#ACTUALLY PLANNED THIS OUT DAY OF THE LAST BRACKET LAUNCHING

[vellichorom]

so maybe he’s taken the sexysweep loss a little hard,

( NOTE; this comic does NOT reflect the views of the artist or is in ANY way meant to chastise / guilt the opposing side OR fault the voters, this is just a little in-character fun on my part & in no way was created with malicious intent! )

CONGRATULATIONS @braisedhoney, I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT! & ANOTHER THANK YOU TO @tsp-narrator-ask�� FOR FEATURING MY NARR IN THE COMPETTITION! earnestly looking forward to seeing who brings home the gold!

( ps also featuring @tomi-chuu‘s stanley because how could i ever not )

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: X

I will not ask you where you came from,

I will not ask and neither should you.

Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,

We should just kiss like real people do.

Like Real People Do, Hozier

A/N: okay i know i say this every time but genuinely THIS IS MY FAVOURITE PART SO FAR!!!!! and my lil section of this story has come to an end!!! act one is done!!! and the beginning of act two aka part 11 will be coming on andrea’s blog!!!!! thank u guys so so much for all the love and support you’ve given us!!!! we truly cannot believe you guys have been so receptive and we love you all so so much 🦋 as always any and all feedback is deeply appreciated not just by andrea and I but by all content creators!!! seriously we do all of this for free while going to school and working full time and those little messages make our days so much better!!! so do reblogs!!! you should reblog the content you like!!!! leave a lil message in the tags!!! shoot us a message!! anything is truly madly deeply™️ appreciated 💌 thank you all once again for your support!!!! pls enjoy 🦋

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

word count: 37.9k

content/warnings: harry ignoring “bros before hoes” part 45684957, “FUCK FLORIDA!!! ALL MY HOMIES HATE FLORIDA!!!” - xander, fight scene (rap), jefferson x hamilton (friends to lovers), road head ahead?? uhhh yeah, i sure hope so!!!, MUSI 1113: history of classical music, prof. harry styles, sherlock and watson solve the biggest mystery yet, *edward cullen voice* and so the mosquito fell in love with the butterfly

“Are you going to stare at your phone all day, like a bloody tool, or are you actually going to join the conversation?”

Despite the baited question, Harry keeps his gaze on his device as he flicks through his notifications, opening one app after the other in quick repetition before closing the screen. “That depends.  Are you actually going to say something interesting?”

From the other side of his couch, Niall flicks up his middle finger with ease, his expression sour and unimpressed. “We are saying something interesting, you prick.  I want to get out of town next weekend, but no one—” The Irishman shoots a pointed look to Xander, who’s leaning across the kitchen island with an unbothered expression. “—can agree on where to go.”

“It’s not that I can’t agree, Niall. It’s that your ideas are stupid.” Xander shoots back in an exasperated tone, raising his Bloody Mary (with extra blood, hardly any Mary) to his scowling lips. “No one wants to go to fucking Florida.  It’s Florida.  Why the fuck would we go to Florida?”

“Because I’ve been alive for two hundred years—”

Adam clicks his tongue from the lounge seat by the window. “I’m not sure if ‘alive’ is the best description.”

“—and I’ve never been to Disney World!  I died from a fucking famine.  Am I not entitled— nay, am I not owed—” Niall straightens his posture on the couch as he addresses the whole of the room, a determined look set in his icy blue eyes that contrasts the dulled gaze of those watching him. “A warm churro, cold Dole Whip, and a set of over-priced Mickey ears?  Huh?”

“That still doesn’t answer the question of why we’d have to go to Florida to get that!” Xander exclaims, rounding the corner of the kitchen counter with his drink in hand.  He raises the glass to his lips, pausing halfway to point towards the wall of windows that’s currently letting in the midday Sunday sun. “We could drive a half hour to Disneyland, and get you the exact same thing!”

Pinching the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Niall sucks in a deep breath through clenched teeth, as if he needs to calm himself down before doing something he regrets. “Xander,” He begins in a controlled voice, tight and tense and on the verge of snapping. “I suffered through starvation, fought in a world war, went through the Great Depression, and then fought in another fucking world war!  After all that, why would I settle for Disneyland, when we could easily make it to Disney World and back in three days?”

“You know…” Mitch says slowly, flopping down on the sofa between Niall and Harry, who’s already turned his attention back to his obsessive ritual of checking his notifications. “You can’t keep playing the ‘fought in a war’ card.  Harry fought in World War One, too, and I fought in the Revolutionary War.  And died in the Revolutionary War.  You do realize the majority of our group are veterans, right?”

Niall sighs in exasperation, clutching his beer in his fist to keep it from spilling as the older vampire beside him shifts on the couch. “I don’t play the ‘fought in a war’ card, Mitchell, I play the ‘fought in two wars’ card. And I think that card earns me the right to choose what we do next weekend.”

“And I think you folded those cards the moment you suggested Florida.” Wrinkling his nose, Xander finally enters the living room, and Harry risks a glance up from his phone to eye the dark-tinted liquid that laps at the edge of Xander’s glass with every step. “Why don’t we just go to Disneyland?  Or, better yet, why don’t we take a few extra days and go somewhere exciting?  I hear Greece is lovely this time of year; I wouldn’t mind trying some Mediterrean food for a week.”

“Florida is just as lovely—”

“That’s a lie, Florida is never lovely.”

“And Adam wants to go to Disney World, too!” Niall finishes triumphantly, taking a large swig of his half-empty beer before wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. “So it’s two-to-one!”

“Two-to-two, actually.” Mitch interjects, pursing his lips at the childish grimace that overtakes Niall’s previously cheery expression. “I’m not too fond of alligators, and last time I heard from Sarah, she was in Italy.  It’d be nice to have a week with her in Greece.”

Niall rolls his eyes at the sudden tie, turning his gaze past his disappointing friend to his other almost-as-disappointing friend, tone growing firmer. “Alright, then, Harry, it’s up to you.  You’re our tie-breaking vote.”

Harry, however, had spent the better part of the last two minutes scrolling through the photos he and Y/N had taken on their date the day before, and doesn’t even glance up from his screen upon registering the utterance of his name. “Hm?  The vote on what?”

The frustrated Irishman lobs his bottle of beer at Harry’s head, his pitch powerful enough that it nearly collides with its target a millisecond later.  And would have collided, if Harry’s hand hadn’t shot up on a supernatural reflex to capture it perfectly within his grasp.

Keeping his eyes locked on his phone, Harry sighs at his friend’s antics. “Watch it, Ni, I don’t want to scrub beer stains out of my couch—”

“I wouldn’t have to resort to throwing bottles at your thick head if you could get it out of your girlfriend’s arse long enough to participate in our discussion!” The blue-eyed vampire shoots daggers at him, and the lightness of his irises shifts to a dark crimson as Harry’s gaze barely flickers to him. “Oh for fuck’s sake—” Bracing himself against Mitch’s lap, Niall launches over the couch and snatches Harry’s phone from his hands, scrambling back to his seat and stuffing it down his jeans pocket before Harry can react. “You’ll get this back after we finish talking, alright?  Now, where do you want to go next weekend?  Disney World or Greece?”

Although the urge to tackle Niall and fight for his phone twinges in Harry’s mind, he forces himself to stay seated, settling for just shooting a glare across the couch.  He’s certain that Mitch wouldn’t be appreciative of him and Niall biting at each other on top of him, just as certain he is of the fact that attacking Niall won’t exactly make him look mentally stable.  

Instead, Harry merely sucks in a deep breath, setting the beer bottle on the coffee table and dragging his jeweled hand through his hair before answering evenly. “First of all, she’s not my girlfriend.  And second of all… neither.  Y/N and I have plans next weekend.”

A collective groan runs through the room the moment the phrase falls from his lips, and Harry swallows down a smirk at the reaction he receives from his friends.  Only Mitch’s face remains free of irritation, and instead sits in a neutral expression that, from his years of friendship, Harry can tell is tinged with concern.

“You have plans with her every weekend.” Xander complains, taking a sip of his Bloody Mary as he sits down next to Adam on the lounge seat, pulling Harry’s attention from the eldest immortal. “How can you sit there and say she’s not your girlfriend when you’ve been ditching us for the last, like, three and a half months to spend time with her?”

That, in all honesty, is a fair question.  Harry knows that he’s been spending more and more time with Y/N in the last few weeks at the expense of his friends, and on some level, he does feel bad about it.  Except that when he actually thinks about it, he doesn’t feel that bad in the slightest. He has no reason to, given that he spends almost every weekday with his friends, so what’s the harm in saving his weekends for someone else?  

In fact, he rather enjoys bracketing off those days just to spend them with her, alone with no one else to bother them, where they can just bask in each other’s company. So no, he really doesn’t feel bad at all.

He has the sudden realization that, on top of having the sweetest, most addicting blood he’s ever had the good fortune of tasting in the last two hundred years, Y/N is just generally fun to be around. Due to this, Harry has unintentionally continued to grow closer and closer to the human girl with every second they spend together.  She’s witty, adventurous, and always down to try something new— both in public and in the bedroom.  And in the bedroom— a smile unknowingly creeps onto Harry’s face as he recalls the dinner he’d taken her to last month, and what they’d done after. 

He also recalls the morning that had followed, in which they had eaten breakfast on his couch together in nothing but their underwear, their bodies tangled against the sofa cushions as Y/N had fed him bites of French toast while he showed her the extensive collection of Polaroid pictures he’d taken the previous night before.  He vividly remembers the way she had squirmed at the images of her with her legs spread open for him, of her bare chest heaving and her back arching, and of the wetness dripping down her thighs and staining the sheets. And he especially remembers the way she’d hid her face away in his neck at the snapshot of his hand wrapped around her throat, as well as the picture of her suckling eagerly at his thumb while his array of rings had glinted under the flash of the camera. 

It had been so cute watching her eyes brim over with shyness, especially because she had been more than happy to shed her inherent timidness the night prior. He’d teased her about it, of course. How could he not? He’d laid there as she rested between his legs, pointing out every welt and bruise prominent on the photos, and then skimming his icy fingers over her actual body to find them. It had been a very intimate moment, given that they were reflecting on more than just the physical aspects of what they’d shared. It feels like their entire dynamic had shifted slightly, all due to the fact that the roughness and aftercare that had occurred between them were actions that required immense amounts of trust and communication. Harry felt closer to her in a way he hadn’t before, and if the softness behind Y/N’s eyes was any indication, she felt the exact same way. 

Their connection felt different now— purer, in a way, now that they’d seen one another in such an exposed fashion, but it still managed to stay within the boundaries Harry was intent on upholding. She’d given him a type of relief he hadn’t realized he’d missed so much, considering he hadn’t indulged in anything of that caliber in years due to certain doubts about his self-control. But somehow, he had managed to keep his supernatural strength and impulses at bay the whole way through, and he’d kept her safe and satisfied, as he promised he would. In return, she’d made him feel more in tune with himself than he had in a while. 

With all of those thoughts filtering through the vampire’s mind during their morning cuddle session, he had ducked down and kissed at the tip of her warm nose, sighing blissfully when she had returned the gesture onto the curve of his chin. Then, he’d begun pinching playfully at her sides, not being able to resist the urge to make her smile. He had burst into laughter when she herself had erupted into spontaneous giggles, thrashing against him while squeaking curses between gasps of his name, pleading with him to cut it out or she’d wind up falling off the sofa. It had been a wholesome pastime, up until he’d ended up sucking maple syrup off her fingers with that signature devious twinkle in his half-lidded eyes, and then she herself had ended up licking that same syrup off his abdomen. That had led to him tonguing it off the swell of her breasts, and then she had wound up lapping at something much more interesting than his stomach.

It’s only natural, though, considering that in the bedroom, Y/N is a refreshingly unstoppable force.  She matches his every push, pull, and thrust with ease, as if she knows his body by heart.  Maybe she does, Harry muses, considering that he undisputedly knows hers from every angle, like the stanzas of his favorite poem. And between all those things, is it really his fault he wants to spend as much time with her as he can?  Keeping her happy and content had worked well to sweeten her blood for him thus far, so why should he change his game plan now, when he’s so clearly in the lead?

Last weekend, for example, he and Y/N had driven the scenic route out to Malibu, where they spent the entire day lounging on beach towels and frolicking in the waves.  He’d enjoyed seeing her with saltwater hair, her soft skin encrusted with sand and warmed by the sun, almost as much as he’d enjoyed fiddling with the strings of her bikini and coating her body in sunscreen, because “protection from UV rays is a top priority, love.  Trust me.”  They’d packed a picnic lunch for themselves that consisted of homemade sandwiches, chips and salsa, and fruit skewers, which Y/N had hand-fed to Harry after she’d convinced him to let her bury him in the sand.  It had been irritating to shower the grit out from some unsavoury places, but worth it to see the smile on her face and hear her infectious giggles as she molded a sizable pair of sandcastle breasts onto his chest.  And doubly worth it after he took her home and fed on her sea-tinged blood.

Yesterday, as well, had been an example of how well Harry is doing with this arrangement the two of them have.  He’d picked her up in the early afternoon and taken her to the Museum of Contemporary Art, where they’d spent the rest of the day wandering the exhibits and debating the artistic merits of each piece.  Of course, their discussions were less educated and more humour based, as Harry tended to list every painting as reminding him of sex, while Y/N said that every sculpture she saw was a comment on capitalism, but it had made them laugh nonetheless.  And while the security guards standing by didn’t seem to think their overheard conversations were amusing— nor how they posed with the paintings, trying to mimic the various expressions depicted in the artwork— Harry could tell that Y/N was entertained. It was obvious in how sugary her blood had been after she’d fallen asleep hours later. And if Harry were a better artist, he would’ve created his own sculpture dedicated to the honey and lavender liquid that he’d become so tied to over these last few months, but it appears his position as a collector is what he was suited for— both for literal artwork and the metaphorical pieces he’d paint on Y/N’s body with his lips. 

It’s with all these events in mind that he turns to Xander casually as the man’s question echoes in his head once more. “How can you say she’s not your girlfriend?”

A clear and concise explanation slips from Harry’s tongue without a second thought. “I can say she’s not my girlfriend because it’s true.” Harry slicks a hand through his tousled curls again out of habit, so used to busying his fingers with fiddling on his phone that he has to find some sort of substitute. “Keeping her satisfied keeps her— and her blood— around.  And, yes, she’s a sweet girl, and a nice break from you lot—” He nods towards Niall specifically with a jerking motion and a raised brow. “But there…” He just barely hesitates before spitting the words out. “There aren’t any actual feelings there.”

“Oh really?” Niall challenges, his own brow kinking as he shifts on the couch, turning his body completely to face Harry at the expense of Mitch’s personal space. “So all those times I’ve heard the two of you shagging— all those times you’ve called her ‘a dream’ or ‘perfect’— there were no feelings in that?”

Xander wolf whistles at the comment as Adam barks out a laugh, and even Mitch allows himself a reserved smirk at the mention of Harry’s bedroom talk.  Harry, on the other hand, straightens his shoulders as a flush works up his spine and onto his cheeks, and instead commands his tone to be as cutting as possible when he forms his reply.

“I don’t think Y/N would be very appreciative to know you’re eavesdropping on us fucking like some type of perverted creep, so you might want to invest in a better pair of plugs before I rip your ears off and solve the problem myself.” Harry threatens lowly, eyes flashing bright red for just a moment before reverting back to their natural emerald hue. “And you can take what I say mid-fuck as a ready-made script, mate, since you have no clue how to sweet-talk a bird into making her cum.”

Niall’s hands reach up to cup his ears protectively due to the other monster’s violent warning, his brows furrowing into a pointed scowl. “Eat shit. It’s not like I have a choice but to listen, given that you two nearly bring the building down while—”

“You know,” Xander chimes in from the lounge seat, his voice taking on an accusatory tone as his eyes narrow at Harry. “I thought a constant supply of blood would mellow you out, but if anything, you’ve grown a bit more irritable.  Does this arrangement have an expiration date?”

“Xander…” Mitch begins, caution written into his quiet voice as his eyes flit from Harry to Xander and back again. “That’s not—”

Harry sharpens his voice into a blade as he slashes over Mitch, jaw growing taut as he spits out his retort. “I know a relationship lasting more than one night is a bit of a foreign concept to you, so I wouldn’t expect you to understand, but I really don’t think that’s any of your fucking business.”

“So you fuck the same person for a couple of months, and suddenly you’re a relationship expert?” Xander inquires with a humorless huff, his tone just as bitter as his eyes as he glares at Harry from across the room. “As if you haven’t had commitment issues since the nineteenth century?” Raising his drink to his lips, Xander takes a slow and calculated swig as Adam shifts in discomfort next to him, his eyes meeting Mitch’s with a nervous glance. “At least I can call shit what it is, while you just delude yourself for weeks on end, pretending that anything good can come out of your attachment to an insignificant human—”

“If I were you,” Harry says through gritted teeth, his fingers curling over the edge of his couch to hold himself in place. “I’d choose your next words very carefully, Xanny.”

“Or what?  Are you gonna dig into your Fifty Shades chest and spank me?”

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?  What, are you just upset you never got the full treatment?”

A hot flush crawls up Xander’s neck as his jaw clenches. “I never said I wanted it.”

“The jealousy written all over your face suggests otherwise.” 

“Alright!” Adam’s voice barks, swiftly slicing through the tension in the air, his eyes glowing crimson as he commands everyone’s attention from the two quarrelling vampires back onto himself. “That’s enough.  You’re both being ridiculous. Harry, you can’t be upset with us for trying to understand what you’re doing, mate.  We’re just curious, that’s all.  But Xander—” The youngest vampire’s snickering is cut off when his name is called sternly. “That doesn’t give you the right to ridicule him for it.  Harry knows what he’s doing— he’s a full-grown adult— and he wouldn’t do anything that would put himself, or any of us, into any sort of jeopardy.” With a long sigh, Adam’s gaze slides over the two creatures with a look of parental finality. “Are we good?”

Despite the annoyance still woven around each of Harry’s limbs, he forces himself to nod as he settles back into his couch, inhaling a deep breath through his nose.  Beside him, Mitch nudges the back of his hand against Harry’s arm, as if in encouragement, and the motion reminds him just exactly who it is that he’s talking to.  These are his friends— of course they have concerns about him.  Although they might voice those concerns in unusual ways (like sticking their noses into his intimate life), the meaning behind their words comes from a place of affection.

“Alright.” Adam says again, relief flooding across his face as he turns his attention to the rest of the room. “Now, we still need to decide what we’re doing next weekend.  Personally, I think a three day trip to Disney World would be a lot easier than Greece; I say we save that for next month, so we have more time to plan it and actually make the trip worthwhile.”

Xander, still a little irritated from his confrontation with Harry, huffs in response. “That’s all well and good, Adam, except you forgot that I refuse to step foot in that humid swamp-fest. Makes my face break out and my curls frizz up.”

“Jesus Christ, Xander.” Niall groans from the opposite end of the couch, pinching the bridge of his nose like before, nudging his large squared glasses up as he does so. “Can you just get that stick out of your arse long enough to—”

Whatever Niall is about to suggest Xander do seems to disappear from his mind as the Irishman suddenly cuts off his speech, his ears perking up as Harry’s phone begins to chime from his back pocket.  Although the sound is muffled from both the cushion and Niall’s trousers, the distinguishable opening motive of “Alexander Hamilton” playing can be heard by everyone, and it only takes one loop of Y/N’s signature ringtone for Harry to launch himself over the couch with his arms outstretched.

“Hey!” Mitch exclaims loudly, pressing himself into the cushions as Harry’s body writhes against his lap in his effort to extract the phone from Niall’s pants. “Jesus, watch your fucking feet!  You’re like Gumby!”

Harry, however, is only paying attention to Niall, who is fending off his attempts at snatching the device with one hand while holding the phone over the edge of the couch with the other. “Give it!” He snarls, eyes shading red as he watches an immature simper grow onto Niall’s face, his thumb poising over the answer button. “Don’t you fucking dare—”

“Shh!” Niall hisses at him, but his voice is lit with delight as he clicks on the green phone icon and raises the device to his ear, lowering his voice into a relaxed drawl. “Hi there, you’ve reached the Styles residence! Para español, por favor oprima el número uno. This is Niall speaking, what can I help you with today?”

“Oh—” Even through the tiny speaker, Harry’s highly tuned ears have no trouble picking out the gentle cadence of Y/N’s voice. “Hi, Niall!  It’s Y/N.”

“Y/N!” The younger immortal grins at Harry as he dodges his attempt at swiping for the device, setting his palm between Harry’s eyes and shoving him back roughly as he clambers up off the couch. He dashes across the living room to hide behind the lounge seat, sticking out his tongue and wagging it at his very peeved friend. “Lovely to hear your voice, darlin’!  How are you doing on this lovely Sunday afternoon?”

“I’m alright, thanks.” Harry hears her response as he pounces off the sofa, barreling across the room to chase after Niall. The shorter man is stealthy, and manages to duck and weave past Harry without a single issue, escaping under his left arm. He scrambles towards the glass stairs, holding back giggles as his opponent circles around the furniture to go after him, unhinged aggravation written all over his handsome features. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m just delightful.” Niall laughs airily, taking a sharp turn away from the staircase to confuse Harry’s impulses, snatching a throw pillow off the nearest couch and aiming it at the brunette’s head.  Like the beer bottle, Harry catches it easily, throwing it back at Niall’s stomach with a harder hand. Niall avoids it by a hair. “What can I do for you?”

“Uh, I just wanted to talk to Harry— I had a question for him.  But if he’s busy…”

“Yeah, he’s a little indisposed at the moment, I’m afraid.” Niall races into the kitchen, bracing himself against the marble island with that shit-eating grin still on his face, shuffling erratically from side to side to sike out the other creature across from him. “But I’d be happy to take a message from such a gorgeous girl as yourself.”

“Oh, um, that’s very kind of you—”

Harry rounds the corner of the marble island with a growl, snatching his phone from one hand and smacking Niall upside the head with the other. “Bloody prick.” He hisses over the other vampire’s snickers, eyes colder than his touch as he delivers another blow to Niall’s shoulder. “Fucking annoying, is what you are—”

“Niall?  Are you there?”

After heaving an exasperated sigh and sending one more glare to his friend, Harry raises his phone to his ear, doing his best to lighten the irritation in his voice. “Sorry, love. Niall just wants to be a bit of a bother today, it seems.” He sucks in a deep breath through his teeth as he turns away from the Irishman, wrapping his free arm around his middle as he leans his lower back against the island, crossing his ankles nonchalantly. He picks at a loose thread on his copper tartan trousers, voice coming out honeyed and delicate, as it always tends to get when he regards her. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He can hear the smile that spreads across Y/N’s face upon hearing from him, and the tone sends a flood of warmth through Harry’s chest. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“No, sweetheart, never.  I’m always free to talk to you.” Harry sends a cautious glimpse towards the living room, knowing that the four vampires sitting in his living room (Niall had slinked his way back to the couch now that his ridiculous charade had come to a close) are hanging onto his every word. “How are you?”

“Oh, I’m good, just… I had a question, but if you’re busy—”

“No, not busy at all!  I’ve just been lounging around with the boys all morning. S’nothing serious.” Harry replies a bit too excitedly, straightening the hem of his fitted red and black striped t-shirt, which had gotten mussed during his tussle with Niall. “What d’you need?

Over the phone, he can hear Y/N clear her throat delicately, and a picture of her sitting on her couch in her living room plays across the front of his eyes, her thumb wedged between her lips as she chews on her nail, as she always does when she gets nervous. “Uh, well, I was also just relaxing this morning, and I was playing on my phone, and I kinda came upon this cute little bookstore called Verbatim Books. They have a bunch of really cool used books— and records, too, which I think you’d like— and they have this really neat, like, labyrinth layout—” Harry’s lips twitch as Y/N continues to ramble, “—and I’ve been looking for a replacement copy of Wuthering Heights because I dropped mine in the bathtub, remember?  And I wanted to get a new copy of Romeo and Juliet, as well—”

“Alright, slow down, pet.  Can barely understand you when you’re going a mile a minute.” Harry chuckles boyishly, absentmindedly carding a jeweled hand through the soft curls along the nape of his neck.  Just the sound of Y/N’s innocent dialect ringing in his ear manages to somehow soothe his entire body. “You want to go to this bookstore, is that it?  Because we can.” He flicks his eyes back over to his friends, who are already rolling their own in response. “Just give me an hour or two to finish up with the guys, and I’ll come pick you up—”

“Well, the thing is…” He pictures Y/N chewing on her thumb some more, timid uncertainty pouring into her usually clear irises. “Verbatim Books is in San Diego.”

“San Diego.” Harry repeats back to her, his free hand settling against the cold marble of the island behind him as he quirks an eyebrow in mild shock. “As in the San Diego that’s a two hour drive away?  That San Diego?”

Y/N’s anxious laugh tinkles through the receiver. “Yeah, that San Diego.  But if you have plans with your friends, I completely understand.  We can go a different day.”

Worrying his bottom lip between his teeth wearingly, Harry glances at the digital clock blinking above his stovetop, reflecting back the time 12:53 P.M. “When do they close?”

“Five, I think?”

The vampire calculates the route to San Diego in his head, his sculpted brows creasing as the time frame appears in his mind. “If we left now, we’d probably get there between three and three-thirty.  Would an hour and a half be enough time for you to explore and find what you need?”

“Jesus fucking Christ, you are unbelievable,” Xander mutters from across the condo, but Harry pays him no attention other than raising a blue-lacquered middle finger to flip him off. 

“I mean, yeah, I think so, but—”

“Alright, darling, then just give me a few minutes to grab my things and kick everyone out.” Harry says firmly, pushing himself away from the counter to begin searching for his car keys. 

“No, Harry, it’s not so important that we have to go today, and I don’t want you to kick your friends out.  In fact…” Y/N’s voice becomes thoughtful as a new idea pops into her head, and she hesitates for a moment before suggesting it on the grounds of not wanting to come off as pushy. But in the end, her curiosity bests her. “Why don’t we save Verbatim for another day, and I could just come over and hang out with you and your friends?  I bought all the ingredients for this really yummy guacamole recipe I saw on Tasty the other day— we could do, like, an impromptu movie night or something.  I’ve been craving one of your margaritas all week.”

“Yeah, Harry!” Niall chimes in as Harry re-enters the living room, obviously ignoring his friend’s earlier threat against eavesdropping. “I could go for some guac and a marg— not blended, though. Tastes like shit that way.”

Harry stares at him in disgust as he snatches his keys from the coffee table. “You’re a fucking twat.” 

“What?”

“Oh— not you, babe!” Harry hurries to reassure her as Niall cackles in taunting satisfaction. “Sorry, I was talking to Niall.  No, it’s… it’s alright.  You want to go to this bookstore, and the boys were on their way out anyways—”

“Were you on your way out?” Adam asks Xander sarcastically, and Xander raises his half-full Bloody Mary as a negative response, making a mockingly sour face in return. “Okay, I thought so.  Neither was I.”

“—so it’s all fine.  I’ll leave in a few minutes, yeah?  Probably be at your place within fifteen?” Harry checks the time on his Rolex as he estimates his arrival. “Does that sound good?”

“I— sure.  Yeah, that works.” Y/N says slowly, her voice a little softer than it was a moment before. “I’ll see you when you get here, then.”

“Alright, doll.  See you soon.” Harry hangs up his phone with a tap of his finger, sliding the device into his back pocket as he turns to face his friends. “So that was Y/N—”

“Oh, really? I had no clue!” Xander deadpans, rising from the lounge seat and setting his condensation-covered glass on the coffee table, deliberately avoiding the coaster Harry always insists should be used. “See you later, Harry.”

Adam matches the motion, a smirk jolting across his scruffy cheeks as he stands from his seat and claps Harry over the shoulder as he passes by. “Have a nice drive, man.  We’ll do a movie night with Y/N another time.”

The promise plants a seed of unease inside Harry’s stomach, but he doesn’t allow it to show on his face, choosing to smile easily at Adam’s innocent comment instead. “Yeah.  Another time.”

“Yeah, have a nice drive, H.” Niall mutters as he passes him, his face set in a petty surrendered frown. “A nice, long drive.  Preferably off a very short cliff.”

“I would, Ni, but you’d miss me too much.” Harry grins at him jokingly, bumping the vampire’s shoulder with his own until his irritated expression softens into a slightly less irritated smile. 

It’s Mitch, however, who makes Harry pause the most as he goes to leave. He halts in the doorway of Harry’s flat with a somber look in his eyes, appraising his younger friend with a curious gaze, which settles into trepidation as he sighs reluctantly. “You okay, H?” He prods gently, the question heavy as it falls from his mouth.

While Adam’s words were lighthearted and Mitch’s are anything but, they still leave the same feeling of uncertainty curling through Harry’s belly.  And, like Adam’s words, Harry plasters the same reassuring smile across his features, doing his best to dampen his best friend’s concern. “‘M peachy keen, Mitchell.  Don’t need to worry about me.”

“Are you sure?”

Harry only hesitates for a split second before urging himself to respond. “AB positive.” 

///

If Y/N doesn’t say something to him, Harry is going to go absolutely insane.

It’s not that they haven’t had silence fall between them before, because they have.  They’ve had comfortable silences as they lay in bed at night, Y/N wrapped within Harry’s inked arms as her breaths align with his.  They’ve had quiet lapses in conversation during their usual breakfasts as they watch reruns of Y/N’s favorite crime show, or as they’ve wandered up and down the Santa Monica pier, or walked to and from casual dinners on warmer nights. Despite the lack of words flowing between them, Harry would always know what Y/N was thinking as he slipped his light denim jacket over her bare shoulders, capturing her hand within his own once more as he pulled her to the inside of the sidewalk so he could walk closer to the traffic.  Silence is nothing new to them, and has even been the host of some of Harry’s favourite moments between the two, given that being able to hold a comfortable pause with someone is such a beautifully rare occurrence. Silence has typically been his friend.

But the silences that linger in their past have never felt quite like this.

From the moment Harry pulled out of Y/N’s apartment building parking lot and into the busy traffic of L.A., the mortal girl had grown quiet, and seemingly immune to Harry’s inquiries about how her day had been since he’d dropped her off at her apartment the night before.  Although she first answered him with short snippets— no more than a few words long— by the time he’d peeled them out of the hustle and bustle of the city and onto the highway towards San Diego, even those answers had come to a faltering halt.  Instead, Y/N had propped her chin up on her hand, rested her elbow on the ledge of the car door, and turned her pensive gaze at the scenery whizzing by the window, which she watched with a contemplative crease between her brows.

And the infuriating thing is that he’d asked if something was bothering Y/N the moment she’d begun to clam up, and his question had only received a small jerk of her head and a barely audible, “No, H.  I’m fine.” No gentle caress of Harry’s hand against her leg or soft squeeze of her palm had granted Harry any more clarity on the subject.  

She’s allowed to have secrets, of course. Everyone does.  Harry himself certainly has his own fair share locked away in his chest, free from prying eyes and curious minds.  But the thing is, she hasn’t held any from him.  Any question Harry’s asked, she’s always provided an open and honest answer, even if there’s been a beat of hesitation before the words fall from her pretty lips.  But her answer today, of being fine, is so clearly the opposite of that, and her insistence on hiding it means that she doesn’t want Harry to know that she’s upset.  Which means— Harry’s hands tighten around the steering wheel as he rounds the curve of the road— that Harry’s part of the reason she’s upset.  He’s not sure how, or why, or what he’s done, but he’s done something.  Otherwise, Y/N wouldn’t be refusing to give him even a fraction of the warmth she’s usually so willing to gift him. 

Another sigh heaves from Harry’s chest as he lets one hand fall from the leather wheel onto his thigh, tracing the pattern of his plaid trousers absently.  He wants to ask again, just to see if her stubbornness has dwindled by the slightest degree.  And it easily could dwindle with just a breath of suggestion from Harry, but he refuses to do that, no matter how badly he may want to.  If Y/N is really mad at him for something, how can he convince her that she should forgive him if he’s using supernatural powers to make her admit what’s wrong.  Even more, how can he convince himself that he’s justified in earning her forgiveness?

Harry casts another concerned glance at Y/N before shifting in his seat to extract his phone from his trouser pocket.  With a quick swipe of his thumb, he unlocks it with ease, his eyes flicking from the road to the phone and back again as he opens Spotify. 

“You’re not supposed to text and drive, y’know.”

The sweet cadence of Y/N’s voice, despite its quiet tone, uplifts the corner of Harry’s lips and mills a gentle chuckle in his chest. “I’m not texting.  And I’m an excellent driver, sweetheart.” He glimpses at her from the corner of his eye before returning to his search through his playlists. “Got good reflexes.”

The human girl gives a hum of acknowledgement rather than another retort to his comment, and Harry’s newborn grin quickly melts into a frown as Y/N’s attention returns to the window.  Harry finds comfort in another sigh as he selects an album from his library, clicking the shuffle icon in the corner and tucking his phone back in his pocket. 

“Ladies and gentlemen!” Music begins to roll out from the speakers that Harry installed in his car the year before, producing a hip-hop beat and the voice of Christopher Jackson as George Washington. “You could’ve been anywhere in the world tonight, but you’re here with us in New York City.  Are you ready for a cabinet meeting?”

Harry taps his fingers to the beat against the steering wheel as he steals a sly peek at Y/N.  Although she hasn’t turned to him again, he can see her eyebrows pricking up with curiosity as to what Harry’s doing. That’s all the encouragement Harry needs.

“The issue on the table: Secretary Hamilton’s plan to assume state debt and establish a national bank.  Secretary Jefferson, you have the floor, sir.”

The vampire bites back a triumphant smirk as he turns his gaze back towards the road, feigning a lack of interest in Y/N’s response as he begins to rap along to the Hamilton score. “‘Life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness’.  We fought for these ideals; we shouldn’t settle for less.  These are wise words, enterprising men quote ‘em,” He cocks his head to the side, allowing his grin to fully light up his face as he captures Y/N’s attention within his. “Don’t act surprised, you guys, ‘cause I wrote ‘em. OWWW!”

Although Y/N’s expression stays neutral, he can see a twitch in her cheek at his loud exclamation, and Harry begins to exaggerate his actions even more as he gestures towards her with twinkling emerald eyes. “But Hamilton forgets!  His plan would have the government assume state’s debts.  Now, place your bets as to who that benefits.” Harry taps his chin symbolically, feigning thought, and then points towards Y/N with dramatized realization. “The very seat of government where Hamilton sits.”

Keeping her own eyes locked on the road ahead of them, Y/N gives a quick yet defiant shake of her head, the corner of her lip raised just a fraction more than it was a moment before. “Not true!”

