another, before they gave way to shops and smaller structures. That was something he was still getting used to…the sheer scale of the city. Even Central had barely been a quarter of this city’s size. Luckily, his destination isn’t too far so he doesn’t have to worry about getting lost.  

The building he arrives at is taller than the rest and full of office space. The main lift is out of order so Ed trudges up three flights of stairs to the top floor, stomping into the empty reception/waiting area only hesitating for a second before slamming his hand onto the bell sitting atop the front desk.

There is a muffled voice, “I’m coming. I’m coming. No need for that racket!”

The door behind the desk swings open.

“Edward?”

“Hey, old man,” he gives a small wave, “It’s been a few weeks.”

The man, tall, well-built, cropped brown hair, stares at Ed.

“Yeah it’s been a few weeks! You need to check your phone and answer your messages every now and then. You’re giving me grey hairs. More grey hairs!”

“Right…my phone….” He forgot he had it when not using it to help with navigation. Also, messaging was a pain. He had picked up the local spoken language fast enough out of necessity, but his reading and writing were still a work in progress. Lucky for him, this reality had a few languages similar enough to Amestrian that if he really wanted to read something he could get a translation. It still made written communication tricky.

“I'll try and check it more often," he placates, "I’m here for some information about a job I was offered and seeing you know a bunch of the local businesses I thought I would drop by.”

“Information?” Masao Uraraka lets out a long breath, “And there I went thinking that you were going to take me up on my apprenticeship offer.”

Ed shoves his hands into his pockets, shrugging. The older man grunts, “Well come on through. You’re lucky you caught me in the office. I’m usually on-site supervising about this time. But, can’t do much of that until those idiots at HC Construction.co get the go-ahead from their insurance company.”

Ed slips past and into a dimly lit office space which is surprisingly well organised. Across the wall is a collage of family photos, depicting a woman and young girl at various stages of growth.

“…that’s not your problem though. How have you been kid? Hope you haven’t been in too many fights.”

“Hey,” he objects, “Some idiots need a good punch,” and then adds a little less aggressively, “But no. No fights. I’ve been researching quirks....”

“Quirks. That’s different? Weren't you studying chemistry or something?”

Ed shrugs again, unwilling to divulge much else. Uraraka tended to be nosey out of some misguided notion that he could help Ed ‘get back on his feet’ after whatever tragic backstory he had cooked up for him.

“You’re still living at Old Man Watanabe’s right? He not pulling anything is he? Old coot always tries to weasel more out of his deals.”  

Ed can’t help but agree,  “He’s been trying to get me to re-wire the whole building. Nothing I can’t deal with.”

Of course, this just sets Uraraka off on a round of angry muttering, “Is that right? I can have a talk with him. I’ve told him that he needs an electrician and a proper plumber. He owes me a few favours so I can… ”

“It’s fine,” Ed quickly interrupts. Uraraka had his own problems and family to look after. The guy reminded him of Hughes in that he cared way too much. “One grumpy landlord isn’t worth worrying about.”

Uraraka visibly deflates, “Yes, well, most kids your age shouldn’t be worried about that sort of stuff at all. You should be finishing up your schooling, getting your Japanese up to scratch and studying for college entrance exams. You remind me of my daughter. Stubborn.” He pulls a framed photo from his desk, pointing it at Ed, shaking it for emphasis, “She wants to be a Hero you know. A HERO! Can you believe it! My cute little girl, getting into fights with villains.”

Ed clears his throat awkwardly. Yeah, this guy was definitely this world’s weird version of Hughes. If Hughes had worked in construction and had, you know, not died. This isn’t the first time he has had a picture of Ochako, Uraraka’s daughter, shoved in his face.

“About that information?” He cautiously interrupts and gets another sigh.

“Yes, yes. You kids are always so impatient. What’s this job then? What idiot is going around hiring 16-year-olds.”

“Actually, the guy that came in just mentioned some construction work,” Ed rubs his neck, now slightly subconscious, realising he doesn’t have a whole lot to go on, “he didn’t give me a lot of details, just left this.” Ed pulls out the envelope placing it on the desk next to the assortment of framed photographs and scribbly kid drawings.

With a raised brow, Uraraka pulls it towards him, peering in. The man’s eyes widen and he closes the envelope, frowning, “This supposed to be a down payment in advance of a job, or is it for material costs? Because it’s a bit much for a down payment and nowhere near enough for materials. Not if it’s for anything serious. What sort of work is it? You know I can’t lend you equipment without a licence…but I’ll help you source anything that you…”

“No,” Ed rushes to interrupt, “the guy said it was a sign of goodwill. I take it that’s not a normal thing people do in the, ah, construction business?”

“No. It definitely is not,” Uraraka now looks concerned, “there would usually be a contract for services before any sort of payment. Especially, if you’re going to be working as an independent contractor.”

So that just confirmed what he already knew. Ed continues, “So you haven’t heard about people asking around for under the table construction work then?”

“No. I can ask a few of my freelancers if they’ve had similar offers but I deal above the board with licenced workers only, so it’s unlikely they’ll have heard anything.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He glares at the envelope.

“What did he look like? This man that came in?”

“Oh, he was tall, made of dark purple smoke and had a teleportation quirk…I think. He also asked about my quirk and its limits.”

“I’ll keep an ear out.”  Uraraka promises and frowns at Ed, “I hope you’re not considering this offer.”

Ed grunts noncommittally and gets a look of disapproval that reminds him so much of Hughes its almost painful. He tries not to feel disappointed at the lack of answers because coming to Uraraka had always been a long shot. ‘You’re sad, lonely and the only conversations you’ve had this last week were yelling matches with your landlord and neighbours. Uraraka is a nice man. Of course, you would come to him for advice.’ A voice that sounds suspiciously like Al chimes in. ‘I don’t want him to worry. I’m not staying here long. What’s he going to think when I suddenly disappear,’ he snaps back and immediately feels foolish.

Maybe the isolation is getting to him a bit.

“If it's money you need that I’m more than happy to help you get licenced and certified…” Uraraka continues to talk oblivious to the fact that Ed is barely paying attention.

He doesn’t want to settle down and get a popper job or finish off his schooling or talk to youth services or whatever other things Uraraka had brought up in the few months they had known each other. That would be admitting defeat. Also, he had no ID or history and he was pretty sure you needed both to work any legitimate jobs.

“I can handle myself,” he says out loud.

“Yes, you’re worryingly self-sufficient but there is a difference between unlicensed quirk use and aiding and abetting criminals. No self-respecting, above board, organisation hires a kid to do construction work and throws a bunch of money at them.”

“I know.”

Yeah, he knows Tall-Dark-and-Mysterious was probably a criminal of this reality. He knows he is probably getting himself into something dicey and illegal but he needs to follow whatever lead he can to get back home. Finding a quirk with either the ability to transport him between realities or one with the power equivalent to a few thousand souls was his last hope of ever hearing Al's, the real Al’s, voice again.

The older man rubs his forehead, visibly exasperated, “But you’re going to ignore me. Stubborn brat.”

#fma brotherhood #Fullmetal Alchemist #fma:b #bnha #mha #fanfiction #CrossOver #edward elric #Uraraka family #dimension travel AU #my hero academia #fanfic

[whackmewithwhump]

Intro to The BoxCutters

Okay guys, for once I promised something and I'm gonna deliver. This is a band of OC's that I created and very much would like to put into compromising and fun whumpy situations. This is a brief overview of the band members, and their personality, but I do have quite a bit of worldbuilding and other details all in my head about this stuff. So without further ado, meet the new crew, and don't hesitate to tell me what you think!!

Chante: (26, asexual, panromantic) okay so Chante is our lead man. He sings and plays lead guitar, but sometimes he plays the keyboard, or will hop on and surprise the crowd with some other instrument.

He actually has a degree in engineering, but has always loved music. Many people would describe him as a bit of a prodigy, he's the sort of guy who can pick up and play most instruments, but the credit goes to his hard work more than anything else. He's dedicated to his craft and it paid off big time over the years.

He's incredibly friendly and open. The sort of guy who sees a room of strangers as a room of future friends. He's great at networking and making connections for the band, and is well loved by most people. He can be a little bit of a control freak sometimes if people aren't taking things as seriously as he is, and can also wear himself down by not knowing his limits.

He absolutely rocks crop tops, is a total morning person, collects guitars and treats them like his babies (can unintentionally be a bit of a snob about it), and he gives music lessons as a side hustle.

Keiko: (25, straight) Keiko is our bassist, she's a huge stoner, and an original member of the band. She's a pretty good songwriter, and has written a lot for them over the years. She's got a wicked sense of style and a wicked sense of humour. Probably the ultimate memelord of the group. She's messy in all senses of the word, gets distracted and ends up in drama. She's not afraid to stand up for herself or for others, but is very much a sweetheart. She's just a sweetheart that is incredibly blunt.

Keiko makes herself at home wherever she is. She can get comfy and take a nap anywhere. She's incredibly artistic, and usually has several projects on the go. She's got big ambition but little follow through. She has two pet rabbits, Peter and Apple Juice, and she would die for either of them and gives them the best life possible. She's a big lover of animals, including all of the critters that people are generally scared of, and would scold anyone who dare even think about squishing a bug. She's got a tattoo sleeve inspired by the Great Barrier Reef.

Lastly, she lives in a house with Tyson, they've been roommates for years, along with a rotation of various strangers. The two of them are the big trouble makers of the group, and often have a rather annoying friends with benefits thing going on with each other while they're bored. It doesn't even cause friction, because they have zero romantic interest in each other, but it's definitely not the best use of either of their time.

Sadie: (26, lesbian) Sadie is a guitarist and singer and the newest member of the band, introduced to them by Chante after he'd graduated from university. It was the two of them that really got the band up and running again. She's incredibly organized, and with Chante's executive skills, they whipped thing back into shape.

She doesn't usually sing lead, but on occasion she will. Whether she's leading or being a second vocalist, she has a really powerful and beautiful voice that brings a lot of texture and life to the sound of their music. Out of the group, her stage presence is the most different to her everyday personality. On stage she unleashes this monster of a performer, and always gives her all to put on a show. She'd be the most likely to stage dive and crowdsurf.

Otherwise, she is the most subdued and lowkey of the gang. She's not quiet or shy per se, but she has lots of intention behind what she says. Sadie is also a massive flirt, and a bit of a hoe, but we don't slutshame her. She's always getting with the ladies, and has many short term relationships, but things never get too serious before she sorta gets scared and dips.

Her style is very simple and clean cut (my drawing is kind of extremely casual compared to what she'd usually wear). She's the sort of person to iron all of her clothes, and buttons her shirts all the way to the top. She makes this very put together look seem incredibly edgy, but the mullet helps with that. Unlike Chante, she doesn't collect guitars, but has two that are reliable and that she cherishes and will use till they're falling apart. (Oh and she's a total lightweight)

Tyson: (25, bi) Tyson is our drummer. He has been a percussionist since a young age, and ended up being quite the band geek in high school because of it. He loves to mess around with the toys (percussion toys, you sickos) but his passion has always been drumming in its various forms. He gets to whack things, what's not to love? The Boxcutters were his idea, and it was his humble garage where the band got its start as angsty teens. A classic origin story.

His parents were mostly happy for him to be engaged in anything that kept him out of trouble, since he has ADHD that leans very much towards the hyperactivity side, as it often does with males, and he struggled a lot throughout his childhood with being quite disruptive. He is very competitive, and sometimes takes things too far because of this, and will never turn down a dare. Fortunately his friends are around and are pretty good at reining him in when they need to. Being the third out of four children in his family, he's always felt the need to get attention, which he usually tries to get by being a class clown sort of character, but he often doesn't know when is the right time for that stuff. On top of it all, he's a chronic oversharer. He unintentionally is rude a lot of the time, or can sometimes snap and be mean, but he almost always is willing to accept responsibility and apologize once he's cooled down.

He's great at a party and fiercely loyal, a sweetie that sometimes tries to be tough but it just ends up being very funny.

#feel free to send asks abt them #especially if it's about sick stuff #i didn't include much abt that here #the boxcutters #new ocs babey #lmk what you think #are you team apple juice or team peter

[mistaeq]

My first JJBA oc: Adonis

Y'all don't have to care... i just wanted to share him, since i DO care for my boy and i've been wanting to share him somewhere for some years . . . i adapted him to JJBA~

Name: Adonis Sergeyevich Lebedev-Nijimura

Age: 20

Comes from: Volgograd, Russia

Sexuality: pansexual

Pronouns: he/him

Personality: istp-a

Height: 6,5 feet

Weight: 85 kg

Hair: waist length, carrot, don't fucking touch it unless you're Okuyasu.

Eye color: purple

Blood type: B

Birthday: 1st April

Starsign: aries

Family: father [Sergey Lebedev], deceased mother [Aida Lebedeva (Protsenko as a maiden)], step mother [Dominika Lebedeva (Smirnov as a maiden)], older brother [Sascha Lebedev], younger step-brother [Nikita Lebedev], husband [Nijimura Okuyasu], adoptive daughter [Nijimura Reicho]

Stand name: Sugar Plum [Named by Rohan]

Likes: Himself, dancing, strawberry milk, he started drinking it in Morioh Cho because Okuyasu drinks it too, make up, Yukako - she's his best friend-, his hair, his ass, Okuyasu.

Dislikes: Himself, Kishibe Rohan, crowded places, giving too much affection, bugs, people touching his hair, people touching his face - apart from Okuyasu -, hot places, stinking.

Story [ TW // implied abuse and homophobia ]: Born in a rich family, all Adonis wanted was being a dancer. He studied a lot for this, he loved the environment and the air he could breathe inside a room where the space for dancing was enough. He didn't really care what type of dance. Just dance. He liked latin american dances, and how the dancers were dressed. A sweet бабушка (babushka) of his neighborhood who treated him like a grandson had gifted him a beautiful, shining suit for latin american dances for his birthday.

His father ripped it as soon as he saw it. He said only "faggots" wore that. Also, his father got mad because he had noticed his son has started using purple-ish grey makeup on his eyelids. And everyone knows what happened afterwards. His father's wife did nothing to ever help him, she just stood with what his father said. Adonis's biological mother died giving birth to him. His older brother, name's Sascha, had never forgiven him for this. But on one thing they agree: not liking their step-mother.

As soon as he became 18, he packed up his stuff, took the money he thought he deserved, and against his father's will - tbh, Sascha was quite happy - Adonis moved to a new country, in a cute, peaceful - NO - city: Morioh Cho. To be honest, Adonis didn't get much of the stuff he had back in Russia with him. But he made sure not to let in that hell the most precious friend he had. Duchess, his white cat.

