#this was my first time doing lighting oN TOP of my inks and tbh i kinda like it!! might do it again in the future hm hm
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i call this one ‘Omega and Wrecker get ahold of the aux cord and Crosshair’s on the brink’
(prints)
#this was my first time doing lighting oN TOP of my inks and tbh i kinda like it!! might do it again in the future hm hm#the bad batch#star wars#star wars fanart#Fanart#tbb crosshair#crosshair bad batch#clone trooper#clone force 99#my art#digital art#Illustration#procreate
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20 Questions for Fic Writers
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
45!!
2. What’s your total AO3 word count?
531,440 👁️
3. What fandoms do you write for?
straaanger things unfortunately
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
thirty days, subtext, ink you up, smoke signal, and throw me one
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
yes! it can take me a couple weeks if work is busy, but i try to respond to everything. i enjoy it, and i like talking to people!! i'm a bit confused when ppl don't, tbh.
6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
hmmm i like happy endings, so the only one with a bittersweet/open ending is to cherish. also my least kudos'd fic so take from that what you will <3
7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
i feel like throw me one is pretty all-wrapped-up-in-a-bow happy.
8. Do you get hate on fics?
i wouldn't call it hate but i sometimes have people being intentionally obtuse or uncharitable in comments. or backhanded compliments.
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
.....occasionally 🙃 yes!! i'm big into smut. i like dubcon, dry humping, friends-to-lovers type shit.
10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?
i haven't but i'd like to. something fun.
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
yes lmao a couple times.
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
not consensually (see #11)
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
no. i want to, but i think i'd be a bad co-writer tbh.
14. What’s your all time favorite ship?
honestly, my ride-or-die, can't-imagine-them-with-anyone-else is kyo and tohru from fruits basket 😭 i'm really not all that precious about my ships otherwise. i
15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
my low stamina steve fic. it's fun, i LIKE it, it's almost done! but yeah i'm stuck on it.
16. What are your writing strengths?
i feel like it's gotta be smut. sexual tension? horny times.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
anything technical. opening/ending lines. i hate them.
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?
if it serves a purpose, it's fine. the google translate style can be awkward to read in a fic, tho, so i'd personally only do it if i could guarantee it sounded casual.
19. First fandom you wrote for?
fruits basket. kingdom hearts soon after. i was a weeb.
20. Favorite fic you’ve written?
is your light on? because it's close to my heart. but i'm also really proud of make some room because it's not my usual kind of fic and i'm happy with how it turned out.
the MOST high pressure of high pressure tags (jk): @cuips-not-cute @theamazingbard @beetlesandstarss
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Playing around with inking/shading/simple coloring a bit more. Not sure how much I love inking — on one hand it’s super satisfying erasing the undersketch and being left with crisp lines, on the other I realized entirely too late I should’ve used the star as a light source and couldn’t go back to fix my shading
Onto this guy— I’ll admit, Wish is kinda growing on me these days. I don’t think it’ll be great, but it’ll probably be good. The character designs are beautiful and the way the animators are rendering the CGI is pretty neat. I do love that we’re getting a Classic Disney Villain again, though, and I’m super interested in this guy because he seems to break so many CDV rules — while there’s some Evil Green Magic in his villain song, he himself doesn’t have a CDV color pallet (greens, black, reds, purples), instead having light grays, whites, and light blues. He looks genuinely friendly and approachable, but he isn’t a Plot Twist Villain. They’re outright advertising him with his Villain Song. He’s also married. I don’t think we’ve seen him and his wife interact at all in marketing yet, and given the fact that the queen is included in toy sets with Asha, the hero, I don’t think she’s gonna be a Plot Twist Villain, so they might not still be married by the end of the movie, but still, it’s unique (I can’t think of a single CDV who’s married off the top of my head. The rest play Unwanted Suiters, widows, romantic obstacles, reconned into having a past relationship for the sake of Sequel Babies, or have no involvement in romance at all)
I’m crossing my fingers that he has more than one song. Thanks I Get has grown on me the more I’ve listened to it, and I do like the actual animation that accompanies it, but like. It’s basically Evil You’re Welcome y’all. Like Gaston got a fun Villain Song too, yeah but he also had the Mob Song — please give Magnifico the same courtesy and give him a second boisterous and wicked song — it doesn’t have to be another Hellfire, but please gimme more Friends on the Other Side and Mother Knows Best, I beg you. This is the first actual CDV in a musical in what? A decade? Go all out with him!
(Also, juries out on if it’ll gain an explosive fandom after the movie comes out or not. I can see fans going either way — Encanto took off like wildfire when it went to streaming and Frozen had those snow storms in NY to help boost it, while other Disney movies barely have their time in the sun. Tbh there have been many media properties that I’ve been meh about over all that I’ve come to adore because they have an engaging fandom and good character designs/concepts)
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quick rundown of different ways i've made patches
for @pescabianca cuz they asked lol
gonna start by saying i'm far from an expert on any of this, especially proper screenprinting and blockprinting. i'm just some guy that's been winging it for the past 3 years and it's just kind of what i do now? idk. here's the methods i've used for making patches
method 1: stencil and fabric paint
in which you're making a stencil and painting by hand. first time i made patches i hand carved out the letters on some cricut vinyl (i didn't have a cricut i just used a craft knife and taped it to my desk), put it down on top of a piece of fabric and sponged on some fabric paint. you can also use cardboard or cardstock you tape down for the stencil and tape down, whatever you got, i just find the vinyl was the easiest to make it not bleed as much. pretty simple, pretty accessible. the vinyl option is more for a single patch, smth like a cardboard stencil is better for multiple. make sure to use an iron to set in your paint once it dries
method 2: diy screen with mod podge
you can make a simple screenprint with mod podge, some kinda mesh fabric and an embroidery hoop. take voile or chiffon, pull the fabric taut on the embroidery hoop, and sketch on your design with a pencil (be careful as to not rip the mesh). remember that the flattest part goes down on your fabric, so make sure youre drawing inside the hoop.
paint on the mod podge in the negative space of your design, let dry. you can at this point use screen printing ink or continue with fabric paint, i think this was the time where i first bought screen ink. put your screen flat onto your fabric, some ink/paint at the top of the screen, then use an old gift card or id as a squeegee to do the actual printing part, dragging it down in a scraping motion. pull away and leave the patch to dry. you probably wanna iron it to set in the ink once you're done.
this is good esp if youre printing a bunch at once but doesnt wash very well so it can be kinda one and done sometimes? i used fabric mod podge so it lasted like 2 gos before getting all gross. but if you already have this kinda stuff laying around for other crafts, its pretty simple and introduces you to screeprinting somewhat without spending too much money
inspo/instruction link
method 3: screenprinting
getting/making an actual screen, you can just buy them online tbh, though it's not too hard to diy imo, especially if you're good with wood (haha) at all. i'm not, the way i diy'd it initially was finding some cheap wood picture frames from the dollar store or smth, pulling the screen mesh taut with a big embroidery hoop cuz i didn't have clamps and such, and using the staple gun to staple them onto the frame. it works just as well tbh, but i don't know how much i can speak on the longevity of dollar store frames or how well i attached the screen mesh, those are kinda skills in of themselves you gotta hone which is why this is all so much more involved
speaking of which, the next part is emulsion. i use jacquard emulsion fluid because it's cheap and i'm used to it. speedball is fine but i bought a bulk bottle once that was expired and i've never forgiven them for it. emulsion is a fluid thats mixed with a photosensitive fluid that causes it to cure and harden in uv light. you spread that across your screen, leave it in a dry, dark place to dry overnight (i used to use the bottom shelf of a bookshelf with a curtain over it, then the top drawer of a dresser. you can put it in your closet or something, depends on the space you have.) keep it in that dark place until you're ready to use it, otherwise you risk hardening it by accident.
once you've got a screen prepped, you want to have a transparency of your image in all black so light can get in everywhere but your design, and then expose it either to the sun or a lighting set up that you've bought/made. once you've cured it, you can then remove your transparency and you should be able to rinse out the emulsion fluid that was under it, leaving you with a screen to use!
for lighting setup, i use a flood lamp type thing that speedball sells that i bought years ago off of blick, i think? since the places i've lived have very specific times of day where you get direct sun to reliably use, at a certain point getting the lamp became worth it. depending on what you're using both in terms of your emulsion fluid and light source, the curing time can be very different, but this method allows for fine detail that can be difficult to attain by hand. stuff like screentones to create gradients, and the ability to make several screens for different color layers. it can be tricky to do sometimes but the ease of making more complex designs and having longer lasting screens can be worth it
also at this point you definitely want to be using actual screen printing ink, probably. you can buy a squeegee, i often still just use old credit cards and such, especially with my smaller designs, so it's up to you on that end. make sure you're using fabric ink, not acrylic ink, for your patches. just in general be aware of what type of ink you're getting, i use water-based inks that rinse out the screen easy with a spray bottle of water and some paper towels (you can also just rinse em in the sink but mine is too shallow lol).
i'll link to some tutorials i used when starting out, cuz this stuff is a lot easier with a visual aide and i don't think i explained it very well skdjf
youtube tutorial // tutorrial 2 // tutorial 3 // screens i used to get // emulsion fluid i use
method 3.5: screen filler
if you liked method 2, you can use the screen filler method to make screens, i've never done it but i understand it's similar in that you are basically panting on the negative space or something? again, i've never done it, i've just used emulsion after moving on from the mod podge method.
method 4: blockprinting
block printing is pretty straightforward, imo. basically you take a block of rubber or linoleum (or wood but i've. never done wood printing but it's fairly similar in basic method afaik) and trace or draw a design onto it. you then carve out the negative space of your design, leaving an impression of only the part you want to print. you then take a brayer/roller, roll it in ink until it's covered and then roll the ink out onto the raised part of the block that remains once you've carved it. take your fabric and press it flat onto the inked block, using something smooth like the back of a spoon to press it down and make sure your ink gets in there. i usually always make at least one more patch than i need with this method, since the first print often tends to be a bit rough/light and it improves over time. like your first pancake bein the worst one i guess. when you're done, you can wash the blocks with soap and water, maybe using an old toothbrush to get in all those crevices. but that's it, it's intense on focus, time, and physical effort, but pretty straightforward
note that when you blockprint something, the image will be reversed, so if you're drawing directly onto one keep this in mind. what i usually like to do is take some paper and put it over my original sketch, draw over it with a soft charcoal, then press it down onto the block to transfer the image. that way it makes sure your image is flipped, and it's a hell of a lot easier than any of the weird printer methods i've seen.
btw you can get a plate for rolling ink onto but i'll be honest? for about a year or two i just used like panes of glass i had from the picture frames i used for screens or i'd tape a piece of plastic or transparency down onto the table/desk. it's like, slightly easier now that i have an inking plate, but only just because it's a bit less waste, but it doesn't change much, imo. i even sometimes prefer using a gel printing plate, which is not really supposed to be used the way i'm using it! honestly, as long as your surface is flat and smooth it seems to be fine.
theoretically you don't even really need to use block printing ink, but i'd always struggled using other stuff? idk. if you're making patches, id suggest getting some fabric blockprinting ink. it'll take a day to dry, a bit longer than screenprinting ink, but it'd very sturdy. you can iron it to help secure it like the other stuff, but if you let it dry a couple days you might not even have to.
youtube tutorial/inspo // carving tools i use // some rubber blocks to start with // rubber brayers for rolling ink
note: if you can find any art supply exchanges, they're great for getting supplies for the latter methods on a budget. in chicago, there's a like, art supply thrift store of sorts called the waste shed where i got most of my early blockprinting supplies for pretty cheap, and if i didn't have those, i probably wouldn't have started making blockprints when i did.
note 2: this is all for printing on fabric, but you can also get acrylic screen printing ink or block printing ink for making prints on paper if you want!!
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some troughs of the game on top of my head, big spoilers ahead:
The world building and the visual arr really great! Maybe the plot is a little bland but whatever.
Audrey is an artist fr she just try to do her beloved job and then she's fucking murdered! Iconic!
Wilson sounds like he had smoked cement every day since he was six.
They really gendered the lost ones. ok. whatever.
I'm sorry but why the fuck you hype Porter in the promoting stuff and then give him three words and half minute on screen??
I'm not a great fan of the new ink demon's design. Through the open mouth is cool.
If you blink you miss Sammy scene in all the game.
Old batim characters like Wally, Shawn, Grant etc are present in written notes and audio records along with other random guys.
Every time I hear Natan Arch talk:
The books can't be canon? Like a lot of dates and places can't work in the batdr story. What the hell?? ? ???
Joey n Nathan are in competition for the most insufferable false cunt ever and they have both win the first prize🥇
Henry face reveal. It's not a bad design actually, very Henry-esque, but I really would have preferred it to remain unknown.
"She was the fourth" was actually about the the fourth Butcher Gang member, but beside a cartboard and a corpse there's nothing :(
Twisted Alice is Twisted Alice but with a gun.
*Twisted Alice and Allison Angel sapphic moment*
Allison Angel is Allison Angel but with a gun.
The rainbow lights on all the way to meet Wilson lol, lmfao even
The final boss design is FIRE!!!! This lil dude cartoon oc deformed by the machine, which can't do shit right, is splendid! I wish they'd put more monsters like him tbh
The fusion between the ink demon and Audrey is caked.