“Ooh, if the shoe fits, wear it.” Harry’s simper continues to grow with the warming attitude Y/N’s beginning to display, and he shakes his head in return and raises his free hand in a questioning manner as he continues to rap along. “If New York’s in debt, why should Virginia bear it?  Uh, our debts are paid, I’m afraid.” He lifts his fingers into his curls, running them through his roots and pretending to fluff the ends poshly for a haughty effect. “Don’t tax the South ‘cause we got it made in the shade.” Tapping a jeweled finger against the dashboard, Harry emphasizes the beats of his next line. “In Virginia, we plant seeds in the ground.  We create; you just wanna move our money around.  This financial plan is an outrageous demand, and it’s too many pages for any man to understand!” He pretends to flip the endless pages of an imaginary novel, and then snaps his wrist dismissively with a cocky smirk, deftly guiding the car around the curve of the road with his other hand. 

“Stand with me in the land of the free, and pray to God we never see Hamilton’s candidacy.  Look, when Britain taxed our tea, we got frisky—” Harry rolls his chest to the rhythm of the song, his dimples deepening in his cheeks as he reaches over towards Y/N and pinches at her side playfully, warmth erupting across his veins when she squeals in surprise. “Imagine what gon’ happen when you try to tax our whiskeyyyy.”

“Thank you, Secretary Jefferson.” Washington says through the speaker as Y/N smacks his hand away and purses her lips, appraising Harry with a raised brow. “Secretary Hamilton, your response.”

For a moment, Harry waits with bated breath, thinking that Y/N won’t rise to his challenge.  She’s too angry with him, for some reason he can’t fathom, and when she opens her mouth, he assumes she’s just going to tell him off for—

“Thomas, that was a real nice declaration.  Welcome to the present, we’re running a real nation.  Would you like to join us?  Or stay mellow doin’ whatever the hell it is you do in Monticello?” Y/N rolls with the music just as Harry had, his rainbow cardigan slipping from her shoulder as she gestures towards him with ridicule. “If we assume the debts the union gets a new line of credit, a financial diuretic.” She lists off each subject on her fingers, making a sour face at Harry. “How do you not get it?  If we’re aggressive and competitive, the union gets a boost—” She slaps her hand down against her thigh passionately, as if his side of the imaginary argument appalls her. “You’d rather give it a sedative?”

Harry barks out a laugh as Y/N’s expression grows more incredulous, mocking him in character as if they were really on a Broadway stage, and not his ‘67 Cadillac driving down a highway in California. 

“A civics lesson from a slaver.” She snorts, reaching across the seat and tapping her knuckles against Harry’s head with a light touch. “Hey neighbour, your debts are paid ‘cause you don’t pay for labour.” She mimics his voice, right down to the slight British tinge that had made it into his Virginian twang, throwing up her hands and shaking them in an overexaggerated motion as she quotes him. “‘We plant seeds in the South.  We create’— Yeah, keep ranting.  We know who’s really doing the planting.” 

One of Harry’s hands shoots up towards his mouth and forms a fist, which he presses against his lips in fake astonishment at her dig, joining the background vocalists in howling. “Ooooh!”

The mortal gestures towards him with renewed fervor in her eyes that barely hides the amusement lingering in her irises. “And that’s another thing, Mr. Age of Enlightenment.  Don’t lecture me about the war; you didn’t fight in it!”

Harry bites back the jesting retort of “No, but Mitch did.” that nearly rolls from his tongue.

The minimal restraint goes unnoticed by Y/N, who continues her scathing attack on Harry’s alter ego as she points over her shoulder with her thumb. “You think I’m frightened of you, man?  We almost died in the trench,” She pinches together her index finger and thumb and brings them to her mouth, and the ease at which the mimicry of a joint comes to her makes Harry wonder if she’s ever actually smoked one. “While you were off getting high with the French!  Thomas Jefferson, always hesitant with the President.  Reticent— there isn’t a plan he doesn’t jettison.  Madison, you’re mad as a hatter, son, take your medicine.  Damn, you’re in worse shape than the national debt is in!” Gesturing theatrically, Y/N lowers her voice, keeping her intensity as she points to Harry. “Sitting there useless as two shits.  Hey, turn around,” she makes a small twirling motion in the air with her forefinger, and then juts two digits upwards as if to stuff them somewhere, “bend over, I’ll show you where my shoe fits!”

Harry bursts into laughter with reckless abandon, wrapping his free hand around his stomach as he bends over the steering wheel.  Reaching towards the stereo dials, he turns down the volume, letting the rest of the track fade to background noise before turning his gaze back to Y/N. 

Just like him, the mortal girl is bent over with fits of  belly laughter, and the sound echoes around the Cadillac in the sweetest way.  Harry would take that over the Grammy-winning soundtrack any day. 

“That was good, love.  You’re a proper Broadway starlette, aren’t you?” Harry says between giggles, rubbing at his dimpled cheeks before settling his hands back on the steering wheel. “Didn’t realize you’d been holding out on me so much.”

“I wouldn’t call that holding out.” The mortal girl counters, fixing the slouching shoulder of Harry’s cardigan as she rests back into the passenger seat with a satisfied air. “You’ve heard me sing all the parts to ‘Non-Stop’ at once.”

“Well, yes, but…” Poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue, Harry shoots a cheeky grin at Y/N as he drums his fingers against the leather wheel. “This time you were actually good.”

An indignant scoff falls from Y/N’s mouth as she reaches across the car and smacks his arm.  Harry can sense that she puts a lot of her force behind it, but the action feels as forceful as a fly landing on his shoulder, and he fakes a jostling of his body as he pouts. “You can’t hit the driver!”

“Then don’t insult my Broadway-worthy performances!” She remarks, crossing her rainbow-clad arms over her chest with a defiant air. “I think I’m quite talented— ready to take over the role of Hamilton himself, even.”

The creature rubs over his arm in an attempt to feign soreness, but the simper that’s still dimpled across his face gives him away. “I’m not sure if I’d go that far, peach.  I think I’d give you a chorus role, at best.” He snickers as Y/N’s mouth drops down into a disgruntled frown. “If anyone would be playing Alexander Hamilton, it would be me.”

“Uh, I don’t fucking think so.” She shakes her head adamantly, her brows drawing together in petty disbelief. “They wouldn’t cast a fucking Red Coat in an American Revolution play.”

Harry wedges his plump lip between his teeth at the tauntingly insulting nickname as his mind flickers to Mitch once more.  He’d be amused, Harry thinks, at how this girl seems to so easily mimic the attitude of those who have known Harry for decades. 

“I can do a flawless American accent, love.” Harry’s emphasis on the consonants in his response only highlights his native tone of voice. “But that’s not why I’d be picked to be Hamilton over you. It’s because I just fit the role of the main character better.”

Y/N sputters in her seat for a moment, jaw dropping open at the assured statement. “Are you kidding?” She demands, pressing her palms flat on her thighs as she narrows her eyes. “Like, are you actually fucking kidding?”

“Not one bit.” With his voice dropped to a serious tone, Harry keeps his eyes locked on the road as he replies.

“That is the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.  I can’t believe you really—” Y/N sucks in a deep breath through her nose, as if she needs to calm and center herself in order to form a coherent answer, and her playful eyes slowly drift shut. “I grew up in a small town, dated the same guy for five years, was left behind while he went to university, where he then cheated on me, and then I moved from the town I’d never left before all the way across the country to Los Angeles, California.” Opening her eyes once more, Y/N turns her determined gaze back to Harry, collapsing her hands in front of her for emphasis. “I literally followed the ‘smalltown girl moves to big city’ trope.  There are dozens of LifeTime movies that follow the exact same plot.  If that doesn’t say ‘main character,’ I don’t know what does.”

“Mm, I’ll tell you what does.” Harry counters, wagging a ringed finger at the human girl while keeping the rest wrapped securely around the steering wheel. “‘Following the life of a handsome, rich British bachelor with a mysterious past, a great fashion sense, and who happens to be very well endowed.’”

“Oh, please. That says ‘one of two love interests from a Hallmark Christmas movie,’ at best.”

The vampire gasps with faux offense, clutching a hand to his dormant chest as he flickers his eyes to the scoffing girl. “A love interest?  You think that’s all I’m entitled to?” He asks, brow furrowed as he clicks his tongue. “Did you miss the part where I said I had a mysterious past and a huge dick?  Girls would foam at the mouth for me.”

“No, believe me, I know all about those two things.” Y/N snorts, brushing back a loose strand from her eyes before she rolls them. “Unfortunately for you, those are all key characteristics of a protagonist’s love interest.”

A smug smirk overtakes Harry’s face as he flicks on his turn signal, glancing over his shoulder before passing a car that has been going a bit too slow for his liking. “Huh.  Well, I suppose as long as you know that I have those key characteristics— particularly that last one— then I guess I’ll settle. S’the most important of them all, I think.”

He expects his joke to receive a rolling laugh from the human girl, or a noise of acknowledgement at the very least, but all that echoes from her is an empty hum from the back of her throat.  When Harry glimpses her way again, he finds that she’s resumed her previous expression of quiet contemplation, brow creased in thought as she chews on her bottom lip. Concern begins to weigh heavy in Harry’s chest once more.

“Speaking of mysteries, though…” She fiddles with her fingers, twisting one of her rings around a digit the same way Harry does when he’s anxious, and if he were in a better frame of mind, he might take pleasure in the fact that she’s picked up one of his mannerisms. “There is something I’ve been wondering.  About you, I mean.”

From her closed off body language and sudden shift in mood, Harry knows that this has something to do with the guarded and upset expression she’d had when he’d first picked her up.  And, from her lead in, he knows that his assumptions were right: her unsettled demeanor has something to do with him.  Although the possibilities leave a feeling of unease in the pit of his belly, Harry’s curiosity and his need to satiate her wariness wins out, and he forces himself to nod and ask, “What is it, dove?”

Y/N opens her mouth, but no question falls out.  From the corner of his eye, Harry watches as she closes her mouth again, as if she’s decided against asking whatever it is that she wants to. Harry is just about to encourage her to make her inquiry when a surge of confidence suddenly overtakes her body, and she’s spitting it out in a quick and confused voice.

“Why haven’t you introduced me to your friends?”

Out of all the causes for her guarded demeanor, the topic of his friends had been the farthest from his mind.  The question catches Harry so off guard that he, for what feels like the first time, doesn’t have a quick response already formed on the tip of his tongue.  Instead, his own mouth falls open in surprise, and he casts a quick look at the girl from the edge of his emerald eyes before turning back to the road in front of him.

He knows the answer to her question, of course; it’s the same answer that he’s given to his friends every time they’ve asked him to invite Y/N to a bar trivia night, or a weekend barbecue, or a club outing.  And, truthfully, it’s a question that’s been floating more at the forefront of his mind for the last few weeks as he and Y/N have continued to spend time together, gradually becoming a constant in each other’s lives. However, he didn’t expect it to be at the forefront of her own, as well.  

And the answer, really, is quite simple: if Y/N were to spend time with Harry’s gang of friends, there would be a larger possibility of her realizing that there’s something off about all of them.  Like how they all have a specific jeweled accessory that they’re never without, or how none of them seem to ever grow weary, or how they all have the same cold skin and slight shadows around their eyes.  Surely her keen eyes would catch how, despite the copious amount of shots and number of pints they throw back, none of them seem to become inebriated as easily as normal people would, and they can walk out of a club with their heads held high, free of stumbling or exhaustion.  It’s with careful planning and—truthfully— sheer luck that Harry’s managed to present himself with a halfway-human appearance, and he has no doubt that it would be ten times harder to keep up that charade when the chances of her discovering what he is quintuple.

“Uh…” His brow furrows while searching for a valid response to give to the mortal beside him— one that would avoiding hurting her feelings, while still sounding believable. “I-I dunno, really.  I didn’t think it was that big of a deal.”

The quiet “oh,” that slips from Y/N’s downturned lips alerts Harry that, no matter what response she was expecting, that wasn’t the right one.  She tightens her cardigan-clad arms around her middle as she nods tightly, keeping her gaze fixed pointedly on the passenger window.

Harry rubs his bottom lip with his ringed index finger— another nervous tic of his— as he tries to remedy the tension that’s been brewing between them since she first stepped into the car. “I mean… this whole thing—” He gestures between the two of them, and although the urge to take her hand makes his fingers twitch, he returns his grasp to the steering wheel instead of allowing himself to try and extract her palm from the fabric it’s hidden beneath. “— has been between just the two of us, so I didn’t really think… it mattered.” He finishes lamely, knowing that his justification is just making things worse. “Does it need—?  I mean, did you want—?”

“Well, it’s just…” Y/N lifts and lowers her shoulder in one quick motion, the cardigan once again sliding down to reveal the strap of her tank top underneath and a path of smooth skin that Harry yearns to touch. “It’s kind of like a— I don’t know, a marker?  Like if something is going… well��” She spares him a quick glance before returning her gaze to the passing scenery. “You tell your friends.  I’ve, um, I’ve told mine about you— like, my friends back home, over the phone— and if they weren’t so far away, I know they’d want to meet you, so I guess I—”

“You’ve told your friends about me?” Harry cuts over her, the shock laden in his voice raising it from its usual low drawl. “What did you tell them?  What did they say?”

An anxious flush begins to creep up Y/N’s neck and onto her cheeks, and Harry suspects that it’s not from the warm wool of the cardigan. “I did, yeah.  A couple weeks ago.  They called and asked how I was doing, if I had made any interesting friends yet.  And, well— I’ve pretty much only got you right now, so I kind of had to say something.” She lets out a weak laugh, more air than anything substantial. “I just said that we, um, we were seeing each other, kind of.  Like, mostly we’re friends, and we hang out, and—”

“We do more than hang out.” A grimace tugs at Harry’s own lips at her simplified explanation of their complicated relationship, and he risks an elongated look at the girl beside him, trying desperately to read her expression with no success. 

“I know that, but— like, we’re not dating, right?  It’s not… that was the best explanation I could give.  I don’t think there’s a proper label for what we are— not that we need one.” Although Y/N’s laugh holds more substance this time, Harry can still detect an undercurrent of tension in the sound. “Either way, they said they wished they could meet you, so I was just wondering— your friends know about me, obviously.  We’ve met a few times quickly, but we’ve never, like, had a proper introduction, you know?  I met Xander and Niall in the hallway, and Mitch briefly when we were having a movie night at your place… you talk about Adam a lot, too, and I’ve never even seen him in person.” Turning her head towards Harry with slow hesitation, Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth, her expression so frighteningly open that it makes Harry’s stomach turn. “Do they not… do they not want to meet me?”

Despite the quiet and cautious cadence of Y/N’s voice, and the way it twists around Harry’s unbeating heart like a vice, the question draws a soft laugh from the vampire.  Shaking his head adamantly, Harry rakes a hand through his curls before it goes to tap against the steering wheel decisively. “No, sweetheart, that’s not it.  They’re actually quite eager to meet you. As of late, I haven’t been able get through five minutes without Niall asking about you.  He pries like a gossipy nan and s’been getting on my nerves, honestly.”

Relief spreads through Harry as the admission brings a gentle upturn to the corners of Y/N’s soft lips, but it’s short-lived as another thought pops into her mind, and her cautious tone returns at the realization that—

“So you don’t want to introduce me to them, then.” She states quietly, a clear degree of hurt present in both her tone and her eyes as she twists her body beneath her seatbelt to face him head on.  As certain as she is in her assumption, the cautious shadow that sweeps over Harry’s face serves as confirmation of her statement, and it creates a hollow pit in her belly that grows with each passing moment.

Y/N is aware that their relationship— or whatever it is, because they still haven’t put a title on it, and that’s a whole other complication that she can’t dive into right now— is about as far from normal dating as they can get.  She’d fucked Harry before she knew his last name, he’d told her to take him deeper before he’d even told her where he was from, and he’d asked her on a date two months after they’d met, mostly out of territorial jealousy; everything that they’ve done has been out of the traditional order.  But still, she thinks, picking at her nails as the strain between them becomes palpable in the worst way, there are certain things that you do when you’re interested in someone.  Certain milestones that indicate that a relationship is viable and can be sustained for an extended period of time.  Meeting someone’s friends usually comes around the two month mark, and by Y/N’s calculations, that means they’re nearly two months overdue.

Which is fine, Y/N tells herself, dropping her gaze from Harry’s stormy sea glass eyes as she chastises the self-pity coursing through her veins.  Everything about their relationship has been done out of order; why should meeting Harry’s friends be any different?

Except it is.  As much as she hates it, it just is, because it’s not even that she hasn’t met them.  It’s that Harry, with his guilt-ridden eyes and darkened demeanor, clearly doesn’t want her to.

“Y/N,” His gentle utterance of her name draws her from her thoughts more than his hand crawling across the leather seat does.  It’s not until his cool fingers weave through hers that her fidgeting stops, and she even notices that he’s moved. “It’s not that I don’t want you to meet them, I just—”

“It’s fine, Harry.” She insists softly, despite the tightness in her statement making it obvious that it’s very much not fine.  She pastes a thin smile onto her lips as she shakes her head, trying to appease him as best she can. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Harry squirms in the driver’s seat, tightening his hand around the steering wheel as he heaves a sigh through his nose.  Y/N might be saying that, but the look in her eyes tells a different story.  Does she really think that she can look at Harry with such a wide, wounded expression, and he won’t bend over backwards to make things right?  The thought, although scathing, rings true in Harry’s mind as he worries his cheek between his teeth.  Does she not know the lengths he’s willing to go to just to make her feel better?  For fuck’s sake, he’s making a four hour round trip just to take her to a bookstore in San fucking Diego.  Somehow, without Harry noticing it, this human has managed to influence him in ways he couldn’t possibly imagine anyone ever would again.  Is he supposed to believe that she’s unaware of that?

Shaking his head tersely at her previous reply, Harry squeezes her fingers in his own, clearing the newly formed lump from his throat. “Yes, I do.” He says firmly, looking at the girl from the corner of his eye. “I can tell where your mind is going, love, and I promise you, it’s not as bad as you think.”

“Oh, yeah?” Despite the hurt still splashed across her irises, there’s an echo of a challenge in her tone. “So you just hide all of your… hook-ups from your friends, then?”

“You know I don’t have hook-ups, Y/N.  There’s no one else, there’s just— there’s you.  I only have you.” Harry makes his words as plain as can be, without any joke or teasing to downplay the sincerity of what he’s saying— or attempting to say, because his throat feels so tight that he can barely choke out a single syllable. “And that’s why I haven’t introduced you yet.  I… I like what we have.  This—” He raises their clasped hands, bringing the back of her knuckles to his lips so he can plant a chaste kiss over her soft skin. “I like it.  We’ve spent these last few months in a bubble, just you and me, and it’s been…” A smile tugs at the corner of Harry’s lips, nervous and shy, but tinged with hope. “S’been amazing.  And I’m just… not ready to give that up yet. I…I don’t know how to word it, really.  I’m not good with, um—” With emotions, he thinks to himself. He’s not good with expressing any of this, but he forces himself to try. “It just feels like what we have is something I want to keep private, because it’s special. It’s kind of like when you were a kid and you got a new toy, yeah? And you didn’t want anyone to touch it because you liked it so much, you wanted to keep it all to yourself. It was something so personal, you didn’t want to share it…” 

Harry trails off to look over at Y/N anxiously, and then comes to a sudden realization of the unintentional mistake he’d made by using such a materialistic analogy. His voice comes out rushed and apologetic. “And I’m not saying you’re an object or anything! I just wanted to explain it better and that’s the first thing that popped into my head. Did that...make sense? It probably sounded a bit dense. Or very dense. I’m sorry.” Harry knows he’s babbling aimlessly now, and with a surrendered sigh, he lowers their hands to the seat, still keeping Y/N’s fingers locked tightly with his. “I don’t want to share you, petal.  That’s what it comes down to, really— just me being selfish.  I like having your attention all to myself.”

Y/N listens attentively to Harry’s explanation as a new wave of blood boils to her cheeks, warming every inch of her body.  As much as she still has her doubts— about his reasoning, about their whole arrangement— she wants to believe him.  She wants to believe him more than anything in the world.  

So do it, she tells herself, grazing her lip between her teeth as her gaze remains glued on Harry’s (ridiculously attractive) side profile.  Believe him.  He’s never given you reason not to.

“Okay.” She finds herself saying, and she decides that it’s her turn to raise Harry’s knuckles to her lips for a kiss.  His skin is cool against her mouth, as always, and she lingers against him before lowering their intertwined hands to her lap. “I get it.  I like what we have, too; I don’t want it to change.  Plus,” She can’t resist tacking on a dig, glancing at Harry with a sly look. “From the brief interactions we’ve had, I think Niall and I are pretty compatible, so I don’t blame you for wanting to keep us apart.”

Although Harry barks out a laugh, he barely manages to hide the flash of crimson that streaks through his eyes at the suggestion. “Please,” He shakes his head as he strokes his thumb over the back of Y/N’s knuckles in a possessive manner. “I’m not worried about Niall.  If I was going to be concerned about you leaving me for any of my friends, it would be Adam.” Y/N shoots him a curious look, and his dimples pop out of his cheeks as he elaborates. “Good sense of humour, attractive, and arguably the most sane out of all of us, present company included.  But he can’t perform in bed like I can, so I think that’s a solid deterring factor.  And I doubt he’d drop everything to drive you to a bookstore you found out about through— where did you say you heard about this place again?”

“Uh,” Y/N drops her gaze from Harry, turning her head straight back to the road as she shifts in her seat. “I, um, I saw it on TikTok.”

The vampire snorts obnoxiously, pulling his hand from Y/N’s to rake his fingers through his rouge curls. “Jesus Christ, of course you did.”

Y/N matches his scoffing with ease, crossing her arms over her chest with a defensive air. “Don’t give me that tone!  This is exactly why I didn’t tell you! You know, you can actually find a lot of valuable information on there—”

“Yeah, because filming yourself doing the Renegade is a really great use of your time.”

“I didn’t say— wait—” The mortal girl quirks an eyebrow as she regards him with disbelieving eyes. “How do you know about the Renegade?”

“There’s a reason we blocked the app from Niall’s phone.”

///

Much to Harry’s relief, the drive back to Los Angeles begins a lot smoother than the drive to San Diego had.  

The bookshop had been extremely similar to the antique store they’d been to a while back— it had the same rustic, messy aesthetic that gives a cozy, homey vibe, and it had sprouted a seed of nostalgia in Harry’s chest. They’d wandered around for a bit with their fingers intertwined, rarely breaking away from each other for too long for the sake of maintaining their buddy system. The pair had filtered through the extensive array of titles and knickknacks, walking under archways built out of novels and winding through tall shelves full of vintage collectibles. Y/N had entertained herself with grazing over the spines of all the different books they’d passed, her eyes glazed with a form of childlike wonder he’d grown so fond of seeing. And while Y/N had been losing herself in all the old treasures the shop had to offer, Harry had found himself losing his thoughts to her dreamy smile instead. 

Satisfied with her purchases of Wuthering Heights and Romeo and Juliet, as well as a used copy of Jane Eyre (“Look, Harry, it has little notes in it from the previous owner!  Isn’t that neat?”), Y/N had settled into the passenger seat with ease, a light smile on her face as she buckled her seatbelt.  Harry’s own mood is considerably brighter than it had been on the previous drive, but his shift in energy had only partially been caused by his purchase of a new Simon and Garfunkel album.  Truthfully, Harry thinks, as he watches Y/N thumb through her new second-hand annotated book (the irony of her affinity for literature written from Harry’s original time period is not lost to him), his attitude is merely a mirror of the girl next to him.  It’s much more difficult to be in a good mood when she’s in a sour one, but on the flip side, it’s nearly impossible to be grumpy when she’s showing such a sunny disposition.

Her inquiries from their drive to the bookstore are worrying him, of course.  He knows that he’ll have to introduce her to his friends eventually, especially if he wants to keep this agreement between the two of them up.  He also knows that it’ll be ten times harder to do so with Niall running his mouth, Xander making sly digs, and Mitch and Adam watching him with parental-like concern.  Perhaps it would be easier to just call this all off right now, before things continue to progress.  It would certainly be better for Y/N, he’s sure of it.  Y/N, who gets excited over annotations in her books.  Y/N, who sings along off-key to the radio even when she doesn’t know all the words.  Y/N, who innocently presses tender kisses to his throat in a manner that draws an obsolete warmth from every limb of his undead body, and who smiles at his stupid inappropriate jokes and returns them with her own, and who fits into his arms like she was made for the sole purpose of filling them perfectly.

Y/N, who is reaching between the two of them, intertwining their fingers together with a practiced motion, and—

“Thank you for taking me to the bookstore.” The human girl murmurs, her lips grazing the back of Harry’s knuckles as she speaks. “I really do appreciate it, although I’m sorry I pulled you away from your friends.”

Harry’s woes melt away as she pecks across his icy skin, and a grin begins to jolt his lips as he brings her hand to his own mouth. “Don’t be sorry.” He smears a kiss to the back before dropping their tangled palms to the seat between them, his thumb caressing over her velvety flesh. “You’re much better company than the four of them.  And much prettier.”

“You’re such a flirt.” Y/N rolls her eyes at the comment, but leans further towards Harry in her seat. “And a liar.  We both know that Mitch is prettier.”

“Mitch?” Harry’s emerald eyes widen in appalled surprise, the corner of his lips twitching once more in amusement. “Out of all of my friends, you think Mitch is the prettiest?  What about Xander?  He’s quite the vain one, don’t you think?”

Y/N shrugs one shoulder in a light manner. “I like Mitch’s hair.  The long style works for him.”

“Ah, it’s the hair.  That makes sense; it’s always the hair.” Nodding sagely, Harry allows his lips to pull into a full grin. “So you like it long, hm?  Suppose I should keep growing mine out, then?”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Sherlock.” Y/N shoots him a smirk that’s much more mischievous than his own. “I said the long hair worked for him, not you.  Who’s the vain one now?”

Despite the jesting tone of her voice, jealousy twinges in the back of Harry’s mind as his eyes darken from emerald to forest green.  He forces his lips to stay upturned as he offers a response that’s only half a joke. “Ouch, Watson.  S’not very nice, especially considering how I’ve driven you to San Diego and back today.  I think I deserve a bit of praise, don’t you?  Instead of you mocking me—”

“I’m not mocking!” Y/N’s protest is muffled around the entertainment in her voice, the rainbow cardigan once again slipping from her shoulder as she shakes with suppressed laughter. “Making one little comment isn’t mocking!  It would be mocking you if I acted like you do when you get in front of a mirror— you make this one specific face, like you’re trying to pull a Blue Steel, and—”

“Alright, that’s enough.” Harry huffs as he yanks his hand away from Y/N’s, swiping it through his loose ringlet before clamping it back around the steering wheel. “Ungrateful little wench, aren’t you?  I have half a mind to pull over right now and—”

“A wench?  I’m a wench?” Y/N’s laughter grows louder, filling the entire Cadillac with the unabashed sound that, despite his act, warms the pit of Harry’s stomach. “Alright then, Merlin. What, are you going to put me to work in a labour house?  Is that what a wench does these days?”

“First of all,” Harry quips, giving her a flat glimpse, “I’d be Arthur, not Merlin. Main character complex, remember?”

Y/N rolls her eyes grandly, proceeding to lower her head in a dramatic bow. “My apologies, sire. How could I forget?” 

“And second of all,” the vampire states slightly louder, talking over her sarcasm, “no, because apparently, all wenches do nowadays is just make fun of the men who volunteer to spend four hours in a car with them without so much as a ‘thank you.’”

The mortal girl’s upturned mouth drops open in amused disbelief. “What—?  I said thank you!  Literally three minutes ago!” 

“Did you?  I don’t recall.” Harry sighs airily as he smoothly guides the car around a bend in the road. “All I remember is you saying you think Mitch is sexier than I am.”

Snorting loudly, Y/N crosses her arms over her middle as she gives a small shake of her head. “Alright, I think that’s a bit of a stretch.  I just said he has nice hair.  And, while we’re on the topic—”

“Watch it.”

“— his mustache is cool, too.  It suits him.”

“You know, I could grow a mustache if I wanted to.” Harry can’t help the pout that plumps his lips, nor can he help the whine that creeps into his voice when Y/N giggles at the sight. “It’s true!  I could!  I just choose not to.  And, really, you should be thanking me for it, because it saves you from getting a carpet burn between your thighs.”

“So I should be thanking you for driving me today, for not growing facial hair…” Y/N ticks off the items on her fingers with a ridiculing gleam dancing through her eyes. “Anything else we need to add to the list?”

Harry tuts as he thinks, pursing his lips in consideration before letting out a sharp exhale as a sly smile carves his dimples into place. “That cardigan you’re wearing.  You could thank me for letting you borrow it— although ‘stealing’ might be a more accurate term.”

A miffed expression rises to Y/N’s face just as a flush does. “I didn’t steal it!  I’ve just been borrowing it, like you said.”

“Mmm.  Alright.” Harry hums in the back of his throat as he glances at the girl beside him, kinking a brow expectantly. “And when can I expect it back?”

“Fairly soon, actually.  It—” Y/N’s cheeks boil with more heat as she drops her attention to her lap, clearing her throat gently before continuing. “It, um, it doesn’t really smell like you anymore, so…”

Silence falls between the two as Y/N’s voice drifts off, leaving behind only the sound of Fleetwood Mac gently drifting through Harry’s speakers to cut through the thickening tension that fills the vehicle.  It’s only the faint sound of Y/N’s own shallow breaths that reminds Harry that he needs to fake his own, and he sucks in a deep gasp of air, his throat burning as her thick honey and lavender scent settles on the back of his tongue.

“Well,” He begins cautiously, gauging her reaction from the corner of his eye while keeping most of his gaze glued to the road. “You can always steal it again after I get it back, yeah?  It’ll be good as new.”

Harry nearly heaves an audible sigh of relief when he sees the edge of Y/N’s mouth twitch. “Not steal.  Borrow.” She corrects, her voice as tentative as his.

The heavy atmosphere in the car begins to dissipate as Harry rolls his eyes with fondness. “Agree to disagree, dove.”

Y/N lets out a sound of dissent as she rubs her palms down her legs, drumming her fingertips against her knees with finality. “Thank you for letting me borrow it, H.  And thank you for not growing a mustache.” She giggles out, throwing a coy smile his way before her expression grows more gentle. “And thank you for driving me today, although I’ve already said it.  I’ll have to think of a way to repay you.”

“Oh, I could think of a few.” Harry says with a suggestive smirk, thrumming his ringed fingers against the steering wheel. “How do you feel about spending the night?  We could order dinner from that Thai place you like, take a nice bath, and I could spend a few hours between your thighs while you make those sweet little noises I like so much.  Sounds relaxing, doesn’t it?”

“It does.” Y/N agrees, keeping her voice as light as she possibly can at the mention of Harry’s skilled tongue working her over. “But that doesn’t seem like much of a thank you on my behalf.  Shouldn’t I be the one giving you something?”

Harry casts a look at the mortal girl with a raised brow. “Shouldn’t I get to choose my own reward?”

The fact that he sees the action of eating her out as a reward makes Y/N’s tummy froth. She really doesn’t know how she got so lucky, truly. “You should, but I can think of something better.”

The creature licks his lips once at the promise of something more enjoyable than her taste on his tongue. “Well, I wouldn’t say no to a blowie in the bath.”

“Actually…” Y/N tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as she casts Harry a sideways look through her lashes, twisting her body beneath her seatbelt to angle towards him. “I was thinking of something more immediate.”

The question of what she means by that dies before it can make its way out of Harry’s mouth, stopped in its tracks the moment Y/N’s fingers travel across the leather seat between them.  She rests her palm on his thigh for a moment before beginning to massage the muscle beneath his trousers, her delicate fingertips just brushing over his inseam as her hand works its way higher.

A choked groan is all Harry can manage when her touch travels over his suddenly-growing bulge, and it takes all of his focus not to veer the car off the road. “Y/N,” He says, his accent low and thick with warning. “‘M driving, sweetheart.”

“I know.” Her voice thrums darker than normal as her palm presses flat against him, moving in a slow circle over the plaid fabric with insistence. “I didn’t ask you to stop, did I?  You can keep driving.”

The laugh that rolls from Harry’s lips is breathless and strained. “Yeah, except I can’t when you’re— fuck—” Y/N squeezes along his hardening shaft, and Harry tightens his hands around the steering wheel with nearly enough force to bend it. “‘M gonna crash this bloody car if you keep doing that.”

“No, you won’t.” The mortal girl smiles sweetly at him as her nimble fingers pop the button of his tartan slacks, grasping his zipper and tugging it down so slowly that it’s almost painful. “You can multitask, can’t you?”

“Not like— God—” Clenching his jaw, Harry casts a pained glance at Y/N, only allowing himself a moment of looking before forcing his attention back to the road.  What he sees in that moment, however, is a mischievous glint in her eyes that’s hidden beneath set determination, and the combination would send a shiver down his spine even without her soft hand creeping beneath his trousers. “This doesn’t feel like a reward, pet.  Feels like torture.”

Y/N shrugs lightly, continuing to rock against Harry over his boxers as her free hand reaches for her seat belt and clicks the release button. “Maybe it is.  Maybe I want to see if you can stay just as focused as I did when you made me cum on that ladder. Remember?  Right in the middle of that antique mall?”

Harry watches as her seat belt retracts, a flash of worry striking through his body. Before he can voice his concern for her safety, her hand is dipping beneath the waistband of his boxers. “Y/N,” He strains to get her name past his lips, his abdomen tightening as she grips him snuggly, and her palm feels like agony and salvation all at once. “If you make me cum in my pants with an hour left in our drive, I’ll never forgive you.”

“Or maybe…” Shifting across the seat, Y/N leans into Harry’s ear, her breath hot against his cool skin as she pumps him slowly and ignores the comment he’d moaned. “Maybe I just feel the way you did that day.  Maybe I want to tease you a bit.” She uses the precum that’s begun to steadily leak from his tip as lubricant, twisting her hand around his length to elicit a hiss from Harry’s clenched jaw. She takes the shell of his ear between her teeth, nibbling at it just to feel him writhe in response. “What was it you said to me, H?  When you slid your fingers inside me in that little music room?”

Harry offers no response other than the short puff of air that leaves his nostrils as he clenches the wheel harder beneath his palms.  He keeps his eyes locked on the road, knowing that if he looks down and sees Y/N working him beneath his slacks, he won’t be able to restrain himself from yanking the car to the side of the road and throwing her into the backseat.  And however wonderful that sounds— because it does sound incredibly wonderful, especially when Y/N swipes her thumb teasingly over his bubbling tip— he can’t let himself give into her.

Y/N, however, doesn’t seem to accept defeat so easily, and begins to drift her lips down Harry’s jaw and neck.  While the area had previously been a sensitive spot for Harry in the worst way, he’s repeatedly come to find that the sensitivity he feels when Y/N caresses him there to be an entirely new and pleasant sensation. 