Funny, how after Adonis's first steps inside the city, a golden, sharp arrow pierced his chest. That's how he met his first friends - NOT EVEN A LITTLE - who talked him into stuff like "stands", Dio, Higashikata Josuke, their father... Adonis couldn't deny the blond one was quite attractive. The black haired one looked like too many ice creams had fallen from his cone when he was a kid and his voice sounded like someone who had been smoking for 60 years.

All of this while his chest was spurting blood from every side. Pretty painful. Adonis hoped his eyeshadow was still okay. As soon as he started manifesting his stand, Nijimura Keicho understood that pretty boy couldn't do shit for his father. Adonis's stand was a delicate, orange colored, humanoid creature in white ballet shoes. It looked angelic. But its kicks were hell. They discovered this when Okuyasu tried to touch his hair. Oh boy. Adonis's stand manifested as if he was an expert already, and with a cry that sounded like "CHACHACHACHACHA", the poor guy was on the floor. His wound had healed.

"What are you, precisely?" he asked his stand, when the Nijimura brothers let him go because he was no use.

"CHA CHA!"

"Okay, nevermind." he huffed, when walking towards his new house, he saw a green haired, handsome guy, on the porch of a huge house, sketching something on a notebook. And he couldn't help but notice how that drawing guy's gaze was on him.

Rohan had never seen such a beautiful creature. Big purple eyes, pointy nose, plump lips, a perfect pale skin and beautifully straight carrot colored, long - really long, actually - hair. Broad shoulders and well toned arms, alternating with a wasp waist and right after, beautiful hips. Just by looking at him, Rohan could feel a sensat- WE'LL BE BACK AFTER A BREAK -

Curious, Adonis got closer to the mangaka.

"See something you like?" Rohan immediately understood from his accent, that he was in front of a foreigner. A foreign cutie.

"I'm pretty sure I've never seen you before, in Morioh Cho." Kishibe Rohan wasn't down for pleasantries. "Become my model or perish." a model? Was he an artist? And Adonis thought Morioh Cho was a calm city. This offer flustered him a bit.

"Yeah, I know, I'm pretty." The choice of adjective caught the mangaka's attention. In a positive way, though. Pretty. "What's in it for me, honey?" Sly, sly bitch, Adonis. Rohan held back a terrible blush. How could a random thug call him, Kishibe Rohan, honey?

"Are you serious right now? You want to know if I'll pay you? For just fucking staying still?" At this answer, Adonis raised an eyebrow, turned tail and started walking away. As soon as Rohan's eyes ran from his pale neck, to the belly his bordeaux crop top left uncovered, and imagined the legs hidden behind those kinda tight, elegant black trousers, the mangaka cleared his voice. "I'll pay you." those words fucking slipped from his mouth. Kishibe Rohan had never paid anyone for standing still.

Adonis turned around, already far from the porch of Rohan's house, but not enough to pretend he didn't hear him. "Now that's what I like, artist boy." Only a thing Adonis would have wanted. For Rohan to see him with his white coat on. The one he used in Russia, where it was quite colder than Morioh Cho. A long, white coat, decorated with candid fur - not real fur, Adonis is highly against this. -

Rohan grew possessive of his model. Adonis couldn't care less. He still paid the rent for his house - with a little help from Rohan's payment -, but most of the time was spent in the mangaka's house, moving, posing on a couch, against a wall, or even just standing. The mangaka started buying clothes for him. And even if the russian boy was good at hiding it, he was growing so fond of his artist. So stunned by his gaze lingering around his body to transfer it on paper. So enamored with his ways.

Also, Rohan named his model's stand. Sugar Plum. Like The Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, from The Nutcracker. He liked how flexible his elegant body was. So beautiful. So gorgeous. So pretty.

Adonis didn't need his family anymore. He had started his adventure in Morioh Cho. He had met love... in Morioh Cho. Or so he thought. Until he started needing attention from someone else...

#jojo's bizarre adventure #oc x rohan #adonis #jjba oc

[templarhalo]

Templarhalo reviews Birds of Prey. (It’s pretty fantabulous)

HERE BE SPOILERS YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED

Ok without this movie, I would have not been a Cassandra Cain fan.  I would have not four, yes four ongoing fics with her as the main character.  I would not be emotionally and financially invested in the DC cinematic universe or the comics side of things. 

Which baffles me because this movie is perfect in almost every aspect,...   Except how they treated Cassandra Cain.   Which  is a fucking shame because her actress is perfect, her chemistry and relationship with Harley is perfect, and the idea of Cass growing up as this pickpocket foster kid, taken in by Harley is unconventional, but I fucking love it. 

Here’s a brief summary. After breaking up with the Joker  Harley Quinn has to make her own way as the strong, badass, indepent woman we all know she is, while dealing with the fact that without Mistah J’s  fell reputation as his significant other to shield her, a lot of people want her raped, tortured, killed and left for the crows…  Not necessarily in that order.    

To get these people off her back and save her own skin, from one of them, the infamous Black Mask. Harley agrees to recover the Bertinelli Diamond, a diamond encoded with the info for a source of 30 million dollars, Black Mask needs to fiance his take over of Gotham. Which was pickpocketed from one of his associates by our Lady and savior Cass.   

The problem is, Cass kind of ate it( (I shit you not) and Black Mask’s guys would rather cut it out of her than wait for the poor kid to take a dump   Not to mention Detective tReene Montoya (played by her Gotham Actress, which would have been a nice bit of world building if Gotham was actually in the movie continuity) building a case against Black Mask, with the aid of Black Canary   Plus Huntress is indirectly gunning for him and Harley in her own quest for revenge.   All these plot points converge into  a very satisfying climax and fight scene with a somewhat  emotionally satisfying ending. 

From  a technical standpoint this film is a spectacle.   Gotham in the day is colorful but rundown, with markets, suave evil bad guy clubs, dilapidated Chinese restaurants and abandoned amusement parks.   The fight scenes are AMAZING  with a wonderful tension and energy that makes them incredibly visualising satisfying.  Everything flows, the ladies move with an enthralling  grace that makes them breaking bones, crushing legs,and tearing through people visceral and heartstopping.  (And arousing. Like goddamn Jurnee Smollett-Bell could kill me with her legs and I’d thank her)

The problem, is none of this applies to  Cass, and this is the films major flaw besides how short it is. (One hour and forty five minutes).  If you had problems with how Harley was handled in Suicide Squad, the movie fixes it.  Black Canary gets a short but satisfying emotional arc that feels natural. She goes from a cynical, lethargic woman, content to be Black Masks “Little Bird”; A singer at his club, driver and symbol of his power/dominance over other women until her own conscience kicks in at Harley and Cass’ predicament.  Huntress also has a short but satisfying arc in which she gets her vengeance on the people who murdered her family and clearly finds a new one to fill the hole in her life, in the form of the Birds.  Reene and her portrayal is a love letter to the 80s cop/hard boiled detectives, a pure, simultaneously complicated/uncomplicated woman seeking to do good for Gotham.       

But Cass… Doesn’t feel like Cass and is criminally underutilized except as a walking mcguffin by dint of eating the Mcguffin.   She’s introduced to us a snarky tween, stuck in a cycle of shitty foster homes and a pickpocket to get by.  And that’s it.  T

here are moments where you think she'll get a cool fight scene.  Moments where you think she’ll have an emotional heart to heart with Harley,   moments where you think…she’ll do something besides run from the bad guys and get saved by the Birds of Prey/Her four moms. 

 In the end she drives into the sunset with Harley and Bruce the Hyena, but it doesn’t feel earned, satisfying as the scene is.  There is nothing implying or hinting she’s the daughter of two of the deadliest assassins in the DC universe, nothing about her running away from David Cain, nothing on her learning disabilities/selective mutism  and NOTHING, setting her up to be adopted by Batman and become Batgirl 

And this is a fucking shame, because Ella Jay Basco has a real chemistry with Margert and the rest of the cast.  She’s adorable, funny, snarky and wonderful as Cass. She brings energy and spunk and I would cut off my left hand, to see her act as Cassandra Cain, not this  generic punk kid with the name.

And I feel like this is  a HUGE problem because the movie sets up this Mother/daughter relationship, with Cass being Harley’s motivation to be a better person.  She goes from willing to hand her over to Black Mask to taking the kid under her wing.   Cass is the glue that bands the Birds of Prey together.   These lovely, dangerous, women coming together to keep a little girl safe,  doesn’t feel as emotionally satisfying as it should because Cass isn’t Cass.

While I will praise the movie for Harley’s arc of seeking her own emancipation and agency outside her abusive relationships and life of crime,  I feel like Harley’s arc should have been a question of redemption.    Cassandra’s motivation to become Batgirl was her refusal to kill again.  (Hey WB remember how in Batman Begins Bruce refused to kill a man because “I will not be an executioner.”)  

Here Cass is fine with killing. She chucks a bomb at some goons chasing her and  she kills Black Mask with a grenade in the end.

Yeah… Cass “I refuse to kill because my dad made me kill an innocent man at eight years old and killing is wrong” kills people.  

*head meet desk*

Sucide Squad, set up Harley and the squad, for an unconventional redemption arc, spite motivated it may be, yet Harley despite her line to Cass “You make me want to  be a less terrible person”  isn’t seeking to make amends for what she did as the Joker’s henchman.  (Like being an accomplice to Jason Todd’s murder).   

.Cass pickpots and steals to survive, because she’s a kid with no family passed from foster home to foster home, Harley steals because she can, steal a truck to blow up a chemical plant because she can.  Kills because she can.   (granted she does use an M79 grenade launcher with bean bag shells for one scene but besides that.) 

I like the idea of Harley taking Cass under her wing, its an unconventional but fresh idea, but it doesn’t feel entirely satisfying, and Cass not being Cass, not having an arc beyond “Go along with Harley as her apprentice” really undermines the excellent themes and message the movie is trying to convey.

Now maybe in the Suicide Squad reboot with James Gunn or a future DC film , Cass is going to leave Harley because that life of crime and killing doesn’t suit her and she realizes she’s trying to be something she’s not and I’m just being overly critical, but I still feel like “Harley and Cass seeking redemption and moving past their abusers together”  should have been where this movie left off, and it baffles me that it doesn’t from a narrative perspective.

Anway the overall themes and message of Birds of Prey are represented in Evan Mcregor’s Black Mask, a walking talking example of repressive toxic masculinity and misogyny.   A flamboyant, all but stated to  be a repressed Bi, crime lord seeking to take control of Gotham, Black Mask moves with confidence in his loud suits, and charming quirkiness,   He’s cruel, sadistic and repulsive  His mannerisms ooz terror,and insanity. He moves like a love child between Heath Ledger and Joaquin Phoenix’s take on the Joker, Gaston from Beauty and the Beast and Joffery Baratheon from Game of Thrones.   He’s a control freak, trying to  be a badass. 

 One minute he’s the Godfather, the next he’s a brat.  He views Harley as nothing without the Joker, telling her that she needs him to protect her.   He enjoys asserting his dominance over Harley during her brief capture by having his men beat her while he eats popcorn.  He objectifies Black Canary for her singing voice and beauty..   

Black Mask asserts his power and authority over the underworld by  his control over women.  In one  frightening scene, he believes one of the women at his club is laughing at him for his failure to capture Cass, so he orders her  to stand on a table, then for her boyfriend to rip open her dress with a knife because he finds it ugly.

In summary he represents the patriarchy.  He represents sexist, abusive men.   He’s a representation of social norms and ideals that are repressive and disgusting, and rob women of their agency, and self-worth. He represents the use of violence, not for noble reasons, but as a means to control women and lash out at those that defy him and supposedly wronged him .

Furthering this line of thought are  the costumes. Black Canary’s costumes represent the amount of control, Black Mask has in her life.  When we first see her, Dinah is wearing a long black netted evening gown that accents her legs as she sings “It’s a Man’s Man’s World”. Later she wears  a blue tank top and gold, tightfitting pants clearly meant to draw our gaze to her ass and thighs. When she’s Black Mask’s driver, she’s wearing a Bra/crop top that bares her midriff under a short blue blaze, but when she decides she’s going to defy him, she wears a yellow tank top and jeans with  a gold belt.

Harley’s costumes are as eclectic as she is, with her DIY caution tape shawl, stamped tops and cut up shorts.  Huntress’s outfits are all black leather and punkish athletic wear, utilitarian and elegant in their simplicity while Reene wears  a  “I shave my balls for this” t-shirt reflecting her uncouth, blunt demeanor, as well as button down  dress shirts and slacks for the climactic asskicking montage .  

Cass is a kid,who clearly doesn’t have the funds for super nice clothes. She;s running around in ratty shorts and a worn out hoody with  a red windbreaker, with an orange bandanna askew on her head.  At the end, when she rides off with Harley, she copying Harley’s style.

Speaking of costumes, one thing I appreciate is that instead of the male gaze and sexualisation, we get what I like to call “passive fan service”  What I mean is that instead of tracking shots on Harley’s ass or boob shoots, like in Suicide Squad  the camera just lets these women’s beauty do the talking. 

 Huntress is wearing a sports bra and tactical pants for the climax, but the camera doesn’t linger on her boobs.  A primary example of this is a lot of Padme’s scenes in Episodes II and III of Star Wars.  Lucas knows Natalie Portman is a gorgeous woman and he doesn’t need to remind us by deliberate camera shots.  He lets Natalie herself and Trisha Biggar’s excellent costumes do it for us. 

Also one thing I really… really liked was how in the big penultimate fight, Harley actually passes Dinah a hair tie so she can get her hair out of the way. So for like a minute, she’s beating the ever loving fuck out of goons with her legs as she ties up her hair.  A very nice case of reality ensures.

In conclusion Birds of Prey is another notch in the belt for the DC cinematic universe, a solid, fun film with  an excellent cast with clear chemistry, hampered by character derailment that undermines its sorely needed themes and message it's trying to convey.   The plot is  fast paced, but doesn't feel rushed even though it’s only a little over an hour long.  It’s uncompromisingly  bold, bloody and hilarious. The lack of a proper post credits scene is somewhat annoying and I'm very disappointed how Cass was handled , but this is by no means a terrible film. 

Overall I give it a 8.9 out of 10.  Highly recommend you go see it. Drag your friends, smuggle in as much candy and drinks as you can.  Buy it when it comes out on DVD.   If you’re a Cass fan, reread the Puckett run or pick up her new graphic novel Shadow of the Batgirl to wash out the bittersweet taste this will give you.  Speaking of Kelley Puckett, he was actually listed in the “Special thanks to…”  in the credits, which i’m sure many will appreciate.

