#I know it’s probably important for me to be really present and emotionally conscious my last week but even if I could make that happen

[sickgraymeat]

.-.

[miwiheroes]

Dropping Byler Evidence Every Day Until Season 5

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁ Day 11: End of Season 3 pt 2/3 . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Welcome back to this series after a one-day break because of my exam, and again I'm gonna talk about the end of season 3 aka one of the most damning pieces of evidence that it's basically a fucking paradigm of the byler fandom atp <3

So here we have it, the scene where Mike probably (definitely) realises something is wrong about his relationship with El. Up until this point in the season, we have seen that Mike is desperate to grow up, and he does this by trying to emulate his parents' by getting into a relationship with a women, thinking about it logically rather than emotionally, right?

I think that as an audience, when watching S3, we were kind of waiting for Mike to have his proper character development moment, because obviously, he was kind of a jerk all season with his attitude towards Will and El. I'm still surprised that the GA believed his character was put in a blender and shat out, because this season and this SCENE literally gives you that last minute realisation and character development.

But unfortunately, and here's the kicker: it really is just too late. El and Will are gone, so he can't really do anything about his realisation that things are wrong.

Just wanted to put some things in perspective first, so here we go!

1. The Bear

So first of all, we start the scene with El trying to reach for the teddy bear which, BY THE WAY, is in Will's closet in his room. It is also definitely his bear that can be seen in his room in season one.

Therefore, this bear is a representation of Will. He literally gets taken out of the closet by Mike here as well. It is important to know that this bear represents him throughout this scene, because we can then keep in mind that El is holding him the whole time all this subsequent stuff plays out. The bear is between Mike and El, basically a litttleee foreshadowing moment to the imagery in S4 where Will is seen between Mike and El multiple times.

(this is where i realise how long this post is going to be bc there's so much to unpack here help)

2. Growing Up Issues No. 1000000

AnyWAYS so Mike then says something that perpetuates the whole S3 narrative and arc they set up for him trying to reject 'childish' things and associating childish things with Will.

"I was thinking you could come up here for Christmas. And Will too! Then we'd all have cool new presents to play with. ...Sorry that made me sound like a 7 year old."

Right after he mentions Will and the fact that he's excited to see him and everyone, he immediately feels childish. And the fact that he's been feeling like he needs to grow out of his feelings towards Will this season means he's thinking about those feelings here, however unconsciously. But he's only trying to grow up in a way he thinks he has to, there's no indication to the audience that this growing up is a good thing. (it always ends in Mike feeling self-conscious or an argument with Will)

3. Saying I love you

El then tries to remind Mike about the time that he 'talked about [his] feelings' and his 'HEART' (oh my goawsh), and he instantly looks put on the spot and definitely remembers what he said to her, obviously, but doesn't want to repeat it. He says stuff like:

"I don't think I follow." - he doesn't really remember something like this without a blatant reminder because he doesn't want to.

"Oh yeah. That. Man, that was so long ago." - when he says that it's 'so long ago', it feels like he's trying to play down what he's saying, backpedaling so that he can come up with an excuse to why he doesn't actually want to say that anymore. His excuse here is that it was a long time ago, EVEN THOUGH IT WASNT REALLY HAHA.. This his way of saying he doesn't really feel like that without actually saying it, so not to hurt her feelings.

"No, it was like heat of the moment stuff, and we were arguing and..." - again, these are just more excuses so that he can explain himself. Hmm, maybe it's that they are technically broken up here still, so he might just feel self-conscious in case she doesn't love him back. But here's the thing - they would have made him look much happier when she says 'I love you too' if this was the case, right? And they would have made him able to say I love you in S4 if he was just self-conscious she didn't love him back right?

"I don't really remember... What did I say exactly?" - Oh he definitely remembers. So this has to be yet another case of Mike trying to get El to say I love you for him, so that he doesn't have to say it. He doesn't really want to lie to her like that, so saying the words himself would feel wrong. It would be much easier just to agree with her if she says it. I talk much more about how he has already done this in the supermarket in this post. Go have a little read <3

Now, when El starts to walk up to him and puts her hand on his face, he looks utterly weirded out. It's a very strange thing to be looking like when your girlfriend might love you back, which is what she thinks Mike wants. The kicker is that El is unfortunately being presented as naive in thinking that she's making him happy by saying 'I love you too'.

This is Mike's face right after his gf says I love you btw yeah really cute and romantic.

This same sentiment of irony can be seen later when we get a shot of her smiling when she walks away from him, before cutting to a shot of the opposite of what she expected: which is Mike looking confused. Again, Duffers love subversion.

I think a lot of people think that Mike looks confused in this little part here because he also acted confused when El asked him about his feelings. So people think that, what, he just found out that El knew he loved her? No. He wasn't actually confused about what he had said ages ago, he was pretending to be confused. He clearly already knew that she had heard him, anyone can surely see that he's just trying to get her to say it for him, right? Why would he be confused about something he already knows (that El knows he said I love her)? Why would he look so shocked instead of happy that she said it back?

4. The kiss + Closet Imagery

This is literally the most blatant ass queer coding that I've ever seen. If this was any other show, it would definitely be called queer coding because I mean it is literally a girl initiating a kiss that the guy does not respond to at all, WHILST BEING IN FRONT OF A FUCKING CLOSETTTT

I barely need to analyse anything here, as you can see, El just kisses him and he doesn't do anything with his hands, he has his eyes open, and it frankly is a bad kiss, sorry but-

There isn't much stake in the argument that he's just confused and shocked as well. IN STRANGER THINGS there have been surprise kisses before (see Jancy season 2) that the directors easily made have good chemistry because they are good directors... they don't do this stuff by accident.

How else do I know they are great directors? Because they put Mike directly in front of a closet while El isn't. The Duffers fucking love background symbolism, they love symmetry. They even had some of this symmetry earlier in the scene with Jancy!:

(the window symbolises their love being open with one another or the fact they can be free with each other etc)

Not only does this closet get positioned right behind Mike in the shot, there is also a LIGHT on that is positioned right where his head is. This portrays that he's thinking about something new, like he's just been given a new perspective on something. (Also why would there be a light in the closet unless it's to draw ur attention to it??)

So why would a kiss from El, that he's had numerous times, conjure up a new idea? Why would it be that he loves her, when he allegedly already knows that because he said it ages ago? It's not an idea about El, it's him discovering the truth.

I talk more about how light symbolises truth in one of my very early analysis posts on this app here, but basically, light often symbolises the truth in film, and the fact that a light is IN THE CLOSET AND POSITIONED WHERE HIS HEAD IS just shows that he's thinking of the truth, which is not what is right in front of him.

AND THE BEAR THAT SYMBOLISES WILL IS STILL IN BETWEEN THEM. OH MY GOD,,,, this scene is literally just- the byler endgame scene I fear holy moly

So as we all know, afterwards, Mike stands there as if he's just realised something.

Based on what I've already said, that Mike can't just be realising that El figured out that he said "I love her", that Mike can't just be processing that she loved him (because wouldn't he be happy and the writers could have written a cute moment), and the fact he has lightbulb moment, this is him realising that something is wrong with his relationship. He realises that he doesn't want this.

The closet is fucking clear as day here, like it just all comes together in this perfect way I love it.

Keep this in mind for when I talk about the Hopper monologue at the end, because he just realises here he doesn't want this relationship, and during the monologue part he regrets everything he's done over the course of season 3.

This whole season he's kind of confused and trying to figure out what is wrong with him and why he feels so hurt by everything, but here is when he realises why, which is why it is a good closer of his arc. It is also supposed to be ironic that it's completely last minute. Meaning it is too late to do anything about it, leaving a good space for S4 to come along.

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hi Mbti-notes, hope you’re doing well. I’m an INTP who sent you an ask a few days ago that I wanted to retract. I think I was in denial a bit when I wrote it so it wasn’t very clear. The issue is, I’ve recently moved from a small, very good private school (where I’ve been for my whole life) to a large, diverse coed state school. I was so excited about the move when I got in to the school, but now I regret it.

The thing is, I have almost no sense of identity. I do things (like homework) bc I get positive validation from teachers. Even though intellectually I value hard work and I admire ppl who can speak eloquently and are sharp, I don’t know how to make myself emotionally care about schoolwork without this, so I don’t do it. When I have friends, I steal their interests and copy their mannerisms and expressions and ways of looking at life. I feel so dull and empty inside without someone to almost give me life and a personality. And I’m realizing all the things I took as constants about myself (hardworking, intelligent, sociable to a degree) were just products of my environment. Even down to the fact that I can’t listen to music anymore bc there’s nobody to discuss it with so it feels pointless.

It’s probably worth mentioning that I used to define myself as capable, but I’ve been having bad brain fog (a dietician’s helping me solve it) so I can’t really read or learn things which I used to enjoy a lot, and my memory is absolutely terrible. I feel super spaced out and derealised most of the time.

And on top of this, I went to a school where the lesson quality was very high and I was with ppl who were bright if a bit apathetic. Now I’m with people who haven’t had the same upbringing I’ve had or the same educational quality. The lessons in this school are also more of a lecture type, teach yourself the material, and I’m not as sharp as I used to be so it’s difficult. I wanted to leave my school to meet new people from different backgrounds but I can’t relate to any of them, and I would be able to if I stopped resisting but I’m scared I’m going to lose myself in the process. I think my academic standards might subtly be slipping (even in a less conscious way) and I don’t know what to do.

If I had my wits about me I’d be working harder to keep my grades up, but I’m so tired and demoralized because when I go into school I feel so out of place and like I’ve made a mistake. I can’t stop comparing it to the way things were at my old school, or at my twin sister’s private school (she made the right choice and I didn’t). I’m aware this is partly a sign of Si loop and I should stop indulging it, but my memory is terrible and if I don’t remember and keep thinking about the past, how can I define myself clearly? I don’t know myself at all, and I’ve only ever defined myself by my past actions but other than that I feel so hollow inside.

I have to stick it out at this school so any perspective you have on this would be welcomed (and pls disregard my previous ask!). Thank you :)

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

(1) Function Problems: Many people make the mistake of choosing only one of the past, present, or future to use for defining their "identity". However, the three are equally important since they are inextricably intertwined.

The past contains all of the significant life experiences that have made you the unique person you are at present. The present is where you make the vital decisions about who you will become in the future. And the future gives you the direction needed to make decisions right now that best build upon all you've achieved in the past.

Unhealthy Si means misinterpreting the importance of the past. Type development requires you to learn how to use functions optimally and appropriately. There are times when it's appropriate to draw upon past experience and there are times when it's inappropriate. There are times when leaning too heavily on the past becomes an impediment to your daily functioning and future growth.

The past only influences the present when you allow it to. Right now, you are unhappy because you are having difficulty adjusting to a new environment. When people are unhappy, they are prone to emotional reasoning, which means selectively gathering "evidence" that only serves to confirm and escalate negative emotions.

Some of that "evidence" can come from the past, in terms of using a mythologized past to make unfavorable comparisons of the present. What this means is that your perception of the present is biased and flawed. You are not giving objective and fair consideration to the new environment on its own merits but denigrating it merely because it doesn't meet your subjective expectations.

This logical fallacy can seep into many situations. For example, if you meet a new person who physically resembles a person you once knew, you can't help expecting their personality to be the same too. Or, if you've eaten at many restaurants of a particular cuisine, you'll expect a new restaurant to live up to the previous ones you've enjoyed. A personal example: I once watched a beautiful fireworks display with a friend, but the only comment they could make was that it wasn't as nice as a previous display they'd seen in another city.