#bravagio#batim#bendy and the ink machine#batdr#bendy and the dark revival#batdr spoilers#bendy spoilers
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I posted 3,348 times in 2022
1,176 posts created (35%)
2,172 posts reblogged (65%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@winters-witch-bitch
@consciouschunkofmoss
@thomas-the-goat-of-satan
@nonbinary-cryptid-baby
I tagged 1,667 of my posts in 2022
Only 50% of my posts had no tags
#ask - 1,006 posts
#anon - 399 posts
#wife xx - 339 posts
#anon ask - 247 posts
#not mine - 89 posts
#fic reblog - 84 posts
#my children xx - 81 posts
#sweetpea <3 - 44 posts
#cara mia 🌹 - 39 posts
#georgie my beloved - 27 posts
Longest Tag: 138 characters
#you think you've seen anger? think you've experienced revenge? you aint seen nothing until you've suffered at the hands of nico belladonna
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
My toxic trait is thinking any of my favorite characters would even want to date me in the first place tbh
71 notes - Posted March 28, 2022
#4
❝𝐉𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐮𝐱 𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐞, 𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐫.❞
This is a (one day late) birthday gift to my beloved, wonderful, amazing girlfriend @winters-witch-bitch. I hope you enjoy it mon amour; I love you so so so much, and I can't wait to spend as many more birthdays with you as the universe will allow me to.
See the full post
91 notes - Posted May 7, 2022
#3
ᴀʟᴍᴀ ᴘᴇʀᴇɢʀɪɴᴇ | ʟᴏʀᴅ ᴋɴᴏᴡꜱ ɪ ʙᴇʟᴏɴɢ ᴡᴀʏ ᴅᴏᴡɴ ʙᴇʟᴏᴡ - ɪɪ
sorry about taking an actual century to update this bitch oh my gods 😭💀
oh and the bits between the '~' are in Alma's pov because....flustered bird woman. :D
finally, yes i changed the pov--people complained and peer pressured me into doing it /hj *cough* @merci-bitch *cough*
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ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ
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title source: "heaven knows" by the pretty reckless
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warnings: slight angst, light swearing, arguing
word count: 7.7K
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taglist: @teddybear-named-george, @consciouschunkofmoss, @winters-witch-bitch, @holly-fire, @mxbeezkneez, @fxoehy, @evagreensimp, @crime-ninja, @vintageolives, @darlingimlostwithout, @vykanya, @missfalcon, @peregrine21, @feartheclipse, @inlovewithbilliedean, @nonbinary-cryptid-baby, @another-fantasy-world, @evil-feather, @aaron-despair, @badussy69, @marvels-writings, @thebijesus, @ahoy-gays, @jojalie, @sythaerin, @vintageolives, @iamawriterorsomething, @emiliaisdead, @sapphic-stress, @whutisthus, @when-i-miss-you, @sarahp-stan, @lexi1109, @spilled-ink-like-spilled-wrists, @picnicmic
if you'd like to be added to the taglist, please fill out this form! (it helps me keep everything organized <;3)
--
enjoy xx
--
After the night that Horace's dream had caused issues with you and Alma, your relationship had been...rocky at best, and obstructive at worst. Alma never raised her voice, which was a relief, but she was especially sharp for at least a month. With everyone besides you, she was completely normal, but anytime you asked her anything she'd tense up and her response would be unnaturally professional and snappy. Each time it would annoy you and you'd usually end up snapping something back, which would either end in Alma glaring at you, walking away, or it would begin an argument. Again, she never yelled, and neither did you, but her tone was enough to be intimidating and you could stand your ground without being loud.
Now, over a month later, you lean against the inside of your door, fists clenched and knuckles white as you hold back tears. The door is locked but you know that Alma is still on the other side as she mumbles "Y/n please, I'm sorry." You scoff, replying "If you were sorry you wouldn't have said it, Miss Peregrine," purposefully using her title instead of her name, knowing it'll bite more than if you call her Alma. It works and you hear her hiss quietly. A faint shuffling can be heard from the other side of the door before another sigh and a quiet "I'm not leaving until you let me in." Rolling your eyes you silently mock her words to yourself, grumbling under your breath. "Don't you have a house to run?" Alma doesn't miss a beat before replying "Everyone is outside, and the sooner you let me in, the faster we can get this over with." You consider her words, knowing she's right but also not wanting to give in, forever stubborn. Your mind returns to your latest argument, the one that had caused this whole problem, and another few tears burn in your eyes.
The day was going decently, you'd helped Emma with her squirrel and watched Enoch mess about with his dolls, before returning upstairs and going to the kitchen to try finding something to nibble on. You remembered seeing some apples in the fridge, so you padded over to it and began searching for them. A minute later you caught sight of one and with a noise of victory, snatched it and gently closed the fridge door, standing up with your prize in hand. But you jumped back with a gasp when Alma appeared out of nowhere, leaning against the counter behind the open door. She glanced over at you indifferently, but didn't say anything even as you stared at her for a moment longer. You honestly expected her to make some snippy remark, but she did no such thing, and eventually you hummed and also leaned on the counter across from her, not making eye contact even as you felt the woman watching me.
Finally she spoke; "And what might you be doing?" You let out a heavy breath, chewing the piece of apple that was in your mouth and swallowing before responding. "Oh you know. This and that. Nothing you'd care about, anyway," you said, staring intently at the pattern of the floor. You heard Alma huff indignantly and snap "Why are you always so...sassy with me lately?" This time you did raise my head, leveling her with a disbelieving glare. "Me? I'm the one with an attitude? You're the one who's constantly starting arguments over literally anything!" Alma's eyes hardened significantly and you saw her fingers tighten around the unlit pipe she held, muttering "I do not start arguments. You turn conversations into arguments." "Oh please!" you scoffed, setting your apple down and taking a few steps closer to the ymbryne. "I can't say anything without you biting my head off, Alma." At your advancing, Alma did the same, discarding her pipe and standing straight, using her height to her advantage.
But it didn't deter you, and you held yourself high and confident as you stared each other down. Before, you wouldn't have dared to speak like this to the ravenette, but by this point you were sick of her attitude. "You've really lost it now, haven't you?" Alma hissed and you smiled wickedly, replying "If I've lost my mind, then you're out of yours," eyes sparking. You heard the woman pull in a sharp breath and she stalked towards you, but you refused to let her get too close and began backing up, trying to keep some distance between the two of you. But Alma didn't stop until you were backed up into the counter, and even as your resolve stayed strong, the proximity still made your heart skip a beat. It was the closest she'd been to you in weeks and you were almost unused to it. Before you could think about it too hard though, Alma snapped "If I hadn't taken you in you'd still be starving and most likely dead by now." You took a deep breath, swallowing dryly and hissing "And I'm sure you regret it every day."
You said this, yet didn't expect Alma to reply "Maybe I do." Your face fell, lips parting in shock and eyes going glassy. Your brows pulled together tightly, staring up at Alma in betrayal, hurt beyond words. She realized what she'd said a moment too late and pulled away, already apologizing frantically, but you weren't having it--and without anything more than a "fuck you," you stormed out of the kitchen and up to your room, locking yourself in and sliding down to the floor in tears.
"Yeah, that's not gonna happen," you finally say once the memory clears, and Alma growls under her breath, spitting "Dammit y/n, I'm sorry! I've never regretted helping you, I was just upset and not thinking straight!" The laugh that bubbles up in your throat is derisive and sharp, and you shake your head, mumbling "Clearly." Neither of you say anything else for another long moment, but your resolve slowly begins to crack and eventually you whisper "If I let you in, will you leave me alone?" Quickly Alma says "Yes, I just need you to know that I mean it." You heave a great sigh, filling your lungs to capacity before letting it out in a pained exhale, and stand up, hesitating just a moment before finally undoing the lock. You leave it up to Alma to open the door, which she does as soon as she hears the click, and the instant it's open she's pulled you to her body and holds you tightly. You choke on air, at first trying to pull back, but she's stronger than she looks and eventually you give up, relaxing in her arms and loosely returning the embrace.
You breathe in her perfume and it calms you down, so when she murmurs "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry,” you believe her. You nod slowly, tightening your hold just a bit, which seems to relax Alma as the tenseness of her shoulders fades. With one last squeeze, the woman finally lets you go, but doesn't step back as she brings both hands to your face. The genuine emotion in her eyes make tears threaten to fall, but you blink them away and nod again, mumbling "Okay. Okay, I believe you. But can we just..." You taper off, unsure what to say next. Alma encourages you quietly, and you finish with "Can we go back to how it was before? I don't--I don't want to keep fighting, Alms." The nickname, though not official as it's only the second time you've used it, softens Alma's gaze even further and she presses her forehead against yours, breathing "Of course. Of course we can, I'm sorry. I didn't mean for this to get out of hand, I was just overwhelmed."
Understanding, you hum in agreement. You stand there for a moment longer, one of your hands coming to rest on hers, which she removes from your cheek and instead threads your fingers together, holding your hand tightly. But eventually you have to separate when you murmur "I think it's almost time to eat. I'll help you." Alma sighs and the little breath blows against your lips, before she nods and pulls back with one last peck to your forehead. She doesn't let go of your hand, instead using it to gently pull you along with her down the steps and into the kitchen. She finally has to let it go in order to start working, but the little smile she throws over her shoulder makes up for the loss of warmth. You return it, though she's already turned her back, and silently begin helping. The air between you is no longer charged as it has been for the last month, instead it's returned to the warm familiarity that it had once been. You move fluidly around the kitchen, mumbling quiet words to each other every so often, and you manage to make some sort of inappropriate joke that makes Alma blush and laugh loudly, having to support herself on the counter.
You beam at the woman, laughing quietly along with her, but more just enjoying seeing her laugh again after so long without it. When Alma finally calms down, brushing a nail over her cheek as she still chuckles through her words, saying "That--That was brilliant. But I don't want you saying something like around to the others." You press your hand against your chest, dramatically exclaiming "I would never! What do you think I am, a heathen?!" Alma gives you what could be a scolding look if she wasn't still biting back another smile. You finally let a grin of your own break out, dropping your hand and turning around with a shake of your head to continue cutting up these vegetables for supper. You hear Alma shuffling about behind you but ignore it as you make sure not to slice yourself. You've been known to be clumsy when faced with sharp objects, so cutting yourself is a very real threat. "Did I ever tell you about that time when I just about killed myself?" You glance over your shoulder, the shock value of the statement making Alma's head snap to face you.
But you just smile teasingly and say "I was trying to help my mom with lunch and the knife slipped and caught my wrist. I ended up needing stitches but it just barely avoided hitting that big vein." Absently, Alma sighs and mumbles "The radial artery, yes." You nod, continuing your cutting while you state "But yeah, I was fine in the end." Alma hums quietly, and it's more tense than before, so you pause your repetitive slicing to set the knife down, coming over to stand at her side and leaning into her a bit, murmuring "I'm more careful now Alms. Don't go all quiet on me." The woman sighs heavily and casually tilts her head to the side so it can rest atop yours and replies "I'm sorry. I just...you had me worried for a moment." You shrug, understanding her worry. "Yeah, I guess I could've worded it a bit better. I just wanted to see your reaction honestly." The truth makes Alma grumble under her breath, miffed at the casual manner in which you speak, but her head doesn't move and she doesn't scold you.
Still, after a few minutes you pull back with a little nuzzle into the woman's shoulder that makes her let out a little huff of laughter, and return to the opposite side of the kitchen. The rest of the meal gets finished soon and without anymore bumps, until everything is on the table and Alma lets out a heavy sigh, rubbing her hands together anxiously. She checks her watch, as she's been doing incessantly for the past two hours, and you watch her stare at it with a tense expression before slipping it back into her pocket with a soft hum. You raise a questioning brow when she looks back at you, but she just brushes it off with a smile and softly asks you to get the others inside. You nod, brush your hand against hers as you pass her to head outside. Rounding up the kids doesn't take much effort, and they all run inside to get ready for dinner, changing if they're dirty or fixing their hair, etcetera. You do the same, changing into a nicer dress that's tight against your waist and chest, but loosens around your legs.
You smile to yourself as you make sure your hair is neat in the mirror, before skipping downstairs and entering the dining room, where Alma stands against the wall waiting for the rest to appear. She smiles over at you, and her eyes drop down to check out your outfit, smile softening into a teasing smirk as she mutters "That's a bit short, don't you think?" You notice the playful tone of her voice and a matching smile lifts to your own lips as you walk slowly towards the woman, replying "Only if you want it to be." Her eyes return to yours, amused. "And trust me, I have shorter. Maybe I'll wear one of them someday--although you might like that too much," you purr, winking with a grin at the shocked, then flustered expression that settles onto her face as the statement's double meaning registers in Alma's mind. As soon as it does she goes to say something, but you quickly cut her off with "It's almost time to eat, isn't it?" The woman lets out an annoyed noise, but checks her watch and, once finding out that you're correct, approaches the table and rings the bell that sits atop it's dark surface beside her seat.
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110 notes - Posted February 3, 2022
#2
Y/N: *slams fist into their wall in frustration*
Alma: Y/n! Don’t do that!
Y/N: >:(
Alma: How would you feel if I slammed you against the wall?
Y/N:
Y/N: I’m...I’m not sure you always understand the consequences of your actions or words.
129 notes - Posted July 3, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
thinking about her again <3
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159 notes - Posted September 18, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
#tumblr2022#year in review#my 2022 tumblr year in review#your tumblr year in review#the fact that my number 1 post is me being gay for Diana says a lot about me
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I posted 1,703 times in 2022
That's 1,350 more posts than 2021!