These following posts and thoughts on the film I recommend.

https://dcwomenofcolor.tumblr.com/post/190693985900/how-would-you-fix-bop-cass

https://wits-writing.tumblr.com/post/190718974642/birds-of-prey-movie-review

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0YeFJjoQoec

#birds of prey #cassandra cain #templarhalo rambles #Templarhalo reviews books

[seereclipse]

title: make pretend people triggers: mentions of drug use and abuse. slight body image issues word count: 2872 summary: alina goes on vacation and runs into an old friend

I think now if I felt less I would be a better person. (…)

Alina’s hotel room was lovely, large windows that let her see what felt like all of Amsterdam spread out around her. When she came stumbling into the hotel in the early hours of the morning, silver luggage trailing behind her like a comet-tail, the front desk immediately made sure her room was ready for her. 

 When Alina first realized that she was now officially famous, she promised that would not get lost in it. She was Alina, the daydreaming student before she was whoever the public thought she was.

 Though that didn’t mean that the special treatment didn’t at excite her a little bit.

 Once again, her hotel was lovely, the smooth feeling of wheels going over marble gave her the childish impulse to push her luggage to see how far it could go. Ignoring said bag’s crash with the wall, Alina excitedly went to the window, to see if she could discern anything from down there. 

 She couldn’t, she squinted, but all the people were all just dots to her, moving from place to place. She couldn’t see them, and they couldn’t see her. Nothing she did would affect them as long as she stayed up here. It was nice to feel that way, like nobody’s actions, had consequences on her nor did hers on anyone else.

 Now it was time for her to look around, being here was like living in a cloud. It was all white and soft, rugs, towels, everything, and the solitude was freeing. Something she never thought she would feel. She was just a pastel blue bird floating around the white expanse. 

 She looked in the bathroom, marveling at the tub, and flipped through the TV channels available in the Netherlands.

 After expecting the snacks in the fridge, there was nothing else to look at. Alina was sure she’s seen every inch of her temporary home, the only thing to do was...her eyes went to the bed, king-sized and as plush and light as everything else here.

 With a fall as graceful as a fall could be, her back hit the king-sized comforter with a muffled thump her arms and legs a starfish.

 She stretched her fingers, even her mechanical ones, and extended her legs as far as they could go, though she couldn’t even touch the edge of the mattress. Alina’s been dancing since she could walk, but her limbs felt stiff, not in that they couldn’t move freely, but as if they didn’t like the woman controlling them. What she could only describe as a squawk was her body’s response as if it too could tell that she forgot she had a body that needed to be maintained.

 The newfound awareness made her look to floor-length mirror on the wall to remind herself what that body looked like. She was alone, and nobody could see her, but she was curious about how she looked, so she examined her reflection.

 In her nineteen years, she never once felt it, but she could tell she was still pretty. 

 She was caught in the snow while in a crop top and attacked by fire, but her face didn’t look it. 

Her hair was still long and soft, the eyes staring back at her were still large and violet. Alina smiled at the reflection, dimples popped into her cheeks, she still had her dimples. Those were her features everyone liked about her.

 After passing her self-imposed test, she looked away, she was not going to gaze at her reflection while she was waiting for.

 Bzz. 

 A harsh nasal exhalation, of course, he would text her now, and of course, her purse was just out of reach. With a groan she rolled, landing on her stomach and blindly searched around for her phone, coins candy and lip gloss going onto the bed.

 💙💙😍😍: hey alina, did you land safely? (2 hr ago)

 👩🏾‍🏫💜: alina, are you sure you’re okay? (1 hr ago)

 💙💙😍😍: i love you so much  (30 min ago)

 She couldn’t think about those texts, not now. If she does, she’ll never stop thinking about them.

 pym: i’ll be there in five. (now)

 Then text me in five when you’ll be here, asshole. Though Alina did get up to smooth the babydoll dress she brought on the way here. Pym had always grossed her out, and she’d rather blow a cactus than hold his hand but he was still a person, and her appearance was something she knew people judged her on.

 Next, she went to the bathroom. Gods, why was she so tired? She hasn’t even gone through the most of the people who fought the mess of flesh, water, and hell, she left clean and pretty, but she was tired and useless because she was all those things.

 Alina splashed some cold water on her face. Now she was tired and cold, but five minutes were up.

 I the elevator, a family stared at her. They didn’ whisper, they weren’t animals, but they either didn’t see she noticed or didn’t care. Alina hoped it was just because they were surprised ethnics stayed in this hotel too and not because they recognized her.

   Pym was waiting in front of the elevator, eyes lighting up in recognition when he saw her. For a second, Alina caught real excitement like he was waiting to see her and not her money. The years didn’t take away the elf-like nature from his features.

 A downwards glance showed her what he was wearing, cute. A t-shirt with Alina’s face on it, she remembered the photoshoot, it was uncomfortable, but at least the end result of Alina sitting in a cloud looked nice.

 “Is that the Alina?” A mock-whisper, Pym wasn’t dumb enough to draw attention. A pop star talking to a drug dealer wasn’t going to surprise anyone, but she wouldn’t be surprised if he had other friends in this hotel he didn’t want to see, “Can you give me an autograph?”

 He thought he was funny and unique, Alina let him believe she thought so too.

 Alina pried her mouth open in a smile and giggled, “Oh you know, only for you,” She chirped, internally cringing before holding the door open with her metal arm, “Come on, I’m up top, you’re gonna love it!”

 When Pym was in the elevator, he looked her over. Alina’s long been used to that, but looking at him Alina could tell that he thought that she couldn’t tell. Alina would prefer if he just looked shamelessly,  “You look good,” He complimented her, a wry smile on his face, “How long has it been?”

 “Two years,”  Her response was quick, too quick for Alina’s role as a cool, relaxed chick.

 Pym’s hazel eyes momentarily sputtered, he broke his role too though he soon remembered it. Leaning against the wall, looking down at her the smile came back, “It’s been too long, though,” He paused, laughing lightly looking at the ceiling, “I guess it’s good if you don’t feel the need to see people like me.”

 Alina didn’t know how to respond, he had something she wanted, and she didn’t want to offend him, so she subtly out her lower lip, “I missed you.” Her voice was soft despite the lie.

 “Did you?” He was trying to figure out if she was lying, she could tell.  In a rare feeling of superiority, she wanted to ask why someone like her would lie about missing a guy like him even though that was exactly what was happening.

 The elevator doors opened, and Alina immediately left the awkward moment to go open her room, she was only here for a few minutes so, besides some squashed pillows, her room was still mint-condition.

 A low whistle, Alina looked behind her to see Pym taking it in, he was impressed but was deciding to not show it, or perhaps she wanted him to be impressed, everyone from that era of her life all viewed her the same way it was nice to see them realize that she’s changed.

 “I guess being a pop-star has its perks,” Pym said casually, “My little sister likes your music,” He teased.

 It was a dig, but Alina inflated, “She does?” She asked, genuinely curious, it was helpful hearing reminders that what she did was meaningful to others, if he wanted her to sign anything she would do so.

 “Yeah,” He let the point end, not elaborating, strolling to the window like she did. Alina wondered what went through his mind when he saw how far he was above the world did he wish his actions had no consequences or was that unique to her?

 The longer he was quiet, the more pins were being stuck into her bones, she preferred his talking to his silence.

 Pym looked at her once again, not sexually like he did originally, but like she was a puzzle. Alina always liked that, when people were curious about her despite knowing that it never lasts.

 If he had a question, he didn’t ask it yet. Instead, going to sit on the l-shaped sofa in the middle of her room. Alina wordlessly followed him, sitting near him, but not close to him, now she was the curious one. What was he going to say to her? He was probably going to say some dirty joke to make her uncomfortable, she could feel it.

 “Why did you call me Alina?”

 All her anxiety turned to frustration pounding in her ears. Did he want her to say it? Fine, whatever, she wasn’t too proud to call him, she wouldn’t be too proud to say why. Deep breath, “I wanted you to give me-”

 “No I know you want me to give you drugs Alina,” He was impatient, far too impatient for someone who had decided to play twenty questions, “But why? At least with Ma-”

 “Can we please not talk about him?” Another character break.

 The name shattered her heart, it’s been a long time since she felt it. Jun and Nneka did everything they could to make her forget the feeling, but Alinia could feel the familiar ache. She never stopped thinking about him, but she had stopped only thinking about him. Why would he just carelessly say that? Like his name was nothing just hearing it made her cold again.

 But Pym wouldn’t understand, and Alina didn’t need him too, she needed to just keep it together, so she got up using the fact that her curtains were open as her excuse before going to close them. Her white cloud now felt more like a cell, gloomy, and colorless.

 She could hear Pym sigh, women he was probably thinking “With your ex-boyfriend, I understood, but Alina, people would kill to do what you could do.” His eyes were boring through her skull, and Alina felt her head might crack open because of it.  Her powers would probably kill them first.

 Why do you care? You’ll get paid no matter what. She wanted to ask, but she had to play the role for a little more, so she made an angry face at her window before she looked at him with the calm innocence of a Disney princess.

 “If they promise not to kill anyone, I’d give my abilities to them if I could.” She replied softly, going to sit down close to him this time, and she could have sworn she saw some color go to his pale face.

She placed a hand on his knee, now it was on his cheeks, “Look,” She began still gentle like a breeze,  “I’m just...I need this right now, I know it sounds insane, but I think this is what’s healthy for now.”

Pym looked down at her hand, she hasn’t seen him this serious in a while. 

“Give me a kiss,” A sudden grin that made her internally retreat. Nevermind.

Alina instantly recoiled. It was on her for getting close to him. Her face was hot like the blood would just burst all over him. Not a cute blush, but a tomato mask.  All her attempts at seeming different failed, miserably and she wanted to look anywhere but at him.

“No,” She shook her head as firmly as she could ever say anything, “Wait why would you,” She shook her head again, “Nope no, no no no,” She was stumbling over her sentences, but she didn’t care. “Pym, I have a boyfriend.” Before it dawned on her:

This happened two years ago too.

Mathias and his boys would be in a separate room, and Pym would take the opportunity to talk and flirt with her. A particularly bad joke, made Alina tell Mathias of her discomfort and that night. He never cared about her pain when he was the cause of it but Pym being the instigator made him angry. Alinia saw the man who had long consumed her life, turn Pym into a bloody mess, telling him to think about this next time he tried to make his girlfriend uncomfortable. 

Alina felt awful, but she had also thought it was so romantic. In Alina’s eyes, all red flags were roses.

Pym laughed, and it rasped against her wall,, yet didn’t meet his eyes. He tugged on her arm, “ I was just trying to see if you would.” Though Alina could see his jaw working, he was thinking about that night too.

He was rude and made her uncomfortable, but he never deserved that, and Alina felt compelled to tell him so.

“I’m so sorry,” She just wanted to say that, but the words were rushing out of her, she already showed him she hadn’t changed much, what was the point of trying, “I didn’t know M-, he would hit you, I told him before that he shouldn’t, that it was a joke.” Tears were falling, why was she always the one crying?

She liked to think she felt things so deeply so that they didn’t have to, but babies cried to be taken care of, and Alina did too. Though she knew Pym was never going to do that for her.

He was looking at her in a mix of awe and pity, she was always stoic the way a doll was when they talked to each other, now he saw that was a lie. If he liked that person he was, he wanted a lie.

“When they,” He learned not to say his name, “...When they were in the other room I felt like I could tell you anything.”

Alina was still crying, not even trying to wipe her tears away, she was crying for the both of them. Of course, he felt that way, everyone who talked to her felt that way. Alina wanted people to feel that way about her, the more people liked you, the safer you were. Alina also hoped that applied to people loving you as well, so she would hope everyone who talked to her loved her.

Pym didn’t love her, he let Mathias buy drugs intended to control her, that wasn’t love. However, he loved how she acted around him, letting him control the conversation and Alina disliked him, but she could never bear him hating her. Every longing look he gave her years ago was like a reminder: you are a likable person ergo you have worth.

Looking at him now, a skinny kid not much older than her, she was surprised that despite her aversion not fading, she emphasized with him. She had loved make pretend people, too, and it was awful.

So here she was, crying and wordlessly looking at her old drug dealer, all-round, tear-stained cheeks and a sniffling pink nose. 

He was stoic, she wondered if he was living through her, she had enough emotions for everyone. 

And without saying a word, Pym got up and went straight to her bathroom, each thump his shoes made, made her ache grow worse and worse. Alina couldn’t find the words to say to him or even the courage to ask him what he was doing. 

She felt useless.

 All she could do was just put her feet on her sofa and curled up, attempting to pull herself together. The sound of Pym’s heavy breathing helped her compose herself somewhat.

Pym finally came out, the way the fluorescent lights hit him made him look like some type of fallen angel,  under-eyes red but no visible tears. In pale, shaking hands were three clear bottles with a clear liquid in them, he placed them in front of her, not looking at her face. That was what he was here for, and Alina put five twenty euro bills on the table.

 He wordlessly took it, eyes not even looking at her before he left, not even saying goodbye. Alina wasn’t his problem any illusion he had of her was long gone.

 When the door closed, she no longer needed to regulate her emotions. If nobody would try to understand her feelings, she would have to forgive herself. She put her face in one of the pillows, a wordless scream coming out of her. Her throat was collapsing, but it felt like a relief. She hasn’t had a good cry in a long time, and it just meant tomorrow she’d be as pretty and fresh-faced as people expected her to be.

#the adventures of a dreamgirl.

[carlgrimeschandlerriggsimagines]

Negan’s daughter chapter 14: Darling

Word count: 2001

Need to catch up? Click me!

Summary: It’s been 7 years...What has changed?

Warnings: Cursing, Smoking, Sex mention 

Authors note: Happy new year! 

Taglist: @heyworld07  @namelesslosers  @smallfryalixa @ask-kakashihatake @emobabygirlsworld  @hilove7575  @negans-network

7 years its been 7 years since the war ended Arat, Tanya, Amber, Dwight, Rick they are all gone and they aren't ever coming back they were dead. 

Anyways, I now live with Michonne and Judith and her son RJ in Alexandria my dad was still locked away but I visited him a lot nowadays.

The Sanctuary was gone it's basically a ghost town now.