What do these examples teach you? Emphasizing the past to an unhealthy degree can lead to problems such as: detachment from reality; inability to live in and appreciate the present as is; a jaded attitude that compulsively recasts everything sublime as mundane.

You say you want "perspective" but unhealthy Si really does NOT want perspective because it is heavily invested in sameness. Unhealthy Si is looking for any excuse to justify giving up and resigning oneself to the predictability of the status quo. Predictability is where Si shines, so why give up that glory by changing oneself and inviting unpredictability?

However, when you go around expecting the world to always conform with what you already know, what you're really doing is condemning yourself to living a life of boring monotony. Is that really what you want? If it is, that's your choice and it should be respected, though you should ask yourself whether you are truly NP.

If monotony doesn't appeal to you, then you have to readjust your vision. You have to appreciate that change is a necessity to be welcomed and embraced because, without it, there is no longer any possibility for betterment. This is why healthy Ne is the salve to dysfunctional Si.

NPs are often admired for their ability to look for silver linings and capitalize on them. Would you believe that many NPs have basically said to me that there's no such thing as "a bad decision", that life is what you make of it? A few have even said that they like to immerse themselves in a "bad" environment because it gives them a chance to exercise ingenuity to thrive in it? Where is this Ne spirit in you? I can't answer that for you. You have to look within and bring it out.

(2) Motivation Problems: You lack intrinsic motivation. I have explained this topic many times, so browse previous posts. You keep waiting around for someone/something to compel you into action, which means you are mainly extrinsically motivated. This is similar to the mentality of a spoiled child who expects the world to cater to their every need.

People who are only extrinsically motivated often miss out on opportunities to develop inner strength of character. Unfortunately, having nothing of substance within, they are ultimately shallow people. And living a shallow life amounts to living a meaningless life.

Oftentimes, when people claim to be "empty" or that life seems "meaningless", what they're really saying is that they have no values to rely upon. What is a human being without values? It basically means nothing is important. When nothing is important, then nothing is worth doing. When nothing is worth doing, then life isn't worth living, is it?

The essence of humanity is found in human values. What does it mean to "value" something? For example:

To value is to appreciate something for its inherent worth. Do you see the worth in anything, or do you only see how everything is worthless to you?

To value is to cherish something for all its positive aspects. Do you look for the positive, or do you seek out the negative because it feels good to confirm your negative feelings and beliefs?

To value is to care about something enough that you want to nurture its continued existence. Do you even care enough about yourself to work hard for a better quality of life?

To value is to love something so deeply that you'd make a personal sacrifice to save it. Do you love anything? If not, how can you act in the best interests of anything, including your future self?

To value is to have a heart and use it as a guide when interacting with the world. Living without a heart, can one call oneself human? If you want to feel like a whole and well-rounded human being, then you have to stop being unduly critical (unhealthy Ti) and actively learn to look for things to love in life (healthy Fe). The possibility of finding beauty exists in every time and place. The question is whether you can open your eyes to see it and open your heart to feel it.

It's easy to sit back and complain about what's "wrong", in fact, it's a comfortable place to be because you can believe in the lie of your own superiority. If you're happy in that bubble, then stay there. If you're not happy there, then get up and seek out positive things and build upon them, and live a life that makes the world brighter. It's a much more difficult but also a much more meaningful way to live.

Nobody can make you care. Caring is a choice you make by yourself, for yourself because you understand the preciousness of life, the shortness of your time on earth, and the necessity of making the most out of the inner and outer resources you've been gifted.

[chaotic-plotter]

answers for @folieadeuxserver, from weird questions for writers. thank you for indulging me <3 <3

10. Has a piece of writing ever “haunted” you? Has your own writing haunted you? What does that mean to you?

i'm less often haunted by content than i am by style or by presentation. when i'm haunted, i've encountered something i can't forget because i can't fathom how someone puts together a story in X way or thinks to put words or story elements together in the way that they do. sometimes i'm just haunted by a good bit of prose, but it's usually accompanied by one of those things i just mentioned. sometimes it's in a way that feels devastating. other times it's in a way that makes me want to figure out how they did that so that i make myself feel that way when i read my own stuff.

plenty of things have made me feel this way! oftentimes my friends' work does. i admire them greatly and i would like to get better at the things they're amazing at! sometimes i can't, because it's just the way their brain puts story elements together, but sometimes it's a conscious thing they've worked on or developed and i try to learn what i can from them.

i've never been haunted by my own stuff in the same way, but there is a certain feeling to reading something you wrote with a certain intention and realizing that intention has come across. that it works. i'm very proud when it works. it feels like i'm just holding my breath and scribbling a lot of the time.

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

emotionally difficult? nothing, really, even the very dark shit. but technically difficult, i suppose, is romance. i really struggle with pulling romantic feelings from the subtext and especially struggle with getting characters to a place where they can talk about those things instead of around them. i have a hard time believing romance in so many stories, so it's hard for me to even write something i feel is believable or satisfies me, and i am picky as fuck.

i find character trauma, as a concept, decently easy to write about. not just as a piece of backstory to "explain" them, but how it informs or doesn't inform the way they carry themselves, speak, interact with other people. that sort of thing is sometimes used like "ding ding, now that you've locked my Traumatic Backstory(tm), i am now available for Fixing or Character Development" and i try to do something different than that.

do i succeed? unclear. but i do try.

i'm aware i should also probably lighten up. :P my stories could use some jokes. now there's a thing i wish i was better at! being funny!

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

so much gets left on the cutting room floor. just. so much.

for my original fiction project, it's the family trees i've made and the dozen of West Virginia oral history transcripts i've read and what old pine tar smells like. i've done a lot of detail work on how keys were produced in the late 1800s. i've watched a number of videos of how to dress a deer and literally pack it out on your back by folding it into a little deer backpack. there's a lot of eastern band of cherokee lore i've read, but won't be using, as it's not mine and i don't know what was stolen or is just made up or contextless, but i felt it was important to at least look into it. it's tough to think about what will/won't make it in, since if this goes where i want it to, i'm not exactly the final arbiter.

for the fic project i'll be returning to first after my hiatus, there's SO much climbing information that isn't going to make it in, but naturally has to inform how will, in this place where he is a hobby climber, talks and thinks about what he's doing. i know some of it already, but i write that fic with google ready and open to help me with proper technique and terminology to at least use as a spring-off point. there's actually a fair bit of detail for this world, the world of the luminous dead, that i expanded on and built out and i feel like most of that has gone in? i want to figure out how to include margot/alana, at least in passing, but we'll see if that works.

if you'd like to do this meme, too, feel free to send me asks or comment or what

[celestial-martian]

Hello dear ! tell me pluto opposition to moon is not bad harsh aspect🤯 i hope only one bad aspect in synastry is managable🥲

Hello dear! 💕

No need to worry! It's manageable. A single aspect wouldn’t make or break a relationship. 😊

Note on harsh aspects: I think it’s a common misconception that harsh aspects (squares, oppositions, sometimes conjunctions) are really terrible in relationships. We actually need these aspects to create interest, awareness, and attraction. Any form of relationship whether that be romantic, platonic, familial, or professional helps us grow as a person. We need to meet people different from us to learn about ourselves and others. The more we’re used to there being differences between people, the less likely we are to be judgmental and critical of others for not fitting what we think is normal. This creates openness, acceptance, adaptability, and awareness - all of which are important skills in life and in relationships. My advice: embrace harsh aspects in synastry :) Whether a relationship works out depends on many other things besides astrology, too.

I had my Moon conjunct my ex’s Pluto (2° orb) so I’m familiar with Moon - Pluto synastry dynamics. I’ll be real with you, there were very prominent themes of manipulation, codependency, and extreme emotions in our relationship. It was incredibly emotionally exhausting/draining for me, but it was a pivotal and transformative relationship in my life. I do not regret it because it taught me what I need in relationships.

*HOWEVER, this may not be the case for you because each aspect can manifest positively or negatively, so please don’t think your whole relationship is unhealthy based on one aspect! There were many other indicators that pointed to our dynamic. Also, I just want to be clear, synastry aspects are never an excuse for manipulation.*

My brother’s Moon is conjunct my Pluto (also 2° orb) and we’re very close. I'm his older sister and I'll admit I have a tendency to tell him what to do, and he's told me before I can be overbearing. But we love each other and I wouldn't intentionally hurt him so I listen to him, make sure I'm conscious of his feelings, and respect this boundary he set. We still have a healthy relationship. This is what I mean by aspects manifest differently. Look at the whole chart and remember we still have free will.

Moon opposite Pluto (+ all Moon - Pluto aspects)

Karmic connection -> major emotional transformation

The Pluto person really sees the Moon person for who they are and brings up subconscious emotions

In romantic relationships, they're attracted to each other’s emotional and sexual magnetism

Psychic connection

Vulnerability, depth, and intensity are main themes

On the negative side, obsessiveness and control issues could be present

The Pluto person might try to control the Moon person and the Moon person might feel easily manipulated

On the other hand, Moon and Pluto rule over Cancer and Scorpio so there’s a strong ability to relate to each other even though both planets are opposite in this aspect

Both find that transformation is often present in their relationship because the Moon’s emotions are very changeable and Pluto rules over transformation and rebirth. Both could heal each other and they probably change together in the relationship. Might mold themselves into what their partner wants. Could struggle to maintain their own identity.

Can indicate power struggles

Are very in tune to each other’s moods and feelings. They might find it easy to communicate their feelings

Both value vulnerability

The Pluto person might hurt the Moon person’s feelings easily

All Moon-Pluto contacts in synastry will likely find it hard to let go of each other if the relationship ends

Both bring out strong emotions in each other

Each know how to push the other's buttons

Has the potential to be very loving and supportive

Might be together for a long time

Strong, intimate bond. Very attached to each other

At their best, both parties feel emotionally regenerated when they're with each other

Can have very heated, destructive arguments but this can be remedied -> read below

Advice for this aspect: Both parties need to take a step back and recollect themselves when things start to get intense. Maybe even take a break, get your mind off your emotions, then come back and talk calmly and rationally. Give each other some space to be yourselves. Both need to be aware of their role in this dynamic and view themselves as companions, not enemies. Remember you love and respect each other first. Let go of the need to be in control.

I know this one was long, but I hope you enjoyed this. Read this with an open mind - not everything may be true. As always, take what resonates!

With love,

~ Celeste 💚

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

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

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

word count: 17.2k

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

///

Harry hates clubs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the f—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re going to hell.” 

“I’m already there, mate.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, boomer.” 

“You’re older than I am!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the culture shock hit. 

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

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

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Precisely his point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So how do you like your new home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sillyguyhotline]

How YTTD Challenges Conventional Norms of Emotional Strength

Hello! I’ve been thinking a lot recently about how emotional vulnerability is present throughout YTTD’s characters, particularly how Nankidai contrasts more feminine coping mechanisms with more traditionally masculine coping mechanisms. I’ve touched on this topic before (albeit less directly) when I’ve discussed why I think Nao and Kanna are criminally underrated by the fandom, but I’ve never really talked about it in detail. However, when I was talking about the misogyny in Danganronpa last night, there was always a thought in the back of my mind that YTTD was different, fundamentally better in its portrayal of female characters and femininity as a whole. And as I thought about it more, I realized that the reason I think this way is because of how well it portrays and handles emotional vulnerability of its characters.