382 posts created (22%)
1,321 posts reblogged (78%)
Blogs I reblogged the most:
@daisywords
@unbearable-lightness-of-ink
@headspace-hotel
@ettawritesnstudies
@jedi-valjean
I tagged 1,208 of my posts in 2022
Only 29% of my posts had no tags
#art - 221 posts
#second chance wip - 90 posts
#other's writing - 86 posts
#ask game - 59 posts
#other's wip - 42 posts
#boost - 36 posts
#my art - 33 posts
#my writing - 23 posts
#other's art - 19 posts
#writing process - 18 posts
Longest Tag: 139 characters
#i have one black turtleneck and it looks sooooo good on me literally it's like my first date outfit but also i cannot wear it for that long
My Top Posts in 2022:
#5
Kk just finished A Conspiracy of Kings
Sophos my beloved
the boy is back <3
I just loved Sophos as a narrator! His voice really came through ugh he's just so honest
the shifts between first person to omniscient were interesting I don't think I've ever seen it done in quite that way
bunny :)
"If my affections weren't otherwise engaged" oof
love how the middle section is just King of Attolia pt 2
"that Sophos held Gen's heart in his hand" + "He would have given Eugenides his heart on a toothpick, if asked" ok cool cool
we still stan Eddis Helen
I want to know more about Sophos's sisters they seem cool
uM did he just—yes he did ok he went there
"You shot the ambassador?" my Lord Attolis you gave me the gun
It's all just about how they all love each other but it's so much more complicated than that, except that in the end it isn't
Wow this book is so...heartfelt idk
Sophos my beloved
and here's the complementary doodle of Eddis and our boy Sophos ofc
140 notes - Posted March 14, 2022
#4
Ok so read The King of Attolia yesterday and wow ok
Costis is one of those characters that's just some guy but like. he's my guy
Also I love his friendship with Aris? just like aww look they're friends
just because no one ever sees the king visit the queen doesn't mean he's not you idiots did you forget everything you ever knew about the guy?
I feel like the narrative distance between the reader and Gen has to get further and further away lest we know what he is up to
What did Relius actually do wrong? was kinda confused there tbh
I guess Gen being mortally wounded is just a staple for this series like jeez give the guy a break
And yup there we go
Costis the whole time like "get a room" except they have a room he's just. also there
Aww Sejanus and Dite really did love each other <3
Also Sophos is missing??? Someone better go find him right now
This book was just straight character dynamics and I was riveted
I feel like Megan Whalen Turner Understands Something About Intimacy
This book is so incredibly spicy you guys
ok anyway here's the king and queen themselves and of course our boy Costis
156 notes - Posted March 11, 2022
#3
minimum page counts really coming for those of us who are concise
332 notes - Posted October 4, 2022
#2
can't believe it's 2022 and we still have posts around about not overusing "said" like seriously? Imagine if I made a list of words to use instead of "and." wouldn't that be stupid?
1,162 notes - Posted September 29, 2022
My #1 post of 2022
Conlanging for cheaters
quick tips for creating fantasy language(s) that look believable if you squint
Pick a few rules about what letter/sound combinations can and cannot exist (or are common/uncommon). For example, in English, "sp" or "st" can begin a word, but in Spanish they can't. The "ng" sound (or the voiced velar nasal if you want to get technical), can't appear at the beginning of a syllable in English, but it can in at least of third of languages around the world. English allows for consonant clusters (more than one consonant together without a vowel), but some languages, such as Hawaiian, don't. Picking a few distinctive rules that are different from English or the language you are writing in, and sticking to them, will yield a lot better results than just keysmashing.
Assign meaning to a few suffixes, prefixes, or roots. A simple and useful example of this is making up a particle that means -land or -city or -town, and tacking it onto your appropriate place names. You could also have a particle with a similar meaning to the "er/or one we have in English, such as in "baker," "singer," or "operator," and then incorporate it in your fantasy titles or professions. It's like an Easter egg for careful readers to figure out, and it will make your language/world feel more cohesive.
Focus on places and names. You usually don't need to write full sentences/paragraphs in your conlang. What you might want to do with it is name things. The flavor of your language will seep in from the background, with the added benefit of giving readers some hints on background lore. For example, you could have a conlang that corresponds to a certain group of people, and a character with a corresponding name could then be coded as being from that group without having to specify. A human-inhabited city with an elven-sounding name might imply that it was previously inhabited by elves.
You don't have to know what everything means. Unless you are Linguistics Georg R. R. Tolkien, you probably don't want to (and shouldn't!) actually make up a whole language. So stick some letters together (following your linguistic rules, of course) and save fretting over grammar and definitions for the important stuff.
(Bonus) This isn't technically conlanging, but it can be fun to make up an idiom or two for your fantasy culture (just in English or whatevs) and sprinkle that in a few times. The right made-up idiom can allude to much larger cultural elements without you having to actually explain it.
Congrats! You now have a conlang you can dust over your wip like an appropriate amount of glitter. Conlangs can be intimidating, just because there's so much you can do, but that doesn't mean you have to do it all. So yeah anyway here's what I would recommend; hope y'all have fun :D
5,598 notes - Posted May 12, 2022
Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →
#tumblr2022#year in review#my 2022 tumblr year in review#false#why not lol#calling me out for the self rbs but I have no shame#also didn't realize my queen's thief posting would make top 5
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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
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Your Person
Requested?: Yep, I’m the machine that makes all of @gingeraleluke ‘s ideas come true! Tbh, I asked her for the ideas.
Word Count: 2.3K+
Author’s Note: Tissues suggested, and it’s ok that I release this because you have Jim smut and Jim happy fluff so this is allowed thank you very much.
Warning: bitter-sweet sad angsty fluff.
--
Jealousy is an ugly feature, but it’s one Y/N just couldn’t seem to wipe away. Of course, she hadn’t always been that way, she was beautiful once. Naive, sure, but beautiful nonetheless.
Her mother would have told her she was too young to be jaded, with too much life left in her to be sad or dejected. She would have told her not to put her faith in men, because men almost always tend to let you down, and as she lay in bed that night, she knew her mother would have laughed at her, said she told her so, because she was absolutely right.
It wasn’t the first time, either. Similar events had occurred in the past to lead her to the conclusion, it wasn’t just that night. No, she had a list of incidents that kept her awake, made her swing her legs over the side of the bed and walk into her kitchen to get away from the man who lay in her bed.
It wasn’t even his fault, she thought that was what hurt most. That it was simply a cruel twist of fate for her, and a lucky one for him. He was kind and smart and funny and sweet, she was quite convinced he wouldn’t hurt a fly. And he wouldn’t rip off the bandaid because they both knew it was a low blow, that it was going to hurt her like a bitch.
He was a light sleeper, he would be awake once he felt her gone from the bed, but with the time to spare and a need for some pain relief, Y/N rummaged through her cupboards and pulled out a bottle of Prosecco from a back shelf. She had been saving it for their anniversary next week, some fancy shit her grandparents had sent her for a birthday. She thought about pulling out a glass, but with a glance back at the room, a tear ran down her cheek and she decided on drinking from the bottle.
She passed the wall clock on her way to the couch: 3:24. She sat herself on the ledge of her window, the moonlight sparkling down on the city around her, the stars in the sky seemingly reflected by the dull shine of the street lamps. The snow was settling nicely, and with Thanksgiving just gone, the cold front wasn’t unexpected. She took a swig of the bottle, the cool alcohol fizzing in her throat and urging her to couch a little. She wasn’t a frequent drinker, but at this point, now was a better time than any.
She could hear shuffling in the room over, no doubt he had felt round the bed and found it empty. He was worried about her, no doubt, she usually slept like the dead, and would be out to look for her in a few moments. In response to this theory, she reached over to her bookshelf, just an arm’s stretch from the window, and pulled out a notebook from amongst the paperbacks and textbooks.
“Y/N?” A voice called from the other room, groggy from sleep but still soft, warm, inviting. In the dark apartment, it felt like he was bringing sunshine into the cold room. She wouldn’t notice, but she had goosebumps.
“In here.” She called back, careful to keep her voice steady. Last thing she needed to do was crack and lose her nerve; he would no doubt comfort and shower her in affection to make the problem go away.
His footsteps were heavy, his hair a mess from sleep, and he shuffled through the doorway from the bedroom into the living area with a silly grin on his face: he was confused by the bottle in her hand, but perhaps celebrations were in order.
“What’s the good news?” He chuckled, pushing himself off the doorframe and heading in her direction, pressing a kiss to her cheek as she took another swig.
She was building up the nerve. It would be so easy to lie, to fall back into the safety of it all and fall asleep beside him, but that wouldn’t work.
So she finally brought herself to look at her boyfriend, her Jim, and gesture from him to sit on the couch across from her.
“Shall I turn on the light?” Jim offered, a little worried now. Y/N wasn’t the quiet sort, at least not around him she wasn’t, and this behaviour was off in a major way.
She shook her head at his suggestion, knowing if he saw the tears rolling down her cheeks she wouldn’t do it.
She wouldn’t rip off the band aid.
“January 20th.” She began, taking a second to clear her throat and open up the notebook. She didn’t need it, she had the dates and actions memorised, but having it helped a little. “January 14th. During a coffee break, Jim made Pam laugh. When she shivered, he offered his sweater to her.” She read out, quickly sniffing and wiping her nose.
“Y/N, what is this?” Jim asked, but she held up a hand and he fell silent. He was too kind to interrupt: she was counting on that.
“February 14th. Asked if Valentine’s plans could be changed to include Pam. You agreed. The pair fell asleep together on your couch.” She continued. “March 30th. In the spirit of Easter, Jim let Pam paint his face as a bunny rabbit. He fed her chocolate as payment.” She voice had started to crack, and Jim went to get up and move beside her. She was quicker, standing up with her book and moving away, leaving the pair stood at opposite sides of the front room.
“Y/N…”
“June 3rd. Six month anniversary. Jim spent half the evening on the phone with Pam after an emergency occurred. You drove him to her house that night.
“July 6th. Funfair with Dunder Mifflin team, you watched him win her a teddy bear, they rode the Ferris wheel together.
“August 10th. Talking, pranks all day. Jim hugged her.” You were picking out highlights from a book full of accounts, and wiping away the tears as you read faster and faster, desperate to get it all out.
“Note to self: buy the green top Pam has, Jim seems to love it. He’s been looking at her all day. Pam is looking back.
“September 23rd. You spent more time on your double date with Jim, Pam and Fred with Fred. Jim and Pam left for karaoke. Note to self: work on confidence, Jim likes Pam’s confidence. You would never get up and sing like she does.” She was sobbing now, hyperventilating as she tried her hardest to read out the rest, not seeing that across the room Jim’s eyes were watering.
“Y/N, stop.”
“Halloween. They matched, by complete accident. Jim would dress up to match Pam. Note to self, look into Jim’s interest more. If you knew him better he would want to match with you.
“Thanksgiving. Jim invited Pam and office friends to a Friendsgiving. He spent the night with Pam.” Y/N finally stopped, looking up from the notebook so stained with tears the ink was running. She stood straight, stiff, her nose flaring as she tried to calm her emotions as Jim stood across the room with his eyes on the notebook. He couldn’t look away from it.
“You say her name in your sleep, do you know that?” She finally asked, and Jim’s eyes shot up, a hand coming to wipe the tears from his cheeks. “I don’t blame you, Jim, I understand. You… you were trying to move on. You didn’t mean to hurt me, I know you would never mean to do any of this but…”
“She’s my friend, Y/N.”
“You let her keep the sweater… The sweater I bought you, Jim. Your favourite.” She whispered, throwing the notebook down on the table in a burst of rage. “FUCK! Fuck, I’m sorry… I’m sorry…” the tears were hard to contain then, and Y/N quickly found herself crumpling to the floor, caught by a pair of strong arms before she hit something solid. Jim’s arms wrapped around her, his lips pressed to her hair as he took in Y/N’s scent: chocolate and apples and rain. She smelt like autumn, smelt like the changing leaves and hot coffee and walks in the frosty air.
“Baby, Y/N please…” he pleaded, lifting her chin and wiping the tears from her cheeks. “What can I do? What can I do to make you happy again?” He begged for an answer, anything that would help.
He loved her, of course he did, and had he known she was tearing herself apart over this…
“I need you to leave, Jim…” at first, Jim wasn’t sure he heard her right, Y/N’s voice was so quiet. But she wiped her eyes and broke the hug, pulling herself up to her feet. “I need you to leave, and find Pam. I need you to be with Pam, because she’s your person and I’m not going to get in the way of you finding your person.” Y/N explained through choked sobs and hiccups, grabbing the fizz bottle and taking another swig. “And before you say some nonsense about how I’ve got it all wrong, I’ve not. I know you lo-“ the word got stuck in her throat. “I love you Jim, but you’ll never be happy with me if she’s still around.”
“That’s not true!” Jim protested, taking one of her hands in his. “Look at me, Y/N, please…”
“You’ve never looked at me that way, Jim… You look at her like you love her.” Y/N raised her voice, surprising Jim enough to pull herself away. “Tell me honestly you stopped loving her!”
And there it was, the plea that left Jim frozen, left his speechless and guilt-ridden and sent tears down both of their cheeks. Because he couldn’t lie to Y/N like that, not about something so big: he loved her, yes, but it wasn’t what he felt for Pam, it never had been.
“I’m so sorry..” Was the first thing he could manage, and Y/N just nodded, her hypothesis proven true.
“We were good, Jim… But you and Pam? You’re better. And I can’t spend the rest of my life trying to be her for you.” Y/N stated simply, Jim just nodding in defeat. “I love you, I always will-“
“I love you too Y/N.”
