#// but yeah lemme get right on that since you and nobody else has an issue with it

[saintvampy]

> feel depressed in room

> leave room

> negative parent interaction

> go back in room

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: IV

“I had a few, got drunk on you

And now I’m wasted

And when I sleep, I’m gonna dream of 

How you tasted.”

— Medicine, Harry Styles

A/N: if i said i’m apologizing for the way i left off ch3, yes i did ❤️ no i didn’t ❤️ it was fun ❤️ as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!! and if you enjoy the piece, please reblog it!!! it keeps content creators motivated!! without further delay, hope you enjoy what’s in store for Sherlock and Watson this chapter cause it’s uhhhh quite a bit of uhhhh ~stuff~ 😌

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

word count: 26.4k

content/warnings: a mild addiction to sexting, some pretty sparkly lingerie, a very interesting photo, a strange but satisfying gift, rough sex and degradation, pillow talk about the validity of the men in Twilight, the satisfying gift being put to even more good use, Y/N going over to Harry’s apartment for the first time, mild mentions of blood, and an impromptu Hamilton re-enactment amidst more lemon blueberry pancakes

///

For the next three days, the sexting grows more frequent. 

Harry feels somewhat humiliated by it, really. He’s an adult— a full-grown, two hundred and nine year old man— and trading nudes with a simple girl shouldn’t be getting him as worked up as it does. He should know how to handle his hormones better, and the thing is, he usually does. But no one in the last few centuries has made him feel as desperate as Y/N does; he hasn’t felt this helpless for someone since he was alive. The vampire just wasn’t prepared to handle the needy responses she so easily yields from his body and he’s horribly rusty on how to skate this thin sheet of metaphorical ice. It’s like he can feel it cracking and crunching beneath his feet, but he has absolutely no power over how to stop it. Any minute, it’s bound to take him under, and he has no choice but to allow himself to drown in it. 

The following seventy two hours are full of so many dirty promises and explicit images, his phone might as well be a porno hard drive.

After coaxing Y/N into a few orgasms through the phone and receiving just as many in return, a dangerous game is set into motion that Harry knows is probably unhealthy not only for his self-worth, but for the sensitivity of his anatomy. He can only get off so many times before his joints are begging for a break. 

He wakes up Wednesday morning with a stiff ache running along his inner thighs and ebbing across the underside of his balls, but there’s an undeniable contentment stewing behind it. He doesn’t truly mind the throb, comforted by the fact that Y/N is probably facing similar issues at the moment. He finds himself smiling coyly as he flips an omelette onto one of his marble-print platters, recalling the events from the night before. 

According to what he’d heard on the other end of the phone, present throughout the array of shaky gasps, cracked whimpers, and wet sounds of pleasure that had echoed from the speaker, Harry had made Y/N squirt. 

That was a tremendous stroke to his already huge ego. The idea that he’d been able to make her cum so hard that she’d soiled her brand new sheets had been circling around his head for the last couple of hours, fluffing his confidence. It’s a milestone achievement, to be honest. He’d done something that very few men have the skill to achieve in person, meanwhile he’d done it just by using his voice and extensive imagination. The arrogance he’s sporting right now is more than justified. His cheeks are starting to ache from how hard he’s grinning.

The vampire is so lost in his recollections that he nearly misses the chime of his phone, the unique ringtone that beeps out being as welcomed as ever. 

Harry scoops up his device while spooning a piece of his green pepper and mushroom egg dish into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully as he swipes into Y/N’s text conversation. He smoothers the giddiness fluttering in his stomach; he’s not a child. 

As it turns out, he’d killed those butterflies for no solid reason because the instant her message pops up, they come right back to life. 

Morning! Thought I’d show you what I’m planning on wearing to work today. 

Harry roughly swallows down his breakfast at the attachment following the caption, a shiver coiling down his spine. “Fucking hell.”

The photo is a mirror shot, taken in her tiny bathroom. It’s a full body image where she’s clad in a matching set of bra and panties, the material sparkly bright red lace. The bottoms are high-waisted, hugging her tummy and hips in a way he deems perfect, the lace decorating her skin beautifully. The bra is see-through, so he has an unrestrained view of her chest and he doesn’t know why, but he thinks he might love the way her breasts look in lingerie more than without it. Make no mistake, he’ll willingly drool over her no matter what, but there’s just such a refined beauty in seeing her figure in such an elegant piece. She’s like a present set out for him to unwrap, preferably with his teeth. 

Then he notices the garters and the next forkful of food lodges in his throat. They hug around her legs deliciously, the bands settled midway down her thighs as the straps run up the sides and clip onto the hem of her panties. Yeah, he would definitely use his teeth. 

After gawking at the artwork for a minute, Harry finally gathers himself enough to type back a decent reaction.

I’m pretty sure that outfit doesn’t apply to the workspace dress code. 

Y/N shakes her head in amusement at his response, giggling softly as she finishes shimmying into her black skinny jeans, buttoning them over the skimpy lace. 

I’ll cover up for the sake of the customers. But it’s just such a nice set, I figured someone else should get to appreciate it with me.  

Harry sets his utensil down on top of his plate, omelet only half eaten. His appetite has molded into a very different type of hunger. He pads out of the kitchen, feeling the ten AM sunlight filter through the glass wall of his living room and warm his bare chest and back. He heads for the bathroom that branches out of the entrance corridor, coming to a stop right in front of its mirror. He begins to clean up his appearance, combing his bed head into a presentable state (he hadn’t slept, per usual, but rolling around his pillows last night while he indulged fantasies about Y/N had done his curls in something fierce), fixing his royal blue briefs along his hips and dragging the waistband down to show off the dip of his prominent pelvic bones.

Once the immortal is done, he taps back with eager strokes of his thumbs. 

I can’t believe you’ve never worn that for me. That’s a criminal offense. Literally worth capital punishment. 

Oh, really? Capital punishment? And who are you to decide my verdict?

I’m the executioner, obviously. I’m in charge of dispensing the verdict and I promise you, I’ll see to it that you get what you deserve. It’s my civic duty.

Y/N scoffs at his quip, tugging her navy polo shirt over her torso and quickly running a brush through her hair. She puts it up into a neat ponytail, sighing lightly as she stares at her tired reflection. She wishes she could ditch work for the day and entertain more conversation with Harry, but she literally can’t afford to.

Well, you’re gonna have to wait while I go perform my own type of civic duty. Making the world a better place, one grilled panini at a time. 

Harry’s lips jolt. She’s so clever and witty, he doesn’t know how she could possibly be from such a dull, monochrome town. 

I understand. Justice calls. But before you go, can I send you a picture of what I’M wearing today? Could use a few style tips. 

That’s pretty ironic coming from someone whose last name is literally ‘Styles.’

I know, I know. But even fashion icons have their insecurities sometimes. 

Fair point, nobody’s perfect. Lemme see your OOTD, then.

The outfit of the day appears to be no outfit at all, according to Harry’s picture. It’s taken on a mirror, like her own, and it depicts him standing with one hand holding his phone in front of his face while the other seems to be doing jazz hands down his body playfully. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of deep blue briefs (probably because he’d completely ruined the maroon pair he was wearing last night, if his broken moans and heavy panting had been any indication) and they hug his frame flawlessly. The fabric is bunched around his lean thighs, tiger head tattoo peeking out to accompany the rest of the collection, which includes all the inkings running the length of his left arm as well as the butterfly and swallows across his torso. His v-line is evident as ever, dipping below the elastic band teasingly. His chest is broad and his biceps are taut, despite the fact that he’s not even flexing. He looks like a Greek statue and Y/N is positive the higher powers designed Harry with that specific thought in mind.

Y/N doesn’t realize drool is gathering in her mouth until it tickles the inside of her bottom lip. She snaps her jaw closed, clearing her throat sheepishly. Over a minute has passed of her just ogling and she can feel heat layering across her cheeks. She knows Harry probably has the cockiest expression on his face at the moment, obvious in the tone of the next comment he delivers. 

Damn, it’s that bad, huh? Guess I’ll have to change. 

No, it’s perfect. Simple, but effective. Very professional. 

Why, thank you! 

My pleasure.

Here, take this as a token of my appreciation. Hopefully it can help get you through the day. 

This specific photo is taken from an above point of view, as if Y/N were looking down at Harry’s body along with him. His pectorals and stomach muscles appear more defined, tattoos darker and skin more evidently sunkissed. Lower down, there’s the obvious outline of what lies within his boxers, snuggled up against his thick thigh and tempting her to let out a soft whine. Then, resting casually against his abdomen is his free hand, sporting a thumbs-up that gives a purposefully goofy vibe to the risky image. He’s such an idiot. 

The mortal’s answer is just as silly and lighthearted as his gesture. 

Thank you, I’ll keep it locked in my heart forever. 

I wouldn’t want it any other way. 

That’s the first interaction of many that further opens the door to their virtual sex life. Things hardly stay that innocent. 

That night when Y/N gets home from work, they undergo another round of phone sex. It starts off the same: cheeky banter that leads to cheeky pictures that eventually leads to utter filth. 

And that’s how they spend the next few days— taking care of each other’s needs digitally until Friday rolls around. There’s plenty of those encounters, but there’s definitely favorites. 

A session during one of Harry’s self-care baths, when he puts her on speaker and she talks him through tugging one out while the scent of lavender salts— which he’d chosen because they smell like her— leave his heated skin feeling soft and supple. Another instance where he makes her orgasm while she has gotten bored watching a scary movie marathon on her couch, the screams of the horror film mere background noise compared to all the sweet nothings Harry huskily mumbles into her ear, his dominant voice filtering through her headphone and instructing her on how to make herself feel good.

Harry messages her at three A.M. at one point, wide awake as ever, all of his thoughts occupied by the concept of Y/N laying on her tummy between his thighs and sucking him off at a slow pace. He can practically see her small hands wrapped around his girth, stroking up to meet her pretty lips, her tongue lapping at his tip eagerly as she whines around a full mouth. She’s always just so eager. Even at the crack of dawn, she’s awake by some miracle, and happily willing to delve into that fantasy with him. Her soft, timid tone drifts across the shells of his ears, explicitly sketching out how she’d take him all the way down her throat until she gags, and how she’d kiss all over the head of his prick just to smear his precum over her lips to then lick it off, and how she’d rock against his lap fast and hard while he takes her nipples between his teeth. How she wouldn’t stop until he’s dripping down her thighs and groaning into her throat. How she’d let him fuck her as many times as it takes to tire himself out. 

Harry obviously repays her, and it comes in the form of him painting out a scenario where she’s gotten home from a long day at the café. He tells her about how he’d be there waiting for her in nothing but his underwear, sitting back on his elbows in her bed, touching himself over his briefs just at the thought of pleasuring her. About how he’d lay her out and taste every inch of her body with his tongue, and how he’d run his teeth across her inner thighs tenderly while his fingers play with her clit, and how he’d have her ride his face deep and sloppy until she’s shaking and sensitive. How he’d tie her to the bed and toss her legs over his shoulders while he pounds her into the mattress, marking bruises across her neck as she sucks on his fingers and tightens around his cock like “the snug little thing you are.”

They even take their fun out of the confines of their houses and into public settings, just to give it an adrenaline high. Those situations are foreplay; it’s how they prep each other throughout the day for when they’re both finally alone and can truly help one another to the fullest. 

It happens Thursday on two occasions. 

First, to Y/N, who is sitting in the backroom on her lunch break, though she’s barely touched her food. She’s much more interested in what Harry has to say. Much more interested in how he says he wishes he could be there with her right now. That she could sneak him in through the back door of the restaurant and they could lock themselves in that tiny supply room, making sure no one would disturb what he’s about to do to her. That he would drop to his knees and drag her jeans down her legs, pressing damp kisses in the denim’s wake, biting hickies in the areas he knows she loves to receive them. He would mount her knees over his shoulders and bury his face between her thighs, looking up at her through heavy lashes as he licks into her desperately. He would have her grab onto his curls and guide his tongue just the way she likes it, and she’d have to bite into her cheek to keep from getting caught. 

He talks about how he’d take her against the supply shelves, one hand clamped over her mouth while he pants praise into her ear, her body jolting roughly upwards against the surface as she clings to his back. How he’d hold her up with the other arm and slam her down onto his cock, cooing things like, “Gotta keep quiet for me, sweetheart. Can’t make you cum if we get caught.” and “Such a filthy girl, sneaking me in here just to fuck you. Baby just wants to walk around the rest of the day full of me, doesn’t she?” 

That fantasy leaves her in a bothered haze the rest of the work day. It’s bad enough that she almost drops her tray three different times and has to ask multiple customers to repeat their orders. 

Y/N gets back at Harry, though. That revenge is the second occasion. 

The vampire had mentioned that he would be going out with his friends that evening to a bar and she takes full advantage of that. When the picture comes through, Harry nearly spits out his Manhattan drink. 

He’s sitting in a booth surrounded by his entire group and he’d been talking shit with Niall about golf. The vampire doesn’t care for the sport, but Niall loves it, and Harry loves getting on Niall’s nerves, therefore it’s all pretty self-explanatory. Mitch and Adam join in, with Mitch obviously supporting Harry, when he randomly decides to check his notifications. Even in the shrunken little banner, Harry can immediately tell the photo is graphic. Xander asks if he’s alright, telling him he looks freakishly pale and to get his eyes under control because they're in public. Harry blinks the red from his irises, hurriedly excusing himself and clambering up from his seat, jetting across the restaurant towards the restrooms. It’s occupied, much to his luck, so he settles for simply pressing his back against the wall of the corridor, leaning his head against the bricks and taking deep breaths to calm the raging in his stomach. He gingerly opens the message and his knees nearly give out. 

The image is taken from the back, probably using a timer. Y/N is wearing one of her big tees and another pair of cheeky lace panties, but this time around, they’re pastel peach and crotchless. She’s bent over with her ass up and spine arched, knees parted for balance, her shirt bunching downwards due to the angle. Her arms are pulled behind her back and her chest is flushed to the bed, wrists crossed submissively as she gazes at the camera over her shoulder. There’s an unmistakable sparkle in her eyes and he can tell she had sent this now on purpose just to fuck with him, knowing good and well that he was out and occupied.

The shot is more than he can handle and he has to swallow down the urge to stomp out of the bar, get into his car, race to her flat, and make her rethink her decision. Preferably, in the form of harsh spanks and overstimulation. He can see everything— the intentional rip at the crotch of the panties are meant for that sole reason. The closer he looks, he comes to realize that she’s wet, which in turn means she had been touching herself. She’d set this up perfectly, knowing that he’d easily be able to deduce that fact and that it would haunt him for the rest of the night. 

The monster releases a quivering exhale, typing back slowly and carefully, sight bleary. 

You’re going to regret that. 

Pinky promise?

///

When Harry arrives at Y/N’s apartment the next night, as he has for the last three Fridays, he doesn’t saunter up to her door and bang on it angrily. He doesn’t grab her by her hair and drag her into her room, how he’d intended. He doesn’t even have a single cinch in his sculpted brows. 

Instead, he raps softly on the door with one jeweled knuckle and waits calmly. 

The human goes to answer, her stomach twisting in excitement at all the possibilities of what punishment she might face for her antics. A small, sly smile buckles the corners of her lips at the thought, her fingers trembling as they wrap around her cold doorknob. She expects to find a furrow-browed, intense-eyed, red-faced Harry behind the threshold, who would shove past her, nab her by the arm, and throw her onto her bed. She expects him to yank his belt from around his hips while a distinct darkness swallows his emerald irises, his mouth curling into a sinister grin. She expects him to roughly command she get on her hands and knees, his palm finding the back of her head to shove her face-first into the sheets while he rips her panties down her legs and drags the cool leather of his accessory over her backside tauntingly.

What she gets is something— and someone— completely the opposite. 

When her door swings open, Harry is standing standing there, sure. But instead of looming over her with flaring nostrils and cruel intent, he’s decided to lean against the door frame with his arms folded casually. His body is completely empty of tension, his ankles are crossed offhandedly, and a small, bright red paper bag full of sparkly black tissue paper is hanging off his wrist. His expression is a relaxed facade of indifference, lips set into his usual signature smirk, no explosive emotions present whatsoever. 

That startles Y/N. This has to be an act; it feels like the calm before a violent storm and it has her shifting in her socked feet. Did he...Did he forget what she did? 

There’s no way he forgot. It was too brazen a move to dismiss.

Harry steps forward into her home, comfortable enough that he no longer has to wait for an invitation. Y/N moves to the side to let him through, hesitantly closing the entrance behind him, contemplating the man as if he were a ticking bomb. She does a quick sweep of his physique, looking for some other clue as to what he could be plotting, aside from the mysterious gift bag in his hand. He’s wearing a pair of flared denim jeans, a white tee with a royal blue cartoon bee printed in the center along with the words Enjoy health! Eat your honey! surrounding it, his white Vans, and an oversized colorful patch-work cardigan. The outfit is surprisingly domestic compared to his usual taste, but she finds it’s easily one of her favorite fits on him. He just looks so boyish adorable. 

The human comes up with nothing suspicious, glancing back up to lock eyes with her guest. Harry beams at her innocently and she knows for sure he’s planning something, but she can’t place what. 

“I got you this.” The vampire speaks up first, holding out the paper bag towards Y/N with his index finger, bouncing it encouragingly. “Take a peek.” 

The girl accepts the gift gingerly, giving him one more hard look before breaking away to investigate what lies beneath the tissue paper. She pulls out a small cardboard box, her eyes squinting slightly as she reads its print and surveys the label. The image on the surface appears to be of five silicone finger gloves, each about the size of a thumbtack, tiny metal plates embedded into the pads. She’s voicing her curiosity before she’s even finished studying the container. 

“What...What are these?”

Harry rolls his eyes jokingly, tapping the object for emphasis. “Read the fine print, love.” 

Y/N focuses on the region he’d pointed out, reciting aloud. “‘Vibrating silicone finger gloves. For the use of personal pleasure or with partners.’”

Then it all clicks. 

“Oh my God, you got me— what?!” Y/N’s head snaps up in shock, mouth parted and brows creased. “Harry, what?”

The young man laughs airily, gently opening the seal of the box in her hands, which she is now holding as if it were a weapon of mass destruction. It’s such a weird present to give in general, moreso all out of the blue, so she can’t be blamed for her reaction.

He uncaps the packaging, rummaging through its contents and pulling out two of the tiny rubbery gloves. They’re transparent and ribbed, obviously meant to deliver as many sensations as possible, and they’re about two inches in length. He slips them onto his index and middle finger, making scissoring motions for the purpose of symbolism, but mainly just to watch Y/N fidget. “I remember how you said you don’t have sex toys because you’d never really thought about buying any, so I went and picked these up down at my favorite shop. Jessi said they’re good for beginners.”

“Jessi?” Y/N’s voice is tight. She’s not sure how to respond to this; she’s never been in this situation before. No one has ever just given her a sex toy as if a were a candy bar. “Who’s Jessi and why do they need to know about my sex life?”

“She’s the manager.” Harry says matter-of-factly. He doesn’t seem to find anything strange about this encounter. “She helped me pick out my first pocket vag, so I trust her with my soul. Here, look. You just slip them on and—” He makes finger thrusting motions in the air, wiggling his digits playfully. “Big O. Not as good as what I can give you, obviously, but close enough.”

“Harry, you do realize this is a little…odd, right?”

The boy blinks at Y/N blankly. “What? Why? Sex is literally the basis of this whole thing.” He signals back and forth between them with his gloved forefinger. “It’s really not that weird at all, if y’think about it.”

“I just...it’s like…” 

Her argument fizzles to an end the longer she stares at him. He has the most wholesome expression painted across his handsome features, his eyes glossy with excitement. He looks genuinely elated about the present and she can’t find it in herself to question him any further. As unorthodox as this may be, it’s the first true act of kindness anyone has shown Y/N since she had moved to California. It’s the first time anyone has given the girl anything without her having to request it. She comes to the realization that Harry really is the only friend she has at the moment, and she refuses to pick and prod at that, lest he retract from her on the grounds that she’s ungrateful. Yes, this is a little atypical, but so is their whole dynamic. In his own twisted way, this is how Harry shows his friendship. 

The more she ponders on it, she starts to understand that this truly is something she should accept. He went out of his way to get her this gift, which solidifies their acquaintanceship. It’s sweet.

“You know what, never mind. Thank you! I love them.” 

The giddy smile that cracks his face melts her heart. “I’m glad to hear you say that.”

Harry then softly grasps her hand with his, tugging her down the entrance hallway, his intentions set on her bedroom. His voice takes on a deeper sultry twang, the corners of his mouth twitching suggestively. “Because on my way here, I was thinking, yeah? And I figured: who better to teach you how to use these than the person who picked them out.”

“Of fucking course.” Y/N huffs in amusement, shaking her head but allowing herself to be guided forward. “I should’ve known you had an ulterior motive.” 

“Heyyyyy!” Harry’s whine is offended, but the coy simper dimpling his cheeks ruins any defense he could possibly try to spin. “This isn’t an ulterior motive, it’s simply a supporting one.”

“Right.” Y/N states flatly, shuffling forward slowly as he backs down her corridor, momentarily glancing over his shoulder to orient himself. “Buying a fuck buddy a sex toy is totally selfless and mutually exclusive of the agreement.”

Harry takes a turn and crosses the threshold into her bedroom, releasing her arm and instead, he opts for wrapping his fist into the loose material of her large Transformers tee, twisting the fabric around his knuckles and giving it a sharp yank. She stumbles into his chest and almost drops the box. 

The vampire gazes down at her with half-lidded eyes, long lashes tempting and plush lips the color of roses. “I never said it was mutually exclusive. I just said it wasn’t meant to be evidently inclusive.” 

He takes the box from her grip, sliding it onto her nightstand so that any obstacles between them are eliminated. He beckons her closer with a flick of his wrist, feeling heat erupt across his chest as her palms slap down against it to steady herself. She’s always so warm, almost like a furnace. It’s a nice contrast to his ever-present coldness.

Harry’s cupped fingers nurse the slope of her jaw, tilting her chin up to level his, Cupid’s bow ghosting over her own teasingly as a grin threatens to betray him. His accent is thick, heavy with condescension. “Now do you want me to fuck you or not?”

Y/N gulps audibly, the sudden jump in her heart rate causing Harry’s cock to give a foreshadowing twitch in his designer jeans. Her eyes soften with a form of weepy desire, head nodding in his grasp. 

Harry’s top teeth catch on his lower lip as he appraises her from over the crest of his defined cheekbones. “I don’t think I heard you, pet. Must be the AC draft.”

The mortal’s eyes fall shut as she composes herself, a shaky sigh faltering past her nostrils. She tips forward onto her toes, connecting her itching mouth to his. Harry allows it, listing his head to the side to grant her more access, his free arm roping across the dip of her spine and pressing her front flushed to his. The kiss is soft and heated, full of drunken tongues and muffled whimpers. It’s tame compared to most of the others they’ve shared, but Harry likes it. It’s sloppy and intimate; only the beginning of what he knows will be a long night. 

Her words sting the ridges of his lips, hot and bated. “I want you to fuck me.” 

Harry speaks into her mouth, tone gentle but packing a punch. “Get my belt off for me, will you? I’m tying you to the bed tonight.”

He doesn’t have to ask twice, a dark chuckle vibrating across his tongue when her fingers immediately begin to fumble with his belt buckle. 

Once Harry has looped the leather tightly around Y/N’s wrists and has knotted them to one of the wooden railings of her headboard, he sits back on his heels to admire his work. Y/N is splayed out across her mattress with her arms suspended above her head, bare thighs clasped in anticipation as her t-shirt gathers around her waist. Her hands are curled into fists, nails digging into her palms as she watches Harry leisurely shrug off his cardigan, keeping eye contact with her the whole way through. His tattoos stand out against the buttery light of the single lamp on the table, tanned arms flexing sinfully. 

He shifts around, laying down onto his stomach and coasting his palms up her quivering legs, kissing over her kneecaps and along the crease of her inner thighs, bunching her shirt further up her body as he goes. As soon as he spots the first garter, he blacks out for a millisecond, vision washing red. 

“Fuck, wait— did you…?” His voice is strained and desperate as he shoves the rest of her clothes up her torso, pulling her shirt over her head and letting it rest at her elbows. He hums appreciatively when he’s met with the full cherry-colored lingerie set from a few days ago, garters and all. “God, you did.”

Y/N’s gaze falls timidly, a sheepish smile brushing over her face. “I thought you’d want to see it in person, since you seemed to like it so much.” 

“Mm...” Harry struggles to swallow, fingers hooking under the straps that clip to the hem of her underwear, pulling the fabric from her skin and letting them snap back into place. He revels in the tiny noise she lets slip, the pads of his digits now toying across the frilly bands encircling her upper legs. After a thoughtful heartbeat, Harry speaks up, wistful but vehement. “I’m going to make you soil your sheets again.” 

Y/N bucks a tad at his promise, wrists stressing against the leather belt, but Harry’s practiced enough bondage in his lifetime to know she won’t be getting out anytime soon. He parts her knees open with his palms, dragging his silicone-covered fingers down her clothed clit and tutting when she lets out a stuttery gasp. 

“Always so sensitive, aren’t you, angel?” The vampire pets at her core patiently, heat pooling at the base of his abdomen as he feels her panties damped with every stroke of his touch. “Christ, you’re already soaking through.”  

“Want more.” The girl’s plead is strangled as she actively forces herself to keep her legs wide open, knowing that if she were to allow them to snap shut, Harry would only pry them apart again. “I’ve been thinking about this all week. Please.”

“All week?” Harry drags tongue across the inside of her thigh, nipping at the flesh tauntingly, the amber specks in his eyes glittering amidst his lashes. He continues to rub through her underwear, drinking up all the little noises streaming from her throat. “Tread lightly, dove. You’re swelling my ego.”

“I just…” Her hips give another jerk when he wriggles two rubber-clad fingers into the crotch of her bottoms, spreading her open just a bit and grinning against her skin at how wet she’s become. “I just need it hard tonight, Harry. Need you to leave me sore.” 

“I always leave you sore.” The monster reasons mockingly, taking one of the garters between his teeth and tugging, releasing so it stings her like before. “You’re gonna have to be more specific.” 

Y/N trembles out an exhale, gathering herself enough to give him what he wants. “I need you to fuck me like you hate me.”

Harry grabs onto either sides of her panties, slowly peeling them down her legs and then scooting closer forward, planting an open-mouthed kiss right onto her bare clit. She mewls in return, her restraints creaking the bed. He continues pressing messy wet pecks to her cunt, feeling her tense up each time his soft lips suckle her fervently. 

“Is that why you sent that picture?” Harry wonders aloud, pausing his motions and raising one eyebrow at her. “Because you wanted me mad?”

The human nods, face wracked with guilt. It’s cute that she feels bad, especially because Harry had, in actuality, enjoyed her little stunt. Seeing her bent over like that, in a position that shows she couldn’t wait to please him— that she couldn’t wait until Friday came around so he could do to her whatever he deemed fit...It was the best form of edging he’s ever experienced. But for the sake of giving her what she wants, he’ll bite the bait. 

Harry rises up onto his knees, parting her thighs further as he fits himself between them, the pads of his gloved digits dancing across the thick of her damp clit. He bends down until his nose smudges over hers, the breath of his low words hot against her parted mouth. 

“Well, it fucking worked.”  

Harry taps his index and middle fingers against his palm in one quick flick and the tiny metal plates situated along the tips purr to life. He sinks knuckle-deep inside of Y/N, cold rings catching on her folds as he curls upwards to get at that special spot that resides along the pit of her tummy. The moan she releases it so raw and broken, it sends a zip of lightning through his veins. 

He fucks her like that for a while, with his strong chest poised against her heaving own as he marks love bites onto the cleavage spilling from her lace bra, his skilled fingers pumping into her at a harsh pace that has her legs shaking on either sides. He thumbs over her clit messily, the silicone molds sending waves of vibrations through her clenching walls as he relentlessly toys with her g-spot, her arms thrashing against his belt. Fragmented sounds of bliss freely stream from Y/N’s mouth without shame, his name intermingling amongst the whimpers as her head throws back against the headboard. Harry grips her throat in one hand, holding her to the sturdy surface as his other bobs between her thighs roughly, the bed groaning as a result of their intense actions. His wrist begins to ache from how hard he’s going, but the tears trickling out from the corners of Y/N’s eyes and the way she’s panting into his mouth are enough to keep him going.

“Look at me.” Harry squeezes her jugular tighter, garnering attention. She forces her eyelids open, inhales hiccuping when he braces his cool forehead to hers, his irises the color of a forest at midnight, pupils blown out of proportion. His teeth dig into her bottom lip just to feel it swell, a growl stirring the gravel in his chest. “Is this what you wanted?”

“Y-Yes.” Y/N boggles her head feverishly, glimpsing down over her sweaty cheeks to see the way his veins are chiseling along the forearm that is flexing between her drenched thighs. “Fuck, it’s so g-good.”

“Yeah? How about we go a little higher, hm?” Harry scrapes the pads of his fingers against that spongy place inside her, pressing the vibrators down and the motion clicks the toy into a higher level of intensity. 

Y/N writhes in his grasp, back arching off the headboard as deeper, more concentrated rumbles lap throughout her body. “Harry— I— that’s— God, just please!”

Harry takes ahold of her jaw as he continues finger-fucking her without remorse, his short breaths warm against her burning lips. “That’s my girl. Taking it hard and loving every second.” 

Y/N’s eyes lull back into her head. She doesn’t know why, but hearing Harry call her his girl satisfies her in a manner so deep, she didn’t know it existed. Just hearing him recognize her as his— as something he claims for himself, almost like an extension of who he is— stirs a foreign form of fulfillment in the back of her mind. 

“I’m—” The girl chokes on her sentence, finding it difficult to concentrate with so much pleasure coursing through her system, as well as with Harry painting hickies across the side of her strained neck. “I’m gonna cum.”

The immortal’s voice is stern and authoritative. “No, you’re not.” 

“I am, I can’t hold—”

“Yes,” Harry’s grip firms, pace sharpening into unapologetic slams, “you can. And you will. If you cum before I let you, you’re not getting anything else from me for the rest of the night. Do I make myself clear?”

Y/N’s cunt tightens around his fingers, warning him that she’s about to peak. “Harry, I’m sorry—but— but I—”

“Do I make myself clear?” 

Y/N has no hope that she can keep it in, but she adores the darkness swirling in Harry’s eyes at the moment and she’ll do anything if it means getting to witness it for a while longer. “Yes.” 

“Good.” She winces when she feels his teeth skim her earlobe, his whisper dripping with arrogant amusement. “I told you I’d make you regret it.” 

And he really does keep his oath. Minutes simulate hours as Harry continues to flirt her just along the seams of relief, pulling her back every time he sees her about to tip. Whenever he feels her begin to spasm around his slick fingers, he gives her a cautionary quirk of his brows accompanied by a testing, throaty, “Don’t you fucking dare.” or a simple, silent shake of his head. By some miracle, she manages to reign herself in every time, but each ruined orgasm makes it harder and harder to stifle the next. She doesn’t know how many times it happens; she stops counting after four. 

After what feels like decades of torture, Harry finally releases his hold around her jugular, allowing her to properly gulp air for the first time in a while. He sits back against his heels, pulling his hand from between her thighs with a sarcastic sympathetic hiss. “Poor thing.” 

He watches as a trail of her juices strings from his digits to her cunt, eventually snapping in the middle as he lifts his hand to study his work. Her release drips down his knuckles and palm, gleaming in the dim lighting. A mildly sadistic glint washes over Harry’s irises and for a split second, they look almost red, but Y/N dismisses it. Her brain is too fogged to trust right now. 

The boy’s sight flickers past his hand to where Y/N lies limply, wrists bruised from the bonds, arms quivering weakly, and legs trembling in overstimulation. He’s never seen her look more beautiful than now. 

He locks his bright eyes to her exhausted own, watching them shatter to pieces when he pushes his drenched fingers past his pillowy blushed lips. His lashes flutter as her taste washes across his tongue, sweet and decadent as always, a soft groan thrumming deep in his throat. God, he can only imagine how delectable her blood must be at the moment, honeyed by the plethora of endorphins he had repeatedly coaxed into her. He can't wait to feel its warmth fill his mouth later tonight.

Harry removes his fingers with a wet pop, licking across the back of his hand with finality and giving her a daring once-over. “Do you still want my cock? Or are you too sensitive for it, darling?”

He sounds so conceited and self-assured, it causes Y/N’s pride to flare. She wants to make him eat his stupid words.  

The mortal licks her chapped lips, wetting her dry throat and clearing it softly, wiping away the sweat on her forehead with her shoulder. “I still want it.” 

An impressed expression decorates Harry’s features. “You think you can take it?”

Y/N’s jaw clenches with dedication, her thighs spreading open a tad more and she wills herself not to flinch. Her chin cocks upwards. “I know I can.” 

Harry’s brows kink challengingly, a borderline evil smirk sewing onto his face. “Let’s see, then.” 

As it turns out, Y/N can take it. However, she knows for a fact she won’t be able to walk right for at least the next week.

Harry lowers his jeans and kicks them off, reaching into his navy briefs and tugging himself out, giving his length a few pumps for good measure as he shifts forward toward her. He flips the girl onto her belly as easily as he’d turn a sheet of paper, tying one arm around her hips and lifting them up as he slides a pillow below. He situates her accordingly onto the cushion, her ass slightly elevated to give him more range of depth. He pats at her backside lightly, telling her to part her knees and she does so obediently, gripping onto the leather strap around her wrists anxiously when she feels the bed shift with his weight. Harry lowers himself over her body, the tee covering his broad chest soaking up the thin sheet of sweat on her back. He moves all of her tangled hair to the side, burying his fingers into her roots and yanking her head back cheekily. He runs his nose across her damp cheekbone and chuckles when she jumps slightly at the feathery sensation. 

“You’re pretty stubborn, aren’t you?” 

Y/N gnaws on her bottom lip as she struggles to swallow, throat taut from the angle he’s put her in. Her voice carries a confident bite, despite her compromisable position. “I like to think I am, yeah.” 

“Well, you know what that makes you, right?” Harry murmurs as he lines himself up with her entrance. 

“Mm-mm. What?” 

The vampire presses a lingering kiss to the tittering pulse in her temple, feeling it thunder below his skin as he forms his next comment slowly with an ominous edge. “It makes you a brat.” 

He feels her heartbeat trip. 

“And you know what I do to brats?” 

Y/N shakes her head as much as his dominant grasp will allow, body tightening in suspense. 

“I fuck them until they break.” 