“You said you wanted to have fun, remember?” She licks over the curve of his throat, her own breathing growing heavy when she feels Harry’s Adam’s apple bob beneath her tongue. “Now it’s my turn, don’t you think?”

“Thought—” Harry swallows thickly again, his hips unconsciously thrusting up slightly into Y/N’s hot palm. “Thought this was about thanking me, wasn’t it?  Not getting even.”

Y/N pulls away from his skin with a coquettish look in her wide eyes, her brows raised and lips parted into a small pout. “Are you saying that my mouth isn’t enough of a thank you?”

“Your—?  Oh, fucking hell—” Harry nearly swerves the car into the other lane of traffic when Y/N frees his length from his trousers, the cool temperature of the air-conditioned car sending a shudder down his spine.  The sensation only increases when Y/N dips her head down and extends her tongue to tease his cherry tip with the textured surface. “Y/N.”

“That’s what I thought.” The human girl says smugly, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips even when she wraps her mouth fully around his head and sucks gently, just enough to draw a breathless whimper from the man above her. 

With one hand still grasped tight around the steering wheel, Harry threads his other into Y/N’s hair, roughly tangling his fingers between her silky locks.  He doesn’t guide her head as he usually does, but the idea of being able to move her if he wants allows him to feel a semblance of control. 

Y/N clenches her thighs together as she bobs her head down further, heat pooling inside her belly as she feels Harry tug on her hair with the lightest pressure.  She trails the tip of her tongue down Harry’s expanse, following the prominent vein that pulses underneath her touch. “Do you still want me to stop, baby?” She asks softly, looking up at him through her lashes as she pumps him in a slow motion, batting her lashes sultrily. 

“No.” Harry whines the word as he presses his head back into the seat rest, his neck flexing as he forces his gaze to stay pinned on the road. “No, love, just— fuck, just keep going.” He grits his teeth when he feels her nose smudge along one of his fern tattoos, his next phrase coming out as a barely contained growl. “You’re down there already, so you might as well.”

Tucking her loose hair behind her ears, Y/N takes Harry back into her mouth, pushing herself further and further down his cock at a pace that’s nearly agonizing.  Harry twists his hand within her roots to create a makeshift ponytail, holding the locks out of her face so that she can focus better on the task at hand.  He feels the mortal girl smile around his length, her tender fingertips drawing a little heart along his exposed pelvis as a cheeky thank you. 

As the highway straightens out, Harry risks lifting his hand from the steering wheel for a quick moment, and his deft fingers quickly find the volume button of the stereo to lower it to a quiet lull.  He wants to hear every sound of Y/N’s throat opening up for him, and the muted noises she releases at the taste of him in her mouth.  

Of course, all of that is nearly overpowered by his own sounds of pleasure, and he struggles to keep himself quiet as he grips the wheel with renewed force. “Fuck, doll, look at you...I just…Christ.” The last word comes out as an elongated groan, his eyelids fluttering as her tongue massages down his extent in slow and even strokes. “Just like that, darling. God, you’re so good. Such a pretty mouth with such a filthy fucking tongue, hm?”

Harry throws a haphazard glance over his shoulder as another vehicle passes them, and a flash of territorial protection runs through him at the possibility of someone looking into the car and seeing Y/N touching him like this.  The sight of her acting like such a bold little minx is for his eyes only, and that thought combined with her slow, blissful motions pushes him to inch his foot towards the gas.  Harry wants to put a bit of distance between them and the other traffic on the highway, which will insert some much needed privacy into the situation. 

His acceleration, however, is interrupted by a particularly rough bump in the road, and his body jerks in his seat as they drive over it.  He hears the sound of Y/N gagging before he registers the searing sensation of his cock hitting the back of her throat, and he risks a peek downwards to see Y/N’s watery eyes blinking up at him in disorientation.

“Baby—” He tugs her head up from his lap, concern mingling with the pleasure in his voice as he evaluates her well-being.  Her expression is hazy from her ministrations, and she blinks tears from her irises, keeping one hand wrapped firmly around his length as the other wipes away the wetness at the corner of her eye. “‘M sorry.” Harry gulps thickly as he smooths his thumb over Y/N’s scalp, trying to soothe any discomfort he may have caused. “Are you alright?”

Y/N nods in a jerking motion as her mood darkens lustfully, and she swipes her thumb over the glistening tip of his cock before answering. “I’m fine, H.  Just caught off guard.  Don’t worry.” The rasp in her voice is evidence of her actions, and Harry hates how the sound goes straight to his throbbing length in her hand.  Undeterred by the harsh thrust that had choked her a few moments earlier, Y/N leans down once more to smear more sloppy kisses to the head of his prick, rubbing the slit against her bottom lip to elicit a cracked gasp from Harry’s lungs. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

“You—You are.  God, you fucking are.” The praise falls easily from Harry’s raspberry lips as her mouth returns to its previous distraction, fully suckling on the leaking head as her hand continues to work him in a practiced manner. “Feels like a dream, sweetheart, t-the way you take me down your throat like that.”

The mortal girl keens at the validation, and uses it as fuel to push herself further down his shaft again.  She makes sure that she’s mindful of how deep she’s taking him, keeping her hand wrapped firmly around the base as a buffer in case they hit any more rough patches of road.  With that worry eased, she allows herself to focus on massaging his pulsing prick with her tongue, alternating movements with strong sucks to his sensitive tip. She twists her wrist at a rising pace, matching it to the tempo she’s established with her mouth, working him over messily and swimming in the strangled noises that pour out above her.

Y/N sniffles lightly, talking over Harry’s thick cock to the best of her ability, her voice garbled and raw. “You’re so fucking big, Harry. And so pretty, too.” She moves her hand lower down his expanse, carefully cupping his heavy balls and fondling them between her fingers, preening at the fractured grunt that filters from her lover’s taut throat. “And so full.”

“Please, baby…” The immortal’s quiet plea sends electricity coursing through every cell in her body, his grip on her hair tightening to the point where blots of color speckle her foggy vision. “Don’t stop. Just please don’t fucking stop.” 

“I want it.” She whispers around him, the warm breath of her words puffing down his prickling skin and sending goosebumps across his clammy thighs. “I want you to fill my mouth, Daddy. Want every last drop.”

The creature sucks in a rattling breath through the cracks of his teeth, waves of pleasure erupting along his cheeks and down the knobs of his spine, all because of how erotic her delicate voice sounds as it expresses such explicit confessions. “You’re fucking ruining me, dove.” 

The girl tugs at Harry’s balls gently, rolling them around her palm again as she gives a particularly harsh suck. He can’t stop the loud whine that tumbles down his tongue in response, his hips bucking upwards a tad in unrestrained need. “I want you to give it to me, H. Please? Want you so bad.” 

Harry throws his head further back against the headrest of his seat, his jaw dropping open in a silent moan as his heavy eyelids lull over his rolling irises, tears blearing his vision until he can barely make out the road in front of him. “Gonna—Gonna give it to you, pet. Gonna give you every last bit, all for my sweet girl.” 

Y/N hones her blurred sight above her onto Harry’s face, more warmth flooding the area between her thighs. He looks gorgeous as ever, with his prominent features slack in ecstasy, his clavicle cutting into the sweaty skin visible along the collar of his fitted tee, and with his unusually dark eyes framed by his long lashes. His chest is heaving wildly as he tries to keep his composure, his cross necklace glimmering in the sun with every rapid rise of his defined muscles. His sharp jaw is wound taut, the tendon along the structure ticking as he gazes at her drunkenly from above his sculpted cheekbones. His chestnut curls as matted along his temple and over the nape of his neck due to the heat of the moment, his thick brows are knitted together in pleasurable gripe, and his teeth-swollen lips are parted in aroused wonder at how skillfully she’s taking every last inch of him without any hesitation whatsoever. 

Y/N watches him intensely, drinking up every twitch of his expression and every soft groan he tries to stifle, her tongue lapping at him with more excitement than before. Harry locks eyes with her through his foggy haze, the corners of his flushed lips jolting upwards into a cocky open-mouthed smirk when he sees just how fucked he’s got her, despite the fact that he’s barely lifted a finger through the entire process. He slowly tongues over his chapped lips, glimpsing back up towards the highway for a split second to make sure he’s avoiding any other oncoming cars. He then returns his attention to the human, giving her head a playful tug and feeling the tip of his cock nudge along the roof of his mouth, resulting in a low hiss streaming past his condescending simper. “Why don’t you take a picture, princess? It’ll last you longer.” 

Y/N gives a quick squeeze to his balls, sly satisfaction weaving its way into her chest when she feels him jerk in response, a whined curse of, “Fuck me.” slipping through his defenses. “Maybe you should watch your tone while I’m down here.”

Harry raises an eyebrow at her challengingly, his palm grasping the back of her head with more intent and forcing her down, her nose smearing over his tummy as he hits the back of her throat deeper than before. He holds her there for a second, reveling in the way she constricts around him as soft gagging sounds bounce off the walls of his Cadillac. 

After a few seconds, he pulls her back up his cock to a more reasonable length, humming smugly as she shudders and coughs dryly, her eyes twinkling submissively. His voice comes out strained, but its dark and accented tenor holds its usual unyielding authority, as well as arrogant chiding. “And maybe you should learn not to talk back to me. Guess I’ll have to pull the paddle back out sooner than expected, huh?” 

A shiver coils down Y/N’s spine at the reference to that night. It happened a few weeks ago, but the memory is fresh in her mind as if it’s only been hours. It’s nearly impossible to forget, given everything Harry had put her through, and she often finds herself thinking back on it whenever she needs some relief and doesn’t have his company as help. 

The human murmurs her next sentence shyly, her watery eyes regarding him with a certain type of wistfulness that makes his balls ache. “Maybe you should.”

Harry lets out an airy chuckle at her eagerness, which slowly molds into a gravelly moan when she returns to dipping her head with faster, sloppier strokes. A few strands of hair have escaped the ponytail in his palm, and he takes great care in tucking them back behind her ears with his index finger, which then trails across her cheek affectionately. “Maybe I will. But right now, you just worry about finishing me off. Then, we’ll see if I’m feeling up to it some other time— if I feel like you deserve it.” 

Y/N nods her head obediently. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“‘Course, darling. Anything for my proper little slut. Especially when she’s taking me down her throat like such a good fucking girl.” 

Y/N’s only reply is a broken mewl, and she allows herself to become immersed back into the action of giving Harry the orgasm she so desperately wants to deliver.   

She can taste precum as it dribbles onto her tongue, a precursor to Harry’s impending climax, and the flavour makes her center throb.  She has half a mind to remove him from her mouth and beg him to pull over so that she can properly ride him, but she doesn’t doubt that doing so would add hours onto their travel time.  There’ll be time for all that once they’re back at his place, she reminds herself, pulling off of him just enough to lick her lips before lowering herself again.  Right now, there’s just one thing she wants above all else, and if the sounds Harry is making are any indication, she’s fairly close to getting it.

“So fucking close, angel.” Harry pants, his abdomen contracting over and over again as he struggles to keep the car moving at a steady and consistent pace. “Gonna make me cum, aren’t you?  Want Daddy to pump that pretty mouth full?”

Y/N hums around Harry as he yanks on her hair again, more for the sensation than to actually guide her.  Still, she pulls up from his prick with a pop, looking up at him with doe-like eyes as she replies. “Mhmm.” She hums again, giving him a particularly hard pump and delighting in the groan that rolls from his tongue. “Wanna taste you.”

“You— fuck, darling, that’s fucking it.” Harry’s words echo from his throat in a ragged gasp as he twists his jeweled fingers around her locks once more, straining his head back against the seat to keep himself from looking down again as she retakes him down her throat. “I’m gonna fucking— Oh my God, baby, please—”

Y/N digs the nails of her free hand into Harry’s pelvis, scraping over his plant tattoos as she feels his toned tummy tighten beneath her touch.  It only takes one more squeeze of her hand around his balls and one last determined suckle to draw his orgasm from him, and she lifts herself until just the head of his cock is in her mouth as he spills onto her tongue.  Her own eyes flutter shut as she whines at the salty taste, swallowing it down without a second thought.  She keeps her lips locked around him, wanting to capture every aftershock that spurts into her mouth, feeling ropes of cum splatter across her taste buds as Harry squirms against his seat, whining in encouragement.

She continues to milk him for everything he’s worth, repeatedly prodding the twitching vein protruding along his prick and scraping his sputtering head against the inside of her cheek, wanting to urge every last drop out of him. She only pulls away when the young man whimpers from above, shakily tugging on her hair to alert her that he’s crossing into more sensitive territory.

“Fucking shit…” He murmurs weakly, his breathing erratic as he eases off the gas pedal to reduce the car to a slower pace, rather than keeping the accelerated speed he’d fallen into as he came.  He combs his fingers through Y/N’s mussed locks as a faint, exhausted chuckle rolls from his lips, his thumb ducking down to collect a bit of the mess that had seeped out of the corner of her mouth. He pushes the digit past her swollen, colored lips, his breath catching as he watches her clean it off without a single hitch. “God, minx, I’m gonna need a little warning the next time you decide to do that. Thought I was gonna crash the car a few times.”

“You wouldn’t have.” Y/N reassures him quietly, looking up at him with a fond smile before turning her attention to his softening prick.  She licks up one stray bead of cum from his tip, delighting in the strangled sound the action draws from Harry. She then proceeds to carefully tuck him back inside his trousers, buttoning and zipping them up with ease.  She even takes care to tuck his red and black striped shirt back inside the waistband, but only after she presses a gentle kiss to his still-tensed abdomen, nuzzling her nose across his happy trail and feeling butterflies flutter in her belly when he lets out an appreciative mewl.

Harry inhales deeply as he watches her sit up from the corner of his eye, his hand slipping from her hair to his own to fix the disheveled curls. “No, I suppose not.  I have precious cargo.  Speaking of—” He reaches over Y/N’s body, and with one hand still on the wheel, fumbles to fasten her seatbelt back across her chest and lap. “Y’gotta keep this on if you ever do that again, alright?  S’not safe to have it off for so long.”

A fond smile tugs at Y/N’s lips as Harry sews his fingers over her thigh, squeezing lightly over her jeans before massaging the muscle.  She’s noticed that he’s grown more and more touchy and protective each time they’re intimate with each other, and it would be a lie to say she doesn’t enjoy it. “Yes, sir.”

Harry’s fingertips stutter over Y/N’s leg for just a moment, and the twitch of his sensitive cock beneath his slacks nearly causes Harry to swerve the car again. “Fuck, don’t say that right now.” He mumbles brokenly, his voice much more raw than he’d like it to be. “Don’t think my poor dick can handle it.”

Laughter bursts from Y/N’s chests, and the contagious sound draws a giggle from Harry’s own body as she settles her fingers over his, twisting them together in an instinctive motion. “Too sensitive?” She teases, lulling her head back against her seat rest while keeping her eyes focused on him, sweetening her voice down into a babying drawl. “You poor thing.”

A bright pink blush sears itself onto Harry’s cheeks as he clears his throat, tightening his hand around the wheel again to ground himself. “Yeah.  I only really like overstimulation when I’m the one administering it, not the one receiving it.  And you—” He squeezes her thigh as punctuation. “—are much too stimulating, especially when you’re looking at me like that.”

Another honeyed giggle falls from Y/N’s strawberry lips, and the corners of her eyes crinkle as her smile continues to grow. “I like seeing you like this.” She says decisively, her eyes twinkling with amusement as she reaches over and affectionately twirls one of his loose ringlets around her finger. “All flustered.  It’s cute.”

“Are you seriously calling me cute after deep-throating me while I drive?” Harry asks incredulously, a snort echoing from his throat as he shifts around in his seat.  He’s already uncomfortable in his trousers again, both from the wetness she’d left on him and the way her words are making him stiffen again. 

“Mm.” Y/N thrums in agreement as her free hand reaches for the stereo, dialing up the volume again so the sounds of The Kinks can be heard without strain. “I think you’re cute— very cute, actually.  Even moreso when you get all blushy. Am I not allowed to say that?”

Another layer of warmth soaks itself across Harry’s small ears and stinging nose, and he tries to play off his childish reaction with a casual scoff. He can’t deny the way the compliment makes him feel, though. It’s different from the praise she usually gives him, which tends to be sexual and in the heat of the moment. But this is much more intimate in such a sweet and tender manner, and he hasn’t received that type of innocent attention from someone in much too long. He likes it, he decides. Especially when it comes from Y/N.

She makes him weak, and though he’d normally seethe at the idea of anyone ever making him weak again, he comes to find that the softness she coaxes from him is something so different from the mainstream definition of that dangerous word. She makes him weak, yes, but not in a destructive sense. This girl— this simple mortal girl with bones made of glass and skin of fine velvet— makes him weak in the knees, and in the pit of his stomach, and in the cement walls he’d built around his phantom heart. She makes him vulnerable in new places that have been entirely foreign to him for the last twenty decades, if the glowing warmth surging through him is any indication. And for the first time in a while, he’s beginning to think that maybe— just maybe— that’s not such a terrible thing.

The vampire comes to the sudden epiphany that being weak for someone is unorthodox to him because it’s a human trait. Allowing yourself to form a deeper connection with someone— with a person completely the opposite of what you are— requires compassion and understanding. It requires willingness and empathy, as well as trust and pure intentions. It requires humanity. And that’s what Y/N is doing, Harry realizes. She’s taking that last wilted shred of humanity he possesses and is urging him to use it. Even though it’s not intentional on her behalf, and even though she has no idea of just how small that fragment of humanity is, it’s somehow miraculously working; just her being the caring soul she’s always been seems to be enough to awaken that part of him. 

Despite the fact that the immortal would normally laugh at such a stupidly cringey and cliche concept, there’s no denying that at this point in their little LifeTime movie crossover, it’s true. That’s why it feels so utterly weird— she’s bringing out a side of himself he hasn’t shown in literal centuries. She makes him feel the one sensation he didn’t think was possible for him to ever experience again: She makes him feel alive. 

Oh.

…Oh. 

Harry snaps himself out of his inner turmoil, sucking in a shaky breath and exhaling slowly, releasing all his consuming thoughts. Relying on his supernatural impulses to focus on any oncoming hazards, the creature allows himself the indulgence of shifting his hunter eyes onto Y/N for a lingering glance.  The sun is just beginning to set outside the car window, ducking over the cityscape and washing the distant buildings in mellow shades of soothing pinks, cozy oranges, and buttery yellows. The colors cast a golden light through the glass of his car, and it settles onto Y/N’s soft features like stardust, highlighting her flyaway hairs, the gentle slope of her plush lips, and the dreamy tinge in her captivating eyes.  

If Harry didn’t know any better, about both what she is and about not believing in such ridiculous tales, he’d think she was an angel.  Not that an angel would ever be seen with the likes of him.

“Y’can say that, petal.” He murmurs after a lengthy pause, reluctantly returning his attention to the long stretch of road in front of him, his palm still secured over Y/N’s denim-covered thigh.  If he focuses enough, he can feel her pulse through the fabric, and the steady thumping sends a strange prickling through his hand and into the rest of his body. “You can say whatever you’d like, and I’d listen.”

“Oh, is that so?” She pokes at him with a cheeky grin, using her nail to absentmindedly trace the blood red daylight crystals embedded into the eyes of his lionhead ring. “So you’re actually offering to listen for once, instead of making your cocky little comments?”

The edges of the vampire’s lips jolt with endearment. “Just this once, yeah.” 

Except it’s not just this once, Harry thinks to himself, adding on the words he will most likely never have the courage to speak aloud. I’d listen to anything and everything you have to say. No matter how small and insignificant it may be, or however random and useless you might think it is. I’d listen. For you, always.

Harry doesn’t express his private thoughts, but he pretends that he has, and he pretends that the smile Y/N is gifting him at the moment is her heartfelt response to his silent confessions. 

He adores it more than he should, and how could he not? It’s so blinding, he thinks it could very well burn him.

///

It’s not that Harry is nervous for tonight, because he’s not.  

Spending his Friday nights with Y/N has become as regular as clockwork, and Harry knows that it’s overdue in their routine for him to cook a dinner for her, given that she’d had the courtesy of doing it for him. He’s already picked up her favourite red wine to accompany the gnocchi recipe he’d sweet-talked Vincenzo into sharing with him (Gnocchi al Vostro Gusto— the one she’d enjoyed on their date at Bella Vita), as well as snagged all the ingredients for the lavender lemonade cocktail he planned to make her when she first arrived.  He’d even gone so far as to freeze a few petals from edible flowers into his cubed trays earlier in the day, just to up the ante on his already stunning presentation.  

He’s already set out shining dinner plates along his kitchen island, tidied and dusted his entire condo, and made each of his friends promise to leave him alone for the night.  He’s prepared everything that’s been within his power into sheer perfection; nothing could possibly go wrong.  So he’s not nervous, because everything is fine and because he never gets nervous. Being nervous is for morons, and he’s far from being one, so he just isn’t. It’s that simple. There’s absolutely no reason to be nervous. 

Except that he can’t manage to get his mahogany belt to lie properly against his waist (he’d searched in vain for his black Gucci belt with the logo buckle, but hadn’t been able to find it), the woven leather tail twisting repeatedly whenever Harry tries to tuck it beneath the rest of the belt.  And while the rational part of his mind knows that this doesn’t matter, and that he can just guide the tail into a loop along his olive trousers, the irrational part of his mind— which, unfortunately, just happens to be in control at this very moment— knows that tucking it in won’t look nearly as chic as folding it just right to lay the excess along the length of his thigh.

He’s already crafted the rest of his outfit so carefully, spending almost an hour deciding on the red and black patterned vest to pair with the trousers, and an additional forty-five minutes choosing which short-sleeved button up to layer beneath it.  He’d ended up picking a yellow top with indigo swatches along the collar, proceeding to tuck the shirt sleeves up along the sleeves of the knitted vest to give the fit a stylish flare. Harry thinks he looks good (although, to be fair, he always does), but he knows that if he turns his attention back to it for too long, he’d end up tearing it off and starting all over again.  However, judging by the clock that’s ticking from his bedside table, Harry knows that isn’t an option.  It’s 5:42 PM, and Y/N had said she’d be here by 6:00, and if Harry isn’t ready by the time her delicate knuckles rap against his front door, then she might just decide to turn on her heel and leave, and Harry won’t ever get the chance to ask her—

The creature stops short in his tracks, his fingers freezing over the leather of his belt that he’d just managed to settle into place.  He’s not asking her that, he reminds himself, loosening his limbs just enough to nervously twist his mother’s ring around his pinky.  He’s already decided that— and undecided it, and decided it again— after his road trip epiphany the previous weekend.  It doesn’t matter just how weak, or warm, or alive, or just plain human Y/N makes him feel.  He knows what this is, and has known since the beginning, and there’s just no way that he can bring himself to ask Y/N to be his—

Harry can’t even force himself to think of the word. 

He makes long strides towards his dresser, picking up the string of pearls lying on top of the varnished wood and fastening them around his icy neck.  What meaning could that word even hold for him, anyways?  He’s a vampire, and though Y/N makes him feel the complete opposite, there’s no way he could ever feel so human as to give into the notion of having a girlfriend.  A girlfriend leads to a fiancée, which leads to a wife, which leads to the expectation of a family, and Harry knows that none of those things are compatible with the immortal afterlife he lives now.  If Mitch, who is— by any accounts— ten times the man Harry could ever be, hasn’t even managed to lock Sarah— another vampire— into a solid relationship after three years, how could Harry delude himself into thinking that he could do that with a human?

And even if he, with all his commitment, abandonment, and trust issues aside, could have a relationship with a mortal— not any mortal, he reminds himself, but the only mortal that’s ever managed to capture a sliver of his genuine attention— that doesn’t mean he actually wants one.  Why would Harry ever want to be tied to one place, or one person?  Why would he ever want to have to phone someone before going somewhere, or have to check in on them when they’re doing the same?  Why would he want to deal with having to manage someone’s emotions, problems, and life?  He’s traveled the circumference of the world and back again, and seen more changes to society than any human could ever comprehend. He loves being reckless, and untethered, and not responsible for anyone other than himself. He enjoys being impulsive and not having to worry about his actions falling back on anyone else’s shoulders other than his own. It’s who he is— it’s who he’s been for a while now— and it’s who he had imagined he’d continue to be for another two centuries. 

It’s like that one country song that tormented his radio in the early 2000s— the one about life being like an endless road and about how people should enjoy it while it lasts. He believes the exact words are, “Life is a highway, I want to ride it all night long” or something of the sort. Horrendous song, but it held a pretty decent message. 

So with all of this taken into precise consideration, why would he, in his right mind, ever chain himself to one geographical location, and one single fleeting soul?

The answer floats to the forefront of Harry’s mind as he casts a glance towards his half-opened dresser drawer, where a pair of Y/N’s pastel blue sweatpants are folded neatly on top of his own pairs.  She’d left them there a few weeks ago, and while Harry had washed and dried them for her with the intention of giving them back, he’d decided it would be a better idea to keep them here in case Y/N ever ended up staying the night without planning to.  Just so she’d have something comfortable of her own to put on before falling asleep in Harry’s bed, on the side that he now keeps made up just for her.  

Why would Harry ever tie himself to one person?  Because that person is Y/N, and she’s not just a person.  She is— in every way except officially— Harry’s girl.

Harry can’t even bring himself to deny that fact as he fixes the collar of his shirt and strides out of his bedroom, dimming down the lights before making his way to the glass staircase.  Every issue he’d brought up, every fact that he’s tried to use to convince himself that he doesn’t want a relationship, can’t even be considered an issue when it comes to Y/N.  He already does all of those things— checking in on her to make sure she’s alright, letting her vent about her stress, listening to her problems with an attentive ear, holding her hand whenever they’re together, kissing her forehead while she lays against his chest, switching her to the inside of the sidewalk to ensure her safety, moving strands of hair out of her face so they don’t become a bother— and he does it all gladly.  He’s come to adore the soothing comfort he receives when he walks Y/N to her door after a date, or double checks the locks after she’s inevitably invited him inside.  He delights in calling her during her lunch breaks to inquire about how her day is going, and to remind her that “iced coffee isn’t a substitute for water, peach.  You’ll feel a lot better on your shift if you drink a glass, alright?”  And even when her voice is strained and laden with anxiety as she curls into his side after a particularly rough day, it still sounds like the most beautiful melody he’s ever heard, and the weight and warmth of her body against his own acts like a relaxant to Harry’s cold limbs.  

He rolls his shoulders now as he skips the last two stairs and lands squarely on his leather Gucci boots (they’re one of his favorites, and though they’re a simple black, they have a rainbow impression along the lip that he thinks is quite chic). He releases a long breath as he absentmindedly studies over his art wall, his eyes landing on the painting of a deconstructed sunflower. The abstract piece reminds him of the night Y/N had come over to his condo for the first time, and he begins to feel that annoying yet familiar knot between his shoulder blades that always seems to form when he’s away from her.  It’s something he hadn’t even noticed until a few days ago; how his body grows rigid and stiff whenever they’re separated, like he can’t allow himself to exhale until she’s beside him again.  He supposes it’s a strange vampire tendency— something carnal and territorial inside of him that thinks it’s his job to protect Y/N, the decadent and intoxicating center of his strange obsession, and when she’s not around, unease threads into his muscles until he can be sure his primary source of blood is alright. 

Or maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s something deeper inside him— some other reason to keep her out of any harm and an arm’s length away. However, he refuses to indulge that unsettling mystery right now. It’s too fucking complicated to dwell on.

Ambling into the kitchen, Harry begins to dig through his lower cupboards for the apron he hadn’t bothered to slip on when he was cooking earlier.  Pushing aside the white cover with the words “World’s Best (pancake) Tosser” stamped onto the front (it had been a gift from Niall, delivered with a sly grin and a cheeky comment about how the apron was too accurate to pass up), Harry selects the butcher’s apron printed with the phrase “Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’!” He slips the loop over his head and ties the straps behind his toned back with a quick motion, the edges of his lips quirking at the pompous joke. He knows Y/N will make a comment about it. 

He hadn’t bothered with the apron before when he’d been preparing the gnocchi simply because his loungewear isn’t necessarily that important, but now that he’s changed into something much nicer than the t-shirt and sweatpants he’d previously worn— and after he’d struggled with deciding on the outfit for so long— the last thing he wants to do is splash sauce onto himself as he navigates his kitchen.

Harry’s mind continues to race with nearly incomprehensible thoughts as he gathers the last of the ingredients needed to finish the meal, his nimble fingers easily peeling the skin from a clove of garlic before he begins to mince it with practiced skill.  Maybe that’s the cause of all his confusing feelings, he muses as he tosses a knob of butter into his preheated pan, scooping the garlic onto his knife and adding that to the mix as well.  Maybe that instinctual feeling to protect is the root of all his fantasies of a relationship.  He can’t possibly want— can’t actually believe that he’d...

Except he does.  

Sighing grimly as he snags a wooden spoon from a kitchen drawer, Harry nudges the cabinet shut with his hip before beginning to stir the sizzling concoction in his pan.  Somehow, against all odds— against all reason— he’s become attached to Y/N.  So attached that he’d spent an hour begging Vincenzo for this specific recipe when he could’ve so easily googled a different one and recreated it to near perfection.  So attached that he’d driven to three different liquor stores to find her favourite brand of red wine, which he’d set to chill in his fridge hours ago, because even though a cabernet sauvignon is supposed to be chilled for forty-five minutes at most, Y/N likes it icy cold.  So attached that he’d taken care to freeze individual flower petals into ice cubes, just so he could make her a cocktail flavoured with honey and lavender, the exact same way she is.  So attached that, for the first time in twenty decades, the concept of a relationship doesn’t draw a disgusted gag from his throat and doesn’t send a ghostly spike of pain to his neck.

“Doesn’t matter.” He mutters the words out loud to himself, as if speaking them audibly will reinforce their meaning.  Opening the fridge with a rough tug, Harry nabs the quart of cream he’d purchased earlier that day, bending the mouth of it open and pouring it smoothly into the saucepan and giving it a stir.  It doesn’t matter if he wants a relationship, because there’s no way that Y/N does.

A bitter laugh tears its way through his chest as he reaches for the bowl of gorgonzola cheese he’d shredded earlier, scattering the ingredient into the saucepan and slowly mixing it in.  He’s arrived at the same point he has all week when he’s had this argument with himself. The same fact that’s stopped him in his tracks each time he’s dared to think that— if he should ask— Y/N would say yes to him becoming a more permanent fixture in her life.  She’d say yes, he thinks.  Or he hopes, at least.  She’d say yes, until she wakes up in the middle of the night to Harry caged over her with crimson irises, terrifying shadows below his waterline, black veins webbing out from his eyes, and a blood-soaked mouth bared to reveal his dagger-like fangs. Then, she’d be gone.

Not gone, he amends in his head, the thought somber and acrid in his mind as he reduces the sauce to a simmer.  He’d have to go after her, of course, but not in the way a man usually goes after a woman.  Despite how they’d joked about it casually, Harry most definitely doesn’t belong in a LifeTime movie.  No, he’s from a much darker genre— less leading man, more malicious creature that lurks in the night— and the only thing he could do when he chases Y/N down would be to wipe all traces of himself from her mind entirely.  That’s the ending they’d be destined for if he let himself buy into his romantic delusions.  It’s better not to put a label on anything.  No labels keep a degree of separation between their two lives— at least, that’s what Harry tells himself.  And as much as it pains him, a degree of separation might be exactly what they need.

And yet, when Y/N knocks on his door two minutes later, just as he’s sprinkling various ground herbs into the sauce and setting it onto the back of the stovetop to wait until they’re ready to eat, Harry can’t help the giddy grin that immediately decorates his dimples. He hurries to untie his apron and tosses it onto the back of one of the chairs lined against his kitchen island, dragging a ringed hand through his purposefully tousled curls as he nearly super-speeds to the front door of his condo. He trips on his way there, spewing curses as he barely saves himself from face-planting the ground like an imbecile. He straightens himself out with a petty huff, slowing down slightly and being more mindful of every step he takes. His smile has already returned before he even yanks the door open.

Y/N— his Y/N, he allows himself to think affectionately— is dressed from head to toe in his own clothes.  Well, almost head to toe, he corrects, casting a sly glance at the way her black jeans hug the curve of her hips too perfectly to be his own pair.  But he recognizes the black and white speckled short-sleeve button up that’s french-tucked into the high-waisted denim, and shrewdly notes the addition of a Gucci belt looped around her waist— the very one he’d been searching for earlier.  She’s even styled the shirt the same way he does, with half the top buttons undone.  However— Harry licks his lips unconsciously as his eyes hover over her exposed chest— she’s paired the top with a delicate looking black lace bralette that catches his hungry gaze the moment he spots it.  Even the black ankle boots she’s wearing are reminiscent of his own fashion choices.

“Y’know,” Y/N’s amused voice cuts through his stupor, drawing his attention back from the obvious canvas of her body and up to her glittering eyes. “It’s not very gentlemanly of you to check out my tits before even saying hello.”

Harry’s mouth crooks sheepishly in response as he reaches out to her, looping his muscled arms around her waist and pulling her inside the condo and against his body with ease. “Hello.” He murmurs obediently, thumbing at her waist over the silky fabric as a teasing yet fond cadence sews its way into his voice. “So this is where my clothes keep disappearing to, hm?  I searched for that belt for an hour today.”

“Shouldn’t have left it at my apartment, then.” Y/N counters easily, curling her hands against Harry’s chest.  He can already feel her heat beginning to web through his entire being, warming him in a manner nothing has in the last two hundred years. “And you said tonight’s dress code was casual formal— which makes zero fucking sense, by the way— so I figured the best way to conform to that would be would be by wearing your own clothes.” A drop of hesitance begins to colour Y/N’s tone as she casts her gaze towards his own, chewing on the inside of her cheek as she tries to read between his teasing words for any hint of actual annoyance. “Is that… okay?”

“Perfectly okay, angel.” Harry soothes the worry lines that have formed between her eyes by stamping a kiss onto her forehead, allowing himself to linger for a moment to inhale her familiar scent of sugar and flowers.  It seems more powerful today than it usually is, almost bowling him over right there in the foyer, and he takes a step back to regain control of himself under the pretense of closing the door. “Honestly, I’m a little miffed that you look better in my clothes than I do.”

“‘Miffed’?” The mortal girl laughs as she reaches down to retrieve something from the ground, and it’s only then that Harry realizes that she’d had an overnight bag in her hand before he’d tugged her into his grasp and caused her to drop it.  “Who says ‘miffed’?  Are you a sixty-seven year old woman named Betty?” 