I think, first, that it’s most important to establish how emotional vulnerability in the context of gender is most commonly portrayed. Men are typically not allowed to show emotion or to cry, and their strength is determined by their lack of emotion. Conversely, the perception that women are the weaker gender is often characterized by their increased freedom to show emotion, and any “strong female character” is simply an excessively masculine woman who’s cruel and emotionless. In fact, the version of Reko we see as a doll, the Reko before Alice’s death, is actually a perfect example of the common “strong female character.” She barely cares about her brother, she’s rude, she exhibits little to no compassion, and she lashes out at the people around her. But this is not the Reko we know and love, and in fact it is the Reko whose cruelty is exhibited by her willingness to kill a version of herself. She isn’t introduced as a good character, she’s introduced as the person Reko no longer is, the person Reko has grown past, and that is a good thing.

I also find it very interesting that the two men who are physically the strongest (Keiji and Q-taro) and who assert themselves as the most masculine leaders from the beginning actually turn out to be some of the most weak and cowardly characters in the game. Q-taro has a lot of confidence in himself and his abilities; in Russian Roulette he is proud and boastful, claiming that he is strong and experienced enough to shoot the gun. However, in the first Main Game he is scared enough of dying that he nominates the children to be killed off so he doesn’t die, he has an ending where his cowardice gets the best of him and he sacrifices everyone else in order to escape, and in one of the endings to the arbitration room attraction he is too scared to push the button. His character arc doesn’t come about because he becomes stronger or more resilient, it comes about because he realizes that his life is not the only valuable one and that compassion to the rest of the group is crucial. Keiji, too, suffers from incredible emotional weakness. Though he is incredibly muscular and centers himself as one of the group’s leaders immediately, one of his biggest flaws is his inability to deal with his own emotions. Though he’s aware of how atrocious his actions have been, he’s far more willing to hide from his problems, avoid confrontation, and take advantage of his selfishness than he is to actually make steps towards change. And this undoubtedly a flaw of his! 

Then, on the other hand, you take the third “buff” character, but the one who doesn’t immediately aim to set himself up as a strong leader. While Keiji’s first goal is to take charge of the group and Q-taro’s first goal is to establish himself as the strong one, Alice is immediately set up as a coward. Sure, when we first meet him in the locker he’s sort of intimidating, but as soon as we interview him we realize that he’s sort of an idiot and doesn’t pose much of a threat. The interesting thing, though, is that Alice is really the most emotionally mature out of all of the buff men in the game. Like Keiji, he has committed a terrible crime and has come to terms with the consequences for what he’s done, but unlike Keiji, he’s willing to take actions and make reparations. He lets himself be a more compassionate person, becoming a protector over Kanna of sorts, and he never prioritizes his own well-being over that of the people he cares for. He is a fully-fledged, unapologetically emotional character who doesn’t try to bury his problems in the hopes that they won’t come back to haunt him. Out of all of the “strong” male characters, his approach to his issues is a rather feminine one, but it ends up being the one that cements him as a better person than the others.

Now, I set this up while talking about Keiji’s lack of emotional vulnerability, but I believe that one of the biggest components playing into it is how trust is such a huge factor in the game. And this begins to involve Shin, too. It becomes clear throughout the course of the game that one of the only reasons Sara has made it this far is because she harbors the ability to put her trust in others and because they put their trust in her. We see, then, that Shin becomes an enemy to the group because he refuses to trust any of them and mocks all of them for being so willing to trust the others. Our biggest point of contention with Keiji, as well, is when he refuses to share his Me-Tokens with us out of fear that we could learn something about his backstory. Both men have terrible experiences with vulnerability, and they loathe the prospect of putting their trust into anyone else for fear of what could happen with it. However… the game sets this up as a very bad thing. Lack of vulnerability turns Shin into a villain, and the only way that he manages to redeem himself is by utilizing his compassion for Kanna and sacrificing himself. Keiji, similarly, loses his credibility as a person because he refuses to be vulnerable, and his distrust of himself and avoidance of his problems are what make Midori’s attacks hit so hard in 3-1A. Our villain characters exist because they cannot trust anyone, because they cannot be vulnerable, and in the same way we see Sara turning into a villain as she loses her trust in the rest of the group.

To tie this all together, I think that this is why Nao and Kanna are undoubtedly the strongest characters in the game- because they are female characters who are allowed to show emotion, because they are allowed to show their trauma, and they’re allowed to grow past that. When we’re introduced to Nao, she’s already someone who appears very weak in a feminine sense, panicking and freaking out in response to the situation. Kanna is the same; her sister is dead, and this has left her as a weeping, emotional mess. Nao’s condition only gets worse as the game goes on; she loses the mentor who’s most important to her, and in a blind panic she ends up causing a lot of harm and concern to her fellow participants. In any other game, this would probably have been where the characters of these two would have stopped, or even how they would have ended. They’re women, they’re not supposed to be strong, they already have weak and emotional coping mechanisms for their problems. However, Nankidai lets the two of them grow past this point while still letting them retain their more emotional components. Nao lets herself retain her memory and affection for Mishima, but she makes the conscious decision to abandon the AI and work with Shin to combat the evil one. Kanna retains her friendship with Shin, but she does so carefully, displaying enough kindness to him to make him change his heart. Even when she tearfully pleads for Sara to let her die, it comes from a point of what she considers emotional wisdom and her own evaluation of her usefulness to the group. If she’s left alive, her character comes full-circle and she realizes that she does, in fact, have value to the group, which gives her the will to live on. Both of these women have well-developed character arcs that allow them to feel vulnerability and emotion. They become stronger and wiser people without fundamentally changing who they are, and their femininity doesn’t have to be compromised or belittled for them to become better people. Though they are physically the weakest characters and have some of the biggest low points of the game, they are in fact well-developed and emotionally mature. Their vulnerability is what gives them this opportunity, and it truly wraps together how well Nankidai portrays femininity and vulnerability in his story. 

[thechekhov]

You guys have been asking for it so HERE it IS! An advice thread about comic-making for people who wanted to know my process.

Answering it every time with something like “JUST START!” and “do whatever!” is probably pretty discouraging to people who are legitimately lost, so I wanted to make something a bit more cohesive. This series of posts will be done over time, on different topics, and I will link each part when I make it.

1) Thinking of a story (this part) 2) Making characters  3) Drafting pages (coming soon) 4) Presentation (coming eventually, we hope)

So, without further ado, let’s get STARTED! 

*Disclaimer: I am NOT professionally trained. I have no creative writing degree, nor a comic-making or art degree. I am literally just sharing my own process and my own thoughts to help others, because they wanted to know. If you have beef with how I do things, that’s fine. Criticise away!

Q: I want to write a story. But I don’t know where to start.

Good! Start with that. Not knowing.

No, I’m serious. Not knowing is what gets us places. Not knowing gets us thinking. And we have a LOT of thinking ahead of us. 

Many storytellers admit that most of their writing starts in their head. Most of us go through our day in a sort of half-conscious haze, doing everyday things on autopilot, running errands while barely conscious of what the hell is going on. Inside our heads, we are writing. Well, not really writing. Imagining. 

I personally am a painfully visual person. When I have an idea, it’s like a goddamn AMV in my brain. I imagine the scenario like a movie, and most of it moves along on its own. I’m not really writing it as much as I’m just directing it - changing the camera angle, asking for a re-take when something feels a bit off. Then, I go home and try to write it down on paper, or draw it, and then I tear at my hair and go “THIS ISN’T LIKE WHAT I IMAGINED AT ALL, i’M A FAILURE” and then I go have some tea, calm down, try again, rinse, repeat...

So, what if you’re having trouble imagining? Well, you need practice. (You DON’T need visual memory, or the ability to visualize. You can think in words, conversations, concepts - whatever. It’s all a part of the imagination.)

I would start with a scene from a book or movie you really like. Just start with what you already have. Maybe it’s a calm moment. Maybe it’s the middle of a battle. Or the middle of an argument. Go there, immerse yourself into that moment, and then think “...but what if...?”

The “what if...?” is important. Keep that in your toolbelt. It’ll help us many times throughout this journey.

Stop thinking “I’m gonna write a story”. Start thinking ABOUT the story. Just start imagining, as hard as you can.

Q: I have a general idea of what happens, but I can’t seem to get it together into a plot.

Sometimes, it helps to write things down. It doesn’t need to be prose - just make it loose and to the point. Not even full sentences. Just “____ happens” and “___is sad” and “_____ dies”. Put them all over the page. Then, go through and connect them with a line. 

When I write plot, some of my brainstorming looks like this:

I think maybe if you spend enough time and channel this guy

...you will know what the hell I was trying to do here. But the point is, it’s not for the audience. It’s for ME. So it’s allowed to be messy. You can see how I labeled some concepts and connected them with string. The numbers are actually for chronological exposition. I was trying to keep track of which things I wanted to reveal first, and which would come later. 

Q: I know I should plan, but I can’t do it. I just wanna write! 

Good! I was also like this at one point. Actually, I hate planning on paper. I lose interest. (I still do it sometimes, but only for the most complex stuff.) 

So, if you don’t want to do it - don’t!! Who cares. 

Start writing. Start drawing. 

But leave yourself room to re-arrange. Learn tetris. Play tetris. (it’s a good game)

When I write/draw I often go in for the meaty parts first. I like this one quote:

which is basically - BASICALLY - the most succinct description of writing I’ve ever seen. 

The thing is-- The thing IS!! the REASON we read is JUST FOR THOSE EMOTIONALLY HORNY MOMENTS!!! Literally the only reason anyone is THERE, in the story, is to experience that peak of emotion, whatever it might be. It could be the excitement of a chance meeting between two characters. It could be the thrill of battle. It could be the pain of loss or misunderstanding. 

The rest of it? I’m sorry to say, but the rest of these things are just bridges. And yes, bridges can be LOVELY. They are absolutely important to have. But we can’t pretend that we don’t read some long drawn-out stories all the while thinking “but I really don’t care, can we please get on with it?”. 

So, don’t be afraid to focus on the stuff you just want to write. Because most likely, it’s the stuff other people want to read. Just get the meat and potatoes of it out there - fill in the salads later. 

Q: I’m not getting any new ideas. Help!

Drop it. 

No, I don’t mean the story - although I suppose that’s also an option - I mean the idea. 

I hear you - you dOn’t hAVE ANy!! But the thing is, ideas are all connected. If you have one idea, the rest cascade from it. If you get to a dead end in your story, you’re not on an island - you’re at the end of the road. You DO have somewhere to go - you can go backwards.

And yes, like dogs, authors sometimes have trouble with the concept of walking backwards because it’s uncomfortable and we get tangled up in the leash of the plot we’re on. But that doesn’t make it impossible to teach you a new trick. (Don’t give me those puppy eyes.)

If you have no new ideas, then you need to walk back to your last idea and ask yourself “how is this leading to a dead end?”. Or the last idea before that. 

“My character is stuck in an abandoned building but I have no idea what should happen now. I’m lost. :( ”

No you’re not. Your character is - why the fuck was she in the abandoned building in the first place? Why did she go there? Who sent her? Who is she? What are her motivations? Take the time dial and wind it backwards until you are at a fork in the road and try the other road. 

Rince, repeat.

Q: How do I get people to like my story? 

You don’t.

I’m sorry, but no amount of ‘please read this!’ or ‘CREATORS NEED REBLOGS, NOT LIKES’ will get people to engage with your story any more than they already are, aside from, well, their own volition.  