Y/N learns that he’s telling the truth. The first thrust Harry delivers is swift, hard, and unbelievably deep; it causes her to let out a choked scream that no one else has ever drawn from her before, except for him. It’s like he can tap into certain aspects of her body she was unaware of; parts of her waiting for the right person to come along and reveal them. She feels that stroke rip into her tummy, but the pain of his size is something she’s become accustomed to in the last three weeks. She hardly feels it anymore; it had molded from a sharp throb to a dull ache, due to how often she’s experienced it. 

Harry doesn’t waste any time, quickly picking up a sloppy, adamant pace that has her hips bouncing against the mattress. He twists her hair around his fist, mouth pressed to the side of her head as his hot pants of exertion send a prickling through her scalp. His other forearm keeps him anchored to the bed as he pounds into her with absolutely no hesitation, the sound of skin slapping, cracked whines, and raspy grunts filling the tense atmosphere of her chilly room. 

“Is this what you were hoping would happen when you sent that slutty picture?” Harry grits out, short nails digging into the comforter beneath. “Wanted to get me all riled up just so I’d do your back in?”

Y/N mewls weakly in response, hands clinging to each other within the makeshift cuffs. 

“If you wanted me to fuck you like I hate you, you could have just asked. I’m more than happy to give you whatever you want. You don’t have to tempt me.” The vampire gives a particularly deep slam, laughing breathily when the girl’s back instinctively arches forward, paired with a watery yelp of, “Oh!”

Harry’s tongue grazes across the shell of her ear, teeth catching the skin. “But since you did, I’ll give it to you just— like—that.” His thrusts match to each word, fingers coiling harder into her locks. “You deserve it. Especially when you had the nerve to act like such a spoiled little brat right to my face.” 

Y/N’s not sure what emboldens her to speak, but her snarky remark is already halfway down her numb tongue before she can stop it. “Don’t pretend you didn’t like it.”

Harry hums tauntingly, circling his hips in long strides that urge a series of fractured whimpers to scrape out of Y/N’s sore throat. “Say it again. Go ahead, say it. I want to see you try.”

She remains silent, spine shuddering as she bites down on her tongue to avoid making any more noises that might condemn her.  

Harry roughly cranes Y/N’s neck to the side, buttoning their lips together in a filthy kiss that has her cheeks boiling. “That’s what I thought. The only thing that sharp tongue is good for is licking down my cock.” 

She gasps against his mouth shakily, tears of sheer bliss gathering along her waterline. “You’re such a fucking asshole.” 

Harry can tell her comment holds no true malice behind it; she’s too sweet on him— too whipped on what he gives her— to ever mean it. She’d only said it to provoke him into a power dynamic struggle. But the thing is, Harry’s dealt with feeling powerless before, so he had spent years teaching himself how to win. How to always win. 

“Am I, now?” His next line dismantles her entire plan. “Would an asshole let you cum?”

And just like that, her whole demeanor crumbles. “I take it back. I’m s-sorry.”

Harry releases her hair and nips at her ear mockingly, beginning to withdraw himself. “Oh, I think it’s a bit too late for that, minx.”

“No, no! Harry, please. I’m sorry. Genuinely. I promise I won’t say it again. Just…” She tugs helplessly at the belt restraints, trying to twist around to look at him directly. Her voice is wringed out. “Just please.”

The boy pushes a few stringy curls out of his eyes, pressing his tongue into his cheek coyly as he glances down, suggestively smoothing one hand over her ass. He gives it a firm squeeze, lifting his palm teasingly and feeling her tense in anticipation. “Do you want it?”

Y/N glimpses at his bejeweled hand with hunger, then back at his eyes. “Yes.”

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it.”

“Sorry, I seem to have forgotten what ‘it’ was, exactly. Jog my memory, will you? What is it you want?”

Her irises harden in spite at his shit-eating comment. He’s well aware of how shy she can be when it comes to admitting she wants a spanking, and he’s playing that to his advantage. He’s swimming in the way she squirms. 

“I...I want you to spank me.”

He tsks, shaking his head as he twists his HS rings around to face inwards. “You forgot something.” 

Y/N’s fingers tighten into begrudging fists. “I want you to spank me, please.”

“There’s a good girl.” His low, accented purr sends electricity through her nerves. “You’re so cute when you beg.”

Harry’s hand comes down swiftly, digits fanned out so that all of his rings print across her backside. It’s not hard enough to hurt, but strong enough to leave a satisfying sting. He loves the way she jolts forward with a hushed curse of surprise, and he adores seeing the shape of his initials marked across her clammy skin. It’s poetic, almost.

“So pretty.” His mumble is wistful as he massages deeply over the region he had just bruised, but it holds unyielding authority. “Whose is it, doll?”

“Yours.” 

“And don’t you fucking forget it.” The creature lifts one palm to do it again, pausing once more just to rev her further. He reaches forward with the other, shoving her face-first into the mattress to get her back to straighten out. “Look forward and don’t make a single sound.”

Y/N obeys, but manages to sneak a peek at his reflection through the waxy wooden surface of her aged bedframe. He looks so good perched behind her with bare heaving shoulders, looking down at her exposed figure over the crests of his sharp cheekbones, brows furrowed into a starved expression that gives away he’s enjoying this probably more than she is. Her voice comes out small and weak. “Yes, sir.”

Harry’s entire face tightens at the word and she feels him throb against her backside. 

“Now beg me to let you cum.”

///

The next morning when Y/N’s eyes flutter open to the grey light streaking in through her curtains, the first thing she senses is a pair of eyes staring at the side of her face. 

She turns her stiff body over toward where the sensation stems and sure enough, she’s met with a pair of sea glass irises filled to the brim with humor. Harry’s laying on his side with his hands tucked below one of her pillows, tousled ringlets sticking up in wild tuffs (thanks to the activities they’d engaged yesterday), he’s completely bare since he likes sleeping nude (though he’d had the decency to cover himself with sheets from the waist down), and his voice is slower and raspier than usual (a result of being dormant for the last eight or so hours). 

“You drool in your sleep.” 

Y/N tucks her hands against Harry’s cold pectorals, snuggling deeper into his chest and pinching at one of his nipples in playful revenge. “No, I don’t.” 

“Yes,” he reaches up and shoos her hand away, proceeding to wipe at the side of her mouth, where dried spit had accumulated. He makes a theatrical gagging face, cleaning his thumb off across the collar of her t-shirt. “You do.”

Y/N sighs in exasperation, making a bold leap to a different topic to avoid talking about her embarrassing sleep habits. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you staring at people while they sleep is weird? Like, serial killer weird?” 

Harry tucks a few matted strands of hair behind the human’s ear, thumbing over her cheekbone tenderly. He hardly ever indulges in such actions, simply because they’re typically reserved for actual couples, which he and Y/N are definitely not. But last night— after he had finally finished being a prick and allowed her cum along with him, and after she had fallen into the bed with exhaustion taking her under, and after he’d had his greedy fill of her blood for the week— he’d gotten bored of playing on his phone. He’d burned through three cold case documentaries on Netflix and played enough Mario Kart to memorize the race charts; it had grown old quickly, and he eventually just locked the device and placed it on her nightstand. He spent the next hour staring at her hideous ceiling, and the one after that fantasizing about taking down her tapestry and burning it in the oven. And finally, after hours of mindless daydreams and letting his eyes chase the city lights dancing across the walls of her room, he had settled onto his side and watched her sleep. 

Harry did it simply because he had nothing else to distract him. He figured it would eventually bore him enough that maybe— just maybe, if he was lucky— he would fall asleep alongside her. But he didn’t, so he just ended up gazing at her slumbering face until dawn. He had been surprised by how oddly beautiful Y/N looked sleeping— how relaxed and tranquil, with her features soft and skin seemingly made of flawless porcelain. That intrigue had bled into the moment they share now, resulting in his touch drifting down the curve of her jaw and across the faint dimple on her chin. He follows the slope of her neck and admires the smoothness of her flesh with the ridges of his fingertips, hearing her breathing stutter ever so slightly. His heightened senses make it feel as if he’s running his digits over velvet and the only concept he can compare it to is touching forbidden artwork at an exhibit. It’s exciting, but he knows that if he keeps going, he could end up getting himself into a crock of shit. 

When the pads of his fingers land on two prominent purple bruises he’d forgotten existed, he’s broken from his soft stupor. He retracts his touch as if she were made of iron, forcing himself to ignore the pout that automatically plumps her delicate lips. 

He clears his throat awkwardly, a tight chuckle stringing his vocal chords. “Staring at someone in their sleep seemed to work just fine for Edward Cullen, though.” 

Y/N snorts sharply, rolling her eyes up towards her headboard. When she sees his belt is still hanging off of it from the night prior, she hurriedly glances back down, pretending not to have seen it. 

“It’s funny you say that because as I recall, he literally admitted to being a murderer. I believe his exact words were,” she exaggerates her voice into an angsty cry, grasping at her chest dramatically, “‘This is the skin of a killer, Bella!’”

Harry bursts into boyish giggles, falling fully onto his back and swiping his palm up his face, fingers remaining perched over his closed eyes as he laughs. He sighs airily, shaking his head as an afterthought. “What a moron.” 

“Truly. His dad was hotter.” 

“Way hotter.” Harry agrees passionately, burying his hand into his messy curls, attempting to comb out some of the tangles. “And he was a doctor. What a man.” 

“Bella really fucked that one up. She had a midlife crisis over choosing between a sad vampire who looked like he had chronic constipation, and a yappy dog with a shirt phobia. All when Carlisle was right there. Brain damage, honestly.” 

“A moment of prayer for the mentally incapacitated. Couldn't be me!”

“Couldn’t be me, either.”   

“Fuck, yeah.” Harry throws his hand up, inviting Y/N to give him a high five. “To good taste.”

She gladly delivers. “Exquisite taste.”

An instance of comfortable silence suspends between the pair of lovers, filled with the soft thrum of the air vent and the distant chirping of birds outside Y/N’s windowpane. She traces her index nail over the wings of the swallow tattoos along Harry’s collarbones, seeming to be deep in thought. She then speaks up once again.

“Emmett was pretty hot, as well.” 

“You know what? I’m happy you mentioned that ‘cause— full disclosure here— I’d ride him like a fucking bull.” 

Now it’s Y/N’s turn to explode in a fit of giggles, nose scrunching and eyes crinkling shut as she loses herself at Harry’s graphic confession. 

“Why are you laughing?!” The fact that he sounds genuinely appalled only spurs her sounds of glee. “Don’t tell me you wouldn’t take that chance if you got it. Like, okay, he’s an airhead, yeah? I’m aware. But fuck’s sake, look at his body. I’d happily let him beat me at arm wrestling if it means I get that celebratory dick afterwards.”

The mortal manages to calm down a handful of heartbeats later and Harry feels strangely proud of how he’d made her pulse spike. 

“You’re valid for that, don’t worry. I couldn’t have said it—” A single giggle interupts her sentence, but she reigns it in before it can spiral. “I couldn’t have said it better myself. Literally. There’s no way to express it better than exactly how you stated it.” 

Harry smirks softly up at the ceiling, folding his free arm behind his head as the other wraps securely down Y/N’s back, absentmindedly rubbing in gentle soothing circles. “My mind. It’s amazing, innit?”

“It’s definitely something.” 

Another span of cozy quietness fills the atmosphere of the room, longer than the last. Harry doesn’t mind. He finds it appeasing, and he continues to delight himself with running his touch up and down Y/N’s spine. He’s not sure how much time passes, but he’s aware that it’s probably a bit. His theory is supported by how he witnesses the beam of watery light that filters over the duvet gradually fade from silver to a sunflower yellow, indicating full daybreak. 

Even then, he doesn’t say a word, too caught up in this innocent bubble of domestic bliss to pop it so suddenly. He just lays there and listens. Listens to the birds harmonizing with each other across the branches of the tree outside. To the steady breaths that fill Y/N’s lungs with cool air, faltering past her nostrils in the same manner and fogging the metal of his cross necklace. To the faint sound of footsteps trotting down the staircase outside her apartment, and to the vague spritz of the sprinkler system going off at the front of the complex. To the distant honking of car horns in traffic, and to a random conversation between two friends as they walk past the pavement just under Y/N’s balcony. He hasn’t felt this at ease in eons. 

Harry just allows himself to grow in tune with the world around him— a world he’d been convinced was against him for the longest time. A world he was convinced stole his happiness and replaced it with the shackles of a blood-driven afterlife, for no other reason than because he’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time and met the wrong person. But now, he feels like he’s in the right place, at the right time, spending it with the right person— or at least a half-decent person— and he doesn’t want to let it slip between his fingers so soon. He wants to bask in it, even if he knows it’ll pass. 

And eventually, it does pass, and Y/N is the one who brings it to an end. 

The girl slowly peels away from Harry’s side, his lips dipping downwards slightly at the loss of the warmth she radiates. He thinks she’s about to get up to probably go use the bathroom or to make breakfast, but instead, she just bends her upper body over the edge of her bed to retrieve something from the floor. She comes back up with the box he’d brought her the evening before (which had ended up on the ground as a result of her bed rocking violently), setting it in the small space between their laps. She then returns to her place cuddled into his torso, looking up at him with an expression that Harry can only interpret as expecting. 

The vampire glances down at the container and then back up to Y/N’s face, raising his eyebrows curiously, voice tinged with comedy. “What did I say about bringing sex toys to the dinner table?”

Y/N stares up at him flatly for a second, fighting off a smile. “I just wanted to thank you again. It’s nice of you to bring me a present, even as strange as this one.” 

Harry sucks at his teeth, waving a hand dismissively, blinking down at her with slyness sparkling around his pupils. “What are friends for, if not for buying you vibrating finger gloves and then fucking you with them until you cry?”

Despite having been acquainted with Harry’s crude humor for three weeks now, it still manages to make Y/N’s cheeks sizzle. It could also be the fact that this is the first time Harry has openly accepted Y/N as a friend. It’s the first time he’s ever mentioned her name and that word in the same sentence, meaning that she can now shake a weight off her shoulders— a weight that had insisted he was only using her for sex, that he would eventually grow bored of her, and that he would throw her away once he was done. It’s good to know that’s not the case, and that the friendship aspect of their agreement is true to its name. 

“Right.” Y/N’s smile is full of so much genuine warmth, Harry feels like she could outshine the sun. “What are friends for, if not that. Thanks, Harry.” 

He wonders what she’s thinking, and he finds himself wishing that he had the one valid trait that idiot Edward Cullen possesses: mind-reading. But he doesn’t have it, so he simply returns her gesture and skates the conversation how he best deems fit. “You don’t have to call me ‘Harry’ all the time, you know?” 

Y/N’s brows cinch in entertained confusion. “What would I call you, then? Sherlock?” 

Harry scoffs lightly at the inside joke, shrugging one shoulder casually. “I mean, you could, if you want to. It might take some getting used to, but I think I can shoulder a full-time second identity. Just for you.” 

“How chivalrous.”

“You ain’t ever met a man like me, sweetheart.” He boasts in an over-the-top American southern accent, prying another round of laughter from Y/N, similar to the one before. “But you could also just call me ‘H.’ It’s what most of my other friends use.” 

“H.” Y/N repeats, getting a taste for the new nickname. It’s simple, unlike him, but it somehow fits. She then recalls something from a show she’d watched when she was younger and she can’t help but bring it up. “So, like, just your first initial? Like in Gossip Girl?”

Harry’s face immediately drops at the comparison she makes to the cringey teenage soap opera. “You know what, I take it back. You’re not allowed to use it. Illegal. Banned. By an official court. Gavel and all.”

“I’m just making a point!”

“Yeah, a shitty one.” 

“Oh, whatever. You’re just mad I debunked your little hipster alter ego. ‘That’s a secret I’ll never tell. Xoxo, H.’”

“Restraining order.” Harry pinches at one of her love handles, an evil grin dimpling his cheeks when she squeals. “Actually, nevermind. We’re going straight to the electric chair. Immediately.” 

“You don’t get to decide my punishment, remember?” Y/N slaps at his wrists, trying to ward off his attacks but failing miserably. “You’re just the—stop!— just the executioner.” 

“That’s right. I get to strap you to the chair.” Harry finally lets up on the tickling, his lighthearted grin taking on a slightly seductive hue as he momentarily glimpses upwards towards where his belt is hanging. “Though you’d probably like that, wouldn’t you?” 

“Fuck off.” Y/N smothers her palm against his face, breaking eye contact as she feels her ears bristle with heat.  

“Mm, exactly.” Harry gnashes at her hand playfully, but she manages to yank it away before he gets a bite in. “You can’t even admit you like being called a whore.” 

“Hey!”

“What?” The vampire gives her a cocky look, wagging his head knowingly and then mimicking her voice in a higher pitch. “‘I’m just making a point!’”

“You’re a dick, you really are.” 

“And yet you still ride mine, so who’s the one with the real issues here? Specifically, daddy issues.”

“I’m done with this conversation.” Y/N huffs, returning her attention to the box beside her thigh, muffling the twitching across her lips. 

She takes the cardboard into her hands, tracing over the small flap used to pry the top open. Harry watches her with interest, pondering as to what could possibly be scurrying around her skull that she seems so caught up with the context of the gift. He’d gotten it because he knew they would both benefit from it. It’s as simple as that. 

“You know,” she starts, but her gaze remains glued to the box, “I feel kinda bad ‘cause, like...You got me this gift, I have nothing to give you in return.” 

Harry’s face contorts into a silly frown for a moment, tone humorous. “It’s fine, Y/N. You don’t have to give me anything back. I got it ‘cause I knew we’d enjoy using it together, and because this way, you have something to play with when I’m not around. And you can send me videos of said instances. It’s truly a win-win. A double-ended gift.” 

“I suppose.” She mumbles softly, continuing to pick at the lip of cardboard sticking out. “But I feel like it’s only fair that you get to use it, too, don’t you think?”

And then the reason she’s insistent about this dawns on Harry. The way she’s avoiding looking at him directly, how her heart rate is slowly ebbing upwards, how she is gradually scooting closer to his body, how he can feel her thighs are clasped tightly below the comforter. How the scent of honey and lavender has intensified. How she keeps glancing towards where the sheets are crumpled messily around his hips in a haphazard attempt to remain civil. 

When the monster speaks, it carries all the arrogance brought forward by his discovery. “If you wanna give me a handjob with the toy on, just say so.” 

The human’s head snaps upwards, her expression one of utter alarm at his lewd comment, but he can see right through her act. It’s obvious that was her intention all along— the desire in her eyes is poorly masked. She looks so adorable, pretending not to know what he’s referring to, her palms gripping the box slightly tighter than before. 

Harry twirls a strand of her hair around his finger nonchalantly, giving it a jesting tug. “I just find it funny how much of a horny menace you can be.”

“What—?”

“And it’s not even ten A.M. yet.”

“What do you—?” 

“Y/N,” Harry sighs tiredly, giving her an omniscient look, “I’ve slept with you enough times to know when you want something. It’s written all over your body language and you’re pretty shit at hiding it in your eyes. Just admit you want to and I’ll let you.” 

The faux shock slowly melts off her face, replaced by sheepish humiliation at being so easily sussed out. She chews on her bottom lip pensively, struggling to sew together the appropriate words to communicate the very inappropriate activity she wants to engage in. Harry has to withhold from leaning down and taking a bite from her tempting mouth.  

She inhales a deep breath through her nose, puffing it out slowly and tapping her fingers across the box nervously. Her voice pipes up so softly, it’s almost inaudible. “I want to give you a handjob with the toy.”

Harry gently cards his fingers into the mussed roots along the back of her head, using that hold to guide her sight upwards until it meets his. He leans down, smearing his lips over her own, feeling static pass through the ridges of their skin. “That’s all you had to say, darling. Go ahead, then. Make me cum.” 

Y/N swallows thickly, lashes fluttering bashfully as she pastes her mouth to his in a soft kiss. It’s a simple action with just their lips and nothing else. No tongue, no teeth, no sucking, nothing sloppy or desperate— not yet, anyways. He can tell she does it as a way to ease herself into this. She wants to, that much is arousingly obvious, but for some crazy reason unbeknownst to him, she’s still shy about it. That’s what happens when you come from a conservative raising: you get intimacy issues. He of all people— with his Victorian era background— would know. 

The hand Harry has cupping the nape of her neck shifts over a smidge, ending up splayed across the side of her face. His palm rests on her cheekbone and his fingers in her locks, his wrist cradling the back of her skull as he patiently deepens the kiss. His chest begins to heave slightly, a familiar sensation already frothing at the trench of his stomach. Harry can feel Y/N’s clumsy movements as she unboxes the vibrators, digging through the packaging and trying to slip them on blindly, not wanting to break away from his embrace. The way he’s flirting his tongue along the inside of her top lip is just too consuming to leave. 

After a few seconds of grappling and a string of annoyed curse words, Harry giggles lightly into her mouth, nudging the tip of his nose across the bridge of hers. The jade tint in his irises is waltzing with amusement, all at her expense. “Sometime today, love.” 

“I know, I’m sorry, I just— I can’t— they won’t—” The mortal releases an irritated growl into their kiss, reluctantly splitting away when it becomes clear she won’t be able to get the rubber gloves on without giving the task her full attention. “God, I’m such a...Sorry.” 

Harry rolls his eyes in mirth, pecking sweetly along the angry creases present over her forehead and between her brows. He thumbs over her cheek affectionately to soothe her nerves, his other hand scratching distractedly at the back of his neck. He filters curls through his fingers as he waits, bicep jolting in the process. “It’s fine, I’m just teasing. I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

“Thanks. Just give me—” The girl pauses her actions for a second, jutting her chin back up towards him and locking the vampire into another quick kiss, solely for the purpose of keeping him interested while she figures herself out. She breaks away again, returning to her mission. “Just give me a minute.” 

Now that she can see, Y/N successfully wriggles all five of her fingers into their designated molds. She prods at them gingerly, copying Harry’s actions from the night prior, using that experience as a manual. The mini-vibrators purr to life, a buzzing sensation trickling down her fingers. She glances back up at an awaiting Harry, who gives her such an easy, good-natured smile, she instantly reaches up and glues their mouths together again. 

“You’re so eager.” The boy grins into the kiss, jumping a bit when he feels her tittering fingers duck beneath the covers around his lower torso. “It’s hot.” 

“I just want to make you feel good.” Y/N mumbles, one palm braced to his strong shoulder as the other rides down his bare abdomen. She can feel his grip on her hair tightening the closer she gets to his cock. “That’s all.” 

“Guess I’m just the luckiest— shit.” Harry’s quip is interrupted when Y/N wraps her digits around his length, giving it one slow, testing pump. His jaw drops open and he begins panting into her mouth, the corners of his lips ticking upwards into a smirk as an intense pleasure swells between his thick thighs. “Jesus fucking Christ, that feels— fuck, that’s incredible, oh my God.”

“Yeah?” The human asks timidly, gazing up at him dreamily from below her lashes as his eyes lull back into his head. “Not too much?” 

Harry loves how attentive she is— how she’s checking to make sure he’s alright before continuing. If he had a heart, it would surely be glowing right now. 

Harry gulps down the lump in his throat, voice more strained and needy than she’s ever heard it. “No, I’m good, I’m good. Keep going.” 

Y/N gradually sinks her palm back down to his base, feeling his cock twitch desperately as the vibrators work their magic. She slowly slinks back up to his tip, thumbing over it carefully, pressing the toy on her thumb pad right over his slit. The garbled moan that emits from Harry is a sound her ears will never forget. It’s a sound she wishes she could record and listen to on a loop. 

“Fucking hell, don’t— please, just— oh—” Harry stutters through a plead, voice bleeding, naked chest now heaving wildly against her own. His hips buck forward into her hand, but she maintains a steady grip, keeping the vibrator pressed to the center of his cock’s head. 

“Don’t what?” She whispers into his mouth, suckling at his Cupid’s bow and reveling in the little broken noises he pours onto her tongue. 

Harry’s breaths are shallow and pained, the grip on her hair stronger than she thought possible as the fingers of his opposite hand yank at his own feverishly. He’s barely able to choke out his next sentence. “Don’t stop.”

“I won’t.” Y/N begins to fish for a solid rhythm, her strokes setting into medium pace and gauging the receiver's reaction. “How’s that?” 

Bright colors web across Harry’s eyelids and he feels like his soul is being torn from his body. “Y-Yeah, that’s perfect, baby. It’s so good— you’re so good.” 

“I am?” Y/N swipes her thumb over his tip again, and when he whimpers brokenly against her lips, she does it again. It urges the same exact reaction, but more shattered. So she does it again. And again, and again, and again. And each time it happens, his hips jerk more violently, chasing her intoxicating touch. She can feel Harry’s precum drip down his length and leak between the cracks of her fingers. 

“You are, you’re just so fucking good to me.” Harry’s spewing words at this point, brain half conscious, half floating in bliss. Whatever dam of common sense holds his mind together crumbles, all of his thoughts rushing out in the form of jumbled phrases and cracked whines. “You get me going like nothing else, pet. You get me going so easily, it’s embarrassing. You make me cum so hard, it feels like I’m touching h-heaven. And your mouth— God, y-your mouth. It’s the best I’ve ever had. It’s so soft and warm, and your lips are so pretty and silky. I could kiss you for hours. And your tongue— you know how to use it so well. You lick me once and I’m already on edge. And every time you get down on your knees, I think I’m gonna pass out.”

Y/N sighs shakily at Harry’s string of confessions, staring up at him with wide eyes as his own stay shut loosely, long lashes perched on his rosy cheekbones, handsome features slack with euphoria. She doesn’t halt her motions, continuing to pump him excitedly. The girl passes her thumb over his tip every time she gets to the top, and gives a hard squeeze every time she thunks down against his base, twisting her wrist as she glides back and forth between the two points of reference. That combination seems to work well, evident in the steady stream of vulgarities falling from Harry’s swollen lips as he thrusts upwards to match her pace. His groans splash across her tongue, traveling down her throat and burning into her stomach. She wants him to cum probably more than he does.

Y/N glimpses down, watching her sheets tent as she works Harry over, the outline of her knuckles pressing into the turquoise fabric. It’s such an erotic scene and she knows it’ll be branded across the front of her brain for years to come. She cranes her neck back up to look at the vampire, her breath catching in her lungs. He looks so pretty with his dark pink lips parted in pleasure, his damp ringlets matting along his sweaty hairline, his structured jaw ticking, and his usually sharp traits softened by ecstasy. She’ll do anything to make that image last.  

“Tell me more.” Y/N murmurs, swimming in the praise he is so willing to dish out. 

His eyes flicker for a heartbeat and in that instance, they look oddly darker than normal. Almost crimson, but she knows it’s due to the shadow of his lashes. The words that spill from his mouth next make her forget all about that occurrence, his voice melodic and dark, sticky against her wet lips. 

“Your hands are one of my favorite things about you, I think. They’re smaller than mine and I love how your fingers don’t touch when you wrap them around my cock. I love how they leave my back raw with scratches, and I love how they look tied to the bedpost. I love it when they press flat against my chest when you ride me, and how you lean back on them when I’m on my knees with my head between your thighs. I love how they yank at my hair when you’re about to cum, and how they grip my upper arms when we make-out. I love how your nails dig into my thighs when you're going down on me, and how they look fisting at the sheets when I’m taking you from behind. And I love how they feel tugging me off, like you’re doing now. I just love how perfect they are— how perfect you are.” 

Y/N is left speechless, Harry’s monologue ringing in her heated ears as he gazes at her intensely amidst heavy, barely-cracked eyelashes. His broad chest gasps for air and he takes it upon himself— despite his wrecked appearance— to smush their mouths deeper together, pooling moans across the roof of her own.  

“I’m—” His breathing throttles, voice coming out softer than she’s heard it in the last three weeks. “I’m gonna cum.”

Y/N nods her head numbly, strokes becoming lazy and fast, eager for him to finish. “I want you to. I want you to cum for me so bad. Please?” 

Harry’s hips writhe in a tell-tale sign that he’s about to tip. His whimper tastes sweet on her tongue, the meaning behind it pure syrup to her ego. “You’re the only one who makes me feel this good.”

The mortal whines gently in return, eyes falling shut as she feels him grow heavier in her palm. “You’re the only one I want to make feel this good.” 

The knot of white hot pleasure in his belly begins to unravel, his entire spine shuddering as a result, all strain beginning to wash out of his system in spurts if blissful electricity. He can feel his orgasm racing up his prick, pulling his composure along with it. He gives one last jerk against Y/N’s cupped fingers, feeling her press her vibrating thumb over his slit one more time for good measure. When the first milky ribbon spurts out, that’s when he feels it. 

Harry’s eyelids fly open in alarm as black veins protrude along the whites of his eyes, all his muscles contracting at once, defense mode activated. Y/N’s lips are on his neck. 

His first instinct is to do what he always does and guide her away from that sensitive, highly forbidden area. His fist tightens in her hair and he’s about to yank her back up to his mouth when suddenly, the icy tension present in his veins disappears. It’s replaced by a soothing warmth, which travels through every crevice in his body and kindles his climax, his impulsive hatred for being touched in that specific region funneling away completely. He can’t remember a time where this has happened before. 

Harry’s grip loosens hesitantly as he treads into this unexplored territory, allowing her to continue suckling along his throat. The sensation would usually garner a reaction similar to that of a molten metal brand being placed on his skin, but now— for some startling reason— he doesn’t feel any contempt. He just feels relaxed and cradled in the best way imaginable. The impact is pleasant this time around, and he finds himself wanting more of it. So, he lets her give him more. He lets this strange girl kiss and gasp and lick against his jugular while she finishes getting him off, his own desperate sounds of need bouncing around the brick walls of her bedroom. He lets her coax wave after wave of cum out of him, feeling it splatter against her bedspread and coat over her hand. He whines and grunts into the hair along the crown of her head, tears blearing his eyes as her scent of sugar and flowers clouds his mind. And when his release finally sputters to an end, he lets out an elongated groan so deep, it makes his chest ache.

“Fuck. You’re...You’re an absolute angel.”

Y/N draws her hand out from beneath the bed sheets, turning off the vibrating finger pads by pressing them against her palm. She looks down at the milky substance covering the toys and before Harry can make even a sound of encouragement, she’s already licking it off each individual piece. The girl looks up at the vampire as she cleans every trace of him off her fingers, swallowing it all down with a doe-like tint across her hazy gaze and murmuring a soft, “You taste good.” over a full mouth. Harry just watches silently, heavy breathing slowly starting to even out. God, she really is such a fucking godsend.

The next couple of minutes list by in a blur, all of his focus taken up by the feeling of unsettlement pricking at the back of his brain. Why had he let her touch him there? Why had he let her touch him in a place no one has since before his death?

Y/N puts the toys back in their box, putting them off to the side to thoroughly clean later. She reaches down, bunching up her bedspread in her hand and wiping Harry’s pelvis, thighs, and tummy down until he’s decently clean, as well as whatever is left on her hand. She then snuggles up to his side once again, laying her head into the crook between his arm and pectoral muscles, staring up at the ceiling thoughtfully along with him. The irritating red tint across Harry’s chest, stomach, and neck gradually fades away, and he barely flinches when he feels her sponge her lips against his Adam’s Apple. She lulls the tip of her middle finger up along the vein of his cock one more time for finality, smiling slyly when he hisses in sensitivity.

The immortal tilts his head down to appraise her, sniffling lightly and allowing a weak, watery smile across his raw lips. His tone is feathery and detached. “That was…Christ.”

Y/N giggles softly, nodding along to his unspoken opinion. “It was fun. Really fun. We should do it again sometime.” 

Harry splutters into a drunken laugh, mind still floating around the room. “I don’t think I could survive that again.”

Y/N grins up at him cheekily. “Pussy.” 

Her friend breaks into an expression of utter offense, cheeks still slightly rosy. He shoves her head roughly as vengeance. “Hey! Piss off. Don’t blame it on me, blame it on the male anatomy.” 

The girl shakes her head up at him, eyebrows shrugging mockingly. “Excuses, excuses.” 

“Whatever.” 

A moment passes, and then Y/N speaks up again, her index finger poking playfully into the center of his bare chest, right over the butterfly tattoo. “Also, you’re washing my sheets. Your mess, you clean it up.”

Harry grins against her forehead, scratching lightly at the back of her scalp. “Fair enough…Wait, is that why you wanted to do this? ‘Cause you knew I’d soil your sheets and you could force me to do your laundry?”

That hadn’t been her motive at all, and Harry knows that, but she plays along anyways for the hell of the joke. “Perhaps.” 

“Wow. I feel used.” 

“Too bad. Go do it. Now. Before it stains.”

Harry stares at her like she’s sprouted a second head. “I literally can’t walk right now! I can’t feel anything below my waist.”

Y/N lifts the comforter off her body, symbolically showing off the bruises his fingertips and rings had left the night before. “Well, neither can I!” 

Harry reaches down and touches the marks, chuckling to himself. “How unfortunate. Who’s gonna make breakfast, then, if neither of us can even stand?”

“We could UberEats some iHop.” 

“Who’s gonna get the door?”

“Well, I can’t solve everything on my own, now can I?!” Y/N slaps his hand away from her body. “Contribute! You’re the lead detective, after all.” 

“I am, aren’t I?” Harry cocks his head to the side in recollection, remembering his role in their imaginary dynamic duo scenario. “And because I’m the lead, I say…” He ropes his lean arms around the human and buries his face into her warm neck, pulling her close and intertwining their legs together, trapping her to the mattress along with him. “I say we just bum around for a bit longer. Just until one of us can actually muster up the strength to leave the bed.” 

Y/N makes an exasperated noise in the back of her throat, but makes no apparent attempt to leave his embrace. “Fine.” 

“Mystery solved, then! Elementary, my dear Watson.”

“You’re so dumb.” 

The pair stay cuddled for a bit, with Y/N’s hands loosely gripping Harry’s forearms, tracing across his mermaid tattoo absently. She wanders in her thoughts for a period of time, lost in the sensation of Harry’s warm breath fanning down her neck, his hot lips pressing small kisses behind her ear every once in a while. She likes their morning after routine; it’s innocent and fun and sharing moments like this makes it easy to forget her troubles. She wants more of this, and she finds herself trying to come up with ways to convince Harry to spend the night more often. This is only the fourth time he’s stayed until morning and she wants that number to grow. 

An idea dawns on her and she’s voicing it before her inhibitions can kill it off.

“Do you...Do you maybe wanna stay over the rest of the weekend?”

Harry draws his face from the alcove of her soft neck, eyebrows poised in curiosity. “The rest of the weekend?”

“Yeah!” Y/N shifts her gaze up to look at him, hope swirling around her pupils. “Like, spend the rest of today and tomorrow over, and then leave tomorrow night ‘cause I have work on Monday. Does that, like...Does that make sense?” 