Although he allows a chuckle at her incredulous question, Harry’s attention has focused in on the bag inches away from her outstretched hand.  Cursing himself for being too wrapped up in her appearance to notice the item she’d been toting, Harry quickly fetches it from the ground before she can, carrying it further into his apartment before setting it down on one of the island chairs, as if the small distance could make up for the initial lack of manners he’d displayed. 

“No, I’m not.  I’m just British.” He should bring the bag up to his bedroom, he thinks, just so Y/N doesn’t have to wonder where her clothes are when she’s fraught with exhaustion later. But that would mean having to leave her side, and the grip her fragrance has on his senses right now won’t allow him to do so. 

“Oh, yeah! I almost forgot.” Y/N lilts with an exaggerated air, another giggle rising from her petal-like lips as she leans against the marble countertop on her elbow, propping her chin up in one hand and resting the other on top of the stone.  She regards him with all the affection that he doesn’t deserve, and yet always seems to crave, and it takes all of Harry’s willpower to not grasp her chin in his hand and sift their lips together just to taste her laughter. “Along with ‘pip pip’ and ‘cheerio,’ right?”

“Yes, those phrases are definitely at the top of my vocab list.  You’ve heard me say them a million times.” Harry rolls his eyes playfully, shaking himself from his distracted thoughts as he steps back behind the counter to effectively put a little bit of much needed space between him and the mortal girl.  His restless hands are already outstretched to his bar shelves before he even asks, “D’you want a drink, darling?”

Y/N watches with innocent curiosity as Harry sets two lowball glasses down on the counter before reaching into his cupboard for a jar of honey, which he spoons onto an awaiting plate.  He rims the glasses in the syrup before dipping them into sugar, sparking confusion in Y/N as she tries to decipher what cocktail Harry is making her.  Her befuddlement only grows as he extracts a bottle of clear liquid that she assumes is vodka and a purple concoction that she can’t identify. “What are you making?”

“Lavender lemonade.” Harry answers swiftly, reaching into a drawer for the small double-ended measuring cup tool that Y/N still can’t remember the name of, as well as his crystal cocktail shaker.  Y/N observes with wide eyes as he fills the shaker with ice and vodka before picking up the mysterious liquid. “This is lavender syrup.  Not homemade, unfortunately, but I do buy it from a little organic grocer I know at the farmer’s market.  Adds a nice floral note to the drink, and mixes well with the lemonade.” He caps the container and shakes it expertly (the way his muscled arms ripple with effort doesn’t go unnoticed by her, as it never does) before setting it down on the counter and making his way to the fridge freezer. “S’where I get my honey, too.” He chances a look over his shoulder just in time to see Y/N dip her finger into the honey pooled on the plate and pop the digit into her mouth, and Harry has to force himself to tear his eyes away as she sucks lightly on her fingertip, her cheeks just barely hollowing. “Do you like it?”

“Mhmm,” Y/N hums around the digit as she keeps her eyes shamelessly glued to Harry’s ass while he bends down to open the cooled drawer, retrieving a tray of cubed ice and coming back over to add one large block into each lowball glass. “Are there flowers in there?” She asks in wonder after retracting her finger from her mouth with a pop, leaning over the table more to observe the decorative ice that has filled the cups.

“Mm.” Harry matches her hum with a more pleasured undertone, both from her noticing the small detail, and from the unobstructed view of her cleavage that her new position allows him.  He picks up the shaker and strains the light purple lavender and vodka mixture into the glasses, topping off each cocktail with a can of sparkling lemonade that he’d also retrieved from the fridge. “S’pretty, isn’t it?” He asks, stirring the drinks with a spoon before holding up one of the glasses to the light and handing it to Y/N. “My own creation.  You’re the first person to try it.”

Their fingers graze as Y/N accepts the glass from him, sparking electricity up her entire arm, and she can’t help the irreverent moan that thrums in the back of her throat as she brings the glass to her lips, tasting the honey and sugar first before the lavender coats her tongue. “This is so good, H.” She praises, licking a lingering dab of honey from her mouth between her words.  Twisting the glass in her hands as she regards the lilac drink, Y/N eyes him over the rim of the crystal, pupils blown wide. “I didn’t think honey and lavender could ever taste so good.”

“You know, I used to think that, too.” Harry’s mumbles knowingly as his own eyes drift a shade darker. He watches the human girl’s neck strain with her swallow, as if she knows he’s trying to keep his gaze away from there and she’s beckoning him back. “But it’s my favourite flavour combination now.  Can’t ever seem to get enough.”

The comment goes right over the mortal girl’s head, just as Harry knew it would.  His expectations of the cocktail in his hand are also met from his very first sip; although the concoction is delicious, it pales in comparison to the fragrance wafting across the island from Y/N.  He may as well be drinking water, honestly. But he knows he’ll end up repeating the recipe a few more times at the very least, just because Y/N tells him that it’s her favourite drink he’s ever made.

“You say that every time I make you a new drink, dove.” Harry can’t help but quip coyly at the repeated compliment, setting his crystal tumbler against the counter with a quiet thud. “Am I supposed to keep believing it?”

“Obviously. Especially when each drink keeps getting better and better.” Y/N licks a drip of honey from the rim, her tongue delicately capturing the sugar crystals before her lips settle back onto the edge to take another sip. “You would be an amazing bartender, but we’ve already talked about that before.”

“We have, yeah.” Harry smiles softly as he recalls the conversation they’d had weeks ago, where she had said his drinks were better than anything she’d had at a club, and he had responded by saying he doesn’t have the patience to be a bartender. That conversation feels as if it happened a lifetime ago, and considering how much closer they had become since, it quite literally could be. “But refresh my memory, will you? Why is it that I’d make such an amazing bartender?”

Y/N gives Harry a jokingly flat glance as a response to his smug tone, but decides to humor him, nonetheless. “Well, you obviously have the mixology skills, and I don’t doubt that the whole thing you have going—” She nods her head to him over the island with a teasing smirk. “—would get you endless tips.”

“My whole thing?” Harry repeats the phrase with an air of faux confusion. “What do you mean, my whole thing?”

He knows what she means, of course.  But he won’t deny himself an opportunity to hear Y/N feed his ego with sweet-spoken praise.

Y/N doesn’t buy his innocent act for a minute, but still indulges him, yet again.  She likes to see Harry preen under her compliments just as much as he likes to receive them. “You know…” She casts her eyes over his figure slowly, picking out every detail she can comment on as she wedges her bottom lip between her teeth. “Your whole look— the tattoos, the muscles, the dimples, the sparkling green eyes, the shiny curls… all of that would have any drunk customer draped over the bar for you.  And even if you couldn’t get by on looks alone, you’re absolutely charming.  To the point of ridiculousness, honestly, but,” Y/N eyes him suspiciously, and while her words are mostly in jest, she can’t deny that she’s seriously thought them at some point in time. “I’m not entirely convinced it’s genuine.  Although being able to fake that kind of attitude would serve you well in a crowded bar.”

Whatever Harry was expecting to hear among the praise, an accusation of dishonest behaviour wasn’t it.  His brow furrows deeply as his lips turn down into a displeased grimace, and he drums his ringed fingers over the marble countertop as he cocks his head to the side. “What d’you mean?” The question is earnest now, no longer a coquettish teasing remark, and the warmth the mortal girl had provided him with begins to subside as a flash of icy doubt digs shards through his chest. “Not genuine?  Does it seem like I’m faking it or something?”

Y/N teases her lips with her tongue, unable to stop the nervous tic as she hears the displeasure that clearly strains Harry’s tone.  Setting her own glass down on the counter, Y/N lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “I just mean, like… I don’t know.  I don’t really think that now, but in the beginning…”

“What?” Harry prompts her with more intensity than he’d meant to, but he’s spent so much of this past week analyzing their every interaction while wrestling with his own thoughts that he’s already on edge; he needs to hear what Y/N had thought of him when they’d first met.  His own recollection of the memories has made him flinch multiple times, particularly the times when he’d thought that Y/N was as boringly ordinary as humans come. He can only imagine what her take on the situation is. “Did I— was I rude, or—?”

“No, no, nothing like that.” She hurriedly assures him, shaking her head hard enough that her loose locks bounce around her shoulders. “You weren’t rude at all— the opposite, actually.  I don’t know, it just seemed… like it was too good to be true, y’know?” Her voice grows impossibly softer as she traces her finger over the rim of her glass, her eyes dropping from Harry’s like it hurts her to hold them. “Like, there was no way that someone could be so attractive, so funny, so good in bed—” Harry can hear blood creep up the nape of her neck against her will, beginning to pour into her cheeks. “—and so charming.  Something had to be an act.”

Despite the urge Harry has to justify his actions, he knows there’s nothing he can say that could prove Y/N’s original perception of him wrong.  And, in all honesty, he has no right to.  As much as he’d like to argue the fact, and as much as he did genuinely come to enjoy being around her, Harry can’t deny that from the first moment he’d approached Y/N in that club, he’d dialed up his charm as he always did without a second thought.  He’d flattered her, flirted with her, done everything he could to convince her that she should take him home so he could indulge in the two things he’s always manipulated people for: sex and blood.  And when that worked, he did it again, and again, and again, until they’d fallen into the pattern they have now.  He’d never lied, of course, and he prides himself on that— every compliment he’d paid her had been rightly deserved.  But even that justification doesn’t stop the shame that’s twisting its way through his limbs and making his head heavy.  

She had thought something had to be an act, and she had been right.  Harry himself was an act, in every aspect of the term— stretching the truth about his past, opening himself up just enough to make her open herself in return, setting her up so that she’d become dependent on their relationship. And all so he could sink his teeth into her neck without a second thought.  

He can’t exactly pinpoint when all that had changed— singing “Non-Stop” in his kitchen?  The jealousy he’d felt when he spotted her on a date with that insipid idiot, Jacob?  Seeing her in that yellow sundress when he picked her up for their first date?— but the fact that it had changed doesn’t erase how it had started. It doesn’t erase the cruelty he’d hidden beneath his calculating words, intricately-placed caresses, and dirty promises.

“Harry.” He’d been so caught in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice Y/N had moved until she’s standing right in front of him, one of her velvet hands twisting into his own as the other tucks a loose curl back from his creased forehead. “I don’t think that now.  You know that, right?” Even after securing the ringlet, she keeps her palm pressed against his cheek, and Harry can’t help but lean into the burning heat her touch provides. “I just— I’d never met anyone like you.  There was no one like you where I grew up.  I didn’t think someone could be so…” Y/N worries her lip between her teeth again, and Harry wishes he had enough in him to smooth the bite mark with a touch as soft as her own. “I didn’t know you yet.  But I do now.”

The vampire inhales a shaking breath as if he needs it to live, lifting his own free hand to wrap over the palm Y/N rests against his cheek.  Weaving his fingers through hers, he drags her hand lower until her skin is secured over his lips, and he smudges a gentle kiss against her handprint.  There’s something so tender in her words— no one could ever accuse Y/N of being disingenuous.  But he needed to hear this, he thinks as he presses his mouth repeatedly to her palm, the throbbing of her pulse in her wrist catching against his cheek.  He needed to hear how she thinks she knows him.  It’ll serve as a reminder that he can’t allow himself to succumb to the weak thoughts he’d battled earlier in the day.  As much as Y/N assumes she knows him, there’s things that she’ll never understand— things he would never allow her to understand, because she doesn’t deserve such a terrifying burden— and how could he keep up that pretense while allowing her to call him her boyfriend?

“I know you do, sweetheart.” Harry mutters the words into her fragile skin, inhaling her intoxicating aroma deeply until his throat burns in agony.  It’s a small price to pay for what he’s put her through. “It’s alright.  I don’t blame you for doubting it.” The smirk he forces onto his face is nowhere near believable, but he manages to keep the strain out of his voice enough to sell it. “I’m pretty hard to believe, y’know?  Especially when you grew up with people like Cucumber Dick.”

Successfully diffusing the moment, Harry’s comment tugs an irritated groan from Y/N’s chest, and she takes a step back from him as her hand falls from his face, despite her other fingers still remaining tied with his own. “You can’t just keep calling him Cucumber Dick, alright?  He has a name!”

“Yeah, Bradley.” Harry says in distaste, his nose wrinkling as he shakes his head slowly. “S’honestly worse than Cucumber Dick.  I’m doing him a favour— a bit of charity work.”

Y/N hums in the back of her throat thoughtfully as she steps back around the kitchen island, Harry’s arm extending over the countertop as she tugs his hand along with hers. “Then don’t do me any favours like that, alright?  Can only imagine what you call me when I’m not here.”

A few names pop into Harry’s mind— dream, darling, angel, and countless others that he’s murmured to himself in the privacy of his condo— but they’re tainted by the memory of his friends confessing how they’ve talked about her when he hasn’t been around to hear it.  How they’ve compared her to different foods, used that to reference her, as if that’s all she is to him.  As if she isn’t the only person who has managed to make him feel something in over two lifetimes.

In the rational part of Harry’s mind— which, once again, is sadly not the part of his mind that’s ever in control— he knows that he can’t blame his friends for thinking that.  It’s his own fault for being so insistent on that fact over the last few months.  How many times had they questioned his motives behind his daily phone calls to her, or how often he found himself dropping everything just to spend some time with her?  How many times had he rolled his eyes at their assumptions that he wanted more from the mortal girl than he’d ever admitted?  How many times had he asserted that there was nothing more that she could offer him than her body and her blood?  They’d only listened to what he was saying, despite knowing that Harry’s reassurances were false.  Did any of them suspect that things had changed for him now?  Or did they still think that Harry’s only motivations behind his relationship with Y/N are primal?

Harry pushes the badgering thoughts from his head as best he can as he reaches for his apron that’s still lying over the back of the chair.  He can’t dwell on those thoughts now.  If the turmoil twisting inside of him hasn’t subsided by the end of the night, he’ll call Mitch once Y/N is fast asleep under the extra blanket he keeps on his bed just for her.  Although he doesn’t relish the thought of admitting he was wrong to the likes of Xander or Niall— he knows their teasing and taunting would never end— he can talk to Mitch about it without the worry of judgement.

“Why don’t you put a record on, petal?” Harry asks absentmindedly, nodding his head towards the record player set up in the corner of his living room as he slips his apron back over his head. “I just have to boil the gnocchi, and then—”

“Wait, wait wait,” Y/N cuts over him with an increasingly gleeful expression, rounding the edge of the island again to tug on the strap of Harry’s apron. “Mr. Good Lookin’ is cookin’?” She repeats, unable to bite back the giggles that are rising through her throat. “Please tell me you didn’t buy that for yourself.”

His troubling mindset disappears the moment laughter falls from her lips and echoes around the kitchen. “‘Course I did.  And why wouldn’t I?” Harry simpers as his deft fingers easily secure the ties behind his back in a neat bow. “I’m Mr. Good Lookin’, and I’m cookin’.  S’only the truth.”

“Your vanity is astounding.  Truly.” Y/N trails her finger from the strap of the apron to the pearls around Harry’s neck, stroking the silky stones with the lightest touch. “Like, borderline narcissistic.”

Snaking his arms around her waist, Harry easily pulls the mortal into his body, securing her against his chest just as he had done when she’d first arrived.  It’s comfortable for him to have her pressed against him like this.  The steady rising and falling of her chest and hummingbird beat of her heart against his own unmoving organ keeps him centered, like his own personal lifeline. 

“Is it so wrong to be confident in my appearance?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as his dimples pop from his cheeks, and he slides his hands from Y/N’s back to her ass, cupping and squeezing firmly in appreciation.  His smirk only grows as Y/N’s cheeks begin to boil from the suggestive contact. “How can you contradict me when it gets such a reaction from you?”

“I think that has less to do with your looks and more to do with where your hands are.” She quips dryly, and yet her nails dig into Harry’s exposed collar bones with the slightest of pressure, a surefire sign of just how much his touch affects her.

Harry leans forward as the girl’s breathing grows more erratic, and he nuzzles his nose along hers while keeping the smallest of spaces between their lips. “Either way, I’m getting what I want, aren’t I?”

To his immense pleasure, Y/N’s words are breathy and strained when she replies, a side effect of the shallow inhales her body draws against his. “Which is?” 

“You.  More specifically, you melting under my touch like you just can’t get enough of it.” Harry drags his lips across Y/N’s for no more than a second before continuing his path up her jaw, only stopping when he can feel the flushed shell of her ear beneath his mouth. “You should indulge your vanity a little more often, sweetheart.  S’quite fun, honestly.”

Y/N shivers beneath Harry’s touch, her eyelids fluttering as his cool breath rolls over her ear and down her neck.  Turning her head to the side, she locks her half-lidded gaze with his own before slotting their lips together to indulge in the lingering taste of honey and lavender that sits on his tongue. 

Despite his instinct to draw her closer while curving her body into his own, Harry separates their lips with a gentle nudge of his forehead against her own, his breathing growing just as erratic as Y/N’s.  Control, he reminds himself as heat prickles along his icy skin from the tender pads of Y/N’s hands.  This isn’t like their first meetings, when he could invite her over under a pretense and take her against the counter before they’d even finished their drinks.  This is different now.  She’s different now.

“Why don’t you go put a record on?” He says again, his voice noticeably deeper than it was when he first made the request. “And I’ll finish getting dinner ready. Sound alright?”

Y/N manages to nod without removing her forehead from his, but that seems to be the only movement she makes; her palms remain pressed firmly against Harry’s tattooed biceps, even after he reluctantly releases his hold on her body.  She can’t help it— it feels too good to be so close to the young man to allow herself to willingly walk away.  Something in his presence is so calming, so steady to her, even when he’s whispering obscenities in her ear.

But outweighing the need to be next to him is her desire to make him happy, and if he wants her to pick out a record… “Alright.” She nods once more as her hands slip from his skin, trailing down his forearms and grazing his wrists before falling to her sides. “Any record?”

Harry drags a ringed hand through his curls, his lithe fingers tugging on the locks before falling to his side in a loose fist. “Any record.” He confirms as he reaches for a kitchen drawer, tugging it open to extract a long metal spoon. “Anything you want to listen to.”

He watches as a serious expression paints itself over the human girl’s face, as if the task he’s given her is of the utmost importance.  She turns on her heel and marches out of the kitchen as if on a mission, and as Harry turns towards the now-boiling pot of water on his stove, he knows that his own face reflects a look of fondness.  It’s too easy to let his guard down with her, he thinks as he ladles his homemade gnocchi into the rolling water.  When she looks at him, there’s such an openness in her expression that he can’t help but allow himself to be seen.

But being seen doesn’t always feel so sweet, which Harry remembers the moment he hears Y/N’s melodic voice ring from the living room. 

“When did you get a piano?”

Harry’s hand freezes mid-scoop, the few gnocchi that had been dangling on the edge of his spoon falling into the boiling water.  A bit of the liquid splashes out and lands on his arm, but quickly fizzes to room temperature once it meets his freezing skin. 

“Uh—” He clears his throat as he tries to refocus on his task, but his actions are much more frantic than careful as he finishes filling the pot with gnocchi. “I’ve had it for a while, remember?  I mentioned it to you before.  At the antique mall.”

When his explanation receives no response, he gives his own frustrated sigh, and sets down the polished spoon to retrace Y/N’s steps out into the living room.  As he expected her to be the moment he heard her question, he finds her with a reverent hand tracing the edge of the matte black Steinway grand piano that’s occupied a space in nearly every home he’s had since he purchased it in the 1920s.  Seeing her nimble fingers drift over the hand-crafted edge brings back a hazy human memory to Harry’s mind— a flash of sharply manicured fingers and a strangely pale hand, adorned with an opal ring as they danced over the pianoforte in an opulent sitting room. The sound of tinkling laughter that rang like a bell, pitched almost high enough to make his ears ache, and a soft, hypnotizing voice slathered in the most delicate accent he’d ever heard. 

Harry has to blink a few times to bring himself back to the present.

“What was that, darling?” He hopes his voice isn’t nearly as strained as it feels when he refocuses his eyes on Y/N’s waiting gaze. “I didn’t quite catch that.”

“I said that you told me it was in storage.” She glides over the intricately carved music stand, the digit dancing across every twist and curve of the decorative panel. “Why did you bring it out?”

“Uh, I dunno, really.” An uncomfortable itch settles onto Harry’s skin, his stomach turning as Y/N takes a seat on the creaking piano bench set in front of the instrument. “I just, uh, figured it should be displayed somewhere, instead of gathering dust in a storage unit.  It’s a vintage Steinway, y’know?  Those need to be taken care of.”

In truth, the vintage instrument had rung Harry quite a high bill over the last few decades, not only in the price it cost to keep it in permanent storage, but in the services he’d had done to it once a year to keep it in its nearly pristine condition.  Despite keeping it out of sight to keep it out of his mind, he couldn’t seem to allow himself to let the instrument fall into disrepair, just in case he ever decided to display it again.  Or sell it, as he’d been leaning towards doing over the last few years— a genuine Steinway piano in condition as good as his had quite the high price tag.  But he’d never been able to force himself to part with it, as it looked too similar to the one he had originally learned to play on.  Even though those memories were tainted with the usual pain that came with thinking about his human life, it was still his life, and he ached to hold onto some part of it.  It’s why he had his mother’s ring, and his sister’s earring, and his father’s cross and pocket watch.  It’s why had a small wooden box hidden away under his bed with memorabilia from his first life.  As much as it hurt to remember— and it did, in ways he can’t possibly begin to describe— remembering seems better than the alternative.

“Well, if you want to show it off…” Y/N’s fingers are trailing down the fallboard now, inching their way towards the ivory keys with a daydream-like purpose. “You shouldn’t hide it away in the corner of the room.  It would look gorgeous in front of the windows, don’t you think?  A proper centerpiece.”

It would make a beautiful centerpiece, and he originally intended it to be so after the delivery company had dropped it off at his condo a few days before.  After bribing Adam and Niall with the offer to buy out their bar tabs for an entire month, the three of them had spent the afternoon rearranging the furniture in his living room to display the Steinway in the center of the room.  He’d thought that, knowing how excited Y/N had been to hear him play the piano in the antique store, she’d like to hear him play in his own home, on an instrument he knows like the back of his hand.  He’d even begun kicking around the idea of teaching her a few songs, but those musings had quickly turned sour as the instrument brought back more memories of his foggy human life.  In the end, he’d decided to restore his living room back to its original state with the addition of the Steinway thrust into the corner, where the ghosts of his past could plunk the keys quietly without drawing too much of his attention.  He’d done his best to ignore the instrument over the last couple of days, and in his hurricane of thoughts that had centered around Y/N, he’d nearly forgotten about its existence completely.

He can’t be mad that Y/N is asking about it; after all, he’d brought it out of storage with her specifically in mind.  But seeing the newfound object of his affections with her fingers poised over the keys brings back a rush of emotions he’d been repressing for the better part of two hundred years.

“It—” Harry clears his throat once more, trying to rid himself of the lump that is rising up like bile. “It took up too much space in the center of the room.  Wasn’t very cohesive.”

“That’s too bad.” The mortal girl’s words fall from her mouth in a murmur as her gaze remains locked on the keys, almost as if she’s in a trance.  Her finger begins to press down on the ivory with a slow and meticulous motion. “It seems like such a shame to—”

“Let’s— Let’s not get into that now, sweetheart.” Harry says hurriedly, his fingers catching her own before she can trigger the instrument to make a sound. “Dinner’s almost ready, and you—” He forces a grin onto his lips. “—still haven’t picked a record out.” Threading her fingers through his own, Harry gently tugs the human girl up from her seat on the piano bench. “Would you rather I do it instead?”

As he expected, Y/N wrinkles her nose with distaste as she rises to meet his emerald eyes. “No.” She scoffs as a quiet snort rises from her throat. “I don’t need to listen to some weird experimental 60s music while trying to eat dinner.”

While Harry would normally bite back at her dig, he just responds to her with a thin laugh and a smile without dimples. “Exactly.  So why don’t you pick something out,” He jerks his head over his shoulder to where his record player and vinyls sit neatly on a shelf lining the wall, ignoring the ghastly spike of pain that twinges his neck as he does so. “And I’ll plate dinner, yeah?”

“Alright.” She agrees, and Harry nearly breathes a sigh of relief before she finishes her phrase. “But you’ll play for me later tonight, won’t you?”

The phantom pain grows until it extends down Harry’s entire spine, filling every nerve in his body with a sense of anxiety and trepidation.  The last thing Harry wants to do is move his fingers over those weighted keys, and with the burning sensation now shooting through his fingers, making his hand twitch around Y/N’s, he’s not even sure he can.

But he is sure of one thing, and that’s the fact that he can’t ever seem to say no to Y/N.

“Yeah, dove.  Of course.” Keeping his voice even, Harry pulls her away from the extravagant instrument as inconspicuously as he can. “Later tonight.”

///

There are so many things that Harry has done over the last two centuries that have both angered and confused him.  

He’s held grudges against himself over the way he’s acted, the people he’s surrounded himself with, the people he’s allowed himself to trust, and the blatant disregard for human decency he’s allowed himself to succumb to.  In the last twenty decades, Harry has amassed enough vendettas for fifty lifetimes, let alone the one endless life he’s been given.  And yet, even with all of those missteps in mind, the fact that Harry ever looked at Y/N and deigned her an ordinary human might be one of the biggest mistakes he’s ever made. 

It’s so clear to him now— sitting across from her at his kitchen island, the few scented candles flickering between them doing almost nothing to cover her sugar and flower scent, her eyes reflecting back the burning flames and something else that Harry can’t quite put a finger on— that he’s not sure how he ever missed it.  How had he once leaned against the counter in her own kitchen, looked into those very same eyes, and managed to convince himself that it was only her blood that drew him to her?  How had he listened to her sweet and sensual voice murmur delicate phrases about her day and her emotions, and not realize that he was inching closer and closer in order to hang on every word, as if she had the supernatural ability to compel him as he did her?  How had he seen her in the smokiness of the club, with her fragile skin practically luminescent under the pulsing strobe lights, and thought that she was so utterly unmemorable and unnoticeable that he could easily take her home for one night without anyone wondering about her whereabouts?  How had he convinced himself that it would only be one night? 

There are so many things that Harry will always be angry about, will never forgive himself for, and his initial perception of Y/N is one of them. 

If he has any redeeming qualities, he thinks as he watches the mortal girl spear a bite of gnocchi onto her fork over the rim of his wine glass, it’s that he can, at the very least, admit when he’s wrong.  He can admit to himself that this girl— this self-assertive, stubborn, vivacious, kind-hearted mortal girl— is the most interesting and most intriguing human he’s ever met.  And as terrifying as that is, it’s also a little thrilling; it’s been so long since Harry has felt a pull to someone like this.  The sensation, while unfamiliar and something he’s severely out of practice with, is just as electrifying as he remembers, and now that he’s had a taste of it, he can’t stop chasing that high. 

It’s that undeniable pull which drive Harry to murmur an unauthentic apology about not having a dining table (he’d chosen a larger living room over a dining area when he moved in, and his friends just settled for eating at Niall’s when they wanted to sit down somewhere) because he’s secretly pleased that he has an excuse to sit next to Y/N.  It’s that pull that makes him hang on her every word about her day like she’s relaying the plot of a Greek tragedy, his facial expressions perfectly mimicking hers as she describes the customers she dealt with.  It’s that pull that sends his fingers forward of their own accord to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear as the soft melody of Hozier’s “Like Real People Do” floats between them like a comforting lullaby.  It’s that pull that, when she inquires about the entrée he’d prepared for them, causes him to proudly admit that he’d recreated the recipe from Bella Vita after wrestling it from Vincenzo.  It’s that pull that urges him to scoop up one of his own gnocchi and bring it to Y/N’s lips to feed her the first bite of the meal, his hand cupped delicately under the utensil to catch any sauce that might drip onto her shirt (which is really his shirt, and that fact alone delivers so much more pleasure than he ever would’ve thought possible).  

It’s that pull, that adrenaline rush, that indescribable sensation, but underneath it all, it’s her.  It’s always been her, since the moment they’d first met.  From the moment he first laid eyes on her.  How is it, Harry wonders, that his first sighting, enhanced by his supernatural senses, had managed to make him so blind?  How is it that he’d had this girl in front of him all along, and he’d managed to delude himself into thinking that he’d be able to stop himself from becoming vulnerable for her?  And maybe, he wonders slowly as he clears Y/N’s empty dinner plate from the marble island to the sink, he’s still deluding himself, because for some strange reason, being vulnerable for the mortal girl doesn’t seem to be as terrifying as he thought it would be.

The vampire suddenly recalls a specific day all those weeks back, when Y/N had stayed over and they’d taken their first bath together in his jacuzzi. He thinks about how he’d allowed himself to be vulnerable for just a fraction of a second, when he had admitted to her that she often caught him off guard. She had returned the sentiment, and he remembers the words he'd uttered to her amidst the warm steam and quiet splashing of the water. He had said that he found her influence on him— the influence they had on each other— to be scary, but exhilarating. And now, after spending so much time together and allowing himself to grow closer to her than he ever could’ve imagined, he’s come to find that his attraction to Y/N is no longer incredibly scary. Yes, there’s still a sliver of fear in him at the notion of opening himself up to her, but it’s only natural— there isn’t one person in existence who isn’t scared to strip themselves emotionally bare for someone else. However, his genuine excitement soothes his hesitations, and it startles him in a pleasant manner he can’t quite decipher.

Setting the dirty dishes into the sink to be dealt with later, Harry risks a glance at Y/N over his shoulder.  He watches as she wipes the corner of her mouth on a napkin before raising her stemmed glass to her lips, delicately draining the last of the crimson liquid before placing it back down with a clink.  When he catches her sparkling eyes, Y/N shoots him a smile that, even with only one corner of her lips lifted, manages to dazzle him from across the kitchen.  Harry can hear the fresh flush of blood that overtakes her cheeks, as if the wine itself is settling beneath her fragile skin.

Yes, vulnerability should petrify him.  Vulnerability means danger.  It means giving someone the ability to break you, and Harry knows this from firsthand experience.  Harry might be the only monster in the room, but in this moment, Y/N is the ominous threat. She’s the vague silhouette that hides in the shadows, the mysterious mass circling just beneath the waves, waiting for the right moment to strike.

But now that he’s dipped a toe in, Harry can’t stop himself from diving headfirst into those dangerous depths.

“D’you want another drink, love?” He asks, turning back around and leaning his hip against the marble counter as he cocks his head to the side in a questioning manner. “Some more wine before dessert?  Or another cocktail?”

Y/N glances at her multiple empty glasses in front of her, but shakes her head slowly. “No, I’ve had enough to drink.  But I’d love a cup of tea, H.  If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.  A cup of tea, coming right up.” Harry reaches for the sleek kettle that he keeps set on the backburner of his range, flicking on his tap with his other hand before settling the hollow object under the stream of water. “You know, I think this is the first time I’m actually making tea for you.  S’a real treat, isn’t it?” He flashes a toothy grin at the girl before placing the now-full kettle back onto the burner and twisting the knob to high. “A proper cup of tea made by a proper Brit.  Can’t get much better than that.”

Y/N rolls her eyes playfully as she circles her finger around the rim of the empty wine glass, her motions just starting to get heavy with the liquor. “It’s just some dried leaves and water, Harry.  Don’t get too full of yourself.” 

“I think you’re the one who’s usually full of me, aren’t you, pet?” Although his back is turned towards the stove, Harry can hear the effect his words have on the human girl by the small, nearly imperceptible gasp that leaves her lips. “‘M not sure you’re allowed to make that observation.”

Despite the choked feeling that’s welled up in her throat at his comment, Y/N quickly clears it out with a small cough, capturing Harry’s sea glass eyes with her own to stare him down stubbornly. “I’ll make any observations I want.” She says firmly, crossing her arms over her exposed chest in a mockingly angered pose.

A fond laugh rolls from Harry’s stained lips as he opens his cupboards and extracts two tea cups that are painted with vines of wisteria flowers.  He’d found them a few years back at the very same antique mall he’d brought Y/N to, included in a china tea set that he hadn’t been able to resist buying.  The hand painted violet flowers had caught his eye from the moment he’d glanced at the china cabinet they’d been locked inside, and he’d barely been able to tear himself away from the glass case to retrieve the key from an employee.  

He’d always had a soft spot for wisteria; there had been a wisteria tree outside of his childhood home, and he and Gemma used to collect the bunches of blooms and bring them inside for their mother.  That had been a long time ago, of course.  When they were children.  Harry can’t quite remember at what age they’d stopped digging through the garden for flowers— it might have been when Gemma turned eleven, which would’ve made him…. Seven?  Harry frowns at the uncertain memory as his grip tightens around the delicate china cups.  Yes, he reminds himself, he would’ve been seven.  His sister had been four years older than him, and it was around age eleven when she’d declared herself a lady, and said that it wasn’t ladylke to dig through a garden and walk around with dirt under one’s fingernails, and Honestly, Harry, you must wipe your feet before stepping into the house, or else you’ll track mud everywhere—

With trembling hands, Harry sets the wisteria tea cups down on the marble counter, flexing his fingers to get rid of their shakiness before reaching for the respective saucers.  It seems that Y/N’s ability to make him feel more human isn’t just resurfacing the manners and emotions he’d long suppressed, but the memories, too.  How long had it been since he’d heard his sister’s voice ring in his head as clearly as that?  How long had it been since he’d thought of the tiny foyer of his childhood home, which he’d tracked mud into countless times as his mother and, eventually, his sister clicked their tongues at him?  Is the tree still there, he wonders as his thoughts continue to spiral.  Or had it been cut down in the two hundred years since he’d last seen it, long after his family had all… 

Harry places the saucers carefully down against the marble before bracing himself against the edge for just a moment.  Barely thirty seconds have passed since Y/N’s retort, and although his enhanced mind had begun to spiral, it’s not too late for him to give a half-sane response.  

“I know you will, sweetheart.” He finally murmurs, hiding his face as he pulls open his fridge to extract the carton of oat milk he’d purchased last week.  Y/N, he’d come to learn over the last few months, prefers milk over cream in her tea, just like she prefers sugar over artificial sweeteners. 

Harry can feel the burn of her eyes into his back as he extracts a teaspoon from his kitchen drawer and the kettle begins to whistle.  Focusing and relishing in being the object of her attention, Harry removes the kettle from the heat, flicking the stove off before reaching for the canister that stores his tea bags.  In an effort to fully distract himself from the troubling thoughts of his past, he begins to hum the tune to the Hozier song that had been playing earlier, before the record had spun to stop just before they’d finished their entrees.  With the near murmur of the melody reverberating through his throat, he spends a moment debating on whether or not he should use the matching wisteria-adorned teapot that sits on the highest shelf of his cupboard, but quickly decides against it— it’s too formal for the occasion.  But tossing two separate tea bags into the two teacups, he finds as soon as he does it, doesn’t feel right either; after all, he’d told Y/N that he’d be making her a proper cup of tea.  That fact settles the manner in his (moreso than usual) changing mind, and within a few moments, he has the two teabags deposited into the teapot before pouring in the boiling water to steep the satchels of dried leaves.