“This isn’t anyone’s fault Jim, ok? You didn’t do anything wrong, Pam didn’t do anything wrong, and neither did I. But I’m someone else’s person, and I need to find them like you and Pam have found yours.”
Jim pulled her into a tight hug, Y/N’s arms wrapping around him and holding him just as tight. She breathed in deep, taking in the traces of his cologne and the smell of his clean cotton pyjamas, the hint of coffee that lingered around him, and Skittles: the ones that sat on Pam’s desk.
They stayed like that for a few minutes, grasping tight to one another, remembering the feeling of being each other’s arms.
“I’m going to go into the bathroom for five minutes, clean my face, pour the alcohol down the sink because it’s actually really bad.” Y/N started, the pair sharing a tearful laugh. “And when I come out, I want you gone. I can pack the last of things up for you, bring them into the office on Monday, and we leave it at that. Stay friends, but we both move on. Okay?” Y/N asked, the smile on her face faltering. She couldn’t believe she was doing it, ripping off the band aid, breaking her own heart so Jim wouldn’t have to.
“I love you so much…” Jim whispered, pulling her close and pressing his lips to hers one last time. It tasted salty from tears, but for a split second it felt like nothing was wrong, like they were each other’s people.
Y/N did as she said: she went to the bathroom and cleaned her face, poured the bottle of alcohol down the bathroom sink, and she waited until five minutes had passed. She emerged to find an empty apartment, a few lights left on in the bedroom where Jim had gotten dressed and left.
He kept his side, because a moment later she heard his car leaving the parking lot downstairs.
The silence was nice, the engulfing quiet eased the pain in her chest slightly, and Y/N wandered into his room to start emptying his drawer in her dresser, where he kept his essentials when at hers, only to find it empty.
At least he took a painful chore out of it for her.
She decided to strip and change the sheets, turn the mattress, light some candles, anything to get rid of Jim’s presence from her space. She checked her wardrobe, but he had cleared everything out… Almost.
On her vanity, amongst her bottles of perfume and makeup bags, a quarter-full bottle of Jim’s cologne sat, perched beside a note with her name on it.
She sat at her vanity, lifting the bottle to her nose and smelling the scent she had become accustomed to over that last year, then opened the note:
I hope you find your person.
I love you,
Jim xx
The alarm clock by her bed read 4.16. It had taken less than an hour to almost completely let go of Jim Halpert. She would keep the cologne, spray it from time to time, and when it ran out she would be able to throw it away without sadness in her heart.
Jealousy was ugly, but sacrifice was beautiful, and looking in the mirror in the lamp light of her bedroom, Y/N felt like herself for the first time in months.
And it felt better.
--
Tagging some folks who might need a cry after the earlier smut: @im-a-writer-right @professorkrasinski @bigdesi @gingeraleluke @random-thoughts-003 @twink-jr @leahstypewriter @dxbriksx
#jim halpert x reader#jim halpert#jim halpert x y/n#sad#angst#fluff#fanfiction#fanfic#john krasinski
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girl in red || h.g.
request- can you do a wlw for hermione?
a/n: i hope you guys enjoy this! it’s my first wlw and i’m a bit nervous tbh xx
word count- 1.3k
warnings- strong language
i saw hermione granger for the first time and my heart stopped. i remember it was in potions class on my second day at hogwarts- i had transferred in from ilvermorny when i was fourteen.
i almost fell into the dungeons after having lost my way about twelve times from dumbledore’s office where he had sorted me into slytherin- i figured that would be like horned serpent- the house i was in.
i stuttered an apology to the professor with greasy hair- snape his name was i learned later, and sat down next to blaise. our parents were friends and we always met whenever he and his mother visited massachusetts.
“draco’s looking at you,” blaise muttered under his breathe to me as i pulled out my book, “the boy i told you about last summer when we met.”
“does he know i’m as gay as they come?” i asked laughingly.
“of course not,” blaise scoffed and handed me half his ingredients.
i looked at him with a smile, “you don’t plan on telling him do you?”
it took all of my effort to not laugh at his smirk which clearly said no.
“who’s that girl?” i asked, “in the red tie with those two boys?” i gasped, “is that harry potter?”
“that’s hermione granger,” blaise said with a sour look on his face, “with potter and weasley- they’re in gryffindor. slytherins and gryffindors are mortal enemies.”
“who cares? she’s gorgeous,” i breathed.
blaise looked at me sharply, “(y/n)- no. gryffindors are off limits for slytherins and vice versa. shag whoever the fuck you want, just not one of them. as far as gryffindors are concerned- consider yourself to be on an eternal no nut november.”
“but-”
“no ‘but’s, (y/n),” blaise cut me off, “you can’t.”
so i spent two long years rejecting boys who didn’t understand the concept of ‘not attracted to penis’ and pansy who got very handsy when drunk. i settled for wistful glances at her from afar.
in my sixth year, i finally got a chance in potions. draco and i had become fast friends since i told him i was gay and we bonded over our love for girls. something was wrong with him today though- he wouldn’t tell me what so i left him huffing and took the only other unoccupied table. to my luck, hermione granger walked in- without her two flunkies for once
she was wearing that red tie again that suited her eyes so much.
“hi,” i heard her voice from behind me, “can i sit here? i don’t know anyone and i really don’t want to sit with the ravenclaws or malfoy.”
“of course you can,” i smiled and moved my bag so she could take the seat next to me.
blaise was glaring daggers across the room at me with warning eyes which i dutifully ignored.
“you haven’t lost your accent yet,” she said softly.
i laughed a bit, elated that she had noticed something about me, “i don’t really want to, to be honest. you guys talk so fast- i’d hate to lose the pace at which i speak for your accent and unfortunately they seem to come hand in hand.”
“i like the way you speak- and it’s quite brave of you to not feel like you have to change to fit in. very gryffindor of you.” she replied.
i blushed bright red and was saved from answering by slughorn and his belly which moved independent of him.
the next time hermione granger spoke to me was in charms class. she silently slid her ink pot towards me when she heard my quill scraping the bottom of my empty pot and she just smiled at me softly and tucked her hair behind her ear.
i had all the breath knocked out of me- i couldn’t thank her even if i wanted to.
i returned the favour one day in the library about two months after that.
at some point we had sat at the same table in the library to study because all the others were full and this somehow became a regular occurrence. we’d take the table at the far end of the library and just study in silence with heart-racing brushes of hands and stomach-dropping eye catches.
one particularly crowded day, we were joined by some annoying gryffindor boy who clearly had the hots for her. he kept putting his hand on her thigh or playing with her hair. i had to dig my nails into my palms to stop from jabbing my wand up his ass.
why did men have such pathetic gaydars? couldn’t they clearly see she wasn’t straight?
“mclaggen- i’m not interested. we went for slughorn’s party and it clearly meant more to you than it meant to me. i’m sorry i didn’t clarify that i wanted to go as friends. now please leave me alone,” she snapped when he tried to move his chair closer to her.
his face contorted unattractively, “fine. you aren’t that hot anyways. i’d rather go for ginny weasley anyways. you were a backup.”
hermione laughed, “ginny’s dating harry, so good luck trying to top the captain of the quidditch team when you couldn’t even make keeper.”
he stormed off making sure to bump into the back of her chair on his way out, making her ink pot fall over onto her shirt and tie, soaking her in blue ink. her red tie was royal blue now. i loved her in red.
i slid my ink pot over to her and softly under my breath scoffed, “men.”
she smiled at me thankingly, “tell me about it. they really can’t get a hint.”
i looked at her curiously to see a very knowing expression on her face and i smirked.
“i bet mclaggen wouldn’t even be able to take you on your ideal first date,” i said offhandedly.
“what do you think it would be?” she asked with her chin in her hand.
she was putting on a confident front. it was obvious that she was nervous and had no idea how i would respond. her voice was soft and manner was unsure- but there was a challenging edge to her tone. i looked back down to my work and continued writing while saying nonchalantly, “coffee and a bookstore. if i was taking you on a date, i’d take you to tomes and scrolls and watch you browse for as long as you want. i know you’d never let me pay for you so i’d make sure to note the names of the sequels of the books you’d buy so i can gift them to you later.”
i looked at her out of the corner of my eyes- her mouth was slightly agape as she heard me talk.
“once you were done there, we’d go to the three broomsticks- i’m not sure if you’d like the vibe at madam puddifoots- and we’d have coffee and hot chocolate until sunset. then i’d take you to the black lake and we’d just sit and talk till it was dark. your eyes...” i sighed, “they gleam in the sunset and they look like they’re on fire in the most gorgeous way. as if they were the only light in a dark room. finally, i’d drop you to gryffindor tower and kiss you goodnight and i’d have to tear myself away from you because i just know it’ll have been the best day of my life.”
i finally locked eyes with her and took a rattling breath.
“how did you-” she stammered at me.
“i’ve crushed on you since i came to hogwarts, hermione. of course everyone told me to stay away from you because of our houses and well, you’re you. i want to take you out and love you and be perfect for you. let me-”
“okay.” she breathed, interrupting me.
“what?”
“okay.” she said again more confidently this time.
i grinned and blushed bright red.
we both turned to our work silently and studied together for i can’t even remember how long. finally when the library was almost empty, she got up, packed her stuff away and made to leave.
“hey hermione!” i called.
she looked back at me questioningly.
“wear red- it suits you.”
#fem!reader#hermione granger#hermione imagine#hermione x fem#hermione x fem!reader#gryffindor#hermione x reader#slytherin#ravenclaw#hufflepuff#hogwarts
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“are you always this chaotic?”
A/N: i have an inquisitive anon in my ask box that deserves the whole world, and i decided their amazing (sometime hilarious) ask deserved better formatting, so here we are. sweet anon, this is for you.
tw: language
@bladesappreciationweek
A COLLECTION OF RANDOM HEADCANONS AND MEMES FOR THE INCOMPARABLE BLADES COMPANY...
who reserves the right to say “fuck”?
mal does not deserve the right. 10/10 he would use it every other word just for the effect of it all (scandalizing tyril who is upper class and thinks there are “better, more intellectual insults” and upsetting nia who tries to play it off like it doesn’t bother her, but she doesn’t like it). no rights, we’re censoring mal.
nia deserves the right, but she would never use it. not even in her dreadlord state did she utter it (the dreadlord is also an upper class elitist, fight me) but she argues with mal that she can say it and she would, but scholar vash is watching over her right now and she can’t disgrace him (scholar vash would be vvv proud if she said it, though, don’t even lie). olinda egged her on one night and she whispered it, dissolving into a fit of giggles afterward, but neither of them speak of it afterward.
tyril does not deserve the right. he believes himself too good™ for such a word, so he doesn’t get rights. he says he’s better than banal vernacular, thank you very much, but that’s awfully presumptuous of him and fails to take into account that, at all times he’s 5 seconds away from saying it, now that mal has entered his life. 100%, mal is trying to get tyril to say it by startling him at unnecessary times or just being generally irritating, and he never gets tyril to crack. i imagine tyril does end up saying it, though. aerin turns out to be the bad guy and nia falls into the portal or whatever and tyril is just like “...... fuck.” mal is bitter he wasn’t the one to make it happen, but he doesn’t whine about it until after the dreadlord has been defeated. nia is slightly upset that she was the reason tyril broke his solemn vow, but she also laughed thoroughly at mal’s rendition of the moment and regrets that she wasn’t there to see it.
imtura deserves the right and uses it. imtura curses like a sailor. .....get it? because she’s a— alright, you get it. but yes, imtura gets to the right to say fuck and she says it enough for everyone. if mal ever wants to express himself using the expletive, imtura will gladly say it for him. solidarity. but she’s also sweet, deep down, and she keeps her swearing to a minimum when nia is around.
olinda deserves the right, 100%. she doesn’t say it often, but when she does, it has such power. mal wishes he had the commanding presence. olinda is generally too intent on finding a solution to the problem to ever dwell on failure, but when she goes into battle and realizes her group is terrible outnumbered? oop, there it is.
kade. oh, my sweet summer child, who swears often enough to rival imtura. 100%, he deserves the say “fuck” because every bard deserves free access to every word they can get their hands on. it’s rather funny that kade has a terrible mouth, since he’s like the golden retriever of the group (barring nia, ofc), but it’s also rather fitting. imtura was taken aback and mal had mad respect after hearing one of his tirades (directed at threep, ofc) and tyril is just like,,,,,, will i ever rEsT? anyway, let kade say fuck.
threep does not, under any circumstance deserve the right. threep will go off if given the right to swear, and it’s terribly annoying. everyone is trying to travel through a small town and then, out of the priestess of light’s travel bag you hear the worst string of curses you’ve ever heard - so many outdated and upper class curses picked up through the millennia and then you hear the most country, farmer swears (thanks, kade). it scandalizes everyone and nia is the poor girl who has to carry threep around. don’t let threep swear, whatever you do. it’s a power far too strong for this world.
what they get a tattoo of...
mal tries desperately to have the ~aesthetic~ so you know he gets something like a compass or a dagger or something equally as wanderlust and vague. it’s hella intricate and it’s probably on his forearm or something. i feel like mal is 100% that guy who has a tattoo for his mom on his chest but is also deeply terrified of commitment so the mere idea of getting a tattoo for someone else paralyzes him with intense fear. i don’t feel like mal is the guy to have writing for tattoos - he’s much more open to drawings than words. he’s all about the imagery. mal probably has a couple of tattoos though - he might be starting a sleeve or something, idk.