“Yeah.” Harry says slowly, mulling over her offer, thinking back to his schedule. He doesn’t think he has any commitments this weekend that would require him being home— none he can’t cancel easily, anyways. He’d told Mitch he’d go see him play again at the pub later today, but it’s the same set as last time, so he doesn’t think his best friend would mind if he missed it just this once. Niall was planning a barbecue at his place on Sunday, but the Irish bloke does one almost every other week so it’s nothing Harry can’t make up. Plus, what type of idiot would pass up two day’s worth of amazing sex? The more, the merrier.

Y/N watches the vampire’s expression carefully, trying to interpret whether her request was out of their boundaries. She doesn’t want to make him feel like she’s trying to tie him down or suffocate him, she just wants to spend a bit more time in his presence, rather than through a phone screen. Her tone comes out dismissive, with just the tiniest hint of panic. “It’s okay if you can’t, though. Like, if you have other plans and stuff, I totally get it. Or if you just don’t want to, that’s fine, too! I just thought it’d be a fun little thing we can do since we already talk so much on the phone and everything, so I guess I just kinda figured you wouldn’t mind—”

“I get it, Y/N.” Harry interrupts Y/N’s unhinged word vomit, voice amused and nonchalant. “I think I’d like that, yeah.”

Y/N blinks in giddy surprise. “Really?” 

“Well, don’t sound so shocked.” Harry laughs lightly, fingers toying with the pearls laying across his clavicle. “The sex is pretty fucking good and I’m more than happy to have it at my disposal.” 

“Right.” Y/N gives him a deadpan look, shaking her head at his bluntness, reaching forward to fiddle with the chain of his cross necklace for the sake of having something to distract her from smiling like a fool. “Great, then. I have some old boxers that I know will probably fit you and an unopened pack of toothbrushes under the sink, so I think you’re set.” 

Harry’s lips purse at the mention of the men’s underwear, brows creasing a tad. “You just casually have men’s boxers laying around?” 

“They were my ex’s and I kept them out of spite. But don’t tell anyone, I don’t wanna get locked up for robbery.” 

The tightness in his chest— which he hadn’t even realized had formed— melts away. “My lips are sealed.”

“Good, or else I’d have to kill you.” The girl states darkly, a theatrical seriousness to her appearance. 

“Oh no.” Harry wails sarcastically, knotting a fist into her oversized tee and pulling her closer, connecting their lips and grinning into the kiss. “I’m shaking in fear.” 

Y/N gives in without much of a fight, hands still clinging to his forearms, a smile of her own creeping across her cheeks. “Asshole.”

“The only thing I’m relatively afraid of is my dick falling off. You have the sexual drive of a rabbit.” 

“Oh, like you’re any better?” 

“I’m innocent in all this! You’re usually the one instigating. I’m just a mere pawn— a poor, unsuspecting nun led astray.”

“God, I can’t believe I let you fuck me.” 

///

The following weekend, Harry officially invites Y/N over to his house. 

It had been talked about in passing a while back, and he figures it's only fair considering all the time they’ve ever spent together has been solely at her place. Plus, he could tell she was curious to see what his living situation is like, which is valid. You can tell a lot about people through their home, and when you’re sleeping with someone on the regular, you want to learn as much about them as possible. It’s important to know who you’re getting into bed with. Literally. 

Harry’s proud of his condo. He keeps it clean, he keeps it organized, and he keeps it styled in a manner that combines his Victorian gothic roots with modern day aesthetics. The floorboards of the apartment are made of waxed light-wash wood, most of the expanse of his living room covered in a furry dark grey rug. The lightness of the ground is contrasted by the matte mahogany walls, of which the largest is covered in Harry’s collection of first edition artwork. He had picked out every single piece himself throughout the span of the last two centuries, ranging from modern digital technique canvases to nineteenth century oil paintings, all arranged in neat alternating rows from oldest to newest. He can’t help that he’s such a stickler; his mom had raised him so. 

Though his art wall is his pride and joy, the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline comes in at a close second. Harry loves the city, despite the fact that he was born in a seemingly irrelevant town whose only redeeming quality was the bustling public market. Urban regions are just full of so much life, excitement, and potential, which are all concepts he never really got to explore before he transitioned. Cities represent everything he wanted as a young man, when he thought he had prosperous years ahead of him and an entire life left to build; they represent diversity, unique experiences, and endless possibilities. When that was stripped from him, he began to bounce around different countries and cities all over the world, seeking a place that would fill the hole his dreams had left behind. Los Angeles fit that space like a puzzle piece. 

That glorified window just means more to him than anyone could possibly know. Sometimes at night, he’ll just stand by it with his arms relaxed across his chest, watching the city gleam and glitter as individuals from all different backgrounds go about their business, blissfully ignorant to the beautiful concept that they all contribute to something much bigger— a concept that only centuries of wisdom could reveal. When he’s not wracked with jealousy and spite, looking out that window and witnessing the world change and evolve is therapeutic, in a way. It allows Harry to live vicariously through others who get to have what he never did. 

Aside from his art collection and the glass wall, the chandeliers that hang from his cavernous ceiling are third on his list of treasured possessions. They’re special and no one on this earth owns anything like them; Harry made sure of that. They were created by a Swedish interior designer Harry commissioned about ten years ago, so they are custom-made in every aspect of the term. They took months to construct and finalize, which is hardly difficult to believe, given their grandeur. Each chandelier is made of two extensive layers of delicate golden chains, all arranged around a wire center, connected by light bulbs at each peak. It gives his home a chic, avant-garde atmosphere that mirrors his personality down to the last chain link. 

The rest of his flat is tailored to compliment these three major determining factors. The wood paneling all around his apartment is carved with intricate, loopy designs, his two rounded coffee tables are made of the same marble that resides across his kitchen counters, and his kitchen sits directly under the second story ledge with elongated fluorescent poles embedded into the room’s ceiling, eloquently highlighting the creme walls and polished detailings of all his appliances. His sectional couches are made of an off-brown leather, covered in large rectangular couch cushions with a checkered print embroidered across the pillow cases, and weighted fleece blankets litter some areas of the elegant sofas. A wide staircase leads up to the second floor, made of grey glass steps and metal railings. 

The top story of his condo is less Victorian era, more modern composition. The ground is dark maroon carpeting, and the ledge leads to one singular corridor that splits into two seperate rooms at either ends. One is the master bedroom, and the other is an accompanying bedroom which he uses for storage. His room isn’t anything extravagant, per se. It’s big, but his decor is minimalistic, covered in all different muted shades of blacks and greys, from the comforter on his king-sized bed to the tall dresser. A fifty inch flat-screen is mounted on the wall, but he hardly uses it since the one in his living room is larger; it’s only really there as an ornament. Starburst lights hang from his ceiling— smaller, downplayed versions of his chandeliers— and his walk-in closet stands parallel to the entrance of his bathroom. 

The humongous bathroom was meant for two people, pretty obvious in the double-sink set up, but he doesn’t dwell on it much. He isn’t one for dating, and he’s just happy to have that luxury because it comes in handy the morning after one night stands. He has a jacuzzi-like bathtub, lined with water jets and all, and a big walk-in shower with a large overhead panel instead of a regular showerhead. The whole room is made of dark marble and porcelain, and he couldn’t possibly adore it more. Some of his best experiences had happened in this room, explicit and otherwise. 

In the end, Harry has every right to be arrogantly proud of his apartment. It had taken him months to decorate, years to fill with fond memories, and an immortal lifetime to find. He loves it with every trace of his soul, even when others disagree. Namely, Niall, who had mocked his sophisticated relics and old-timey architecture from the first time he’d set foot past the threshold; “You went the dark gothic route? Really? Way to feed into the stereotype, Dracula.” 

But no matter what anyone says, this is who he is, and he couldn’t be happier. After decades of migrating and aimlessly searching the globe, he’d finally found a place he could call home, and absolutely no one could take that from him. Especially not some Irish moron who doesn’t even know the definition of “foyer.”

How Harry manages to afford his flat is a whole other intriguing tale.

It had come up in a pillow talk conversation with Y/N once, and he had told her the story he feeds to any human who asks. He’s a regional manager for an offshore company and it’s mainly a lot of online work. Handling duties through business emails, videochat meetings, job portals, and things of the such. It paints a valid image as to why he’s home all the time. He also claims to be the company’s lone contact stationed in California, so he handles all of the responsibilities that would normally be bestowed upon three or four people. This paints a valid explanation as to how his imaginary position would tether such a high pay grade, which justifies his luxurious living arrangement.

That story is part of the truth. Harry does indeed have ties with corporate businesses. That is, ties to their CEOs’ pockets. It’s surprisingly easy to get past secretaries and security dressed in a nice suit and thousand dollar leather shoes, especially with the help of compulsion and Harry’s golden charisma. Thanks to those tools, he has managed to convince some of the biggest leaders in corporate California to quietly deposit generous sums of money into his bank account once a month. And with his persuasive supernatural abilities, he convinces them to write it off as regularly scheduled charity donations in their minds. That’s how he makes a living for himself— by scamming the rich. Xander likes to take the piss and call him a sugar baby, but Harry sees himself as more of a modern day Robin Hood, instead. 

Mitch says his charade is unlawful, but considering how corrupt the business world already is, the vampire feels next to no guilt. The one percent have always taken advantage of those poorer than them— that was obvious even back in Harry’s time— and he doesn’t see anything wrong with taking advantage of them right back, now that he has the means to. How’s that saying go? “Fuck the bourgeoisie” and all that. 

Everything taken into consideration, Harry’s pretty excited to show Y/N his condo. Watching people’s faces break into awe the second he turns the lights on always gives him such a deep surge of satisfaction. It makes all the hassle worth it.  

The immortal is currently sitting in his vintage car, flicking through his Spotify playlist to find something to entertain him while he waits for Y/N to finish her shift. He had offered to pick her up, knowing that it’s what any courteous host would do, and she had appreciatively accepted, telling him she’d be out by eight P.M. It’s seven fifty-three now and Harry had arrived around seven fifty, taking the slot right in front of the cafe’s entrance so she can spot him as soon as she walks out. These ten minutes are the longest he’s ever had to endure, which says a lot considering he’s endured tons of patience-testing moments in his two hundred years.

Harry swipes his thumb down the glass screen of his phone, sampling songs left and right to see what will stick. After listening to the first few chords of an array of forties dance music, seventies rock and roll, and twenty-first century bubblegum pop, he settles for Rodeo by Lil Nas X. Harry has a very intricate taste in music— it’s one of the traits he’s most proud of— and Mitch often tells him he’s too snotty when it comes to his preferences. He’ll admit it freely that, yes, he can be a piece of work musically, but just because he thinks the industry peaked in the seventies doesn’t mean he hates modern music. He likes most of it, including rap, and Lil Nas X happens to be one of his favorites, much to everyone’s surprise. Most of the artist’s songs are eccentric not only lyrically but also instrumentally, to the point where it’s almost comical— who names a song Panini, of all things?— but the music is catchy and Harry can let loose to it easily. 

The vampire also happened to meet the musician, on one occasion. He ran into him at a club and after a few drinks and some banter, somehow ended up getting invited over to a party at the celebrity’s Malibu mansion. That night is a blur, definitely due to the copious amounts of alcohol and psychedelics, but Harry remembers they had fun and that the guy was worth a listen. In fact, he was the genius that came up with the theme for the rapper’s Rodeo music video. 

A light knocking on the passenger’s seat window brings him out of his memories. Y/N stands outside, hugging her arms loosely over her tummy, decked in her usual work uniform of a navy polo and black skinny jeans. When the two lock eye contact, she gives him a soft wave and a tired smile. Harry lifts two fingers in greeting, returning her polite gesture and swiftly lowering the window. He leans forward across the center console, his grin taking on a playful hue, voice carrying the same effect. 

“Uber for Y/N?” 

The girl snorts and rolls her eyes, but plays along, reaching forward and jiggling the handle of his black Cadillac symbolically. “That’s me, yes. Open up.” 

“Eh, eh, eh.” Harry tuts, wagging a finger in her direction and then making a motion that tells her to back away. “I’m gonna have to see some ID. It’s one of our new safe driver policies. Gotta make sure you are who you say you are, miss.” 

Y/N’s expression drops flatly, eyes half-lidded as he smiles up at her brightly, batting his eyelashes innocently. “Open the door before you end up sucking your own dick tonight.” 

Harry’s shit-eating face falls so fast, it causes her to burst into laughter. A soft click vibrates through the handle below her fingers. “I’ll waive the background check. Just this once.”  

“Yeah, I figured as much.” Y/N taunts, yanking the door open and ducking into the shotgun seat, gently tugging it closed behind her. 

Once the human is situated in her spot, she releases a lengthy sigh, sinking down against the cushions as she grabs her seat belt and clicks it into place. 

Harry puts his cell phone down into the cubby hole below the stereo set, setting the car in reverse and slinging an arm behind her headrest to get a better view as he backs out of the parking space. His gaze momentarily flickers to her slumped form as the car retreats slowly, tone curious. “Long day?”

Y/N glimpses over, giving him a quick once-over and taking in his olive green Nike jumper, ripped denim boyfriend jeans, and pastel yellow Vans. He looks so boyishly cute, which is ironic given the premise of tonight’s rendezvous. The shoes (which he had worn the night they’d met all those weeks ago) and the position he’s in (perched above her with his sharp jaw and neck flexing as he cranes his torso to look for oncoming traffic) flashes her back to the first time she had been in his car. They had been way less acquainted, she had been much less relaxed, much more nervous, but the encounter very much carried the same exact intentions. That recollection makes her lips quirk a bit. The pair had grown so comfortable with each other since then, that Friday evening feels like it happened decades ago. 

“Yeah.” Y/N murmurs softly, gladly indulging a deep inhale of the vanilla and tobacco scent she had become familiar with, allowing it to soothe her nerves and wash away the stress of a hard day. “I’m just happy it’s over and that the weekend’s finally started. Wanna forget all about it.” 

“Well, that’s what I’m here for, love!” Harry plops back into his seat, shifting his car into drive and gifting her his famous brilliant smile, dimples winking to life as he taps his ringed fingers across his steering wheel humorously. “I’ve made you forget your name plenty of times before; I’m pretty sure I can erase one shitty work shift just fine.”

Y/N scoffs at his pompous claim, reaching up and prying the hair tie out of her locks, looping it over her wrist and shushing her stiff roots. She tucks strands behind her ears, the corners of her mouth twitching in endearment at the giddiness of his aura. “Just drive, Sherlock.” 

The mortal isn’t surprised to find that building in which the vampire lives is one of the tallest in the city, and that it’s basically smack in the center, as well. One look at Harry and anybody could immediately tell he thrives off being the center of attention, so of course his home is a direct reflection of that. Refined boy, refined personality, refined environment. It’s practically a law of science. 

Once Harry’s car is parked and the ignition rumbles to a smooth stop, Y/N unbuckles her seat belt and goes to unlock the passenger’s side door. Right as her hand is wrapping around the handle bar, the door swings open of its own accord and she just barely manages to stifle a blood-curdling scream full of shocked fear. When her eyes focus, Harry is standing there holding the door open for her, features painted with cocky amusement. 

“How did you—?” The girl whips around to look at the empty driver’s seat, eyebrows cinching in bewilderment as she turns back to face him. “How did you get around so fast?” 

Harry shrugs his shoulders offhandedly, reaching one bejeweled hand down to aid her out of the vehicle. “I did track when I was younger. Made me a fast walker.” 

Y/N hesitantly takes it, body language still slightly tense from the jump scare. With his help, she gradually climbs out, the door shutting behind her as she sweeps her sight around the parking garage in wonder. This is the first time Harry has ever invited her anywhere, let alone to where he spends most of his life. She doesn’t want to miss a thing. Even the simplest aspect can tell you a lot about a person. 

Y/N jerks a tad when she feels her friend’s cold fingers slipping down her palm, sifting between her own. She glances down at their intertwined hands for a second, a warm glow bursting through her chest. She’s always admired how his are so much bigger. 

Harry tugs her forward toward the elevator at the other end of the parking lot, bottom lip caught between his teeth in a sly smirk. “C’mon, Watson. Let me show you around.” 

Y/N stumbles after him, allowing the boy to guide her to where she needs to go as he weeds through cars effortlessly. She suddenly chimes up from behind, asking a random question to fill the leftover silence their footsteps spare. “That car next to yours had such a weird license plate. What the fuck does ‘craic’ mean?” 

Harry chuckles knowingly, perfectly aware of whose car she is referring to. “It’s this odd thing Irish people say. Utter rubbish, honestly.” 

A comfortable quietness fills the air of the elegant elevator as it shoots up towards the twenty-fourth floor of the skyscraper, the only other sound being the gentle lullaby of a nameless tune wafting through the speakers above their heads. Harry finds himself studying Y/N as she looks out at the city through the glass walls, the lights of the exterior buildings casting a beautiful buttery gleam across her relaxed characteristics, along with a radiant glint over the surface of her glossy eyes. Despite the slightly smeared mascara staining her waterline and the inherent frizziness her hair carries after being pulled into a tight ponytail all day, Harry finds that she looks nice. Pretty, even. 

The girl senses him staring, craning her head to return his gaze, the edges of her lips lilting upwards lightheartedly. He returns the gesture, peeling away to focus on something— anything— else. He deems the control panel a worthy replacement.

As the numbers on the dial drag by, Harry finds himself absentmindedly thumbing over Y/N’s knuckles. She doesn’t seem to notice or mind, so he continues doing it, massaging the crest of each bump and pressing down gently along the troughs. He enjoys the sensation of her silky warm skin heating his icy own, and he ponders whether she likes how cold his touch is, or if she hates it as much as he does. He expels that notion from his mind; he refuses to let such a stupid concept upset him. He just keeps caressing her hand, restraining his mind from ambling too far into its meaning. It’s just to pass the time. 

He keeps the movements going until their ride skates to a joltless halt with a sharp ding! and then he steps out, having to give his full attention to leading her down the long corridor to his flat. Y/N is so caught up in drinking up her surroundings, she almost bumps into the creature when he comes to an abrupt stop in front of the entrance of what she can only deduce is his home. Harry drops her hand, much to her disappointment, fishing into his back pocket for his keys. He patiently filters through his keychain, picking out the right one and working it into the lock, a soft click emitting from the mechanism. 

Harry pushes the door open with his palm, standing off to the side just outside the threshold and tilting his head towards it, posture bowing slightly. “Ladies first.” 

Y/N thanks him quietly, taking a cautious step forward into his hallway. She can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at his gentlemanly tendencies; she rarely meets anyone as respectful as Harry seems to be and she finds his old-timey attributes to be refreshing. Helping her out the car, taking her hand to guide her through the parking lot, rubbing at her knuckles innocently, holding the door open for her— it’s all such an archaic form of chivalry she wishes she’d see more often these days. She doesn’t know if it’s a British thing, if he had just been raised like that, or if he simply does it to get laid, but she’s thankful for it either way. 

With one last glance at her friend over her shoulder, she begins wandering down the dark narrow path unsurely. The sound of the door slinking shut behind her and Harry’s footsteps ease her. 

She stops once she senses the corridor open up into a larger space, which she guesses is his living room. A soft gasp escapes her at the sight before her. The whole area is washed in darkness, the only source of light stemming from the large glass pane that stretches from the floor of the apartment to its tall ceiling. Dozens of buildings and cars glimmer below, the breath-taking image of the lively city looking almost like a snapshot from a professional movie. It’s absolutely gorgeous and she feels like she could stare at it for eons. 

A chilly hand suddenly presses along the dip of her spine, ushering her forward an inch or two, Harry’s invisible voice and warm breath hitting the shell of her left ear. “S’cuse me, dove.”   

The boy reaches behind her for the light switch and the condo bursts into radiance with one simple flick of his wrist. 

“Oh...my God.”

Harry’s home is something straight out of a luxury catalogue. The light floorboards and the mahogany panels. The massive leather couches and hand-sewn cushions. The extravagant chandeliers and glass staircase. The marble kitchen and generously packed liquor shelves. The ginormous wall of priceless artwork, littered with pieces from all different eras of history. It feels like stepping into a decor wonderland.

“Not too bad, huh?” Harry pipes up playfully, anchoring her back into reality from the floaty stupor that had consumed her mind. 

“Not too—? Are you kidding?” Y/N sputters incredulously, whizzing her head to the side sharply. “You were keeping an entire Four Seasons royal suite from me?!”

Harry belts out a bundle of childish giggles, the edges of his eyes crinkling and the tip of his button nose twitching. “I never thought of it much, to be honest. I’d grown to like your place.” 

“Right. Because a creaky mattress and a kitchen the size of a broom closet is so much more satisfying than chandeliers and a fucking glass wall.”

The vampire glimpses around his flat indicatively. “Okay, I see your point.”

“Exactly.” 

Y/N drifts forward, running the tips of her fingers across the backrest of the aged leather sofa and along the corners of the throw pillow, doing a slow circle at the middle of his home, taking everything in a second time around to make sure it isn’t a mirage. “Fuck, this is incredible. Is your boss looking for any more regional managers, by any chance?”

Harry follows after her, tucking his hands into the back pockets of his boyfriend jeans, chewing along the inside of his cheek to suppress a proud smile— a result of her explosive reaction. “I’m afraid my position is the one and only, sorry.”

Y/N droops her shoulders in exaggerated contempt, presenting a shitty English accent to tease him. “Bollocks.”

It garners the designated feedback, her tummy somersaulting at Harry’s exorbitant laughter. 

The boy comes to stand before her, cocking his head to the side questioningly towards his kitchen. “Can I offer you a drink?”

Y/N glimpses over at his bar area, eyes dancing over his extensive array of fancy bottles. “Oh, please do.”

Despite only having known Y/N for a few weeks, Harry has gotten quite acquainted with her tastes, even outside of sexual matters. She doesn't like the taste of alcohol, but she likes its effects. And he likes them, too, if he’s being honest. Her blood always begins to smell more appetizing after just a few sips and the way her cheeks heat up so easily when she’s buzzed always makes his breathing trip. 

He works his extensive skills, pulling from his liquor cabinet and mixing flavored liquids and syrups until he comes up with something that he thinks the girl will enjoy. It’s fruity, with hints of peach, lime, and strawberry, but also warm and fulfilling, with a rich whiskey and a few dashes of bitters. He plunks in a couple of ice cubes and mixes it together with a bar spoon, tapping it against the rim with finality and swiping it over his tongue in a quick taste test. He’s pretty happy with his concoction. 

Harry glances up to where Y/N is leaning against the armrest of his couch, her legs crossed before her as she stares at one of the abstract paintings mounted on his wall. It’s an original, as are the rest of them, which he had purchased some odd seventy years ago from a barely known artist whose talent had gone to waste in the world. It’s a deconstructed sunflower, with the color palette inverted and the strokes of the brush uneven and jagged. Odd and complicated, but beautiful, nonetheless. Its complexity is what makes it significant. 

The vampire slowly wanders over from his kitchen, holding her drink in one hand and a cloth napkin in the other. He takes the spot beside her along the armrest, speaking wistfully as if recalling a fond memory. “It’s a flower.”

Y/N nods slowly in recognition, peeling her gaze away with the corners of her lips jilting. “Mmhm, a sunflower.”

Harry’s brows jump in shock. Barely anyone ever guesses the identity correctly. He’s found that as time passes and humanity becomes more reliant on technology rather than cognizant knowledge, society in general has reduced to a more pea-brained state than ever. As a result, the amount of people who can interpret and understand the meaning behind complex artwork has greatly diminished, unfortunately, so he’s pleasantly surprised to find that one of the few who still possesses that talent happens to be the girl he’s shagging. “Wow, that’s a first. It’s so unusual, no one ever really gets it.”

“I guess I just have an affinity for the unusual.” His guest quips, giving him a jesting shrug of her eyebrows and a suggestive grin. 

You have no idea.

“You underestimated me, Holmes.” 

“That I did. My sincerest apologies.” Harry returns her joking simper, proceeding to then dip an index finger inside the stout glass in his grasp, bringing it up before her face. “Taste.”

Without breaking eye contact, Y/N parts her lips and allows him to coax the wet digit in, the tangy flavor of the mixture making her taste buds tingle. She encloses her mouth around his finger, lulling her tongue along it slowly with a mischievous glint shining across her irises. 

Harry’s prominent jaw clenches as he watches the scene unfold, breath bated and a moan threatening to betray him. She truly wastes no time.

He gradually pulls his finger from her tongue, struggling to clear his throat, missing its texture already. “How is it? More syrup? More biters?”

Y/N gazes up at him drunkenly, though it’s definitely not from the liquor. Her lips quirk cheekily as a result of how visibly frazzled she’d gotten him. “It’s perfect. Better than anything I’ve had at a club, that’s for sure.” 

“Yeah?” Harry taps his opal ring against the bottom of the lowball glass, trying to reign in his previous composure. “Think I could be a bartender?” 

“You don’t hit me as the type of person who has the patience for it.” The girl remarks wittily, slinking her head to the side and biting back a giggle when Harry makes a face at her.

“You make a valid point, I suppose.” The vampire responds with an airy sigh, nodding in surrender. “The stupid blabbing from drunk morons and impending fear of being vomited on would be too much for me. I wouldn’t last a day.” 

“You wouldn’t last a single night, let alone a whole day.”

“Alright, pipe down!” Harry deadpans, bumping her shoulder with his vengefully. “You’re bruising my ego.”

“It’s humongous,” Y/N snorts, shoving him in return, “it can take a few hits.”

The pair sit there in silence for a suspended moment, just taking in the expanse of the art before them. Harry then turns his torso towards her once more, bringing the drink in his grip up to her mouth. “Here, have a proper sip. Put my all into it.” 

Y/N obliges, looking up at him with her signature doe-like air of trusting innocence, allowing him to tip the hem of the cup against her mouth. The cool beverage filters through her taste buds and down her throat, the sweet and sour mixture leaving an enjoyable tingle in its wake. A few streams of the liquid bead out of the corners of her lips and Harry impulsively gathers them with the side of his index finger, the napkin in his other hand completely forgotten. 

As he goes to pull back in order to clean up, Y/N leans forward and traps his digit between her lips like before. This time, there’s a more insistent sultry hint sparkling around her pupils. 

“Christ...” Harry pants, watching Y/N work her way down his forefinger with a silent groan hinging on his teeth. 

He doesn’t deny himself from indulging the dirty action this time around. Her mouth is as soft and warm as ever, sending chills racing down his spine despite the sweater hugging his body. His mind slips for a second, reminiscing in all the other ways he’s felt the inside of her mouth before, a faint red tinge splattering across his cheekbones. 

Y/N draws his finger out, kissing messily across its length and over the pad, looking up at him through tension-heavied lashes. She doesn't speak a word, but her intentions are clear in the electricity between them.

He can’t hold back any longer, his next comment coming out as a pained growl. “God, you’re such a filthy little thing.”  

She hums softly in the back of her throat at his explicit compliment, suckling at the center of her bottom lip needily. “I like being your filthy little thing.”

Harry swallows thickly in order to keep himself somewhat tame, fangs suddenly pricking his tongue in warning.

The mortal scoots closer to him, sifting her fingers between his around the drink and bringing it upwards, downing the last couple of inches in one go. She draws the cup from his grasp, reaching over to set it down carefully on the coffee table before turning back and snuggling deeper into his heaving chest. 

Harry scoffs in amusement, but he can feel a certain charring scratching at the back of his throat. “Drinks like that are meant to be savored, darling. You’re not supposed to just pound them.” 

Y/N stretches her neck upwards, taking his earlobe between her teeth, lips wet and cold from the alcohol. His lashes flutter when her warm breath hits his skin, contradicting the sensations from before. 

“Why don’t you let me worry about how I drink, and you can worry about a different kind of pounding.”

And that’s all it takes, really. That’s all it takes for Harry to completely drop any self-control he has left. 

The creature jars his face towards her, large hand shooting upwards to grip her jaw firmly, holding her in place as he crashes their mouths together. It’s all tongue and clacking teeth, desperate whines and stuttered gasps. Y/N’s hands fumble for something to tether to while Harry takes it upon himself to grasp at her opposite hip with his free hand, yanking her onto his lap. She buries her fists in the cotton fabric of his jumper, balancing her knees on either sides of his parted thighs. The boy’s fingers coast from her jaw down to her throat, tightening ever so slightly. The action is minimal, but it reveals that flare of dominance Y/N has become addicted to. 

“Do you want it here?” Harry rasps against her eager tongue, smirking into the kiss when he feels her start to rock along the bulge that is beginning to tent his denim pants. “Do you want me to bend you over the couch and fuck you, baby? With the chandelier making your skin glow? Where we can put on a show for the whole city to see?”

It’s a tempting offer and his words obviously have some form of impact, seen in the way Y/N’s grinding takes on a hungrier, deeper pace against his clothed cock. 

“I want…” Y/N finds it difficult to voice her desires, the responsible party being the manner in which Harry glues cracked mewls onto the roof of her mouth. “I want it in your bed.” 

She doesn’t know why, but she just wants him to take her some place where the moment they share is intimate, unseen by the prying eyes of others. She wants to christen his bed exactly how he had done hers; she craves that strange connection, for some reason. Y/N isn’t naive, she knows she’s not the only person Harry has had in his home and in his sheets. But she wants that experience, nonetheless, even if it doesn’t necessarily mean anything. She knows she’s not his only, but at least she’s one. 

Harry slowly breaks their kiss, brushing the tip of his nose across her own in a small comforting gesture. He blinks at her groggily, the copper specks in his eyes glitzing under the golden hue of the lighting. When he speaks, its soft and low, almost as if he doesn’t want to risk another soul overhearing. “Okay. Whatever you want, it’s yours.” 

Y/N almost doesn’t get anything she wants, given that she nearly kills herself on the trek up the stairs, courtesy of her weakened knees and wobbly ankles. Harry just barely manages to save her, but he finds the occurrence too hilarious to spare her the embarrassment. 

“Stop laughing, it’s not funny!” She exclaims indignantly as he helps her up the last few glass steps, clinging to him like a scared puppy, her hands still shaking with adrenaline. “I could have died!” 

Her shrieking only makes him laugh harder and he nearly keels over, palm clutching his stomach as if to keep it from popping. “I’m sorry, I really am, but it’s just— your face when you— and how you tripped sideways— I—”

Y/N shoves him hard towards the corridor where his bedroom lies, but it’s hard to maintain an angry demeanor when the young man’s giggles sound like bells and when he looks so cute with his curls flopping across his forehead. “Dickhead.” 

They’re almost at his bedroom door when Harry grabs onto her wrist, tugging her roughly so that she lurches forward into his chest. He plants a wet kiss onto the bridge of her nose, expression entertained. “Stop being such a bad sport. It was pretty funny.”

“Yeah, okay.” She huffs begrudgingly, glancing down impatiently at his plump lips as he walks backwards down the hallway with her in tow. “You can invalidate my rage once you have a near death experience yourself.”

The irony of it all. 

Harry kicks the door open, ghosting his mouth over Y/N’s and watching her sight do a quick sweep around the area. “Welcome to my lair.” 

The human likes his aesthetic. The room has different hues of the same color, so it all ties together nicely, and the hanging lights look like miniature versions of the two large ones downstairs. The bed is huge, which is a relief because for once, they won’t have to actively worry about accidentally rolling off the edge mid-fuck. “It’s nice. Very chic.” 

“Thanks.” Harry reaches up and cups either side of her neck with his palms, dragging his damp lips over her chin and down the center of her jugular, smiling against her skin when he feels her shiver. “It doesn't have a bookshelf wall like yours, but I make due.”

“Yeah.” Y/N wisps out weakly, leaning her head back as he speckles his mouth across that sensitive point on her throat he discovered ages ago. “I bet.”

She feels Harry’s touch travel down her torso, cold fingers suddenly smearing across her love handles beneath her work shirt. His grip tightens at the hem with the intention of pulling the polo off, breath hot as it washes over her collarbones. “Wanna find out just how good I make it work?”

Y/N’s arms instinctively raise on command, her reply shaky and fragile. “Yes, please.” 

Harry makes it work. He makes it work so fucking well. He doesn’t need crazy positions or any vibrating toys to make her feel good; he just knows her so thoroughly by now that he’s able to tend to every single one of her needs like it’s his sole purpose. The sex is missionary, with her splayed out across her back upon his mound of feathered pillows, her thighs clamped over his hips as he slams into her at a harsh, curt pace. Her calves are tied around the backs of his thighs, her nails are carving memories into the broad expanse of his shoulders, they’re both panting curse words and encouragement into each other’s mouths, and he’s cradling her to his chest as if he wants to absorb her heartbeat right through her ribs. If only obtaining one were that easy. 

Y/N allows her head to fall back against the cushions, drawing away from the prolonged kiss only because she needs air to continue. Harry’s lips busy themselves elsewhere, running down the valley of her chest and toying with one of her pebbled nipples. Y/N’s back gives a sharp arch the second he brushes across the sensitive nub and the taunting coo he releases goes straight to her core. 

“Liked that, darling? Like it when I kiss you there?”

The girl’s lashes have fallen shut, her eyes lulling around in their sockets as he maintains a steady rhythm between her thighs, ramming into her with so much force, the headboard is knocking into the wall. It’s loud and intense enough that Harry has to fit one of his palms between the railings, bracing the weight of the bed in order to prevent a hole from forming. 

Y/N’s voice fills the dense atmosphere, so shattered and raw, she can hardly understand herself. “It feels so— so good, H.” 

“I love it when you call me that. Sounds so pretty coming from your lips.” The vampire’s tongue flicks over her nipple a handful of times, dark veins momentarily webbing over the whites of his eyes at the cracked whimper she lets loose. “And of course it feels good. I always make you feel good, don’t I? Always make my girl cum so—fucking—hard.” 

Y/N’s trembling fingers card into the curls along the nape of Harry’s neck as he thrusts to his words, twisting them around her knuckles and swimming in the throaty groan he pours over the clammy skin of her breasts. Her whisper sounds distant and dreamy. “Please...Please don’t stop.”

Harry gazes up at her through heavy lashes, lapping at her chest more fervently, accent thick and deep. “I won’t, baby. Not until I have you dripping all over my sheets.”

After a few more minutes of fractured moans bouncing around the panels of the room and the noise of wet skin slapping together, something catches Y/N’s bleary eyes. She wills past the blissful fog in her mind, focusing on the intriguing object hanging from one of the railings of Harry’s bedpost, swaying back and forth wildly due to his strong tempo. 

“Are those...Are those handcuffs?” 

Harry’s attention jumps to where hers is pinned, his powerful stride coming to a gradual stop. He’s heaving and shuddering above her, ringlets matted to his jaw and across his temples, cheeks flushed the prettiest shade of cherry red. His Adam’s Apple bobs once and he gives a short nod. “Y-Yeah. I’ve had them for a while...”