Some people just straight up won’t click with your story. Some will. Some will click HARD but will miss the point entirely. Some people will love it dearly but never, ever, EVER say a word to you. 

That’s just how people are. You can’t blame them for not being your Dream Audience. That ain’t their damn job. And as a content creator, unless you’re being commissioned to do something very specific, it also ain’t YOUR damned job to be a crowd-pleaser! 

Write what you love. Connect where you can. The rest will follow. 

That’s about all I have for writing - more will be added later! 

Cheers.

[narcissasdaffodil]

If you prefer A03, I’ve put the link here. This was inspired by Liability by Lorde. There’s subtle references in this. This one was definitely pretty easy to write, parts of it are quite personal. It does hurt a lot emotionally though, so be prepared. I’ve been more unstable recently so that inspired this.

“You’re a little much for me, you’re a liability.”

Marisol replays part of Olivia’s words in her head, eyes wide. She sits as if pinned to the leather seat in the cafe, mostly motionless entirely apart from the motion of her nails. The cafe is quiet from the isolated booth towards the back of the cafe. She finds herself travelling back in time, to reason things out any way she could.

Marisol has arrived early to meet Olivia, unaware about what was about to happen. Her scarf is loose around her neck and she adjusts it. She makes her way inside and the bell jingles as she opens the cafe door. She orders a black coffee and gets tempted by the raspberry cake on display. Raspberries aren’t something you’ll have for a while, that’s for sure.

She takes the tray and scans the cafe for a free table. She settles towards the back, in a booth. She places her bag next to her and sends Olivia a quick text to notify her where she’s seated. She receives no instant response, which is strange, considering how Liv is usually glued to her phone.

Marisol writes it off to start with, until it turns 2pm and Olivia is nowhere to be seen. She’s never late. Oh no. What’s happening?

Half an hour later, Olivia appears in the doorway. She makes a beeline for Marisol, and doesn’t stop at the counter first.

She settles on the other side of the booth, and pointedly eyes Marisol.

“This is a surprise. I didn’t expect you to make time for me, your girlfriend, with your ‘oh, so important plans’. I’m tired of coming second and having you dictate when we meet up. To be honest, Marisol, I have a life too. I’m fed up of barely seeing you, and when I do, have it be for 10 minutes at most. Not only that, but you’re clearly hurting yourself with all the overworking you do.” Olivia’s tone hurts Marisol who finds herself just staring over at her in disbelief. She’s not even apologising for being late, then? Law is a difficult course in general, of course you barely have any free time and don’t go out. You want to keep up the same momentum in first year for second and third year, and that means continuing what you’re doing.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, to be frank. I’ve met someone else, anyway. We can do this the easy way or the hard one. It’s clear we’re no longer compatible.”

“What? I...I don’t understand.” Marisol winces slightly at her stutter reappearing, and continues speaking before Olivia jumps in again. “You’ve met someone else. Does that mean we’re over, that you’re just giving up, on me, on us, on everything…” her voice breaks and she looks down, spooning up her cake and distracting herself with it.

“Marisol, look. We can still be friends, I just...can’t constantly come second to uni all the time. You barely have time for me at all, and it’s frustrating. Everyone else I’ve met can manage to have a social life along with uni, apart from you. I do know other law students too, so it’s not like I’m comparing different courses. You don’t appear to spend time with anyone else either, you’re just holed up in your room apart from when you’re in lectures or at the library. I know you’re quieter and more introverted and don’t make friends easily, but the amount of time you spend on work isn’t healthy. You study far too frequently, and your assignments are coming back good too, you’re getting scores equivalent to a 2:1, which is more than enough at first year. And don’t tell me everything you do has to be ‘perfect’! Life isn’t that way, and you need to get out of your idealistic perfectionist world!” Olivia’s voice appears to be getting louder, and Marisol wants to put her hands over her ears, to block out the noise. Just because you cried once at your first ever result, doesn’t mean you automatically do that. Yes, you do stay up late to study often, and regularly survive off coffee, but that isn’t unhealthy.

Marisol feels eyes on her, and notices the people at the other tables watch the blow up. She feels very self conscious and wants the world to swallow her up. Olivia’s next set of words bypass her, and she just wants it to be over. Olivia pokes her arm and she looks back over.

“You can’t even fully concentrate on me. You’re a little much for me, you’re a liability. It feels like I have to censor myself to not offend you, you’re far too thin skinned and insecure. I’m fed up of this.”

Marisol’s words catch in her throat and she forces them free, feeling the sour taste in her throat. “T...then leave. I...I don’t want your friendship either, even though we have history, i...if you’re going to pity me and treat me like dirt on the bottom of your shoe. It’s Lucas, isn’t it? The one you like. We’re completely done, broken up. It’s what you wanted, right?” Marisol works to keep a neutral expression and tries her best to not trip over her words but ultimately fails. She stares down at her hands and hopes she can keep it together long enough to not cause concern to the others in the cafe.

Olivia sighs, and clasps one of her hands. “Mari, you seriously don’t look well. At all, you need to take better care of yourself.”

“You’re not allowed to call me that, anymore. Save your pity, I don’t want it.” She pulls her hand away and curls it around her spoon. She stares down at the cake, not having the energy to eat it, or do anything.

Olivia huffs, and makes her way from the booth without a second glance. Marisol lets go of the spoon and rests her hands on the table.

She snaps back into the present and leans a hand on her cheek. She can’t face going back to her flat currently, facing her flatmates in halls and the constant noise.

Why do you have to be the one everyone gives up on? Do you have any value, or are you just here to be cast aside and replaced by the next best model? Why does it still hurt?

Marisol taps her nails on the table and tries to release some nervous energy. She feels entirely numb, which scares her to the bone. Her hands keep shaking, and she forces them flat to the table. In your head, you do everything right. And you haven’t lost your girlfriend in your dreamland. You’re still so happy. But that’s just your dreams, not reality.

She bows her head and tries to eat the cake, her hands stop before touching the spoon until she gives up. Her phone lights up from the table, and she ignores it. Olivia was right. You need to wisen up, get with the times. She pretended to care about you, you do have Charlotte, but she probably believes the same. Olivia should be satisfied at how much of an idiotic fool she’s made you.

Marisol removes her glasses and rests her head in her hands. Her eyes close and she sits there with her head on the table. Her neck aches, but she can’t bring herself to move, to do anything.

You’re a toy that people enjoy till all of the tricks don’t work anymore and then they are bored of you. You have no real value, but who does?

She hears a voice, and looks up through her hair. She notices a short brunette standing next to the booth, long hair in a French braid. She recognises the face, the combination of glasses, nose piercing and fringe with the delicate spread of freckles over her cheeks cause the other girl to stand out.

She’s unsure whether the other girl is on her course, or a flat mate, but her face is memorable.

“D...did you see that? Or not?” she feels her voice break and tears build in her eyes and she hides her face.

“No, I didn’t. Are you okay? You really don’t look great. I was going to ask if I could share the table, but that doesn’t matter.” the other girl sits down and puts an arm around her shoulders. “Marisol, I don’t mean to pry, but I haven’t seen you in a while. Like in the living room/kitchen area and I’ve been a bit worried.”

“About me? Why? I’m nothing special… I’m a liability.” her voice fades out slightly as she hides behind her hair.

“You’re not. That’s a cruel thing to say. I know I don’t really know you that well, and we only share a kitchen, but I want to get to know you better. What’s wrong? You don’t have to talk about it.”

“My girlfriend broke up with me, while pretending to care about my wellbeing. I say pretending, as she was so condescending, and rude. A break up via text would’ve been better! She was even late. I’m sorry, I’ve forgotten your name.”

Marisol shifts her hair out of her eyes and turns to face the brunette.

“Not good with names, either, huh? No problem, names usually aren’t my strong point. I’m Alecto. For some reason I remembered your name though, which is strange.” Alecto extends a small, freckled hand to her, and Marisol shakes it. She feels tears burn behind her eyes and curses at not wearing waterproof mascara.

“That’s a pretty name. Nice to meet you. Names aren’t my strong point either,” she feels tears escape and a bubble in her throat. “Sorry, I’m kind of a mess right now.”

“The reason I remembered yours is because I found it so pretty, and you at that. I love your hair, the highlights are gorgeous and suit you.”

“Really?” Marisol blushes at the simple compliment, as tears slip down her cheeks and leaves mascara trails. “Sorry, I’m not used to people believing that.”

“Really.” Alecto wipes her eyes with a napkin and the small touch makes Marisol’s cheek vibrate. She meets Alecto’s eyes and gets mesmerised by the constellations in her brown eyes, and the scattering of freckles on her cheeks.

She feels different as she sets eyes on Alecto. Sure, she has lost a friendship and a relationship, but there is a possibility for something more here.

“Part of me is glad that the cafe was busy. Otherwise we wouldn’t have bumped into each other.”

“Well…” Alecto fidgets. “There were free tables, but I used this opportunity to talk to you instead. Like I said, I want to get to know you. I hope that’s not weird.”

Marisol feels a small smile build on her face. “Definitely not weird. I appreciate the fact you care, genuinely.”

It feels different being sat there in the cafe with Alecto. Something about her energy was different, and she got drawn to it. It feels like they had known each other their entire life, a strange form of closeness was present.

[your-turn-to-role]

hi okay i hate sending asks to people without knowing them but you seem kind so im trying: during the break, i’ve been working my way through VM, and i’m at episode 75. my question, because i’ve read some of your more recent meta, is “what’s Percy’s deal?” i know he’s loved by the fandom, but i can’t find myself relating to him, and i find his assertions that he’s the only one with a plan offputting. is there more context you can give to me about percy’s character that explains his motivations?

aww, thank you!

(and yeah, asks like this are totally fine, i totally get that anxiety, good job on sending this!)

i mean, first off, you don't have to like a character everyone else does? if you don't relate to percy you can just, not relate to percy, that's fine

(and to be fair, as much as i love him as a character, i would not want him as a friend, because he's a very flawed person that has a lot to work on, but in fiction those traits are interesting to watch rather than difficult to deal with)

but, percy's deal! the short answer is people generally like him because taliesin's funny and charismatic and he does morally grey right, which is rare and a fun thing to explore (also in his relationships with other people, the entire vex-vax-percy-keyleth square is full of neat parallels and opposites and interesting things and i have whole essays in my head on all six combos there)

i don’t know which posts you’ve read so i’ll link this one here too, just to cover a couple more of the generally unnoticed aspects of his character, and things i like about percy

he’s also far from perfect, as you’ve noted, he does tend to believe he’s the smartest person in any given room, because he’s young and clever and used to being that, which you’re allowed to find off putting, but i will say i find he does that less than a lot of characters of his general archetype? he listens to pike, he listens to keyleth, he listens to vex, he respects when they have more knowledge than him on a particular subject, he’s not above asking for help. and generally most of the arguments he has with keyleth on that subject aren’t him asserting he knows more than her, but more a matter of principles and values (they’re a really interesting pair that way, they have similar backgrounds, both children of royalty running away from the crown, but they’re such opposites. percy is a natural leader who would rather anyone rule than him, keyleth fumbles her way through all of it but sticks to it because she doesn’t want to let anyone down, percy is a pragmatist, keyleth is an idealist, they both are too focused on the big picture but in two completely different ways, i could write a whole other post on this, but to get to my point, they wouldn’t be such good balances for each other if percy didn’t absolutely respect where keyleth is coming from)

for the long answer, i’m gonna break this down into parts and try to get to the core of percy's character and why he is the way he is