Halfway through his preparation, his ears had perked up with the distinct sound of Y/N rising from her chair, which had been followed by the muted pattering of her feet against his hardwood floor.  Not bothering to ask where she’d been going, Harry had instead decided to wait for his suspicions to be confirmed.  Sure enough, just as he’s stirring the sugar and oat milk into Y/N’s cup of tea, he hears the quiet press of one of the keys of his piano.  C4, if his aural skills are still as tuned as they used to be.

Setting the two cups of tea onto their respective plates (Y/N’s with milk and sugar, and Harry’s plain), the vampire easily balances both cups of tea in his hands and makes it to the living room without spilling a single drop.

Just like before, Y/N seems entranced by the piano, plunking out different notes and letting them ring into the open air.  Harry can’t help but wince slightly as he approaches— as talented as Y/N seems to be at some things, music theory does not appear to be included.

“Christ, love, a tritone?” He protests, his voice hinging on a whine as he approaches the piano bench. “What, your fingers couldn’t make it a perfect fifth, hm?”

The answer to his teasing question comes in the form of Y/N’s entire body jumping as her fingers stutter over the keys, an audible gasp falling from her mouth while her hand clutches to her chest and her head turns to stare at Harry over her shoulder. “Jesus, you scared me!” She says breathlessly, her palm massaging over her the area where Harry can hear the rapid pulsing of her heart. “Have you always creeped around like that?”

A playful grin tugs at the immortal’s lips as he extends an arm out, handing the china saucer and cup to the human girl. “Only when I’m carrying boiling tea.  Scooch over, will you?” Nudging his way onto the newly unoccupied space of the bench, Harry nods his head towards the keys she had been previously playing. “Was that an original composition?”

“Beethoven, actually.  I’m surprised you didn’t recognize it.” Y/N blows gently over her tea with pursed lips before taking a small sip.  Harry knows that his sister would have condemned the action, along with the following slurp, by calling it unladylike, but the inelegant manner leaves a fond feeling buzzing through his body once more. 

Raising his own teacup to his lips, Harry chuckles quietly over the rim of the cup. “I wouldn’t have pegged it for the classical era, actually.  Sounded more atonal to me.” He takes a small sip of tea, the liquid scorching down his throat in the best way. “You said you took lessons when you were younger, didn’t you?  Do you remember anything?”

“Twinkle twinkle little star, maybe.” Y/N takes another small gulp before setting the cup back down on the saucer. “I was, like, eight.  Nursery rhymes were as far as I got.” Her gaze drops to the caramel coloured tea with a curious gaze; Harry had remembered exactly how she takes it, despite him only having seen her make a cup of tea once a few weeks ago. “But you, on the other hand… Mr. Good Lookin’...” Her lips jolt into a teasing grin as her eyes flicker to the side to capture his own. “You’re quite the musician, from what I remember.  And you promised to play me something.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Harry’s smile grows imperceivably tighter as he takes another drag of the boiling drink, his throat growing thicker with every swallow. “And you still want me to?”

Brow furrowing at his reluctance, Y/N cocks her head to the side in bewilderment. “Of course I do, H.  I loved listening to you play for me at the antique mall.”

Harry thinks back to that day, when he’d stuttered his way through a Chopin piece before his stumbling fingers had given up entirely. “I’m just a little out of practice, love.  It’ll be a bit messy.”

“I didn’t ask for perfection; I asked for you to play.” Her warm fingers find Harry’s upper arm, massaging the tattooed muscles just underneath the tucked sleeve of his shirt as she regards him with wide, curious eyes. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to, but if you’re nervous because you might mess up… Well, you heard me play.” Her light laugh rings through the cavity of the piano, reverberating off the highest strings in a way that only Harry’s immortal ears can pick up. “I won’t be able to tell the difference.”

“I suppose that’s true.” Despite his reservations, a half-hearted smile finds its way to Harry’s lips over the rim of his tea cup, which he sets down on the living room side table after taking one last sip.  

Flexing his ringed fingers, he repositions himself on the piano bench, moving more towards the center of the seat as Y/N moves down to the edge to give him full access to the piano.  For a brief moment, his hands hover over the ivory and ebony keys as he evaluates the repertoire he knows he can muddle his way through without too much trouble.  He’s already played a few Chopin pieces for the human girl, so that composer is out.  Liszt doesn’t seem to fit the mood, either, as his pieces are much too ornamented for their quiet living room ambience.  Debussy is out before Harry can even consider him; the last thing he wants to do is invoke any more memories of sitting at a piano with the much too familiar composer.  And Beethoven and Mozart seem too contrived for this setting, as well.

With a frown on his wine-stained lips, Harry spares one glance at Y/N, whose own eyes are glued to his floating fingers.  She reaches out with a tentative touch of her own, gliding them across Harry’s tensed knuckles with a pressure so soft that, if not for the heat of her skin, Harry might not feel it at all.  The cautiousness of the motion is not lost on him— it’s almost as if Y/N is worried that she’ll spook him out of playing, like any sudden movements could break him.  It reminds the creature of the awareness he has whenever he touches her; how he always carefully evaluates the amount of pressure he uses whenever he glides his fingers over her vulnerable skin. 

As if she were a butterfly, he thinks, not for the first time.  His butterfly.

Harry doesn’t remember making the conscious decision to start playing.  He doesn’t even recognize the piece that’s tentatively ringing from the piano until the repetition of the first motive, when Y/N emits a satisfied breath and her warm hand falls back to Harry’s thigh, rubbing gently over his olive trousers with that same delicate touch, almost as if he were a butterfly.

The creature’s fingers continue to glide over the ivory keys, his phrases growing smoother and more confident with every passing moment.  He pays careful attention to the dynamics of the piece, trying his best to recall the sheet music that he hadn’t looked at in decades, but it only takes about thirty seconds for him to realize that it’s easier to just let himself feel the music.  With Y/N’s hand continuing to dance over his thigh in time with the tune, Harry lets himself play around with the score, peppering in crescendos and decrescendos as he sees fit.  He draws out some of the minor phrases, hoping to wrench on his obsolete heartstrings the way he had when he first learned the piece in the early 20th century, and hovers his fingers over the bass notes as he uses the pedal to make them ring out into the living room.  

Halfway through the composition, Harry realizes that he’s breathing with the phrases, timing each inhale and exhale of his lungs with the musical lines.  It only takes him another two measures to realize that Y/N is doing the same, her body leaning into Harry’s as Harry leans into the instrument.  And that, he finds as his jeweled fingers slide over the keys, tugs on his heartstrings more than any melody ever could.

As he approaches the end of the piece, he softens his touch, his fingertips almost ghosting over the keys as he gently presses the final notes.  Harry keeps his foot hovered over the pedal, allowing the quiet cadence to fade to silence in its own time, and as it does, he can feel his body coming back into itself— which is strange, considering he hadn’t noticed the trance-like space he’d slipped into.

Y/N, however, must have noticed, because her voice is hushed and hesitant when she speaks again, waiting until the final notes have completely faded to silence, as if she’s afraid that she’s interrupting something. 

“That was so beautiful, H.” She praises, her hand still rubbing over his clothed thigh.  The motion would normally drive Harry mad, but for some reason, all it does to him in this moment is bring a strange lump to his throat. “What’s it called?”

In his unfamiliar haze, it takes Harry a moment to find his own voice. “Uh, Papillons.” He says through his thick accent, clearing his throat subtly as he lowers his hands to his lap.  He hadn’t even realized they were still lingering over the last notes. “It means—”

“Butterflies.” The mortal girl nods in recognition, a thoughtful look over her face as she taps a finger against his trousers, her tone slightly jesting as she murmurs her next sentence. “I know enough sixth grade French to understand that.  Is it a French piece, then?”

“No.” Harry jerks his head in the negative, only remembering to soften the agitated motion after it’s happened.  He raises his keen eyes to meet Y/N’s, a reminder of where he is.  And a reminder of who he’s with. “It’s the fifth movement in a suite by Robert Schumann— the “Polonaise,” in B-flat major.  S’one of my favourites.”

“I can see why.” Y/N murmurs, a fond smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It was wonderful, really.  ‘Out of practice,’ my ass.”

Even with the residual anxiety still coursing through his veins, Harry manages to force out a chuckle at her teasing. “Trust me, I’m just as surprised as you are.  But Schumann has always been a favourite composer of mine—” Harry takes Y/N’s teacup from her, noting how her eyes had flickered to the ground, as if she was looking for a place to set it, and she sends him a thankful grin as he sets the cup next to his own on the end table. “—along with his wife.  They were both incredibly talented musicians.”

“His wife?” Intrigue threads through Y/N’s voice as she props up an elbow on the piano, resting her chin on her loose fist as she turns her body towards Harry. “She was a musician, too?”

Harry hums affirmatively as he cracks his knuckles, flexing his fingers in his lap to loosen them from the buzzing sensation that’s still prickling his skin. “She was, yeah.  They had a pretty passionate love story, y’know.  That’s why his music is so beautiful— he wrote it all for her.”

Y/N doesn’t miss the reminiscent tone that seeps into Harry’s voice, and she threads her fingers through his own as her eyes widen with a gentle plea. “Will you tell me about them?  Schumann and his wife?”

“I—” Hesitating at her request, Harry squeezes her hand tightly, half in affection, half in warning. “It doesn’t have much of a happy ending, darling.  A bit of a tragedy, that one.”

“I want to know.” The human girl nods her head stubbornly as her eyes flash with determination. “Just because it has a sad ending doesn’t mean it’s not worth knowing.” 

Harry pauses for a moment, allowing her words to fully sink into his mind and spark the beacon of hope that’s sat coldy in his head for so long. “I suppose that’s true.” 

He mulls over where to begin, thinking back to all the newspaper articles he’d read about a child prodigy in Germany in the 1820s, who was the daughter of—

“So the story really begins with Friederich Wieck.” Harry’s voice falls into a smooth cadence as he begins, thumbing over Y/N’s warm knuckles absentmindedly as he recalls the information. “He was a music teacher, most known for piano, but what he really wanted to be known for was raising a child prodigy.  He had a few children, but the one who filled that description was Clara, his second oldest.”

As Harry begins to spin the tale, Y/N can’t help but focus on his expression.  Although his eyes are set on their linked hands, she can tell that his gaze is far away, as if he’s seeing the scene play before his eyes as he tells it.  It’s fascinating, she thinks, seeing him focus so intently on something as niche as an old love story between musicians, but more than that, it’s new to her.  This is a new side of him that she hasn’t seen before— not cocky, or charming, or playful.  This side of him is intent, as if he wants to make sure that every word he speaks is the truth.  His expression is almost as interesting as the story itself.

“Clara’s parents, Friederich and Mariane, didn’t really get along very well, and Clara had a lot of trouble when she was young; she didn’t really speak until she was four.  But music always came easily to her, which made sense, considering her parents.” Harry’s free hand drifts back to the ivory keys, just resting over the lacquered surface. “Her mother was a musician, too— an accomplished singer.  But after her parents split when she was five, when Mariane had an affair with a family friend, Clara was left with her father.  And her father wanted to focus on her music career.  He gave her hour-long lessons every day, and made her practice for two hours on top of that.  She made her performance debut when she was just nine years old, in 1828, at the Gewandhaus in Leipzig.”

“Okay, wait.  Pause.” Y/N worries her bottom lip between her teeth as she waits for Harry’s faraway eyes to refocus on her confused expression. “What does playing in Leipzig at age nine have to do with a love story?”

An amused laugh slips from Harry’s lips at Y/N’s impatience. “I’m getting there, sweetheart.  A little bit of patience would be beneficial to you, I think.  And a little bit of trust in me, yeah?”

Although she huffs a little bit, Y/N relents, squeezing Harry’s hand in acknowledgement at the phrase he always seems to end up repeating: Trust me. She vaguely wonders why it’s so important to him. “Alright, fine.  Continue.”

“Thank you.” Harry swipes a hand through his tousled curls before settling it back down on the keys, running his fingertips over the smooth surface absentmindedly in the same rhythm he’s swiping over Y/N’s knuckles. “Okay, so… She played in Leipzig a few times that year, and once was at a private music party at someone’s house, where she met Robert Schumann.” At the mention of the name, Harry shoots Y/N an ‘I told you so’ look, which she meets with a roll of her eyes. “He was a gifted pianist, and was so inspired by Clara’s playing that he got permission from his mother to quit his law studies in order to study piano under Clara’s father, Friederich.  So in 1830, Robert moved into the Weick household as one of Friederich’s students, and—”

“Sorry, I— pause again.” Brow furrowed, Y/N’s eyes narrow in suspicion as she mulls over Harry’s words. “So— if Clara was, like, nine—”

“Eleven, actually.  It’s 1830 now, remember?”

“Alright, eleven.  If Clara was eleven… You said Robert quit law school to study music.” Y/N’s narrowed eyes widen as she regards Harry, as if asking him to contradict her suspicions. “How old was Robert?”

“Around twenty, I think.” Harry says casually, lifting his shoulder in a light shrug. “He was born in 1810, so— yeah.  He would’ve been twenty.”

“Twenty?” Y/N yanks her hand from Harry’s as she fully twists her body to face him, as if just hearing the horror in her voice isn’t enough. “He was twenty?  I thought this was a love story?”

“It is!  It’s just—”

“No, it’s not!  It’s gross!” Wrinkling her nose in disgust, Y/N shakes her head harshly, her loose hair spilling over her flushing cheeks. “A twenty year old shouldn’t—”

“He didn’t!  Nothing happened until they were older, love.” Harry captures Y/N’s hand within his own again, smoothing over her knuckles as he hurries to reassure her. “And it was the nineteenth century… a nine year age gap in a relationship wasn’t exactly uncommon.” For a brief moment, Harry wonders what Y/N would think if she knew just how much older he really was than her.  Would she react with the same horrified expression she had now?  Yank her hand from his again as she had just done?

“Yeah, well…” Y/N’s appearance is still bristled as she shoots Harry a condemning look. “There’s a difference between a nine year age gap and a child—”

“Nothing’s happened yet, sweetheart.” Harry bites back the involuntary laugh that bubbles through his chest at the indignant tone of her voice. “Now can I continue?  Or do you want to yell some more?”

Although her response is grumbled, the mortal girl mutters, “Fine.  Continue.” as Harry lifts her knuckles to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of her hand. 

“Thank you.” He lowers her hand back down to his thigh, smoothing it over his trousers before continuing where he’d left off. “So Robert studies under Clara’s father and stays with them for a year.  And although Clara and Robert were just friends, Friederich could tell that they were becoming close, which he didn’t like.  And before you say anything,” Harry watches as Y/N’s lips twitch into a frown. “It wasn’t because of Robert’s age.  Friederich didn’t want Clara to fall in love with anyone; he just wanted her to focus on her music.  He still wanted his child prodigy, you know?  So he began to take her on tours through Europe.  But by the time Clara was sixteen, it was clear that she and Robert had feelings for each other.  They wrote countless letters to each other, signed them ‘your special friend’... And when Clara turned eighteen, Robert asked Friederich for his permission to marry his daughter.  And Friederich said no, because that would ruin his plans for Clara’s music career.”

Despite her hesitation at the relationship, Y/N still mutters a quiet “Harsh.” at the story.

Harry’s hands return to the keys, but this time, they do more than hover.  He begins to press a few notes slowly, letting one ring out completely before moving to the other, and it takes Y/N a few moments to realize that he’s playing an actual melody, albeit a deconstructed one. 

“Because Clara wasn’t twenty-one yet, they needed her father’s permission to marry, so Robert took the case to court.  And it was…” His fingers stutter over the keys for a moment as his face twists up, remembering how the story had decorated the society pages of newspapers back then. “Messy.  Really messy.  But in the end, Robert won the case, and he and Clara were married.  And they wrote all this beautiful music together…” Harry’s left hand joins his right over the piano, moving with more intention now as he adds a quiet harmony to his slow melody line. “They weren’t good with words, but they were good with music.  That’s how they communicated with each other.  You can hear the love in everything they wrote, the devotion they had for each other.  Listen,” He says in a hushed voice, the melody of the music becoming unbearably sweet. “D’you hear it?”

“I do.” Y/N nods softly, her fingers massaging Harry’s thigh muscle as he continues to play.  It’s not a lie, either; there’s a sincerity in what Harry’s playing that twists within her chest.  

Or maybe, she thinks, her eyes trained in the profile of the man beside her, it’s just Harry. 

“Didn’t you…” Y/N hesitates both in her words and her motions over Harry’s leg as a new thought tugs at her mind. “Didn’t you say the story had a sad ending?  That all seems good, isn’t it?  Clara and Robert got married, wrote music together…”

Harry’s fingers begin to slow down, returning to the reduced melody he’d been playing previously, as if weighed down by the knowledge he’s about to share. “Uh, yeah.  Robert had a lot of problems— mental health issues.  Later in their marriage, he became manic, had episodes where he saw angels and demons… and he was worried he’d hurt Clara.” Harry says quietly, risking a glance at the girl beside him, who’s watching him with such wide and trusting eyes that he almost can’t bear it.  Harry knows what it’s like to fear hurting the ones you care for. “He tried to kill himself, and when he was unsuccessful, he asked to be taken to an insane asylum.  And he never went home again.  He died there, just a few days after Clara was finally allowed to visit.  S’like…” Harry’s fingers pause over the piano once more. “S’like he was waiting for her.  Before going.”

Detecting the emotion in his voice, Y/N raises her hand from his thigh, smoothing back a few loose curls before gently setting her palm over the curve of his neck. “That is a bit of a tragic story, I’ll admit.  To have fought so hard for each other for so long… And then to lose all of it like that…”

“Yeah.” Harry clears the lump from his throat as subtly as he can.  He’s certainly no stranger to loss, to feeling helpless at being unable to save someone you love… He knows that pain all too well. 

As if she can sense the darkness in his mood, Y/N rubs a comforting hand across his shoulder and down his arm, drifting over his inked skin with a warm touch.  Her comment, however, is more lighthearted than her caring caress. 

“I still think the age gap is a little weird.  How do you go from writing letters about being ‘special friends’ to falling in love?”

Harry rises to her baited joke, doing his best to shake himself from his introspective thoughts as his fingers begin to drift over the keys once more.  He focuses on just his right hand now, playing out an absentminded yet tender tune as he speaks. “So if I started to call you my special friend, you wouldn’t like it?”

“God, no— that sounds awful.” Y/N scoffs, her own hand drifting to the ivory keys. “We’re sleeping together, not making mud pies in a kindergarten class.”

Harry’s laugh is more genuine as he begins to slow down his playing, plucking only single notes that Y/N echoes in the lower register of the piano. “Alright, fine.  Not special friends, then.”

“There’s just so many cooler historical ways to say we’re having sex, y’know?  None of that ‘special friend’ bullshit.” Y/N continues to match Harry’s notes as best she can, wincing every so often as she plays a dissonant key. “Like… ‘lover.’  That’s a good one.  Nice and simple.  Or—” Her eyes light up with mirth as the thought pops into her head. “Courtesan to the queen.  Not as simple, but it certainly rolls off the tongue.”

Harry quirks a brow at the suggestion. “And you’ll be the queen in question, I presume?”

“Of course.  Do you have a better idea?”

“‘Paramour’ is a neat little name, don’t you think?” Harry asks, his fingers pressing down a simple perfect fourth on the piano to punctuate his question. “Sounds pretty elegant.  Understated.”

“If you want understated…” Y/N matches the top note of Harry’s interval, already knowing she wouldn’t be able to match the actual notes without hurting both of their ears. “We could do what historians do when talking about ancient queer couples.  Say we’re just good friends.”

The creature hums in acknowledgment at the back of his throat. “We could, yeah.  Or we could be mistresses.   Is there a word for a male mistress?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as his lips pull into a quizzical frown. “A master?”

“Jesus Christ, never refer to yourself as a master again.” Y/N groans loudly, her fingers slipping from the keys as she feigns a shudder. “That just sounds creepy.  Even creepier than a special friend. How about…” She tries her best to stifle a wry grin as a more vulgar alternative pops into her head. “The Whore of Babylon?” 

“Fuck’s sake, what did I say about slut-shaming me?”

“I just thought it’d fit! It has a nice ring to it! But if it really irks you that much— Oh, wait—” She quirks her head to the side, a new wave of amusement lighting up her eyes as she thinks of her next step in their game. “What about ‘special advisor’?  You know, like we’re in a historical drama, and I have a kingdom to defend from oncoming war, and you’re my most trusted advisor, and when my husband is away with the army, you and I sneak off into my chambers…”

Although he giggles boyishly at the suggestion, Harry can’t ignore the twinge of jealousy that shoots up his spine at the mention of Y/N’s— albeit imaginary— husband.  He doesn’t like being referred to as her side relationship, even in an imaginary world of queens and wars.  Even then, he wants to be Y/N’s first choice. 

Because she’s his, he realizes, his fingers continuing to pluck out single ivory notes as a way to deal with the impending ball of tension that’s growing inside his abdomen.  Even in a game, in an imaginary world, in any way imaginable— Y/N is his first choice. 

He just— he wants her, in every sense of the word. And he knows all the reasons he shouldn’t— he knows how reckless it is to allow a human to get so close to him, how he’ll never truly be able to be honest with her, how he’ll always be using her for her blood, how he can’t give her the human relationship she deserves.  But he can’t stop from thinking about Robert and Clara, who fought for each other from the very beginning, who persevered through every challenge thrown their way, and who still only got sixteen years together before circumstance tore them apart. 

Harry is here. He is— for all intents and purposes— theoretically alive.  And the girl he wants more than anyone else is right next to him.  There’s no doubt in his mind that it’ll be difficult, but does he not owe it to those who ran out of time to try?  At the very least? Does he not owe it to himself to fight for the happiness he’s spent so long evading, all out of fear? 

He can manage that.  He can manage his cravings around Y/N enough to take only what he needs, and never anything more.  He can manage his double life and keep her from falling victim to the darkest corners of his mind. He can manage his strength enough to treat her as delicately as he’d treat a butterfly.  He can manage the most monstrous parts of himself.  He can do that for Y/N. 

But only if she wants him to. 

It’s that hesitation that brings a tremor to his hands as they pause over the keys, poised over the lacquered surface that he can barely tear his gaze from. “A special advisor sounds fun, yeah.  Or you could…” Harry clears his throat roughly, sweat pooling across his brow as he fiddles with the opal ring on his pinky.  He twists it back and forth around the digits, only managing to spare one look from the corner of his eye at Y/N’s quizzical face before dropping his stare back down to the piano. 

“Or you could, um… you could just… call me your…” Say it, the voice in his head practically yells. It’s just one word. It’s not that hard. “Boyfriend. You could just call me your boyfriend.”

A heavy pause fills the air in the large room, and Harry feels like he’s being suffocated. His voice grows fainter when he detects the sudden hitch in Y/N’s breath, but nothing else. He finds himself wanting to fill the empty space between them with something, or else he might pass out from the nerves. “If you… If you want, that is.  It would just keep it simple. Plain and simple.”

Plain and simple, Y/N thinks as her hands curl together in her lap, slotting between her thighs as if the pressure of her clamped legs can keep her from feeling how they shake.  It would keep it plain and simple.

But when has their relationship ever been simple?

It should’ve been simple, and the mortal girl knows this.  Two consenting adults, calling each other every once in a while for a bit of release— that’s simple.  That kind of relationship doesn’t have any pressure.  There’s no need to try and impress one another, or to meet any expectations.  That kind of relationship is no muss, no fuss, and no strings attached.  That was how they had started, and it had been simple.  It had been easy.  It had been uncomplicated. 

And it also hadn’t been that way for a long time.

Y/N’s known for a while now that the line between two friends having sex and being in a committed relationship has become increasingly blurred; that was all but confirmed when Harry nearly pitched a hissy fit when he saw her coming home from her date with Jacob.  But even with all of the dates, the gifts, the phone calls during her lunch breaks, the homemade dinners and drinks and desserts, even with all of that— Y/N never thought that they’d actually arrive at this moment.  This moment, in Harry’s apartment, their bodies pressed together on the small piano bench, his fingers fidgeting nervously as hers are pressed between her thighs, with the word boyfriend dangling over their heads like a sword.

She can’t pretend she hasn’t thought about it, because she has.  And she can’t pretend that her thinking about it doesn’t usually lead to her daydreaming about it, because it does.  It’s why she spends the majority of her downtime wrapped in Harry’s rainbow cardigan, and why she’d picked out his button down shirt to wear tonight.  It’s why she’s talked about him to her friends, why she’s begun to speak about him casually to her coworkers, instead of hiding in the storage closet when he calls her on her break.  Because even though they aren’t together— even though they’re friends in the least and seeing each other at the most— it had been nice to pretend that either of them were capable of being more.

Y/N is no stranger to heartbreak, and she’s spent long enough studying her own commitment issues to be able to recognize them in someone else.  Harry had pretty much told her in the beginning that relationships weren’t his thing, that he didn’t want to be defined by a label that could so easily be broken.  And Y/N, who hadn’t opened herself up since Bradley, had been inclined to agree.  Relationships are messy, and labels only bring expectations that would eventually not be met.  Seeing each other is easy.  Seeing each other is breezy.  Seeing each other leaves room for interpretation, for allowances, for excuses to be made if one of them suddenly changes their mind.  Seeing each other is plain and simple. 

Boyfriend.

The truth of the matter is that Y/N shouldn’t be so terrified of such a simple word.  In all forms and fashion, Harry practically already is her boyfriend— he literally calls her his girl during sex, for fuck’s sake. They do everything that a normal couple does, and have been doing it for a while now.  She’s fairly certain that calling Harry her boyfriend instead of the guy she’s seeing wouldn’t actually change their relationship that much.  But if she’s honest with herself, Y/N knows that it isn’t their present day situation that’s sending a cold sweat down her back.  Boyfriends, from her limited experience, lead to fiancés, which lead to husbands, which lead to children and a white picket fence in an unassuming suburb.  That was the exact life she’d come to L.A. to escape— how could she willingly fall back into it?

And then she hears Harry exhale shakily, his thumb fumbling with the opal ring on his pinky, and she knows exactly how she could willingly fall back into it.

This is Harry.  Harry, who tells her the stupidest jokes that can somehow still make her laugh.  Harry, who gives her all of his attention every moment that they’re together.  Harry, who listens to every story about rude customers without complaining once, hanging onto her every word as if what she says matters more than life itself.  Harry, who makes her believe that it does.  Harry, with entrancing emerald eyes, shining chestnut curls, intricately inked skin, and the most comforting arms she’s ever been held in.  This is Harry.  Not Bradley.  Bradley wanted the wife, the white picket fence, the house filled with children.  Harry— as far as she can tell— just wants her.  And she just wants him.

Plain and simple.

Y/N extracts one of her hands from between her legs, snaking it over Harry’s, where she captures one of his fiddling hands in her grasp.  Intertwining their fingers, Y/N fixes her gaze onto his opal ring as she hesitantly swipes her thumb over his cool knuckles.

“Yeah,” She whispers the word, as if speaking any louder could break whatever it is that’s brewing between them. “Yeah, that could work.  I’d really like that.”

The human girl watches from the corner of her eye as Harry’s lips, which he’d been gnawing on nervously while waiting for her response, slowly curl into a hesitant grin, as if he’s nervous to show how anxiously he’d been waiting for her to answer.  He keeps his sea glass eyes glued to their tangled hands, his own fingers contracting to test their grasp. 

Harry knows that it’s selfish of him to be so happy that the girl he cares for is entering into a relationship with a monster.  But seeing as how he’s the monster in question, he can’t make himself feel guilty for it.  All he feels is the elation that’s slowly spreading through his entire body, and the determination that’s chasing it.  He can do this.  He’s strong enough.  He can be strong enough for her. 

“Can I…” His voice is just as quiet as hers, nearly cracking at the end when he finally lifts his gaze to her heated cheeks, wide eyes, and stained lips. “Can I kiss you?”

A tender laugh falls from those stained lips as Y/N combs his curls back over his ear, dragging her thumb over the sharp lines of his jaw. “You do that all the time, so the answer is obviously yes, isn’t it?” She thumbs down the muscles in his neck, until her palm settles over the collar of his shirt to fist the fabric between her grip. “You don’t even need to ask anymore.”

“It never hurts to ask.  And this time…” Harry worries his bottom lip back between his teeth before he soothes the bite mark with his tongue. “It’s different.  We’re different.”

“Not too different.” Y/N leans forward until their noses nudge against each other, their mouths kept apart only by an inch.  She cards her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, twisting the locks around her digits in a way that’s so much softer than Harry thought possible. “Still us, yeah?”

The taste of honey and lavender is so thick on the back of Harry’s tongue that he’s almost choking on it, but he’s never felt less thirsty in his life.  He has this under control.  He can tame this.  He can.

“Yeah.” He inhales deeply through his mouth, as if he were relishing the bouquet without tasting the wine, and slots their lips together with ease. 

Although they’ve shared countless kisses over their months together, this might win the record for the gentlest that they’ve ever shared.  There’s no rush, no animalistic need to pull Y/N closer and tighter against his body.  There’s only her burning warmth, her silky skin, and her sugar and flower flavour washing out the black tea that had been lingering on his taste buds.  Harry has never felt closer to being human again than he has in this moment.  Right now, they’re not a predator and his prey; they’re simply two people who, against all odds, have managed to find each other.  And Harry is owed this happiness.  He knows he is. 

The rest of the night passes in a blissful haze of comfortable domesticity.  They eat dessert on Harry’s couch, feeding each other bites of raspberry sorbet in between giggles and banter.  It’s something they’ve done countless times before, but there’s something different about it now; maybe it’s the fact that Harry knows that Y/N isn’t going to push him away now.  She wants him.  She wants him.  She’s leaning into his touch every time he brushes his knuckles over her cheek, laughing at his poorly-timed jokes, gazing at him through her lashes in a way that stirs desire in the very pit of his belly.  They’re comfortable together, and for the first time, Harry is realizing just how wonderful that is.

It’s the only thing on his mind as they stand side by side in front of his double vanity in his en suite, his gaze tilted to the side to watch as Y/N removes her makeup with some wipes she’d packed in her overnight bag (Harry makes a mental note on the brand so that he can pick them up the next time he finds himself near the drug store).  He’s never had such casual comfort and ease with someone like this before; the last time he’d found himself in a relationship, it had been in a time where maids were required to help lace and unlace corsets and valets prepared him for bed.  There was never a chance to watch as someone he cares for ties their hair back in a loose ponytail before rubbing cleanser into their skin.  He never got to observe the quiet, intimate moments of someone’s bedtime routine.  In the early days of their relationship, Y/N had never had a chance to properly take her makeup off before Harry was tugging her into bed, her lipstick smeared across his face as much as hers.  This is his first time really witnessing that transition, and he likes it more than he thought he would.

There are, however, a few things that he knows Y/N likes before bed, and he gives her a moment of privacy to change into her pyjamas while he makes the quick trip to his kitchen to fill a tall glass with cold water.  He doesn’t need to grab an extra blanket this time— he’d already made sure to toss the knit afghan onto his bed before Y/N arrived, and he finds it draped over her body when he returns to his bedroom.

“You look cozy.” He comments with a fond smile, handing the mortal girl the glass of water as he pulls back the other half of the blankets.  He climbs underneath the covers, propping his elbow up on his pillow as he lies on his side to watch as she takes a sip of the drink. “Y’alright, love?  Need anything else?”

Y/N shakes her head as she sets the glass down on the bedside table and settles back into her pillows, stifling a yawn into the back of her hand.  She always gets sleepy after she has a few drinks, something she’d explained to Harry— much to his amusement— a few weeks prior, after a movie night at her house when he’d made his famous margaritas.  They’d been having a Harry Potter marathon, and they’d barely begun the second before her eyes had started to flutter closed. 

“I’m good, I think.” She tugs the blankets up to her chin, tilting her head to the side to find Harry already staring at her with a soft expression. “Actually…” Extending a hand to him, she lifts her covers off her body enough to indicate what she wants. “C’mere.”

A boyish giggle falls from the vampire’s strawberry lips, and he flicks off the lamp before crawling towards Y/N in the enveloping darkness.  He folds himself right into her side, opening his own arms for her to slide into, but is surprised when her hand finds his shoulder and tugs him closer to her.

Harry takes the hint and hesitantly settles himself onto her own body, allowing the mortal girl to rest his head along her collarbones, his ear finding a home just above her beating pulse.  One of her hands knots itself in his hair, delicately detangling his messy curls as the other finds a home on his naked shoulder blade, rubbing over his defined muscles with the hottest touch Harry has ever felt. 

It’s a vulnerable position, one that Harry hasn’t been in for decades.  And yet, instead of feeling the usual mix of fear and trepidation, all Harry can feel is comfort.  The combined sensation of Y/N playing with his hair and massaging his shoulder is more pleasurable than he ever could’ve assumed.  A month ago, that would have confused him.  But now… he exhales softly as Y/N’s nails lightly scratch along his scalp.  He can be vulnerable with her.  He trusts her.  And, to his extreme luck, she seems to trust him.

A few minutes pass with nothing said between the pair, the silence around them punctuated with only the sound of their breathing and Y/N’s lone heartbeat.  If Harry didn’t know better, he’d think that Y/N had fallen asleep, but his sharp senses know that’s not true; her pulse is still a few beats faster than it normally is, and her breathing hasn’t completely evened out yet.

Sure enough, Harry’s suspicions are confirmed when Y/N whispers into the darkness a moment later, as if she could hear him mentally assessing her body language. “Harry?” Her voice is gentle, halfway between a whisper and a murmur, as if she’s afraid to be any louder. “Are you awake?”

Harry bites back the smirk that threatens to overtake his lips. “Mhmm.” He hums, nuzzling his head further into Y/N’s caring touch. “Still awake.”

She matches his hum of acknowledgement, the pads of her fingers pressing deeper into the knots of his back. “I was wondering…” Her voice thickens with hesitation. “Would you, um, would you sing for me?”

Without completely lifting himself from her chest, Harry raises his eyes to meet her own, her fingers pausing their motions through his locks as he does so. “Sing?” He asks, taken off guard by the out-of-the-blue request. “Y’want me to sing?”

Although there’s a shadow of shyness across her face, Y/N nods slowly. “I heard you humming earlier today, while you were cooking, and it sounded nice, so I was just thinking about it…” She clears her throat nervously, and Harry can hear the wave of blood that rises to her cheeks. “But you don’t have to.  I know it’s late—”

“No, petal.” Harry hurries to ease her, a frown settling onto his face as he hears her breathing grow shallower with anxiety. “S’fine.  No need to get shy.” Harry is amazed at how smoothly the reassurance falls from his lips. “Yeah, I’ll sing for you.  Any requests?”