The hope dripping from his voice is practically palpable and Y/N interprets it easily. She glances down at him as he takes quivering inhales against her chest, his eyes bleeding lust. Her mumble is so quiet and soft, he wonders how it’s possible for her to make some of the preposterously loud sounds he’s used to hearing whenever he’s buried this deep. “Use them on me. Please?”

Harry bends to her request without hesitation. He locks her wrists into the restraints, sponging a kiss onto each before giving them one hard tug to check for security. He then regains his rough slams, but with more fervor than before. 

The monster sits back onto his heels, groping her waist roughly and working her against his thighs, watching welts form on her flesh along the pads of his fingers. Y/N unconsciously begins circling her hips to match his speed and the fractured groan that rips out of him makes her walls tighten. He looks incredible looming in front of her, head toppled back between his shoulder blades, bouncing to his every ram. His throat flexes with the weight, jaw taut and inked pectorals glistening with sweat under the dim lights dangling from his ceiling. “That’s it, pet, just like that. Love the way you ride it. You’re so fucking tight and warm and...and just— Christ, just fuck me.”

She wishes she could frame this moment in time and drag it out forever.  

Harry swings his head forward again, blinking the blurriness from his vision to take in the image before him. Y/N just looks so fucking gorgeous like that, tied down at his beck and call, her chest bouncing pertly as her fingers bunch around the chain link, thighs clinging to his waist as she chews her bottom lip raw in an attempt to control her noises. 

The vampire ducks down, connecting their mouths in a sloppy kiss that cajoles her into spilling all the moans she had been withholding. He feels them trickle down his lungs and diffuse into his bones, flames lapping across his insides as their foreheads bump and noses smudge, ragged breaths intermingling. “Let it out for me, hm? Wanna know how I’m making you feel, don’t care who hears.”

As if that isn’t enough, there’s an instance where Harry’s animalistic senses suddenly enhance and he comes to the realization that the metal cuffs have made a tiny laceration along her skin. 

A thin trail of blood travels down her suspended arm, but she doesn’t seem to notice, too lost in the pleasure Harry is pounding into the pit of her stomach. So he simply leans upwards and licks the sweet droplet clean, feeling heat spark across every fiber of his being. He laps up the entire stream and then presses a tender kiss to her palm for good measure, grunting out a gentle, “There’s a good girl.” when she whines at the affectionate gesture. 

The release Harry is getting from between Y/N’s legs mixes with the ecstasy her blood brings, and it shoves him over the edge in a manner he hasn’t experienced since that first time they slept together all those weeks ago. Since the first time he tasted what lies in her veins, while also simultaneously getting to taste the indescribable relief her body so readily brings him.

After all is said and done that night, something peculiar happens. After they both milk their orgasms for everything it’s worth, and after Y/N gives into exhaustion in his arms with her wrists bruised and a content watery smile on her face, and after he gets a heftier drink from her neck and heals the two little puncture wounds with his own blood...The most bizarre, unexpected event occurs. 

Harry falls asleep soundly for the first time in months, and all he dreams about is how Y/N tasted. 

///

Y/N wakes up the next morning to her body covered in Harry’s Nike jumper, to an empty spot beside her in the messy duvet, to a familiar tune tinging her ears from a distance, and to a satisfying ache between her thighs. 

As soon as she cracks the bedroom door open, the smell of pancakes wafts in through the chilled morning air. Specifically, lemon and blueberry pancakes. Her grandmother’s lemon and blueberry pancakes.

A shiver runs down Y/N’s spine the second she sets a toe along the cold glass panels of Harry’s staircase. She takes a deep breath, pulling the extra length of the sweater’s sleeves over her fists and tugging the hem of the article downwards as if she could convince it to cover more than just half her thighs. She carefully works her way down the steps, flinching at the iciness that travels up her legs with every motion. When she finally thunks down emptily onto the light-wash floorboards, her body has grown accustomed to the temperature. As she pads across the furry rug in Harry’s living room, she finds herself wondering why everything connected to him is always so unusually cold— colder than any normal person could withstand. His touch, his lips, the tip of his nose, his forehead, his chest, even his thighs; everything is always freezing, and she doesn’t understand how he can bear it. It’s such an odd affinity to have. 

The human gradually wanders into the vampire’s kitchen, peeking inside the room from behind one of the archway’s walls. What she sees throws her for a loop. 

Harry is cooking breakfast, as she expected from the sweet scent she’d awoken to, but he’s doing it in a manner she never really expected from him. 

Music stems from a portable speaker he has situated at the center of the marble kitchen island, blaring loud enough to fill the entire giant home with high notes, guitar chords, and acapella riffs. The young man is dancing across his kitchen as he cooks, clad in nothing but a set of black Calvin Klein briefs and a pair of fuzzy magenta socks. Y/N rakes down his body, admiring the crimson and purple love bites she had left on his chest and the raspberry red scratches zig-zagging across his back, the marks flexing with the movements of his muscles. They’re strangely faint, for some reason. Practically barely there. 

She chalks it up to the fact that maybe she hadn’t bruised him as much as she’d thought. 

Y/N forces herself to keep her mind from straying onto anymore explicit topics; it’s probably not even ten A.M. yet. She needs to get herself under control.

Grooving while in the kitchen isn’t necessarily weird (she’s guilty of it herself), but Harry’s dancing techniques very much are. The only accurate depiction of it is that for a boy in his twenties, he dances like an old geezer in his eighties. His moves are choppy and old-schooled, almost like what you’d expect to see in a nineteen fifties disco hall, and watching him ebb and flow across the tiled ground to choreography similar to that of Dirty Dancing and Footloose... It would send anybody into a fit of laughter. Especially since Harry is so tall and lanky, so how he manages to move in such a way is beyond her understanding. 

Aside from that, his choice of music is baffling, as well. Not only because she recognizes the soundtrack, but because she would have never expected someone like him— with his cocky behavior and overly-confident caliber— to be into these types of songs at all. She always pegged him for the seventies rock and roll type. 

“You like Hamilton?” 

Harry’s actions creak to a halt and he whips around towards where the disturbance had stemmed, spatula clutched in one hand and a marble plate stacked with pancakes in the other. His face breaks into a bright smile, voice slathered with dramatic friendliness. “Well, look who finally got up! I was starting to think you were dead, Sleeping Beauty.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at him mockingly, walking over to the kitchen counter and propping herself onto her elbows, chin in hand as she watches him set down the platter of food before her. She tips forward onto her toes, taking a deep inhale of the homey, sugary smell, letting it wash over her in flashes of childhood memories. “Are these like the ones I make?”

“Lemon and blueberry, yeah.” Harry bobs his head casually, turning around to place his metal spatula down into the sink, as well as to retrieve a glass bottle of maple syrup from one of his cupboards. “They’re pretty close, I think. I’ve never seen you use a recipe or measuring cups or anything when you make them, so I kinda eyeballed it to the best of my ability. Hope I did your nan justice.”

He pours a decently-sized glop of syrup over the mountain of treats and Y/N watches excitedly as it trickles down all the layers. He then pushes back from the table, pulling open a drawer and rummaging through, continuing to whistle along to the tune of Satisfied as he bops the cabinet closed with his hip and sets down an extra pair of forks and knives beside the plate. 

Harry cuts a neat triangle out of the pancake at the top, pointing at her with his fork as he shrugs his brows nonchalantly. “And to answer your question from before: yes, I do like Hamilton.”

“Hm. Interesting.” Y/N murmurs, going cross-eyed as Harry offers her the forkful of food in his possession, poking at her mouth playfully and getting maple syrup all over her lips. She opens obediently, allowing him to feed her the piece. “You don’t really seem like the type of guy— oh, wow, these are actually really good!”

Harry bites into his lower lip with his two front teeth, a proud smile dimpling his cheeks as the light draft from the air vent ruffles a couple of his sex-mussed ringlets across his forehead. “Yeah? You mean it?”

The mortal nods her head vigorously as she finishes chewing and swallowing, wiping away some of the leftover syrup from her top lip with her middle finger and sucking it clean. “Yeah! You hit it spot on.”

“Aces. I should be on The Great British Bake Off.” Harry makes a small, celebratory fist bump next to his hip and the childish gesture makes Y/N snort softly. 

“Like I was saying, you don’t really strike me as the type of guy who would be into musicals.” The girl comments, watching her friend cut another triangle out of the first pancake and pop it into his own mouth. 

The vampire chews thoughtfully for a second, lifting one shoulder offhandedly and swallowing fully before talking. “I’m really not, to be honest. But this specific musical is pretty good. The songs are catchy.”

He nudges the other pair of utensils across the counter for emphasis, silently inviting her to dig into the dish along with him. She accepts, slicing down the other side of the stack as he leans forward onto his elbows, mimicking her stance. He gives her a curious glance. “What about you? Do you like musicals?” 

Y/N shrugs, poking a few chunks of food onto her fork. “Not really, but I had a major Hamilton phase back in college. That’s why I recognized it.” 

Harry hums in understanding, picking a blueberry off and chewing it slowly, a sly smirk beginning to tweak the corners of his mouth. “So were you, like, a nerd back then?” 

“Well, I wouldn’t say a nerd, but I had decent grades and was pretty quiet.”

He swallows down audibly, blinking impassively. “That’s literally the definition of a nerd.” 

Y/N returns his flat expression. “Fuck off.”

Harry throws his palms up in peaceful surrender, but he still has that shit-eating grin present. “Alright, fine, fine...It’s okay if you were, though. You were probably one of those cute ones, y’know? With the clunky glasses and innocent goody-goody face.” 

“Shut up.”

“Oh, and with one of those short little plaid skirts?” He releases a pained groan, clutching his chest and closing his eyes for a second. She has no doubt he’s sketching some type of graphic image of her in his mind. “God, I bet you looked so good. Do you still have it? Can you wear it for me?”

“I said shut up!” Y/N reaches forward and stabs at his tummy lightly with her fork, ignoring the warmth crawling up her neck and across her cheeks. “Fucking perv.”

Harry smacks her utensil away with his own, giggling lightly as she tries to prick him again, continuing to fight her off. “I’m just asking a question! For science!” 

Y/N twists her fork around his, trying to outmaneuver him into dropping it. “How could my fashion sense in college possibly contribute to science in any way?” 

The vampire easily catches onto her play, slipping himself out of her grasp and trying to trap her makeshift sword down against the tabletop. He purses his lips into a simper, glimpsing up at her through his lashes and quirking his brows cheekily. “Biologically, of course. It contributes to my solo reproductive activities.”

“You are vile.” 

“Really? ‘Cause you seemed pretty happy to help with said activities last night.” 

Y/N drops her fork onto the brim of the platter, reaching up to massage at her temples and keep herself from swatting Harry’s eyeballs out of their sockets. “I’m finished.” 

“Yeah,” the jade of his irises glimmers coyly as he sets down his utensil beside hers in a ceasefire, “you definitely finished.”

Harry chuckles boyishly as Y/N drags her palms down her face, trying to hide away how flustered he’s getting her. She decides to change the subject, not caring to steer the conversation smoothly at all, but rather jumping to another topic right away. “So does this mean you have all the lyrics memorized? Since you like them so much?” 

“I do, yeah.” Harry taps his fingers against the marble counter to the beat of the song currently playing. “Do you?” 

“I was obsessed, so of course I do.” Y/N reasons, her own digits following in tune with the immortal’s. “I think Non-Stop was probably my favorite to sing. It made for a good shower concert.”

“Well, it’s settled then.” Harry quips happily, reaching for his phone and tapping across the screen. “We’re duetting this. Right now. C’mon, Burr.”

Y/N’s motions stop, shyness creeping in from the back of her brain. “Oh, I don’t know, Harry. I never really—”

Her refusal is interrupted by the beginning of the arrangement mentioned, the notes blasting through the speaker as Harry purposefully turns up the volume to drown her out. He taps at his ear symbolically, mouthing, “Sorry, I can't hear you!” and he doesn’t even attempt to ward off the evil grin creeping across his face. 

“Harry, I’m serious—” 

But it’s already too late. Harry juts his hand out in front of him, pointing at his companion with a theatrical edge as he begins to serenade, picking up the slack of her part. 

“After the war I went back to New York. A-After the war I went back to New York. I finished up my studies and I practiced law. I practiced law, Burr worked next door!”

He looks at her expectantly, urging her to jump into the next half as her assigned role. Y/N muscles down her hesitation and recites the lines timidly with her brows creased in hesitation, but at least she’s participating. “Even though we started at the very same time, Alexander Hamilton began to climb. How to account for his rise to the top?”

Harry joins her in the next stanza, grabbing her hand midair in encouragement, trying to shake her out of her rut. “Man, the man is non-stop!”

Y/N is surprised at how well they sound harmonizing together, and she can feel her discomfort slowly begin to melt. She watches as Harry freely boasts his solo with absolutely no remorse, making grand gestures as he slides down the side of the counter, his movements dragging her along. 

“Gentlemen of the jury, I'm curious, bear with me. Are you aware that we're making history?” The boy taps at his chin to symbolize that he’s thinking, acting out the story the lyrics construct. “This is the first murder trial of our brand-new nation, the liberty behind deliberation.”

He points at Y/N once again and she does the supporting vocals, gradually beginning to gain more confidence. “Non-stop!”

“I intend to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt, with my assistant counsel—”

Harry doesn’t even have to cue Y/N this time around; she picks up her half immediately, falling into line with him flawlessly as if they’ve done this a million times before. “Co-counsel. Hamilton, sit down. Our client Levi Weeks is innocent, call your first witness.”

Harry quickly rounds the corner of the kitchen island, giving her body a grand spin as he draws closer, coming to stand right before her. She gives him a fake exasperated look to match the attitude her character depicts, shaking her head in disapproval. “That's all you had to say.”

“Okay…” The creature yanks Y/N forward into his bare chest, leaning down and flirting his lips right over hers tauntingly, eyes half-lidded in amusement. “One more thing—”

“Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room?” The girl rolls her eyes dramatically, shoving past Harry’s shoulder and she finds it humorous how these lines fit so well, almost as if they were actually directed at him, calling him out on the arrogance he always seems to dote. “Why do you assume you're the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude may be your doom.”

Harry swivels on his heel, following her as she scurries outside the kitchen entrance, running into the living room. 

“Why do you write like you're running out of time?” Y/N grabs onto one of the couch cushions, pretending to scribble over it with a fake pen. “Write day and night, like you're running out of time? Everyday you fight, like you're running out of time.”

Harry swipes at her from across the couch, trying to grasp onto the jumper she’s wearing. “Keep on fighting in the meantime.”

Y/N ducks out of the path of his grabbing hand, chucking the pillow forward and it bonks him square in the face. She sticks her tongue out at him as Harry scowls dully, climbing onto his sofa and scuttling towards her on his hand and knees.

She jumps just out of reach, diving across the other end of the furniture. The vampire throws his weight to try and tackle her to the sofa, but she just barely escapes. He ends up toppling over the backrest due to his over-abundant momentum. 

“Non-stop!” Y/N waves her middle up at him triumphantly as he pushes himself up off the ground, giving her a challenging look as he takes off after her once again. 

The pair continue to sing back and forth, with Harry chasing Y/N around the living room and kitchen as he belts out his part of the song, Y/N always somehow managing to slip from his grasp as soon as her turn hits. They’re a mess of giggles, silly faces, and boisterous actions as they reenact the play and neither can recall a time they had ever had more fun. There’s never been an instance when they felt so comfortable with another soul that they are willing to run around half-naked, screaming lyrics at each other in their underwear, not caring who sees or overhears. It just feels so second-nature.

A section of the song comes up where a woman is singing and Harry immediately takes up the part, placing his hand on his bare hip and standing in the most feminine fashion he can possibly muster, fanning at his face. “I am sailing off to London, I am accompanied by someone who always pays.” 

The exaggeration makes Y/N bend over laughing and her distraction allows Harry to nab her. He pulls her into his embrace by her forearms, cackling through the following stanza as she wriggles and squirms to try and get free. “I have found a wealthy husband who will keep me in comfort for all my days.” 

Y/N finally gives up on trying to thrash herself free, going limp against his chest and glimpsing up at him with begrudged annoyance, but a fond smile is unmistakably buckling her cheeks. Harry leans down, singing right in her face just to flaunt his victory, their noses brushing. “He is not a lot of fun, but…”

And then, there’s a shift in the ambiance between them. 

Harry gazes down at her as she giggles up at him from his arms, full of so much genuine warmth and excitement, she could power the entire city if she wanted. Her shoulders are heaving slightly as a result of all the running, there’s still faint traces of black mascara smeared under her waterline and down her cheeks from the previous evening’s exertions, she has some acne scarring littering her cheekbones that look fairly recent, and her hair looks like it could nest a family of at least ten birds. But despite these imperfections, Harry finds himself feeling oddly endeared by it all. These flaws are all things he’s gotten used to and has grown to treasure in Y/N. They make her who she is. They make her witty, and they make her clever. They make her fun, as well as trusting. They make her likeable, and energetic, and kind. They make her a good friend and a generous lover. They make her... her. Harry gets the feeling that if she didn’t have all of these traits— if even one was missing— this little arrangement they have going wouldn’t have flourished the way it did. 

Yeah, maybe he would have slept with her once or twice more just to scratch an itch, but he most likely would have let it fizzle to an end after the fact. Her personality paired with these small details— albeit, not all entirely attractive— that make up her existence play a key role in the dynamic they share. And he wouldn’t trade them for anything else— wouldn't trade Y/N for anyone else. Not anytime soon. 

A warm surge travels through his chest, filling his veins like kerosine, heating him from the heels of his socked feet to the tips of his ice cold fingers. An unorthodox swelling sensation twists inside his ribs, right where his heart used to beat, and he finds himself reciting the next line in a soft voice packed with more emotion than he’s shown or felt in the last two centuries.

“There’s no one who can match you, for turn of phrase…”

Y/N seems oblivious to all of the unsettling experiences he’s undergoing, her amused expression not changing in the slightest. Harry allows the rest of the song lyrics to pass by, the lump in his throat too heavy to fight. Instead, he just keeps staring down at Y/N with brows frowning in confusion, his breathing coming out bated and shaky, and that knot in his chest continuing to tighten until it becomes painful. He gets the sudden urge to kiss her— to feel her lips press to his and feel her give into him the way she always does. The way she has for the last four weeks. He doesn’t want it to be sloppy or desperate or sexual; he wants it to be intimate, soft, and caring. He wants it to be special. Something they share. Something only they share.

Then, that moment passes. That flicker of weakness that had leaked through vanishes and Harry feels like he can breathe properly again.

He breaks their locked eyes, releasing Y/N from his hold and taking a swift step back, coughing awkwardly to try and rid the tickling sensation in the back of his throat. He scratches at the nape of his neck nervously, fiddling with his baby curls and attempting to piece himself back together after that unexpected and unwelcome intrusion of his innermost feelings. Though, he doesn’t know if that spectacle even files under the category of emotions; from what he remembers, they aren’t supposed to tangibly attack you in such a manner. It felt more like a violation— like someone had gone in and started poking and prodding at his subconscious with a metal skewer. 

“Harry…?” Y/N inches closer to him, concern prevalent in her voice and across her features as she stretches her hand out caringly. “Are you okay? You look like you’re about to be sick.” 

“I-I’m—” His voice comes out higher than usual and quivering, so he coughs once again to get it under control, taking another step back. He's scared that if she touches him, that horrible burning sensation will come back. “I’m fine. Just...Just forgot the lyrics.” 

“Oh, okay…” The girl doesn’t sound convinced with the answer, but she lets the subject falter anyways, her hand dropping back down beside her thigh. “Just checking.” 

“Yeah, I got that. Uh, thanks. But I’m all good now.” He holds up a clenched first and juts out his pinky, wiggling it for significance. “Promise”

Y/N scoffs gently at his playful deed. “Alright, then.” 

Harry eyes her attentively as she returns to her previous spot in front of the plate of pancakes, retrieving her fork and starting to pick at them like before, as if nothing had happened. As if Harry hadn’t just almost had a cardiac arrest, despite the fact that the organ responsible had crumbled to dust ages ago.

“Are you gonna eat anymore?” Y/N signals down at the stack of pastries before her questioningly. “Because if you don’t get some now, I’ll eat them all myself. Don’t think I won’t. They’re better than the ones I make and—”

The vampire suddenly feels like bile is rising up his throat and his words spew out before he can think to stop them, though he’s not so sure he would. 

“Do you want to stay over the rest of the weekend?”

[kjack89]

Christmas Wish

Modern AU, E/R, established relationship, misunderstandings with a happy ending. Because sometimes you have to make your own entirely self-indulgent Christmas present :)

“A young boy has just come running out of the park...Let me see if I can get a comment...Did you see anything?”

“It's the real Santa! His sleigh can't fly cause nobody believes in him!”

“Now, this is feeling more and more like some kind of elaborate Christmas hoax.”

“Typical,” Combeferre said dismissively over the sound of Elf playing from the TV in Courfeyrac’s living room as all of Les Amis lounged around, ostensibly watching the film, which was one of their holiday traditions. “The mainstream media agenda at work, propping up a capitalist system by decreasing belief in Santa Claus.”

Grantaire snorted and shifted from where he was lying on the couch, his feet propped up on Bossuet and his head resting in Enjolras’s lap. “I realize that you deny nothing, which apparently extends to Santa Claus, but I don’t think you can dismiss lack of belief in the Big Guy as a media coverup.”

“Besides, all you need is to call it the ‘lamestream’ media and you’ll sound more like a QAnon supporter than anything else,” Jehan added blithely, ignoring the wounded noise that Combeferre made at the insinuation.

“You take that back—” he started, but Courfeyrac elbowed him.

“Shh,” he scolded, “I’m trying to watch.”

Combeferre rubbed his ribs and grimaced. “Right, because we haven’t seen this movie a hundred times before,” he muttered.

Courfeyrac ignored him as the kid in the movie flipped through Santa’s book. 

“What’s your name?”

“I’m Charlotte Dennon, New York 1.”

“Lemme see...Charlotte Dennon wants a ‘Tiffany engagement ring, and for your boyfriend to stop dragging his feet and commit already’!”

Courfeyrac cackled and for some reason twisted around to smirk at Grantaire. “Looks like the film writers cribbed from Grantaire’s Christmas list for that one,” he teased.

Most of the other Amis laughed at that, though Enjolras frowned, his hand stilling from where he had been running it through Grantaire’s hair. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, and Grantaire squirmed, trying to get Enjolras to resume stroking his hair.

Courfeyrac arched an eyebrow at him. “It means that you and Grantaire have been dating for, what, five years now?” he said, as if the answer were obvious. 

“Off and on,” Enjolras said, feeling defensive even if he wasn’t entirely sure why.

“Right, so five years of dating, and you’ve been living together for two years now…” Courfeyrac trailed off and Enjolras just stared blankly at him. “Do I really need to spell it out for you?”

“Leave it alone,” Joly said, a little sharply. “Not everyone wants to be married and live in the suburbs with two point five kids, a dog, and a white picket fence.”

“Though to be fair, there is nothing wrong with wanting that,” Cosette piped up, patting Marius’s hand loyally.

Marius glanced at her. “Is the point five part of the kids negotiable at least?”

Bahorel cleared his throat. “Can we please,” he started, an unspoken threat clear in every word, “go back to watching the damn movie?”

Everyone fell silent, all remembering far too well the Sound of Music fist fight of 2016, where Bahorel took Jehan’s then-boyfriend outside to beat him up for mocking the movie. The rest of the movie passed in relative silence, and once it was over, everyone took their leave. 

“Merry Christmas Eve Eve,” Courfeyrac said as he held the door open for Enjolras and Grantaire. Combeferre cleared his throat pointedly from behind him and Courfeyrac reluctantly added, “And, uh, sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Grantaire said easily, giving Courfeyrac a one-armed hug before he and Enjolras left.

But Enjolras was not so quick to forget, and he was silent as they walked towards their place, the chilly December night lending itself better to walking than waiting for an Uber. After the silence between them had stretched for several minutes, Enjolras glanced over at Grantaire, who sighed. “Don’t,” he said warningly, and Enjolras scowled.

“Don’t what?” he asked defensively.

“Don’t even start.”

Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “I have no idea—”

Grantaire raised an eyebrow at him. “You weren’t going to bring up what Courfeyrac said?” he asked pointedly.

“No,” Enjolras said immediately, and when Grantaire just gave him a look, he sighed and amended, “Ok, yes, I was, but—”

“But Courfeyrac has a shitty sense of humor sometimes,” Grantaire interrupted with forced levity. “That doesn’t mean we need to ruin our Christmas Eve Eve by indulging his idiotic fantasies.”

Enjolras glanced at his watch. “Technically, it’s now actually Christmas Eve.”

“And that’s not the point.”

Enjolras made a face. “No, it’s not,” he agreed, hesitating before giving Grantaire a sideways glance. “And you’re not normally that rude about our friends. At least, not behind their backs. You’re plenty rude to their faces.”

Grantaire didn’t quite meet Enjolras’s eyes. “Yeah, well, our friends normally know better than to stir up things that they shouldn’t,” he muttered.

Enjolras seized the opportunity. “Since it has been stirred up—” he started, and Grantaire snorted.

“Hell of a segue.”

“—I think it’s something we should talk about,” Enjolras finished doggedly.

Grantaire groaned. “Must we?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Is there a reason you don’t want to?”

“Answering a question with a question,” Grantaire said sourly. “That’s a neat trick.”

Enjolras nudged him. “So is deflection.”

Grantaire sighed. “Fine. The reason I don’t want to is because it’s Christmas. And we’re supposed to be, y’know, holly jolly and shit.”

“Holly jolly and shit,” Enjolras repeated, a smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. “Well that certainly captures the festive mood.”

But Grantaire didn’t seem amused. “You know what I mean.”

“So why do you think talking about this will ruin the holly jolly mood you’ve clearly gone to great lengths to cultivate?” Enjolras asked mildly.

“Because I don’t think this conversation is going to have the outcome you’re hoping for.”

Grantaire delivered the words bluntly, but Enjolras didn’t flinch. “Because you want us to get married and I don’t,” he guessed, less a question than a statement.

To his surprise, Grantaire barked a laugh. “No,” he said, with actual amusement, “quite the opposite.”

Enjolras stopped in his tracks. “Wait, you don’t want to get married?” he asked, a little stupidly.

“Absolutely not.”

Enjolras hesitated. “Like, you don’t want to get married to me, or you don’t want to get married at all?”

It was Grantaire’s turn to stop in his tracks, turning to face Enjolras, something urgent in his expression. “I love you.”

Enjolras looked warily at him. “I know, and I love you, too. But why—”

Grantaire shook his head. “I just don’t want you to go into this conversation that you insist on having with any kind of doubt in your mind about that.”

Enjolras’s expression softened. “I never would doubt that,” he said, tugging Grantaire close and pressing a kiss to his temple. “So you love me, and I love you, and like Courfeyrac said, we’ve been dating for years, living together for years...isn’t marriage the next logical step?”

“For some people, sure,” Grantaire said with a shrug. “But that doesn’t mean it needs to be for us.”

“Because you don’t want to get married.”

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Are you telling me that you do want to get married?”

“No,” Enjolras said, a little too quickly, and he winced. “I mean, not because of you. If I were to marry anyone, it would be you. I’m just...not big on the institution of marriage, the perpetuation of the patriarchy, certain segments of the gay community acting like marriage equality was the end of the fight for equal rights…” He trailed off. “But you know all of that.”

“I sure do.”

Enjolras frowned slightly. “So is that why you don’t want to get married? Because you think I don’t want to?”

Again Grantaire laughed, and again, it took Enjolras by surprise. “Enjolras, believe me, if I wanted to be married to you, we’d be married, whether you wanted to or not.”

Enjolras stared at him. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean that you’re historically terrible at denying me something that you think I really want,” Grantaire said easily. “Which is probably a consent issue that we should discuss more some time, but that’s not really the point.”

It wasn’t, so Enjolras didn’t press it. “So you really just don’t want to marry me?”

“Not so much, no,” Grantaire agreed.

“But...this is – this is a forever thing for me,” Enjolras said, before hesitating. “You know that, right?”

“Of course,” Grantaire said instantly.

“And don’t you want this forever too?”

Grantaire grinned at him. “There is absolutely nothing I want more.”

“Then why…?”

Grantaire sighed and looked away. “This is why I didn’t want to talk about this at Christmas,” he said. “Total mood killer.” Enjolras didn’t smile and Grantaire sighed again. “I don’t want to be married to you because if we were married, you would never divorce me, or walk away, no matter how much you might want to.”

“I—” Enjolras started, but he couldn’t seem to find any words to say to that.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”

As much as Enjolras wanted to tell him that he was, he knew better than to try. “No.”

Grantaire nodded. “Because when you make a promise, you keep it. It’s just who you are.” His tone turned fond. “Too damned stubborn to admit defeat, no matter how much you should.”

Enjolras frowned. “Ok, but again, isn’t that what you want?”

“No.”

“I don’t understand.”

Grantaire cocked his head slightly. “You think that I would want you locked into a marriage, which is an institution you don’t even believe in, just so that you could never leave me?”

“I—” Enjolras broke off, flustered. “Honestly, I’m not sure how to answer that.”

“Wise man. I don’t want you to be with me because you have to be with me. I want to know that you are with me because you want to be, not because you made some arbitrary vow.” Enjolras opened his mouth to interrupt but Grantaire didn’t let him. “I want to wake up every day in your arms and know without a question of a doubt that you could walk away any time you wanted, but that you choose to stay. That’s what I want. And I’d like to think that’s what you want, too.”

For a long moment, Enjolras was silent, staring at Grantaire as if he’d never quite seen him before. “Well,” he finally managed around the lump in his throat, “when you put it like that...”

He didn’t even bother trying to finish his sentence, just cupping Grantaire’s cheek with one mittened hand and kissing him deeply. Grantaire returned the kiss with equal enthusiasm, balling his hands in Enjolras’s red coat.

They stayed that way for a long time, long enough that when they pulled away from each other, they both immediately looked up at the sky. “Is that snow?” Enjolras asked stupidly.

But Grantaire just laughed, and Enjolras smiled at him. “What?” he asked.

“We are kissing in the snow on Christmas Eve,” Grantaire said, grinning up at the flakes swirling from the sky. “If this were a very different story, you’d get down on one knee right now and ask me to marry you, and we’d have a happily ever after for Christmas straight out of a Hallmark movie.”

“If Hallmark wasn’t a bunch of homophobic cowards, anyway,” Enjolras grumbled good naturedly.

Grantaire just laughed and shook his head. “You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Enjolras said, grinning, and without warning, he took a step back from Grantaire before kneeling down on one knee. “And you’ve just given me an idea.”

“What are you doing?” Grantaire asked, staring at him. “Did you seriously just not listen to a word I said, or…?”

“Grantaire,” Enjolras said, “I absolutely listened to everything you’ve said, because I love listening to you talk. I love everything about you. You don’t want to get married. I don’t want to get married. And I know better than to make a promise to you, even if you deserve all the promises in the world. But it is Christmas, and it’s snowing, and I love you more than anyone in the world. So Grantaire, I have to ask – will you not marry me?”

“You are such a fucking dork,” Grantaire said, exasperatedly. “Of course I will not marry you.”

“Good,” Enjolras said, satisfied, and he stood up, kissing Grantaire once more before taking his hand. :Now let’s go home. I want to make love to the love of my life.:

“Romantic,” Grantaire said with a snort, but he was grinning.

“Whom I will never marry,” Enjolras added.

“You sure know how to woo a boy,” Grantaire said wryly, still grinning, and he leaned in and kissed Enjolras’s cheek. “Merry Christmas, Enjolras.”

Enjolras wrapped his arm around Grantaire’s waist, turning to kiss Grantaire lightly on top of his head. “Merry Christmas, Grantaire,” he whispered.

[anxious-logic]

Grounding

@tsshipmonth2020

I know this is late; I have Day 11 already written so I’ll try to catch up tomorrow. No promises, though. 

(I promise this is not sexual despite the summary maybe kind of making it sound that way; I’m tired and bad at summaries.)

Ship: Romantic LAMP

Warnings: Very slight mentions of polyphobia and homophobia, I think that’s it? Let me know if there’s anything else.

Word Count: 1,416

Summary: Roman has a bad day. His soulmates help him with a new grounding technique.

Roman smiled as he felt a slight tingling on his thigh. He couldn’t look, as he was in class and taking your pants off to check a message was usually considered inappropriate, but it was still nice to know that he was being thought of.

Or maybe one of the others had just dropped their pen and accidentally drew all over themselves.

Honestly, Roman didn’t really care. He’d been getting relatively coherent messages from Logan since he was four, and his parents would help him read them. (That was one of the biggest pushes he had gotten to learn how to read – being able to read his soulmate’s messages by himself.) At first, Patton could only participate by scribbling with a pen or splattering paint on his body, but eventually he learned how to write, too. Virgil mostly participated with doodles, his talent growing from smiley faces and hearts to rudimentary animals to incredibly lifelike scenes.

Roman hadn’t been able to write to his soulmates for much longer than he would have liked. His town was relatively conservative, and of the opinion that everyone should only have one soulmate of the opposite gender, and therefore he was generally discouraged from communicating with his three soulmates that were distinctly not female. But once he had gotten into third or fourth grade, and decided that he really didn’t care what these other people felt about it, because these three boys seemed really nice and he just wanted some friends, for once.

Yes, he knew it was sad. No, he didn’t want to talk about it.

He had met Patton in high school – the other boy had just moved to town and was in the same homeroom as him. Roman had noticed the cute boy doodling on his skin in the seat in front of him, felt the tingling on his arm, and had immediately terrified the other boy by poking him in the back and very seriously demanding that “you will marry me someday.”

Yeah, not really the best introduction to a soulmate, now that he thought about it. Sue him, it was high school and hormones and stress and nobody was supposed to be suave in high school no matter what the TV shows said, okay?

They’d started dating that month. They’d stayed together the rest of high school, had applied to all of the same colleges, and had requested a dorm room together.

When they arrived on campus, he learned that he would be in a quad with Patton and two other men. When they met, the first thing any of them saw was the galaxy on the back of their hand, courtesy of Virgil.

They were all soulmates.

It had been a little awkward at first – Patton and Roman had been dating for four years, while they had only just met Logan and Virgil; the other two had only just met each other that day, and they were all soulmates. And they were all living together. They’d had had to negotiate a bit, in order for everyone to be comfortable; setting boundaries and expectations and “text us if”s and “just don’t do that”s.

But eventually, they’d gotten it all figured out.

Now, they’d been dating for about a year and a half. They were still all rooming together, which sometimes did get rather tense, but it was also useful for quickly resolving any issues or miscommunications. It was… nice. Not exactly standard, maybe, but definitely… nice.