(under the cut bc this gets long)

1 - heavy trauma

like... this is the really really big one. percy, at age 17 or 18, had his entire life up to that point completely destroyed. his family was killed, his friends were killed, people he trusted like family (professor anders, who was a more present figure in percy's life than his actual parents) betrayed him and helped the briarwoods, he was imprisoned in his own castle's dungeons and tortured for information, they threw his siblings' bodies in there with him to make a point, cassandra helped him escape but as far as he knew she died helping him. he has two years of his life after that he straight up doesn't remember, his hair turned white from the stress of it. 

trying to go after ripley the first time didn't work, he was captured and left to starve in a prison cell, for the first few months of travelling with vox machina he genuinely believed it wasn't real, because realistically no one was gonna come save him, this was just a hallucination of his dying mind. returning to whitestone he was forced to confront the fact that literally everyone he ever knew growing up (with the sole exception of archibald) was either dead or working with the briarwoods, and even after retaking the city there's a lot that can never be repaired. 

and he's just... never really dealt with any of this? like, he gave vox machina the technical details of what happened to him in the briarwood arc, because they needed to know that information, but the first time he actually started processing his trauma, the first time he admits it out loud to anyone, is the final episode of campaign one. before then it had been occasional snide or handwavey comments, and like, he'll let himself feel the anger over it (in the beginning of the story he encouraged it, because then he didn't have to feel anything else), but he's never processed the grief, never admitted to himself how badly that affected him

which means he's got a lot of pent up emotions in there that he just keeps burying, and sometimes they come out in unhealthy ways. having so much taken from him also makes him really motivated to keep the things he does have - he’s got some deep set abandonment issues and takes any kind of betrayal really badly, don’t know if you’ve got up to the scanlan stuff by the time i post this, but that’s something to keep in mind as to why he acts the way he does there. (and it’s not more explicit because percy was raised nobility, keeping a brave face through anything is part of who he is, he tends to cover emotions he’s insecure about in snark or indifference or, for the intense ones, anger, because those are the things he thinks he’s allowed to show, but the real emotions show up occasionally, when they’re particularly strong, or if you’re reading between the lines. he really does care a lot about vox machina)

2 - legacy and loyalty. 

speaking of nobility, it's hard to do a character study on percy without mentioning whitestone and the house of de rolo. this is the number one thing to percy. he was raised to respect title and name, and most importantly, raised to respect the people he represents - both the townsfolk of whitestone and also percy's ancestors and future de rolo generations. whitestone is more important than any one life, he has a duty to protect and serve it, and that comes before any personal wants he may have. it's also important to him for family reasons - he was a pretty lonely child, but he loved reading about the history of the city, all the weird ghost stories whitestone had even before the briarwoods. it probably made him feel more connected to all of that, this is the place he belongs. and after his family dies, it becomes even more important, because this is his connection to them. the soul of a city lives as long as its people, by protecting what's left, he keeps a little bit of what came before

(and also in just tidbits to understand percy's character, he sees all cities and man-made things the same way - in a world where some races live for centuries or millennia, their history exists mostly by word of mouth, you can physically talk to people who were around 500 years ago and get their take on things - humans don't have that, they get 100 years at most, so the things they build are vital to their heritage. this is how you keep people alive long after they're gone, by honouring what they created. and especially for someone so concerned with legacy and history, percy literally says abandoning westruun would be blasphemy, because the place people grew up is important, yes it's better that they live, but letting the city be abandoned and destroyed would be an irreparable act of violence.) 

this is the number one thing on percy's mind when evaluating anything about himself, where do i come from, and what do i leave behind? which is a question that has a lot of moments to be tested, because of my next point...

3 - pragmatism and terrible thoughts

when it comes down to it, percy is a very ends justify the means kind of person. he finds it very easy to square away any kind of collateral damage as long as it gets him to his end goal. see: trial of the take, where he's fine to catch his friends in the blast radius of a new bomb design because he's so excited that it worked, preparing to fight vorugal and resigning himself to potentially having to kill innocent people to kill the dragon (he wasn’t okay with that, but he would do it), also his conscious decision to let ripley go, knowing she would lead to the deaths of thousands because it was her or the briarwoods and he wanted revenge 

(this is by his own admission his lowest point and worst mistake, because as mentioned, he thinks about the consequences of his actions near constantly, he knew she would reproduce his guns and they would lead to a whole new form of warfare. but in that moment he was just blinded by grief and way too emotionally burnt out and did not have the capacity to care. and he spends the rest of the campaign and honestly probably the rest of his life trying to make up for that one)

he's also, by his own admission, someone who has a lot of bad thoughts he doesn't act on, he's very clever and creative and ideas for ways to use those skills for violence or vengeance come easily to him (like, percy as an actual villain would be ripley but worse, ripley's intelligent but a very direct point a to point b kind of thinker, percy has multiple times criticised her lack of imagination, a percy with her lack of morals would be terrifying)

(honestly this is why i was seeing percy so much in taliesin's narrative telephone, because "sometimes i wake up having dreamed of a terrible thing, and normally i just file that away for things that i would never do, because i wanna maintain friendships, but then LIAM did something to me." and the whole being absolutely fine with throwing the rest of the cast under the bus just to enact revenge on liam was quintessential percy)

but we’ve seen the pragmatic anti hero everywhere, anyone can be a terrible person, and have reasons for it, that alone doesn’t make an interesting character (at least not for me)

what does, is my last point

4 - trying to be good

i still vividly remember when i first watched campaign one, being really surprised at how much percy asked for help? like, i went in expecting the usual full on demon possession storyline, i expected percy to hide how bad it was, i expected him to make poor decisions without realising he was doing it until he was in too deep to back out

and like, he had some of that. but at the first sign of things being out of his control, he asked his friends for help. he let pike greater restoration him. he told vax to kill him if things ever got too out of hand. he was really, genuinely scared about what he got himself into and what he might do because of it. there was never a point where he pretended, even to himself, that making a deal with orthax was okay. the minute he realised there was a demon involved, he was working to stop it. and yeah, by the time he realised it was already a bit too late, there were already some things out of his control (and also taliesin kept having the worst rolls against the whitestone corruption which was really fun on a meta level), which is how things got as bad as they did. but honestly, all things considered, there’s very little to criticise about the way percy handled himself in the briarwood arc. 

and he keeps doing that, trying to get better. he struggles with it, he struggles a lot, against his anger issues, against all the trauma, against the fact that he really doesn’t want to be here and things would be so much easier if he were dead. but he recognises he holds grudges too easily, so he starts actively trying to forgive those who’ve wronged him (this is something he and vex have in common, and something they were working on together before they were together, which probably helped a lot in getting them to that point as well). he recognises he makes poor decisions when he’s angry, so he starts learning to step back in those moments and leave the decisions to someone else. he has never not owned up to his mistakes, he takes responsibility for everything he’s done, and if he notices a problem he can’t solve himself, he asks for help.

and i find that fun to explore. like, percy’s been likened to hamlet in the actual show, and i was the kid who got super obsessed with hamlet when i was like 15 because i was in that same mental space of suicidal self hatred and existential melancholy but also thinking i was the smartest person in any given room and being too young to have gotten over the arrogance that makes you ignore everyone else’s needs for the sake of indulging your own problems. and then i got older and realised there are smarter ways to go about things, like having empathy and appreciating the light in the world and not being a dickhead to people because it makes you feel better, and maybe hamlet can be justified and in the wrong at the same time. and while there’s some stuff i won’t spoil for you, percy after ripley kills him is definitely starting to learn that, which you rarely see in the hamlet archetype, bc everyone’s like “ah yes so Deep so Important who cares what bad things this person did they had Trauma and are Clever”

well, percy cares about the bad things he did, and cares about not doing those anymore. so like, he’s still a disaster of a person bc he’s like 23 and no one has their life together at 23, especially not someone in percy’s situation, and honestly i find that fun to watch as well bc i like watching characters make stupid mistakes and do stuff i’d never approve of in real life, and as i mentioned at the start, taliesin makes captivating and funny characters. but yeah, that’s generally where percy’s at, most of the time

[jupiteronic]

hi, i have pisces mars, how can i develop it? i suck

don’t do the whole “i suck” thing for starters. It’s hard ik especially for those of us who are mentally ill and/or went through trauma and have conditioned thoughts like these, but also it can be helpful to remind yourself that your thoughts do not define you and to redirect your thoughts rather than bully them away or blame yourself for them (let me know if you want resources on this!) so as to diminish later blowups/ guilt-tripping behaviours. a lot of Pisces mars people very much are willing to change their ways/ listen to other perspectives like you! telling people you suck doesn’t really come across as taking responsibility though, a lot of people will take offense to that - rightfully so - and think you’re being manipulative or simply looking for validation, acceptance or forgiveness. probably wasn’t your intention, it’s just important to think about how others would interpret our behavior. 

accept that feeling bad isn’t an excuse to avoid preemptively thinking about how your actions impact others, it takes practice but make a conscious effort and you’ll be surprised how much good you can do despite overwhelming emotions! in a similar vein though, do NOT ignore or repress or minimize your emotions for the sake of others. if anything that will lead to more uncontrolled anger, manipulative behavior, and self-pitying feelings/thoughts which further reinforce the unhealthy behaviours you’re trying to rid yourself of

BEWARE OF WHO YOU SURROUND YOURSELF WITH

if you can, avoid fixating on what you did wrong and feeling shame + guilt for it. focus on how you can improve or eliminate the behaviours you don’t like & more importantly how you can make it up to anyone you hurt - especially if that person is yourself. easier said than done, especially for the obsessive types, but again i find that redirecting thoughts makes this easier than blaming yourself for fixating on your guilt. it can be an endless cycle really. how do you apologise to others + how do you apologise to yourself? if you don’t do either of those much, start working from there

get feedback from others where appropriate but take the feedback with a grain of salt until you have multiple perspectives

watch self regulation skills vids or read about it or... cant believe i’m saying this.. listen to a p*dcast. whatever helps you absorb information the fastest. ideally you would learn about this through written/ spoken word of both your own and others, through audio, visually, artistically etc to master self-regulation but that’s obviously not realistic or convenient for everyone so start small with what seems most realistic to you!!! I know especially Pisces mars can get quickly lose interest or motivation when it comes to things involving thorough detail lol. the next point expands on this but what works for me is pretending I’m my own parent. in a way we all are our own parents, but emotionally investing myself in that fantasy helped me apply my energy to things I’d rather not do (like doing assignments is still very hard for me, and to avoid discouraging myself from doing them, i kind of have a conversation with myself about it and kind of take on the role of child + parent. this is just an example - sometimes it just helps to use your traits to your own advantage, like Pisces mars being more interested in fantasies/emotionally engaging things than boring menial tasks; i used an emotionally engaging fantasy to motivate myself to do work, be creative <3). avoid relying on others for regulation & discipline. this can be very difficult for some of us + i understand and empathize with this. the point here is to be as independent as you can be.  also something going wrong does not necessarily mean it’s a sign from the universe to stop trying i promise

on the note of independence, take steps to becoming your own cheerleader. motivate & encourage yourself through positive self talk. in times where you feel demotivated, helpless or worthless, and say encouraging things to yourself. be aware that this will often seem silly and a waste of energy and u know how much Pisces mars like to save their energy at all costs lmao so this is definitely a common, normal reaction but every time this discourages you, remind yourself that IT IS worth trying and YOU are worth trying for yourself. sometimes I literally have to say cheesy shit like “you can do this” out loud repeatedly until I convince myself. it’s tiring & maybe embarrassing but recovering from chronic self-pity is even more tiring and embarrassing. avoid relying on others to uplift you & make you feel better. not to say that people shouldn’t help people, but just so you’re able to have your own back as much as possible

be more intellectually present oh my god 🤡 I beg of you. this can be very difficult especially for people who deal with adhd/mental illness(es)/trauma/learning disorders/developmental disorders etc. I don’t have all the answers for that but one thing most of us can do is engage in activities that nurture our intellectual health more frequently ; whether that’s reading (nonfiction preferrably), doing newspaper puzzles, crosswords/sudoku apps, problem-solving activities that don’t involve emotional appeal, etc just do it often. we all know how emotionally attentive Pisces mars can be but engage your intellectual side gamers (i.e. don’t game). I say this as a Pisces mars myself lolz please this is literally self-care

ik this is a snooze point but physical stimulation especially exercise can be really good for emotional wellbeing/ release. otherwise find literally any form of release - healthy forms I cannot stress this enough

wrt anger, bitterness, feelings of defeat: Pisces placements often have an external locus of control and thrive when they consider/have faith in something bigger than them. could be astrology, spirituality, religion, art, community, culture, all of the above, whatever makes u feel connected.