I rolled out of bed at the sound of Michonne calling me from downstairs "Y/n breakfast is ready!" Michonne yells I threw on a pair of high waisted jeans and a black tank top and walked out the stairs "Goodmorning." Michonne says as she places a glass in front of me as I sit down at the table "Morning." I say running my fingers through my hair "Judith! Breakfast is ready!!" Michonne calls out I put some scrambled eggs on my fork and plop them in my mouth "What's on your agenda?" Michonne asks as she sits down with her coffee "Cara wanted me to teach her how to throw knives since we are running low on ammo." I say she grins "You and Cara getting serious?" She asks

I roll my eyes "No she doesn't date. We've done other things but I don't think you want to hear about that." I say chuckling she laughs "No I do not." She says Judith walks down the stairs Carl's hat on her head she then sits down and begins to eat I finish my scrambled eggs and I clean off my plate I run upstairs and into my room, I shut my door.

It was light blue walls with white shelves of different things I've collected I have a decent sized closet and I share a bathroom with Judith I throw on my black boots I look in the mirror and I shake my head I throw off my bra and go through my drawer and I pull out a black "Bombshell" bra as it says on the label I put it on and I then put on my flannel I tie it around my waist and I quickly braid my hair in french braids then I clip my holster to my thigh and put my gun in my holster and my knife in my bed I open my door and walk down the stairs before I walk out the door "Y/n be back by curfew!" Michonne says I look at her "I will." I say she then chuckles "Not getting serious?" She asks referring to the amount of cleavage I am showing I roll my eyes "Shut up." I say I walk out the door and down the steps and over to the training field

I see Cara sitting on the ground "Hey hot stuff." I say jokingly she looks up her blue eyes twinkle in the sunlight "Hey gorgeous." She says grinning

I quickly show her the basics showing her how to stand and how to throw "The trick however far you want it to go is how hard you throw." I say she nods "got it." She replies she begins to throw the knives at the target pretty much all of the knives missing

I suddenly hear the gates open and I see unfamiliar faces walk in followed by a couple of our people I begin to walk over but Cara grabs my wrist before I do "My brother has to keep watch tonight you should come over maybe you can show me some other stuff as well." She says then winks I smile "I'd like that." I say then jog off to the gate my cheeks flushed

(That night)

I look in the mirror a changed my top to a black tight crop top and I put on a matching set of black lace panties and bra grabbed my jacket and I walked quietly down the stairs I see michonne sitting on the couch reading a book "Where are you going?" She asks chuckling "No where." I say she then sighs "Cara's brother has watch until 1:20" she then looks at her watch "It's 12:30 right now so so I suggest you make whatever you two are gonna do fast." she says I grin "Ok!" I say I open the door then rush out to her house.

She sits on her porch her blonde hair falling on her shoulders and a cigarette in between her lips.

She looks at me and smiles I sit down next to her she puts the cigarette close to my mouth and I take a hit.

The next thing I knew I was being slammed against her bedroom wall her lips falling on mine her hands travel to my hips undoing my belt then she begins kissing down my neck leaving a faint trail of hickeys she throws off my belt then begins to unbutton my jeans I close my eyes enjoying the moment my fingers tangle in her hair as she pulls me in for another kiss her teeth catch my lip and she bites down drawing blood.

Suddenly I hear the front door shut. Shit. Her brother must have gotten off his shift early.

She chuckles "Don't worry." She pulls me closer

"We can be quiet."

I quietly shut the door careful not to wake anyone I quietly walk up the stairs and into my room I turned on the lantern in my room and I look at myself in the mirror I was a mess. My hair was messy my lip was bloody and  my neck was covered in faint hickeys I throw off my shirt and bra and I throw on a sports bra and a sweatshirt I take off my jeans and shoes then I fall back on my bed and immediately drift off to sleep

(The next day)

I threw my backpack into the wagon Michonne was taking the new group to hilltop along with Siddiq and she wanted me to tag along

"I'm gonna go say bye to my dad really quickly." I say Michonne nods I jog over to where my dad's cell is I open the door and step in my dad sits against the wall reading a book he has probably read a thousand times "Hey sweetheart." He says I smile.

"Hey, daddy." I say he stands up I walk over to the cell bars he kisses my forehead through the bars then holds my hand in his "I'm gonna go to the hilltop for a day or two we have a new group we are taking there just wanted to say goodbye." I say he smiles his grey beard looking like he was Santa clause "Bye sweetheart be safe ok." He says I nod "I will." I say I kiss his cheek

"Don't give Gabriel too hard of a time." I say chuckling he chuckles "No promises." He says

I begin to walk away "Y/n." I turn around "Yeah." I ask "I want to meet the special guy who caused those hickeys when you get back." He says  I grin "Ok!" I say chuckling I walk back outside and over to the wagon I pet my horse who I named Darling

She is white with a black spot over her eyes I scratch behind her ears then I climb on the saddle as the gates open then Darling begins to trot I follow behind Michonne and Siddiq and the wagon follows behind us

"What The Hilltop like?" Someone from Magna's group asks "It's nice. but the people there are kinda square in my opinion." I say

(Ok lol my brain can't come up with anything to write about until after they get to hilltop so soz lol)

I drop my knife on the floor along with my gun then the gates to hilltop open I climb off my horse as I see Tara, Enid, and Alden ever since Enid found out about what Carl and I did she has always hated me...Actually, everyone in hilltop hates me now that I think about it.

"And what is she doing here?" Tara asks Michonne "Nice to see you too Tara." I say smiling Michonne looks at me "I wanted her to get out of Alexandria she stay inside the walls all day she needed to explore." Michonne says

I roll my eyes "She shouldn't be here all she does is cause trouble!" Enid says a chuckle "Nice to see you too Enid." I say

I put Darling in a stable "I'll be back Darling." I say I kiss her nose and I walk off over to Magna's group Connie signs something to me

"She wants to know why everyone hates you." Kelly says I chuckle "Long story...let's just say they don't like my dad." I say chuckling Kelly signs to Connie and she nods out of the corner of my eye I see Enid kissing Alden I chuckle "I'll see y'all later." I say

I walk away as Enid walk away behind the house I pull out a cigarette from my pocket I light it with my lighter and  I follow Enid behind the house she kneels in front of a water bucket washing clothes I chuckle "You shouldn't smoke they will kill you." Enid says I chuckle.

"I thought you would tell me to smoke the whole pack considering how much you hate me." I say leaning against the house she rolls her eyes "What do you want." She asks I shrug "Just wanted a quiet space." I say

"You shouldn't be here you should have left with the saviors." Enid says I roll my eyes "I tried Michonne wouldn't let me." I say taking the cigarette from my mouth and blowing out the smoke

"Is your dad dead yet?" She asks I chuckle "Nope they haven't joined your dad yet." I say chuckle she looks up glaring I smile "You know what's funny the only reason you hate me is because I fucked the guy you liked you didn't hate me before you found out." I say chuckling

She then stands up pulling her knife out of her holster then she throws a punch hitting me in the jaw I drop my cigarette I suddenly grab her hair punching her I tackle her punching her over and over again she screams "Alden!" She screams "Bitch!" I scream

"Y/n!" Michonne yells she grabs me pulling me back Alden helps Enid up cupping her cheek with his hand blood rushes from her nose Michonne grips my wrist "Stop it!" Michonne says I get out of michonne's grip I walk away cursing under my breathe

I brush out my hair then the door opens to see Michonne "What was that." She says I roll my eyes "Why am I here!?" I yell she tilts her head "What?" She asks "Everyone hates me here! Everyone! They all want me dead!" I yell tears forming in my eyes

"No, they don't sweetheart. Honey they don't." She says pulling me in for a hug I let my tears fall "Yes they do. They all do." I cry she runs her fingers through my hair "I want to go home."I cry "We are gonna leave tomorrow we are gonna get Rosita and we are gonna go home." Michonne says "No not Alexandria I want to go to the sanctuary." I say she kisses my forehead

“You know nothing is there is a ghost town y/n you could get hurt” michonne says she tucks a piece of hair behind my ear

“Come on let’s go get some dinner”

The next morning

I open the door to Darlings stable guiding her out I put her saddle on her and I scratch her behind the ear "We are gonna go home Darling I promise." I say smiling suddenly Tara runs up to me "Negan escaped!" She yells I drop Darlings rope in shock

I snap out of my thoughts and I climb on Darling "Go Darling!" I say she begins to run the gates are open and She runs through "Y/n!" Alden yells but Darling just runs to the road headed towards the sanctuary

#The Walking Dead #thewalkingdead #the walking dead meme #the walking dead smut #the walking dead imagine #carl grimes #carl grimes imagine #carl grimes smut #carl grimes fluff #Michonne #negan x reader smut #negan imagine #negan twd #negan's daughter #Michonne imagine #Enid #Daryl dixon

[papersynth]

The Feud breakdown theory

TLDR: Its basically one big Klance-centric episode, this whole theory’s probably a reach but its nice lol. Reposted from my twitter. More under the cut!

Lets start off this thread by pointing out one of the glaring things that immediately hit me once I started watching this episode when it aired: the title sequence. I'm not particularly old but my parents have always loved gameshows and reality television.

They would watch it in the living room and so one of the things that stuck out to me the most was how the logo for Garfle Warfle Snick is visually similar to "The Dating Game" which was a 60's TV show centered around a bachelorette picking out a guy to take out on a date.

Even the dang flowers.....

It was at this moment I thought "well, after being basically deprived of any Klance scenes for 3 seasons, you'd think S7 would bring you some of that and boy oh boy I've been fed so well. I think its strange for them to visually replicate a DATING GAMESHOW logo. We know for a fact that they were going for a family feud esque style, so why didn't they just replicate the Family feud logo instead? The vibe of the entire episode would change because it'll be a glaring reference.

Going back to Kaplan's tweet about how things aren't what they seem, the Feud really, like, obviously lets you know, that things really aren't what they seem. The story shifts in focus and tone and so do the characters.

My theory is that this episode foreshadows events to come that even the paladins never knew were even challenges themselves.

I believe this sort of aids the Klance fight theory (graciously written by Ca HERE) because that altean colony which they believe was a win for them to discover, could possibly be their next challenge (their garfle, becomes a warfle)

We also know that it isn't new for Voltron to use the "it was an altean all along!" as shock value for their enemies but at this point, I think Allura's starting to learn that her race is equally capable of evil.

This adds to the idea that during the 3 year gap, there's a possibility that the altean colony and Haggar/Galra have been working together to develop new technology (Hunk: I've never seen the Galra use weapons like these before) because clearly it isn’t the olkari helping them.

Time for my biggest reach yet, how the fuck is that a chopstick lance. You can recognise a mullet for a hundred feet away but you can't recognise a sword at point blank. Strange considering Keith drew out the sword pretty quickly, so there's no way Lance saw chopsticks.

NOTHING in this image screams chopsticks. I even went and printed out this god forsaken screencap and tilted it to see if it looked like chopsticks from a far angle and nope, still looks like a blade. This one's a reach but, chopsticks are insinuate a "yin-yang" dynamic.

Chopsticks is a strange pick because it doesn't LOOK anything like a chopstick. It would have made more sense to call it a shovel, paper fan, knife, surfboard etc. Go off. Chopsticks have always been used as a pair, one cannot exist without the other, which brings me to voltron's wings. I like the idea of Voltron being similar to Darling in the Franxx because of their mecha designs kinda taking reference from Evangelion. This is a reach definitely, but its cute whatever, eat this up. There's a mythical bird called "Jian" and it only has one wing.

The bird can only exist with another of its kind, where together, they can fly and soar. Wings and duality are symbols that have ALWAYS gone hand in hand, simply because there are two. Chopsticks being Lance's stupid fucking word choice is so damn specific its hurting me.

HERE'S ANOTHER REACH Y'ALL, the reason why chopsticks are thicker and circular at the top but thinner and squared at the bottom is because they represent the heaven and the earth. WHERE'D THEY COME FROM Y'ALL. WHERE DID THE PALADINS GO? UH? BACK TO EARTH YEA?

And once again, Keith draws this one very quickly so it does show that Lance can make a good guess immediately. I can see why he would say Dog here. SO WHY COULDN'T YOU SEE A BLADE AT FIRST LANCE? EXPLAIN YOURSELF. MOVING ON FROM THE DAMN DRAWING GAME.

I think these two screenshots speak for themselves. Earlier this morning I wrote a theory about how the Klance dynamic is all over the place because Lance has grown as a person in his absence and he's confused as to how he's supposed to behave towards "new keith".

He takes a jab at Keith throughout the start of this whole episode

"Not my fault keith can't draw!"

"I'm not a mind reader!"

So once again, its the usual bickering coming from Lance, but we see that shift later in the episode, I'll get to that later.

The next game with bii boh bi. Funny to me how the game's called "The Garflator" when we've already established that "Garfle" means to "win". The monster isn't the Garflator as they've misleaded, its the tank.

If you don't believe me, here's the subtitles literally calling the monster the "Warflator". Strange isn't it? You miss these things when you watch it the first time. Bob wasn't joking when Warfle and Garfle were interchangeable.

I don't really want to analyse how Bii Boh Bi acts throughout the whole segment mainly because I think that's reaching a little too far, and it was likely comedic the entire time, but I can't help but notice that his tone throughout suggests a "fill in the blanks" situation.

My theory is that this situation foreshadows the possibility that someone will help Lance fill in the blanks, and guess what the answer is in the GARFLator. He might even really be running out of time so again, stick it out till the last episode of S8.

Bonus: Seems like its pretty nice isn't it. Our crops are watered and his skin is cleared. Joking of course, but overall the whole Garflator/Warflator situation keeps getting mixed up together that's why I think this theory's reaching but I digress.

Time for the scene that made all of us Klancers scream into the depths of hell. We all already know that they didn't have to vote for each other if it was meaningless, but after seeing the recent surplus of Lance being hurt by Keith leaving, I've got a solid theory.

Lets look at the scene first, mainly at Hunk and Pidge's faces. We know Hunk is emotionally observant while Pidge behaves logically, so I think when we're speaking logically: Lance picking Keith seems HIGHLY illogical to pidge.

Lance "hates" Keith. Why pick him to survive? THE MATH DOESN'T ADD UP. On the other hand, Hunk's facial expression here seems more....worried? Not confused. There's been substantial evidence that Lance was hurt by Keith leaving, and if he spoke to anyone about it, it'd be hunk.

I think Pidge is surprised to hear these things come out of Lance's mouth and seeing Keith pick him. Remember when they all picked someone to help Lance? The braniest of the team? I think honestly Pidge might be the first to pick up on their possible affections towards each other.

This sort of parallels the earlier scene where Lance was the last one to figure out Pidge was a girl, but maybe that's reaching a little too hard (Curse these short arms!)