“Okay, I’ll put the readings for this weekend up on the online course,” the professor said, interrupting Roman’s thoughts. “It’s not too much – only about fifty pages or so. Then I want you to write a five-page paper on one of the common themes in the readings and how it connects to what we’ve been talking about, that’ll be due in a week…”

Roman felt his pulse go up slightly. Fifty pages, that was- a lot. And then a five-page paper, even double spaced that felt like a lot of working and planning and time…

He felt his breath speed up and pulled a pen out of his back pocket as he swung his backpack over his shoulder.

Are any of you free I want to talk for a bit

He capped the pen and put it back in his pocket, trying to regulate his breathing. It’d be okay. Yep. He’d be fine. Just- he’d maybe have to skip the theatre club tonight, do some reading then. Maybe he could wake up early over the weekend to plan and write the first draft of the essay?

God, this was a lot.

He headed to his dorm, slightly surprised to see that all three of his soulmates were sitting on his bed, talking quietly. Patton looked up, and when he saw the look on Roman’s face, his expression crumpled.

“Oh, honey, it’ll be okay, c’mere, lemme give you a hug.”

Roman did so. Even though his chin was resting on Patton’s head, he still felt incredibly protected and warm, his hug doing wonders for his anxiety.

“What’s up?” Virgil asked when Patton let go of Roman’s waist, leading him onto the bed. Roman shrugged helplessly.

“I just- got a lot sprung on me for this class. Wasn’t expecting it, and now I might have to miss a few things over the next few days to get it done. Not the end of the world, but I’d rather I didn’t have to.”

Logan frowned. “How much is ‘a lot’? You haven’t ever had trouble with readings or essays before.”

Roman reached over to grab Logan’s hand. “About fifty pages before Tuesday. And a five-page essay before next Thursday.” He felt his breathing pick up a little again.

Virgil winced. “That… that really sucks, Roman. I’m sorry.”

Logan studied him closely. “Do you have anything incredibly urgent to do right now?”

Roman looked down. “I mean, I have a lot of work, but… I guess it can wait.”

Logan nodded decisively. “I have a bit of a grounding exercise that I’ve been wanting to try for a bit. Would you be open to trying it?” He paused, and blushed ever so slightly. “It would involve… undressing. Slightly. Just taking off the shirt.”

Virgil looked at him keenly, but didn’t comment, just glancing at Roman for a decision.

“Up to you,” Patton whispered, squeezing his hand.

Roman took a deep breath. “I… okay, yeah. Sure.”

He reached to take off his shirt, surprised when Logan did the same. Logan turned to their other two soulmates as well.

“It could be more beneficial when both of you participate as well. It involves utilizing the soulbond.”

Virgil sighed, but did so. Patton also took off his shirt, unceremoniously tossing it on the floor.

“Now, Virgil- could you get pens, for each of us?”

Virgil looked confused, but got up to dig through his pen container. He emerged with four pens – purple shimmer, dark blue, light blue, and red glitter. He handed the pens to the other three.

“Now. I want you to draw something, anything, on yourself, anywhere all of us can reach.”

Virgil frowned, but drew a circle on his right shoulder. Roman shivered slightly as he felt the tingling on his skin.

“Patton, can you connect something else to that, please?”

Patton smiled widely, evidently understanding what Logan was saying more than Roman. He drew lines of different lengths, branching out from the circle like the rays of a sun.

Logan smiled slightly. “Wonderful. Now I’m going to add on…” he trailed off, as he added zig zags within the circle. He looked up to Roman.

“Your turn.”

Roman twisted slightly to see the design on his shoulder, a combination of his loves. He connected Patton’s rays, turning the shape into something more resembling a flower or a star.

“And now we begin again.”

Now the drawing was happening much faster; dots, zig zags, lines, waves, loops, curls, all tingling and making Roman focus on the feeling of warmth that seemed to be coming through their bond. It really did help to ground him and calm him down.

As they began to run out of skin that they could easily draw on, their movements started to slow. Roman looked around the room at his four soulmates, catching his breath at the designs and patterns decorating their upper bodies and arms.

“I love you,” he said, carefully gathering them all to himself. “I love you, so much.”

[thiswasinevitableid]

For the Meet Ugly Prompt: #23 Sternclary NSFW if you can :)

23: our mutual friend has been talking us up to the other and when we finally meet, we have to tell them that we’ve been in a feud for the last six years (and I can’t stop thinking of all the nice things our friend has said about you). NSWF

“EeEEH, I’m so excited for you to finally meet him.” Aubrey tugs her uncle down the hall, “he’s practically like another uncle to me, and he’s really such a fucking amazing cook--he made all the stuff tonight--so he’ll go with your whole foodie thing-”

“Critic, firebug, food critic” Stern smiles at her.

“Right, right, and he’s got the hunky lumberjack thing going that you know you love.”

“Geez, you buy one calendar-” he elbows her, chuckling. Then the world screeches to a halt. 

“Mr. Cobb.” He nods, polite as he can manage with rage-horns blaring in his head. 

“Stern.” The bearded man nods back, pushing off of the counter where he’s leaning, glass in hand, talking to Dani.

“Why do I have the bad feeling you two know each other.” Dani looks at her uncle nervously.

“You remember when Amnesty was first getting off the ground and we were struggling to get anyone to take us seriously? This” he points to Stern, no anger or ice in his voice but plenty in his eyes, “is the fucker who gave us the bad review that set us back months.”

“I was doing my job, I’ve told you that a dozen times since then, it was nothing personal. Unlike what you did afterwards.” He replies coolly. 

“Oh for fucks sake, I apologized for that.”

“Yes, two years after the fact, which hardly makes up for arguing with every review I wrote so forcefully that Hayes pulled me from the review circuit for months and made me do cookbook reviews instead.”

“Poor Stern, had to do a slightly different desk job while I was terrified the restaurant would go under.”

“You ended up fine, and if the food at Hornet is any indication, you improved.”

“Lucky me, getting such kind words from the illustrious Joseph Stern.”

“I was trying to-”

“Nevermind. I gotta go check the stuff on the grill.” He reaches the screen door to the back yard, then turns, “and I appreciate the thought, kid, but he’s just not my type.”

---------------------------------------------------------------

The problem is, of course, that Stern is exactly Barclay’s type. Or maybe he’s everyone’s type, all nice suits and handsome face and perfectly slicked down black hair. They’ve run across each other at plenty of food functions in the city over the last six years, and Barclay always feels like a scraggy mountain man standing near him. It doesn’t help that Stern talks about food the way other people talk about fine art, and Barclay could listen to him do it all day. 

He also tells really, really corny jokes when he thinks no one is listening, and Barclay hates his mouth for how many times it’s laughed at them. 

Making amends is the right thing to do, but every time he considered it his whole being--piloted by his ego-- recoils. 

But they’re going to be family soon. And his niece doesn’t deserve to deal with their feud. He picks up his phone, Stern’s number on his desk thanks to Dani’s wedding planning list. 

Me: This is Barclay. If you’re still reading, I think we should meet and talk things over. For real, not in the way we keep fucking up.

Stern: Why?

Me: Because your niece and my niece are getting married and I don’t want us bickering like jerks at the wedding.

Stern:Good point.

Me: Meet me at the Arch? Bar there is good.

Stern: Ok. 8 tomorrow work?

Me: See you then.

---------------------------------------------

Stern fights the urge to shred his napkin as he waits at the bar. Maybe this is a set up, or a trap, or-

“Hey.” Barclay announces himself with a tap on the shoulder. His auburn hair is hanging loose, and the blue shirt he’s chosen brings out the brown of his eyes and the copper in his beard.

Stern should stop staring. 

He picks up the drink menu as Barclay sits down next to him, “Um, the, um, I can buy. Consider it another apology. What do you get?”

Barclay gives him a mild smile, “How about you pick for both of us?”

It’s an olive branch wrapped in a challenge, and so Stern studies the menu carefully. Chooses the Bigfoot, a mixture of bourbon, chocolate bitters, with a splash of cherry soda, for Barclay and and the Roswell (smoked prickly pear juice and tequila) for himself. 

“Good choice.” Barclay smiles at him over the rim of his glass, the first genuine smile he’s ever sent his way, and he straightens proudly at the praise. 

“I remember the drink menu at Hornet was bourbon heavy.”

“Goes with the food, but yeah, it’s my booze of choice.”

“So…” Stern swirls the toothpick in his drink, “how do you suggest we go forward?”

Barclay sighs, “Was kinda hoping you had some ideas.”

“Look, how about we agree that when we’re together for wedding planning stuff, we don’t talk about our history, restaurants or food that isn’t specifically related to the wedding menu?”

“Deal.” Barclay finishes his drink, “what do we talk about instead?”

“Books?” Stern signals the bartender, orders them both another round.

“Works for me. Hmm, lemme guess, you read those big-ass historical ones.”

Stern snickers, “I prefer mysteries, or well done travelogue.”

“You’ve read Bourdain, I’m guessing?”

“Of course. He put me on to a cooking memoir by, by, oh damn it all, he wrote that Madeline series.”

“Bemelmans! Shit, I love his memoirs. They’re my comfort reads along with My Life in France.”

“Classic.” 

Before Stern even knows it, an hour has gone by, they’re three drinks in, and he has a new reading list. He also sees now why Aubrey thought to set him up with the cook; Barclay is easy-going and friendly, even stopping their conversation to exchange hellos with several staff that recognize him, a needed counterpoint to his own professional demeanor. That soft, deep voice slips under his skin, sets his nerves humming, and Stern wants to move closer, let those capable hands do whatever they wished to him if it meant Barclay would keep stealing appreciative glances at him. 

Then he puts his foot in it.

“....food was just a little heavy, like how it is at Amnesty.”

Barclay frowns, “have you even been back there lately?”

“No, I assumed I’d be forcibly shown the door.”

“I would’ve been tempted, but I’m a fucking professional, thank you very much.”

“Besides, it wouldn’t prove your point; I know you’re the exec, but you don’t cook there anymore.”

“Hold the fuck up, it’s my cooking you think was the issue?”

“I didn’t mean that, just that...no, actually, I did mean it. That menu never played to your strengths.”

“That so.” Barclay slams his glass down, the dram undercut when he flashes an apologetic look at the waitstaff before standing in Stern’s space and looming over him, “my house, Tuesday at seven. I’ll show you exactly how good that menu can be in my hands.”

“I look forward to it.”

Barclay leans closer and whispers “bring an appetite” in his ear, voice just shy of a growl. 

Somehow, Stern doesn’t think he’ll have trouble doing so.

------------------------------------------------------

Stern knocks on the door of the modest house. He knows Barclay is now worth quite a bit of money, so the fact he’s chosen an A-frame that looks like it belongs in Tahoe is charming. As was the afternoon they spent with their (clearly relieved) nieces testing out wedding cake ideas. Barclay even laughed at his corny puns and complimented his flavor choice (and how the suit he’s having fitted for the ceremony fit him).

“Come in.” 

He steps into the house, finds the kitchen off to the right, just beyond the dining room. There’s only one place set at the table, and when Barclay comes into view he sees why. The taller man is in his chefs whites, hair tied back, making Stern relieved he’s wearing a suit. 

“Should I…”

“Take a seat, first course is gonna be out shortly.”

“Right, of course--what’s that sound?” Something is whining behind a door down the hall.

“Hmm? Oh, just Sass, he heard someone come in and wants to be the welcoming committee. He’ll chill out in a sec, he has a dog puzzle there to keep him occupied.” Barclay turns back into the kitchen as Stern sits down. Thanks to the pass through, he can watch as he pulls down a plate and sets three parcels of dough on it. 

“You’re getting tasting portions” he sets the plate down, “I’m not blowing through a bunch of ingredients just to prove a point. Smoked salmon pierogies to start.”

Stern takes one bite and knows he’s beaten. The filling is perfectly seasoned, feels like butter in his mouth, and the dough is impeccably made. Maybe it’s a fluke, but all three are gone before Barclay sets the next plate in front of him.

“Bacon, arugula, goat cheese, and blueberry jam on sourdough.” The aroma from the sandwich is intoxicating. 

The first course was not a fluke, and he moans after taking a bite. Barclay chuckles, turning back to the kitchen. 

“So, Aubrey told me something interesting.” Barclay says casually as he slices what looks like lamb, “she said you don’t only write about food.”

“Oh lord.” Embarrassment creeps up his back, so he focus on his meal.

“Weekly World News is almost as good a byline as the Times.”

“Please don’t say more.”

“Bigfoot is my boyfriend’ was especially good.”

“Oh lord, you looked them up?”

“Yep, Aubrey gave me your pen name. I had a blast reading them, you should, uh, let that funny side out more.” The oven shuts and he returns to the table leaning against the counter of the pass through, “gonna be a minute more on the third course. How is it so far?”

“Incredible.”

“Glad to hear it.” Barclay wipes his hands on his apron and Stern has a moment of clarity; the cook is nervous.

“Can I tell you something nobody else knows? I, um, I’m working on a pitch that combines the two. I want to travel to famous paranormal locations and write about local food at the same time.”

“That sounds amazing.” Barclay pulls out a chair, “do you know if anyone’ll take it?”

“I’m trying some magazines and websites first, to see if they’ll pick it up as a series, which’d make it easier to jump to a book later on.”

A timer dings and Barclay stands, returning with a lamb pot pie for one that Stern eats without concern for how conspicuous his sounds of delight are getting. 

Dessert arrives on a small, round plate. Stern tucks into the airy chocolate strawberry cake with raspberry sauce on the side, notice Barclay already washing up. Pity, he was hoping he could stay and talk awhile. There’s only a bite or two left when he decides to admit defeat.

“This is one of the best meals I’ve ever had, Barclay. Whatever you were trying to prove, you proved.”

“Good.” Is all he gets in reply. 

“Barclay, I have to know: I wasn’t the only critic to give a less than stellar review of Amnesty when it opened. We both know that. So...why me? Why act as if I was the one who wronged you.”

Barclay turns, wiping his hands on his apron before hanging it up as he sighs, “yeah, you weren’t the only bad one, but the Times held more weight than any other food section in the city. When you reviewed us we were floundering, and when I saw it I just, I almost gave up; I’d put everything, my heart, my soul, my last dime, into Amnesty. And here was some critic basically dooming us. But once I was done being upset, I got pissed, threw myself into proving the bad reviews wrong and you, uh, you became the avatar for every critic who wrote us off as not being fancy enough to compete in the food scene here.”

“Are, did you make me your  fucking mental punching bag?” Stern stands just as Barclay leaves the kitchen.

“Yeah, and I’m not fucking sorry. That spite was the kick I needed.”

“And it nearly cost me my job, and my reputation!”

“Maybe you should have lost both, given that you helped Hayes shoot down anyone who threatened the old guard.”

“No I fucking didn’t! I fought him time and again to let me review new chefs, feature them, praise them. Lord almighty Barclay, I’m not some soulless fucking machine who just does as I’m told. In fact-” they’re toe to toe, his lower back to the table, as he pulls out his phone and searches, “even in my review, the one you hated, I was defending you, telling people to give you a chance.”

“Like hell you were.” Barclay snorts. 

“I’ll prove it, here” he clears his throat, reads off an excerpt, “Chef Cobb is clearly talented, with a sense of flavor that’s at once exciting and comforting. It is my hope that as Amnesty leaves it’s growing pains behind, we will see incredible offerings from him. There.” He tosses his phone on the table, “see?”

Barclay stutters once, twice, then mutters, “finish your meal, Stern.”

“No, not until you apologize.”

“Jesus christ, just eat the fucking cake!”

“Make me!”

Barclay inhales, long and measured, as he reaches around Stern and picks up the bite of cake. When he holds it to Stern’s lips, he keeps them in a firm line. 

“Open. your fucking. Mouth.”

“Fuck youOghm” he flails backwards, hand landing on his plate as Barclay shoves the cake into his mouth. He’s never had sweetness applied so forcefully, and the part of him that isn’t annoyed is screaming with arousal. 

He swallows, feels something sticky on his fingertips. 

Barclay leers, rumbles, “that’s bet-”

Stern smears his hand across his face, streaking raspberry sauce on his cheeks and mouth. 

Barclay licks his lips, growls, and lunges forward at the same moment Stern grabs his shoulders and pulls. Teeth connect first with his neck, then his lower lip before Barclay shoves their mouths together, moaning when Stern tugs their hips flush. Grinds against him so hard the table digs into his back as they yank ineffectively at each other’s clothes. 

“Tell me, Stern, four courses enough for you?”

“I’m satisfied. Barely.” He bites Barclay’s ear, making him grunt. 

“Barely? Barely? Fine, think I got one more you. On your fucking knees.” Strong hands shove him down by his shoulders, or they try to; he’s already dropping, panting in anticipation as he fumbles with Barclay’s pants. When he finally gets a look at his cock he groans hungrily at the size, lips staying parted as Barclay guides it between them with one hand and yanks his hair with another. 

He’s craving, praying for, and expecting roughness. Even so, he gags when Barclay thrusts as far as he can, toes curling and eyes watering as he bumps the top of his throat again and again.

“Fuck, fuck, there we go” he tugs his hair, wonderful pain prickling his neck and making him moan, “oh fuck yeah, every time I do that you tighten, so good, so fucking good.” He tightens his hold, fucking his mouth harder as Stern brings a hand up to stroke the base of his cock, “nmm, yeah, that’s it, show me what those hands are good for, god, fuck, Joe.” 

Stern whimpers, delighted at how his name sounds in that rough, demanding baritone. 

“Shit, fuck, you want something else to swallow tonight?”

He nods, paws at Barclays thigh. 

“Then you, fuck, you got it, fuckfuck Joe, baby, that’s it ohfuck.” Cum spurts down his throat and he swallows like he’s starving, licks and sucks when Barclay orders him to finish it all. 

As soon as the cook releases him, he drops to his knees on the hardwood next to Stern. Stern, for his part, is wondering if Barclay will at least let him hide in his bathroom a few minutes so he doesn’t have to drive home hard and soaking wet. 

Then his back hits the floor, one calloused hand cupping his face and the other yanking his pants open so messily a button goes flying. 

“I, you, you don’t have to-”

“Do you want me to?” Barclay pauses, meeting his eyes with such genuine, tender concern that he melts like butter in a pan. 

“Lord yes.”

Barclay’s hand slips beneath his boxer-briefs, three fingers sliding into him when he spreads his legs.

“Fuck, fuck, ohlord, Barclay, just a little shallowerAHfuck, yesright, right there.” He cranes his neck and Barclay gets the hint,dipping down to kiss him to the slick sound of his fingers fucking into him. 

Jerking his hips, he can’t find the friction he needs, so he reaches between them and tilts Barclay’s hand so his dick can drag across his palm. His vocabulary has diminished to affirmation laced profanity (or profanity laced affirmatives) and Barclay is faring the same, growling praise in his ear as he gives him more pressure to rut against. 

“Lookit you, god, shoulda known you’d look as good fucking as you do eating. Take me so well, gonna find every way to fill you.”

“Please.” He whispers, eyes squeezing shut in concentration.

“Gonna spread you out on a table and eat you like a fucking gourmet meal, gonna fuck that perfect mouth til your so full of cum you can’t swallow any more.”

“Lord, Bar, Barclay, please don’t stop, don’t tease.”

“Who said anything about teasing?” A tender kiss to the corner of his mouth even as the hand fucks him hard enough to make him cry out, “you’re my new favorite taste, babe, and I got so many fucking plans for you.”

Stern cums so abruptly his leg kicks out and bangs his heel on a table leg, but he doesn’t feel it. His would is the pleasure speeding through him, the repetition of Barclay’s name, the affection that overwhelms him and the fear nipping at it’s heels. 

He comes back to himself on his side, face nestled against Barclay’s chest. 

“Christ, think we both needed that.” The cook sighs, content, and pets his hair. 

“I, um, I certainly no longer feel the need to argue with you over things from six years ago.”

“Me neither. And, uh, I’m sorry for being a dick for so long.”

“And I’m sorry for the spot my review put you in.” 

Barclay laughs, shaking his head, “only took six years and some killer sex to get us there, huh?”

“It is pretty silly, in retrospect.”

“Your foot okay?”

“Uh huh. I, um, I can be out of your hair in a moment.”

Barclay raises an eyebrow, “because you want to be or because you think you should be?”

“The second one.” 

“Don’t gotta leave on my account. In fact, uh, I, uh, I was hoping maybe you’d stay. I want to test out some breakfast ideas on you. Also I like cuddling you and don’t want to stop.”

“A compelling argument. Though we should move to the bed.”

“On it.” Barclay stands, scoops him up with some effort, and carries him precariously to the still-shut bedroom door.

“Damn it.”

“On it.” Stern reaches out and turns the knob, whereupon Barclay barely gets him to the bed without dropping him, as Sass is boinging about their feet.  

“What kind-”

“Rottweiler, corgi, spaniel. I think. Not sure where the huge feet came from.” Barclay cuddles up next to him as he strips off his clothes. As he rolls under the covers, Barclay nuzzles his cheek.

“Would, um, would you like to try having a, um, a different kind of relationship? Like a dating one?”

“I’d love it.” 

Barclay’s smile is pure bliss, and when he kisses him, it’s the best taste in the world 

[cosmiccstuff]

“Ten years after the canonical events of Gravity Falls, Dipper and Mabel Pines are reunited with their great uncles for one last adventure across the world. Joined by Pacifica, now a close friend of the twins and romantic partner to one of them, as well as Mr. Mahina, a hearty boat captain who has been travelling with the Stans for a few years, the Pines family must solve the world’s mysteries that nobody else would dare to decipher, make sure the dangers of the past are no longer there to harm them, and kick complete ass while doing so.”

hi my name is zachariah and I made a cringe au for my cringe middle school interest... its not really an au its kinda just a theoretical gravity falls season 3 so um. yeah I have been working on these for like a month and im just glad to post it at this point sjhfjdsjf

more notes under the cut!! also reblogs not likes uwu

-since I know thisll never exist and therefore I can do what I want, this would definitely not be a Y-7 show on disney (fuck disney actually alternate universe me is helping alex hirsch steal back the rights to this show) and since theyre all older I think this’d be pg-13 or maybe even MA just because I want mabel to say fuck lmao

-when I say “pacifica is dating one of the twins” I mean shes dating mabel (even all these years later, mabifica still fucking rules), I’m just theoretically straight-baiting people lol (though, dipper and pacifica dated 2 summers after the OG GF summer, if that makes u feel any better, its just that it didnt work out and also shes a lesbian now so... lol)

-the twins went to college!!! mabel is an animation student at my shitty parody of calarts, and dipper is a journalism student (he specifically does supernatural journalism which would be an important part of the series) at west coast tech. also pacifica goes to the same school as mabel and is a fashion design student (I have a drawing of dipper in drag bc of her if anyone wants it lol). their schools are miraculously in the same general area so they share an apartment!! more on this later if I end up continuing this

-themes of this series/season/au/whatever would b like. generational trauma, recovery from abuse (every single one of the main characters have been through some form of abuse besides *maybe* dipper and mabel which in itself is even debatable), self redemption/self forgiveness and like. maybe even some coping with loss thrown in there. also found family DUH what else would I do

-noa/mr. mahina (and his dog scuttles) are new!!! so he originally wasnt gonna be a main character or anything but I got,, really really attached to him and ended up making him into an actual full-blown well rounded character so here we are! uhh what else can I say about him,, hes 63 (4-5 years younger than the twins, this takes place in the summer and his birthday is in december so idk) and hes just an old artsy himbo who loves his dog. absolutely no secrets or backstory here :) nope not at all :)

-samuel is dippers best friend, I wanted to incorporate him more but the boat was getting crowded and hes the least connected to the entire family as a whole so hes less relevant sadly :( he and dipper met in Jew Club™ and then ended up being roommates their first year and it just spiraled from there, if this were a real thing id make it so he facetimes the twins a lot and maybe even gets to visit bc I really love him and think he works well with them all

-ford is super depressed uh,, I guess not entirely but he REALLY spends a ton of time moping about how he basically fucked up his entire family for generations and the fact that he ruined a ton of shit so um. yeah. hes my fave though so expect some good shit >:) also hes gay as hell lemme clear that up lol

-can you think of some reasons for stans memory loss issues besides old age?? :)

-finally; you dont get to know anything about mary. does her name sound even remotely similar to any other name though? shrug. I dont know. 

regardless of how many notes this gets expect me to make more because I have SOOOOO much content I have been wanting to upload but I havent been able to because I havent posted any of these so :)

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “John Wick” Part 3

Y/N left The Organization 3 years ago for the one reason strong enough to make her settle down: love. But after tragedy crushed her to pieces, she decided to leave The Joker and seek refuge with an old friend and mentor - John Wick. Needless to say The King of Gotham can’t accept his wife running away without a word, especially since he didn’t have a chance to tell her things she might want to hear.

Part 1     Part 2

The Joker listens at the bedroom’s door, impatient to have a conversation with you. It seems you are engaged into a fervent phone call with Winston and figured he shouldn’t interrupt.

“Please, anything you can discover would be a great help! U-hum… U-hum… Thank you,” and you hang up, which queues your husband to walk into the room.

You completely ignore him, scrolling through the numerous text messages you sent to your connections; several are already answering back and hopefully you can get some news soon. The more people are involved into the project, the more chances to find Kase and untangle the mystery of what happened to him after he was removed from the car.

“You left me there,” The Joker sneaks in and closes the door behind him. “Luckily we had Wick with us so he gave me a ride.”

No reaction. He takes a deep breath, trying to get your awareness.

“I didn’t sleep with Evelyn; sex wasn’t the reason why I kept visiting her. I know how that asshole made it sound and he was totally out of line!”

You quickly glance at him, busy replying to Ares since you feel you’re going to explode soon.

“The only skill I was interested in is the fact that she is an excellent painter and a popular art smuggler, OK?” J raises his voice, sort of annoyed you neglect to participate into his monologue. “I did not cheat, alright?” he approaches his wife. “First of all: I’m VERY picky! Second of all: why would I want a woman everyone else had?! I don’t like used toys. Third: nobody’s been polishing my gun as you tastefully addressed the issue! I have one Queen and I married her!!”

A little bit of doubt in your eyes and he utilizes the opportunity.

“You said you saw me going to her house? I did! The Bowery King asked if it was for the last 6 months? Yeah, I did! You know why?!”

At least now The Joker got your attention: you play it cool but he guesses you’re torn apart by his confession.

Many unfortunate events crammed in lately and hating the man you love made life infinitely more unbearable.

“Why…?” you barely muster the strength to inquire and he sees it as a possibility to mend a few broken pieces; although you can hide your emotions well, J can still read between the lines.

Maybe that’s why he answers with another question:

“Do you realize there are just three Monet paintings in circulation on the black market in the entire world? You admire his work and it took a lot of effort and a substantial fortune to acquire The Water Lily Pond painting. Evelyn Black helped with the transaction, then I had her make some modifications to the original masterpiece.”

You keep staring at The King of Gotham, uncertain about the stuff being tossed your way: is he lying or telling the truth?... In your line of work translating feelings is a huge part of the job; ultimately you had the best mentor to teach you the ropes when you started with the organization: none other than the legendary Baba Yaga. Despite his reputation and to your own amazement, John was one of the few hitmen with integrity and perfectly mastered the aptitude of not being a jerk. Such a rare gem… And blissfully unaware of it himself.

On the opposite end, The Joker is a jerk and flawlessly acquainted with his own “captivating” personality that made you fall in love with him anyway.

Also, doesn’t appear to be deceitful for the moment.

And you despise yourself even more for wanting to believe him.

“What… modifications?...” you throw him a bone and J is definitely not going to pass on the alternative of explaining his actions.

“I wanted to surprise you so I took advantage of Miss Black’s capabilities in the art field; I had her add small images to the authentic canvas: an evolution of you being pregnant, the nine frames culminating with a tenth: the new mother holding our son. Similar to a timeline,” he emphasize and you look intrigued, which might be a positive sign. “Needless to say it was tedious, difficult work, especially because she had to apply special pigments you can’t find at every corner of the street. Apparently you can’t mix old paint with contemporary shades, thus I had to order aged, special colors from Italy, Spain and France. That’s why I went to her place so often: I had to supervise the long process and make sure it turns out astonishing. Then…” and The Joker pauses,”…Kase was gone and I didn’t know what to do with my gift: bring it home or not? Would you have loved it? Would it make you sadder? I continued to drive to Evelyn’s and glare at the stupid painting for hours, undecided on what to do…”

J watches you bite on your cheek, then straightens his shoulders as you utter the words:

“… … … You ruined a genuine Monet?”

Your spouse might be a smooth talker when needed, yet he’s not wasting his versatility on this statement:

“I didn’t ruin it; I made it better!”

Silence from both parties. A good or bad omen? Hard to decipher the riddle with two individuals tangled into a relationship that somehow worked despite countless peculiarities meant to keep them apart.

“I have to talk to Jonathan,” you finally mutter and The Joker steps in front of you.

“Talk to me!”

“Unless you know the exact location of the suitcase full of gold coins he’s been safekeeping for me, I really have to speak to him. Or do you want to hammer the whole basement searching for it?”

Y/N walks out of the bedroom and J lingers inside, evesdropping on the conversation happening downstairs. He can’t understand the chat, but you are probably notifying John about the details your husband left out.

Might as well join the party, therefore The Clown pops up in the living room with a plea impossible to refuse:

“Hey Wick, can I stay here? I don’t care if you say no, I’m not going to leave.”

Your friend crosses his arms on his chest, focusing on the random topic:

“How could I deny such a polite request? Of course you can stay Mister Joker; my house is your house.”

You’re watching the free show unamused; usually it would make you smile…now you lack the depth for such connotations.

“Don’t get smart with me, Wick!” J growls and Jonathan pushes for a tiny, unnecessary quarrel.

“I’m not; although generally speaking, I fancy considering myself a smart guy.”

The Joker opens his mouth and you’re not in the mood for whatever the heck they’re initiating:

“I’m going to pump, then after you dig out the suitcase I’ll take half to the Bowery King,” you announce your plans to them.

“You can do that and rest; I’ll deliver the coins,” John immediately offers. “I can stop by Aurelio’s car shop and ask for his collaboration: he has a lot of associates, doesn’t hurt to get him involved. You have plenty of gold.”

“I have two more suitcases in the Continental’s safe and two more at The Penthouse. It doesn’t matter if it’s all gone as long as I can find my son.”

“I know gold coins are preferred; don’t forget we have a lot of money too,” J reckons with spite.

Is he reminding you or Jonathan?...

*************

Your husband spent the last hour in the garden, talking and texting with a lot of people; needless to mention he’s capitalizing on his network also. Winston disclosed Stonneberg’s contract is still opened, meaning the son of a bitch is out there; you have to scoop him before anybody else does.

“Y/N…” The Joker tiptoes in your quarters. “I thought you were taking a nap,” he huffs when he sees you at the edge of the bed.

You glare at the vial on the nightstand, sharing your idea for a future you wish will come true:

“I didn’t have my medicine in two days; I won’t take it anymore because if we get Kase back… I will nurse him. It all goes in the milk and I want to be able to feed my baby… Do you think his little heart is still beating?...” you sniffle and J is currently debating on a clever response since his mind is blank; one could deduce messing up is encoded in his DNA, but on such a huge scale… well, it gives new interpretations to the term even for him.

The grieving woman seeking reassurance for their loss is trying to make sense of the pointless occurrences that lead to Kase being an innocent victim and The Joker can’t render clarification: he has no clue why he asked her to marry him and why she said yes, it’s not that he’s husband material or a family man. Perhaps Y/N thought he could be… just enough to get by, that’s why she accepted his proposal.

Most women would have cringed at the concept. Most women. Not Y/N.

Most women would have flinched at the notion of having his baby. Most women. Not his wife.

Above all, she trusted J with their son and he treated the three weeks old like a trinket: didn’t drive him home because he had an important meeting, didn’t bother to assign escorting cars nor extra security. The King of Gotham took his child’s safety lightly and it definitely had severe consequences. Too late now to fix past mistakes... but he can attempt.

“You’ll be able to nurse him, OK?” he sits by you and hands over his cell. “Can you enter your phone number in here? Or am I not allowed to have the present digits?”

You’re hesitant and he slides the screen while you hold the gadget.

“Lemme help you,” The Joker sarcastically mumbles. “It should be the first on my list, right where the old number you canceled was.”

You exhale and fulfill his demand out of pure frustration when he squeezes in a second innocent petition.

“Chose my avatar.”

You grunt at his rubbish, scrolling through his folders for a picture anyway; J hopes the largest file will get your attention and that’s the point. How could Y/N miss it?!

Entitled “Baby”, the humongous cluster of pics contains 5,723 items. You open it quite absorbed by its size; what’s more puzzling is the collection depicting Kase’s ultrasounds, hundreds of frames with you being pregnant taken without you knowing: there’s a few when your ankles were so swollen you had to sleep with your feet up on 4 pillows, others with you munching on strange food you craved, more with you in the shower focused on your bump, a decent amount of couple selfies when you were sleeping and J had to immortalize the moment without waking you up and approximately 1,500 images of the newborn.

“You didn’t gross me out when you were pregnant,” The Joker reminds a teary Y/N. “Not sure why you would believe such aberration...” he pulls you on his knees and yanks the phone away, tossing it on the nightstand. “I would also like to underline I didn’t have an affair with Miss Black, alright?”

J lifts your chin up, forcing to look at him.

“Let’s put it this way: why would I fuck around with another woman when I have a wife at home that wants to kill me on a regular basis, hm? Where would the fun be? I mean, she didn’t pull the trigger yet but it’s exciting to hope she might. You know me: I’m a sucker for thrills!”

“Do I?”

“Huh?” J steals a kiss and you frown at his sleekness.

“Know you?”

“Yeah,” the green haired Clown acts composed while in fact his feathers are ruffled. Before you catch onto it he has to ultimately admit: “I’m sorry I didn’t drive the car… I should have…”

The Joker holds in his breath when your arms go around his neck very tight.

“I’m suffocating…” he grumbles. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to hug me or choke me to death,” J keeps on caressing your hair, prepared to block your attack in case you’re actually in killing mode.

This is the excitement he was speaking about: with you, one could never know until it’s a done deal.

“I bumped into Magnus at the Continental,” you give him a bit of space to inhale much needed air and The Joker is surprised at your revelation. “I had no idea about his scheme, otherwise I would have skinned him alive right on the hotel grounds! I wouldn’t have cared about the consequences!”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” J cuts you off and he can tell you’re getting mad; maybe you think he doesn’t give a damn but the reason is simple. “You would’ve been declared excommunicado for murder on neutral ground and I don’t want my wife to be the target of such punishment from the company she so proudly retired from. I need my partner!”

The King of Gotham touches your forehead with his as you whisper:

“I hate you!”