nia would deliberate long and hard before getting a tattoo - it’s permanent, after all, so she wants it to be something special. she 100% puts it on her lower back, which she grows to regret because she can’t actually see it? it is probably a flower a drawing of the temple of light, or a light crystal or something. i have a feeling there’s a prayer written in cursive that kind of wraps around the image she has tattooed. mal took her to get her tattoo and he was a proud brother™.
tyril was 100% that emo kid who wrote angsty song lyrics in a notebook, and that has not changed. i 100% guarantee that his first tattoo is a poem or something that he either wrote himself or desperately wishes he had written. he probably has it tattooed on his side or something equally as dramatic. mal wishes he had the flair that tyril just naturally carries. he’s iconic™ without even trying. he probably only has a few tattoos and most of them are small. he was one big tattoo on his back - it’s elaborate and kind of works like a family tree. it’s unique to him - he likes the idea that he carries his ancestors with him, no matter where he goes. nia notices one night that the company is on it, too, and she never says anything, but she’s touched.
imtura gets all the NAUTICAL IMAGERY. she 100% has one of those bands wrapping around her bicep, made of waves. i also imagine that imtura has a lot of ink? it’s what she deserves, and i feel like orcs are really artistic with their tattoos - their tattoos are culturally relevant and she has a story for every single one. mal knows every single story - they get sentimental on night watches. i imagine that imtura also knows how to give tattoos, so i headcanon that she gave olinda one that represents the company. imtura thought it was very sappy, but deep down, she was honored to do it.
olinda. similar to imtura, olinda has a lot of ink. the only difference is that she gets hers later on. there is one (1) person who knows how to tattoo in riverbend, and olinda got a few from them, but once she goes out to see the world? she’s going to the good™ tattoo artists and she’s fulfilling her dreams. i feel like olinda get’s her tattoos in very pointed spots - she definitely has a sleeve and you can “read” it from top to bottom - the story of her life. kade jokes that olinda’s memory is shot and so she has to get tattoos to remember her story, but he also really admires them. olinda has a lot of constellation tattoos, including some of the ones that kade made up. she’s very sappy, tbh.
kade got one (1) tattoo when he and olinda were piss drunk. it’s a matching tattoo with olinda that’s very weird and makes no sense at all. you had to be there, and tbh, even if you were there, it doesn’t make sense. to top it all off, it’s on his bicep so that when he flexes, it wiggles. at the time, olinda and kade thought it was the funniest thing and they died of laughter. does he regret it? kade maintains that he doesn’t. does he know the story behind it? he likes to say he does, but he actually doesn’t. olinda knows, and sometimes she’ll drop vague hints to see if it jogs his memory. kade maintains that he’ll never get another tattoo. once was enough.
modern! au ethnicities
disclaimer that there are a lot of great headcanons out there, and i’m here for most of them, these are just my ideas..
i imagine that mal is indian or pakistani, nia is brazilian or dominican, tyril is japanese or mongolian, imtura is maori or samoan, olinda is latina, and kade is half hispanic, half filipino.
when texting.... (and some handwriting thoughts)...
a modern! au? idk, maybe just an au where they somehow have modern technology? anyway...
mal grossly overuses emojis. his favorites are these: 🤑🔪😎😏. he also never uses proper capitalization and punctuation, and he uses abbreviations far too often. you need a key to figure out some of his texts, but imtura and olinda just know what he means. his philosophy is style and speed over substance. when he writes handwritten notes, though, his handwriting is a very fancy cursive and the care he puts into each letter is amazing. he only ever handwrites love letters to olinda and “i hate you <3″ letters to tyril, though. he did write a heartfelt birthday letter to nia, once. she framed it.
nia is my favorite because she texts like a grandparent, where they format texts like a letter and have perfect punctuation and capitalization. when she got a text from mal, she was very confused by what he was trying to express, but she wanted to know how he got the “cute faces” and mal immediately dropped everything to teach her how to use emojis. she loves them and probably uses a string of emojis at the end of her text as a part of her signature, like:
[ the body of the text ]
Best,
Nia 😇🥰👑💖🌸
but her handwriting! it’s very nice. the temple of light had penmanship classes and nia excelled. ngl, she probably does caligraphy.
tyril uses no capitalization. punctuation only. you can hear the sarcasm through his text. he also hates emojis and memes with a burning passion. he has used this, though: -.-
he did it for nia. she loved it and now every time they text, he ends his texts with his “emoji”. mal teases him because it’s dumb and now it’s a running gag that everyone send the weird emoji to each other. it’s the tyril face! tyril wants to jump off a bridge, but also finds it very sweet? he has people giving him emoji’s? is that like.... friendship? anyway, his handwriting is terrible. glorified chicken scratch. it’s efficient and nearly illegible. perfect.
imtura, on the other hand texts the most “traditionally”. she doesn’t really adhere to capitalization, and she never has the ending period, but you know what she’s saying. it’s decent. she doesn’t like to complicate things, but kade introduced her to memes and now she and him communicate together solely using low resolution memes that no one else likes. it’s very annoying but very endearing. her handwriting is nice - simple and easy to understand. she uses a lot of shorthand and a lot of sailor jargon that goes over some people’s (read: tyril’s) heads, but is smart and to the point.
olinda, actually, is the one to have proper punctuation and capitalization, with little flavor to her texts. occasionally she’ll send an emoji or two, but mostly it’s just... communication. she much prefers calling, and will call you 20 times in a row until you answer. she forces tyril to facetime her and he rolls his eyes but secretly loves it. communication is much more efficient when you can see each others facial expressions, and boy, does context go a long way when talking with tyril. oH! I FORGOT TO MENTION - olinda grew up on a rural farm. olinda chronically says “y’all” and has all of those weird, farm related sayings. kade doesn’t have this problem because he “trained himself in verse” and said that he had to be “worldly” not “farm chic.” anyway, her handwriting is kind of careless in nature - not especially nice, but not especially terrible, either. it’s a hybrid between cursive and print (whatever is fastest is best).
kade texts solely in dank memes and lengthy prose. he is the most chaotic person in the group chat, either bidding the company to draw near by sending them four stanzas of incredibly vague meaning (only tyril and olinda understand) or he’s sending “vroom vroom bitch” memes that mal and imtura adore. the blades book may not have given kade flavor, but on GOD i will give it to him because a bard requires chaotic vibes, even if he has a tragic backstory. you know what? especially because he has a tragic backstory, kade deserves some chaos. give me chaotic kade or give me death. as for handwriting, i like to think that kade has two modes: “drafting” handwriting (chicken scratch to rival tyril) and “final product” handwriting that is purposefully and beautifully penned. he had a lot of time to perfect his writing, being sick, and boy did it pay off.
threep deserves to be in this line up, despite not being able to write. in this chaotic technology au, nia has created an instagram page for threep, and because he’s one of the last living nespers, it goes viral. when olinda and mal stumble upon it they have to laugh because it’s full of really expertly done ~aesthetic~ photos with really sweet captions - things threep wouldn’t say in a million years. the account is only up for a few months and at first the posting is really consistent, and then it suddenly falls apart and the account is deleted soon after. apparently, threep didn’t know the instagram account existed and when he found out, he and nia had legendary fights and wouldn’t speak for like, 2 weeks after. nia made a very shady and slightly vague call out post and it was the first time the company really saw her get petty. the instagram page was the perfect fuel for kade’s scathing and petty remarks at threep, and threep came out hard, making a dig at kade’s writing and his stupid tattoo. threep nearly died at the hands of the two sweetest - kade and nia. it was certainly one for the books.
high school! au
(you are right, anon, a high school au would be iconic™)
mal is 100% a band kid. he has the “i play the guitar to be cool” vibes. and besides, the guitar player in the band is always a little more ~rebellious~ than the other band kids (superseded only by the standing bass kids in orchestra, who had unrivaled chaotic evil energy). plus, mal has a flair for the dramatic, which the band kids have in spades. mal is a little too much of a rule breaker to have been on any teams or anything super structured like that, and while we all know that he’s a heartbreaker, he’s not a popular kid™ because (at least in my school) the popular kids are always rich kids who run in the “right” circles. mal is too cool for that.
nia on the other hand is the smart prep that’s really sweet. like, the girl who’s friends with the cheerleaders and could have been one, too, if she wasn’t so shy™. she’s mostly overlooked in favor of the more glamorous, but everyone knows nia and they’re all like, “yeah! she’s cute! and smart, and nice.” she’s probably in like, robotics club or something equally as estranged but smart. 100%, nia is the gabriella montez archetype. she’s in a few clubs, including choir, where her angelic voice earns her a few solos. people are always trying to give her positions of power in their clubs, but she graciously declines because she’s stretched too thin and stress is a thing.
tyril. i know you all want him to be like, the smart one who’s in debate club and is really charming, but tyril’s social skills are not cut out for that. tyril is like that smart kid who sits at the back of history class and knows all the answers but never raises his hand. he has one (1) popular friend who has been close with him since they were both in diapers, but he doesn’t feel comfortable with their friends so he just kinda sits alone for the most part. he was picked up once by the emo artsy kids, but it didn’t really stick. he likes poetry class and does a metal working class because he can be alone with his headphones and thoughts™. in high school he’s just brooding without the mystery. tyril cringes at his youth. he’s too strong and iconic in his current age, so he had to be cringeworthy in his teen years. perfectly balanced, as all things should be.
imtura was 100% that cool, slightly edgy girl on the volleyball team. she was popular with the students and the teachers - like, this is the student that the school mentions is going places, and yet are also like,,,, “let’s try to guide you over here, imtura. you have such potential! don’t squander it!” and imtura hates nothing more than their incessant pleas for her to be the model student. she just wants to travel the world, maybe join a punk band, and get lost at sea. that’s not too much to ask, right? she’s also on the football team, and she’s team captain. she lives in sweatpants and workout clothes, and they actually really suit her? definitely crush material, this one. she’s probably also throws some killer weekend parties with mal’s input.
olinda was harder to place, but i imagine that she’s one of those hands on kids, taking woodworking, metal working, and auto mechanics classes. maybe she was on the soccer team, one year, but that didn’t really work out. she’s a team player and all, but she likes something with a little more purpose. she met tyril in metalworking, she met mal when helping with sets for the school play (he was annoying the theatre kids, as per usual), she met imtura in gym class because imtura picked her to be on her flag football team (which was a great choice, really), and she met nia when she went to the choir room, looking for kade. she’s not popular, per se, but people know her face and they think she’s pretty cool.
kade on the other hand, is 100% an artsy theatre kid. he’s not the super obnoxious theatre kid, and he’s not the snobby theatre kid either, he’s kind of like the older sibling theatre kid who’s infinitely cooler than you, incredibly talented, but also really down to earth and ready to create an elaborate inside joke with you over the course of the year. he has it all: the tragic backstory that adds flavor and depth to his writing, the kind personality that gets him friends wherever he goes, the amazing vocals that make him a shoe in for every performance..... but he often gets overlooked. why? it’s one of those injustices that just don’t make sense. he’s decently popular among the art nerds, and everyone wonders why he doesn’t get lead roles. a real ryan evans, if we want to go with a hsm reference.
AND FLUFF ENSUES.
--
taglist: @musicallisto, @missameliep // message me if you want to be added!
#playchoices#choices: stories you play#choices#bladesAW#blades#bolas#blades of light and shadow#tyril starfury#tyril starfury headcanons#mal volari#mal volari headcanons#nia ellarious#nia ellarious headcanons#imtura tal kaelen#imtura tal kaelen headcanons#kade#kade of riverbend#kade of riverbend headcanons#kade headcanons#blades mc#blades mc headcanons#mc#mc headcanons#fluff#alright idk what day this falls on since it has literally everyone included#but i decided maybe it would fall under realm of light? or mc and wildcard? idk i'm just posting it now#also i sure do hope none of my followers are sick of blades content because i'm going hard oops#tw language
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❝ paalam❞
☾pairing: akaashi keiji x reader;
☾genre: angst
☾word count: 1,458 words
☾warning: cheating. akaashi is ooc.
☾note: i will probably rewrite this in the future. like my other works, this is unedited. will edit soon, but not this month. i think. i run out of ideas, tbh. also, i can’t write this in peace. sksksksksksksksksks. ah! if there’s anyone interested to beta read my future works, please step forward. T^T
☾currently playing on repeat: paalam by moira dela torre ft. ben&ben
“We’ll live in a house with a front yard and a backyard,” Akaashi whispered as he two slowly dance in your living room. He brought your hand to his lips before placing his hand behind your back. “Maybe we’ll have two or three kids who’ll be spoiled by his godparents. Especially Bokuto-san,” he added making you smile against his chest. “Everything will be perfect,” he whispered before kissing your temple.
You slammed your phone on the top of your wooden center table after reading the message he sent. ‘Why now? Of all times, why now when I’m finally healing from all the pain he had caused?’ Tears streamed down your cheeks as memories flooded your mind.
“Keiji.” Akaashi glanced at your direction before pulling you closer to him. “I hope we could stay like this forever,” you mumbled while drawing lazy circles against his arms. “I feel better whenever you’re around. You always know what to do and how to solve any obstacle presented to you.”
You looked up at Akaashi before kissing his jaw making him chuckle. “I am hoping for the same thing too. I hope that you’ll always be the first person I get to see the when I wake up.” He smiled at you before placing a tender kiss on your forehead. “And the only person I’ll be kissing every single day,” he says after kissing your temple thrice.
You made your way towards your fridge, taking out three cans of beers and your leftover pizza, before heading towards your room. However, seeing the corridor of your apartment alone made you stop. It reminded you of the worst night of your life.