Earlier this morning I wrote a thread about how Lance picking Keith to leave here is probably the nail in the coffin that he deeply cares about Keith. Remember, this situation would probably be the third time that Keith has left Lance.

Read the linked thread, I won't reiterate it here but basically Lance grows in Keith's absence, stepping up when he needs to, but its not really what he wants. Losing Keith again might be devastating, but that only heightens why this scene is so affectionate. He makes this choice himself.

He calls Keith the future because he has faith in his skills (he's our leader) and him as a person (plus he's half galra). That Keith HAS a future. This is SIGNIFICANT because the only other person that has said that they have faith in Keith, was Shiro.

Shiro is VALUABLE to Keith, he's the most important person in his life. Having people believe in him has always been difficult and I think where Lance says (although cryptically) that he believes in Keith, is really where their new dynamic takes off.

THAT's why Keith behaves somewhat coldly in S7, because its never gonna be easy for him to suddenly accept a new person in his life. He’s not sure how he should react to another person caring for him. Both of them know their dynamic isn't what it used to be, they can't joke and jab anymore. We're back to square one, but its different this time.

One last thing about this episode (that isn't Klance related) is Luxia's kingdom, just a fun quick thought that maybe the Baku might be back, i mean he never really was defeated, just trapped. ;)

Uhhh that's it! Can't think of anything else haha. Thanks for the wild ride friends, I hope these feed your optimism for today~ Again, they're all just theories but I hope S8 is a good experience for everyone! Have a great day :)

One last thing: I would love it if Klance happens and the theories prove true, and if it doesn't its okay! Sure I'll be disappointed, but its fine if I'm wrong about a fictional TV show lol.

#klance #keith #lance #vld #vld theory #klance theory #i think this was a nice theory #i worked hard on it pals uwu

[seriouslyhooked]

Lost Souls and Reveries (Part 14)

22 part AU written for @cssns​. Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6,Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12. Story available on AO3 Here and FF Here. Banner created by the amazingly talented @shipsxahoy​!!

Killian Jones is a wolf shifter without roots, without plans, and without a pack. He’s a rogue, someone humans should avoid and shifters should be wary of given his lineage. But one night years back set him on a path he didn’t realize he was taking, a path leading to a future he is destined for. That future is tied up in one woman – a human named Emma Nolan. Together Emma and Killian will find not only answers, but a love that’s truly fated. But will love be enough to set them free, or will past demons win out in the end? (Answer: love always wins – I am writing this so despite some tiny pockets of angst it’s basically a fluff-filled insta-love fest). Rated M.

A/N: Hey everyone! Oh my God it has literally felt like forever since I posted, and I took such a long break away from the story that I kind of forget where the heck we were. If you’re like me, read the last few chapters and you’ll remember in no time. If, however, you’re like some of my other readers who have been rereading because you are desperate for an update, well honey, we finally have one! In this chapter we are coming to the promised dinner from last chapter. I have been waiting a long time to include more tangible Snowing and CS scenes, because I love a story where Emma has her parents and then her parents get to meet and mess with Killian. Throw in the fact that we have Elsa and Anna, as well as Ruby and Granny and it’s truly a grand old time, at least in my book. This chapter is packing a lot of fluff, because I think we all need it quite honestly, but there’s a bit of a twist coming again. I know, I know this story is getting to be so twisty, but I think you guys will like where things are going and I can’t wait to see your responses! Anyway thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

Fear was a funny thing. 

For Emma there were a number of things in her life right now that justifiably sparked fear in her heart. The first and most obvious was the physical threat on the horizon. Killian’s brother was en route to Storybrooke and they didn’t know what he wanted. It was hard to imagine Liam was coming with good intentions, and as such, they all had the space to be afraid. Then there were other more mundane things that could cause her all kinds of anxiety, since Emma was, in fact, a worrier. These included things like whether Anna and Elsa would be okay with everything they’d learned today, or whether she and Killian would find their way to a more ‘normal’ life. She wanted that, but it just didn’t seem like that calm and serenity was coming any time soon and that was taxing to say the least. But somehow tonight Emma didn’t have the capacity to fixate on Liam’s potential wrath, or the future that fate was bringing her way. Instead, all she could focus on was the immediately impending chaos that would descend when her parents, her best friends, Killian, and his family were all under one roof.

“Maybe we should come up with a panic phrase,” Emma declared suddenly as they were on their way to the Nolan residence for dinner with Elsa, Anna, and Ruby in tow. “You know, in case we have to get out quick.”

“I’m sorry love, I’m unfamiliar with that term,” Killian responded, a touch of humor lacing his voice.

“You know, a panic phrase,” Emma said, giving a slight shrug of her shoulders as she explained herself. “It’s like the stranger danger term your parents give you as a kid so you know if you can trust a random adult or not. Ours was ‘operation mongoose’ but don’t ask me why because I have no idea where it came from.”

Looking at Killian, Emma could tell she wasn’t making sense. Her anxiety about this evening was causing her to blabber on about things with less coherency than she would like, but Killian remained patient and did his best to piece together her thoughts. “Uh, well in that case no, can’t say I’ve ever had one of these panic phrases before.”

“Well it’s simple really. It’s basically a safe word, so in this case if my parents get too crazy and we need to leave we have something to say as a signal that we got to get going.”

“Emma, I realize this is a big step, and I know your parents are… involved so to speak,” Killian said, totally underselling her parents’ investment in her life and her business. “But I assure you there won’t be any cause to leave. I might not know your parents well, but I do know they mean no harm.”

“Mean no harm and do no harm are different things,” Emma muttered, and she could hear her resigned tone of defeat as she said the words aloud. Without even looking at Killian she knew he was on the verge of laughter, but instead of her mate’s sound of amusement filling the air, it was Anna who broke into giggles.

“Oh come on, Emma! It’s going to be fine. You two are already mated right? So what’s the worst that happens? Your Mom pulls out those terrible photos of us from middle school and your Dad threatens that he’ll kill Killian if he ever hurts you.”

“Do either of those possibilities sound fun to you?” Emma asked and Anna immediately grinned so Emma amended her statement. “If you were me, would you enjoy a night like that?”

“Probably not,” Anna agreed, “And my Mom definitely didn’t have the balls your Mom does or the blunt way of asking things, but come on, Emma. We all know Killian’s never going to hurt you so it’s a non-issue. Besides Ruby and Granny have the dirt on Killian so it’ll all be even in the end.”

“What have you told them, Red?” Killian asked his cousin and Ruby smiled like the cat that caught the canary. This made Emma lighten somewhat, because whatever Ruby had it had to be good.

“Oh nothing much,” Ruby claimed coyly. “I’m still saving the best stories. Don’t want to run out of those too early.”

Killian groaned at his cousin’s words and because it was such a relatable outburst, Emma immediately took delight in it. She found herself laughing in spite of herself. Thank God she wasn’t in this alone. Knowing Killian had family who gave him grief too (even if it all came from a place of love) was a relief. No one would ever match her parents’ level, but at least she wasn’t in this alone. And by the way that Killian was watching her relax into her laughter Emma knew that Killian didn’t care about her finding out any of his embarrassing stories. His blue eyes told her everything in that moment, and the most important thing was that all he wanted was for her to be happy. With him she always found a way to be so, and it was only a love like this that could ever induce her into subjecting herself to this familial torture.

“Is it bad that I actually feel better knowing you’ve got stories too?” Emma asked and Killian shook his head as he pulled her in closer to his side. The feel of his body pressed against hers was hot but familiar. It made Emma feel safe even as she felt electrified, and the anxiety of before began to dissipate as contentedness took its place.

“No, it’s not. Anything that makes you feel better is something I cherish, love.”

“God, I know it’s a miracle you guys found love and everything but sometimes its just so…” Ruby trailed off, but Elsa and Anna were quick to fill in.

“Sweet?” Elsa asked.

“Adorable?” Anna replied.

“I was going to say ‘extra’ actually. I mean come on. Who says stuff like that?”

Emma bit back more laughter as Elsa and Anna went beat for beat with Ruby about what love should be like and whether Killian’s words were romantic or over the top. But whatever assessment they came up with in the end, Emma wouldn’t really care. The only thing that mattered was how she felt about Killian, and every time he made confessions like that it soothed her. Killian enriched her life and made her braver than she’d ever been. She was confident and comfortable in the love they were building together, and she loved his sweet words, even the cheesy ones.

“I dream of a day when they all find another amusement to preoccupy themselves,” Killian murmured to her, drawing Emma’s eyes back up to him. He had light in his eyes and she could tell he wasn’t taking their talk seriously either. “It might help if Elsa or Anna found someone to love too.”

“Oh God don’t let my mother hear you say that. You’ll be recruited for her matchmaking in a hot second.”

“I can think of worse things to do than showing other people the way to love,” Killian said and Emma agreed with him.

“And what about Ruby? You don’t think she wants love?”

“She does,” Killian replied. “But my cousin is particular. It’s going to take quite the person to stack up to her expectations.”

“I heard that!” Ruby said, though a human wouldn’t have been able to and both Emma and Killian laughed.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Killian emphasized. “If you’re going to love someone you better make sure they’re perfect for you.”

“Aww, he thinks Emma’s perfect for him,” Anna said and finally Emma rolled her eyes.

“Okay enough. I mean seriously, we’re about to be with my parents for at least three hours. Can’t you give us any peace?”

Anna and Ruby agreed that they would and Emma shared a knowing look with Elsa. Her best friend never gave Emma any real problems about things like this. It wasn’t her way and Emma appreciated that, and she knew she could trust Elsa to keep the others in line. Still the teasing had done wonders to distract Emma from her worries about this evening, and unfortunately, as quiet descended on the group, they cropped up again.

“I know you have a lot of feelings about tonight, Emma, but I can hardly wait to finally see where you grew up.”

“Well the wait is almost over,” Emma said with a smile. Her house might not be nearly as palatial as Anna and Elsa’s but she did love it so. She’d had such a perfect childhood for so long, and it wasn’t until Neal had gotten sick that things took a turn. Even since then things had gotten better, and that house had always been a part of the good times in her life. “Think you can handle it?”

“I hardly think it’s the house that’s hell bent on bringing trouble, love,” Killian joked and Emma swallowed harshly despite knowing that he was only kidding. “Nothing to fear on that score though, Emma. There’s no force in this world that could keep me from loving you.”

“How do you always say the right thing?” Emma asked, as they stepped to the front door and Killian grinned back at her in a way that sent a bold shiver of delight through her whole being.

“It’s a gift.”

“Okay love birds, you’ve got about five more seconds before we have incoming,” Ruby stated, clearly having heard everything as they approached Emma’s parent’s door. “Three, two, one.”

At the exact mark the door swung open, but Emma was surprised to see it was her Dad and not her Mom standing there. “Thank goodness you’re early. Your Mom might have said seven but she...”

“Never means it, I know,” Emma said, filling in for her Dad as she gave him a hug. “I was surprised she wasn’t pacing by the windows yet.”

“Granny’s been a good distraction. She keeps talking about you and Killian and how shifter happily ever afters work.” The comment was benign, but then Emma watched her father’s face pale as he looked to Elsa and Anna. “Uh, I mean, well -,”

“Don’t worry Mr. N, we know the deal,” Anna filled in merrily. “People turn into animals and then they fall in love with your best friends. We’ve got it.”

“Or sometimes your best friend is the shifter,” Elsa offered nonchalantly, and Emma smiled, knowing that she hadn’t mentioned that to Elsa so her friend must have picked that up through her own magical intuition. “Like Uncle Lance.”

“Yup. Can’t wait to tell him you girls all know now. It’s gonna make the summer barbeque pretty interesting,” her father said as he led them all inside, shutting the door behind them.

“Oh Lance already knows,” Emma’s mother announced cheerily as she walked in with a beatific smile. “I told Gwen a little while ago. I forgot one of the ingredients in her chocolate soufflé recipe and I filled her right in. God I love walkie talkies.”

Elsa and Anna laughed as Ruby and Killian looked at Emma with confusion. Again, Emma was amused at how even Ruby seemed to be stumped. Apparently witchy visions didn’t involve her Mom’s somewhat childish antics.

“Mom and Aunt Gwen talk all the time. They joke that they’re sisters separated at birth and as such they have all sorts of time to make up for. But it was a lot of calls. Like so many calls a day that Dad and Uncle Lance used to tease them that walkie talkies would be more efficient. Then for Christmas last year Neal and I had an idea – or really Neal did. I just funded it. He found these walkie talkies online that create their own frequency and that can cover super large distances. I think they’re for the military? Anyway, we got them for Mom and Aunt Gwen as a joke, but now they use them all the time. The gift backfired.”

“I’d use it right now if she and Lance weren’t having their date night,” Emma’s mother said, waving the walkie talkie that was clipped to her apron. “But there’s always next time. Anyway, thank you all for coming. You must be Ruby. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Knowing Granny it’s all bad,” Ruby said with a sly grin.

“And all true,” Killian quipped, leading Ruby to playfully punch his arm.

“No she had only good things to say, about you and about Killian.”

“Where is she exactly?” Emma asked, knowing Granny was supposed to be here.

“She’s on soufflé watch,” Mary Margaret announced, and this prompted a skeptical look between Killian and Ruby. “What? What’s so funny?”

“You said they were chocolate right?” Ruby said, biting back her laughter.

“Let’s just say Granny has very few weaknesses, but the main one is chocolate. I hope you’ve made extra since she’s very likely tricked you into trusting her with those treats.”

“I heard that!” Granny said, coming from the kitchen with her hands on her hips and an unamused look on her face. Her eyes were lit up with humor however, and then she admitted the truth. “And I’ll have you know I only had one, and I ran it by Mary Margaret first.”

“Wow, seems Storybrooke has had a positive influence on all of us,” Killian said easily and Emma felt herself warm at the way he spoke about her home.

“It has a way of doing that,” Emma’s mother said as her father came around to kiss her temple. “Now come on, dinner’s ready and I have just about a million questions.”

Taking a seat at the dining room table that Emma had spent nearly every important holiday gathered around, it was nice to see how natural all of this was. Everyone found their spots organically, and when Killian pulled out her chair like a gentleman, helping her into her seat, Emma was touched. She knew the gesture didn’t go unnoticed, but Emma avoided looking at any one else. Instead she looked to Killian, taking an extra boost of comfort from his subtle nod and upturned smile.

“So…” her father finally said, drawing Emma and Killian’s attention back to the table. Her Dad only looked at them a moment before deferring to his wife. “Do you want to do the honors?”

“Don’t mind if I do,” her mom said happily. As Mary Margaret rose back up from her seat, Emma watched Ruby whisper to Anna.