“Mmm, regarding this true love affirmation, I’m gonna need you to take a break from detesting me until we have Kase, then you can despise me full throttle again. Deal?” he extends the palm of his hand and you reluctantly shake it, not realizing you’re reacting to his nonsense. “Is that a smile?” J returns the favor with one of his creepy silver grins.

“No.”

“Liar,” he pecks your lips and can’t explain the weird feeling in his heart when you kiss him back.

*************

Jonathan enters the house and becomes suspicious after a few minutes: too much silence.

Omg! Did you and The Joker engaged into a brawling that ended up badly? Did you end each other?!

John frantically runs to the garage, nervous to see your car and J’s are still parked inside. Shit!

“Y/N?” he shouts, concerned about your fate; The Joker’s… irrelevant. Nobody in the garden, patio is empty also. Downstairs is deserted thus he rushes upstairs to your room. The door is not completely shut and he slowly pushes it, knocking.

“Y/N? Can I come in?”

The first thing he notices are clothes scattered on the floor, then he halts his movement at the sight of Y/N and her husband dozing off on the bed sideways: the naked bodies are covered with a blanket, but he can tell you’re snuggled in J’s arms.

Jonathan steps backwards, guilty of invading his guests’ privacy; he certainly didn’t expect to intrude in such a manner and softly closes the door, grateful it’s not what he feared.  

You and The Joker are so worn out the sound of your phones vibrating on the nightstand doesn’t wake you from the deep sleep. Your numerous contacts keep replying back to the text messages, the most important one showing up on his cell: one of the people J reached to is Evelyn Black and the two sentence conversation lights up the screen.

“Let me know if you see Stonnenberg.”

“He’s here.”

 Also read: MASTERLIST

You can follow me on Ao3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

[tiava143]

Baby Boy

Chapter II (Highkey long)

Chapter 1

“So what you tryna do while mommy’s at work pop?” Erik said looking over at his son.

“Can we go to the park and hoop with CJ and cousin Cameron please?” Sage said. He enjoyed being around his cousin CJ since he was close to his age. CJ was Cameron’s oldest son, they had their kids around the same time so they are always around each other.

“Lemme see where they at.” Erik said dialing Cam’s number.

Erik shook his head chuckling, thinking about his crazy ass cousin Cameron.They were known as the Demon Twins when were together.(Let Solana and Terry tell it) Cameron is the loud outgoing smooth talker, while Erik was seen but not heard as much. But don’t think for one second they would let something happen to one another. People know not to test Erik but anyone that tries Cameron better move out of the country. They went to juvie together, hit their licks together. Shit they even had their kids together. They were thick as thieves, since they were youngins if you seen one you seen the other. Even though they were cousins ,they were brothers to outsiders.

“If you aint talkin’ money, ion wanna talk its Big Cam the p, what it be?” Cameron yelled in the phone.

“Get yo’ dusty ass up nigga. Ima come scoop you and jr we finna’ hit the park.” Erik laughed as he turned onto his block.

“Fuck you nigga that aint what ya’ baby mama said when i was in ha’ chest last night.” Cameron laughed. “Nigga dont shot, playin’ with my best friend name.” Erik heard his girlfriend Terry say over the phone. “Im just playin’ ma. But ight fool, gimme 10.”

“Hurry yo lanky ass up, we burnin’ daylight.”  Erik said hanging up and pulling in front of his cousin’s house. Sage got out the car and ran to the door and CJ answered the door to let them in.

“What’s the deal lil cuzzo?” Erik said walking into the house dapping him then sat on the couch. Sage and CJ ran into his room  to play video games. Terry came out the room and hugged Erik.

“Hey E. Why you up so early ?” She said walking into the kitchen to start cooking breakfast.

“Wassup squirt, I had to drop yo’ crazy ass best friend off at work. You know she stay on my ass about everything.” He said chuckling.

“Well if you just did what the fuck we ask then we wouldn’t be sweatin’ you all the time. Y'all just don’t fuckin’ listen. Just like ya hard headed cousin.” Terry said rolling her eyes and mixing the pancake batter.

“TJ I do listen to her, everytime some shit happens at her job I’m the listening to her rant all fuckin’ night about it.” He said shrugging his shoulders.

“I’m not talking about just that one time E. I mean listen like understand the shit we say and take it into consideration, not just listen as the words go through one ear and out the fucking other. We wanna feel like were valued. Not just a damn object yall fuck on. You wanna degrade and manipulate bitches you better go get Becky with the good hair, because us black queens aint finna deal with it.Periodt.” She ranted while pouring the batter on the skillet.

“Aw shit you done got her ass started.Every time you come over here she starts” Cameron said walking into the living room holding his 9 month on daughter Chanel. He daps Erik and hands Chanel to him then walks in the kitchen. Erik rocks her to sleep then lays her in her crib.

“Don’t even try and front with E. You know damn well i’ll fuck you up myself. Try that shit if you want to.” Terry Said mean-mugging him. Cameron wrapped his arms around her waist and placed soft kisses on her cheek.

“And you know Big Daddy don’t play that shit so I dare you to try me.” He said lowly into her ear then sucks on her earlobe. Erik groans watching then stands up.

“Man c'mon you bullshittin’ she gon’ be here when you come back. Gremlins let’s go or you gon’ get left.” He said walking out the door. The boys ran out the door and hopped in the car.

“I’ll save y'all some food for when y'all get back I know you gon be all grumpy when E whoops ya ass at the court.” Terry said walking Cam out the door laughing. Erik started laughing then hugged Terry.

“That’s a damn shame even yo’ girl know ima whoop yo ass Cam.” He said walking to the car and gets in. Cameron mugged her as he walked towards the car shaking his head.“You disloyal heffa. You suppose to be my number one supporter.” Cam said getting in the car and rolling the window up. Terry laughed as she went back in the house. Erik proceeded to drive off.

“Nigga how you let ya girl punk you like that?” Erik said looking at the songs on his phone to play.

“Fuck you, she only do it around you and Lana. Yall be gettin’ her started on them fuckin’ "I’m independent, fuck all these niggas,i don’t need a nigga for shit” rants. Like fuck…she’ll never be quiet.“ Cam said scrolling on insta. Erik chuckled looking over at him."Remind you of somebody? You like a tape recorder. You just keep going on and on and on. It’s a reason why you still with her. Am i wrong ?” He said pulling into the parking lot of the park.

“Im telling mommy you’re talking about her again. Daddy remember what she said the last time.” CJ said from the backseat looking at his dad.

Erik looked back  at him and started laughing. “What she say CJ?”

“She said ‘Keep that saamee energy.’ ” He said rolling his neck how Terry does it. Erik was rolling when he got out the car and ran. Cameron stayed quiet the whole time as the whole conversation went on. He knew if he said something else his son would snitch on him. He glared at Erik as he walked towards the courts with the boys.

“You done nigga?” Cam said annoyed.

Erik whipped a tear from his eye and took a breath. “Yeah I’m done. I aint know she was doin’ my boy like thaaat.” Cameron shook his head and started bouncing the basketball.

“Look CJ if i can teach you one good thing in this world it’s when you’re around the fellas you keep what’s said to yourself. Don’t go reporting shit to ya mama and what not. That’s guy code man. Trust me.” Cameron said shooting the ball into the hoop.

“Yeah….no matter how scared ya daddy is of a girl that’s 5'2.” Erik said laughing and grabbing the ball and bouncing it to Sage. Cameron shook his head.

Solana’s Pov

I’m so sick of this job. Well not necessarily, it is my dream job to be a fashion designer. Some of my female co-workers here are so jealous, like don’t get mad at me for doing what Jordan wants. He asks and I deliver.Here we are in another meeting so he can tell us what’s to come with the next client.

“Alright everyone great job pulling through with last week’s client Jynesse. A special thanks to Solana, she delivered the most outstanding design for Jyneese and as a plus the outfit was on the cover of Essence magazine. Keep up the great work.” Jordan said clapping as well as everyone else except Amber. This bitch is a fucking hater i swear. Amber’s been working for Jordan for about 5 years and she was his top designer. Well until i showed up, not to toot my own horn but beep beep. I’ve been here for the past 2 years now and clients have grabbed my designs back to back and now she’s mad. Amber has tried so hard to sabotage my designs but it turns around and bites her in the ass every time. One time i had to convince Jordan not to fire her stank ass but she doesn’t know it. She tries so hard to be in my position it’s exhausting. Like bitch get a life. And she better not think for one second that i didn’t catch her dusty ass making googly eyes with Erik’s dumb ass. If she keeps disrespecting me i might have to show her why i got this AK-47 tatted on my leg.

“Now for this week’s project our client Mrs. Keyshia Ka’oir wants a piece for her birthday party coming up in a few weeks. It seems that her and her Husband want to be matching somehow. She wants a dress that’s extra as possible in her words.Oh, and she wants it to be red all over.Rough sketches are due tomorrow and all projects are due next Friday so get to it everyone, she will be here to hand pick which style she wants so it better be extravagant.Good luck.” Jordan said

“Greaaatt, more stress.” I said mumbling as i stand up and started walking towards my office. As i was walking through the door i see her looking at me up and down from her door. Yes our offices are across from each other. A great fucking coincidence right? I turned around and faced her leaning against my door frame.

“Do you have problem? You’ve been looking at me all day with a stank face so what is your issue?” I said glaring back at her as i looked at her up and down.

Amber starts to smirk shake her head at me. “Nope. All i know is you better be prepared to lose your spot on top because once Keyshia looks at my design its game over for you baby girl. So, have fun while you can.”

“Girl bye, nobody is worried about your tired ass, old ass, styles. Amber you’ve put out the same style the past five assignments we’ve had its old sis. You want to impress somebody, impress yourself by trying new fabric or you know better yet try a career because this apparently isn’t it for you.” I said rolling my eyes and closing my door. I can’t believe that bitch really tired me. Just wait till I get my sketch ready, I born to do this.

~At the park~

Erik and Cameron were playing one on one while Sage and CJ were playing on the other side of the court. The kids got tired of just playing basketball so they wanted to do their own thing. Erik was whooping Cameron’s ass just like Terry said too.

“Where the fuck was you at last night? I called your ass to hit the strip club bruh. All the birds was there.” Cam said wiping the sweat off his forehead with his shirt.

“Man I was handlin’ business last night.” Erik said shooting the ball from the free throw line.

“What bitch was it this time?” Cameron said shaking his head and leaning on his knees. Erik chuckled bouncing the ball in between his legs.

“How you know I was with a bitch?”

“One you chuckling like you holding something, Two you never handle business without me being there or drop your location. So which one was it? Britney? La’toya? or Malina?” He said stealing the ball from Erik and going for a layup.

“I been stopped fucking with La’toya crazy ass. Remember i told you i caught that bitch puttin’ my sperm in a syringe?”

Cameron started laughing. “Hell yeah I remember that shit, that bitch was in love witchu! ’Erik gon’ be my baby’s father!’ It took me and the homies to pry that bitch off your ass.”

“Man, after that shit I was like nah i’m good shorty. But Malina.” Erik said biting his lip thinking about this morning.

“I had to put that bitch out on the curb though. She wouldn’t get out my bed and I had to take Lana to work.I wasn’t about to let this bitch sleep in my room while i was gone. Then fuck around and come back all my drawers cleaned out.” He said getting in his guard stance in front of Cameron.

“Wait, wait,wait y'all fucked this morning? Like right before you took Lana to work.You had to let the bitch spend the night too? Cuz that’s fucked up.You a dog bruh.” Cameron said laughing and pulling up to make a shot. Erik blocked the shot and switches spots.

“Man I was too drunk to take her back to her crib, I had the Henny in my system when i hit her. I told her to meet me at the spot right? She hop out the uber with this short ass dress on Cam like if the bitch bent over you could see the pussy lips wink at you bruh. I was like damn so we kickin’ it ,choppin’ it up then next thing I know she riding me on the hood of the car in the parking lot of McDonald’s. This was at like 3 in the morning too, we was up the street from my crib so i said fuck it slide through. Woke up and got in the guts again then Lana called.Kicked that bitch to the curb literally.” He said laughing as he shot a three. Erik looked back on the other side of the court to make sure Sage was okay.

Cam stood there with his mouth wide open. “Damn that bitch a freak. In the parking lot?!? Of McDonald’s?!?! Shitttt you should’ve called a nigga. We could’ve tag teamed that hoe.”

“Nigga please, Terry crazy ass aint finna’ air the clip out on me because you wanted to fuck another bitch. TJ got eyes everywhere on you. Every bitch in Inglewood know you her nigga.They aint finna’ try her or Lana.” Erik said shaking his head and taking his shirt off.

“I swear her crazy ass got a tracking device on my dick. I go into the bathroom she all like ‘Where you takin’ my dick?’ I say I’m going’ to the store she say ‘That bitch bet not be at the store.’ Next thing i know i get to the store she there waitin’ for a nigga. ‘I was just makin sure you came to the same store you always do.’” Like damn I can’t go nowhere without her being there.” Cameron said shaking his head. Erik looked behind Cameron and seen Terry’s car parked in the lot with her looking out the window at them.

“Speak of the devil, she shall appear.” He said nodding his head in the direction. Cameron raised his eyebrow with  confused look on his face.

“Cuz what you talkin’ bout?” He said turning around. “Gotdamn it ! See the shit I mean she crazy.I been gave yo crazy ass my location Terry!”Cameron said walking towards her car. Erik laughed shaking his head at them.

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[verdigrisprowl]

Apr 16 Dancitron Movie Night - Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home

Whales.

The robots did not appreciate half the humor in this movie.

Today Specs 7:39 pm *here comes a dragon! she has many treats with her today- including a wrapped package of glitchmice-shaped energon and tinsel cookies that she will attempt to discreetly slide to Ravage. She does try to remember these things.* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:41 pm *Ravage quickly snaps up the package and hurries over to the bar to hide it.*

[[Good evening, dragon. We have acquired more treats for you as well. They are dead, unfortunately, but he could not risk them infesting his home.]]

*He'll slide a bowl of big alien beetles to her. Each one's about the size of a human fist.* Prowl 7:42 pm *arrives and takes her seat at the table by the door. she may also be listening to the 'singing' with interest* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:43 pm [[Good evening, Prowl. Fuel, not at three times the usual payment?]] Smokescreen 7:43 pm /Smokescreen's coming in, and is going to try to swipe some drinks and snacks before sitting next to Prowl!/ ItsyBitsySpyers 7:43 pm =Hmph.= Prowl 7:43 pm *coughs into her fist* That would be appreciated. Specs 7:44 pm Thank you, Soundwave! *they may be dead, but she's still delighted. she grabs one immediately and starts tearing the legs off to eat* They're very good! *well. they're dead beetles. but it's the thought that counts, and they're crunchy enough to make up for being a little mealy in flavor.* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:44 pm *He'll handle that then - and nudge Smokescreen a little to one side with a feeler when he gets in the way.* Smokescreen 7:44 pm /He's making a move to nudge Soundwave back, but does make some room!/ Prowl 7:45 pm Hello, Smokescreen. *she's started recognizing him by sound and now she's got her visor activated so she'll have him pinned by energy signature as well* Smokescreen 7:46 pm !! /Excited waving at Prowl/ Hey Prowl! How's your week been going? Prowl 7:48 pm Fine. Your week? Smokescreen 7:49 pm It's- it's been better, but it's also been worse. I'm trying to get some more stuff planned for my Cybertron! I think I can get Knock Out interested in helping make a bath house, and I'm starting to look into what we'd need for a theater. Smokescreen 7:49 pm ... I should probably tell Megs about that later. Prowl 7:53 pm *Prowl doesn't care much about the bathhouse, but...* Outdoor theatres have traditionally done better on Cybertron due to their ability to allow for seating any size-class. Acoustics would need to be considered. How big of a stage you'll need depends on the size of the performers. *pointedly ignores the comment about Megatron* ItsyBitsySpyers 7:55 pm ((ten minutes before stream starts grab ur food now)) Tarantulas 7:55 pm *is early for once! gonna slide over to give smokey some helm pets since vprowl's not here yet* *not verbally gonna interrupt tho* Smokescreen 7:56 pm That's true! I was thinking indoor theater might be easier with acoustics, but then you get the whole issue of making sure everything is sized right- I think outdoor might be the way to go! There's a smaller theater in these crystal gardens I designed, but it's not really meant for large crowds. Specs 7:56 pm *since tara's not a beetle, it definitely won't be awkward for him to observe the predatory dismemberment and devouring of these snacks. she'll give him a friendly wave. smartest spide she knows, coming through!* Smokescreen 7:57 pm /Surprised beep at the helm pats, reaching to pet Tarantulas back in excitement. He missed Messy!/ Tarantulas 7:57 pm *honestly tara finds the chowing-down rather adorable - specs gets a shiny visor smile as he passes* Prowl 7:59 pm Outdoor acoustics are actually quite simple. There was a theatre in Praxus... you could hear a whisper from even the farthest seats. Tarantulas 8:00 pm *oh! and yeah, a greeting ping to sw* Smokescreen 8:00 pm I think I remember the kinda theater you mean! I only got to be there once or twice, but it was pretty intense, right? I wish I had the actual plans for it, though... Prowl 8:02 pm I'm certain I can find something about the one we had. I intend to have it rebuilt in my own universe. It certainly couldn't hurt to have another somewhere else. Smokescreen 8:04 pm You should! That'd be really awesome to see- and I can help you when you start building yours! ItsyBitsySpyers 8:04 pm *Soundwave nods to those who have come in, and returns the greeting ping. It looks like a relatively quiet night. So be it - he could use the break.* Prowl 8:05 pm *Tara gives off the most interesting readings on Prowl's visors. Different enough, she's momentarily distracted by trying to parse what they're saying about his energy... oh right, Smokescreen* Yes, of course. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:05 pm ((WARNINGS: Speciesism?, ableist slur, swearing, horrifying animal footage)) ItsyBitsySpyers 8:06 pm *Soundwave parks himself on his couch, stretches one arm across the back, and leaves the other hand on a leg.*

[[We continue Spock's journey tonight.]] Smokescreen 8:07 pm This series is basically Sponk's Adventure, right? VProwl 8:07 pm *appears, just barely in time.* How much did I miss? Prowl 8:07 pm Nothing yet. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:07 pm [[None. It is just beginning. Do sit?]] [[And one could see it that way, yes.]] VProwl 8:07 pm Ah. Good. *and there's the title, even! He sits.* Smokescreen 8:07 pm ... /Smokescreen's hugging Tarantulas tightly- since he's sure Messy's going to leave to go over there./ Tarantulas 8:07 pm *returns the hug! then pings smokey a greeting/promise to check in, pets his helm one last time, and makes his way to his usual couch to settle in* VProwl 8:07 pm Sorry I'm... Well. I guess I'm NOT late, but. Tarantulas 8:08 pm You're later than I am, which usually tends to mean 'fairly late'. Smokescreen 8:09 pm /He's turning back towards Roundprowl, mainly to make a point of not looking in the direction of Tarantulas or Boxyprowl./ If there's ever anything I can do to help, just lemme know! VProwl 8:09 pm I guess I'm late, then. Sorry. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:09 pm [[He'll forgive you.]] Soft huff. Nod to Tarantulas. Welcome to the Couch. Prowl 8:09 pm We weren't waiting long. Tarantulas 8:10 pm Shhshh. *nuzzles prowl as they settle in, will he allow arms around his back?* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:12 pm [[You demand much for one with their story wrong.]] VProwl 8:14 pm *he'll start violently at the arms behind his back. once he sees who it is, though, he settles back against them, with yet another mumbled apology.* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:14 pm *Concern ping. Okay there?* VProwl 8:16 pm @S «... Haven't been sleeping well. Took a nap before the show. Didn't sleep well.» Smokescreen 8:17 pm he'd give his life, not for honor but for- kirk? ItsyBitsySpyers 8:17 pm @P: [[You as well, then.]] Tiny pause. [[You are welcome to stay tonight. He would - he'd prefer that, himself. ... You may stay other days as well, if it would help.]] Swoop 8:18 pm ((ooc swoop still. don't mind me)) ItsyBitsySpyers 8:18 pm ((np! enjoy the whales 😀)) Swoop 8:18 pm ((love this movie <3 )) Prowl 8:18 pm ((ooc swoop <3 Swoop 8:19 pm ((he is still a potato)) ((a wiggly potato)) ((a crinkle cut french fry)) Prowl 8:19 pm ((poor baby Swoop 8:20 pm ((he's getting his momentum again)) ItsyBitsySpyers 8:20 pm @P: [[Or if there is anything else you require. He will offer it.]] It was his fault they all went into that... event. Swoop 8:20 pm ((y'all are lucky he doesn't get offended easy or everyone really enjoying quiet time would hurt his feelings)) Smokescreen 8:22 pm There's the Alpha Trion soundalike! ItsyBitsySpyers 8:22 pm [[The human is far less irritating.]] Prowl 8:23 pm Significantly so. Smokescreen 8:23 pm Well- maybe, but I never got to be friends with this human. VProwl 8:23 pm @S «I'd... like the company. Although I apologize if I wake you.» *he'd been sleeping with the Constructicons; it wasn't enough, so somehow he doubted adding Soundwave would be much more help either. But it was worth trying.* @S «... You've been through this more than me. What do /you/ need?» Smokescreen 8:24 pm ((i'm just imagining everyone sleeping on top of prowl)) Tarantulas 8:24 pm (( constructipile VProwl 8:24 pm ((everyone except long haul, the mattress)) Smokescreen 8:25 pm ((It's easier to sleep if you can't move right)) ItsyBitsySpyers 8:25 pm ((i love this conversation)) Specs 8:26 pm ((mccoy blease)) VProwl 8:27 pm ((why are the subtitles lagging so much ugh)) ItsyBitsySpyers 8:28 pm ((i'm sorry)) Specs 8:28 pm ((cri)) Magnum Ace 8:28 pm ((give me a sec, com went stupid Swoop 8:28 pm ((cro you need to establish your subtitle dominance over this thing)) Prowl 8:29 pm This is the same style of music as earlier. Tarantulas 8:31 pm *amused hum* Smokescreen 8:31 pm Sounds usually picks these songs for a reason. ... Wait, are whales really a thing? Prowl 8:33 pm I don't know. I've never been to Earth. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:33 pm @P: [[So does he.]] They could sit there being sleepless together. Better than being the only one awake in a building filled with those who weren't. [[He - does not know what he needs. He WANTS to... to leave, for a while. To be somewhere safe, where nobody fears - that.]] There's something weakly humorous to the next part, but it feels more desperate than funny. [[Perhaps to travel back in time. Erase... things.]]

[[He can't do any of that. Sleep is all there is.]] Tarantulas 8:33 pm *snort* Yes, yes they are. I modeled a Chimeracon design after one. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:33 pm [[...How large was that mech?]] Tarantulas 8:34 pm /Very./ Hyeheh. Blaster 8:34 pm ((sheesh VProwl 8:34 pm @S «Would a vacation help?» Prowl 8:34 pm *thanks Kirk for answering Prowl's question about how big these whales were* Blaster 8:34 pm ((bwah Smokescreen 8:34 pm I've been to Earth, but it's not like I've been in the ocean to check... ItsyBitsySpyers 8:34 pm @P: [[If he could take one.]] Blaster 8:35 pm ((oh, that one made it through ItsyBitsySpyers 8:35 pm ((hello hello)) Blaster 8:35 pm ((hiiii VProwl 8:35 pm @S «Of course you can take one. Cybertron won't fall apart in the time you're gone.» Specs 8:37 pm *well this looks absolutely terrifying. the dragon's just gonna put her tail over her eyes* Blaster 8:38 pm ((going to change muses, okay? ItsyBitsySpyers 8:39 pm @P: [[He will miss too much. And it would be unfair to leave you behind.]] *Soundwave stretches out a feeler to gently pat the dragon.*

((okiedokie)) VProwl 8:39 pm @S «You will not and no it won't. Everything will be recorded and you can download it when you get back. Take a vacation.» Specs 8:39 pm *and the dragon peeks out from under her tail. the Comfort has been accepted* Smokescreen 8:40 pm can someone nightcore this Omicron 8:42 pm *big predacon comes in, with a new hatchling on her back, looks around* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:42 pm *Uncertain shifting. Why wouldn't it be unfair? To take a vacation from what happened and leave one of the other parties to carry on their usual stressful duties, without the ability to speak to anyone else who'd been there? While they were having problems of their own?*

*But Prowl said it wouldn't. And he can't lie.*

*It still doesn't sound right.*

@P: [[He will... consider it.]] Blaster 8:42 pm ((okay, I'm good ItsyBitsySpyers 8:42 pm [[Nightcore?]] Specs 8:43 pm *chirps at Icy! forgive her for not flying over immediately, she is cronching on bugs* Smokescreen 8:43 pm ... Wait, you don't know what nightcore is, Sounds? ItsyBitsySpyers 8:43 pm [[How clever.]] VProwl 8:43 pm @S «I suggest you start by considering when, exactly, you're going to take it.» Omicron 8:44 pm *chirps back, its okay, nom away! finds a place to lay down* VProwl 8:44 pm ... Is that really all a Vulcan needs to do to look completely human? Blaster 8:44 pm -showing up really late here- Omicron 8:44 pm *was late too* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:44 pm *...Small nod. It's hard to keep arguing when Prowl sounds as serious as that.*

[[Facially.]] [[Good evening, Ice Queen. Blaster.]] Blaster 8:45 pm Hello, Soundwave VProwl 8:45 pm I mean—I always thought the only visual difference between them was the ears—but I assumed that was just because most organics with that body type look the same to me. I didn't think they actually looked that similar to /each other./ Omicron 8:45 pm good evening Soundwave... Racer couldn't make it this time VProwl 8:45 pm Is he alright? Specs 8:46 pm What happened? He isn't ill, is he? Prowl 8:46 pm Racer? Swoop 8:46 pm ((this movie is beautiful)) Smokescreen 8:46 pm d... double dumbass?? ItsyBitsySpyers 8:46 pm [[Bajorans resemble humans with badly, badly broken noses. The other differences are hidden elsewhere.]]

[[Is he well?]] Tarantulas 8:46 pm (( the MUSIC Smokescreen 8:46 pm I gotta use that sometime VProwl 8:46 pm ((four buttcheeks)) Smokescreen 8:46 pm /Also, he's going to send Soundwave some examples of nightcore!/ Omicron 8:47 pm he's growing again, not exactly ill Tarantulas 8:47 pm Growing? *immediately interested* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:47 pm *Soundwave will review them after the movie. He means to keep his focus on the few humans (and one Vulcan) he likes. And these whale creatures.* Smokescreen 8:47 pm ... Is that a lot? Blaster 8:48 pm ....what just happened? Smokescreen 8:48 pm Man- I wanna try time travelling sometime ItsyBitsySpyers 8:48 pm ((what... about... the bus)) Smokescreen 8:48 pm ((asdvndsfnm I WAS THINNKIG OF THAT Blaster 8:49 pm ((they blind as hell Smokescreen 8:49 pm sdvbnadsmbxcvbn Omicron 8:49 pm pfffttt VProwl 8:49 pm ((wessels)) Smokescreen 8:49 pm oh nooo Blaster 8:49 pm This is supposed to be stealth? Omicron 8:50 pm I think? Smokescreen 8:50 pm I don't think they know what stealth is- Is that the kinda information in yellow pages? and the whole bus clapped Blaster 8:51 pm ....... Specs 8:51 pm ... Blaster 8:51 pm I'm worried Omicron 8:51 pm good? hmm Smokescreen 8:51 pm .... is spock gonna say fuck say fu VProwl 8:51 pm ((is spock gonna fuck)) Specs 8:52 pm ((no that's mccoy's job)) ItsyBitsySpyers 8:52 pm ((if you believe the pon farr episode, yeah)) Smokescreen 8:52 pm ((asdnvcbv Prowl 8:52 pm ((ahaha Omicron 8:52 pm *Icy starting to get worried for the humans there* ...no steath VProwl 8:52 pm ((spock's gonna fuck)) Swoop 8:52 pm ((-finger guns-)) ItsyBitsySpyers 8:52 pm [[None at all.]]

[[...He wonders if there is a cephalopod institute.]] Omicron 8:52 pm ((nice)) (ORCA!) ItsyBitsySpyers 8:52 pm *...They LOOK like fish.* Blaster 8:52 pm They're not very good at this Smokescreen 8:52 pm ((Spock has and will fuck again Omicron 8:53 pm fish swim side ways VProwl 8:53 pm *... looks at tarantulas. is there?* Smokescreen 8:53 pm ... no teeth?? But why Omicron 8:53 pm whales swim up and down mostion *nodding* ItsyBitsySpyers 8:53 pm *Joins the looking at Tarantulas.* VProwl 8:53 pm ((spock voice: "i've fucked before and i'll fuck again")) Specs 8:53 pm Some things don't need teeth. Like skin parasites. Tarantulas 8:53 pm *is being looked at* ...Probably? Smokescreen 8:53 pm ... Is that why I've never seen a whale? Blaster 8:54 pm That's terrible Specs 8:54 pm Humans really will eat anything. Omicron 8:54 pm *Icy makes a face* Specs 8:54 pm ((I love that "I'm going to have to steal these" face)) Tarantulas 8:55 pm *does two seconds of research and pings sw a link to the NRCC* https://www.gulfbase.org/organization/national-resource-center-cephalopods ItsyBitsySpyers 8:55 pm *...Places post-film priority on that over nightcore. If octopuses can't make him feel better, nothing will.* Omicron 8:56 pm (that Vancouver aquarium?) Specs 8:56 pm ((SPOCK)) VProwl 8:56 pm ((kirk's face)) Blaster 8:56 pm .............. Omicron 8:56 pm ..............??? ItsyBitsySpyers 8:56 pm ((monterey bay aquarium)) Blaster 8:56 pm -snorts- Stealth ItsyBitsySpyers 8:57 pm [[....They have invented the direct opposite of stealth.]] Blaster 8:57 pm Yep VProwl 8:57 pm ((i just, can't get over kirk's face journey)) Specs 8:57 pm *the dragon stifles a snicker* Anti-stealth. ItsyBitsySpyers 8:57 pm ((it's great)) Prowl 8:57 pm ((I love Kirk in this movie so much Tarantulas 8:57 pm (( 'THE HELL' Smokescreen 8:57 pm the hell they did Blaster 8:58 pm ((jyeeeep)) Smokescreen 8:58 pm he's trying to get his words noticed ... he's no longer allowed to say fuck Prowl 8:58 pm I thought he did very well. Omicron 8:58 pm primus ItsyBitsySpyers 8:59 pm [[The hell you say.]] Smokescreen 8:59 pm I thought so too! Slang is weird. Specs 8:59 pm ((Lisa you are TEARING ME APART)) Smokescreen 8:59 pm I like her. Tarantulas 9:00 pm H-how did they - ? ItsyBitsySpyers 9:00 pm ((ftr: this being an old movie, it has since been established that they're HELLA intelligent, have their own pod dialects, etc)) [[Who are Robin Hood and Friar Tuck?]] Blaster 9:01 pm No idea ItsyBitsySpyers 9:01 pm [[He doesn't remember them giving aliases.]] Omicron 9:01 pm These organics have no sense of stealth or disguise VProwl 9:01 pm (("lds")) Smokescreen 9:01 pm LDS? VProwl 9:01 pm ((real smooth kirk)) ItsyBitsySpyers 9:01 pm ((snorted one too many mormons)) Specs 9:01 pm ((not a humpback whale thing, but my favorite whale pod is the one where the pod leader has no dorsal fin and his probable-girlfriend is missing a chunk of her face)) Smokescreen 9:01 pm What's that? Omicron 9:01 pm (aw) ItsyBitsySpyers 9:02 pm [[A tire iron? A vehicle repair tool.]] Specs 9:02 pm ((they're a very small family pod IIRC, but they're still going! I love them!)) Omicron 9:02 pm (I like J, K and L pods of orcas around here..... we had babies) Blaster 9:02 pm I think that's a threat Specs 9:02 pm ((babies!!!!!)) Blaster 9:03 pm Like...she'd take it an swing it like a weapon at them Prowl 9:03 pm Ha. Omicron 9:03 pm [I hope they live] pfft ItsyBitsySpyers 9:03 pm ((so do i))