Despite him telling her not to be shy, Y/N just shrugs her shoulders in response to his question, her eyes locked on the ceiling above them as if she can’t bring herself to meet his gaze.  Harry plants a kiss along her clavicle before settling back into her plush chest, mentally running through the catalogue of songs he’d been humming earlier.  He should pick something soft, he thinks.  Something like a lullaby.

Y/N resumes her gentle combing through Harry’s locks, mostly to distract herself from his thoughtful silence.  She shouldn’t have asked him to sing something— he’d made it clear earlier that playing the piano for people was something that made him nervous.  They’d sung together playfully multiple times, and Y/N could tell that Harry has a pretty voice, but half-singing, half-rapping along to the Hamilton soundtrack is so different than singing to her in the darkness of his bedroom.  She shouldn’t have asked.  In fact, she should tell him to just forget it, and—

“I had a thought, dear, however scary, about that night, the bugs and the dirt.” Harry’s low vibrato echoes around the previously silent room, his voice no louder than a murmur.  Y/N can feel the vibrations of his vocal chords against her chest, a quiet hum that soothes her like nothing else ever has. “Why were you digging?  What did you bury, before those hands pulled me from the Earth?”

Harry clears his throat quietly between the stanzas, his own eyes drifting close.  He’s never been one for stage fright— he’s always been eager to show off his vocal skills, and there’d been a time when all he wanted was to sing on stage in a smoky speakeasy.  But this— singing in the quiet of his bedroom for an audience of one— is more intimate than he’s used to, and he knows if he catches Y/N’s observant gaze right now, he’ll lose his nerve.

“I will not ask you where you came from; I will not ask and neither should you.” Harry tunes his ear to the steady pulse of Y/N’s heart, using the rhythm as a makeshift metronome to keep his time.  To keep himself steady. “Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips; we should just kiss like real people do.”

Harry feels a spike of warmth against the top of his head, and it takes him a moment longer than normal to realize that it’s Y/N’s lips pressing against his hair.  As he continues to sing, she times her caresses of his ringlets with the beat of his words, which he keeps timed with the beat of her heart.  They’re in a cycle, he realizes as he quietly sings the second verse into her skin. She’s lined up with him as he lines up with her.  They’re locked together, steadying the other while relying on them to keep them steady in return.  For the first time in two hundred years, Harry feels truly in sync with someone.

“Honey, just put your sweet lips on my lips,” Y/N’s mouth smudges against his temple once more as he nudges his nose along the base of her throat, allowing himself to press his own lips against the satin skin of her chest, just over her heart. He feels like he could stay in this moment forever, which means something given that he truly does have forever. He’d spend every second of the rest of eternity frozen in this instant, if the world allowed it. He’s content, and relaxed, and cradled in his duvet with the one other soul who has somehow managed to thaw the coldness from his stony heart. For the first time in too long, he feels like an actual person again. He isn’t bogged down by his carnal instincts, or by the fear of losing his composure, or by the fact that he doesn’t have a thumping rhythm behind his ribs. 

He doesn’t need all of that because he has Y/N, and she makes him feel more real than all of those aspects ever could. 

“We could just kiss like real people do.”

[canyouhearthelight]

The Miys, Ch. 138

It’s timmmmme y’alllll.... Food Festival, whaaaat!?

Okay, I know.... I love to cook, and there is a lot of food in this story. But I really do believe in Sophia’s philosophy - It’s the universal unifier.  There would seriously be so much more world peace if world leaders regularly ate dinner together.

I solemnly promise to try to keep food out of the next 4 chapters after the Food Festival. Promise. (Unless y’all tell me via PM, Ask, Comment, or Reblog to do otherwise.  And I would need a slightly more than 50% ratio of requests compared to likes. Just to be fair).

The morning of the opening ceremonies for the Food Festival, my nerves were cranked even higher than the days leading up.  Since I was insisting on attending all three days - which were expected to be crowded - I had bribed Antoine with his favorite breakfast to disable my proximity alerts.  As much as I hated doing it, I knew it would be too distracting to be in a crowd and have it constantly going off.

What this meant was, an hour into the Festival, I had already strained something in my neck by snapping my head around trying to keep my eye on all several-thousand people at the same time.  Conor grabbed my shoulders and tried to steer me toward a vendor while using his broad shoulders and height to block anyone behind me.  My anxiety level instantly dropped noticeably, and I was actually able to enjoy the miniature kebabs from the vendor. Conor had to take his hands of my shoulders to take his, but I noticed that he made a point to keep himself between me and any passerby who seemed to not be paying attention. We made it to one of the seating areas, and he managed to hold the curtain back, making me giggle embarrassingly.

“I just realized that we did everything backwards,” Conor said nonchalantly, stripping his skewer in one bite but at least covering his mouth while he chewed.

My immediate thought was that he meant the Festival somehow, but I had known and lived with Conor for far too long to assume.  Even after this long, he was still capable of shocking me with how his mind worked. “What did we do backwards?”

He gestured between us. “This. Us.”

I thought about it. “I don’t think so? We were friends first.”

“Yeah, we were arse backward,” he laughed. “The only thing we did right was being friends first. But then we went through a crisis where you met our future boyfriend - before we were together, mind  - and I almost lost you. Then I moved in, then Mav moved in. We all got sick, someone else wanted to kill you, then we went on our first date….”

My head dropped back as I erupted in laughter. “Okay, okay! You win! We did everything ass backward!” I finally took a bite of my food while he winked at me and snuck a sip of my drink.

“I forgot the part about meeting your family before we were even together. That was still a thing, right? Meeting the family?”

Still laughing, I shrugged. “I made a point after I turned seventeen not to date anyone who didn’t get along with Tyche.” I could see math in his head and preempted the next question. “Yes, that means I trusted my twelve year old sister’s judgement, even when we weren’t talking.”

“Clearly, I am her favorite,” he grinned.

“She couldn’t decide between you and Maverick, so I had to go with both.” 

Grabbing my hand, he pulled me from my seat as I bit the last piece of kebab off the skewer. “I concede in the face of her superior taste.”

“So should we all,” I grinned as he pulled me out into the crowd.

This time, with a somewhat established way of navigating the crowd, I was able to pretend I was a normal person in a crowd, dragging her boyfriend from place to place.  Randomly, we would see people we know, stop, chat for a second, and keep going. A part of me kept wanting to look for Maverick, but I reminded myself each time that he was at home, asleep so that he could work the later shift today. We did manage to find Charly and Coffey, the former of which tossed me a wink as she brushed her fingers casually over the collar she wore - she made a point to wear it each year as a reminder of the first time we met.

This time, however, I was resisting the urge to squirm away, but knew that with Coffey and Conor bracketing us, Charly had a captive audience.

“So… kink night is next month at the Undine!  You’re going to be there, right?”

“Charly, I’m not… I’m not an exhibitionist, and the guys will be at work…”

A large hand flew up to cover Coffey’s laugh before he could turn his head to hide it. Charly scrunched her face at him before turning back to me and rolling her eyes in his direction. “I never expected you to participate, silly. You’re there as kind of an official approval from the Council.”

That launched my eyebrows into my hairline. “Do you need official approval?”

“Not really,” Coffey intoned. “It’s more preventive - if we start with approval from the local government, in a non-participatory way, there can’t be any backlash later.”

I heard a snort over my shoulder before Conor spoke up. “So, she’s just…. Going to sit there?”

“There is a zero percent chance that she’ll get bored, and I’m positive that Sebastian will need some help.”

I raised my voice to be heard over the muffled laughter over our heads. “I love you, but I’m a terrible waitress - “

“And a phenomenal cook! We’ll need lots of snacks.”

I shook my head and blinked hard. “Won’t you be…. Busy?”

“Not the whole time, no,” she answered, thankfully one-hundred percent serious. “And we’ll be burning a lot of energy. Water, electrolytes, sugar, and just… calories are super important. In finger food form.”

Now we were on profoundly familiar ground. “Oh I can do some finger foods.”

“Yeah… finger foods and non-alcoholic beverages are not Sebastian’s strong suit. Lots of food and sanitizing space are where he is incredibly talented.”

“If you can get Arthur to show up, I’ll be there,” I surrendered.

To my alarm, she started squealing and bouncing. “Oh, awesome! I’ll send you the event reminder, and then make sure to have Sebastian send you his schedule for set up and planning… and he needs to include you in the menu planning, I need to make sure to tell him that - “

“Poppy. One event at time, remember?” Coffey reminded her gently, a thousand-watt smile dominating his face.

She looked around and seemed to just remember that she was standing in the middle of the Food Festival and, theoretically, working. “Oh. Right. ‘Kay, so, Sophia, I’m sorry, but apparently I’m busy. I’ll talk to you tomor - ” Coffey folded himself to whisper in her ear “ - Ursday? Thursday?”

My chest hurt with the amount of laughter I was trying to push down, but I allowed a snort and a grin. “Thursday sounds great. Our place, potato soup?”

“HELL yes!” was the enthusiastic reply before she waggled her fingers and dragged Coffey on to their next station.

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[queen-scribbles]

The Answer

15. loosely holding onto each other’s hands, laying in one’s lap [Cam/Liam]

-----

The vid was done, credits scrolling up the screen, but neither of them felt like moving to turn it off. The couch was too comfy, they’d found the perfect position, and moving would jostle free their hands, loosely tangled together in Cam’s lap.

“This was nice,” she mumbled, head leaned back on Liam’s shoulder and eyes closed. She sounded more than halfway asleep and he couldn’t really blame her. The Initiative asked a lot of its Pathfinders, even now that things were settling down.

“Yeah, it was,” he agreed lazily, brushing his thumb along the edge of her hand. “Glad you got to take a break.”

“I may’ve threatened to quit if they didn’t give me at least one night this week to hang out with my boyfriend,” Cam deadpanned, eyes still closed.

Liam laughed. “Oh, great, so now Addison and Tann will be blaming me for you shirking.”

“If they do, I’ll kick their asses.” She snuggled closer, almost defiantly. “It’s not shirking to want a night off once in a while.”

“True.” He tilted his head to kiss her temple. “Thanks for spendin’ it with me.”

“Anytime, Kosta.” She really was falling asleep. And the weight of her head on his shoulder was making him drowsy, too. Not that he minded in the slightest.  “Nowhere else I wanna be, you’re good comp’ny.”

“Thanks, Ryder, so’re you.” He squeezed her hand. She squeezed back and they lapsed into silence. It lasted long enough Liam wondered if she’d fallen asleep on the couch and was resigned to doing the same rather than risk waking her.

“...This is nice,” Cam mumbled. Not asleep after all.

“You said that already,” Liam pointed out with a smile.

“It bears repeating,” she retorted, a note of indignation under the words and sounded a little more awake when she added, “Wish we could stay like this forever...”

“...What if we could?” The comfortable drowsiness had his filter letting thoughts become spoken.

Cam snorted. “Don’t think anyone would appreciate us stayin’ on this couch forever, Kosta.”

“Not that part,” Liam chuckled, waggling their joined hands. “The together bit.”

She rubbed her thumb over his. “You really think I have any plans for changes to that part?”

“No.” I might... “Cam?”

“Mm?” she grunted, still lazily tracing his thumb with hers.

He was too content, too happy (too in love) to measure the words before they tumbled out. “Marry me?”

Cam instantly stilled. Not even breathing.

And in that terrifying, too-honest moment of silence, Liam had just enough time to start kicking himself for jumping the gun and doing it wrong before she twisted around and sat up.

“What?!” she demanded, hands and knees braced against the weathered couch and face less than a foot from his. He could’ve counted her freckles. Or the small flecks of brown in her eyes. If he wasn’t distracted. 

Shit. Shit. He hadn’t been planning to do that now. He didn’t have the ring on him(hidden deep in his stuff), he hadn’t even properly finished writing the question(nothing was good enough for her). But he’d said it.

And he’d meant it.

And sure, this hadn’t been the plan, but the two of them rarely stuck with plans, anyway. So Liam tilted his head to meet Cam’s eye and asked again, more deliberately, “Marry me?”

Cam stared at him for a moment that seemed longer than it was with The Question hanging between them. Then she launched herself forward with a whooped “YES!!!” just before she crashed into him, arms around his neck as she kissed him repeatedly, an enthusiastically mumbled ‘yes!’ punctuating each one.

Liam laughed, giddy with relief, and wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her from falling off the couch as he kissed her back. Again and again and again.

She finished with one last emphatic kiss, her hands bracketing his face, and pulled back tip the tips of their noses just barely touched. “Yes.”

“Good,” Liam chuckled sheepishly, tipping his chin up to kiss the tip of her nose. “Knocks out any worry with this being sooner than planned.”

Cam grinned and sat back on her heels. “Oh, so there was a plan that didn’t involve springing it out of the blue and almost givin’ me a heart attack?” she asked playfully.

“I don’t think you wanna go there,” he shot back just as playfully, arching a brow at her. “Giving the love of my life a heart attack isn’t really a category where you have a leg to stand on, Camille.”

“Point,” she laughed, settling back in her previous position against his shoulder. “So, did you? Have a plan?”

“Yeah,” Liam said with a smile as he draped that arm around her and she linked their hands again, loosely tangled and resting on her stomach. “Dinner, a picnic but nice, somewhere with a good view. Meridian, or Aya. Or that arch on Eos.”

“Our arch?” There was a smile in her voice.

“You know it,” he confirmed with a small smile of his own. “At sunset, for the colors. And I was workin’ on the question, planning to ask it prettier, like you deserve. More words-”

“Get choked up halfway through askin’?” Cam asked mischievously, toying with his fingers in her lap.

Liam huffed another laugh. “Prob’ly, yeah. You know me.”

“And I love ya.” There was a pause, and when he looked down in the silence she was staring at her hand, the one not tangled with his. “...Is there a ring?”

“Mmhm. With my stuff. Third drawer, in the Nellis Prime OSD case. I’ll get it when we go to bed.”

“Aw, babe.” Cam gave a happy little wiggle as she snuggled even closer. “That sounds really beautiful, Liam.” She tilted her head up to shoot a glance at him.  “The answer woulda been the same there, too.”

“We can still do the dinner part, if you want,” Liam said. “To celebrate.”

“I like the sound of that.” She sighed contentedly. “For now, I think I wanna fall asleep on top of my fiancé” --a massive grin at him-- “s’long as he’s okay with that.”

Liam kissed the top of her head. “Beyond okay with it, but won’t we be more comfortable doing it in your bed than here?”

“You’re just full of good ideas tonight,” Cam teased.

“I was due eventually,” Liam joked, and her snort of laughter in response was one of the best sounds in this or any galaxy. They untangled themselves and stood, and she pulled him down into another kiss almost immediately.

“I love you, Liam Kosta,” she murmured against his lips, hands clasped behind his neck.

“I love you, too, Cam Ryder,” he replied, hands settled on her hips. 

Cam stole another kiss as he turned off the vidscreen then stepped back, slipping her hand in his to tug him after her. Liam grinned and followed, like he had since the day they met.

There was nowhere he’d rather be.

---

(look if it hadn’t gone down like this, it woulda been like that guy who photobombed his gf with the ring for six months or whatever before actually proposing bc that’s bigtime Liam Kosta energy right there)

[loudlytransparenttrash]

In June, an Oberlin bakery won their lawsuit against Oberlin College and a top university administrator, after three black students claimed that they had been racially profiled. The accusation led students, professors, and even some in the Oberlin administration launching a massive boycott of the bakery, including protests and pickets outside the store. The school even canceled its contracts with the bakery, which has been owned and operated by the same family for over a century and has been a popular spot for Oberlin College students within walking distance of campus. After investigations though and a year-long lawsuit, the allegations proved to be a lie, the students admitted they had in fact been kicked out after being caught stealing from the store.

Advocacy groups like the Southern Poverty Law Center make headlines by claiming that hate crimes have surged since Trump’s election but the real surge is in hate crime hoaxes, especially among university students. Almost all of that surge is due to the simple fact that in 2017 the number of hate crime reports increased by 17 percent. Taking into account that 1 in 3 of reported hate crimes turn out to be hoaxes and almost none have lead to convictions, the surge narrative is pretty dishonest. And destructive. The perception that red hat-wearing, hate-filled mobs are roaming the streets attacking minorities, gay and transgender people in the name of Donald Trump keeps us on edge. It also creates a gullibility that allows us to believe things we should know aren’t true. Like Juicy Smollett’s ridiculous tale of being attacked by two MAGA-hat-wearing Klansmen in Chicago. Before the actor’s tale unraveled, it was wildly parroted by a media too eager to believe anything that confirms its conviction that America under Trump’s presidency is rife with racism and bigotry. These hoaxes began immediately after Trump won.   

The day after the 2016 election, a student at Bowling Green State University said that she was attacked by white Trump supporters, who threw rocks at her. Police concluded that she had fabricated the story. That same day, a University of Minnesota student, claimed in a viral social-media post that she was detained by police after fighting a racist man who had attacked her. Campus and local police said that they had had no contact with her. And again that day, a Muslim student at the University of Louisiana at Lafayette made up a story about being attacked and robbed by Trump supporters, who supposedly ripped off her hijab. For weeks after Trump’s election, America was fed a series of outrageous stories of campus race hatred that fell apart upon examination.

This trend of student hate crime hoaxes has continued. In May 2017, St. Olaf College in Minnesota was roiled in mass “anti-racism” protests that caused classes to be cancelled. a black student activist, was found to be responsible for a racist threat she left on her own car. In September of that year, five black students at the U.S. Air Force Academy Preparatory School found racial slurs written on their doors. An investigation later found that one of the students targeted was responsible for the vandalism. In November 2018, students at Goucher College in Maryland demanded social-justice training and safe spaces after “I’m gonna kill all n—s” was discovered written in a dorm bathroom. A black student was responsible for the hoax. That same month, thousands of students at Drake University protested after racist notes turned up on campus. An Indian-American student pled guilty for targeting herself and others. Here’s some more from just the last few months:

A sixth-grade girl from Springfield, Virginia, wept on television as she recalled how she was pinned down during recess by three white male students. “They put me on the ground,” she said. “One of them put my hands behind my back. One put his hands over my mouth. One cut my hair. They were saying that my hair was ugly, that it was nappy.” Many outlets jumped on the tale and turned it into a national crisis. New York Times, MSNBC, CNN and Washington Post all ran daunting articles, proving “the rise in hate crimes in the Trump era.” Democrat Rashida Tlaib published a personalized message on Twitter to the girl, saying her blackness threatened these white boys to their core, that’s why they did it. The accused boys were never sought for comment. On the contrary, the NAACP demanded “immediate disciplinary action” against the minor suspects. All over Twitter people found a way to blame Trump. A few days later the girl confessed she had cut her own hair off and made the story up. Her grandparents later wrote an apology on her behalf.

Talha Javaid, a 23-year-old immigrant from Pakistan who lives in Ontario posted screenshots on Twitter purported to be a text from a bigoted white parent who didn’t want him coaching ice hockey to their son. Javaid’s tweet went viral. Within a week it racked up more than 11,000 retweets and more than 56,000 likes. An outpouring of support came from the public, hockey stars and journalists, who praised Javaid and condemned racism and Islamophobia. He received job offers to coach in both Canada and the U.S. “And they try to convince us racism doesn’t exist anymore or in hockey,“ San Jose Sharks hockey player Evander Kane tweeted. Turns out that Javaid doesn’t even coach ice hockey to kids. When the rink where Javaid claimed to coach was contacted, the facility said they have never heard of Javaid nor the ice skating classes he allegedly was holding. “We’ve never heard of him. He’s never taught here.” This is not the first time Javaid has claimed to be the victim of Islamophobia. In September 2017, he said he found a note on his car that read: “Muslim! Go Home! Make Canada Great Again. MAGA. MCGA.” 

Former NFL player, Edawn Coughman, called 911 to report a hate crime inspired burglary at his pizza restaurant in Lawrenceville, Georgia. When officers arrived, they saw several racist words, swastikas and the word "MAGA" sprayed on the walls and booth cushions in black spray paint. “Several booth cushions were sliced open. They also found broken mirrors, cut wires, and a damaged video surveillance system. The smell of spray paint was very fresh.” A witness reported the suspect was driving a black car without a license plate. Officers pulled over a vehicle that matched the description - it was Coughman driving. They noticed "several televisions in the bed of the truck and inside the cab," some of which were "still attached to the brackets with damaged drywall.” After he was arrested, police found a yellow crow bar and cans of black spray paint in his vehicle. "It appears as though Edawn conjured a premeditated plan to damage his own property, attempt to make it appear as a hate crime, file a claim with his insurance company, and sell off the undamaged appliances and electronics," police said.

Democrat politician Erica Thomas cried her eyes out during a Facebook live video, stating she "feared for her life" after a white man "verbally assaulted" her. “This white man comes up to me and says, 'you need to go back where you came from!'" she said. “I was helpless.” She also told police officers the man walked up to her with clenched fists. The hashtag #IStandWithErica quickly began trending on Twitter. Beto O’Rourke blamed Trump for “fomenting hate every day,” Bill de Blasio tweeted “this is on Trump and every single person who refuses to condemn his vile racism,” while every mainstream media outlet ran stories linking this “attack” to Trump and his supporters. When police investigated, witnesses told them it was in fact Thomas telling the man to go back after he argued with her about the express lane. The employee told police that after the man accosted Thomas for ignoring the express lane rules, he began to leave but “Ms. Thomas kept ‘running her mouth’ as she approached him.” Video footage shows the man never had his fists clenched, was not irate and for someone who was so scared and helpless, Thomas followed after the man as he walked away. In a later interview, Thomas admitted that she doesn’t know if the man, who is a life-long Democrat, actually told her to go back to where she came from or not. 

The number of hate crime hoaxes by far exceeds the number of convictions. Almost every high-profile hate crime incident never happened. The real problem is that highly publicized fake hate crimes usually receive little public coverage after it is revealed that the original accusation was a hoax, meaning all the hatred, division and fear whipped up by the media and Trump’s opponents against the president and his supporters remain intact when they should be relieved. With the preoccupation with identity, privilege, and oppression, our media and higher education increasingly promote a paranoid climate of perpetual crisis for their own gain. The saddest part is Americans are bound to become ever more cynical and skeptical of hate crimes even when they actually happen. 

[eldibris-blog]

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[wild-aloof-rebel]

When David steps into the motel, everything is almost disappointingly ordinary. The room looks the same as it had when he’d left it yesterday afternoon. An empty cinnamon roll box still lies open on the table. His overnight bag still sits atop the cedar chest. An army of nail polish bottles are still strewn across the nightstand. Alexis is propped up in bed, nose buried in her phone, and their mother is screeching something about "the wrong shade of black" on the other side of the connecting door.

David has walked in or woken up to a similar scene nearly every day for the past few years, and yet he’d expected today to be different somehow: a different room with different faces to greet him. Because today he is different. Because today he’s not the lonely and friendless misanthrope he’d been the day they’d moved in. He’s not even the hopeful and happy boyfriend he’d been just yesterday morning, excited about an afternoon picnic and wherever the evening might lead.

Because, today, he’s engaged.

How could anything possibly be the same?

Still in a bit of a daze about it all, he manages to make his feet carry him around his bed so that he can sit down. What he's supposed to do next, however, he isn't sure.

He’s engaged. Patrick had asked him to marry him. He’s engaged to the absolute love of his life, and they’re going to get married. They’re going to have a wedding. They're going to spend the rest of their lives together.

The full weight of the realization hits him like a truck, and he buries his face in his hands, overwhelmed and happy and relieved and embarrassingly, giddily, stupidly in love. He wants to cry. He wants to scream. He wants to laugh until his stomach aches. He's getting married.

“David?” comes Alexis’s voice from the other bed. “Are you oka– What are THOSE?”

He lifts his face to find her mouth open comically wide in shock, one accusatory finger pointed straight at his left hand. He hadn't been sure his family would even notice, wondering if he'd have to all but slap them across the face with them to get anyone to pay attention, but he should have known Alexis would sniff out new jewelry in a heartbeat. A glance at the four gold rings adorning his fingers sets his whole face twisting to hide the wide grin threatening to break free.

“David,” she says again, keener this time. “Are those what I think they are?”

He manages to move his head in a little tremor of a yes that grows and grows into an exaggerated, exuberant nod. “Yes,” he replies. “Yes, Patrick asked me to–”

“DAVID!” She launches herself off the bed, nearly toppling him over in excitement as she bounces onto the mattress beside him.

“Shhhhhh.” He glances toward the connecting door. “I am not telling mom before her afternoon valium kicks in."

"God, can you imagine?" she says with a grimace. “Let me see!” He holds his hand out to her and watches as she runs a gentle finger across his rings. Despite her obvious excitement, there’s something a little longing in the touch, something a little sad, and for a fraction of a second, he wants to pull her into his arms and tell her that she’ll have another chance at this. But then she opens her mouth again. “Are they 24 karat?”

“Fuck off, Alexis!” He snatches his hand away, but she just shimmies it right off of her shoulders.

“So did he get down on one knee? Did he do something super cliché like putting them in a glass of champagne? Oh my god, did he sing? Please tell me he sang something super embarrassing. I need the deets!”

“Okay, don’t say ‘deets.’ This isn’t 2005.”

David pushes himself to his feet. There’s too much excitement thrumming in his veins. He needs to move, or he might actually explode with joy, which would be the most embarrassing thing to happen to him in this room since his dad had walked in on him and Patrick celebrating their baseball win. Still, a soft smile slips back onto his face as he walks circles into the carpet, remembering the way Patrick's face had lit up when David had said yes.

“If you must know, he took me on a hike, and–”

“A hike? I thought you said you were going on a picnic.” Her look of surprise melts into a pout. “You poor thing.”

“Shut up,” he snaps, though there’s hardly any bite in it. He’s just too damn happy to really mean it. “We did have a picnic. It was just on top of a mountain. And it was perfect, okay?”

When she doesn’t tease him or press him for more details, he stops pacing to find her looking at him with some unfamiliar mix of emotions.

“What?”

“I just--" She shakes her head. "You’re engaged, David."

"I know."

"No, like, you're actually going to get married."

"I know."

"But you, David. Of all people."

“Um, there's a lake just up the highway. Can you drive into it please?"

She scoffs. “I didn’t mean it like that. It's just, like, I always assumed that I would be the one to get to have that great big dream wedding we used to plan when we were kids." Her fingers absently tangle in her hair, her eyes unfocused now as she gets lost in some thought that makes her smile. "Do you remember when we broke apart mom's pearls to use for the seating chart?"

David remembers it well. That had been back when Alexis's modelling career hadn't yet taken off and her only trips around the world had been on family vacations with the rest of them. Back when breaking into the wig room just to have a look around had been the most dangerous thing they'd ever dared to do. "Adelina thought she was going to be furious."

"But when we told mom, she just said to use the sapphires instead next time because they better complemented the color scheme." They both laugh at the memory. Things had been so much easier then, back before they'd both gone out into the world and let it make things hard.

Happiness had been easier.

Love had, too.

"You just never really seemed interested in all that," Alexis says. "The planning part, yes, but not the part where you get yourself a cute, little husband.”

David can’t stop the smile that blossoms across his face at the word. Patrick is going to be his husband. He buries his face in his hands again, feeling the way his skin heats against his fingertips at the thought.

“I wasn’t,” he admits through his fingers. “Interested. Before.”

“Patrick’s changed you, David.” The smile that she gives him is strangely proud. “You’ve let him change you.”

There are so many things he's done in the last year that he'd never thought he'd do in his life. Things he'd never wanted to do. He's hiked up a mountain, and he's hit a homerun, and he's clambered across shaky boards thirty feet in the air. He's learned about tax brackets and insurance premiums. He's gotten up before 9 a.m., when the occasion has called for it.

"I know," he says.

Patrick has taught him to compromise, has shown him that sometimes you have to give more than you take, has shown him that sometimes trust and contentment and unconditional love can still be easy.

Because at the end of the day, all he wants is to make Patrick happy. It's as easy and as hard as that. He wants to give back every single ounce of joy that Patrick has given to him, and if that means that sometimes he has to move the lip balms a few inches down the counter, then that's something David can do. Because Patrick--because his fiancé--is worth it.

"I kind of think--" Alexis says, frowning a little like the words taste sour on her tongue, "I think I want to hug you."

"I'm sorry?"

She stands up and steps closer. "Can I hug you, David?"

"Oh. Um, o-okay."

Her arms are around him before the word is all the way out of his mouth. She squeezes him tight, hands clasped together behind his back, and he wraps his arms around her shoulders, closes his eyes, and breathes.

It's been years since they've done this, standing in nearly this same spot after she'd broken up with Mutt, and David isn't the only one who's changed since then. Alexis has pushed herself to be better in nearly every area of her life. She'd gone back to high school. She'd gotten her certificate. She'd turned down a job offer that would have taken her out of this town. And in the most un-Alexis move of all, she'd let go of Ted--chosen his happiness over her own--only to find him choosing her in the end. David is fiercely proud of her. Even if he'd never say it.

"I can't believe you're getting married," she mumbles into his sweater.

He holds her a little closer, ignoring the tears threatening to form. "I can't believe you're leaving."

"I'll be back in six months."

"You better be." He pulls back with a watery little laugh, blinking against the sting of his eyes. "Who else is going to help me arrange all those diamond-studded floral centerpieces?"

She rubs a hand across a wet cheek and chuckles. "I think the diamonds are gonna be hard to come by these days. You might have to settle for cubic zirconia."

"Ew. Why would you even say that to me?"

"And since Elton probably isn't an option anymore, maybe you can just get mom and the Jazzagals to sing a little medley for your first dance."

"Oh my god. Stop!" He swats a hand at her, but she dances out of his reach.

"Instead of the horse-drawn carriages, there could be, like, goats pulling a wagon."

His horrified gasp is drowned out by her gleeful cackle, and she bounds across her bed as he lunges after her, chasing her around the room as she continues to hurl increasingly disgusting suggestions his way.

"The cocktail hour can feature sangria with that gross fruit wine mom filmed that commercial for. The dinner can be a barbecue. Oh! The ceremony can be at town hall. You can get married at Roland's desk!"

"I hate you."

He does. He hates that she knows exactly what buttons to push, and he hates that she could push them with her eyes closed. He hates that she's reminding him in this otherwise happy moment of everything that they've lost. But most of all he hates that she isn't even going to be here to help with most of the planning. All those fantasy weddings they'd imagined as kids, they'd dreamed them up together. How is he supposed to plan his real wedding without her?

She pouts at him, but her eyes are still shining with glee. God, he loves her. He's gotten so used to having her around, he really doesn't know what he's going to do without her for six months.

"Oooh," she squeals. "You and Patrick can rent suits from that menswear store in Elmdale."

Okay, he takes it back. He does hate her after all.

"I hope you get eaten by a tortoise."

[growthmarketingagency-blog]

SEO vs. PPC – Know which one is Right for Your Business?

What is Search Engine Optimization & Pay Per Click?“Is it better to focus on SEO or PPC?”When Is It Best To Use SEO?When Is It Best To Use PPC?Nurture your SEO leads with PPC remarketing.

Search Engine Optimization( SEO ) and Pay Per Click ( PPC ) are two of the most common types of campaigns you will find within a digital marketing strategy — but what exactly are they?

Is it necessary to do both?

If you are on a tight budget, which one should you prioritize?

Here, In this article, we talk about the strengths of each campaign type and explain under what circumstances you might choose one over the other.

SEO, or search engine optimization, is the everlasting process of enhancing a website and it’s content to rank for desired keywords on search engines such as Google and Bing. SEO is technically “free” — although you do have to put in the time, money, and resources to doing the actual work to improve your rankings.

PPC, short for “pay-per-click,” is an online advertising model used on search engines like ( Google and Bing) and social media platforms like ( Facebook and LinkedIn). With PPC, you have to pay to play — but as the name suggests, you have to pay only when a user actually clicks on one of your ads.

Search Engine Optimization and Pay-Per-Click both have their fair share of pros and cons, which is why we often hear clients ask:

Generally, when we are asked this question, our team usually answers with the following:

We generally recommend running SEO and PPC campaigns together as they complement each other very well. However, we understand this is not possible (or even necessary) for every business out there. Many businesses have limited budgets and resources that force them to choose between SEO and PPC.

So, if that is the case for you, you might be wondering which one should be prioritized? There is no simple answer because it depends on the unique goals of your business and your historical digital marketing efforts.

SEO refers to a group of techniques that are aimed to propel a website to the first page of the major search engines like Google or Bing.

SEO is very crucial for online businesses, as statistics show that 80% of the traffic that can be generated for any website will come from the search engines.

The biggest search engine is undoubtedly Google, which garners more than 3.5 billion searches per day; hence, most SEO campaigns target this specific search engine.

So, when should you choose SEO techniques over PPC? Below are some circumstances when SEO would prove highly beneficial for your online business.

When consistent results are desired. SEO has a relatively long gestation period. Getting to the first page of search engine results will not happen overnight or even in a week. Getting to the top of the SERPs will take time. However, once your website gets to the top there via SEO, you will enjoy sustained traffic. Also, if you keep up with your SEO campaign, working to maintain and improve results, you can stay on top for a long period of time and reap long-term benefits.

When you wish to build an authority site. An authority website serves as an established resource center for a particular niche. It is the “go-to” website whenever members of that niche require certain information. An authority website, once it starts to gets going, soon be able to generate lots of traffic based on URL recall alone. The best way to establish an authority website is by sustainably generating traffic to your webpages, eventually building up a reputation until it becomes popular enough to dominate the market. The only way to sustainably generate the traffic required is through quality content powered by smart SEO planning.

When you want to increase the value of your website. Websites are virtual real estate. If you are planning to sell your website for a premium price, you have to increase its worth. There are numerous factors that can contribute to increasing its value. Among them is the amount of traffic generated, consistency of traffic generated, page rank, search engine rankings over a period of time, link popularity, and the like and all of these fall in the realm of SEO.

Keep in mind that SEO isn’t “Free Clicks”. It is a tremendous amount of work in creating and promoting content which is time-consuming and money. 

Now we move over to the other side of the SEO vs. PPC debate.

Pay-per-click marketing is a practice of advertising on search engine results pages. Basically, you bid to have your advertisements appear in the sponsored results when someone types in a query including your keywords.

Why is it termed as “pay per click”? Because you have to pay for every user who clicks on the advertisement you are promoting.

Popular PPC advertising platforms include Google Ads (AdWords), Bing Ads, and Facebook’s advertising platform. Niche-specific PPC systems also abound. One example is PlentyofFish’s advertisement option, which works wonderfully with dating offers.