question your own intentions (but don’t overdo this); why am i acting this way or feeling this way? am I fishing for attention? if so, is there anything I can do to give myself the same warm feeling attention/validation from others would give me? am I acting like this because I feel hurt or taken advantage of? if so, is it possible for me to have a safe, healthy conversation about this with the source of the problem? WHAT is the source of the problem? what can i do about it? write this down if you can somewhere private and read it back to yourself later, notice any cognitive distortions in your thinking and make adjustments. this will help you practice using your intellectual side in distressing moments but there’s less point in using your thinking if it’s warped if you feel that’s the case for you. so google cognitive distortions & how to deal with them to get examples! try to make the adjustments next time you feel overwhelmed or have heightened emotions/senses

be firmer with your boundaries. with others AND yourself. the less you resist against boundaries the more your life will know peace because you are more careful with the people and/or behaviours you allow into YOUR life. do *not* ease up on your boundaries for the sake of other people. betraying yourself for others or immediate gratification is rarely a good idea in the long run. I’ve done the mistake of betraying my values for others many times and it’s caused unnecessary conflict which we are notorious for avoiding. that is until the evil puppeteer living in our brains snaps their fingers and commands us to go ham

[thekillerssluts]

THE PAST, PRESENT AND FUTURE OF WILL BUTLER

It’s been nearly four centuries since the first member of the Butler family arrived in the United States. From Quakerism and Mormonism to getting thrown in jail, the Butler family history is a fascinating story which bears one constant, one recurring theme on which the Butler’s always touch base: music. On new solo album Generations, Will Butler (Arcade Fire) expands his horizons while delving into his own legacy and asking questions about his place in society as an American. Jack Parker called up Butler to discuss his namesake’s glistening legacy, the new album and societal parallels between 2020 and 1820.

Hi Will. Generations is your second studio album, and it comes five years after your debut, Policy. Was it always a long term plan, in your mind, to put out a second album? Yeah. I was always going to do a second record, but my wife and I have an eight year old and two twins. Not to blame the twins, but I would have made a second record earlier, haha. There was also the last Arcade Fire record, and I went to grad school. It’s been busy.

You described this album as more of a novel. Would you call it a concept album? I don’t think of it as a concept album, but any listener or critic is welcome to interpret in whichever way they like. There is a sonic arc to the album, and although it’s not exactly character development there is some sort of development throughout the record. I feel like it takes on a journey.

The stories on some tracks are definitely vivid in places. What informed your songwriting on some of these songs? Fine tells a very poignant story. Some of the songs on the album have a big focus on 19th century American poets like Emily Dickinson or Erwin Melville. Melville isn’t famous for his poetry, but he has some good poems about the Civil War. I was reading a lot of history, and a lot of the themes are essentially just trying to absorb what the fuck has been happening the last 200 years.

And of course everything that’s been happening the last six months. Do you notice many similarities between the last half year versus the last 200 years? Yeah. We had Ferguson and Baltimore, and people are protesting now too. People are rioting! But this isn’t an outlier in American history; the police keep brutalising people and those being brutalised keep saying that enough is enough. It happens every few years, so it’s a very consistent part of history. It’s shocking that people even need to come out and say that black lives matter. That is an outlier, the fact that we have to highlight that killing black people is a bad thing. It’s never exactly the same throughout history, but it’s certainly familiar in a dark way. The pandemic…eugh. There aren’t many global pandemics which I’ve experienced in my lifetime, but it’s certainly not what I expected.

The sonic palette of Generations is much broader. There seems to be more emphasis on exploring different sounds and styles; was this a conscious decision or something that just came naturally? I wanted Generations to be a more complex and complicated album with more development. My brain is so broken that I think about food a lot; Policy was more a case of making dinner with whatever you can find in the fresh section at the supermarket. Generations is more purposeful, it’s layering the flavours, roasting the meat for 48 hours and stewing the bones. There’s more foraging.

I guess solo projects like this one also allow you to explore territory you wouldn’t go for as quickly with Arcade Fire. Yeah. I mean, they’re still related projects in that I’m the same human being poking at the same stuff sonically and emotionally, but with this I can go further in certain directions. This album is still collaborative, but I can also do more.

You previously said that this record asks the question “what’s my place in American history?” Assuming you know that now: what is your place in American history, as a rich, white male? It’s a positional answer, to be honest. It’s how you are positioned in a community and how you relate to the people you live with. It’s hard to answer, because it’s also in conversation with New York City and Brooklyn. Like, how is New York going to move forward? On a broader level, though, it’s still provisional and conversational.

So has working on this record helped you discover aspects of yourself which you weren’t aware of? I’m real smart on a booksmart level, but working on this record made me realise how dumb you still are as a human, on a human level. Most of us are pretty dumb, and every now and then you encounter some amazing humans, but then you’re like, “wow, I’m real dumb and I’m lost without these people”.

I just want to touch on the album closer, Fine. What informed your songwriting and the story on that track in particular? It’s one of your best works to date. Thank you. So, the first Butler came to the US in the 1630s and settled into Boston before moving to Cape Cod and living on the water. They were one of the first families to convert to Quakerism. It’s in the history records because they kept getting fined for being Quakers. They’d get thrown into jail and cops would arrest Daniel Butler in the middle of the night for exposing little kids to Quakerism. The Butlers have lived in New England on a long stretch of coastline for the last 400 years. My Mum’s family is Mormon, and my great grandfather was the last son of a Mormon homesetter who crossed the plains. He was born in the 1870s and he was a musician. He started a family band with his kids and they would drive across the desert – before there were even roads – on wooden planks to play shows in churches and then get arrested for doing it. My life today is very beautifully influenced by what happened at the end of the 19th century. It’s so beautiful to inherit such a musical legacy, but there’s also such a horrifying legacy to being an American. Why I am how I am is informed by a lot of beauty and horror. It’s about trying to figure out where you stand before you throw your first punch. You have to square your hips. It’s not so much an exercise in guilt as it is in knowledge.

Fine is trying out the Kanye West trick of being really stupid and profound by talking about important and unimportant things are the same time. I was thinking about George Washington from 250 years ago, just thinking about his legacy and on a wider scale the legacies which we inherit. How those legacies came to us, and how the world was made. It’s trying to do that both in a jokey and a horrifying way. Look at Washington’s slaves, for example. He has one named Henry Washington who I’d never heard of until I was an adult. He escaped and with the British against the United States, and then lost. In order to avoid slavery he fled to Canada and then ended up in Sierra Leone, where he ended up fighting against the British. These are incredible histories which just go ignored. Fine is essentially about trying to figure out what line of history we’re following and how we follow it.

Now more than ever people are turning to the arts for empowerment. How can we use music in 2020 to harness positive change? Music has been a great comfort to people who are doing really intense work, and I’ve seen people really respond to artists who say something meaningful. Art can really provide comfort, which I think is important. I get that there are other important angles, like how art isn’t always supposed to be comfortable, but over the years I’ve seen how much value music has for people who are trying to make the world a better place. As a musician you can’t control the people who feel comfort. You can’t tell someone horrible that they aren’t supposed to feel comforted by your music, but you can pray that your music is put in front of someone who will nourish it.

Of course. So with live music still out of the question, what’s next for you? I’m really excited for the record to come out! People have been finding meaning in comfort through music these last six months, and it kind of feels like you’re doing a service by putting music out into the world. I’ll probably do some kind of online thing, but it’s not really my speciality. I’ve got a week and a half to figure it out. My son started school today in New York, so figuring out online school for an eight year old is also a thing. And if it weren’t for the pandemic, I’d have gotten into my car and driven around Pennsylvania knocking on doors ahead of the election in November. 

[tekkai]

🅿 Here's your official pass to gush about headcanons for CP-9 (ft. your insert as well if you want)! Go wild!

Thank you Anon I love you for asking. I wasn’t able to go in depth for everyone so I focussed on the few my S/I is closest with. ;^; 

Lucci 

Lucci is an impossibly light sleeper and grows irritable due to his disrupted sleep schedule. He’s seldom able to sleep soundly through the night and attempts to recover by napping throughout the day. 

With the extremely specific and conscious exception of chicken, he is offended if you try to serve him any kind of fowl/poultry. He has a strong preference towards ‘red’ meats such as beef, lamb, and even game such as venison.

Obsession by Calvin Klein, or the closest in-universe alternative. In addition to bathing in Civetone, he carries the scent of brandy and sawdust. 

Hattori is more than a mascot, he is Lucci’s service animal. Most of his task serve to mitigate Lucci’s psychological needs. Among other tasks, ventriloquism is part of his work, as it allows Lucci to interact with new people in a roundabout way. Hattori can also ‘sweep’ rooms, alerting him to be certain a space is empty and easing his hypervigilance. Disrupting night terrors and providing sensory stimuli when his feeling overloaded. 

In canon we know they’ve been a team for at least 24 years. I would like to believe they’ve been together longer, prior to his arrival. I’ve thought a lot about a possible backstory for him, but we’ve been given so little in canon for me to work with it’s purely speculation. 

His father had been a no-name pirate. He left shortly after conception and the two never had any kind of relationship save for their genetics. Ironically he’d be killed by his son later in life. 

His mother was a lesser noble with a daughter from a previous marriage. As a baby he was close to his-sister,but he was so young when they died their memories are distorted. He blames the death of his family on the cowdarce of their appointed guard when their city was besieged. This is the root of his philosophy. 

Racing pigeons were an important culturally and Hattori is a descendant from his mother’s line of birds. 

Lucci is nearly legally blind. He is completely dependent on his contacts to get through the day. Caught without them however, not many people would be able to tell how much he struggles. He’s practiced in hiding his vulnerabilities and can get by without assistance by leveraging his other instincts, but he does struggle. The fact that his eye color changes significantly every time he appears is due to his colored lenses.  

Lucci was given the epithet of Massacre Weapon and conditioned to see himself as a tool. He holds himself to an impossible standard and values his worth based solely on his objective usefulness. 

He would never admit it to anyone, but he identifies with the local stray cats. Wherever he locates he makes a point to feed and look after the ferals in the area. He’s absolutely blown his cover once or twice confronting anyone stupid enough to harass a colony he’d been overlooking. 