[[Spock, please. Do not talk for now.]] Prowl 9:03 pm His honestly may go more smoothly than Kirk's lying. Smokescreen 9:04 pm Mannn I wanna go time travelling like this VProwl 9:04 pm ((i'm so disappointed that none of the robots in this room can appreciate the humor of a guy with an obvious russian accent cheerfully asking where to find nuclear vessels in the mid 80s)) Swoop 9:04 pm ((*wessels)) VProwl 9:04 pm ((wessels)) ItsyBitsySpyers 9:04 pm ((LOL and yes, me too)) Specs 9:04 pm ((neither can the dragon, but the humanspecs appreciates it)) Blaster 9:04 pm ((just...wow. Guys, no Omicron 9:05 pm pfft VProwl 9:06 pm These are the only two that are doing a half decent job of maintaining their cover. Omicron 9:06 pm *sniffs and eyes bar thoughtfully* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:06 pm *Soundwave pings Prowl. And Tarantulas.* @P/T: [[Listen.]] VProwl 9:07 pm *he's listening.* Smokescreen 9:07 pm oh no asdfgbnbvcbvn' Swoop 9:07 pm ((he's so entertained)) Tarantulas 9:07 pm *pings back, yes?* Omicron 9:07 pm .........really? Tarantulas 9:08 pm *snickering, oh beautiful* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:08 pm *They'll see shortly.* VProwl 9:08 pm *.................. crosses legs.* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:08 pm *Barely manages not to huff loud enough for everyone not on the couch to hear.* Smokescreen 9:09 pm p. Pfpff Specs 9:10 pm *pizza tossing? that looks fun.* Smokescreen 9:11 pm I wanna toss dough Omicron 9:12 pm *Icy wonders what pizza tastes like* Prowl 9:12 pm Toss what? Specs 9:12 pm It's not that-. *oh. she forgot how big cybertronians are* Hm. It might be a little difficult for you. Smokescreen 9:12 pm They were tossing this pizza dough! I've learned a few things about how it works and it sounds really fun is he gonna tell her all about the space whales Prowl 9:13 pm And pizza is... a type of fuel? ItsyBitsySpyers 9:14 pm [[Organic fuel.]] Smokescreen 9:14 pm Yeah! It's something you eat with friends! Omicron 9:14 pm I would assume so for humans? Prowl 9:14 pm Ah. Smokescreen 9:15 pm Let her come to the 23rd century! ItsyBitsySpyers 9:15 pm =DOG.= *And that is Ravage's high-as-hell contribution for the night.* Prowl 9:15 pm *excellent contribution, Ravage* Specs 9:15 pm *the dragon has become a drug dealer for cats. what a life she leads* Smokescreen 9:15 pm You got that right, Ravage! Omicron 9:16 pm *Icy snickers and there's a mew from her back in response to ravage* Blaster 9:16 pm . . . ItsyBitsySpyers 9:17 pm *Soundwave glances over to Icy. The mew again.* Smokescreen 9:17 pm Also Sounds- Sounds? Do whales still exist? Specs 9:17 pm *chirps at the mewer. hello friend! she is eating bugs.* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:18 pm [[They do.]] Omicron 9:18 pm *Icy grins wide at Soundwave, the predacon did say she would bring the younger hatching this time* Smokescreen 9:18 pm Wait, really? Can you show me sometime? Omicron 9:19 pm have you seen planetary whales smokescreen? ItsyBitsySpyers 9:19 pm [[...Show you?]] *Confused tilt.* [[They are in the middle of the ocean.]] Smokescreen 9:19 pm Nope! I've never seen them- I didn't know for sure they were real until now. ... Well, yeah- but there's gotta be some way to see 'em, right? Specs 9:20 pm Go into the ocean. If you can swim. ((BIG MOOD)) Smokescreen 9:21 pm I can't swim though Specs 9:21 pm Neither can I. Prowl 9:21 pm You don't need to breathe, Smokescreen. Just walk. Tarantulas 9:22 pm *pointed side glance at sw, pls don't ask him to get whales now to add to the cephaloparty* Smokescreen 9:22 pm But the ocean gets pretty dense, doesn't it? I'd probably get crushed by the pressure Omicron 9:22 pm don't go swiming Smokey ItsyBitsySpyers 9:22 pm *Don't worry, he won't. Smokescreen might want a cetacevent though.* Omicron 9:22 pm as far as I know a lot of mechs can't handle the pressure. Blaster 9:23 pm ..... Tarantulas 9:23 pm (( omg "cetacevent" Smokescreen 9:24 pm That's why I wanna see if there's a better way to check 'em out! Specs 9:24 pm *HAH* Omicron 9:24 pm ....good human female Specs 9:26 pm Ow. Omicron 9:26 pm ......I want a cloaking thing for dreaded Wings ItsyBitsySpyers 9:27 pm [[She reacted to feeling the transporter. He wonders if it feels like our bridges.]] Smokescreen 9:28 pm I hear humans usually purge using our bridges the first time, though. So maybe these are gentler? Omicron 9:29 pm I would hope so, or the humans would never keep anything down pfft Specs 9:29 pm *snickers* Doctors are doctors. Smokescreen 9:30 pm ... ca can I say the line sounds Prowl 9:31 pm What line? Omicron 9:32 pm go medics ItsyBitsySpyers 9:32 pm [[What line?]] Smokescreen 9:32 pm they said something about the spanish inquisition and- I don't want to say it now but you know what I mean, right? ItsyBitsySpyers 9:32 pm [[Oh. Yes, he knows that joke. Go on.]] *The twins like to use it at him.* Smokescreen 9:32 pm /He's quickly changing to a red paint job./ Nobody expects them! ItsyBitsySpyers 9:33 pm =HA= Smokescreen 9:33 pm I've been waiting for a chance to say that! Blaster 9:33 pm -snickering- Smokescreen 9:33 pm also I want a whole series of this Omicron 9:33 pm Pffft Specs 9:33 pm *the dragon is a terrible person and making a beetle dance. she's having a great time* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:33 pm ((i like how bones has to be told there isn't time to attend to the broken bone guy they knocked over)) Tarantulas 9:34 pm (( it's super cute Specs 9:34 pm ((bones is perfect)) Blaster 9:34 pm ((gotta love medics Smokescreen 9:34 pm let her come along! Omicron 9:34 pm ((yesss)) Tarantulas 9:34 pm Rude! Omicron 9:34 pm HAH! Specs 9:34 pm Hyeh. VProwl 9:34 pm ... She could have gotten them both killed. Smokescreen 9:35 pm ... does that count as pulling a miko Omicron 9:35 pm true Blaster 9:35 pm That...was dangerous Smokescreen 9:35 pm sneaking along for a mission in a potentially deadly way Omicron 9:35 pm but oddly fitting? Specs 9:35 pm She's a caretaker. I don't know many docents who wouldn't risk their own lives to keep taking care of their charges. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:36 pm [[She could have, yes. If their transporters were any older, she very well might have.]] [[He has seen the accidents. It is... unpleasant.]] Blaster 9:36 pm ....don't wanna know VProwl 9:36 pm She couldn't have kept taking care of them if she got herself killed with unknown technology. Smokescreen 9:36 pm I wanna know- what kinda accidents are there? VProwl 9:36 pm Nor does she have any right to endanger SOMEONE ELSE'S life in the process. Omicron 9:36 pm I would rather not please Specs 9:37 pm And that is where the other portion of the docents come in, yes. *the dragon smiles in the "normal" way, showing all those teeth* Although we're a very selfish species. Humans are probably less so. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:37 pm @S: [[Being turned inside out, being melded with the other life form in the transporter, pattern data loss...]] Omicron 9:37 pm That human has claws? Smokescreen 9:37 pm ... Oh. Oh, ouch. ItsyBitsySpyers 9:38 pm =Flat claws. No good.= Omicron 9:38 pm *growls at the screen, little attempt to mimic on her back* Specs 9:39 pm *gets real poofy and growls too. gotta do what the Big Dragon do. And it's horrible to slaughter innocent animals for fun.* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:40 pm [[Effective.]] Specs 9:40 pm ((oh that's a mood)) Blaster 9:40 pm -breaks down laughing- ItsyBitsySpyers 9:41 pm *Is vaguely pleased to see that. Blaster probably doesn't get many chances for it.* Omicron 9:41 pm *Icy jerks, looking around, what the frag why did she black out for a minute and where is her hatchling???* ((>.> *eyes internet)) Specs 9:42 pm Spock would be allowed to bite him for that. VProwl 9:42 pm Don't taunt him for making a guess. It's obvious he doesn't have any alternative. Blaster 9:42 pm -not many, recently, no- Blaster 9:43 pm -recovers a bit, and huffs- I'm good Omicron 9:44 pm *Icy's tracking her escaped hatchling, don't mind her in the back* Blaster 9:45 pm ..... Omicron 9:45 pm what is that?? ItsyBitsySpyers 9:45 pm [[A probe. It is trying to speak to the whales and causes damage in the process.]] Omicron 9:46 pm something from earlier? Specs 9:46 pm *the soft dragon is chewing on beetles* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:46 pm [[Yes. It is the entire reason they went back in time to fetch whales.]] Omicron 9:47 pm aah ItsyBitsySpyers 9:47 pm [[There was nothing to answer it, so it stays put, damaging Earth.]] Omicron 9:47 pm *fluffy dragon gets tail batted at by hatchling* Specs 9:48 pm *the dragon poofs in surprise, before looking down at the smol. well, hello. have a lick to the forehead, little one.* Omicron 9:49 pm *hatchlings gives a happy squeaky mew, inching forwards to see whats being nomed* Specs 9:51 pm *that's a beetle! maybe don't eat that. it's dragon food, not predacon food. but inching forwards means getting GROOMED. lick lick. only clean hatchlings here.* VProwl 9:52 pm ... Why does everything have subtitles except the whales' conversation? *that's the only part he needs translated.* Omicron 9:52 pm *Icy tilts head listening intently to the sounds while hatchling meeps abou being groomed* ItsyBitsySpyers 9:52 pm [[Perhaps we are not meant to know what they said.]] [[Secrets for their audials only.]] VProwl 9:53 pm If so they wouldn't be broadcasting it on an open frequency. Smokescreen 9:53 pm the most secret whales Tarantulas 9:53 pm I've never attempted to interpret whalesong, but my guess is it might not be able to be translated in a comprehensible manner, either. To us or the humans, that is. VProwl 9:54 pm That's absurd. Omicron 9:54 pm its sounds....like scratchy metrotitain song Specs 9:54 pm *alright, meepy baby. stay still, you need cuddles and grooming.* Blaster 9:54 pm What's absurd? ItsyBitsySpyers 9:55 pm [[Humans do not understand the /other/ animals on their planet.]] VProwl 9:55 pm The notion that a language can't be made comprehensible. Prowl 9:55 pm I'm sure a translation is possible. Just that no one's attempted it. Omicron 9:55 pm *hatchling flops on the ground, making faces but not moving away* VProwl 9:55 pm Exactly. Not attempted or not succeeded. Specs 9:57 pm *faces are fine. some babies just don't wanna be groomed as much. as long as she doesn't run away from the cuddles, it's all good. the dragon can reduce the grooming if it's so uncomfortable.* Blaster 9:57 pm It's an early human movie. I'm gonna go with not attempted ItsyBitsySpyers 9:57 pm [[Was that a valid... 'punishment'?]] Tarantulas 9:58 pm *mumbles* I beg to differ. Not everything is translatable, not really. VProwl 9:58 pm It's a documentary. It depends on what you think the purpose of punishment is. Smokescreen 9:58 pm It was a funishment! Blaster 9:58 pm Still gonna go with them not even trying ....... Being promoted can be punishment enough Omicron 9:59 pm *hatchling meeps, she got cleaned before!....but is good kitty and stays flopped* Specs 10:00 pm *well, fine. if she's ALREADY a clean hatchling, she doesn't need that much grooming. cuddles are fine.* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:01 pm [[If he understands his history correctly, next time, they will try to find their god at the center of existence.]] Smokescreen 10:02 pm That was fun, Sounds! Also what Omicron 10:02 pm *...hatchling meeps one last time before purring...kinda. cuddles are good! and Icy's not far* ....primus? Prowl 10:02 pm Fascinating. Specs 10:02 pm Will they eat their god? Tarantulas 10:02 pm *gets vaguely bitter for a moment because he realizes the whales probably won't survive for too long, transposed into the future like that, for very many reasons. tch. well, they did their job* Blaster 10:02 pm ...they what? ItsyBitsySpyers 10:02 pm [[That is, the next time he has one of these documentaries. Not next week.]]

[[He does not know which god, and he will not tell you what transpires. It is to be watched.]] Smokescreen 10:02 pm /Also- he's going to tap Prowl and offer a few energon goodies!/ VProwl 10:02 pm I thought their god was on Earth? Animating bushes and snakes and the like. Specs 10:02 pm *ah, the movie's over. the dragon chirps at Icy- it's time for her to go, but she can't leave the meeper alone.* Omicron 10:03 pm that does not sound wise to eat a god Smokescreen 10:03 pm I'd eat a god Specs 10:03 pm We ate ours. VProwl 10:03 pm Did he achieve space travel too? Prowl 10:03 pm The Klingons killed their gods. They likely ate them as well. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:03 pm [[He assumes it did. The center of existence is a long way from Earth.]] Blaster 10:03 pm What. Eat a...where did this topic come from? Omicron 10:03 pm humm, well, that's intresting Tarantulas 10:04 pm ...How do they propose to find the center of existence? VProwl 10:04 pm Hm. He made it farther than Primus. Specs 10:04 pm In all fairness, I suspect that the Eaten was far worse than Primus. Desperate times call for desperate measures. Blaster 10:05 pm -this topic concerns him on many levels- ItsyBitsySpyers 10:05 pm [[With a map, he assumes. He hasn't seen the full story yet. The species involved were unusually reluctant to discuss it with outsiders.]] Tarantulas 10:05 pm I know you call the Eaten a god, but was he /really/, though? ItsyBitsySpyers 10:05 pm ((10:25 is tonight's end point; carry on!)) Smokescreen 10:05 pm I'm going to head off, I think. I really need some recharge! What's the movie for next time? Omicron 10:05 pm *Icy makes a face, laying down with hatchling in sight....but she really has no idea who created primal predacons???? * ItsyBitsySpyers 10:06 pm [[Next time, we will see a film Rumble recommended called... The Shape of Water? He wasn't aware water had a shape. Hmm.]] Smokescreen 10:06 pm oH OH YES Rumble's got good tastes I think! Omicron 10:06 pm I like water 😊 is it cold? Specs 10:06 pm If you put it in a glass sphere, it's an orb. Prowl 10:06 pm *questions Rumble's taste in anything* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:06 pm [[Yes, he is told there was an entire war in the cold at the time.]] Prowl 10:07 pm That sounds unpleasant. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:07 pm [[A good point, dragon.]] Smokescreen 10:07 pm Wait, really? Why would they do that? VProwl 10:07 pm The "cold" part is metaphorical. Omicron 10:07 pm cold is good though Smokescreen 10:07 pm If you put water in your mouth, it's mouth shaped. Prowl 10:07 pm Cold as in no direct action taken then? VProwl 10:07 pm The "war" didn't break out into open violence. Ergo, it was cold because they weren't exchanging fire. Omicron 10:07 pm I can survive in cold, its much better then heat oh... Blaster 10:08 pm Sounds familiar Tarantulas 10:08 pm *shivers, despises cold weather* Prowl 10:08 pm What sort of movies does Rumble usually recommend? Omicron 10:08 pm *Icy makes a face....miiight be a out. She likes fighting in the cold* Smokescreen 10:08 pm Prowl- Prowl, Prowl Prowl Prowl- before I go, you want any energon goodies? Prowl 10:09 pm I suppose. Smokescreen 10:10 pm /He's going to put some down in front of Prowl, grinning at her!/ I'll see you next week, yeah? Specs 10:10 pm *sighs, and gets to her feet with the utmost reluctance* I should get going too. *sighs, and gives the meeper one last snuggle for the road* Thank you for everything, Soundwave! Prowl 10:10 pm Yes, I'll be here. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:10 pm [[Oh. A cold war, not...]] *He resists the urge to sigh into his hand. Time to clean and refine Rumble's internal dictionaries again.* [[Typically, fighting, action scenes, and wild adventures. He's made the occasional exception.]] [[Goodnight, dragon. Be well.]] VProwl 10:10 pm Maybe it's a spy movie? *there's a lot of spy movies set in the cold war. Prowl's seen...... two.* Tarantulas 10:10 pm *spider-paw waves at those who are departing* Omicron 10:11 pm *icy chirps at fluffy dragon, hatchling mews after, aww no fluffy friend!* Prowl 10:11 pm That might be interesting. Smokescreen 10:11 pm /He's looking over to Tarantulas, before quickly looking back. Probably not a good time to ask for affection/ I'll see you then! Thank you for having this, Sounds! Be sure to listen to that nightcore playlist so you get exactly what it's about. At full volume. Prowl 10:11 pm Smokescreen, I'll send you the theatre plans once I've located them. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:11 pm *Soundwave's got designs on showing another one in the future once he gives it an inspection.*

[[Naturally. There is no better way to listen to new music.]] Smokescreen 10:12 pm I'm glad we're on the same *wave*length about that! ItsyBitsySpyers 10:12 pm [[OUT.]] Tarantulas 10:12 pm *snickers* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:12 pm *Don't you pun with his name, you brat.* Smokescreen 10:12 pm Bye Sounds, love youuu ItsyBitsySpyers 10:12 pm [[Ugh.]] Omicron 10:12 pm *snorts, then chirps at soundwave questioningly * ItsyBitsySpyers 10:12 pm *Glances over to Ice Queen.* Prowl 10:13 pm *collects the energon treats carefully, will distribute them to some of the officers at work tomorrow* Smokescreen 10:13 pm /He's blowing a kiss at Soundwave before walking out./ ItsyBitsySpyers 10:13 pm *Small shudder.* Tarantulas 10:13 pm *patpat sw* Blaster 10:13 pm -sighs- Okay, my break's over. Thanks for that. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:14 pm [[You are welcome. Try not to run afoul of alien messengers.]] Omicron 10:14 pm *Icy looks at her feline offspring flopped on the floor, does soundwave still want to meet or shall she take her?* Prowl 10:14 pm He might be worse than Elita. Blaster 10:14 pm I'll try to keep that to a minimum. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:14 pm [][][]Might?[][][]

*Soundwave will go for a quick meeting, but his mood is rapidly deteriorating. It can't be long. Longer next time.* Blaster 10:14 pm -waves- G'night ItsyBitsySpyers 10:15 pm [[Goodnight.]] Prowl 10:15 pm I don't know him well enough to judge accurately yet. VProwl 10:15 pm I think I'm going to get a restraining order against him. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:16 pm [[You are the captain. He assumes there is nobody higher capable of denying you.]] Tarantulas 10:16 pm ....How do you mean, restraining order? Omicron 10:17 pm *hatchling is still flopped, though wiggling* VProwl 10:17 pm I can't just grant it, I have to take it to court. Since he hasn't threatened me, my case is weak; but I've recorded all of our conversations, I have evidence of a sustained pattern of harassment and ignoring me when I plea for him to leave me alone. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:18 pm *Soundwave stretches out a feeler to get a good look at the hatchling through the claw optics. A tendril wiggles in greeting. Hello, small one.* Tarantulas 10:18 pm But multiversally speaking, if the order is granted locally, how will it be enforced anywhere else...? ItsyBitsySpyers 10:19 pm [[He supposes that is up to the mechs in charge of keeping order in any given area.]]

[[Here, at least, that is him.]] Omicron 10:20 pm *Hatchling gasps, its a Thing! That's amazing. Wide gold optics....small paw touches the feeler* VProwl 10:21 pm That's another problem. Cross-jurisdiction restraining orders are... possible, but very difficult. There's legal precedent for them, though. Prowl 10:21 pm I'm sure something can be arranged with Praxus as well. VProwl 10:22 pm Anyway. *sighs* Even if it's slim, I'm still looking into it. I don't see any other way to get him to leave me alone permanently. Tarantulas 10:22 pm Ah - hmm. *will keep his thoughts to himself for now* *instead, prefers a brief snuggle, seeing as he'll be leaving soon himself* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:22 pm *Soundwave tries not to scare the hatchling. He has been blessed by a tiny paw. His day has improved, if only by a little. It'll resume being rough as soon as they're gone, but that's life when you're devoted to fending off enormous chaos gods.* *Gently reaches across to Tarantulas and returns the pat from earlier.* VProwl 10:23 pm *... briefly turns to squeeze an arm around Tarantulas.* Omicron 10:25 pm *hatchling sniffs the feeler, inching closer....manages to find and sniff at the lens? have a kitty nose in it and a face plant if that helps soundwave feel better and have a cute clip for later* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:27 pm *It does, and it was definitely recorded. He huffs and relaxes a hair - but it is time to close up, he thinks. There are those in need of rest.*

*He withdraws the feeler, pats the hatchling, and nudges them back toward Icy.*

[[Another time. He would like to know more about them then.]] Omicron 10:29 pm *icy nods, he still has the trip to the ship? she comes over to scoop up the meeper, she might have a name soon! humms her thanks and starts to leave* [thanks for the stream!] ItsyBitsySpyers 10:30 pm ((no prob! have a good night 😃 )) Prowl 10:30 pm I think I'll be going now. Thank you, again, Soundwave. *stands up and nods to Soundwave and then Prowl, that energy signature is familiar enough at this point* Prowl. Goodnight. ItsyBitsySpyers 10:30 pm [[Goodnight to both of you.]] VProwl 10:31 pm Evening, alternate. Tarantulas 10:31 pm *gets a last few cuddles in before politely bowing out, also* VProwl 10:32 pm *and a nod to Tarantulas as he leaves.*

*before turning to Soundwave and giving him a tired look.* Well. Off to battle nightmares, then? ItsyBitsySpyers 10:33 pm *Grabs as much comfort as he can from distractingly furry cuddles before rising and commanding the doors to lock with a subtle wave. He'll turn toward Prowl, offer a hand, and bob his helm in the direction of the stairs. Still coming?*

[[Mm. As if there were any other option these days.]] VProwl 10:34 pm Better get on with it, then. *he takes Soundwave's hand and follows him upstairs.* ItsyBitsySpyers 10:36 pm *Ravage will follow them up to help as much as he can by standing guard. May it be of some comfort in a time when there is little to be found.*

*At least there'll be warmth, two trusted mechs, and the knowledge that one of them understands.*

[canaryatlaw]

OKAY. so my entire day post is going to be put under a cut because the entire thing is WAY TMI, but there’s way too much shit that happened that I need to process and I already gave the sanitized language version of it on twitter but I can’t fully process it without getting into details. you have been warned- WAY TMI. 

okay, so. backstory, I woke up on Tuesday with stomach pain and ended up spending most of the day on the toilet. By the time I finished (like 7 hours later- yeah it was BAD) I noticed there was something weird going on down there, but I wasn’t really paying attention. Wednesday morning I was having a lot of pain and it occurred to me that maybe because of Tuesday I had a hemorrhoid (it only gets worse from here, so if that makes you squirm you should bail out now), but like, idk because I’ve never had one before and idk what they look like, so I googled it and shit and did their home remedy stuff, sitting on a ice pack helped, I did a “sitz bath” (which is basically sitting in four inches lukewarm water for 15 minutes), aloe vera, and really nothing helped. Woke up this morning and it was still bad. I showered because the warm water did help a bit, but I was getting suspicious at this point that something else was going on here, so I asked my mom to look at it and she was like WOW OKAY WE’RE GOING TO THE DOCTOR. And here lies the problem of trying to diagnose and treat your injuries off google, because I wouldn’t have known that other than my suspicions that hey there’s this giant bulge in my ass crack and it probably shouldn’t be there. my primary care couldn’t fit me in today but they recommended we go to the walk in clinic, so we do that and the doctor takes one look at that and is like “yeah this looks like a rectal prolapse and a hemorrhoid and you need to go to the ER right away” OH JOY. so if you’re not up on your scientific vocabulary, a rectal prolapse is basically when part of your digestive tract comes outside of your body and usually requires surgery to fix. wonder-fucking-ful. Thankfully we’re close to the local hospital that’s like, the number one trauma center on LI (it’s like two miles from my house so that’s always been convenient) so we go there and the urgent care people gave us a letter to give the triage people, but we still ended up waiting in the hallway for like an hour and a half, during which I was in pure misery, but the male nurse who drew my blood was sweet though and slightly flirty but in a nice and not a creepy way so there’s that at least. he left the needle in my arm because it sounded like I’d be needing it at some point. So eventually we get called, and taken into a section called the clinical decisions unit, where I guess is where they figure out if you need surgery or not. So I get in there and someone comes to look and is like OH YEAH LEMME GO GET THE DOCTOR because everyone seemed to agree this was high key bad, so they got doctors, and more doctors, they even took pictures and sent them to the head guy of the department, but the consensus was oh yeah, this needs surgery to fix. and at this point I’m just like fine, just get it done. they did give me some pain medication around 3 or so, which ended up by 5 mg of morphine, which took pretty much all my pain away and I only felt slightly woozy lol but that perked me up significantly and I was actually like talking and stuff instead of lying there looking like death. there was a bit of a wait for the OR so we had to chill for a while, then eventually I get brought in there and the surgeon comes and like, I had been thinking all day about watching The Resident and just how ridiculously easy it is for them to just straight up kill patients in routine surgeries and they have the one chief of surgery who’s got a hand tremor and is just like slicing organs open, and then in comes this guy who’s like the #1 in the department and has gray hair and I’m just like FUCK MY LIFE I hope I survive this lol (I know the show isn’t very realistic when it comes to that subject). So we’re getting ready, their general idea is that they’re just gonna cut the damn thing off because it looked infected and shit, so they go to check and the doctor is like “oh, uh, it’s gone” and I was like......”really? are you sure????” cuz apparently it slipped back in because that’s a thing that can happen, but they were like well we should still probably go ahead with the surgery because the hemorrhoid is still there and could pop back out, so we go for it, they decided to not do general anesthesia but do sedation, whatever the difference between those two is, so I was out anyway and I woke up after and they were like “yeah so turns out it wasn’t a hemorrhoid and he didn’t have to do any cutting or stitching” and I was like “....so then what did he do?” haha and I’m still not 100% sure about that one really, but they were more than happy to send me home which I was very thankful for because I did not want to spend part of my spring break in the hospital. so they got me out of there pretty quickly with a giant bandage on my butt that I’m not sure is serving any purpose at all really, but they told me to leave it on there until I shit again so I guess that’s what I’ll do. We got home, my mom went to pick up the percocet they called into the pharmacy for me but they were closed, a little while after my dad and my brother got home, my dad was speaking at this big thing tonight that he’s trying to launch at churches across the island about understanding the opioid epidemic and how to prevent it, and he said not quite as many people showed up as he would’ve liked but it was still good so that was good to hear. As far as how all this craziness started, I’ve in the past had episodes of like scathing stomach pain that make me feel like I have to go to the bathroom, but I usually end up cowering in pain on the toilet with nothing coming, until eventually something will give and it’ll all just pour out as liquid (again, I told you this is TMI) and like, it used to happen a lot more frequently when I wasn’t eating much and my regularity was thrown way off schedule (like once a week) but I don’t do that anymore and I take a fiber supplement every day because I’m on a high dose iron supplement thanks to me being super anemic, so it’s usually not an issue, it happened the night of my sister’s sweet 16 at the end of October but I think it’s only happened maybe once in the four months between then and now? And I did bring it up at my last gastroenterologist appointment but he didn't seem to think much of it and said it was probably just another muscle spasm (because he had just said my chest pain issues were probably caused by a muscle spasm). The doctor from the hospital tonight apparently recommended I get a colonoscopy done at some point to make sure everything is alright and in place, but idk if I’m gonna do that because I have a pretty good idea of just how this happened, plus I have a lot of like, traumatic memories about that stuff from when I was little and they thought I had Crohn’s disease (when it was actually just nightly cramps for an entire year before my period showed up) and being subjected to a bunch of really invasive stuff that I was not at all comfortable with so that’s not exactly gonna be on the top of my to do list. Other than that they said not to strain when going to the bathroom and eat a lot of fibre, so I’m gonna try harder to eat actual fiber and not just the shit in caplets, and try to make that work out better. and yeah, that is about it, after all that I chatted with friends for a bit then started getting ready for bed with this absurdly large bandage on my butt 😂 We’re supposed to go out to dinner to this super schmancy place (because my parents have a gift card to it) tomorrow to celebrate my brother and I’s birthdays (his was today but because of all the crazy we’re gonna celebrate this weekend) so hopefully that will work out. And oh yeah, since I turn 26 in 11 days, if this happened 11 days from now I would’ve totally FUCKED because I would’ve had no health insurance thanks to getting kicked off my parents plan at 26!!! Lovely *sigh*. And as much as it does suck to get sick on vacation, I am at least glad I was with my family and not in Chicago where I had nobody except like, Jess (and no offense to her in the slightest, because I’m sure she would’ve been great, but with this kind of thing a mom is just better suited for it), and that sounds kinda miserable. Okay, that’s the end for real now, I took my pills a while ago and now my eyes really want to shut and I’m going to listen to them. If you made it all the way through, thank you for suffering through all that TMI to find out how I’m actually doing, though I kinda doubt many of you will actually reach this far, lol, but I cannot blame you for that. Goodnight my dear friends. I hope your Thursday was a hell of a lot better than mine.

[junkobears]

More V3 Spoiler Related Anon Asks

I can’t wait for the day when I can just answer/post these without any cuts due to fear of spoiling my streaming friend... that’s gonna take months at the rate we’re going...  Also my response as fuckin’ usual got ridiculously long. To be fair these asks brought up a lot of points!

Welcome back, anon. I’m glad you guys use my blog as a way to vent out all your salty rants, haha. For real, I love seeing them! 

For one, lemme say that literally sending this ask that brings up very valid points about Chapter 5′s writing with regards to his character, in NO WAY makes you One Of Those™ Ouma fans. You clearly can look at his character beyond OMG PRETTY BOY ASSHOLE WHOSE SO TRAGIC AND DEEP AND UNPROBLEMATIC MUST DEFEND AT ALL COSTS, haha. This already makes you better than 90% of Ouma fans. And hating the awful SHSL Analyst theory is the icing on top, TBH.

BUT YES, both the Convenient Exisal Voice Changer and 300-page script annoy me so goddamn much in how blatant they are as plot devices, it’s incredibly distracting. Two of many reasons why Chapter 5 is my least favourite part of the game. I know the real reasons for having the voice changer - so you still have Ouma and Momota’s VAs around for one more trial since seiyuu appeal is a big draw of this series, and so it’s easier to keep track of who the Exisal is pretending to be at that point (although the mugshot + name should really be enough, and isn’t it mostly Ouma IIRC? but audiences are dumdums I guess). 

But it’s just... there’s no story justification for the voice changer at ALL. Why would that ever be a function in the first place? Are we just supposed to bullshit the idea that Iruma maybe included this on her handy Exisal Remote?? And if you really NEED it to be a feature... then why not foreshadow this ability with the Exisals in previous chapters - you could’ve had the Monokubs appear in Exisals earlier in the stories speaking with the voices of the dead kids to stir up shit (imagine Tenko or Kaede’s voice being used to torment both Yumeno and Saihara for instance?). Like there’s an easy 5-second fix to alleviate the issue of breaking suspension of disbelief, come on writers.

The 300-page script on the other hand... goddamn do I fucking hate that shit. One, no fucking way could anyone write THAT detailed a script whilst dying painfully from being poisoned and also having to set up five hundred different parts of your murder plan. Or was the implication that he had this script prepared in advance just in case? Which is even worse, if I’m honest. Cuz the Exisal/press plan is explicitly stated to be a last-minute plan Ouma thought of when he realized the mastermind had manipulated HaruMaki and the others into wanting to kill/stop him. 

I also hate it because it’s used a bullshit justification for how Momota managed to give off a FLAWLESS Ouma impression that NOBODY ELSE found suspicious or off-kilter in any way?? What the actual fuck. Remember back in DR1 (admittedly I don’t think this fandom has ever played DR1) when Junko’s literal twin sister could barely disguise herself as Junko, nearly broke character several times and a ton of other characters noticed how weird she was in comparison to the Junko they knew from pop culture? You’re telling me this dude who only knew this other dude for a few weeks at MOST, could pull off a better impersonation than Mukuro Ikusaba, Junko’s twin who grew up with her their whole lives??? Sorry, no, that just doesn’t really make any sense. Again, breaks my suspension of disbelief. And it would’ve set-up the reveal much better if Momota broke character several times during the trial, and having the others notice how weird ‘Ouma’ is in comparison to before, or something. Lazy, lazy writing.

You might be right that people theorize Ouma as SHSL Analyst mostly to explain away these issues, which just bugs me because V3 fans really are garbage at accepting that sometimes things are just bad writing, clearly it’s all Kodaka’s INTENTIONAL master plan... sure, hun. Also irritates because oh my god that’s Junko’s niche, guys. Does every ‘clever’ character in this series need to have their smarts explained away with ANALYSIS SUPERPOWERS? Can Ouma just not be a trolling shitlord clown who happens to be very on the ball with investigating from the shadows? Stop trying to replace the best character with your shitty woobie pretty boys, Kodaka/Fandom. For my heart, please.

And yeah, I never understood why the group immediately forgave HaruMaki for literally trying to get everyone executed at the trial (although unlike most of this fandom I can understand and sympathize with where she was coming from with trying to kill Ouma/ending the game... bless her “stab first, ask no questions” self haha)... like that should be a huge deal, guys. I liked that element with Asahina in DR1, as well, even if it did get brushed aside quite quickly even by Togami/Fukawa, at least it was BROUGHT UP in some form... like, Shirogane didn’t even try to bring that fact up as another method to divide and stir tensions within the group for the killing game? REALLY? 

In general V3 desperately needed an editor, for sure though anon. So many parts of this game either: drag on WAY LONGER than necessary (Library scene, anyone? Every after-trial scene?) there are random plot points that are brought up only to never become relevant, the pacing is completely out-of-wack, and a lot of things just aren’t adequately justified, explored or foreshadowed. I get the impression this just happens once a series becomes unexpectedly popular/best-selling - the creator is then given a lot more free reign. Which is almost always a bad thing, haha.

[the-netchiman]

Stolen from gf @lionel-del-rey

1. Who was the last person you held hands with?

smol cousin at some family function a while back.

2. Are you outgoing or shy? Neither? 

3. Who are you looking forward to seeing? My gf

4. Are you easy to get along with? Fuck no lmao

5. If you were drunk would the person you like take care of you? I have no doubt that they would try

6. What kind of people are you attracted to? Funny, kind, down to earth people are cool

7. Do you think you’ll be in a relationship two months from now? I’m about to purchase a plane ticket for my gf so I severely hope we’re together by then lmao

8. Who from the opposite gender is on your mind? ur mum

9. Does talking about sex make you uncomfortable? Only if it makes the person I’m talking to uncomfortable

10. Who was the last person you had a deep conversation with? My dad. I guess???

11. What does the most recent text that you sent say? “what the fuck do you want for chrimbus, you little bitch?”

12. What are your 5 favorite songs right now? Oh no I don’t know gonna pull these out my ass real quick Black Irish by The Devil Makes Three Almost Blue by Chet Baker Desperado by The Eagles Stillborn (acoustic) by Black Label Society 512 by Lamb of God

13. Do you like it when people play with your hair? idk? 

14. Do you believe in luck and miracles? Yes

15. What good thing happened this summer? I got to visit a friend in Texas. Other than that, my summer went by in a big shitty blur.

16. Would you kiss the last person you kissed again? Not for all the money in the world

17. Do you think there is life on other planets? Ye

18. Do you still talk to your first crush? Nop

19. Do you like bubble baths? Ye

20. Do you like your neighbors? I don’t dislike them. I don’t speak spanish, so we haven’t talked much.

21. What are you bad habits? I stress myself out over little things too often

22. Where would you like to travel? Ireland would be cool, but I definitely could never go there. Outside of that, idk, anywhere is cool

23. Do you have trust issues? oh yes

24. Favorite part of your daily routine? Eating

25. What part of your body are you most uncomfortable with? My chest or my neck

26. What do you do when you wake up? Check my phone

27. Do you wish your skin was lighter or darker? I think its a fine how it is

28. Who are you most comfortable around? My friend Ari I guess

29. Have any of your ex’s told you they regret breaking up? yes

30. Do you ever want to get married? wow what an awkward question to have on something my gf is for sure going to see (yes)

31. If your hair long enough for a pony tail? ye

32. Which celebrities would you have a threesome with? Oh, idk

33. Spell your name with your chin. dickhead

34. Do you play sports? What sports? Not any more, but I used to play Football (American) and boxing 

35. Would you rather live without TV or music? Tv

36. Have you ever liked someone and never told them? Nah. Well yeah, but they figured it out eventually lmao

37. What do you say during awkward silences? “wow this got awkward”

38. Describe your dream girl/guy? Mark Ruffalo

39. What are your favorite stores to shop in? Nerd stores (y’know, where nerds gather to play cards and dnd and stuff, occasionally comics are also there) and music stores. I’d spend all day in guitar center if no one stopped me.