“What’s happening?”

“It’s like grace. Before every meal they say what they’re thankful for. Neal started it.”

“He did indeed,” Emma’s mother said, and Emma watched as her mom’s eyes grew a bit misty. It certainly wasn’t getting any easier for her having Neal away at summer camp, and she could tell her mom missed her brother fiercely. “But we continue it even when he’s not here, and tonight we have so much to be thankful for.

“We have new friends and new family,” her mother said looking to Granny and to Ruby. “It has been a pleasure meeting you both and to welcome you into our home. I know there’s so much more to learn and to hear and Emma will tell you I never met a story I didn’t love.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Emma joked and everyone chuckled together.

“But more than that, I can sense you two will be good for us. You’ve already brought so many good things, which leads us to our next grateful thing. We are grateful for Anna and Elsa and their new journey. It’s been a tough few years, but you girls,” Emma heard her Mom’s voice break, a sign of how much she loved her friends as if they were her own children. “You both have blossomed into such wonderful women. Your family would be proud. We are proud, and wherever this new magic may take you, we know it’ll be exactly where you need to be.”

“Yeah it will,” Anna said, reaching her hand across the table to take Elsa’s in a sisterly sign of affection.

“We’re thankful that our children have their health. We’re thankful that Neal is so happy, that he’s making friends and expanding his mind. He’s being challenged and engaged and he’s finding out more and more about himself. His old scars have all but healed, his light continues to shine so bright. There’s nothing in the world he can’t accomplish.

“At the same time our Emma has found her happy too. It’s a new kind of happy. Beyond having purpose, it’s the happiness only available through love and hope and belief in something more. With Killian she has found her match, a match we very much approve of, not that you needed our approval. But rest assured, this doesn’t mean we can’t still have a little fun. Your father and I haven’t honed these interrogative skills for nothing.”

Emma didn’t know whether to groan aloud or duck her head in embarrassment, but when Killian’s hand squeezed hers tightly she looked at him instead and she saw his subtle smile from before had grown into a full blown grin.

“Whatever you guys have got, I can take it. Anything for Emma.”

“You sure about that?” Her Dad asked and Killian looked to him and nodded.

“Yes sir, I’m sure.”

A moment of comfortable silence elapsed where her Dad gave Killian his own silent show of approval and then Emma realized that her Mom was supposed to be talking. But when she looked over to the other end of the table her Mother’s tears had fallen.

“I’m sorry, I know I know. It’s just…”

“It’s just that life right now is good, and we have a lot to be thankful for.”

The words from her Dad were agreed to by everyone at the table and with their pseudo-prayer said, dinner was served. It was just as excellent as Emma expected. Her mother was actually a great cook, and the company was awesome in the end. It took a little getting used to that their dinner conversation would include things like shifters and spells and such, but Emma was delighted to find that her mother wasn’t as prodding and extensive as she expected. In fact, she only saved those extra exploratory questions for Emma and Killian, and Killian, luckily, managed to take on every one. By the end of the meal he seemed to have won her parents over even more, and Emma was so happy and carefree she had actually forgotten what brought them all together in the first place. Only after dessert was cleared away did Emma realize she needed to talk to her parents about Liam and the potential danger ahead, but her father beat her to the punch.

“We know already, Emma,” her Dad said quietly as she helped him clear the table. The two of them were back in the kitchen, away from the others who were conversing over coffee. “Granny told us about Liam, and then Killian called me while you were with Anna and Elsa.”

“He did?” Emma asked, completely surprised by the revelation and her Dad nodded.

“He did. He said he was sorry to not come speak to me directly but he didn’t want to let you out of his sight. I agreed that that was for the best. In the mean time, I can’t think of anyone that’s better to protect you than Killian.”

“Really?” Emma asked, feeling a wave of surprise that her Dad would hand over the reigns of a job he’d taken on her whole life. She didn’t often need protecting, but her father had always been her greatest champion. For him to allow Killian to step into that role was huge.

“Really. And it’s not just because he’s stronger and faster than I will ever be, but because he loves you, more than life itself,” her Dad said, stunning Emma with his honesty and acceptance.

“He does,” Emma agreed, her heart filled with so much love in this moment. Love for her Dad and for Killian, two men who both cared so much for her and who had always shown her that she was theirs to protect and to embolden. “But did he explain it all Dad? We could be in real danger. I know Killian will do anything it takes if it comes to that, but -,”

“I want you to know that it’s all going to be okay, Emma,” her Dad said as he put a hand on her shoulder, something he’d done many times through the course of the years. “I’ve talked to Graham and to Tink. We have some elements put in place already for would-be hostile shifters. And I’ll call your Uncle Lance in the morning and get him and Gwen here ASAP. I thought about maybe sparing him the headache, but you know him. He’ll be livid if we leave him out of anything that could be considered a good story.”

Emma wanted to laugh at that because it was honestly funny. She could picture Uncle Lance now, bemoaning a fact that he missed a good fight and whining (but still in a loveable way) that he was left out. But this wasn’t some party that people weren’t getting invited to. This was a potentially dangerous and more than hostile situation.

“I never wanted any of this to happen. I never dreamed that we might be in danger, and I know Killian didn’t either.”

“There’s no need to explain, Emma. You love each other and you’re bonded. His danger is your danger and vice versa, but that also means your family is his family. No one has to go through this alone. We’re all stronger together, and I would never let anything break this family apart. This is a battle we can fight, and not all battles are like that.”

“I love you, Dad,” Emma said hugging him quickly and taking comfort in his firm embrace. She knew he was thinking back on Neal being sick and how helpless that moment was. Emma hoped it wouldn’t actually come to fighting Liam. Maybe this was all being blown out of proportion, but she knew her Dad was right. They had better chances of beating someone who wanted a physical fight than they did of an unknown disease. They’d been through hell before, and they could all do it again.

“And I love you, Emma,” he said, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head before stepping back. “But we should get back now. Your mother has missed you something fierce. Best to give her as much time as possible tonight so she doesn’t start stalking you tomorrow.”

With a shared laugh, Emma and her father headed back to the living room where everyone was seated. With one last kiss to her father’s cheek she took her spot by Killian on the couch. Immediately his hand found hers and she felt so at peace, and though she knew her parents eyes were watching her closely over the next hour of the party, Emma didn’t care. She knew they had their approval and best wishes, and that was perfect as far as she was concerned.

“You know, Ems, I don’t think you’ve given Killian a proper tour,” Anna said, the mischievousness of her intention seeping through in her tone.

“Well technically I haven’t given Ruby or Granny one either,” Emma quipped, expecting the subject to drop when she did, but it seemed not only Anna was in on this little attempt.

“Actually your Mother showed me around earlier,” Granny said with a wry smile.

“And I have the witchy all-seeing thing happening so I don’t really need tours,” Ruby said. Emma looked at them all, waiting to see if any of them would break, but they all stood strong, unyielding in their want to give Emma and Killian alone time.

“Right, well we’re all still visiting. Killian can look around any time. It’s not like he’s going anywhere,” Emma insisted and it was her mother who interjected.

“We know that, but still it would be rude not to give him the tour, honey. Go on – it won’t take you long and I’d hate to have to ask your father to do it.”

“Hey! I give great tours,” her father insisted and though Emma agreed she hopped up immediately, not wanting to subject Killian to an undisclosed amount of time with her Dad if they didn’t have to.

“Of course you do, Charming.”

“Quick, before they hurt themselves with the plotting on our behalf,” Emma whispered to Killian who chuckled aloud as he rose with her, following her out of the living room and towards the rest of the house.

“It’s crazy how one second they’re testing us and the next they’re trying to get us alone,” Killian mused as they walked through the study and then her parents’ library on the first floor. “I hardly know what to expect at any given moment.”

“I wish I could say that will change, but with my family it probably won’t. I love them, but they just love to meddle. It’s in their blood.”

“Which technically means it’s in your blood too, love, yet I never seem to see you interfering in such ways.”

“Maybe I just haven’t had the chance yet,” Emma said, pulling Killian towards the stairs so they could see upstairs. The action made her heart flutter. She’d never actually had a guy up here before, and all through her teen years she’d thought about it. Other kids were sneaking away with high school sweethearts, but Emma felt like she could never even try. Her parents were vigilant with a capital V and because of that Emma always knew it was best to play things safe. “Who knows, maybe when Elsa or Anna find someone I’ll be just as involved.”

“Somehow I don’t doubt that, love,” Killian said with a grin. “So this room was yours then.”

“How could you tell?” Emma joked, what with the girlish white canopy over the bed and the pale yellow color on the walls. There were also all sorts of books, most of them about animals, and trophies from her days running track and cross country.

“It feels like you here,” Killian said definitively. He moved forward, looking about on the tops of her dressers and tables. He gazed at every picture and item that she’d kept here. It was kind of a time capsule here, with the person she was at eighteen essentially frozen in place while still being surrounded by items from her younger days. But where she could have been embarrassed, she found she was totally comfortable with Killian seeing all of this.

“Did your room at home feel like you?” Emma asked, curious about his life abroad. She knew a lot about it, about the running and yet also how Killian felt safe there for so long. But she never asked for details like that, and she found herself now wondering what a snapshot into Killian’s youth would have looked like.

“It did to an extent. But it never held much significance to me. The house was important. It was the place my mother made for us, but my room… well I haven’t thought of it in a long time.”

“Sorry to bring up bad memories,” Emma whispered and Killian turned, approaching her and taking her hand in his.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, Emma. The memories aren’t bad, not all of them. If anything you’re doing me a favor.” She looked into his eyes, searching for clarification. “You remind me that so much of my past was good, despite everything, and that as lost and broken as I’ve felt, I had everything I needed before. I have memories just as worth preserving as the ones worth forgetting.”

Emma felt a surge of pride at Killian’s words, not just because she was proud of him and his growth since they’d met, but also because she was happy she was making a difference in his life. Killian deserved to have the best and to access the good that he’d seen without the pain of the bad that had taken much of it away. If she helped him to rejoice in what was in any way she was overjoyed, and as he took her more fully into his arms, his hands drawing gentle but thrilling that feeling only grew stronger.

“So I hate to ask, but I can’t seem to help myself. Did you ever… I mean did anyone ever…”

“The only guests in this room were my family and Anna and Elsa,” Emma said, understanding what his question was going to be. She couldn’t help but smile at his jealousy of a boy who never existed, and when he looked so relieved at her confession she laughed aloud. “Tragically this room never saw much action.”

“Well we could change that, love,” Killian said, his eyes moving from hers down to her mouth. She could see the hunger there in his gaze, and as she watched him wet his own lips her heart fluttered and the gnawing sense of want low in her gut grew louder and louder. “We could pretend, just for a few moments, that our pasts aren’t what they were. We could pretend we’d met sooner, that we’d found each other all those years ago.”

“And let me guess, you’d have been the kind of boy who climbed up terraces to get the girl?” Emma asked, her voice going breathy as Killian’s hands moved across her body. She took a few steps towards the bed, and Killian immediately followed.

“If you were the lass up in the tower then yes, I’d have been exactly that kind of boy.”

Emma allowed herself to imagine what it would have been like. As a man Killian was gorgeous, and she knew as a teen he’d have stolen her breath away. The attraction they had now would still have been there, if just a little more awkward and bumbling. But it was a beautiful dream, to think of finding one’s soul mate so soon. She found herself craving that fantasy, and she pulled him down for a kiss to live it out if only for a moment. The two of them tumbled to the bed, but Emma noticed how quiet the action was, no doubt thanks to Killian’s shifter graces. It turned her on to no end, and she began to lose herself, forgetting where they were and why they were here. All she knew was she wanted Killian and she never wanted to let go. She wrapped herself around him, and lost all track of time. He always took her to this totally new place, and tonight was really no exception.

“I think we would have had a real problem if the fantasy were true, love,” Killian said when he finally pulled back from the delicious moment they were having. The words confused her and she blinked up at him only to find him smiling down at her thoughtfully, his fingers running through her hair as he gazed down at her. “I suspect I would have been here far too often. With an enticement like you up in this tower, nothing could have kept me away.”

“I’m sure my father would have loved that,” Emma joked and Killian grinned, his eyebrows wagging mischievously as he pulled her back up to a standing position and quickly straightened out the scene of the crime. He helped her pull her dress back to where it should be and then adjusted his shirt accordingly.

“Speaking of, I believe your father’s patience is wearing thin. I can hear pacing downstairs. What do you say we put him out of his misery?”

“Good call,” Emma agreed, taking one last look at her room and then accepting Killian’s hand as they headed back to the hallway. “But this is not over.”

“No it most certainly is not,” Killian agreed, pressing one last kiss to her lips before they descended the stairs and returned to the rest of the group who all gave them knowing looks. Killian remained unfazed by them, but Emma could feel a blush creeping over her cheeks. Still, she took her seat again on the couch, unwilling to let the attention get to her.

“Did you two have a nice time?” her mother asked and Emma tried to respond but Killian took the reins for her.

“We did. You have a beautiful home, Mrs. Nolan, one that’s clearly housed a remarkable life for your children.”

“Well thank you, Killian,” her mother said, clearly touched by the compliment. “That’s very sweet. I’m sure you and Emma will do the same someday soon.”

Emma inhaled so sharply that she almost started choking on air, but her mother’s grand statement had been even more badly timed for her father, who was taking a sip of his night cap. He began coughing immediately, his eyes almost bugging out of his head at the comment, but where everyone else looked concerned, Emma’s mother was not. “Oh come on, David. I was just teasing. I know they’ll do things in their own time. No one’s rushing anyone.”

“Good,” her Dad said when he finally caught his breath. “But please, let’s keep all future ‘teasing’ to moments when I’m not drinking, shall we?”

Everyone laughed and her mother agreed. “Sounds like a deal, Charming. Now why don’t you come sit down with me? I just convinced Ruby and Elsa and Anna that we should play some sort of game and I know how much you love charades. You can be on my team.”

Emma’s father smiled and moved across the room, but before he reached her mother a knock sounded at the door. Immediately the shifters went on red alert, and Emma guessed that Granny and Ruby had fallen into the same sense of comfort that Killian was prone to while in Storybrooke. It was hard to take shifters off guard, and with Ruby it should be even harder, but it had been done just now to none of their liking. Her Dad, however, didn’t seem worried in the slightest as he moved to the entryway. Only when he’d opened the door did she hear his inhale of breath and immediately Emma looked to see who it was, not believing her eyes when her gaze landed on the unannounced guest. She blinked a few times, stunned into silence and spell bound by the scene before her. There was no way. Like seriously, no way.