So, when should you choose PPC marketing? Below are some circumstances when PPC would prove highly beneficial for your online business

When immediate results are desired. PPC delivers results fast. Very fast! You can count the minutes before a rush of visitors come cascading to your webpages. This is because the moment your PPC campaign is approved (provided that your bids are high enough to merit priority placement), your advertisements will immediately be displayed for millions of people to view. The traffic will almost be instantaneous. Hence, PPC works awesomely well with product launches, squeeze pages, CPA marketing and affiliate marketing involving high converting offers, joint venture (JV) projects, seasonal promotions, event-focused marketing, last but not the least analogous online business campaigns.

When highly targeted traffic is sought. Unlike SEO, PPC marketing will allow you to slender down your prospects based on their demographic data. Many PPC platforms, like social media sites, allow you to reach to the age range, gender, income bracket, education level, and even marital status of the people who will be able to view your advertisement. Well-known social media sites like Facebook also allow you to target people based on their hobbies. These make Pay-Per-Click a substantial way of reaching the narrow band of people your business needs and leading them to your web pages.

When promoting a time-sensitive offer. Marketing products, services or events with an expiration date is always a race against time and money. Often, the long gestation period of SEO campaigns would produce delayed results. For these time-sensitive offers, PPC marketing would be perfect. Hey, are you promoting an offer that will end in 2 days? No problem! the traffic you need will come in a matter of minutes.

When your website is not designed for SEO. SEO requires content-rich websites that need to be regularly updated. This is the only way to 1) inform the search engines that your website is relevant, and 2) remind the search engines to position your site at the top of the list. Some websites are not designed for this. Squeeze pages, for example, does not have the required content to even merit a second glance from Google. For websites such as this, traffic can be easily generated from PPC campaigns.

If you want to dominate search results for your keyword category. PPC results are displayed right above the organic search results. This prominent position implies that in many cases, as much as 50% of the search traffic goes to the top 3 sponsored links. Being absent from PPC you will be conceding the loss of all those clicks to your competitors. If you are not serious about maximizing your click-share of available searches for keywords relevant to your business, you absolutely must engage in PPC!

Lastly, you can use both SEO and PPC strategies together to nurture leads at various touchpoints. Say anyone who finds your blog through a search engine and consumes some top-of-the-funnel content. You can make the use of PPC remarketing through the Google Display Network, Facebook, or another third-party advertising service.

Use these advertisements to only target people who have visited your site and/or consumed specific content and it should not take up too much of your advertising budget. That is the beauty of PPC — you can control exactly who watches your ads and how much you spend to achieve it. And since you are focusing on warm leads with your remarketing ads, there is more opportunity to drive revenue from your investment.

Wrapping Up

Even if you do not have the budget or resources to invest fully in PPC or SEO, that does not imply you have to pit them against each other. You can always hire a growth marketing agency to run your SEO or PPC strategies either of which is suitable for you. Both strategies have their strengths and weaknesses, so smart marketers use both in unison to fill in the gaps and develop a robust search engine marketing strategy universally

SEO is the best when you are trying to build a loyal audience for your business. But, you must also complement it with PPC campaigns to keep the shorter-term conversions flowing. Last but not the least, you must test the results to choose the most suitable combination based on your requirements.

About Us

Nexuses is a creative growth marketing agency, that helps companies scale up their business frugally by helping them acquire new clients, boost their brand and digital presence. At Nexuses we help companies unlock most promising customer acquisition channels and drive their ideal customers to their product or service at scale.

[rahimaldemir]

Dying Light 2 - Q&A

In the official Dying Light discord one of the representatives, Uncy, from Techland held a q&a session during E3 2019 and I took the time to copy everything down. There were a lot of questions asked, but I only copied down the ones that were answered.

Uncy said they were going to post a FAQ with all of these questions and I’ll make sure to link it when they do. As of right now, I don’t think it has been released.

A lot of people were typing during the session and unfortunately a lot of questions got repeated. There is also a decent amount of typos in these questions, but it felt important to keep the Q&A session in an honest a form as possible, so I have not corrected any typos or omitted any duplicate questions.

I did add a “Q” and “A” to the beginning of every question and answer for clarity. Uncy used emojis sometimes in their answers, but I did not copy those over if they weren’t text emojis.

I have put my own notes in [italicized brackets].

WARNING: There are huge spoilers for The Following in these questions, they are marked to make them easier to avoid, but please be wary.

@tafferfield I know you got a pretty wicked master list of DL2 stuff, so if any of this helps you feel free to grab it and add it.

Putting under a read more because this is long:

Q: Are all current zombies considered volatiles? A: Not really, there are still regular zombies and volatiles

Q: Zombies only exit the night? A: now that's a hard one, zombies can stay outside for some time during the day but they get weak IN THE SUN

Q: How much diffrent endings are there? A: About endings - more than one, don't want to spoil it

Q: Battle royale mode? A: no BR mode

Q: Are you able to clear the city of zombies? A: Basically human learned how to deal with infection, so the more humans the less zombies

Q: how does Aiden stop from turning? does he use antizin or something else A: antizine is finished but human discovered that strong UV light weakens the infection, that's why you have the biomarker

Q: Is Aiden a foreigner to the land like Crane? A: Aiden doesn't even know Crane exists Q: I meant is Aiden from around there or did he come from somewhere else A: he's not from the city, he's an outsider

Q: What are future plans for multiplayer? A: multiplayer wise - we have some stuff coming apart from co-op, but I can't really share multiplayer details now

Q: Will there be a fallout kind of karma system? A: karma system? nope but your choices and actions will affect how people see you

Q: How long will one playthrough of the game be? A: hard to tell, but i know that dl2 will be a game for a long time

Q: Will dying light 2 feature the same great ragdoll physics as the first. A: upgraded ones

Q: Will the game be translated into Brazilian Portuguese as the first? A: more languages will come, cant really tell for now

Q: Can we expect to see actual time sensitive activities within the game? (IE: Do this now or forever lose the chance) A: Yes, but its more like choice wise, like do one thing and u will never be able to do another

Q: Will you play Dying Light 2 with me on release ;d? A: why not

Q: Will Aiden be customizable (e.g. hair, individual clothing pieces,etc) A: yup there will be customization

Q: Is there a weapon combo system? A: what do you mean by that? Q: Like a combo like last game you could spam attack and hold it for a more powerful attack, I'm asking if you can combo attacks like 2 quick attacks and then a charged attack or stuff like that [This question never actually got fully answered]

Q: Did anything replace the grappling hook. Did it change in anyway? A: there's a grappling hook - and some more options to travel cause the city is huge {you will be able to upgrade them}

[SPOILERS FOR THE FOLLOWING]

Q:if the vial ending from the following is canon (if the following is canon) is crane a Volatile?

A: in some way - both are canon. It's up to the player to choose it Q: will Crane make an appearance or not. If you cant answer then atleast say which ending is canon A: not really

[END SPOILERS]

Q: Will the game launch with any DLC's? A: i dont think it will launch with dlc's but post release support is planned

Q: The last trailer showed working vehicles, will we be able to use some? A: Yes

Q: How many different kinds weapons are there (number) A: too many to mention, we're still adding more weapons

Q: is it sticking with the old crafting system or are y'all switching it up A: crafting system is upgraded a little

Q: are in dying light 2 developer tools having the chance to make custom movements and animations? A: I don't really have info about dev tools right now

Q: Are firearms coming back ? A: No guns, no firearms - but there will be distance weapons like crossbows

Q: do we gain strength or anything when nighs fall? since we are infected A: during the night you need to use UV lights to stop the infection, you wont get stronger

Q: is the choices you make permanant (one save only) or can you save and go back? A: you can save and go back on some difficulties

Q: Czy będzie drzewko umiejetnosci tak jak w 1 ? A: tak

Q: Is the max number in a party still going to be 4 or will more team members be able to join in co-op multiplayer, if there is any. A: 4 player coop

Q: is there a system where our beard can grow out and cut it same with hair like rdr2 asked a few times chat just to fast lol A: hmm, i don't think so

Q: Can you turn into a zombie if you dont pay enough attention to your wristband? A: that's still under discussion, i don't think you will be able to play as a zombier tho

Q: When the game releases, are you able to link your old account from DL1 to get rewards? A: we wont forget about dl1 owners

Q: will you be able to upgrade/modify tools like grappling hook and the UV flashlight? A: yes, tools will be upgradeables

Q: are we going to have trading cards to craft badges on steam with dying light 2? A: Yup

Q: Will the UI be changed completely, both in-game, etc? A: there will be some changes for sure, i dont know how hard tho

Q: How many skill trees are there, and are they any more complex? A: you can upgrade a lot of stuff now

Q: Are ranged weapons going to be as powerful as they were in DL1 or is it a bit more balanced A: there are no guns, so its balanced

Q: I wonder if we will see some more gameplay (apart from the trailer) from E3? A: something will come this month

Q: what are the main factions in dying light 2? A: Peacekeepers and scavengers - those are two main factions, but there are more

Q: Who is the girl in the trailer? A: that's actually one of our employees but for now all I can say that she's singing in one of the bars in the city

Q: Has the infection gone worldwide A: yup

[SPOILERS FOR THE FOLLOWING]

Q: What happened to kyle crane? Will he have anything to do with the game

A: he ded

[END SPOILERS]

Q: will there be an enhanced edition or any other editions or just the normal one? A:there will be different editions - more details coming soon

Q: Will some weapons from Dying Light 2 (before release) be added in Dying Light? A: watch the trailer closely

Q: Are you taking in any alpha testers any time soon? If so I would like to be the first volunteer. A: there are no tests planned for now

Q: Referencing the Trailer, will we have the ability to choose our siding, survivor or what seem to be the "law"? A: its all up to you and your decisions!

Q: during the first game the side quests were some of the most amazing in the whole game, my question is, will those little side quests be present in the second game as well and will they also impact the game A: Yeah! side quests will be there and there wont be just easy fetch quests, but rather a small stories on their own

Q:There's a post. On twitter(?) That mentions something like "as Aiden you can do things no one elese can" Does that mean there will be benefits in having your infected level reach a certain level? A: Aiden is simply well prepared to live in The City - that's all I can tell right now

Q: Will there be new skill trees or the same ones? A: would be weird to put in the same skill trees

Q: can you upgrade parts of the town? and is roger smith coming back for Voice acting A: depends what do you mean, if you help certain people by your actions or choices, they will start to build stuff like bridges, farms etc which will help you, they will also get rid of the zombies from buildings etc

Q: Is it possible, that BTZ will be in Dying Light 2? A: possible but not confirmed

Q: can we get the song from the trailer? its sick A: I think i got the name somewhere, ill add it to faq [Couldn’t find Uncy’s link, but I was able to find two of the three soundtracks featured in trailers on youtube: Help I’m Alive and Crimson Blaze & Battlefields]

Q: Please dont add lootboxes A: Cmon

Q: Why can't we pre-order A: cause we don't have all the editions ready yet

Q: got 2 questions: - Will we have a season pass for a limited time just like in Dying Light so we can get the DLCs for free? - can us console players please get a fov slider A: 1.There will be a season pass 2. I'll let the devs know about fov slider

Q: Will there be a new type of villain like Rais? A: nothing is white or black in The City

Q: Will it be the same loot system or a loot system at all? A: what do you mean by loot system? like those crates etc? Q: I'm referring to weapons and stuff like that. A: then I don't really know, afaik it got changed a little

Q: Can we expect to see a different climbing mechanic, same with the grapple? A: parkour system is upgraded a lot, grapple is coming back ofc

Q: 1. are there gonna be volatiles in dl2? and are the zombies in dl2 more faster, brutal and better in movement to chase u down? A: There are new and old zombies, can't tell more atm

Q:Will some of the old zombie mutations be returning? A: yup

Q: Distance weapons are mentioned, does that mean a weapon smith we can get distanve weapon blueprints from? A: you can created your own weapons

Q: Are there other zombie types than the ones mentioned in the interviews? If so can we know a bit about them? A: there will be more, no info now tho

Q: On the topic of Grapple, is it expected to behave the same as DL1, or will it have a different mechanic, such as a swing? A: grapple is different now and you can upgrade it

Q: an we drop kick zombies and humans from sky scrapers? A: Yup

Q: Will the grappling hook operate the same as in DL1? I think it was overpowered and needed bigger cool down, it took away from parkour element a lot for me. A: as I said later, it's reworked a little - not OP now

Q: Is Brecken alive in Dying Light 2? Or is he maybe related to protagonist? A: no one from DL1 comes back

Q: Does no ranged mean guns or are we also losing the bow/crossbow A: never said no ranged, i said no firearms, ranged weapons will be there

Q: Will the gore be overhauled or different in Dying Light 2? A: it will be upgraded, there are also new finishers coming in

Q: Will quarantine zones come back? A: dark zones will be in the buiuldiings

Q: what happen to the cure A: gone

Q: will there be more weapon upgrades than in the first DL? A: a lot more

Q: can we put miniguns on vehicles or weaponize them like the buggy from The Following? A: I don't think so - nothing for now at least

Q:What happend to the GRE? A: They were there when the infection started - they are the ones that gave away the biomarkers - no sight of them in the city now

Q: If there's a co-op mode, what is the max amount of players in 1 lobby? A: 4 players max

Q: Will there be more end game content then dl1? A: yup, first of all you will have to finish the game multiple times to experience the game fully, end game will also be improved

Q: What do you think will be there an epic crossover mission when we meet kyle but he's turned A: I don't think he will come back

Q: Infected animals? A: animals will be there, you can hunt them, dunno about infected ones tho

Q: Are there children in DL2? If so, can we kill them? A: Brutal

Q: Referencing the ease of combat in DL1, can we expect to see actual struggle when going against enemies? Will we have the feeling of should I fight or run? A: Ups [???] depends on the difficulty for sure, some of the fights will be hard, for example - you fight some guys near to the building and then zombies hear it and come out for few minutes, and you have XvXvX fight to go trough

Q: Kiedy pre order? A: Niedługo

Q: are the voliatile hive quests coming back? A: you will be cleaning some mess for sure, I don't know if those particular quests will go back

Q: Alright. I asked if we'll get skin to customize our weapons as in we keep them forever as blueprints and we can apply them to any weapon? A: customization will be upgraded, that's for sure, I believe we will actually share more details about it in the future

Q: Will there be brutal finishers after stun, like in old Dying Light version where Kyle pulls out smth from the chest? A: yup, we're still adding more and more finishers

Q: Are safezones upgradable in any way? A: you can't upgrade them as in "click a button and its happening" it changes when you do something for the city or you act in some way

Q: is there gonna be a volatile chase mission in the sewer like dl1? "extraction" with more running action? A: that's a really gameplay-detailed question, I don't think i have answer for it now

Q: Will there be weapons rarities? A: some weapons will be stronger than other - don't know about how will we deal with rarities

Q: can we do farming? A: i think that other people are meant for farming, not Aiden

Q: Is dl2 going to have the same docket system like dl1 if not please explain A: dockets are cool, would be good to have them back

Q: Will zombies give a fight for your life feel, or will it be light DL1 where they are primarily just nuisances? A: try going to dark zone during the day, you wont get out of there alive

Q: do we have a different type of vehicles or just one like dl the following we only had the buggy + we are going to have horses and motorbikes or no ? A: there will be some vehicles - more about that coming soon

Q: is there going to be any refrences from dl1??? A: yup, there will be differences [I’m assuming the question was misread]

Q: you said that there wont be any firearms in DL2, but can you maybe tell what's going on in here, as a game dev? It confuses me quite a lot [pic of peacekeeper with what looks like a gun] A: concept arts are not 1:1 gameplay

Q: Is there gonna be something that can make you even stronger if you maxed out all skill trees? (Like the Legend in DL1.) A: that's a really late-game stuff, i believe something like that will come

Q: will the hostile factions attack you if you go into certain areas (i.e if you take a safe zone for a scavenger will the peackeepers attack you in an office building A: yup

Q: how much is pre order and when will it go live A: we are still taking care of different editions and prices

Q: Are the weapons going to become more modern as you level up ? A: nope, weapons are really "hand made" but they all look cool

Q: Will there be any stational turrets, which you can craft/use in some safezones to clear hordes? A: people are dealing with the infected, turrets are too modern

Q: we can pre-order the game soon ? i mean like next month maybe or after a while ? A: yup, preorders will go live when we will figure out the versions etc

Q: Will multiplayer/coop loot be instance based, or client base? (DL1 uses a client base, as each player gets their own drops/items from chests/zombies) Instance based would be there's only 1 item for all players, first to grab gets. A: We still need to figure that out, I believe we will check which one is better

Q: any cool easter eggs coming? A: a lot of them

Q: Will there be any missions that require 4 players, and can more people join you for the final boss? A: 4 people is max

Q: will there be any more presentations or info about DL2 at e3? A: there will be more + new s this month

Q: Will there be boss fights and if there is at the last story mission do we have to be alone? A: don't ask about last mission when the game is not out

Q: we can play with animals like far cry ? i mean like u send animals to attack zombies or something like that, and will there be infected animals too or no ? A: you will be able to hunt animals for resources, i dont think you will be able to tame them

Q: what your prediction about the pc spec? A: i think you will be fine if you can run modern games, We go for FPS over resolution and we aim for 60 at ps4 and xone, its not confirmed tho

Q: so is there going to be some sick loot if we have dl1 and bad blood?? A: there will be something for DL owners

Q: Are there gonna be hunger and thirst bars, and food and drinks you can loot around the world or get from faction cities and safe zones? A: that's still under discussion, its not confirmed

Q: Will we see random wildlife throughout our explorations? (Not those of zombies.) A: yup and you can hunt them

Q: Will we be able to use the dying light companion app in Dying Light 2 A: probably yes

Q: so is there infected animals or no ? A: I dont think so, it's not really confirmed, so we will see

Q: Can we get a confirmation that the dev tools will be available eventually considering it massively increase the longevity of the game and wasnt a total fuckup of a decision like bad blood was? A: about dev tools - im still waiting for confirmation

Q: sorry for the torture but will there be a PVP gamemode or any special gamemode for DL2? A: we will have multiplayer based discussion, for now there are no details to tell about mp

Q: will DL2 get better mod support ? Something like Fallout 4 so we can add more stuff to the game A: i hope so

Q: asking again, will there be seasons? like winter and summer with weather changes? A: I don't think so

Q: Do i have to side with 1 faction completely? Do certain factions control certain safe zones or are safe zones neutral territory? A: nope, you don't have to side with 1 faction

Q: limitation (character inventory)? Like we can no longer have unlimited or 99x items in stacks - including crafting materials. A: I think there wont be limits to crafting materials, like 99x, i need to confirm that with devs tho

Q: Will there be walking zombie hordes, which will try to destroy safe zone's gates? And will it be like event? (is it really possible)? A: people's safe zones are protected with UV lights, zombies wont cross them

Q: Can I sleep in Dying Light 2 to skip night? A: the whole day-night cycle is changed in DL2, more details coming soon

Q1: will there be xray like in the old game A: what x ray Q2: Survivor sense, he meant I think Q3: the critical blue hit, when u hit a zombie, thats what he means A: oh, survivor sense is coming back

Q: Will duplications be patched frequently? As in DL1 there are still many that can occur. A: well i hope there wont be any dupe glitches

Q: Around how long would it take to playthrough the game once? A: quests etc are still coming so i cant really tell how long it will be right now

Q: Btw every pre-order got a bonus content so ofc dl2 got bonus content so when i buy the game after the release i can get this content even if i buy higher edition or its for pre-orders only ? A: i dont think we will have any preorder exclusives, time will tell tho

Q: How many quests Will there be? A: a lot

Q: how many or which of the zombie types from the first game will we see again in DL2? A: everyone from DL1 is coming back (zombie wise) wise some cool additions and upgrades

Q: How many factions are confirmed so far or at least under disussion? A: 2 main ones are confirmed, and there will be more side ones

Q: will there be any sort of vehicles we can drive in DL2? A: yup there will be vehicles

Q: Will there be shields and (fast?) counterattacks after blocking? A: ripostes will be there, im not sure about the shields but u can block without it

Q: The map takes place in a City, is this city based on a real life counterpart? A: it's a fictional city based on european cities

Q: what happened to the firearms i mean why they are removed from the game ? A: they are very rare commodity 15 years after diseaster

Q: can we drive vehicles? A: yes

Q: When does the Q&A end? A: in around 10 minutes

Q: I don't know if this was asked. But Will we be able to explore more then the city? A: the city alone is 4 times bigger than the first DL, there is a lot to explore, dunno about going outside tho

Q: Will there be some type of pvp in the game? A: more info about multiplayer modes will come very soon

Q: Who is the voice actor for aiden A: dunno to be honest xD not the kyle voice actors and that what matters [This has been released. Aiden’s voice actor is Jonah Scott.]

Q: So there is firearms in the game but they are very rare and hard to find ? i mean u can still find them but its hard right ? A: i mean that they are so rare that you wont find one, but as i said, there are still ranged weapons, and some you can craft on your own

Q: Will it be a new Be The Zomby ? Or Human player invading other world like DS3 ? A: as i said, no details for multiplayer this time, sorry! :x

Q: Will the implemented day/night cycle have any special amendments? (Can we expect to see random encounters/anomalies on random nights/days?) A: would be cool, ill ask devs

Q: In the trailer we saw bracelet and how "charges go down". What will happen if it goes down and will we have "antizin"? Can we buy or trade it? A: there is no antizine, strong UV lights weakens the infection, its still under discussion what will happen when it will go to 0, most possible outcome is simply dying and having to restart the game

Q: Hold up. "No guns" or "very rare guns"? I saw both those answers from Uncy A: its pretty much the same, like, they're all pretty much gone

Q: what about invasions? Be the zombie A: no multiplayer details now

Q: Is the game 4 times bigger then just the slums? Or the WHOLE game A: the whole game without the following

Q: Will there be more interactions within the game? (IE: Fishing, skinning the animals we hunt, cooking, etc) A: yup, there will be a lot to do in the city

Q: Will DL2 be on next gen xbox as it just got announced? A: right now we plan ps4 xone and pc release

Q: Will it be possible to take (offline) single-player saved games online, and if so, what proactive measures will Techland take to prevent game-save mods from disrupting the online multiplayer experience? A: as i said, multiplayer details will come in the future, those things are still under discussion

Q: Can we go and roam outside the city? A: Aiden wants to stay in the city

Q: my final question what is the virus called is it still called the harran virus A: well it's not in harran only anymore

Q: Is there some way to calculate just how many final outcomes you can get out of the game? Like in Detroit Become Human for example A: not really, not right now at least

Q: will screamers have more of a purpose then obstacle you have to get around A: they will be different this time

Q: Legend levels made the first game really easy so are they in dl2 or no ? and if they are there so is it balanced now or it will still make the game so easy ? A: legends levels are still under discussion as well

Q: Still another question about that charges... Will there be some visual and sensitive effects (like in Dying Light where the screens goes green and we dont have stamina)? A: yup, i think so at least

Q: Will there be more detailed animations for each thing we do? (If we activate our flashlight, Aiden would reach to his shoulder to turn it on) A: some things are speed up of course to not be annoying, but there will be more animations, like imagine having to reach the uv light for a 10000 time when volatile is at your face

Q: Will this channel remain so we can review all the previously stated questions? A: it will be closed but it will remain (i need to make QA out of it)

Q: Will it be possible to take (offline) single-player saved games online, and if so, what proactive measures will Techland take to prevent game-save mods from disrupting the online multiplayer experience? A: i responded to that with - no multiplayer details for now, I really don't have any info about it

Q: Can we ride horses ? A: nope

Q: Is korek in dl2? A: i dont think so

Q: anything to mention about Night hunters? A: night runners you mean? actually Aiden is the only man capable of reviving hte nightrunners caste

Q: wingsuit? A: maybe this will be one of the things we will be talking about - i mean, new traversal options

Q: Will we have the ability to pursue affections of NPC? Such as a friend meter, or even a lover? A: you will be able to interact with every single npc in the game - how? you will see

Q: Any building destruction in ds2? Like walls collapsing when you use explosives, would be cool A: just the last one - yes environment is destructible in some cases

[vietnam-war-weekly]

Vietnam War Weekly: The Battle of Khe Sanh

Good Evening Ladies and Gentlemen, today is a special one, one of the most terrifying battles of the war; the Battle of Khe Sanh. Let's get right into it but like always some background. Khe Sanh located at 16.655444,106.728583, was a village that was the seat of the Huong Ha District, so it is pretty important. Other things like Coffee plantations surrounded the village for miles, but most importantly, it was right next to the South Vietnamese-Laos border. By this time the Ho Chi Minh Trail, a massive guerilla supply chain, was in full swing was going right into Laos and was connected to major South Vietnamese cities. The Base at Khe Sanh was built to protect the middle of the country and stop communist forces from pouring out from the borders, while also launching operations to destroy the Ho Chi Minh trail. It was vital that the NVA destroy Khe Sanh, so on July 21st, 1968, 34,900 Soldiers launched a full-scale assault on US troops. This is where many stories for the Marine Corps would be forged.

A small fuel dump burning after a mortar strike.

The Defending US forces consisted of a large but isolated force of 45,000 Troops. The main problem was that only 6,000 US Marines and a few US Army and ARVN personnel were stationed at the actual base, while the rest were running Operation Niagra and in a further area. The NVA saw this as a pivotal moment to launch an attack on a US base. On 20 January, La Thanh Ton, an NVA lieutenant from the 325th Division, defected and laid out the plans for an entire series of North Vietnamese attacks. Hills 881 South, 861, and the main base itself would be simultaneously attacked that same evening. At 00:30 on 21 January, Hill 861 was attacked by about 300 North Vietnamese troops. The Marines, however, were prepared. The North Vietnamese infantry, though bracketed by artillery fire, still managed to penetrate the perimeter of the defenses and were only driven back after severe close-quarters combat.

The main base was then subjected to an intense mortar and rocket barrage. Hundreds of mortar rounds and 122-mm rockets slammed into the base, leveling most of the above-ground structures. One of the first enemy shells set off an explosion in the main ammunition dump. Many of the artillery and mortar rounds stored in the dump were thrown into the air and detonated on impact within the base. Soon after, another shell hit a cache of tear gas, which saturated the entire area. Hours after the bombardment ceased, the base was still in danger. At around 10:00, the fire ignited a large quantity of C-4 and other explosives, rocking the base with another series of detonations.

At the same time as the artillery bombardment at KSCB, an attack was launched against Khe Sanh village, the seat of Huong Hoa District. The village, 3 km south of the base, was defended by 160 local troops, plus 15 American advisers and heavy artillery provided from the base. At dawn of 21 January, it was attacked by a roughly 300-strong NVA battalion. Reinforcements were dispatched aboard nine UH-1 helicopters but were wiped out after landing near the NVA, along with one helicopter. A small ground-rescue force from the nearby combat base was repulsed, while the survivors from the village assault evacuated themselves to the combat base. The NVA fought throughout the day, into the next night, and finally completed the capture of Khe Sanh village at 09:30 on 22 January.

I am going to have to stop here, this is just the first day of the actual battle because it lasted for 7 months. In the end, both sides claimed victory both the US ended up pulling out of the base and closing it July 5th. 3,500 Soldiers from the Southern-American Forces died and around 10,000-15,000 NVA soldiers died, but estimates vary.

[salt-sass-and-lyrium]

Problems in tech support number ???/??? aka “Well fuck me for wanting to give you the right answer, I guess”

LONG POST

So it’s been a few hours (just now getting home) but just before I was done for the day I get a call from a woman named Nadine. That’s not even a fake name. Fuck this bitch.

Anyway, Nadine calls in, and the call starts like this

Me: *generic greeting* Nadine: *mumbles name* Me: I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that. Can you repeat your name for me again? Nadine: *literally shuffles the phone around as she’s talking so I only catch like part of what she’s saying* After two more times, I go Me: Could you just spell that for me please? Nadine: *rapid fast mumbles out her last name* Me: Ok, I need your first and last name to assist you. Can you please repeat it slower and clearer? Nadine: *finally gives her last name. Something with an L I don’t remember right now*

Me: Ok, what can I help you with Nadine: I’m calling because I need some help Me: Alright Nadine: *literally says nothing* Me: *waits* Me: What did you need help with? Nadine: *literally says nothing* Me: *louder* Nadine, how can I help you? Nadine: I need to send an email to a client, secure.

That’s actually super simple

Me: The system will automatically detect emails with [secure] in the subject line and encrypt them. So you just need to put secure *spells it out* in brackets. You know, the square parenthesis Nadine: Brackets? Me: The ones that look like a square, not the round ones. Nadine: Oh, ok.

I wait a few moments

Nadine: It doesn’t say it’s going to send secure Me: It won’t. If you have [secure] in the subject, it’ll automatically encrypt it when you hit send. Nadine: Well. I need ALL of my emails to send securely

You absolutely do not.

Nadine: I used to have it set so that every single email sends securely

Literally not a thing that we have

Me: Every email? Every single reply to any email sent secure? Nadine: *back peddling* Every external email

Again, not really a thing. Also not a thing you’d realistically want. Our secure emails are a fucking pain to get into so you wouldn’t want everything going out secure.

Me: ... are you sure? Nadine: *now bitchy* YES. And I need you to fix it for me.

Ok, so that’s not a thing that I can do because it’s not a thing we have. So I remote in with her, and low and behold, this bitch has the email with (secure) not [secure]. I explain this to her and she refuses to believe me. One of her coworkers comes over and literally says the exact same thing that I did. Nadine corrects her mistake, is super nice to her coworker, then turns back to being a bitch to me

Nadine: SO I have a VERY important client who needs to send me some files securely. How can she do that? Me: Well, we can’t control how someone emails you-- Nadine: Yes you can! You’ve done it before!

Nope

Me: Nadine. That’s literally not possible. We can’t control how something leaves a completely different network. Nadine: WELL YOU NEED TO FIGURE IT OUT Me: There’s nothing to figure out. It’s not possible. Nadine: WELL, how is she supposed to send me a secure email? Me: I don’t know what options she has at her disposal so--

At this point Nadine starts shouting over me about how majorly important this client is, and how she has to send in a TON of VERY important extremely sensitive documents. Ok, so I figure this is a huge deal, so I start

Me: Well, there’s a few ways she could do it. If it’s a lot of files, your best bet would be a site like Dropbox or Intralinks-- Nadine: *cuts me off* No. NONONONONO! NO. That is not right Me: ...????? Nadine: I need to know how she can send files to me securely. What do I tell her to do?

Ok, I was just trying to explain that to your dumbass but ok.

Me: Again. If she’s just sending you an email, she’ll have to encrypt it on her end. If she’s trying--- Nadine: Well, a lot of other banks

Intermission: I fucking hate it when people say “well other companies have XYZ”. Ok, but this one fucking doesn’t, Fam.

Nadine:-- have a place where customers can just upload files to.

We don’t have that.

Me: We don’t have that. Nadine: *angrily* So, so what? What do I do? Me: I was trying to tell you-- Nadine: She wants me to send her a secure email and then she just replies with the files attached. But she wants it encrypted Me: Well, if it’s a TON of files, our max attachment size is-- Nadine: *cutting me off* That’s what she wants to do. You need to tell me how.

And at this point, my customer service is just ... I don’t give a fuck

Me: I’m not 100% positive on this, but I believe if she replies to your secure email *boring explanation*. But, as this is very important, I’d like to double check, if that’s alright? Nadine: Yeah fine whatever. Me: *puts her on mute for all of 2 minutes, tops while I research. It’s 6:30 something, so pretty much everyone is gone for the day* Nadine: UH. HELLO? Am I still on hold? Me: Yes, I’m still here. I’m just trying to get a confirmation that that will work-- Nadine: Ok. Fine. Me: *resumes researching* *messages the few people who’re still here* Nadine: UHHH HELLO?  Me: Yes, I’m still here. I will let you know when I have a definitive answer. Like I said, I don’t want-- Nadine: Ok. Whatever. This is ridiculous. Me: Unfortunately, you called at 6:30 at night. The network and email teams are all gone, so I can’t get a quick answer from them. So I’m conferring with as many of my colleagues as I can to try and get-- Nadine: OK WHATEVER.

At this point, I’m starting to get annoyed. This goes on for probably 10 minutes, largely because I keep having to stop and repeat myself to Nadine.

Nadine: Can you IM me please? Me: Why? Nadine: I need your contact info Me: ... why? Nadine: I just. I need it. Right. Now.

Now, I am under zero obligation to provide such info.

Me: Again. Why? Nadine: Just IM me. Now. Me: Once more. Why? Nadine: DO IT

Nope

So I ignore her and go back to trying to get an answer for her. Maybe a minute or so late, Nadine starts bitching again.

Nadine: This is unacceptable. I’ve been on hold for over 25 minutes. I NEED your contact information right now so I can leave feedback Me: Nadine. This call has not even been 25 minutes. It’s been about 15. So, no, you’ve been on hold for only a few minutes, and I’ve explained to you what I’m doing. Now you can take my initial suggestion and hope for the best, but I’d recommend-- Nadine: See?! Things like this is why I need your name.  Me: I told you my name at the beginning of the call. Nadine: Well, I need your contact info.

So, she’s been screaming at me for pretty much this entire call, and is getting increasingly aggressive. Fuck all if I’m gonna give her my personal info.

Nadine: I’m asking you to give me your contact info. Me: Why? Nadine: What if we get disconnected? Me: In the event we get disconnected I always try and call the customer back. Or you can call us. Nadine: Well, how am I supposed to get tech support?? Me: ... the same way you got it now. Just call. Nadine: WELL. What if I need to IM you? Me: Look, I don’t do tech support through IM. It’s not proper procedure. If you need support, give us a call or email or open a ticket through the self service portal. Nadine: UGH can you just IM me? Me: Why?

At this point Nadine starts shouting and screaming about how ridiculous this is and demanding my contact info. Again, I gave her my name at the end of the call, and it’s emailed to her when an incident is opened anyway. But, I don’t especially feel the need to repeat myself or explain that. And I don’t have to.

Nadine: I want your contact information. NOW. Me: No.

And the line just goes dead.

It’s rare that I tell a customer flat out no to a request. This is the first time in a while. But given that the request was idiotic... no.

Nadine: Uh. What did you just say? Me: No.

Nadine sits in silence obviously expecting me to say something else. I don’t.

Nadine: SO. What are you going to do? Me: Well, I’d planned on resuming helping you with your issue. But if you don’t want me to-- Nadine: *literally screaming into the phone* JUST DO IT.