Lucci honestly believes he’s working towards a more peaceful world. He does have a ravenous bloodlust, but if that was his only need, he’s strong enough to go rogue.  Lucci does not need his license to kill. The only reason he’s remained complaint to the WG’s needs is because they align with his own vision. 

Kaku

Kaku and Usopp both originated in the East Blue, have a natural affinity for working ships and are canonically mistaken for one another. I’m not about to claim a direct relation but I don’t think distant cousins would be out of the question or improbable. Kaku was an orphan taken in by WG and underwent intense programing to model him into the agent he is today. It would be reasonable to assume any record of his life before the government got a hold of him would be purged. I don’t think it’ll ever be a plot point but I just like this theory. 

Kaku may be the next young prodigy of the group, but he is also the designated baby/baby brother. As an unit it’s just universally accepted that he get’s a ‘pass’, especially in regards to Lucci. 

Ussop was able to antagonize Lucci twice after the the Leopard Man had brutalized others for less. It’s a subconscious reaction adn Lucci probably doesn’t even realize why his first instinct wasn’t to kill this pirate the moment he drew his weapon. 

He’s an effective agent but he get’s emotionally attached to places and people. Unlike Lucci who finds ideological satisfaction in his work, Kaku is loyal to CP9 due to his relationship with his colleagues. For this reason he’s a more efficient spy. 

Kaku has an aversion to alcohol. He’ll drink socially but only if it’s pushed on him.

An avid outdoorsmen. Kaku would spend everyday in the wilderness if he could get away with it. He has a secret cabin he escapes to and uses to decompress after an excessively stressful mision. 

Horses love him. Every since he was a child he’s been a natural with horses and no one can figure out why. They just instinctively adore him.

Jabra

Incredibly sensitive to chemical scents. He refuses to enter the laboratory for this very reason. 

I’ve touched on Zoan’s influencing their users in regards to Lucci before, and Jabra is no exception. Unlike Lucci however he’s happy to lean into his instincts and takes great pride in being a wolf. 

Makes really terrible dog puns. 

He prideful and arrogantly confident, but once his audience has left he’s painfully lonely. He craves a ‘pack’ and is hopeless romantic at heart. Has bounced from one failed relationship to another near constantly. 

He cares deeply about his fellow agents and views them as a kind of family.

He’s the first to throw insult or a playful jab, but the moment something is wrong he can tell. Jabra can be a jerk but he’s the best person to talk to if someone needs to vent or be comforted by. 

Claims it’s nonsense but he’s extremely superstitious. If Kalifa makes a comment about the stars aligning he makes note. 

Angel’s self proclaimed older brother.

He’s competitive to a fault. It doesn’t matter what the challenge is he needs to be the best. 

Found his Rooster as an abandoned chick and has been raising it ever since. He’s a proud father and carries photos of the bird when it can’t accompany him specifically so he can show his son off. This tactic has never once worked while he was trying to flirt with someone. 

Kalifa

She’s mildly allergic to animal fur. It’s nothing significant but she’s forced to carry allergy pills when she’s working with her Zoan colleagues. Her new abilities, however, have been a godsend in keeping the annoying fur at bay.  

More so than any of the other agents she struggles with feeling ‘good enough’. Having been born into her role she feels an immense pressure to live up to the expectation that were set for her.

Her mother was also a government agent at one point.

Collects ‘lamb’ themed objects. She doesn’t love having to be around actual farm animals (and despises Jabra’s rooster) but she finds the artistic representations of lambs aesthetically pleasing. 

Is secretly really into astrology. She’s complied full birth charts on her co-workers using what little information is available and reasonable estimating the unknowns. 

She is extensively musical trained and is by far the most talented agent in that regard. 

Angel

Not a Ciphor Pol agent. Not a government agent. Not even a marine. But since you were kind enough to include her, she’ll get a guest feature.

Angel was blessed with a powerful fruit but cursed with the lack of willpower to use it properly.

She can be friendly but it takes a long time before she can fully trust someone. 

Used the name Lucifer before settling down and trying to start a new life for herself.

She descended from the upper vearths and is confused when people down here talk about religion. To her “God” is an epithet you can earn and a position of power in the sky islands. She’d interacted with Enel and caught wind that he’d ascended and is thoroughly confused every time someone makes an offhand religious comment or sees an act of devotion, ‘cause god is kind of prick?’. She’s never commented on her confusion. When her wedding was planned to take place in a chapel she was horrified for reasons that weren’t clear to anyone else present.

Since that was the only part she had an objection to the planner in charge caved and re-scheduled the event to an outdoor venue.  

Terribly pyrophobic. Ironically the devil is not okay around an open flame. 

[ohallthecrushes]

I got you stuck in my head, isn't it funny? Part 2 //Joker x Reader

A/N: First of all: Thank you so much for so many hearts and nice comments. I wasn’t expect that, really. 💓 I didn’t plan to write part 2, but you encouraged me to carry this on. And no smut this time, sorry ‘bout that. ^^ I think part 3 will contain something sexy. Also it’s much shorter, but I see it as an introduction to the situation reader found herself. I still need to plan this out in my head before I write it down.

Pairing: Joker x Reader

Contains: sickness sensation, mention of fire

Word Count: 1796

Summary: You’re locked in Arkham State Hospital. You’ve met Arthur Fleck during a group therapy, you exchanged looks with him and sometimes smiles, but you didn’t real talk with each other, he was too shy to approach you and you wanted to keep your guard up in a place like this, so you kinda avoided him. Later on, he left the hospital, while you stayed until the present day. Almost half a year passed by and you forgot about Arthur, but he didn’t forget about you.

🖤 🤡 🖤 🤡 🖤 🤡 🖤 🤡 🖤 🤡 🖤 🤡 🖤 🤡 🖤 🤡 🖤 🤡 🖤 🤡 🖤 🤡 🖤 🤡 🖤 🤡 🖤 🤡

Your conscious came back to you in a few big waves of the ocean, coming from the hallway, flooding the isolation room and every corner of it, not giving you any chance to escape. Your naked body was clung onto the bed when the final wave flooded you completely, forcing you to wake up before you drowned.

You snapped your eyes open and took a deep breath in to see if you could still breathing. Lucky you, you hand't drowned, you were still pretty much alive. You blinked to clear your vision and you saw your hand resting on a white pillow in front of your face, and a white sheets covering you up to your face. No water, no waves, no fucking clowns around you. You'd been right from the beginning, you'd been dreaming a sex dream that had turned into a nightmare.

You closed your eyes and slowly stretched your body. You felt a little sore, but you had a rough night, probably you'd been throwing yourself on the bed all night because of that clown. You didn't know what time was it, but you always waited for a nurse to wake you up to give you your morning medicines, there was no need to get up too early.

I've got a great big bundle of love

And I have saved it all for you

Music.

Someone put on a music... in your room?

Ohh but I'm gonna demand a little favor

Honey let your loving be true

No, no, no, no, no. You uncovered yourself and lifted up on your elbow. Looking anxiously at things around you, you saw a window with white curtains, a yellow-brown wallpaper and a brown rug under the bed. This wasn't your isolation room, this wasn't even the hospital.

Fuck.

You shifted and turned your head to the left to look what was behind you, where the music was coming from. You'd already gotten used to the dizziness sensation in your head, but now it was combined with a sickness and you had to stop moving to prevent yourself from vomiting.

- I'm sorry for that... I really didn't mean to make you feel sick, it's just a side effect of the injection - a soft voice spoken from the other side of the room. The voice you already knew. The voice you'd last heard was in your head.

You shut your eyes for a moment to calm yourself down, to swallow a ball of fear growing inside your throat, and to tell yourself it wasn't as bad as it seemed, it couldn't be. And then you dare to look up. That part of the room that your eyes were examining now, was darker, the Sun couldn't reach out there, but you had no problem to spot Joker in his red suit, sitting in a green armchair, the painting on his face had been refreshed and he was playing with something small in his hand. Music was coming from an old school radio that was standing on a small wooden table next to the armchair.

- But I had to - he continued his apology, though for you any apology with a but in it wasn't an apology at all. It was rationalization. He was trying to justify his actions, nothing else.

But he was talking and you were going to let him do that. That was giving you a time to think and maybe understand his reasoning.

- There was going to be a riot out there in the hospital and I needed to get you out of there safe.

- Riot? Really? - you raised your eyebrow, your voice came out flat with a hint of sarcasm, you didn't believe him and he wasn't surprised by that, though he seemed to be a little bit disappointed by the way he sighed and moved his hand through his hair. You snorted at that -  Why didn't you just tell me that and let me leave this place on my own legs?

- Because you couldn't have - he asserted with a sad smile - You don't believe me now, why would you've believed me then? - his voice cracked a bit at the end and you wonder whether he kept his distance to make an illusion of you being safe or maybe because he wanted to hide his face in the shadow, so you couldn't read his face expression more clearly.

- And I knew - he continued with a more confident voice - that your anxiety wouldn't have let you leave the hospital or even the room.

He rotated that thing that he was holding and you heard a click, a small flame lighted up. He reached for a pack of cigarettes on the table and took one of it out, putting it between his lips and using the flame to light it up. He took a drag and looked at you in silence. For a while you both were just watching each other from the distance, you were carefully evaluating his words as he was calculating his next move.

Oh tender love and much affection

Girl you never know what's in store for you

Clouds of smoke left his mouth as he exhaled. You lifted yourself up, but you still felt sick and you knew you were in no condition to make any moves, not mention to even try and leave the bed.

Joker reached to the table again this time putting his hand on the radio to twist the control knob. The song cut off harshly and the station changed several times, switching through different news stations, before it stopped at one and he turned up the volume so you could hear it clearly. A woman, noticeably emotionally charged, was reporting the news.

- ...Arkham State Hospital where the morning incident's mobilized the police force and the fire department to rush there and fight with the fire. Right now they're still trying to bring the situation under control. At 7 a.m. the fire reached the third floor and access there is straitened, we have no confirmed information about any people still being trapped inside the building. All we know from unofficial sources is that most of the patients had escaped before the fire started. We don't know how many and how dangerous they are to themselves and oth-

With a quiet click the female voice stopped talking and suddenly you were surrounded by a deafening silence and the realization of what had happened there. The third floor is where the isolation room was. Your room. You'd been there just several hours ago and now this place was being consumed by fire. Tears filled your eyes as you realized you could have been dead by now, and you felt more sick than you'd been before. You covered your mouth with a hand to suppress the sickness in you but also to stop yourself from crying, and slid down on the bed, putting your head on the pillow as you wished you could just sink into the mattress and disappear.

You heard rushing movements and quick steps as Joker instantly got to you and sat on the bed, murmuring in a sweet tone of his voice that everything was going to be okey and that you were safe now. His hand brushed the hair off your forehead and stroke your cheek, and you saw a single tear falling down from his eye. It mixed with the blue paint, and it followed down the long trickle already formed on his cheek. Had he been crying before? That was the reason he'd been sitting in the darkness?

You let out a little sob, but you swallowed down the need to cry. You slowly uncovered your mouth and licked your dry lips.

- You saved my life... Thank you - your voice sounded more like a whisper, but he heard you and smiled, blinking away more tears from his eyes.

- I would never let anything bad happen to you, my angel.

He leaned down and kissed your forehead, his hot cigarette breath puffed against your skin.

- You need to rest - he said as he looked down at you - I have to leave you for now, but I promise I'll get back to you later, I have some things to take care off first.