“Oh David,” the woman said, her voice filled with emotion and her big eyes filled with tears.  “It’s really you. I found you. I finally found you.”

Instinctively, Emma’s mother stood up, moving to her Dad as the woman pushed forward and hugged him close and when she did, their new arrival was obscured from Emma’s vision. In that moment Emma told herself there was no chance that this could be who she thought it was. Her eyes had to be playing tricks on her, but when they pulled back Emma saw her again and she knew she wasn’t mistaken. While this woman had never been here in all her life, Emma had seen this woman before, in a photo on her Dad’s desk at the clinic. But though so many years had passed since that photograph was taken, this woman stood here truly untouched by time. Somehow a ghost from the past was here with them tonight, and Emma was unable to fathom how anything like this could possibly be happening.

“Emma, love, who is that?” Killian asked, his voice on edge and his hands on her in a protective hold. She looked back to him, sensing his panic and his dislike for this uncertainty, and she reached for him, still not knowing what to say. She turned back to the rest of the room, and she found that the others were also looking at her for an answer, but Emma felt like hers couldn’t possibly be right. Still she said it aloud, hearing how crazy it sounded, but knowing despite all reason that her guess was correct.

“I think… I think it’s my grandmother.”

Post-Note: So I’m guessing most of you are looking at the screen you’re reading this on thinking ‘uh, what did she just say?’ and honestly that makes a lot of sense. This is a pretty out of left field thing, but I’ve known since the beginning that David’s story and his family aren’t as cut and dry as they’ve seemed. Not only do they have hunter lore and that background, but there are other things clearly at play if his Mom can potentially be back here. For those of you who don’t recall (and who aren’t going to read through thirteen chapters for Easter eggs), all we’ve heard of about Ruth was that she’s in a photo on David’s desk and that she reportedly died in childbirth. But not to worry, next chapter will address those questions of what the heck is happening, and you’ll see how this story line fits into other ones I have been weaving together throughout the story up to now. Anyway thanks so much for reading, and I really hope that you’ve enjoyed!

Tag list: @kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @resident-of-storybrooke @snowbellewells @winterbaby89 @teamhook @ultraluckycatnd @colifer-oncer @artistic-writer  @allofdafandoms-blog @eastside-divebar @snarkycaptainswan4

#back after forever away #cs #cs fic #cs ff #cs fluff #cs smut #cs angstish #captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan au #cs au #emma swan #killian jones #cssns #shifter!killian #human!emma #cs shifter au #snowing #ruby and granny #anna and elsa #ouat au #lost souls and reveries #lost souls au #lost souls 14

[ask-misto-magichrome]

Question Time part 1

Recently I answered some questions along with my sister @ask-victoria-pastelgoth about being a twin. It's full of revelations all around.

1: Which is the youngest?

Misto: *points over to Victoria* The official baby of the family.

Victoria: yep and I enjoy it for the most part

Misto: she gets away with murder

Victoria: but I’m not allowed a boyfriend

2: Are you identical?

Misto: Except for the biggest obvious difference, yeah pretty much. Same face shapes, same natural hair colour. *mumbles* same height...

Victoria: but technically we are fraternal twins

Misto: ohh technically.

Victoria: *is not amused*

3: What is your twins favourite food?

Misto: The souls of those who have wronged her.

Victoria: *smacks him on the head* idiot, he is obsessed with Coffee if that counts as food.

Misto: I have no idea what you're talking about *sips from an iced latte*

Victoria: meanwhile I have been known to devour anything chocolate *blushes*

Misto: chocolate covered souls.

Victoria: can we please move on to the next question, I feel like I will kill any minute.

4: What is your favourite memory of each other?

Misto: Vic would go to dance lessons then come back and teach me what she learned until they let me go too.

Victoria: *smiling* whenever I felt sad Misto would put on a little magic show for me, even if some of the tricks didn’t work it still put a smile on my face.

5: Who takes more time to get ready?

Misto: *silently sips coffee*

Victoria: that would depend Misto takes at least half an hour for tugger *smirks*

Misto: I do not! Anyway who spends an hour deciding between dresses every date they have? Ohhh do you think he'd prefer the blue or the-

Victoria: *tackles Misto*

6: Name a common friend of yours.

Misto: We have a couple actually. Jemima, Jerrie, Teazer, Plato.

Victoria: I would say Munk but he’s more friends with our older brother. And don’t forget Cettie and Electra

7: What is your favourite film to watch together?

Misto: *glaring at Victoria* Don't you dare.

Victoria: *smirking* I love seeing how worked up you get over it. But Twilight is the last film we would enjoy together, I got bored. However I would say we enjoy watching musicals together.

Misto: I told you to not! And for the record I did not enjoy Twilight. The whole thing is unreasonable!

Victoria: well I only watched it to laugh at it with Jem but apparently these two enjoyed it only I got bored.

Misto: -alive for all eternity and are 100% completely straight! Theres no way!

Victoria: please just move on or we’ll be here all day

8: Who is better at studying?

Misto: Me. Easy. Next question.

Victoria: hold on you only study when it’s something to with magic

Misto: and your notebooks are covered in doodles about all the boys you think are cute. You don't even have colour coordinated notes!

Victoria: I do when we have a test coming up.

Misto: *just stares at her for a second* next question.

9: Who is a better driver?

Misto: Well, Alonzo doesn't like me driving the car. I can't think why.

Victoria: you haven’t passed your driver’s license, me I’m stuck on learner’s. To Alonzo if he can drive we don’t need to know how to.

Misto: my provisional license is mainly used for ID when buying alcohol.

Victoria: So never

10: Who is good at sports?

Misto: er.... is Alonzo an option?

Victoria: our sport of choice is more dancing.

Misto: I'd say it's not as competitive but have you seen some of those dance competitions?

Victoria: some of those guys train to the point of collapse

Misto: Ew

11: Do you have the same personalities?

Misto: Sometimes. Occasionally she's a spoil sport and ruins the fun.

Victoria: sometimes you go overboard with magic

Misto: So you say

Victoria: and Alonzo has said it too

Misto: Yeah coz he's the expert

Victoria: whatever you say

Misto: *mouths know it all.*

12: Do you have any nicknames for each other?

Misto: Vic, Vicky, loser, Oi works a lot too. Darcey Bussell when she screws up a dance move. The Queen.

Victoria: mainly Misto, magic man, wannabe magician when he blows up something.

13: Does your twin have any annoying habits?

Misto: Hogging the bathroom and the tumble dryer. "Borrowing" CDs.

Victoria: spraying glitter everywhere when he does Magic, changing the channel when I’m watching something

14: Whos closest to your parents?

Misto: *Goes silent, just glaring to the side. Refusing to answer*

Victoria: our parents died when we were young, Alonzo says it was a car crash, we were raised by our Uncle Bustopher Jones until Alonzo found a stable home and job and was old enough to look after us. I never knew why Uncle Bustopher only took in Misto and I and not Alonzo.

Misto: *slouched back, arms folded defensively clearly not enjoying listening to this.*

15: Did you ever dress alike?

Misto: Everyone always thought it was cute to put us in matching outfits when we were younger.

Victoria: but now we have very different dressing styles but sometimes we would wear similar outfits, it always got Alonzo to smile.

16: Who loves shopping more?

Misto: Depends what for.

Victoria: if clothes and music then me, if coffee it’s him.

Misto: And stationary. Don't forget The Cupboard.

Victoria: right sorry was he is obsessed with stationary even though you don’t use most of it.

Misto: But it looks pretty!

Victoria: So does my piercings bit you don’t see me getting millions of them.

Misto: Yet.

Victoria: I’ve only got a few in both ears, and in my belly button *turns from Misto since that was something she got without her brothers’ knowledge or permission*

Misto: someone won't be wearing crop tops this summer.

17: What three things do you most commonly fight about?

Misto: we're perfect and never fight. *grin*

Victoria: yep we’re perfect angels

18: Do you share secrets?

Misto: Yeah. No. Kinda? Mostly.

Victoria: mainly we hide secrets together from Alonzo unless there is something Misto isn’t telling me

Misto: I'd never hide anything you need to know. Or anything involving you.

Victoria: okay Misto I believe you.

19: Which is the better cook?

Misto: Me obviously. Cooking is a science after all.

Victoria: if by cooking you mean burning everything to ash. *smirks* I’m the better cook and my food is delicious.

Misto: I do not burn everything to ash! If you're talking about the spaghetti incident, I just forgot to poke it down into the pan and it flopped outside the pan and the stove set it on fire!

Victoria: at that was one time

Misto: I make good coffee its all thats required!

Victoria: for you

20: Whos room is cleaner?

Misto: I couldn't possibly-

Victoria: it’s mine and we both know it, Uncle Bustopher always said it was like walking into a tornado when he described Misto’s room.

Misto: It's not that its messy. There's just... a lot of notes tacked to the wall. Astrological notes, moon phases, crystal properties, herbs... I mean if I'm doing this whole magic thing I might as well go the whole way right?

Victoria: well you are right brother

21: On your birthday do you have one cake or two?

Misto: It's fun to try making one cake with two wildly different themes.

Victoria: yep it always starts off with us making one cake but then something happens and Alonzo just gives us two cupcakes. It’s still fun though.

Misto: yeah we're not really too bothered about cake.

Victoria: yep it’s more about spending the time as family

22: As children did you play with each other or other siblings too?

Misto: For a while Alonzo did play with us.

Victoria: till he was too busy working

Misto: which obviously isn't his fault. Its just a shame. He's always so stressed nowadays.

Victoria: but we just got told that we are going to his university so maybe we could have some time together between classes.

Misto: unless its his academic studies getting in the way there.

23: What is the weirdest thing you did together?

Misto: is it possible to decide on just one, Vic?

Victoria: yeah we got bored easy at our uncle’s and tried a lot of different things.

Misto: Theres always a lot of weird things around his house.

Victoria: yeah breakable things

24: What is the last thing you did together?

Misto: Answer question number 23

Victoria: pretty much yeah.

Misto: you need better questions.

25: Who is more straightforward?

Misto: *Points with a little twirl at Victoria*

Victoria: *scowls at him* okay so I prefer to tell others the truth but I still tell white lies.

Misto: yeah but you get to the point. It doesn't have to be a bad thing. I've been know to skirt around an issue because I don't want to say it outright.

Victoria: like you’re love for Tugger?

Misto: like my- no! Shurrup!

Victoria: you didn’t deny it

Misto: *gives her a glare*

Victoria: *looks back at him bored*

26: What is your favourite thing about your twin?

Misto: She's not taller than me.

Victoria: that he does magic

27: Out of your twins friends who is your least favourite?

Misto: Electra. She's judges me I just know it.

Victoria: just because she quieter than her sister does not mean she judges you.

Misto: She sits there... glaring at me.

Victoria: have you talked to her? Oh and to answer your question Electra’s twin Etcetera she squeals so much

Misto: She really does. Funny I thought youd say Pounce. You said he was a bad influence the other day.

Victoria: yeah but really it doesn’t help that Pounce,Tumble,George and Plato all follow Tugger like fan girls

Misto: whats that got to do with anything? The amount you bring up Tugger, it looks like you have the obsession not me.

Victoria: look I only said Pounce and tumble and George were bad influences on Plato that’s all

28: Whos better at drawing?

Misto: Do doodles of the person you have a crush on that day count as drawing? Coz if so, her.

Victoria: *blushes* I’m not really that good

Misto: definitely better than me though. I don't really have the patience to develop that skill.

Victoria: thanks Misto

Stay tuned for part 2!

#jellicle University rp #question time #get to know

[pinknerdpanda]

Bad Blood - Part 1

Characters: Reader x Roy, Sam, Dean

Summary: You stop at a small cafe in Louisiana on your way home from hunting with the Winchesters. There is something about the man behind the counter that makes you hungry for more than just the pie.

Warnings: Violence, Language, Pre-Smuttiness

Word Count: 2262

A/N: This is the first part of a series I am working on. Part 2 is already done and I am starting part 3 next. Future parts will be NSFW and I will be sure to put that in the warnings. The gif is not mine - thanks Google.

Your feedback is so appreciated! :)

Thanks to my Soul Sister @wheresthekillswitch for beta’ing this for me and for always encouraging me. Also thanks to @emilywritesaboutdean who kinda pre-beta’d this like a long time ago when Lee was working on her 400 celebration and I needed help moving forward. You are both incredible writers and I am privileged to call you my friends. The support and love you guys and @arryn-nyxx give me on a regular basis is beyond words. I love my squishes.

Tags are below - please send me an ask if you would like to be added or removed from my tag list! :)

Bad Blood

Part 1

Guidry’s Cajun Cafe - Carencro LA

You have seen your fair share of shady places, but this one - with its battered walls and rickety tables and mismatched chairs may well top your list. You eye the empty barstools lining the counter to determine the one least likely to put your ass on the floor. You decide on the one closest to the cash register, perching gingerly upon it.

The run-down cafe is nearly empty, unsurprisingly so at 12 am. The smell of coffee makes your stomach growl and you immediately turn over the chipped stoneware mug in anticipation. The sudden squeak of a swinging door is soon followed by soft melodic whistle, both sounds cause your head to jerk up from the menu in your hand. A man wearing a green apron appears behind the counter. He approaches you holding a pot of coffee in one of his large hands.

“Evenin’ ma’am,” he drawls, his voice is warm and intoxicating. One side of his mouth quirks in a grin as he fills your cup.

“Thank you.” You return the smile as you meet his gaze. His brilliant blue eyes are mesmerizing.

“Can I get you anything ‘sides the coffee t’night?”

“Uh...yeah...actually. Do you have any, uh...pie?” You groan internally as you stumble your way through your reply. Get your shit together. What is the matter with you?

“I believe we got one slice left.” The grin on his face widens, causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle slightly. “How d’you feel about cherry?”

“Sounds great. I’ll have that.”

“Comin’ right up.”

He turns on his heel to get your pie, offering you a glimpse of his back. This man is huge, though definitely not freakishly tall like your friend Sam. The thought of Sam and his brother Dean makes your eyes roll.

Those crazy sons-a-bitches nearly got you killed. Three days ago, they’d called, asking for your help to take out a nest of vamps in Baton Rouge. What could go wrong?

Well, as it turns out, everything.

According to their research, the nest had contained no more than half a dozen bloodsuckers. They’d been keeping a low profile in the area, but the signs were all there; seven missing in the last eighteen months and four bodies, all drifters, with their throats ripped out and not a drop of blood to their name.