40. What do you want to do after high school? Already out, and lemme tell you I’m already not doing what I wanted to do

41. Do you believe everyone deserves a second chance? Most people. A few people definitely deserve nothing less than a life time of suffering.

42. If your being extremely quiet what does it mean? Nothing, or something. I’m quiet most of the time.

43. Do you smile at strangers? I think I do but I have the resting bitch face big time so I mostly just look slightly less mad at people in public

44. Trip to outer space or bottom of the ocean? The ocean would be fantastic

45. What makes you get out of bed in the morning? Mr Socks won’t SHUT THE FUCK UP

46. What are you paranoid about? oh, y’know, most things

47. Have you ever been high? Oh yes

48. Have you ever been drunk? frequently 

49. Have you done anything recently that you hope nobody finds out about? yes, but not because i’m embarrassed, just don’t want to upset anyone

50. What was the colour of the last hoodie you wore? Black

51. Ever wished you were someone else? Nah. Careful what you wish for, right? Don’t want to say that and then wake up to find I’m somehow an even bigger piece of shit.

52. One thing you wish you could change about yourself? Wish I were in better shape, but I’m working on that so

53. Favourite makeup brand? Don’t wear it, so my favorite is whatever my gf asks for lmao

54. Favourite store? Guitar Center. lemme obnoxiously test pedals all day

55. Favourite blog? dunno

56. Favourite colour? Red. a certain shade of blue is pretty good too.

57. Favourite food? Anything featuring potatoes 

58. Last thing you ate? a fuckin 1/4 cup of cheese. my diet has been weird recently.

59. First thing you ate this morning? Nothing yet, but I have designs on some tacos

60. Ever won a competition? For what? ye, a few. i hate bragging so im not going to go into detail, but i used to actually be good at things.

61. Been suspended/expelled? For what? Yep. suspended two or three times for getting into fights, one time for accidentally bringing a knife to school. weirdly, the girl that decided to pull the thing out of my pocket got in no trouble at all.

62. Been arrested? For what? No, but boi have i come close

63. Ever been in love? i am, at this moment, very in love

64. Tell us the story of your first kiss? Not really much a story? It was an awkward childhood kiss.

65. Are you hungry right now? Yes, very. waiting on me uncle tho

66. Do you like your tumblr friends more than your real friends? don’t really have tumblr friends

67. Facebook or Twitter? Fb

68. Twitter or Tumblr? Tumblr for art, twitter for memes

69. Are you watching tv right now? nah

70. Names of your bestfriends? Ari, zach, mr socks

71. Craving something? What? Oh y’know things

72. What colour are your towels? Got turquoise, black, blue, purple, white. 

72. How many pillows do you sleep with? two

73. Do you sleep with stuffed animals? Nah

74. How many stuffed animals do you think you have? Got a few plush pokemon, i guess that counts?

75. Favourite animal? Really like bears

76. What colour is your underwear? N/A

77. Chocolate or Vanilla? Vanilla

78. Favourite ice cream flavour? oh, uh, cookie dough? oreo? orange sherbet? can’t decide.

79. What colour shirt are you wearing? N/A

80. What colour pants? look if the last two clothing questions didn’t tip you off, i’m naked. are you happy now?

81. Favourite tv show? oh, idk. haven’t really had the interest in shows since i got super depressed like a year ago lmao

82. Favourite movie? i guess kung pow?

83. Mean Girls or Mean Girls 2? WHO IN THEIR RIGHT MIND WOULD EVER PICK 2? 

84. Mean Girls or 21 Jump Street? Mean girls

85. Favourite character from Mean Girls? that chick that made out with a hot dog that one time. big mood.

86. Favourite character from Finding Nemo? The stoner turtle

87. First person you talked to today? My gf

88. Last person you talked to today? My uncle

89. Name a person you hate? just one? nah.

90. Name a person you love? my gf (duh) all these friends i met on the internet, and some of my family i guess

91. Is there anyone you want to punch in the face right now? so, so many people. 

92. In a fight with someone? like, currently? how would i be doing this?

93. How many sweatpants do you have? don’t wear sweats

94. How many sweaters/hoodies do you have? a couple

95. Last movie you watched? uhhhhhhhhh something shitty on netflix, probs

96. Favourite actress? oof uh, idk. 

97. Favourite actor? also dunno

98. Do you tan a lot? got them irish genes, i burn

99. Have any pets? Mr. Socks, the best cat in the world and i will fight anyone who disagrees. 

100. How are you feeling? Cold

101. Do you type fast? Nope

102. Do you regret anything from your past? Not really. If they didn’t happen, i wouldn’t be where i am now

103. Can you spell well? dubya eee ell ell. fuck you.

104. Do you miss anyone from your past? kinda? define past.

105. Ever been to a bonfire party? ye

106. Ever broken someone’s heart? i would hope not, but maybe

107. Have you ever been on a horse? ye

108. What should you be doing? going to the store

109. Is something irritating you right now? always

110. Have you ever liked someone so much it hurt? YES

111. Do you have trust issues? Yes

112. Who was the last person you cried in front of? an ex, probably

113. What was your childhood nickname? didn’t really have a nickname

114. Have you ever been out of your province/state? Yep

115. Do you play the Wii? I have a wiiu, but i don’t really play it much. its mostly the netflix machine now

116. Are you listening to music right now? Autumn Leaves by Chet Baker

117. Do you like chicken noodle soup? Fucking yes

118. do you like chinese food> YE BOI

119. Favourite book? don’t know

120. Are you afraid of the dark? Nah

121. Are you mean? I think so. others say different. its weird, man

122. Is cheating ever okay? in a relationship? no. in a video game to give your character a giant bobble head? absolutely.

123. Can you keep white shoes clean? the trick is to not wear white shoes

124. Do you believe in love at first sight? No lmao

125. Do you believe in true love? as opposed to fake love? i guess???

126. Are you currently bored? ye

127. What makes you happy? knowing that others are happy

128. Would you change your name? nah

129. What your zodiac sign? taurus

130. Do you like subway? not compared to my other sub options

131. Your bestfriend of the opposite sex likes you, what do you do? i don’t know. she’s married, so like...what the fuck how 

132. Who’s the last person you had a deep conversation with? my dad, i guess

133. Favourite lyrics right now? I've held the hand of God and I've sang the Devil's song And when it comes my time no tears are gonna fall But some will light the fire and some will mourn the one Left longing for the ire of, of their departed son.

134. Can you count to one million? ain’t got that kinda time, fam

135. Dumbest lie you ever told? I don’t really lie? I think i just say dumb shit and people take me seriously 

136. Do you sleep with your doors open or closed? Closed

137. How tall are you? 5′5. I’m a manlet.

138. Curly or Straight hair? no preference

139. Brunette or Blonde? brunette

140. Summer or Winter? Winter

141. Night or Day? Night

142. Favourite month? idk, december i guess because i have a mandatory week off work,

143. Are you a vegetarian? I wish, I don’t have the willpower.

144. Dark, milk or white chocolate? Dark chocolate

145. Tea or Coffee? tea. coffee is more of a tool for me? gotta wake up, tea is just good.

146. Was today a good day? dunno yet

147. Mars or Snickers? Snickers

148. What’s your favourite quote? don’t really remember quotes

149. Do you believe in ghosts? Kinda

150. Get the closest book next to you, open it to page 42, what’s the first line on that page?

“As I approached the northern cliffs where I’d find the Serpent’s Sanctum, I could see the soaring towers of Skyreach off to my right.”

[mittensmorgul]

I'm the anon who brought up that quote from SotF. Boy howdy, epic reply! You gave us lots to think about so I'm writing back to clarify my question. I totally agree with you that Dean is not a mean person and I totally agree that both Cas and Dean have had passive/aggressive moments in their relationship, speaking of. :) My issue with having Dean shout at Cas in a room full of people that nobody cares about you and your pain is mean and out of character to me. 1/2

2/2 If motivation was the objective, then I also agree his approach with Kevin is more in character, “I know you’re hurting right now and we can work on it later, but right now we need you to step up and help in the fight.” Said in his still gruff manner, not mollycoddling, but the emotional support is there. That’s why the line to Cas bothers me. It seemed too harsh even out of the anger and frustration Dean felt because he thought Cas was running away from responsibility. Actually, 2/3 now.

3/3 Being a bit facetious about “words hurt” line, I was connecting it to the point they both have done and said things to each other that were hurtful and just ended up complicating their relationship. So those kinds of extreme words made me think that feeds into Cas’ insecurities. As desperate as Dean may be, it doesn’t feel like he would be pushed that far to say those words. Guess for both of them, you always hurt the ones you love. Hope you don’t mind my long reply, you’re awesome! Thanks!

Oh gosh, hi. :P

First off, apologies for going on and on and on… this has happened to me several times over the last few days of rewatches, where I took a short anon ask and just… got sucked into writing long meta while three or four episodes ran in the background… Sorry. Sometimes I have trouble pulling a single thought out of the context of the larger narrative it sits in. For reference, this is the very long reply:

http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/163454512675/survival-of-the-fittest-rewatch-airs-today-i-have

I think part of the reason WHY Dean “toned it down” a bit with Kevin is BECAUSE he felt bad about having been so short with Cas in essentially the same situation, you know? And with Kevin there in 8.01? It was IMMEDIATELY after he got back from a YEAR in Purgatory, an entire year spent struggling not only to get OUT of purgatory, but to get out WITH CAS.

And he’d failed.

This was also before Dean “altered the memory” of those final moments at the portal. He was honest with Sam there, or at least far more honest than he was with himself and Cas in 8.07, before he’d been forced to live with that reality for a while and just… could’t accept it anymore, you know?

So yeah, I do think that’s part of the reason he didn’t just bark angrily at Kevin the way he did at Cas. But he also didn’t have the 10 tons of emotional baggage going in to that conversation with Kevin that Dean had with Cas by 7.23.

Kevin hadn’t hurt HIM, PERSONALLY. Kevin wasn’t avoiding acknowledging some sort of personal failure that was directly harming Dean, the way Cas was in 7.23. Dean had been willing to try and let all of that go, at least while they were still scrambling to put an end to the Leviathan, but when they discovered that they absolutely NEEDED Cas to succeed in that mission, and Cas was refusing to participate, refusing to even acknowledge that he should have any personal responsibility in fixing the situation at all… well… That was something Dean couldn’t accept.

And sorry, but crazy!Cas isn’t “cute.” He’s not a precious lil bean that needs protecting. He was using that to avoid having to face the enormity of what his actions in s6 led to. I wrote another really super long post two days later on (among other things) how this came to a head for Cas in 8.08 and his outburst at Dean’s gentle prodding about why he didn’t want to return to Heaven.

http://mittensmorgul.tumblr.com/post/163529983575/so-many-nice-destiel-moments-in-87-but-i-have-a

Like, the “crazy” in s7 was EXTREME DENIAL. I mean, he’d literally suffered amnesia for months, forgetting he was even an angel at all and everything else… (including Dean). There’s no better metaphor for extreme denial. It’s like the tropiest version of “new phone who dis” that can possibly exist. And it takes him a LONG time to come back from that.

Late s7 “crazy!Cas” (and I have to say again how much I detest that being applied to this version of Cas, because again he is NOT crazy, he is in uberdenial and avoiding anything that might make him feel guilty/responsible for the horrific things he did, however inadvertently, in the name of trying to save the universe)….

Lemme start that previous thought again, since I got completely derailed by my own parenthetical.

Late s7 Cas was the first step back after his “penance” and subsequent recovery began. It’s Cas who is so ashamed of what he’d done that he couldn’t even face it AT ALL, until Dean started to pry his way back under all that denial. Dean acknowledged Cas’s feelings about being “poison” (to use Dean’s pet word for himself), and finally Cas felt like there might be a real way for him “to fix it.” Or at least start…

(He’d already “fixed” Sam at that point, which was something, but by no means the entirety of what he felt needed fixing… and remember that taking Sam’s Hell Trauma into himself is what drove Cas into that “crazy” state in the first place… the sort of trauma that had nearly killed Sam, and that he’d only spent all of s7 coping with by an extreme act of denial– pressing the scar on his hand and utterly rejecting the hallucinations his own damaged soul was inflicting on him…)

So, yeah, I have some pretty complicated thoughts and feelings about this, but I also feel like nothing else in Cas’s subsequent development arc makes any sense at all unless his absolute guilt and denial and yes, even his outburst in 8.08 about not wanting to return to heaven to face what he’d done driving him to thoughts of killing himself, are acknowledged for what they are.

It’s awful, it’s painful, it’s terrible all around. But I’m not in denial about it. It feels like doing a serious disservice to Cas and his later understanding and self-forgiveness and acceptance, and it’s really the foundation of EVERYTHING solid in his relationship with Dean (and Sam) over the next five seasons. It all had to come from this moment of hurt and guilt and anger and FORGIVING each other.

[luckywarner]

🍀LOCKED🍀

[Next day and all the fun stuff, right? Last night ended much like the first time, so there’s that. Another thing to note is that Stove most definitely knows, because, as a good caretaker would, she waited up for her buddy, and got to witness the child walk back into his apartment like he was a glowing mess. And hey, in this verse, MOST DEFINITELY, upon seeing this mess, her statement is ‘You’re glowing. You must’ve gotten lucky. B|’ to which Maddox responds with a shit-eating grin ‘ in more ways than one B)’ and Stove just goes ‘AH’. So, yes, she definitely got the news.

Moreso, said glowing mess probably expects there to be a newly single Lucky this morning at school. Because why on earth would he still be dating the evil bitch after their lovely night, right???? Eh???? Oh, boy.

Somehow, they’d managed to (unintentionally) avoid each other up to this point, but, you see here, a misguided Maddox thinks she needs to find a Lucky, who is probably talking to Carson or even Sage when she walks up. So she’s most definitely gonna wait for the company to walk away before approaching. And then so she does as soon as the company has left Lucky by his locker.]

Hey, you~.

[So, he’s startled.] Oh, uh... Hey.

How’s it goin’~~~?

[And only now is xhe seeing the shifty eyes coming from Lucky, because he’s only half-looking at her, and half-looking at the crowd of people in the hallway.] It’s goin’.

Whatcha looking for?

I’m just– keeping an eye out, is all.

For??

My... girlfriend?

Your… [this confuses her, as evident by her face, and causes her to pause, because she was 4 real convinced by her assumptions.] You’re telling me, after all of that last night-- like, all that shit you said-- you didn’t break up with the girl??

Did you break up with Harley???

I GOT HIM SENT OFF TO FUCKING NEVADA???

SHhhHHHhh. [He’s looking around to make sure people weren’t looking, and lucky for the two of them, noboDY SEEMED TO CARE ATM.] I can’t just break up with Jordan, o k a y?

Oh, but you can have sex with me in the fucking locker room showers while you’re still dating her. That’s alright. Duh. Silly me.

M a d D O X. Shut up! Someone might hear you.

So what??

Because as far as anyone else is concerned it. Didn’t. hAPPEN.

Oh? Is that where we’re at? Didn’t happen. I’m apparently stupid, because I thought you knew how to keep a damn PROMISE.

I didn’t mean it like– [WHO GOES THERE AROUND THE CORNER? OH, DEAR. IS IT THE GIRLFRIEND IN QUESTION???? THINK FAST. DRAG MADDOX INTO THAT CONVENIENT CLOSET BY YOUR LOCKER. FUN CLOSET TIMES ONCE MORE~.] I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t think I made a mistake, Maddox. Just– you can’t go blurting shit like that out in the middle of the hallway. Think a little.

I see. So, you don’t hate me. You just want to keep me hidden in closets to cover your ass. Cool~.

That’s not–… One, if Jordan knew, she wouldn’t go after me, she’d go after you. Two, at this school, I could barely get away with a simple rumor about how I was in a closet with you, let alone you yelling about how we had sex last night in the middle of the damn hallway. How am I supposed to talk my way out of that rumor???

Here’s an idea: Break up with your fucking girlfriend, and none of it would be an issue!

It’s not that simple, Maddox.

What exactly isn’t simple about it, Lucky?

I can’t do it.

Right, because she’s wonderful, perfect, and amazing, and breaking up with her just because you had sex with me would be insanity. What a crazy suggestion. Why would I ever even suggest something like that? 

That is not what I mean, Maddox!

Well, that’s how you’re making it sound.

She’s best friends with my sister. She told my sister that you and I have had sex before after you told her. If I break up with her when I keep telling everyone how wonderful she is– Cooper is gonna see right through that. And she will tell my parents about you.

We can’t have Mommy and Daddy knowing about all the late nights, now can we??? [Eye roll af.] Man, how would they react if they knew you cheated on your catch of a girl with a lowlife like me, huh? Y i k e s, right?

Maddox…

Look, I know I’m not exactly in a position to tell you how stupid that is, but here I am.

If I had another option here, I would take it. But I don’t. Can’t you just– I mean– it’s not like if Jordan and I weren’t– that…

Since you can’t break up with her, I guess neither of us are ever gonna get an answer to that.

Do you wanna know what I do know?

I’m sure you’ll tell me no matter what my answer is.

I know that… whatever this is– here… I don’t want to lose it.

It’s not like you can’t get sex anywhere, Lucky. Geez.

Whether or not I can... I can’t get you anywhere, Maddox.

That’s important, is it?

It’s-- the most important thing.

That’s not what you told Harper~.

I lied. I do that... sometimes. What was I supposed to do? Tell her how I actually feel?

And how’s that, Lucky?

[Here you go, Lucky. The opportune time to tell her you loVE HER.] I--... [I BELIEVE IN YOU, LUCKY.] I already told you... I care. [X]

That’s not a lie too?

No. I think it’s the only thing that I know is the truth nowadays...

Well– I guess if that’s true…

It is.

Then, right now, I really don’t give a fuck about Harper.

[It goes unspoken, but it is clear that Lucky’s sentiments are absolutely the same, given how he so very gently and slowly backs her against the wall, and goes with it. And there’s something about this kiss that feels different. And maybe it’s just because that’s all this is. It’s a kiss that doesn’t feel like it’s intentions are to go somewhere else, and there’s something deeper there than he’s felt before. It even feels different than last night. It was like– everything was being poured into it– for once.

buT THEN… the bell rings, my dude. And so, Lucky pulls away, with this small grin on his face. And get your tissues ready, because our girl, Bravo is gonna do this:]

[YUP.]

I’ll talk to you later?

Yeah.

[Out the closet he goes, and Maddox stays behind to breath in for the first time in the past five minutes, lemme tell you. Fin.]

[serenagaywaterford]

6) a flip of the dime. The nasty parts were always there, but he concealed/controlled them. Maybe bc said parts wouldn't exactly make him endearing to others? Anyhow, your interpretation makes him quite the interesting antagonist/villain, so I'm rolling with it, lol. /// There was another thing that was bugging me about S2: the baby's name. Obviously, Serena chose Nic(h)ole as a "fuck you" to Fred. But June in the finale? Of course, she stuck to it for Nick's sake, but also bc she recognized

7) Serena’s selfless (well, if you can call it that) act. Thoughts on this? /// As for your older responses, I forgot to describe what an epiphany it was for me to realize the significance of Serena’s use of the word “rape” for the first time. The anger I felt after 2x10 blinded me to the VERY OBVIOUS connection between her realization in 2x10 and her outburst in 2x11. (Silly me!) Imagine how much more intense that fight would have been if they included the marital rape. I remember a writer

8) that June didn’t kill Serena, bc she actually felt sorry for her in that episode. (Ngl, June’s kindness baffles me at times.) I knew that she wasn’t gonna do it of course, but it was 50/50 whether I wanted her to shoot them or not. /// Something I have not addressed so far is how lukewarm I found their explanation for June getting away with all the shit she does. Well, she’s no Janine (who loses an eye) or Emily (who gets mutilated), but still. Like you said, Serena and Fred might get away

9) get away with a lot more bc of their privilege, but June? Hm. // I’ll start quoting later (or maaaybe tomorrow).

———–

I always thought that was a really weird sort of thing for June to do. And it seems to be entirely because of Serena? Like, it was Holly, Holly, Holly. Even when she was talking to Nick. Then she has the exchange with Serena, and suddenly she adopts Serena’s supreme dickmove of a babyname? 

And I LIKED Holly. It meant something. Nichole (I HATE THAT SPELLING SFM LMAO) means nothing to June? Can you imagine the convo: 

“Mommy, why am I called Nichole?”

“Well, baby, you see, your Daddy’s name is Nick, so the lady that stole you decided to name you after him to eternally piss off her husband who she clearly hates and wanted him to be reminded that he’s impotent every time he looks at you.”

Like, on the one hand, Serena is fucking brilliant and it just shows the extent of her hatred for Fred. But then it’s kinda shitty to use a child as a pawn in that.

Then again, maybe there’s another reason Serena chose that name? I know there’s like a whole history about St. Nicholas and his role as a patron saint of childless couples, or something. (I can’t recall exactly rn). And there was something about St. Nicolette and babies. (Which is where the names Nicole and Collette come from.) Something like she raised a dead baby back to life. So, I guess, at a stretch perhaps that was her inspiration? I doubt it, knowing Serena. LOL.

It’s really curious June’s decision though. Despite EVERYTHING Serena’s done, June just wipes it clean and names her fucking baby after Serena’s choice? Maybe she was trying to retain the memory of Nick for Nichole? I dunno. And not only that, but she seemed 100% genuine when she said that farewell blessing and held Serena’s hand (again). 

I dunno, June’s own preoccupation with Serena is something I don’t truly understand but she clearly thinks there’s some odd connection or something. It’s funny cos I was reading a review about S2 and June’s choices in the finale, and her constant support of Serena despite ALL the reasons not to, and lemme see if I can find it… 

 Nah. I can’t. Anyway, it was something about how we all know June’s going back for Hannah, but this writer thought June was also going back for Serena.

I’m not convinced about that tbh, but I can see the argument cos June is strangely protective and compassionate towards Serena considering. I just have a sinking feeling that the show is gonna play that “Oops, Serena is evil again!! SHE WAY MAD JUNE GIVE BABBY AWAY trolololol!!!!” and make her despicable in order to get Nicole back. If that is the case, I’m gonna roll my eyes right outta my head. I have no issue with Serena having regrets, tbh. I think that’s pretty understandable and expected. But having Serena go hogwild with abuse and using Fred’s power to get back at June or something is just going to fucking piss me off cos like, c’mon my dudes, been there, done that. Over and over already. It’s the 3rd season and either you’re gonna put this bitch on a mild redemption arc or you’re gonna make her a full-on villain. Make up your minds. The will-she, won’t-she thing is old by now.

I dunno that was a random OT rant.

Also, TRUTH! Serena’s use of the word “rape” was important. Like, part of me is like DUH how did you JUST figure that out?! And, honestly I feel like the marital rape is sort of necessary for Serena’s epiphany to get recognised. I think, Serena is just wilfully ignorant enough to not truly consider the Ceremony rape. I honestly do not think she totally understood what she was suggesting with the 2x10 rape. (Serena really does lack forethought for like…all of her actions. That’s sorta her whole problem.) I think she thought it would be just like a sort of unsanctioned ceremony. But by the end she did seem to recognise what it truly was. And having her raped by Fred in the previous episode would have really helped with that. (Then again, it’s really hard to understand how a woman who was just raped turns around and basically suggests it. And this person is supposed to be not Satan. A pure evil woman sure. But Serena’s not meant to be that.)

I think Yvonne’s delivery of the line was interesting too. Part of it was like, “HOly shit it was rape” and part of it was like, “ha! you’re a monster!! you did that!” Like she had no culpability in it. I want to know if Serena has realised that ALL ceremonies are RAPE yet. I wonder if she’s got there. I’m not totally convinced she has. But… I dunno.

Oh! I hadn’t read that about June’s reasoning! That’s interesting. I mean, it fits with June overall but it’s a very odd thing. Like, to be holding a gun trained on the couple that literally held you down and raped you not 24 hours earlier… and feel SORRY for the woman (whereas the general population’s consensus is that Serena is even worse than Fred for doing that to another woman)? I went and watched it after reading your message I didn’t really see that on June’s face. (But that’s really neither here nor there since editing, directing, etc. all differs from what the writers/showrunners had in mind and those are the guys doing the interviews!)  I take that back! I watched it again and I can deffo see that if that’s what they were going for. Totally missed it and likely wouldn’t have picked up on it if not for this convo.

That said, I totally see June reasoning it out that way. For some strange reason, whether it’s Stockholm Syndrome or whatever, June seems to have a blindspot/softspot for Serena and she seems to have unlimited Get Out Of Jail Free cards for her. Like, c’mon, she literally held her down to be brutally raped, and at this point it seems like Serena could murder June and June’s ghost would just be like, “Hey youuuuu, wanna be my bestie in overthrowing the patriarchy?” (Okay, I’m not at all complaining cos I love their dynamic and I ship them soooooo… lol. On a personal level, it works very well for me and my crackshippy fantasies. I choose to believe June honestly sees something nobody else does and believes in Serena’s capacity for redemption–WHICH IS INSANE. But hey. I love it.)

So, for June to feel sorry for Serena, even after everything really does fit when you think about it. And also when you think about book!June’s attitude towards true power being in forgiveness.

I remember sitting around watching the ep the first time and thinking “I don’t want June to shoot them and be a killer” but also, “WHY ISN’T SHE SHOOTING THE FUCKING PLACE UP! DOES SHE NOT WANT TO ESCAPE????” And I was sitting there with the wifey and she was like, “She can’t. What if she misses? Then you’ve got 2 incredibly angry people chasing you.” And I was like… “Uh. Reload? Shoot them as they’re coming up the stairs.”

Because I have never fired a gun in my life so to me it seems really easy lmao. But to me, I didn’t even care about her shooting Serena but I did have an inkling she didn’t want to shoot Serena with the amount she paused. That would have been a perfect shot with teh type of ammo to take out –or at least injure– two people at once. I was like, “You gotta kill Fred and Serena is pretty useless then. It’s not like they have mobile phones! You can then choose to leave Serena to die there lol, or hostage her. And steal the car. You could get pretty far since nobody knows that Fred/Serena are even there.” To me, rationally, it didnt’ make sense not to shoot them. But… emotionally, obvs, I knew she wouldn’t cos a)the series would like… end rather abruptly lol, and b) that’s just not June.

AND yeah, June getting away with all her bullshit is insane in comparison. Janine literally lost an eye for backtalking once at the Red Centre! June has, well, done so much more and just kind skates away from ALL serious punishment. (Well, living with Fred and Serena is a pretty awful punishment in general.) And, sure part of it was cos she was preggers but … how Aunt Lydia/Fred/Serena/TPTB trust this crazy Handmaid not to KEEP breaking the rules is insane. I feel like nobody would trust her to just be a docile little thing after running away for 92 days. Not even Pervy Freddo. Despite all his creeptastic fetishes, he’d be like, “OMG she is way too high maintenance. i just don’t have the patience. give me that baby so i can shut my annoying wife up and then get me another more docile babyslave to play Scrabble and shave!” The plot armour is strong in this one!

Anyway! I got a bit carried away there…

[lovethediseasedkillerpuppy]

Dean’s 2 talks with Mary:

Lemme freak out over this scene before I dissect it line by line. I replayed this stuff a good 10x bc I was so damn elated that Dean stuck up for himself & Mary sure as hell needed to hear these things. Jensen did a phenomenal job. I loved every second of it.

Mary: Just hear me out, please.

Dean: wow, just wow.

Mary: Dean, what the BMOL are doing, what we're doing, it's a better way. Look, I'm not blind to who they are or what they've done but…

Uh yeah actually ya are blind to what they've done bc you don't know all the people they've killed & ignorance isn't an excuse. You got in bed with these guys, you should have looked into 'em. You don't want to know bc it'll mess with what you want. 

Sam: When? When did you start working with them?

Mary: Before the lake house. It wasn't Wally. They brought me that case.

Try a lot before the lake house. Y'all were pretty damn cozy by then.

Dean: You were running an errand for the brits, you kept it from us. Cas almost died.

Sam: A hunter got killed.

Mary: You think I don't know? I'm the one who burned his body. I'm the one who told his wife. I watch him die every night.

Dean: Good.

Actually Dean, you ALL almost died. That prince of Hell was abt to take you all out bc of your mom's sticky fingers. Cas was just the one who got seriously hurt. What happened to your explaining, Mary? This shit sounds like defensive justifying your actions, making it abt you & trying to garner sympathy. As Dean said, good. Any guilt you're having is well earned.

*scene intermission *

Mary: I'm doing this for you. I'm playing 3 decades of catch up here.

But what does the former have to do with the latter? Again you're straying from this promised “explanation” & trying to manipulate the convo to gain pity for yourself. And I’ll leave Dean to deal w the 2nd part of that bullshit.

Dean: And we're not? How do you think this has been for us? We're your sons. And you've been gone, our whole lives. You've been gone. You said that you needed time. No, you said you need space. So we gave you ur space, but you didn't need just space, no you needed space from us.

DEAN FUCKING WINCHESTER KEEPING IT REAL

Mary: That's not true. Dean I'm trying...

Ok so ur just gonna totally ignore his question, cool. Dean isn’t gonna push the issue it seems but I still wanna know. How do you think it was for them? Have you even thought abt it? Do you give a shit?

Dean: How about for once you just try and be a mom!

And BOOOOOM there it is!!! Your benefit of the doubt adjustment time was waaaay long enough, mother Mary. Abt damn time someone said it. All the bonus points that it was Dean who got to.

Mary: I am your mother but I am not just a mom & you are not a child.

It's interesting to me here how Mary differs from what Dean said. Dean told her to try being “A” mom, implication being act like a mom/do motherly things. But Mary says I am “YOUR” mother, implication that she birthed them. There's a fuck ton world of difference b/t being a mom (as Dean requests) & being a mother (that Mary answers back with) Birthing children makes you what Mary is defending herself to be. Actually being there for them & loving them is what makes you a mom, what Dean is, perfectly reasonably, asking for.

Now onto the 2nd part which is several levels of ridiculous. Who the hell said anything abt her being JUST a mom? Stop putting words into his mouth. And telling him he isn't a child...now THAT sounds very childish. But again, stop putting words in his mouth. Also how fucking dare you, bitch. You have your beloved John's journal & you KNOW Dean didn't even get that chance when he WAS a child.

Dean: I never was.

THERE IT IS. Thatta boy. Call her on her shit. You’re still being too easy on her, but ur a better person than me so...

Dean: So b/t us & them…

Mary: It's not like that...

Dean: Yeah Mary, it is. And you made your choice. So there's the door.

Oh how much I LOVED him calling her Mary. Being called mom shouldn't be smth just expected no matter what. Bitch hasn't earned that. Gah, ik how much it must have hurt him to do but seeing Dean kick her ass out was satisfying as fuck.

Onto talk 2...

Dean: It's not your job to make my lunch...kiss me at night. We're adults. You're gonna make your own choices even if I don't like 'em. Even if I really really don't like 'em. So that's just smth I'm gonna have to get used to.

Alright, there's a lot to be said abt this. I've seen a lot of anger over “Dean apologizing again” I understand why it's being looked at that way. Don't get me wrong, I'm pissed off abt this dialogue too but I'll get to that. To me, this wasn't an apology in the strict sense of the word. It wasn't him saying he was sorry, it was him laying things out there, making it completely clear what he meant before abt the mom thing. (since apparently she is that dense so he needs to spell it out for her) 

Now the reason it infuriates me & why imo it's being dubbed an apology is this; as per fucking every single time it is DEAN who has to be the bigger person. As always it's DEAN who is having to smooth things over. As always it's DEAN putting it out there that he's willing to accept & love someone unconditionally. Don't get me wrong, these are things that make up the big beautiful heart this boy has & I never want him to lose that, but as someone who loves him it PISSES ME OFF. Dean won't be petty so allow me. Why does it always have to be Dean? Why does he always have to swallow the shit? Why does he never get to just freely express his thoughts & feelings w/o needing to back track/suck it up later? Why is it always Dean who has to see & understand everyone else's point of view but nobody bothers to do the same for him? Can't we have that for Dean even ONCE? Of all the times this shit has happened you would think the ONE damn time it could've happened would be from his mother, but no, he can't even have that. So while I don't see it as an 'apology' I'm still just as damn enraged over him even having to give this little speech at all. MARY was in the wrong. MARY should have been the one to patch things up...and not to mention bc who expected Dean to get an I’m sorry but Ima do it anyway; WHERE IS MARY’S I’M SORRY??? HUH? And we’ve had enough damn examples of Dean ‘I will love everyone unconditionally’ Winchester. It’s beyond over damn due that we get some examples of him getting unconditional love back ffs. On the plus side at least Dean still stood his ground that he didn’t like her choice. He won’t do it, but we can give a huge I TOLD YOU SO later when this goes to shit.

Onto a different side of this rant. The fact that what Dean said is just utter nonsense. WHERE did this shit even start? Sam has said similar. I've seen some fandom say similar. The show is obviously trying to push it but WHY. It isn't black & white, all or nothing like the writers are trying to portray it. Oh either Mary is cold, distant, abandons them or she stays home, bakes them cookies & wipes their snot. Where the hell does that reasoning come from? Who even thinks it's reasonable to think that's what Dean would want? It's one of the more asinine things these writers have done & that's on a list of a LOT of competition. They're ridiculous. They're going so far 'this' way to try to show how oh so not sexist they are by having this bad ass career woman, kids be damned, & we are inclusive of the ladies but all it's doing in reality is making Mary look like a cold hearted selfish bitch. Of course she isn't just a mom. Nobody's expecting that. But she isn't even being a mom AT ALL. She's awful & the fact that the show is trying to have the narrative be in HER favor & making her sons just deal w it & see it her way & making THEM seem like the unreasonable ones (mostly Dean) is srsly sending a terrible message to the younger viewers.

Children plz, listen up, you do NOT have to love & accept your parents just bc they're your parents. If they hurt you you have every right to express that & call them out on it. If they disregard your feelings & continue to hurt you, you have every right to show them the door. Parents do NOT have the right to treat you like shit with the justification “I'm your mom/dad so I can treat you however I want & ur supposed to allow it” Blood does NOT make you family. That's complete truth. You DO need to earn that by being there for & loving someone. “They're family, they're supposed to make you miserable” IS WRONG. If 'family' truly makes you miserable it's called a toxic relationship & you need to srsly think abt whether it's worth it to keep the r/s going. If you hope it's salvageable & want to change it then go for it & try but if not then there is nothing wrong with cutting ties with blood family members. As heart breaking as it is, the truth is some of us are born to parents that are lives are better WITHOUT. Allowing them to continue to abuse you, be it mentally or physically, by brushing it off with “they're my mom/dad” can & will cause lasting damage./psych rant.