You were waiting for him to arrive, to tell him about your plans. For your shared future. You were patiently waiting near the door while glancing at your phone from time to time. You sent him multiple message, asking where he is and if he’s coming home anytime soon. You even asked his friends about his whereabouts, but none of them knew where he was.
Or maybe they do. They just don’t want to tell you where he is.
Still, you waited for him to return. Not minding the fact that you’ve been skipping your classes just to see him again. But a week later, not even his shadow visited your shared apartment. Hell, he didn’t even return to take any of his things.
The next thing you knew, your world is already crumbling into tiny bits. Crushing every hopes and dreams you’ve shared with him.
Bitter tears streamed down your face as you walk towards your room. You didn’t even bother to switch on the lights before locking the door behind you. You just. . . want to forget everything about him. You just want to let go of the pain. To move on.
You wanted to see him again. You wanted to know how he’s doing after he left. If he’s doing better without you in his life. You open one of the beers and drowned yourself in alcohol, hoping that by the time you wake up, you’ll be able to escape this hellish nightmare.
But even in your dreams, he’s there.
He was wearing one of his favorite outfit that night. The night when he first went out without giving you any heads up. Akaashi arrived at your shared apartment drunk with someone from his department. They almost fell when the two of them tried to fit at the door. You would’ve laugh if you see one of his friends. You would’ve laugh with their silliness. If only. . . if only he didn’t kiss the woman in front of you.
“Who was that?” you asked while tapping his tinted cheeks. Tears stained your cheeks as soon as the woman left your apartment. “Hey, answer me, Keiji. Who was that? Why did she kiss you?” You were wiping your tears with your free hand as your left arm supports his weight. “Kei, please. Answer me,” you begged as the two of you were at your apartment’s corridor.
“Her? She’s no one important,” he responded before pushing you away from him. He made his way towards his room with wobbly legs.
You bit your lower lip before holding his arm. “Kei, do we have a problem?” you asked, your hands becoming colder every passing second. “Am I not enough?”
“I want to sleep,” he replied, unclasping your hand from his arm. “See you tomorrow.”
The following day, it was as if he forgot everything he did last night. Until it happened again and again. Until you’ve had enough of his bullshit.
“Why? Why are you doing this to me?” you asked as soon as he entered your shared apartment. With the same woman. Worst part? He smelled just like her. “Did I do anything that offended you? Did I do something wrong?”
“I’m tired!”
You scoffed. “And do you think I’m not? Huh?” you asked before pulling his arm. “Stop running away from me, Akaashi. We’ll discuss this right here, right now! I’ve had enough of your bullshit, Akaashi!”
“Fine!” he screamed. “Yes, I am fucking her and I enjoy fucking her!”
You let his arm go, as if you held a hot metal rod with your bare hands.
Your lips parted as you tried to breathe in. You couldn’t believe that you actually heard those words from him. You couldn’t believe that he changed this much. “Why? Why? Why?” you screamed while hitting his chest. “I’ve been loving you with all my heart for years! I gave you my everything! But you just—”
“—because you’re always busy! Always out with God knows who!” he screamed back, eyes filled with rage.
Your slapped his face with your shaky hands. “Fuck you and your stupid excuse!” You poked his chest. Your body was shaking with rage. “You know the reason why I’m always away. You know why. . .” Your fell on your knees while blubbering. “All this time. . .all this time. . .”
You woke up in the middle of the night and the first thing you did was respond to his message.
THE FOLLOWING DAY, you didn’t bother to wear anything fancy. You put on your black shirt and pants before heading to the meeting place you chose. It was easy to spot him from the small crowd. You sat on the empty spot beside him, your eyes glued to the children playing few meters away from you.
“What do you want?” you asked before he could even say a word. “Let’s cut to the chase, Akaashi.”
“I’m sorry.” You scoffed before looking away from the children, hoping to hide your emotion from him. “For all the pain that I’ve caused you. For all the lies that I’ve told you.”
You immediately turn your head towards him as soon as you hear him sniff. “I-I’m sorry you got hurt. . . because of everything I said. I’m sorry that I got scared.”
You wanted to wrap your arms around him. You wanted to comfort him so bad, but the pain in your chest kept you from doing so. You covered you bit the back of your hand, your shoulders shake in silence as your tears stream down youe cheeks.
“I-I got scared. . . I was scared to. . . to lose you.” Then, you both look at each other. “I was scared to hold you back.” Akaashi hold your hand before placing it on his cheek. “Y-You’re willing to give up everything you’ve dreamed of just to be with me.”
“That’s not your decision to make, Akaashi.” You respond between your sobs. “I wanted to be with you. I wanted you to be there when I achieve those dreams.” You lowered your head before meeting his gaze. “I wanted to make you proud of my achievements.” You harshly brush the tears on your cheeks. “I wanted to keep my promise to you back then while achieving my dreams. That I would never let you go. . .”
Images of you and him while dancing around your apartment appeared in your mind.
“That we’ll be there for each other no matter what happens. . .”
“I’m sorry that I messed up.”
You shook your head while pulling your hand away from him. “T-That was all in the past. Our past that we could no longer undo.” You forced a smile. “Maybe we could finally move forward after this,” you added, before standing up. “T-Thank you. For this closure.” You took a deep breath before exhaling loudly. “T-Thank you for loving me, Akaashi, I hope you’ll find the person who can. . . understand you better. Someone who can. . . love you with all their heart.”
AKAASHI wanted to go after you. To tell you that you’re still the only person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. But guilt hold him back from chasing you. If only he didn’t crush your heart.
☾taglist: @haikyuu-ink ; @kenchiko ; @agaassi ; @benvo ; @sadsugarplumm ; @yams046 ; @ ; tba (send an ask or dm if you’d like to be added/removed!)
#keiyoomi: angst#keiyoomi: haikyū!!#hq!! angst#haikyuu!! angst#haikyuu!! x reader#hq!! x reader#akaashi keiji x reader#akaashi keiji x reader angst#akaashi x reader#akaashi x reader angst#akaashi angst
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Super Fanfic Rec List -- Iron Dad Edition (because I just wanna share the love)
I’ve had such a blast reading fanfic of the IronDad and SpiderSon variety over the last 6 months or so, and I thought I’d just make a rec list of some of my favorite stories. Most of them are angsty, with whump and hurt/comfort because that’s what I live for.
This is in no particular order or in any way complete because there’s just way too many amazing fics/authors in the Iron Dad fandom, but it will still be hella long, so....here goes!
First off, @yellowdistress:
What We Are series - Bio-dad Tony series that goes all the way through Infinity War. Endgame AU.
Someday I’ll Make it Out of Here series - Adoption AU! It’s so good.
The Missing 92 Days - A take on HYDRA Peter that destroyed me emotionally.
Reviving Peter Parker - This about killed me. Peter actually died during his fight with Toomes and SHIELD brings him back a la the TAHITI project like they did with Phil Coulson.
A Sailor Went to Sea - Gut-wrenching Endgame fix it.
Double, Double
@losingmymindtonight:
Webcams and Webshooters series
I Never Lived ‘Til I Lived In Your Light series - !!! TISSUE WARNING !!! Peter dies, but there’s another one shot with a happier ending if you need it.
And You’ll Blow Us All Away - Adoption fic! A lovely one at that.
5 Times Peter’s Mental Illness Made Him Stumble And The 1 Time He Refused To Falter - I really love a well-depicted take on mental illness, and losingmymindtonight delivered 100%.
If You Can’t Catch A Breath (You Can Take The Oxygen Straight Out Of My Own Chest)
Cyanide? In My Shawarma?
@justme--emily:
The Guardian - Adoption AU with a lovely Loki and Peter friendship!
Radioactive - Peter endures the after effects of the spider bite, and scares bio-dad Tony to death. Lovely, lovely, lovely.
The Good Fight - Peter gets hurt at the airport in Germany instead of Rhodey.
@iron--spider:
ever in your favor - Hunger Games AU and an epic work of art!
Lazarus, come forth - The Endgame fix it before Endgame. Peter will break your heart.
dear mr. fantasy
this isn’t a game - Highly underrated fic based off the PS4 Spider-Man game. I’ve never even played the game, and I loved this story.
what if there is no tomorrow? - This story actually made me kinda like Justin Hammer, if you can believe it.
blindness
@tempestaurora:
hydra’s not a home series - HYDRA Peter, and also bio-dad Tony and bio-mom Pepper!
i’ll find you in the drift - Pacific Rim AU, and I have never seen PR, but I adored this so much.
it’s okay, we’re okay [whumpvember 2018] series
@jolinarjackson:
Lights To Guide You Home series - Another adoption AU. They are my weakness, and this is one of the best out there.
... and when you can’t crawl ...
Damaged At Best (Like You’ve Already Figured Out)
@blondsak:
No Life But This
come morning light (you and I’ll be safe and sound)
Burying Grounds - Eeeek! Tony has to choose between saving Peter or Pepper and it hurts.
hold on, hold on
Something the Soul Needs
@madasthesea:
turn back the clock (and I’ll try again in the morning)
when my body won’t hold me anymore (where will I go)
They have so many other lovely looking fics--including an adoption au series (which I, of course, love), but I just haven’t gotten around to reading them yet. I’m pretty sure anything they write is golden. :)
@signofuncertainty:
It’s Always the Little Things
I’m sure their other fic, The Third Option, is fantastic and I really, really wanna read it but I’m trying so hard to wait until it’s complete! It’s really difficult to wait, though, tbh....I may give in soon.
@upcamethesun:
Twelve Days Of Peter Parker - So cute and fluffy, and then it kills you at the end.
5 Times Peter Made Tony Laugh Out Loud
5 Times Tony Didn’t Need To Worry About Peter
5 Times Peter Pretended To Be Tougher Than He Was
@frostysunflowers:
Between how it is and how it should be - This story made me love a Peter and Bucky friendship.
@kitcat992:
Identity Theft - This was one of the very first Iron Dad fics I read, and it was a doozy. Full of whump, medical accuracy, and hurt/comfort! The author is posting a sequel now, too: Identity Crisis. :D
For Pete’s Sake!
@camelot-queen:
Goner - A perfectly heartbreaking kidnapping fic, but heed the warnings!
Who Saves The Hero
Never Meet Your Heroes
i’m the satellite (and you’re the sky) - Tony is Peter’s bio-dad but Peter doesn’t know it. I haven’t actually finished this yet, but it’s good. So, so good.
@peter-stank:
built from scraps - YOU GUYS, this is one of the best fics I’ve read on AO3. It’s a ‘Tony gets dusted instead of Peter’ AU, and it’s got such an amazing dynamic between Peter, Pepper, and Morgan. It’ll also make you tear up a few times, at least.
@geekymoviemom:
Sins of the Fathers - So, I’ve only read the first 5 chapters of this epic length (303k words@) adoption AU so far, but I’m LOVING it so I wanted to add it here. They also have an even longer bio-dad Tony with added Stony bonus series, Pieces of Echoes, that they’re posting the 3rd installment to right now. I’ll definitely be checking it out!
@too-many-bees:
let’s kick it
like a bridge over troubled water
@jbsforever:
it’ll be over (and I’ll still be asking when)
@tnyystark:
where the memories reside
@whumphoarder:
Quieting the Void series - Peter kinda has an eating disorder due to the spider bite, so take care if you read!
Poison Apple - Loved how medically accurate this was, and Ned’s reaction to Peter’s condition was heartbreaking.
@seek-rest:
It Hurts to Become
Someday We’ll Know - This is a Walk to Remember AU, so there’s MCD. I’ve gotten about halfway through, but I can only read it when I’m in the right mindset. But it’s lovely and so well done.
This author has so many fics that I’m sure are amazing, and they’re on my ‘to read’ list when I’m in the mood for beautiful Spideychelle stories.
@caraminha:
The Primary Reason Tony Stark Would Throw Down With an Anti-Vaxxer in the Street - Hella scary depiction of Peter with tetanus, and it’s SO GOOD.
@tonystarkstan:
it all comes back to this
skeletons series
to build a home series - I love recovery fics, and this was a beautiful story of Peter dealing with the aftermath of being snapped and coming back.
lay your weary head to rest
@foolscapper:
Exploding Head Syndrome - Everyone comes back when the snap is reversed, but Peter is sort of catatonic--stuck between the living world and the soul stone where he’s with Gamora. It’s such a lovely fic.
@alice-in-ink:
It’s a Little Bit We Do
Danger Pizza
@legalassie:
oh, darling - Peter’s kidnapped and Tony frantically searches for him--one of my favorite things. Peter uses his smarts to help him get out of the situation, too, which is also one of my favorite things.
don’t think about tomorrow.
@blackwatchandromeda:
Broken Thoughts (I Remember Everything)
Leave Me to Dream
A Nightmare to Remember
@emma--anacortes:
Accepting the Tides - Here I am with another adoption AU. Can you see a pattern yet? I love them, and this one has danger and whump and comfort as well.
@ardenskyedarcy221b:
they are standing in the garden - This hurt. Several times the author had me tearing up and there’s a few lines that will stay with me forever. It was just immensely lovely to read.
@iamallyetnotatall:
At the Start of the Universe - This was so much better than I was expecting! Peter is an Angel, and he knows Tony from the very beginning of the universe. It’s different, but absolutely gorgeous.
@starktowr:
somewhere outside my life - I don’t wanna say too much, but just read this. It’ll break you and you’ll love it.
@jessicagoddamnjones:
too bad (but it’s the life you lead)
@silver-bubbles:
The Fire’s Out (But Still It Burns)
@day-dreamer176:
Like A Strike of Lightning - I kinda took this as a demonic possession a la Supernatural, but I don’t think it actually was. Either way, it was fantastic.
fifty-four
five, tops
The World Stopped
@ambivalentmarvel:
Into His Fold series - Where Thanos brings Peter back from the ashes to make him into his new son (a la Nebula and Gamora).