The Winchesters tracked them to a run-down shack out on Highway 61. The dense foliage obscured the building from the road, providing a prime spot for the vamps’ homebase. The sliver of moonlight in the inky sky gave off little light making it impossible to discern distinct shapes.

Dean found a secluded spot to stow his Impala and the three of you exited the vehicle quickly. The elder brother popped the trunk and you stifled a giggle as he propped it open with a sawed off shotgun.

You’d only been hunting with these boys a few other times and each time you’d found something new to be intrigued by.  Sam and Dean had battled and taken out every kind of evil thing you’d ever heard of and a handful that you hadn’t. Their reputation was known far and wide in the close-knit community. In your few encounters with the handsome brothers, you’d grown to appreciate their trademark cunning and intellect and they’d quickly earned your heartfelt respect. Dean’s cocky attitude and confident swagger, however, had the innate ability to frustrate the shit out of you and this was no exception.

In the hours leading up to your arrival, you’d tried and failed multiple times to get the green eyed man to share his strategy to take out the nest, each time receiving the same self-assured grin.

“It’s simple, princess. We go in, chop their heads off and celebrate with a beer for a job well done.” His use of the nickname “princess” annoyed you, but you chose to let it go for the moment.

Dean turned, passing a machete each to you and Sam, his own gripped tightly in his large hand, before slamming the trunk closed.

“Ok, we good?” His tone was determined and focused.

“What’s our play here?” you asked again, hoping for a proper answer this time.

“I told you, get in, get out, beers. Any questions?”

“That’s it?” you barked, frustration sharpening your tone.

Sam glanced at you empathetically. He seemed to understand your need for detail, but you assumed that his years on the road with Dean had helped him learn to cope.

“Oh I’m sorry, princess, do I need to draw you a diagram?” Dean retorted as he stepped closer in an attempt to intimidate you with his large frame. He gestured vaguely toward the highway. “Look, there’s the road if you want out, but I suggest you start walking now if you want to make it back to town by morning.”

Your blood boiled as you squared your shoulders and your eyes narrowed. You stretched your neck to meet his gaze.

“Listen here, Winchester, call me ‘princess’ again and it WILL be the last time.  You called me, remember?” You jabbed your finger into his chest to emphasize each word. “You need me, so you can back off with your badass male-dominance, ‘I’ve got a big dick’ bullshit. All I want is a plan. You wanna waltz through that door and get your ass ripped to shreds, be my guest, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let your over-confidence put me in the ground.”

A muffled sound made your head whip around. Sam’s eyes glittered with suppressed laughter and his scruff covered dimples threatened to emerge. The sight was infuriating.

“What’s so funny over there, Sasquatch?” you growled through clenched teeth.

“Nothing.” he said. His attempt to wipe the smile off his face failed. “Nothing at all. I just love watching you refuse to take Dean’s crap. It is just so...refreshing.”

Dean grunted and you looked back at him through slits. “Well, what’s it going to be, Dean. You gonna keep up this asshole schtick or are we going to do our job?”

“Fine. Y/N.” He spit out your name like a curse as he leaned back against the car and sighed. “Sam and I will take the front door, you go round back to catch any trying to make a get-away. Chop chop and we are out of here. Capisce?”

The half dozen vampires turned out to be 15 and the “shack” - an expansive abandoned motel. When everything was said and done, you were all three bleeding profusely, each needing an indeterminate number of stitches, but the nest was eliminated. You limped back to the Impala in silence, chucking your blood-coated blade in the trunk before falling into the back seat and slamming the door.

Dean slid carefully behind the wheel, letting out a deep breath as Sam took his seat.

“Y/N…” Dean’s tone was soft and tinged with remorse but you cut him off.

“Just...don’t. OK? They are dead, we are breathing. Let’s just be done. I need a shower and you promised me a beer.”

Dean nodded, throwing the car in reverse before tearing off down the road.

The soft rattle of a plate against the counter draws you out of your thoughts. You smile appreciatively at the man. “Thank you. This looks delicious.”

“Bon appetite. The name’s Roy,” he offers a large calloused hand and you reach to shake it instinctively, your brain entranced by the sparkle of his eyes and his perfect white teeth.

“Y/N,” you manage, swallowing hard, the feel of his hand wrapped around yours sending a current down your spine.

“Nice to meet ya, y/n. What brings you to this part of Louisiana this time ‘a night?” He releases your hand and leans on his elbows, crossing his arms on the counter in front of you.

“Passing through on my way out of Baton Rouge.” You tug at the collar of your jacket nervously, wincing at the sting of fresh stitches near your collarbone. His eyes follow your movements, pupils widening briefly as the edge of a bandage peeks out from under the collar of your t-shirt. You drop your hand to the steaming mug. “I just needed to stretch my legs a little before I settle in for the long haul back to Texas.”

The sound of someone clearing their throat grabs Roy’s attention. “‘Scuse me, darlin.” He straightens and winks at you, scooping up the pot of coffee and heading toward the booth in the far corner.  

You shake yourself, a voice in your head scolding you for being so awkward. The last few days with the Winchesters have done a number on you. It’s not that you’re attracted to them, but damn are they attractive. You don’t usually go for the pretty-boy, straight from the cover of the plaid-appreciation edition of GQ type. But between the adrenaline of the past few days and the close proximity of the brothers, you are more than a little worked up, and the way Roy is looking at you isn’t helping matters.

Roy makes his way back up to the counter, placing the pot of coffee back on the warmer and grabbing a towel while whistling softly. You study him carefully out of the corner of your eye. His hair is cropped short and his carefully trimmed beard is peppered with grey. His neck is thick and his fitted white shirt hugs his broad chest. The sleeves are rolled up exposing his massive forearms, muscles flexing as he wipes down the counter. You have the sudden image of being pushed against a wall, that muscular chest pressing into yours as one of his thick hands winds into the back of your hair, his lips crashing into yours in a heated kiss.

“How’s it taste, cher?” Roy’s sultry voice breaks your thoughts, making you yelp in surprise. You look up wide-eyed, finding him much closer than you’re expecting and you suck in a quick breath.

Roy raises his hand in front of him, quirking an eyebrow. “My apologies. I wasn’t tryin’ ta frighten you.” You notice his a tinge of sadness in his eyes and a part of you wonders what put it there.

“Sorry.” You smile, shaking your head. “Sorry...it’s just been a long couple of days.” You scoop a forkful of pie and place it in your mouth, closing your eyes in delight as the sweet taste hits your tongue. “This is amazing,” you practically moan.

Roy’s face brightens and a wide smile graces his lips. He seems to enjoy watching you savor each bite as much as you’re enjoying eating it.

The sound of footsteps from behind you is soon followed by the squeak of a hinge and a dull thud as the customers from the far booth head outside. Roy makes his way to the door, flipping the switch on the open sign.

“Oh shit, you’re probably needing to close down…” You try to stand too quickly, but lose your balance as the stool begins tipping over, your foot still entwined in the bottom rung. Roy’s strong arms are on you suddenly as he deftly steadies you and the barstool in one motion. Leaning into his firm chest for support, you untangle your foot from the offending furniture. Your breath hitches as his scent fills your nostrils and your gaze shifts slowly upward to meet his. Roy swipes gently at your parted lips with his rough thumb.

“You had a lil’ som’thin’ on your lips there, cher.” His voice is strained.

He wets his lips and the sight of his tongue sends a heat coursing through your body. Slowly, his hand slides to the back of your head and then his lips are on yours, a feather-light touch. Winding one hand around the back of his neck, you press into him. Your eagerness granting him permission, his tongue dips into your mouth and you moan into his kiss.

A growl vibrates through his chest as his hands slide down the length of your body. One hand lands on your ass, squeezing firmly and you arch your back. Roy kisses a trail from your mouth to your throat and his tongue stops to trace the vein in your neck, the sensation sending waves of heat straight to your core. You swivel your hips and press your thighs together, searching for some kind of friction.

You quickly untie the strings of Roy’s green apron from around his waist, pulling back just enough to pull it over his head and throw it aside. He releases the grip on your body, reaching a hand behind his head to grab a handful of his shirt and yank it off as you shed your jacket. His fingertips fall to trace the hem of your shirt before hooking his fingers under it and removing it from your body. The look on his face as he drinks you in is almost predatory.

His eyes lock onto the patch of white just over your collarbone and he goes completely still, the color draining from his face. You study him, glancing down self consciously to note the blood that has begun to seep from your wound, a bright red spot beginning to spread through the fibers of the bandage.

There is nothing human about the sound that escapes Roy’s throat, and your eyes shoot up to meet his. Pupils dilated, chest heaving, mouth agape as he turns around on his heel. It takes your lust-drunk brain half a second to put the pieces together.

Read Part 2 Here

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[tumblunni]

Bunni talks about thier cute pets! Cos I’m on such a rune factory hype today I figured I may as well ramble about what monsters I captured, and maybe other stuff about how I personally chose to play the game. I love how there’s so many different ways to play and all different routes to making enough money and exp to progress the main story! Usually in these kinds of games I focus on dungeoncrawling (like i did in stardew valley) but I’m surprised how much I genuinely enjoyed the farming in this game even though it was A HUGE CHORE in stardew! This series is the pinnacle of farming type games in my opinion, it appeals even to non-fans like me!

ANYWAY UMM I LOVE MY MONSTERS I pretty much never take them with me to dungeons, the only time I use dungeon monsters is if I catch them in the current dungeon, then I just send them home and never want them to get hurt ever again. I really REALLY like that the game levels up your monsters with a percentage of your exp even if you dont fight with them! It means you dont lose buddy battle festivals just because you choose to use them for farming instead of fighting. i have like a bazillion monster barns all super maxed out size and i have all my monsters doing the majority of my farming work nowadays except if I need to try levelling up seeds or growing a large crop. I respect them a lot cos theyre doing all this hard work so I’m able to take time off and focus on dating people and saving the world, while still making good money and PP! They save me a lot of time juggling the two sides of the game ^_^ Also I started off wanting to try and catch one of every monster in the game, but it started to become impossible to afford the higher level upgrades to get big enough monster barns to hold them all, cos I was having 90% of my fields taken up by growing enough hay to feed them all. So i sadly had to give up on the idea! But by then i’d grown attatched to a lot of them so I was only able to release the last few newest ones I’d got, I still have like forty of them and only ten of them are actually doing anything :P BUT THEYRE TOO CUTE TO SAY GOODBYE!! Oh and now i am still trying to maybe collect all the ghost types, cos theyre sweetie boops! i really love the design of the spirit types with the flamey body and the jack o lantern face. (funny since theres an ACTUAL jack o lantern type ghost that just has a regular smile) Its a bit of a lazy design choice that all of them are flameballs just recoloured to match the elements tho, i mean why not have them be lil tornados or water droplets with faces? Anyway, my main one is a wind elemental named Gizmo after my rotom in pokemon. She was one of The Saviour Trio, whom I love! They were part of an unusual strategy that helped me powerlevel early on. I would run into a dungeon that was way too high level to be completed right now, and throw all my good cookery items at the first monster i see, hoping I could catch it. Then if I succeeded I would use that monster to beat up all the similarly levelled monsters while my low level self was dying in the background, carrying me thru the dungeon til I’d powered up enough to fight alongside it! ^_^ The initial two I started with were Fester the hammer giant and Atlas the beetle, but when I saw the adorable ghosties I had to catch one and call it gizmo! i actually saw that dungeon’s wind variant ghosties before i met the original fire ones in the actual dungeon I was supposed to go to. Another noteable trio were the first three monsters I caught, who’ve been managing my main farm field ever since. Virion the archer orc, Snap the chipsqueak and Florin the flower thingie! Also Iron the bull, who’s been perpetually useful with how he’s like the only damn way to get milk items, seriously :P Why is milk so sparse in this game :P (tho randomly i do like how this world’s equivelant of cows are like if cows and bulls were merged into one creature. genderfluid bovine! maybe theyre like clownfish) There’s also Silver and Kafka, the two mandatory pets that you get during the various sechs dungeons for some reason. I got particularly attatched to Kafka cos I headcanoned that the monsters trapped in that cage were human test subjects used to develop the rune stone technology that ethelberd uses to steal the dragons’s power. It just seemed like that would be the only reason that this fairy monster can talk when no other ones do. So i kinda treat Kafka like he’s my character’s child, even though he never talks again after you add him to your party I like to headcanon he’s still sentient and part of the family. Oh, and I headcanon he’s a boy cos I didnt know until seeing the monster profile after recruiting the character that the green fairies are meant to be female. None of the other monsters get described as only being one gender except the fairies, if I recall correctly? (and the guardian bosses, but thats understandable considering their origins) So yeah, i kinda made him into an oc and I can imagine him having a gijinka form like the guardians after theyre purified? but fairy type monsters already look pretty humanoid and if I made them any more so then they’d just look exactly like amber. So maybe if I draw him as an oc I’d change what kind of monster he is and try drawing a gijinka of that? Maybe merge some of my monsters together and do a gijinka of the wind ghosties or the dead tree thing? SPEAKING OF WHICH I LOVE MY NEWEST TEAM MEMBER russel the tree ghost boss character!! he is so huge and so powerful!!! I love him!! I was so pleasantly surpised to find out I could catch boss monsters!! I think he’s the best one ive got so far, cos the second bosses in each guardian dungeon were kinda ones that didnt have any plot or anything, so i feel more like i can make ocs of them. it was weird how they just came out of nowhere to have ane xcuse for the revisit quests to have a boss battle too. Extra weird cos you can still rematch the guardian bosses once per day anyway. anyway my oc thoughts for russel is that he is Large but very kind and gentle and shy and cries whenever he hurts the smaller peoples. He is a quiet gardener who likes to bake apple pies for people. (”This apple was grown from my flesh!” *sunny smile*) So he’s kinda like a more socially anxious Amber? I was thinking if he got to turn into a human with a tragic past like how the first four bosses did, he would be a big bara love interest guy cos he’s like the largest boss character model. And cos shy kind baras are some of my fave love interests! (I am SO excited to marry benny in Fe Fates whenever i finally get that game!) I was thinking maybe he could have dark skin and have some bright shoulder tattoos that look all flowery like the apples he had as a tree. And maybe he sprouts flowers from his shoulders when he blushes! Or maybe has a flower on the top of his head? But I like the idea of him having very big hair of some sort, to tangeantally resemble a tree. Maybe a handsome afro, or maybe very long very soft flowing rapunzel hair, or maybe very non-bishie scruffy hair that he can never tame? Or maybe he’s bald and has a long beard... Anyway he would be very cute and I think he’d be a fan favourite.

#bunni plays rf4