So I take the time to put her on hold and dick around on the internet for a bit before resuming researching because real talk I’m petty af sometimes. I check back in with her, tell her we’re all putting our heads together because the info we have is extremely outdated and we don’t want to give you the wrong answer. She seems to calm down a bit, then:

Nadine: UH. Hello?? HELLO? Me: Yeah, I’m here. Nadine: So, what are you doing to fix this? Me: I’ve already explained that. Nadine: Can you IM me, please.

We’ve been over this

Me: No Nadine: Well. I want your info. Me: I’m under no obligation to provide it.

Nadine stammers a bit, before huffing and puffing and presumably going back to work. We think we’ve figured out the answer to her question, and we’re just testing it our selves to be sure.

Nadine: This is absurd!! Me: Ok. So I think we’ve figured--

Nadine then launches into this super passive aggressive rant. I pretty much just ignore her so tbh I’m not entirely sure what all she said.

Me: Anyway. We’ve figure-- Nadine: I need to give feedback about this call. Me: You’ll get the opportunity to do so once your ticket is closed. Nadine: Well. You need to spell your name for me. Me: No, I don’t.

More huffing and puffing.

Me: Again, this call took so long because it’s a question we didn’t have clear information on. You stressed how importat this client is Nadine: She is extremely imporant to [redacted] Me: And how sensitive the files she’s sending you are Nadine: She doesn’t want them to send unsecure. Me: Right, which is what we’re trying to avoid. I don’t want to say “yep, that’ll work” and have it not and upset a customer, or put ourselves in risk of a data breech. I want to give you the right answer (which I’ve already figured out, she just won’t let me tell her). The info we have is very outdated, which is why I’m not fully trusting it.

Here’s the fucking kicker:

Nadine: Ok. I understand that. I understand you’re trying to do your job and help me. And thank you for being thorough so you don’t give me incorrect information

For half a second I think she’s about to get reasonable. Nope.

Nadine: But, I’m still going to file a complaint. Me: *completely ignoring her* Anyway, so here’s what your client will need Nadine: did you hear me? I’m going to file a complaint!! Me: About what, specifically? Nadine: Well, this call has been awful and taken WAY too long. Me: Most of the time has been me stopping what I’m doing to answer you. Anyway, we confirm-- Nadine: So, you need to send me your information. Me: No I don’t. Me: *resumes trying to explain the process to her* Nadine: Look, look. I get that you’re doing your job, and you want to be sure you’re correct. And I really do appreciate it. But I’m still going to file a complaint.

TBH I don’t give a fuck about this job rn.

Me: Sure. Now, your client will--

Nadine interrupts me again, and begins shouting more and more. Again, I pretty much ignore her and start packing up my shit because it’s about time for me to get off.

Nadine: Do you understand me?!

Nope

Me: Nadine. Would you like me to tell you what your client needs to do or not? Nadine: I want your name and phone number. Me: I’m not going to provide that. Do you want me to--

Nadine starts shouting more and more. This shit is getting REAL old.

Me: Nadine. If you need technical assistance, you can call TSC. For this particular issue, anyone who answers could assist you. I do not do tech support via IM. That’s not proper procedure. I’m attempting to assist you

Nadine: SPELL. YOUR. NAME. Me: No.

I just let the call hang in silence because clearly she’s not used to being told no.

Me: Now would you like my assistance or would you like to figure it out yourself?

That shuts her up. I give her an explanation of what the client needs to do. She asks me to IM her instructions. Nope, not that stupid. I tell her I’ll email it to her. She says it needs to come from my personal (work) email. Nope.

Me: All emails need to be sent through the ticketing system (technically accurate, to keep accurate track of communication). I am not going to send it from my normal email.

We go back and forth more and more, Nadine demanding to know my full name, where I’m located, etc. I refuse to tell her because fuck you psycho lady. Which just pisses her off more. Eventually I just start talking over her and end the call. I bring her up to my coworkers and apparently yeah she’s just a bitch like that. 

I honestly hope she files the complaint. Because all of our calls are recorded now. So they’ll play it back and see that she was behaving wildly inappropriate. I guess we’ll see what happens.

TL;DR: Nadine is a bitch who doesn’t listen. She asked a question we didn’t have a clear answer on, and me not wanting to give her the wrong answer, start researching and reaching out to people. It’s super late, so hardly anyone is around, and the documentation we have is old as shit. The question is for a “very important” client, so ofc I don’t want to give the wrong answer, I tell her I’m going to research it and ask around and she flies into rages at me, demands my personal information and threatens to file a complaint because I’m, in her own words “doing my job”.

Fuck you, Nadine.

[avaalons]

Chris Evans Fic: The Hinting Game

Anonymous request coming to you all the way from Greece!

Have fun on vacay!!! Can you do a cute Chris Evans one of him hinting that hes ready for kids! Thanks 💙

***

In hindsight, you realised the hints had been coming for a while but it had just taken you some time to realise it. Thinking back, the first time, you were both at a Patriots game. Chris had dragged you to the merchandise shop at the stadium and while he spent the obligatory amount of time fawning over sweatshirts and deciding which one he should buy this time, his attention eventually turned to the kids section, his eye caught by an infant-sized romper type garment. ‘No. 2 Patriots Fan’ was in big writing taking up most of the space on the front but in brackets underneath: ’(but only because my dad is No. 1)’.

He held it up on its little hanger and looked at you which an open-mouthed expression of excited surprise.

‘Babe… how adorable and perfect is this?’

You just raised an eyebrow in a ‘my boyfriend’s such a dork’ kind of way and replied nonchalantly, ‘Yeah it’s cute. It’s a bit small for you though. Shame there’s no really little ones in our circle at the moment.’

***

The second time, you’d both been at a friends’ house, a couple that lived nearby. Well, they were Chris’ friends really, but you’d crossed over into mutual friend territory over the last couple of years: Chris had known the husband for years, since he first moved to LA and and you and his wife had become pretty close, bonding over basically being female and being in LA. And having dorks for other halves.

You were all in the back yard after dinner, nursing beers, chatting as the sun went down and watching their gorgeous four year old daughter running around with the family dog. Chris eventually got pulled into the ruckus and he spent a good half an hour playing frisbee, chasing, being chased, being a monster, being a prince.

When he lightly jogged back to his seat, worn out, he sank down next to you and pulled you close, whispering in your ear.

‘We need to get ourselves one of those.’

‘I’m not sure Dodger would take to another dog in the house, he’s too spoiled and used to being on his own now.’

He just chuckled lowly in your ear, planted a kiss against your temple and said, 'Yeah, you’re probably right.’

***

The third time, you’d been in Boston, visiting Chris’ mom and sisters. He was coming to the end of a filming stint and had been away from home for a while. The women in his family had invited you out to Boston for a girls’ weekend. It had been arranged that Carly would pick you up from the airport and take you to her house where Shanna and Lisa would be waiting. Carly’s husband was going to take the kids for the weekend while you went to the spa but you were all going to spend the afternoon at Carly’s until her husband was home from work.

Miles launched himself at you when you walked through the door and you scooped him up, whirling him around until he was giggling uncontrollably. Then you picked him up and settled him on your hip for a proper hello. He wrapped one little hand around the back of your neck while he told you excitedly about his new space theme bedroom that was in the process of being completed. He wriggled to get down so he could run upstairs to fetch his new night light to show you.

As his eager footsteps could be heard pounding up the stairs, you turned to find all three of Chris’ female family members looking at you with interest.

'What?! Have I got something on me?’ you looked down at your clothes quickly, trying to find something that would explain their attention.

'Nothing,’ Shanna told you with a smile, 'That just really suits you.’

You were just wearing a lightweight tshirt dress, close fitting but stretchy so it was comfortable for the plane journey. You didn’t think it was anything special but you thanked her just the same.

***

The fourth time, it was from Robert Downey Jr, of all people. So barely even a hint at all. It was at a Marvel thing, you were Chris’ plus one, as you always were when you were available, and Chris was networking for a moment. You weren’t exactly out of your depth: you knew a few people dotted about and Cobie Smulders was nice enough to keep you company with a long awaited catch up. Robert appeared at your elbow to say hello and greet you with a kiss on each cheek.

'Long time no see,’ he remarked after the initial greeting was over.

'I know, it has been far too long. Nice to see everyone.’

'Yeah, it’s not a bad bunch, is it?’ he looked around the room before turning his attention back to you, 'In fact, it’s been so long, I expected you two to be parents by now.’

You almost choked on your drink as you spluttered out a laugh, 'What?! Where would you get that idea?’

'Oh, don’t be bashful. We all know Evans is chomping at the bit to be a dad. He’s the last one standing out of us, he needs some responsibility in his life,’ there was a grin and a gentle clap on your shoulder before he moved away to talk with some other guests arriving and you were left frozen to the spot, feeling like you’d been floored by this new information. You looked over to where Chris stood in a group, laughing and chatting casually, one hand in his pocket.

God, you loved him. So much. But were you ready to have a child together? You weren’t married, or even engaged… but, you supposed, that didn’t matter much these days, and you did have a house together. You knew that kids were on the cards but you always thought it was a distant plan for the 'future’, whenever the future happened to roll around. Did he actually want to have a baby with you now? The idea planted, you suddenly felt excitement swell in your belly and you glanced down, imagining it swelling for real: a round, taut bump housing a growing infant that had Chris’ eyes and your smile.

You thought back over the last few months: Chris’ new found love of novelty baby clothes; playing with your friends’ daughter (so it wasn’t a new dog that he wanted to add to the family); Shanna’s comment about that 'suiting’ you, which you now realised was about you and Miles, not the plain t-shirt dress you were wearing. It all added up.

He really did want to be a dad now: he knew it, his family knew it, his friends and colleagues you knew it… he was just waiting on you.

He caught your eye across the room and smiled widely, ceasing to listen to whatever conversation was going on around him. You smiled back, wondering if he could tell what a huge revelation you’d just had in the middle of his work event.

You figured the ball was in your court and you knew just what to do.

***

'Hey sweetheart, I’m home!’ Chris always called out when he arrived, as if Dodger’s manic rattling of paws and claws on the hardwood flooring wasn’t enough to give it away. It was cute and you knew he revelled in the domesticity of it all.

You were in the study and quickly hid the items you’d been using to wrap his present back in the desk drawer where they belonged. You picked up the parcel and went out to greet him. He met you half way in the hall and swooped you in for a kiss before realising you had something in your hands.

'Hey hey, what’s this?’ he asked, eyeing the package wrapped in yellow and white striped paper.

'I got you something,’ you told him coyly.

'A present? For me? But why?’ he held his hand to his chest, indicating himself in surprise.

'Just a little something that I saw and made me think of you.’

You held it out and he took it from you, 'Can I open it now?’

'Of course!’

He ran a finger under the edge of the paper, curiosity written all of his face, pulling up the tape.

Inside was a cardboard box and he glanced at you with a half grin, clearly wondering what you’d been getting up to.

He set the box on the side table next to him in the hall and opened up the lid to find a lot of white tissue paper.

'Babe, what is going on here?’

'Just open it, you’ll see,’ you could barely contain your excitement.

He began the process of opening the layers of tissue until he got to the item at the bottom, pulling it out and holding it up in front on him to have a good look. He was extremely confused, you knew that much, but you gave him a second just to take it all in and read the note you’d attached to the material with a safety pin.

You kept your gaze on his face, letting out a laugh as you watched him shift from confusion to shock and joy. His eyes were wide, mouth in an O, and he turned his head slowly to look at you.

'Really?!’ was the only word he managed at first.

'Really,’ you nodded, laughing again, feeling tears (happy ones!) prick your eyes.

'Sweetheart… this is the best present I have ever had. Ever!’ he pulled you close, the present still bunched in one hand, leaning in to you to kiss you slowly, full of love.

'Can we start now?’ he grinned against your mouth.

'Well, I didn’t take my pill today…’ you almost whispered, your arms wrapped around his neck.

He whooped and laughed, 'Best get to practising then!’

He held up his present again, looking at it in joyful wonder. The tiny Patriots romper that he’d held up for you to see in the store, with a note attached in your best loopy handwriting.

I think it’s about time we made someone to wear this.

[ffantome-blog]

Indicators on roof leak repair sutherland shire You Should Know

Rain gutter setup-- as a cost-efficient diy venture-- could be completed within a day or 2. Effectively put up seamless gutters secure your house investment. Without an applied water drainage unit, rainfall has the electrical power to put on down a residence's neighboring ground, damages its groundwork, flooding the cellar or crawl space and also seep into house siding. Once water is actually launched right into any one of these locations, the momentous mold is actually expensive to take out and also might be unsafe. Along with roof source or major container shop components and also a few simple resources, you can add rain gutters to your residence using this step-by-step guide. Prepare for Purchase Before going to the establishment take into consideration whether you would like to utilize plastic or aluminum gutter system. Vinyl fabric is actually much less pricey and easier to mount. Pieces snap as well as click on all together in to place. Aluminum is actually much more long lasting lasting as well as pieces are actually fused with each other along with crimping seamers. Next, this is actually useful to form the perimeter of your roofing pipes as well as feature sizes. This "chart" enables you to approximate gutter length and the amount of brackets, arm joints and also downspouts. You could also suggest arm joint instructions and downspout area. Consider acquiring more material compared to needed. Extra items may consistently be actually come back when installation is full. You recognize just how disruptive an extra mid-project excursion to the retail store may be. You will definitely require: Rain gutter size Downspout Elbow joints Side items-- Define right or left. Braces 1/8" rivets Hex scalp screws-- 1 1/4" for gutter and also downspout, 1/4" zippers for elbow joints. Sealant-- Silicon adhesive is fine. Specialized rain gutter sealant could be expensive. Why zipper screws? They create that simpler to stand out joints out for seasonal cleaning. Gather Your Tools This project demands an extension step ladder, rotary tool and also rivet gun. The rotary tool can either be actually electric or hand. If you are actually putting up aluminum seamless gutters, you'll likewise need to have container snips and also a crimper. Mark Gutter System Placement Determine elevation along your roofline. That is crucial that the gutter hang low enough to capture rainwater. If your seamless gutter is put too high, rain will certainly spill over this. A great rule of practice is towards put a level along the incline from your roof, crossing the side. Posture gutter system in the room under. Allow incline, which is actually the downward pitch rainwater goes through the device. About 1/16th from an in decline per feet is actually basic. Score sound with starting point and end nails hooked up through strand on the soffit. Pitch dimension could vary. As long as water runs down a routine slope, water drainage will definitely prosper. Design Rain Gutter Pipe This step is actually less complicated to carry out on the ground. Attach pieces, if required, for whole entire duration from area to become dealt with. Area adhesive http://sydneywideroofingco.com.au sealing at a time and also hookups. Light weight aluminum gutter systems will certainly need crimping along each joint. Solution and also slice gaps for each downspout site. Hang and Hook up Pierce braces in regular intervals along roofline, matching your sound positioning. Hang the gutter system, breaking securely right into brackets. Attach your elbows as well as downspouts. This step is considerably like coming up with a challenge. Don't be frightened to alter your original planning if you see techniques for enhancing water flow and also water drainage the moment the device is in location. Establish Catch Device Water picked up by your drainage unit ought to carefully remove the house and urgent soil foundation. Ways of accomplishing this include: Positioning of rocks under the downspout to urge slow-moving ground infiltration. Usage from a gun barrel or other assortment ship to prove out for re-use. Catch container "packages" on call off backyard and also yard outlets. Look at Flashing Flashing is actually a metal sheet which matches under the shingles almost a roofline. Relying on the shapes and size of your soffit, flashing setup might be actually a called for extra step. Flashing further assures that water brokens effortlessly into your drain system without stopping briefly enough time to seep in to design wall surfaces. Maintain Your Eye on Servicing

Whatever drain body you put in, make certain to examine and also crystal clear on a regular basis. You've striven on this project, and also routine routine maintenance needs to go a long means towards maintaining this working flawlessly!

[bainhardt]

#RibbonQuest2019 - Part 11: Unovacation

Ribbon Gang were finally ready to be Poke Transferred into the sixth region in our world tour of Pokemon, Unova, and to be honest, I wasn’t too sure what to expect. BW and BW2 were some of my favorite games in the series when they dropped years ago, but they’re also the least fresh in my mind - I didn’t need to blast through them during the prep phase, so I could barely remember the geography of Unova, let alone what would await us there.

Of course, Ribbon Master stories tend to pass over this section because there are no ribbons to earn, so I had to become my own tour guide. And as it turns out, I found a lot to do once ribbons were out of the equation. Consider this our collective break from Ribbon Quest until we arrive in gen 6.

Amazingly, this is very likely going to be a looooong post, but there’s no good reason to divide it into multiple sections, so sorry in advance. But hey, we’re on vacation!

Ribbon Gang has become quite the entourage. It’ll be the Ribbon Mob before long...

First stop on my list was somewhere I definitely remembered, but always skipped over in my playthroughs... Pokestar Studios! Jin was ready for the silver screen. He’s already a superstar in my eyes, but now audiences across the Unova region would get their chance to witness him in all his glory.

I never knew what filming entailed, but in truth, it’s not too complicated. The movie I chose on a whim even turned out to be one of the easiest ones to complete.

Takes me back to that fateful day on Citadark Isle, so long ago...

This movie understands: Ribbon Quest is a labor of love.

There couldn’t possibly be a better credit to leave in my or Jin’s name.

147.6 billion, eh? What part of that is our cut? Suddenly, spending 1 million on Ribbon Syndicate ribbons doesn’t sound so wasteful.

After netting our strange ending (and enormous box office earnings), Jin’s won the closest thing gen 5 has to a ribbon. This movie star actually looks pretty cool now that I’m seeing it for the first time. I’d like to thank the Academy...

After some sightseeing and visits to local landmarks (like above), I brought Ribbon Gang to our next noteworthy destination, and one not unlike the Battle Towers of regions past: the Pokemon World Tournament! Knowing my well-traveled Pokemon would have the chance to reunite with so many familiar faces in one bracket was too good to pass up.

But one such showdown stood above the rest.

Oh... fancy meeting you here, Roxanne.

I get the feeling you know exactly which Pokemon I’m going to battle with.

THAT’S RIGHT! YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CAN’T HIDE-

FROM THE ONE AND ONLY GUIDING STAR OF RIBBON QUEST, DOUGFUNNIE, LEVEL 100!!

With that out of my system, I kicked around the brackets a couple more times just to see who I could match up with. It was fun to try some competitive-style battles with nothing riding on the line for a change. PWT might be one of my new favorite battle circuits, but I decided to pack up and move on before too long. Diving into the past only delays progress. Gotta keep our eyes fixed on the future.

I just barely lost to Jasmine, serving as a bitter reminder of all the narrow losses against her Steelix in Sinnoh Pokemon Contests.

My final planned stop for Unova was, of course, the place where legends are born all across the Pokemon world - the Elite Four. I’ve stated previously that I’m not particularly hell-bent on entering Jin into every Hall of Fame available to us, mostly because it’s not very new or exciting. But I love Unova, and with our vacation itinerary in need of filling, I had no reason to bypass the challenge this time around.

Gen 5 graphics still dazzle me. Something about the sprites in this game are just so full of personality and life.

With everything I wanted to do and see behind us in less than a day, I was worried we’d be drawing the world’s shortest vacation to a close when it had hardly even started. But Ribbon Gang still had some broad level gaps among them, and with everyone needing to reach level 100 by the end, I was overdue for another round of grinding... especially because this time, I had a plan.

And I choose the worst one, courtesy of Pokemon Breeder Brooke’s infinitely-deep pockets.

Yes, thanks to gen 5′s Pokemon Breeders, maxing out the stragglers in Ribbon Gang was gonna be as easy as taking candy from someone you’ve defeated hundreds of times on a soccer field. Is that how the expression goes? I’m not from around here. Go team!

DougFunnie, level 100, was first on the list. Rest easy now, old friend.

Freudy, Sourdough, and Silverman required a combined 140 candies between them, which took a while. Like, I’m talking a “put on a movie or two" kind of while. I sure hope doing this was more time-efficient than actual battles... but I’m not gonna run the math or anything. Let’s just say it works out.

The absolute last thing that came to my attention while I was living it up Unova-style was... an egg. Keep in mind, my gen 5 games have basically been evacuated ghost towns ever since Pokemon Bank launched. My copy of White 2, despite remaining in post-game, had fewer than ten Pokemon in the PC before Ribbon Gang came along. But most intriguing among them was just one solitary egg.

Every generation (not region, unless the shinies count for Sinnoh) of Ribbon Quest has increased the size of our crew by at least one Pokemon, and passing through Unova so quickly meant this trend was about to break. So that’s how, completely on a whim, I nominated whatever popped out of this six-year-old egg as the newest honorary member of Ribbon Gang, even if it never ends up contributing anything to our efforts.

Not quite what I had in mind, but she’ll fit right in.

It may not have been a very long vacation, but I had a great time reminding myself of what makes Unova so special. I kinda wanna play a gen 5 game (likely BW1) over from the beginning now, but that’ll have to wait. There are ribbons still waiting for us out there, starting with our seventh destination - Kalos!

POKEMON BW+BW2: COMPLETE!

[skippyjo94]

Not My Kisses!

Steve had gone down to the lab to visit his very recently established partner, and possibly seduce him into coming to bed rather than continuing whatever admittedly impressive project he had going today. And for the last couple days. Without pause. Yeah, he needed a break. And seduction was probably the best route. Tony doesn't like to be told what to do. If he is tempted properly...that has a more pleasant outcome. Generally speaking.

He wasn't, however, planning on seeing Tony sitting on a stool, hunched over his work space, wrapped in a blanket, still seeming to be shivering, and surrounded by used tissues. Well, that changed things.

Steve knocked against the door frame to introduce himself before entering Tony's sacred space. PTSD had touched all of their lives one way or another and it definitely showed. Particularly when they were focused, as being suddenly interrupted in a place one views as safe could make anyone jumpy. Always better not to risk it.

Once inside, Steve headed straight for his man, reaching out a hand to rest on Tony's shoulder, warm and gentle in his intentions. Shame, he had planned the touching part to be much more...exciting. Oh well. That could certainly wait.

Tony turned towards the contact. Steve didn't like what he saw. The usually bright eyes had a haze to them that was concerning on its own. Add to that the sheen of sweat along Tony's brow, the lack of color in his cheeks, and the sheer amount of red coloring his nose, any residual hope for his original plan went out the window.

"Hey there sweetheart. What are you still doing down here?" Steve tried his best to keep his tone gentle, allowing only a touch of scolding to be heard in his words.

"Working on an update to-" Whatever lecture he had been preparing to launch into was cut off by a sudden coughing fit.

Steve looked around and found the water bottle of whatever it was Tony was using to stay "nourished and hydrated" on the far corner of his desk. He grabbed it and held it out for Tony who took it gratefully, taking a sip to calm his spasming throat and lungs.

"Okay, well whatever update it is, how about you put it on hold? We need to get you up to bed now. Come on, hon. Let's go." Steve said, placing a hand on Tony's shoulder blade, applying the slightest bit of pressure in a subtle attempt to get him to turn away from the work and allow himself to be ushered out of the lab.

"Nope! This is time sensitive, I have to finish this bit. You can't pull me away now. It would be disastrous. In the worst kind of way! And I know you're not really up with all these things yet but trust me when I say it will be revolutionary." Tony's protests came right on cue.

Luckily, Steve had been dealing with this man long before they ever tried being involved with each other. He was ready.

"Oh I have no doubt it is well beyond me. You would need years just to explain the concept, I'm sure. My little brain is no match for that super processor you've got up here." Steve stroked his hand down Tony's face from temple to jaw, smirking as he watched his words flow through said processor. "You'll just have to start explaining it to me so I can, maybe, just possibly, be able to watch you work on it and actually have a prayer at following the extent of your genius master engineering hands do their work. You do know how much I enjoy watching your hands at work."

"No, it's really not that complicated, these are just-" Tony cut off when Steve pressed a finger against Tony's lips.

Tony looked up with a confused expression on his face, eyebrows scrunched together adorably trying to keep up. He waited for whatever Steve was going to do next.

"Tomorrow." Steve said it with a finality that even Tony couldn't argue with. Not that he really wanted to considering how miserable he was feeling.

Still, he put on a pout to keep up appearances. Can't have Steve thinking he's that easy.

"Come on," Steve tried. "The sooner we get you up to bed and get some food and meds in you, the sooner you'll start to feel better. Which means the sooner you can get back here to your...geniusing."

Tony looked less than impressed.

Steve tried again. "And the sooner we can get back to-how does one put this nicely-'other mutually enjoyable activities?'" Steve leaned in, placing his hands on the desk on either side of Tony, close enough to run his nose along Tony's neck. He would rather enjoy the slight shiver that ran up the other man's spine, if he hadn't been convinced it was due more to the fever than any real sense of desire or attraction.

"Now that is reasoning I can get behind. Or you can get behind. Details. We can figure them out later. Just have to get to bed, you said?"

Now how had Steve not figured that seduction would still be what Tony would respond to the best? The man never had much sense when it came to doing things that benefited his health. Why should this be any different?

Steve pulled back to rest his forehead against Tony's. He waited until Tony made eye contact before starting again.

"Sweetheart, you're sick." Pouty Tony is really unfairly cute. "You need to rest and get yourself healthy again before we even think about doing anything like that."

"But you can't get sick. Super immunity and all that jazz. So why not?" Of course Tony was going to fight this. Steve pulled back, frowning.

"I know I can't get sick, hon. The point is that you could get sicker." More sick? Sicker. "And we definitely don't want that, now do we?" Of course Steve loved a stubborn idiot who doesn't bother taking care of himself. This must be payback for all the shit he put Bucky through when he had the same cavalier attitude about his own health and safety.

He left his hands on the desk, kept his arms around Tony, bracketing him in.

"Oookaaay, no sex." Steve could hear the gears grinding in Tony's mind. A good indicator of exactly the kind of state he was in considering Tony's mind is normally a well oiled machine. "What about heavy petting?" His face lit up, proud at having come up with what he considered an acceptable compromise.

Steve almost didn't want to say no. But, "No can do sweetheart. You know how quickly you get worked up. No exerting yourself when you're like this. That includes keeping yourself from being too tempted." And from tempting me, Steve wanted to say, but thought it best not to give Tony any more ammunition than he certainly already had.

"Oh come on, it's not like you can't do all the work. Hell, you enjoy doing the work!" Tony was really going for it if he was offering to let Steve win their ever present battle for dominance that, either fortunately or unfortunately, depending on the day, extended into the bedroom on a regular basis.

Time to break out the big guns. "Do you think that, the way your nose is looking, you could even breathe well enough for 'heavy petting?'" Steve was still in Tony's personal space, leaning his weight against the desk. He was close enough to hear Tony mouth breathing. Though he probably didn't have to be that close. It wasn't exactly quiet.

Tony's mouth snapped shut. Audibly. Steve knew he had it in the bag then. Tony was no doubt going to complain further, but Steve stopped him with a kiss. He kept it chaste, not wanting to lose ground when he was so close to sealing his victory.

He pulled away before Tony could really respond, saying "Had to get one last one in."

The look of shock from Tony was almost too much. "Wait, no, don't take kisses away from me!" Tony pouted rather cutely again. "It's just kisses. Surely that's okay still! You already took the real fun..."

"Just giving you a little extra incentive to get yourself better. As fast as you can, preferably. You're not the only one who's going to miss the kisses." Steve smirked at the outrage on Tony's face.

One more peck on the lips for good measure and Steve pulled Tony up, keeping the blanket tight around him and pulling him along, supporting most of his weight as they moved towards the elevator.

"Come on, I'll make you some soup while you shower, and then I'll tuck you in and everything."

Tony couldn't actually deny that sounded pretty wonderful.

"Fine." If that was the end of the pouting, Steve must be getting good at this.

"...Or you could always join me in the shower, you know." Of course that wasn't the end.

Damn, this was going to be a long next couple of days.

[spicynbachili2]

World War I Is More Than Trenches in France

As we speak—the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month—marks the centennial of the armistice concluding the First World Battle. Your humble correspondent traveled to Kansas Metropolis, Missouri, final week to supply remarks as a part of “1918: Crucible of Battle,” the centennial symposium on the Nationwide World Battle I Museum and Memorial. After two days of listening to realized commentators maintain forth about sundry dimensions of the conflict, the armistice, and the interregnum between the world wars, it’s clear the Nice Battle nonetheless casts a protracted cultural shadow.

Backside line: historical past issues. A partial or garbled understanding of historical past means any steering we distill from it’s partial or garbled as properly.

Defective steering is an actual prospect. Ask the person on the road what the conflict was about, and in all probability he’ll reply with one thing about trench warfare. Troopers huddled in muddy, depressing trenches underneath fixed artillery bombardment signify the dominant picture of World Battle I. And that contains a serious a part of the story for positive. However why does our cultural reminiscence obsess over trench warfare in France? The plain purpose for Individuals is as a result of that’s the place American doughboys fought from 1917–1918. That was our conflict.

We are inclined to stress the mixed bomber offensive in opposition to Nazi Germany, the landings in North Africa, Italy, and Normandy, and different American spheres of endeavor in World Battle II whereas scanting the horrific and arguably decisive combating between German and Soviet armies. In the identical vein it’s pure to recollect what our troopers, sailors, and airmen did within the Nice Battle. These have been little children of America.

It additionally is smart to focus on France as a result of the West is the place the weapons of August rang out in 1914 and the place the Nice Battle led to November 1918. The German Military’s “Schlieffen Plan“ despatched legions careening via Belgium into France earlier than the offensive stagnated underneath stiffer-than-expected French and British resistance. The static combating that constitutes the lore of World Battle I ensued. Throughout the spring of 1918 the German Military launched a collection of titanic offensives in hopes of breaking a French Military that verged on mutiny or driving the British Expeditionary Power into the ocean earlier than america might intervene in power. And France is the place the Allies finally amassed sufficient fight energy to puncture German strains at a number of factors on the similar time—letting them break via and compel Berlin to consent to the armistice we bear in mind at the moment. Beginnings and endings imprint themselves on the favored thoughts.

After which there’s the cultural dimension. France witnessed feats of heroism that helped forge the U.S. Military and Marine Corps into what they’re at the moment. Legendary figures comparable to Common John J. Pershing made their names on the Western Entrance. Legendary figures from subsequent U.S. historical past—Harry S. Truman, George S. Patton, Douglas MacArthur—made their debuts as junior officers. On the Battle of Belleau Wooden in Could-June 1918, American troopers and marines blunted a German spearhead geared toward Paris—and helped put together the bottom for the Allied counteroffensive and victory. “Retreat, hell! We simply received right here,” proclaimed one ornery marine when urged to retreat earlier than the German onslaught. Attempt not pumping your fist at that present of bravado.

Moreover, take into consideration all of the marvelous cultural artifacts that got here out of the Nice Battle. The poetry of British troopers Rupert Brooke and Wilfred Owen ranks among the many most interesting conflict poetry—heck, the best poetry, full cease—ever written. There’s an elegiac high quality to the life tales of Brooke and Owen: each fell in army service, Brooke towards the conflict’s starting and Owen close to its finish. In a way their tales make literary bookends for the conflict in France. In 1915 Canadian officer Lieutenant Colonel John McCrae composed “In Flanders Fields,” a poem that is still a staple of Veterans’ Day observances a century therefore, after presiding over the funeral of a fallen comrade. Erich Maria Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Entrance is a testimonial from a German perspective to the horrors seen in France. Such relics convey drama—and drama makes lasting in style reminiscences.

Highly effective testaments to trench fight obscure accounts of different theaters. Even modern popular culture—suppose the early seasons of Downton Abbey—reinforces the Western bias in our reminiscences of World Battle I. Not even the eloquence of Ernest Hemingway, whose A Farewell to Arms is ready in Italy relatively than France, can totally counteract that bias. There’s one thing melancholy about hurling males in opposition to hearth—sending troopers excessive into murderous machine-gun and artillery hearth and barbed wire—that continues to beguile.

With out taking something away from the monumental literature, visible arts, and music commemorating the combating in France, although, it’s essential to keep in mind that entrenched fight within the West is way from the entire story of the Nice Battle. The conflict of motion that German commanders hoped to stage in France truly occurred to the East, for instance. Why? As a result of the sheer bodily scale of western Russia rendered closely armed perimeter protection impractical. Within the West the Allies and Central Powers might dig in as a result of France is a comparatively compact nation bracketed by the Atlantic Ocean, Mediterranean Sea, and Pyrenees Mountains. It was a closed system in contrast to the open system that’s Russia. Had armies tried perimeter protection within the East, their strains would have been so lengthy that no military might discipline sufficient troops or weaponry to protect them.

Germany’s defeat of the Russian Military coupled with revolution in Russia prompted that nation to conclude an armistice and go away the conflict through the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk. Its departure liberated German commanders to switch troops westward, mounting their spring 1918 offensives with heavy numerical superiority over demoralized French and British armies. (U.S. forces in Europe remained in coaching till that summer season.) The Allies tried opening a southerly maritime route at Gallipoli in 1915, with disastrous outcomes. The Nice Battle noticed bitter mountain warfare between Italy and Austria-Hungary. British and French forces campaigned within the Center East, the place the open, flat terrain typically permitted cavalry costs to succeed. The desert theater made Englishman T. E. Lawrence “Lawrence of Arabia”—and spurred Lawrence to put in writing one of many nice treatises on irregular warfare. Japan scooped up German colonies within the Pacific and China, serving to set the stage for the Pacific theater of World Battle II.

And on and on. Do these non-Western theaters matter at the moment? Sure. Up to date endeavors lie downstream of tradition, and the Nice Battle has develop into a part of the cultural reminiscence for all the erstwhile combatant states. How they perceive their previous shapes how they conduct themselves now. As an illustration, strive asking an Australian in regards to the Nice Battle; you’re extra prone to end up regaled with tales of the “ANZAC”—Australia/New Zealand—expeditionary power at Gallipoli than tales about trenches spanning France. That is Australia’s founding legend. A Russian or Italian would take a distinct view from an American, Briton, or Frenchman.

Supposed classes from a battle are graven on the minds of the technology that fought it, on the youngsters of the combatants, and to lesser extent on their grandchildren. After that they move into widespread reminiscence, serving to comprise a set of axioms in regards to the world and the way the society ought to assist handle it. Historic classes foreclose sure political and strategic choices in future controversies whereas prodding a society and its management towards others. Ergo, it behooves posterity to compile as complete an understanding of bygone occasions as potential—serving to us study correct classes from these occasions.

False classes of historical past might beget dangerous selections within the right here and now, whereas smart classes bolster our possibilities to excel. Historical past isn’t simply of antiquarian curiosity on this centennial day. It’s important to executing international coverage and technique properly.

James Holmes is J. C. Wylie Chair of Maritime Technique on the Naval Battle Faculty and coauthor of Purple Star over the Pacific (second version due out subsequent month). The views voiced listed below are his alone.

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