@notaparty-trick:
Doom and Gloom - A ‘Peter doesn’t get dusted’ AU, filled with whump and Iron Dad and an awesome Carol Danvers. Angst!!!
Dust and Blood - Peter is hurt much worse when Toomes drops the building on him. More angst!!!! This author does angst very well.
@ema--vee:
You don’t have to hold your head up high - Peter can’t thermoregulate! I love that trope.
@forensicleaf:
All the Things We’ve Lost (And All the Things We’ve Gained) - This one gutted me, and then made it better. But there’s pain to be had before the comfort!
They just posted the first chapter of a new WIP that looks AMAZING, too: Can’t Part the Sea, Can’t Reach the Shore.
@plnkblue:
foolish, fragile spine - Peter’s severely injured in his fight with Adrian Toomes and Tony finds him.
@helloitisiafellowgay:
god did not craft us as altars, but as dying gods - Okay, guys. This one is heavy. It deals with Skip coming back into Peter’s life, and it’s not pretty but it’s handled superbly. It’s a tough read, but one I definitely recommend if you can handle it. Take care of yourselves first and foremost, though. <3
~ ~ ~ I’m not sure if the following authors have a tumblr, so I just linked their AO3 pages ~ ~ ~
eccentric_artist_221b:
Only for a Little While - This is a Titanic AU, and it’s AMAZING. There’s several scenes that just took my breath away and brought me to tears (not an easy feat). They’re also working on a WWI sequel!!!!
tiaylasglass:
the one who made it out - Short, simple in a gorgeous way, and poignant.
And finally, I thought I’d humbly add my own little contribution to the fandom. So far, I’ve only written the one fic, but I hope to write more in the future!
@ghostinthebau:
For Want of a Dad (in need of a son) - There’s a bit of blood, and a very distraught Tony at one point, so warning for angst and injury!
Again, this list is probably severely lacking, and if someone has a rec that’s not on here please please please reblog this and let me know! I’m always in the mood for more fics.
And I hope anyone reading this finds something they enjoy!
I’m sure you will.
ilu 3,000
:)
#fanfic rec list#irondad#spiderson#tony stark#peter parker#mcu#fan fiction#recs#iron man#spider-man#avengers#iron dad#spider son#angst#hurt/comfort#fluff#father and son#if you have a favorite fic not listed let me know what it is!#i love this fandom#ilu 3000
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Study Buddies ~ H.D.
A/n: Yall really be liking Hamish huh? Lol we stan tbh.
Request: “Hi could I request a hamish duke x male reader where the reader is like the super studious person like always preparing for the next test or something and hamish starts liking him? Ps you are like the only person who does the order fics and I love that you do it because I love the order boys!!” by anonymous
Word Count: 3000+
Masterlist
Psychology was hard.
School was never one of those things that came easy to Y/n. He wasn't one of those kids who could sit there and give the bare minimum effort. He struggled to follow throughout an entire lecture because the sun was bright and the grass was really green and he knew it was a nice day outside today and... wait now he'd missed five minutes of class, dang it!
In college, five minutes was like missing three days of school. The topic was suddenly completely different and Y/n was lost and confused.
That didn't stop him from being a top student in each one of his classes though. He had always been proud of his grades and worked himself near death if necessary, if it meant getting an A. Not literally near death of course, that was dramatic.
Y/n had taught himself time management at a very young age. It had been the key to his success ever since. He slept and ate food - three meals a day - and even kept a job, taking every free moment he had to study his ass off so that he knew what was going on and could deliver the proof with those beautiful red A's on the top of each of his papers.
Y/n really did study so much to get those results though. On his breaks at work, between classes, before and after school, during meals and off periods. He even quizzed himself in the bathroom and the shower, checking to make sure he'd gotten it right when he got out. It was hard and tiring, but it meant that he succeeded every time, and that's what was important.
He was a good student. His psychology teacher's TA, Hamish Duke, was very appreciative of it.
Hamish was around a lot more than the teacher was. He taught lectures and even graded papers. This class had long since been seen as Hamish’s class, and that was perhaps why it was so easy for him to slip every conversation into the direction of Y/n. Hamish was proud of all his students, but most often his star pupil.
Hamish talked about Y/n constantly. Or, more accurately, his grades. Like a proud parent showing off his child, Hamish filled his friends' ears with rant after rant about his favorite student. The only student that seemed genuinely knowledgeable about the material. The only student as well who turned in his stuff early and asked questions rather than just listening, and seemed dedicated and focused on everything, as Hamish said.
One day during one of these rants, Lilith said something that changed everything. "He likes you."
Hamish jerked back, his face twisting in disbelief. "What? No he doesn't."
Randall snorted. "No, I have to go with Lilith on this one, Hamish. I have math class with Y/n and he doesn't pay attention at all. He's just a super nerd and teaches the stuff to himself in his free time."
"Some boy doesn't pay attention in any class but Hamish's?" Jack laughed. "Dude so has a crush on you."
Rolling his eyes, Hamish stood. "You guys obviously have no sense of respect. Sorry, I forgot who I was talking to- I already knew that." The trio laughed as Hamish walked away.
After that though, Hamish became hyper aware of Y/n. The boy had his eyes on Hamish nonstop. Every once in a while, he'd even mutter under his breath as he'd watch and Hamish realized after a while that he was watching so closely, he was subconsciously mouthing along with Hamish. Probably because he read the book on his own time as well. Which made Hamish wonder why Y/n ever came to class. If he read the book, was he just... adding some context? Insight? So he asked Randall about it.
"Y/n only comes to class about half the time. The entire time he asks questions, but it's never about what's happened in previous classes or anything- just clarification about what we're learning now. I think he's got some theories? I don't know, he likes to test the water and push formulas. Our teacher actually gets a kick off of it. Y/n makes math fun, and... well, it's math. We all get happy when he's there."
So he might have stayed consistent with his insatiable need to deeply understand everything he took part in, but there was something different about Randall's experience from Hamish's. First of all, Y/n had never missed even a single one of Hamish's classes. Hamish knew because he had a perfect attendance record, and Hamish and the teacher - Ms. Merrill - talked about Y/n around their discussion on the newest lesson plan, batch of tests or even homework.
While Hamish was trying to ignore the thought of Y/n's possible feelings for him and teach a lesson instead, Y/n threw him off by approaching him after class. "Mr. Duke, I was wondering if you know any good tutors. I've been really struggling with the stuff we've been going over recently.
Hamish quirked an eyebrow. "Your grades are almost perfect."
There was a small smile on Y/n's lips when he spoke next. "Unfortunately, grades don't reflect understanding. I can sense myself starting to struggle I don't want to depend on luck being as good to me as it has been."
"Surely you're being modest."
A light chuckle. "Well, yes. I never depend on luck. I have been making educated guesses though and crossing my fingers on the rest."
That Hamish could relate to. "I see. I have to say, I don't really know anyone doing as well in my class as you are. No one who seems to be getting it as well as you do at least. It's mostly your questions that seem to clear up a lot of things for everyone else." Y/n seemed to lose hope as Hamish spoke. Maybe it was the look of panic that caused Hamish to speak next. "Uh, maybe I could." Y/n's eyes widened. "I just- I mean, obviously I understand it a little better. And in a one-on-one setting, it'll be less a lecture and more teaching since I'll be able to take you through my understanding on a deeper level."
"You'd do that?" Y/n looked so hopeful...
Despite the little voice screaming at Hamish to run, he couldn't bring himself to. "Yeah. When are you free?"
"I work everyday except Tuesday, Wednesday, and Saturday. Wednesdays I have completely free but if you wanted to work around Tuesday or Saturday that would be fine." Y/n pulled out a pen from behind his ear. Hamish hadn't noticed it before.
Hamish shuffled. He felt awkward for some reason. Why did he feel awkward? "Wednesdays will be perfectly fine for me. Should I get your number so we can decide what time and place?" Y/n nodded before holding out the pen and offering... his arm. "You don't have paper?"
Y/n rolled his eyes, but his smile was fond not mocking. "I really have to get to work actually. Could you just-?" He motioned to his arm and Hamish shrugged before trying to be delicate as he inked his number on the inside of Y/n's arm. "Thanks! I'll call you." He turned and moved quite quickly out of the room before disappearing out the doors. It was only after Y/n was gone that Hamish realized he still had the pen.
It was fine, he could give it back when they met up to study later.
Later on in the day, Hamish was still struggling to understand why he was so excited for the Wednesday study session. I mean Y/n seemed really cool so maybe Hamish just wanted to be friends with him. That made sense. But right as Hamish thought he was finally over it, it popped back in his brain again and he felt weirdly jittery and unfocused. He kept having to reread the problem he was on because he would get distracted before he could answer it then forget what it was when he finally focused again.
Lilith snapped her book open. "Okay, what's your deal?" The other two boys looked over. Hamish was surprised when he went to look at who she'd snapped at and had seen them all looking at him. When he only looked back confused, Lilith rolled her eyes. "Come on Hamish spill the beans. You won't sit still and you keep looking outside like you're waiting for a package to arrive or something."
"The last time he got like that was when you took him online shopping and he bought a grey v-neck. He threw a party when it came." The tease came from Randall.
"The he cried when you threw up on it," Lilith recalled.
"He CRIED?" Jack's eyes widened in amusement.
"It made my eyes look really good and that stain never came out!" Hamish exclaimed, defending himself.
Lilith shut up the others as they began to laugh. "Anyway, what has you all messed up now?”
Hamish scoffed. "Nothing could be as cool as a gray v-neck. You still owe me a replacement by the way," he shot at Randall, who winked and grinned in response.
"Hamish," Lilith snapped.
Pursing his lips, Hamish hesitated. Then he sighed. "There's only one thing I've got planned and it's not a big deal." Everyone leaned forward. When he didn't explain Randall motioned him to continue. Hamish rolled his eyes. "Y/n asked for some help-"
"You have a date with Y/n?" Jack demanded, his grin already face splitting.
"It's not a date!" Hamish slammed his own book shut. "He just needs someone to study with. He seems to be struggling."
Randall snorted, wiggling his eyebrows. "Probably because he's so distracted by Mr. Teacher."
Lilith nodded in agreement. "Sounds like a study date to me."
Waving his hand to dismiss what they were saying, Hamish stood and moved to the bar. Maybe if he drank something he could make sense of the chaos. Both of his friends and the one that was made up of his emotions. He usually handled both plenty well but they seemed to be refusing to make sense today. "You guys are idiots."
Idiots or not, their words followed Hamish all the way to Wednesday. He and Y/n only texted once to establish the time and place and it was just as professional as their conversation in person had been, but that didn't stop Hamish's mind from going wild. For the first time since Cassie he felt... stupid. He didn't know what to do or say. He found himself wanting to text Y/n more, but couldn't find a reason to. Why was this messing him up so much?
Panicked, Hamish pulled Randall aside at the last second. "I am freaking out."
"Your thing with Y/n today?" Randall asked. Hamish just wordlessly nodded. Randall smiled. "You like him, don't you?" Hamish was stubborn, but he wasn't dumb. He closed his eyes, groaning. "You have for a while?" Randall continued. "Like even before we said anything."
Hamish thought about that for a second. He thought about Ms. Merrill teasing him about how much he talked about Y/n. How she would hand him all Y/n's papers and tests to grade. He thought about the smiles on people's faces when he mentioned Y/n at all. He thought of the warmth in his gut he'd passed off as pride this whole time but, on a second look, was obviously something more. "Yeah." He frowned as he focused on Randall again. "Why did it take me so long to realize?"
Randall smiled. "You're stubborn. Once you've set your mind it'll never be changed. Whatever it was - whether you mislabeled the emotion, or the relationship between you guys, or even you or Y/n as people. Once you labeled it, you weren't going to be swayed until someone forced you to."
"Thank you Lilith," Hamish mumbled, feigning bitterness. Randall laughed. After a second, Hamish asked, "What now?"
Clapping Hamish on the shoulder, Randall let out a heavy sigh. "Now you go to this study date and you woo the boy. Duh."
So that's what Hamish did. He met up with Y/n and recognized the swell in his chest when he saw him. The way his stomach twisted. Now that he knew what it was, he was nervous rather than excited. Why was it suddenly so hard to talk to someone once you liked them?
They were already acquainted. Y/n had seen Hamish in all kinds of conditions, if not all but his worst. They knew plenty about each other, if just in passing. They'd talked plenty of times. They'd even been alone a few times, in a setting just like this. Y/n had been there when Hamish had been a disaster while trying to adjust to fully teaching a class instead of just doing grunt work. He'd helped Hamish out even, instead of teasing him or messing with him like the others students tried to do. What did Hamish have to be afraid of? Y/n trusted Hamish with his grades and education, and that seemed to mean a lot to him. Hamish trusted Y/n too. To tell the truth. To guide and help when he was struggling, and to liven things up when it got boring. It shouldn't have been hard to just talk to him.
And yet.
Y/n placed a hand on Hamish's arm. "Hey, are you okay? You seem upset." Hamish looked at him and realized how close together they were. Not too close, like friends, but far closer than they'd ever been before.
He didn't know what possessed him. It would have been better to break the ice. Maybe bring it up casually and talk about it. Flirt or tease. Anything to transition or something. Hamish skipped all of that. In his little moment of panic, he just leaned in right for the kiss.
And Y/n jerked away.
Hamish nearly choked. "I- I'm so sorry-"
Blush swallowed Y/n's face. "You were going to kiss me, right? I didn't misread that?"
"Yes." Hamish white knuckled his pencil. "I should have lead into that. You just- have these really pretty eyes-" He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand.
"You... I'm sorry you just took me by surprise." Y/n rubbed his forehead. "Please don't tell me you thought I asked for your help because I liked you." Hamish's smile fell and he tried to find something to say, but Y/n looked uncomfortable and he was afraid he'd make it worse. "Hamish, I meant what I said when I inquired for help. You suggested doing it yourself. I don't... like you like that. Honestly I'm about to take a short leave for a few days and didn't want to get behind so I thought I'd get some clarification on some things I've been studying on my own."
Hamish felt like an idiot. "Oh."
"Yeah," Y/n returned softly.
"I'm... so sorry," Hamish breathed out. "Honestly I was talking about you to my friends because I admire your hard work and good grades and how you engage in class and make it fun, and they messed up my head." He shook his head, trying to clear it. "How about we ignore all of that and focus on school? I'm sure you still need help."
Y/n paused, a smile growing on his face. "I'd like that. I don't think I could get anyone as good as you to help me with this."
The awkward tension passed in a few moments as they got absorbed in work. The problem was, as Hamish easily lost himself in teaching, Y/n was now the one who found himself distracted. Hamish had a really nice smile and the sun reflected off his eyes and hair and made him look like he was almost glowing. Y/n hadn't noticed it before, but now... thinking about Hamish kissing him. How Hamish might like him. Might have been thinking about him and wondering. Getting up the courage for this little thing, and how he hadn't run away to save his pride because he valued Y/n's need enough to push away his own feelings.
They parted on good terms, shaking hands after a pause. Then they gathered their stuff and went their separate ways.
Hamish refused to talk about the "date" with Y/n, no matter how much his friends begged and prodded. Not even Lilith could pry anything from him. When Y/n didn't show up for class, Hamish figured he was gone for his little break. A break that lasted for a week and a half. Every class without Y/n was super boring and seemed to teach no one anything. Students all stared at him like he was speaking another language, and everyone refused to ask any questions. No jokes or engagement at all. He understood what Randall had meant by everyone getting excited when Y/n came to class now.
It was right after the next class Y/n hadn't been at that the man himself suddenly appeared. He looked determined about something, walking to Hamish quickly. Hamish was at the back of the room, trying to pull himself together and lift his spirits as he worried yet again that he was maybe just a bad teacher and Y/n was the one who made people stay and come at all. It was then that Y/n barged in and walked right up to him, cutting him off int he middle of greeting him and asking what he needed to grab him by the shirt and pull him into a kiss.
Without hesitation, Hamish kissed back. He held Y/n's face as the other boy pulled them as close together as they could get. When they parted, they'd moved a little so that Y/n was sitting on Hamish's desk, Hamish between his legs. "Whoa," Hamish whispered, both stunned by the kiss and their current position.
Y/n exhaled a sharp breath. "You asshole. I've been thinking about you nonstop for MONTHS and you finally try and kiss me right when I'm getting over you. Then I'm gone and all I can think about is you again and I miss you and your stupid class and your hair and eyes and your voice and how much I wanted you to kiss me so guess who's back early because I need you to kiss me? GUESS."
Hamish chuckled, soft but for quite a while. Y/n shoves him, but before he can go off again Hamish is already kissing him for the second time. Both boys relaxed and melted into each other. "Hey," Hamish whispered.
"Hi," Y/n whispered back.
The older boy's thumb brushed over Y/n's cheek. "Let me take you on a real date."
Biting his lip to try and contain his smile, Y/n considered. "Only if you agree to be my boyfriend."
Hamish grinned. "Does this mean we can be study buddies all the time?"
"Will you distract me with kisses like you tried to last time?" Y/n asked.
Tilting his head, Hamish avoided answering. "Not... EVERY time..."
Y/n laughed, shaking his head. "Fine. Deal."
"Deal," Hamish agreed. And they kissed again to seal it. Finally.
#hamish duke#the order#the knights of saint chrisptoher#the knights of the order of the hermedic blue rose#hamish duke x reader#hamish duke imagine#male reader#the order x reader#the order imagine#the knights of saint christopher x reader#the knights of saint Christopher imagine
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First lines tag game (thanks @unbearable-lightness-of-ink; I’m gonna leave an open tag for anyone who wants to do it!)
Rules: List the first lines of your last 20 stories (if you have less than 20, just list them all!). See if there are any patterns. Choose your favorite opening line.
90% of these are the same wip at the end of the day but nonetheless. I only came up with 16, which tbh is already a lot... lmao these are in order of how I found them so mostly most recent to most ancient. I don’t even remember some of these...
Bonus: first ever conceptualization of TOL
1. Between gods and men: This is the story we are told: a woman desperate for power made a deal with the devil (Maybe not the devil, it might’ve been some demon or something), that her son may have the power to save her hometown from a certain war.
2. Til we feel the spark: “If I use my near-death experience in this essay for this scholarship, does that immediately disqualify any notion of originality?”
3. Touch of Light (draft 5): Voices sound different through the phone, the way campus streets look different while being chased into the sunset by a crowd of fanatic teenage girls, which - for the record - is far more terrifying than being chased through the same streets by a malevolent telekinetic Muse.
4. Line of Sight: I’m home.
5. Unspoken, Unsung (version titled “Hm”): At the ripe age of 21, Hoàng Thanh Yến annulled an engagement with the only boy she ever did or probably will love.
6. Unspoken, Unsung (version titled “Unspoken, Unsung): As a little girl, I was afraid of ghosts.
7. Unspoken, Unsung (version titled “UU”): “Once upon a time…” I look up from the swarm of children sitting around me in a circle to consult my girlfriend leaning on the back wall.
8. Touch of Light (draft 4): Unlike you, I’ve known how this story ends before it even begins, and just like you, I am unable to do a thing about it.
9. Touch of Light Sequel (attempt 1): Typically speaking, introducing myself is a foolish endeavor, seeing as everyone knows full well who Finley Nicodemus Schultz is.
10. Line of Sight (take 1): You may be wondering how I ended up in my boyfriend’s apartment after his roommate broke out of a supposed top security prison.
11. Vanilla Pages: Sala pushes her hair out of her face again as she carts the textbooks to their proper shelving.
12. Flirting with death: I am by no means a fashion mogul.
13. Guardian of the East: “You have no obligation to help them.”
14. Dragon’s Dawn: I can heal almost any wound.
15. Moonlit Tiger: “Kaida, please. You can’t keep sulking like this.”
16. Project 1: Eleanor appreciated appreciation.
What did we learn? I progressively wrote longer and longer first lines. My fave is #5 I think. I’ve always really liked how that one flowed.
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About: Alleilyn Willowwing
Tagged by @curiousartemis for this a few days ago, but getting around to it now lol. So cool to learn some more about Imi!
And now, a good character page for Alleilyn! Adding a Read More cause it’ll probably be lengthy.
Name: Alleilyn Willowwing
Alias: Leilie. It’s a penname she uses when she writes to Ayrenn (who has her own alias). Their letters are mostly personal, but it’s a precaution incase their letters fall into the wrong hands. Ayrenn is a Queen, after all. (Lore wise, I think Bosmeri use a special type of paper called vellum, if they write at all, with a special type of ink. So I might find a work around with magic.)
Gender: Female.
Age: 24.
Species: Bosmer (Wood Elf)
Zodiac: aquarius / aries / cancer / capricorn / gemini / leo / libra / pisces / sagittarius / scorpio / taurus / virgo / unknown
Abilities/ Talents: Alleilyn is skilled in alchemy, restoration, and is well-learned in her knowledge of anatomy. She’s also worked closely with the Vinedusk Rangers, so on top of field medicine, Alleilyn has also been a scout, and can track/ hunt with a bow fairly well. Finally, Alleilyn is also a skilled necromancer, but she isn’t particularly proud of it; as she recovers her memories, she slowly pieces together how and why she has this skill in the first place. (I saw a writing prompt once about how healing and necromancy are similar, and I thought it would add an interesting layer to her character & story.)
~ Personal ~
Alignment: lawful / neutral / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true
Religion: Alleilyn follows Yfrre. (My knowledge of tes universe religions isn’t that great tbh)
Sins: Envy / Greed / Gluttony / Lust / Pride / Sloth / Wrath
Virtues: Charity / Chasity / Diligence / Humility / Justice / Kindness / Patience
Language(s): The common tongue of Tamriel, and Bosmeri, though I’m not sure if the Bosmer officially have their own language.
Family: Alleilyn was close with her mother and her sister, Nivaia, but she never really knew her father, as he died when she was young. Her mother, since she raised them both on her own, doted on them and saw to their education and skills, so they could be independent. Nivaia (28) joined the Vinedusk Rangers, and helped against the Blacksap rebellion, but she died in the battle of Cormount. (Does backstory count as spoilers when Alleilyn is recovering memories in story?) Although she was never quite the same after Nivaia died, Alleilyn still remained close with her mother until she was sent, unwillingly, to Coldharbour.
Friends: Alleilyn has always preferred a good book to socializing, but she did make lasting friendships when she studied and practiced with the Mages Guild and the rangers. There was never any time, or will, for friendships while she was in Coldharbour; so even after her escape, she initially thinks of Lyris and the Prophet as tentative allies. She doesn’t know what to make of Razum-dar either, but after awhile, he starts to grow on her.
Sexual Orientation: Heterosexual / Bi-Pansexual / Homosexual / Demisexual / Asexual / Unsure / Other
Relationship Status: Single / Dating / Married / Widowed / Open relationship / Divorced / Not ready for dating / It’s complicated (with the planemeld and getting her soul back, it’s the last thing on her mind. Of course, life doesn’t always take intentions into account... 😏)
Libido: Sex god / Very High / High / Average / Low / Very low / Non-existent
In unofficial lore, or so I’ve read, Bosmer have the highest sex drive of all the races 😂 so that’ll be fun once I get to Romance (within reason).
~ Physical ~
Build: Twig / Bony / Slender / Average / Athletic / Curvy / Chubby / Obese
Hair: White / Blonde / Brunette / Red / Black / Other - caramel brown/ blonde
Eyes: Brown / Blue-gray / Green / Black / Other
Skin: Pale / Fair / Olive / Light Brown / Brown / Very Brown / Other
Height: 5′2
Weight: 110
Scars: Knife wound above heart, whipping wounds on her back.
Facial Features: She has an almost gaunt, but youthful heart-shaped face with wide eyes, green as the deep woods, sharp eyebrows, an upturned nose, and full lips. Freckles are scattered over her cheeks and nose.
Hair Style: Alleilyn usually wears her hair in a braid or updo when she’s traveling, doing missions on behalf of Ayrenn, or working with patients/ alchemy. When she isn’t busy, or is doing light work, she’ll keep her hair down. If she’s roped into a formal/ political event, Alleilyn will wear a more ornate style, with complex braids or buns.
Tattoo(s): None. She might consider one though, depending on what it is or why she would get it.
~ Choose ~
Dogs or cats? I’m not sure she’d get a house cat, but I can totally see her with a senche cub. Undecided on how she’ll get one though—as a gift from Ayrenn, or maybe she rescues one in the wild.
Birds or nugs? I’ll be honest, I have no idea what nugs are.
Snakes or spiders? She’s not afraid of snakes exactly, but she’s not fond snakes after dealing with the Maomer.
Red or blue?
Yellow or green? (She doesn’t have any particular favorite colors, so I’ll assume these are for aesthetic)
Black or white? 🤷♂️
Coffee or tea? I’m not exactly sure how it fits into the Green Pact, if they can, but Alleilyn buys teas from merchants that come from outside Valenwood. She tries not to make it obvious though, when around other Wood Elves.
Ice cream or cake? Alleilyn enjoys her treats when she can.
Fruits or vegetables? She follows the Green Pact pretty strictly, so her diet is mostly meats, nuts and dairy.
Sandwich or soup?
Magic or melee? Alleilyn isn’t much of a fighter, but she will fall back on conjuration magic in desperate situations.
Sword or bow? If she must use a weapon, and not a staff, Alleilyn will use a bow. She hunted frequently with Nivaia and the other rangers, so she has an accurate aim.
Summer or winter? Alleilyn is used to the heat and humidity of Valenwood, even if she doesn’t remember it right away.
Spring or autumn? Alleilyn has learned to be appreciative of life, especially in the jungle, which is rife with it everywhere. Spring is a time of rebirth, but autumn is the time before winter—or hardship—which is equally necessary in life.
The Past or The Future? Ironically enough, despite having little to no memories before the prisons and misery of Coldharbour, Alleilyn feels almost trapped by the past. She doesn’t know how she got there, what she could have possibly done to deserve her fate, and ultimately, who she is. The only tangible memories she has is being tortured, and nightmares of her tormenters.
Well...that got dark. It does get better for her, I promise. Anyway, I’m not exactly sure who to tag for this but I’ll list other writers: @daedriclorde, @parasite-core, @stardust-crow, @maxgraybooks, @pearlll09, and anyone else who’s interested!
#tag game#writeblr#fanfic#oc: alleilyn willowwing#got a new laptop!#it's weird being on desktop rather than mobile#anyway I'm probably going to change my wip name#it is a wip after all#to be honest i've never finished a long term-ish project#there's so much potential in the themes and stuff but im not sure I'm a skilled enough writer to pull it off#But. I'll be a better writer by giving it my best shot#begone imposter syndrome!
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