You nodded and with that given confirmation from you, he could leave the room with less worries in his head. He wished he could stay with you, tell you everything, tell you the truth right away, tell you how much he'd missed you and that what he'd done had been done for you, to show you that he could take care of you and protect you now, so you could be with him and away from the cruel and evil-intentioned people of Gotham, that nothing was going to hurt you anymore.

But that wasn't the right time to do that, to say anything more than everything's going to be alright and to hope that you were going to believe that.

He had to do it right, otherwise, you'd hate him and everything he'd been working on would be destroyed in a blink of an eye.

He closed the door and quietly so you wouldn't hear, he turned the key to lock them.

You rolled to your left side and glanced at the radio. Your head started to hurt as you tried to gather the pieces of information you had and come to some logical conclusion. It was difficult, almost pointless, like having to put pieces of puzzle together when you had no picture of how it supposed to look like and you missed the important ones, like: why Arthur claimed to be Joker now and how did he know about the fire and what had happened in the hospital? There were more questions than answers and you hated to be left in the dark.

You rubbed your eyes and gave up on thinking. Your head slowly turned on its own radio station as your memory picked up the song that had been playing some minutes ago. You'd heard it before and even remember the lyrics to it. And even though It was just a random song from the radio, you didn't know why, but somehow the lyrics spoke to your subconscious mind giving you an impression like there was some creepy meaning hidden in it. And it made you shiver in dread.

Oh my darlin I love you You don't know how much I doo ooo

Except my great big bundle of love And you're gonna see

🖤 🤡  🖤 🤡 🖤 🤡  🖤 🤡  🖤 🤡  🖤 🤡  🖤 🤡  🖤 🤡  🖤 🤡  🖤 🤡  🖤 🤡  🖤 🤡 

Taglist: @curiouswildi, @greensadmoon, @obsessedandthirsty, @lady-carnivals-stuff, @creamofcorpse, @posessedxparrot, @geronimosanna

[luciddeparture]

Is Meditation for Morons?

I’m can’t exactly recall the first time I decided to meditate. I just know what happened when I finally bothered to learn how to. It has since had a profound effect on my life. 

Now I know what you are probably thinking… “Meditation? I don’t need any of that woo woo crap in my life.” That’s at least how I used to feel about it, but who knows? Maybe you are a little bit less cynical than I was. 

It is somewhat ironic that I am now the one who is writing a blog on meditation and its benefits.

When I first heard about meditation I immediately dismissed it, until I rediscovered it about two years ago whilst listening to a podcast called The Tim Ferris Show. The podcast is a series of interviews where Tim Ferris interviews top performers in a variety of fields from all around the world. Surprisingly, over “80% of the people [he] interviews have some form of meditation practice”. That’s a significant percentage! I’m by no means insinuating that we all need to be world-class performers, but I feel that it could not hurt to learn from those who are achieving high levels of success. Especially when there is an easily identifiable common trait, which in this case is meditation. 

It slowly became clearer and clearer to me that meditation might be less bullshit than I had originally anticipated. 

Before we get into things, it is important to acknowledge that although meditation is now becoming increasingly commercialised and “trendy” in Western Cultures, meditation has been a huge component of many spiritual practices for many hundreds of years. In the East, meditation played a huge role in particular in both Hinduism and Buddhism. The earliest records of Meditation can be found in the Vedas, a religious text written in Sanskrit in 500bc.  After reading the Vedas the Buddha added his own spin too, developing his own technique called Satipatthana, which is now most commonly known as Mindfulness. The direct translation is Sati (Attention) or (Remember) + Upa (Inside) + Thana (to keep) So Satipatthana means: To keep your attention inside. 

Transcendental Meditation was introduced to the West in part by the popular culture of the 1960’s. A notable contribution was The Beatles sharing their experiences after visiting India. Although Mindfulness meditation was introduced much later to Western Cultures. Throughout this article I will primarily be discussing the effects of Mindfulness Meditation.

Over the last few years, the process of meditation, as well as its effects, has become a rapidly expanding subfield of neurological research. One of the most interesting experiments involved scientists conducting tests on a Monk, finding that although he was 41 he had the brain of a 33 year old. They gave him an FMRI scan while asking him to cultivate a sense of compassion by meditating, and the neural activity in his empathy circuits grew by 700-800%!  One of the researches later wrote “Such an extreme increase befuddles science.” 

When most of us anticipate getting burned our pain receptors act as though we are already suffering. So much so that when the pain actually comes nothing really changes. Once the physical stimulus stops the mental pain slowly subsides. Expert meditators act much less in anticipation of the pain and feel the pain more intensely while the stimulus is present. Their awareness of the pain ceases immediately as soon as the stimulus is removed.  

Interestingly enough, the emotional centre for  the brain, the Amygdala, acts in a similar fashion to the pain response. Meditators are often much better at responding in anticipation to emotional stress.

I’m someone who has always lived predominately inside their thoughts, probably leaning on the more erratic side. The thought of being able to sit in silence sorta freaked me out, not to mention seeming borderline impossible.

To understand what my mind looks like, you need to look no further than The Simpsons. Remember that scene where Homer is listening to Marge and inside his brain a monkey is clanging symbols? That’s the relationship I had with my brain almost all of the time. I believe this is the same for most of us. 

Let’s put this to the test. You, my lucky reader, can be the test subject of a little experiment on your own psyche. For the next minute, I want you to close your eyes and just do your best to focus solely on your breath. 3…2..1. GO! 

How did you go? Did you get lost in your thoughts? Did you forget entirely that you were even trying to focus at all? Where did your mind take you? Your relationship (or lack of)? Work? Or maybe even what you might have for dinner?

I found that when I first began meditating my mind would sometimes find itself distracted on the most obscure things. The reason why I am illustrating this point is because often when I speak to others who have tried meditation for the first time, I hear “I tried meditation, and it’s not for me - I just think too much”. I hate to say it, but these are the people who probably should be learning to meditate most of all. 

The way I see meditation, is similar to closing background apps on your phone. It saves battery, and it just makes your phone faster. No brainer. I believe the same is true with meditation and giving your brain a break from constantly thinking. 

A lot of the people who are reading this article will have grown up with internet access. Therefore,  you have been bombarded with external stimuli in each and every moment. Bzzz, Bzzzz, Bzzzzzzzz. I’m sure that most of you will have received a messages even whilst reading this article.

Our brains have been over stimulated and are in a constant state of overdrive. Even when we are asleep our brains are constantly thinking, even if it is in the form of dreams! Obviously that isn’t a negative on it’s own, in fact sleep is crucial for the brain. But when you add everything up it’s a lot for a brain that has only been subject to this much stimuli for around 15 years - the first iPhone only came out 13 years ago. 

As you discovered just before, learning to “not think” doesn’t happen instantly. Like you, when I first attempted to sit in silence and tried to focus on my breath it did not work. My monkey mind remained supreme. Once again I was convinced that it wasn’t for me. But like all skills, meditation takes time and discipline to both learn, and improve. 

I’m not saying this to deter you, it’s just the truth. An easy comparison might be to say that you wanted to learn how to play a musical instrument. It would be ridiculous to expect that you would be able to play your favourite song after your first time attempting to pick up the instrument. The same logic can be applied to meditation. It takes time, practice and discipline - however unlike musical instruments, you bring your mind to all situations in life. In my opinion, sharpening your ability to think is well worth the investment. According to scientific studies Mindfulness meditation induces big changes in the minds of experts, but when beginners first meditate not much happens.

At its core, the aim of meditation is to become more present in each moment by focusing and training attention and awareness. This is to achieve a mentally clear and emotionally calm and stable state. This in turn gives you the ability to have significantly more control of how you react to external and internal stimuli when they arise in your life.

In Mindfulness meditation, the goal is to act as an observer whilst focusing on your breath, watching your conscious experience as thoughts and sensations arise and disappear. 

As mentioned earlier we are often multi tasking, with tech and external stimuli, but even whilst we are not, we remain deep in thought. We are often living in the past or in the future through memory rather than in each and every moment.  

Meditation helps you learn how to not be constantly reactive to stimuli on the inside or outside. When I meditate, I find that it simply quiets my mind. It’s a simple reset of the brain allowing me to slow down and focus solely on the present. 

Another way of looking at it is that meditation is like going to the gym. You can see it as a way of working out your mind. To begin with your mind will wander, time traveling from the past to the future. But with practice you can slowly train your mind to become more present.

Being present throughout the day allows me to consciously make better decisions, rather than just remaining on autopilot. 

As hedge fund billionaire Ray Dalio puts it “When you're centred, your emotions are not hijacking you”. “Meditation is 'the single most important reason for my success.”

If you are looking to start meditation, Mindfulness meditation apps are a great way to initially learn how to meditate. I still find myself using one most days. Having tried all of them, I would recommend Sam Harris’ Waking Up app. Its thirty day training course is clear and concise and an awesome starting point to learn how to meditate. After that, new daily meditations appear on the app. Harris is a Neuroscientist and an Atheist and breaks meditation down in a way that is less spiritual which might make more sense to a western audience. 

Worried it’s going to cost too much? If you can’t afford a subscription, you can email the help section and receive a one year free subscription. No questions asked. You have no excuse not to try it! 

Other Mindfulness app alternatives are: 

- Headspace - Andy Puddicombe

- Smiling Mind (An Australian non-profit alternative)

For further learning check out these guys:

Sam Harris, Mooji, Ram Dass and Andy Puddicombe

I am by no means an expert in this field, I just wanted to share something which has improved the quality of my life by at least 10%. I hope that it works for you too! 

[an-orca-on]

Therian Q’s ... 2!!!

I did this questionnaire several years ago, and thought it might be fun to do again! I know some of my answers are gonna be different, and it’s a neat way for any new followers to learn a bit about me. Let’s go!

What animal do you identify as?

Orcinus orca, the "killer whale".

Where does it live?

Orcas live all over the world! There are several types, but the most well known are probably the Southern Resident Killer Whales of the Puget Sound area. I think that I was a Northern Resident Killer Whale, but I’m not entirely sure. The icy stark landscape of the Antarctic still feels really familiar too.

Are you social or more of a lone wolf?

Orcas live in pods, and are social. I am so social. Please talk to me. Aaaa.

Are you in a pack,herd,pride,clan,etc? If not, did you consider joining one?

I’ve wanted this for awhile, but getting out is hard for me. I’m in a couple Discord servers for kin stuff, but nothing specifically orca related.

Is your kintype also your favourite animal?

One of them, yes!

Is your kintype being hunted? If yes, how does it affect you emotionally?

Currently, no. They have been in the past, and there are still orcas in captivity, which I hate. Cetaceans are extremely intelligent and keeping them in captivity is torture. Literally.

Do you have anything from your kintype? Like, fur, teeth, etc?

That’s SUPER ILLEGAL, so no. I do have a Free Willy pendant, though.

Do you have astral limbs?

Sometimes! They’re not as strong as with some other kintypes, and I suspect that it’s because the astral limbs don’t translate very well to a human body plan. A whale’s tail is not from the legs, it’s an extension of the spine. So instead of tacking that feeling onto the human shape, my brain sort of shuffles the feeling off to the side.

Do you experience shifts?

Not as much for this kintype. I think the strongest “shifty” feelings I get are actually emotional - relating to love of places, my pod, the water, the feeling of being “me” in that form.

What triggers your ‘wild side’ the most?

Being in water. Water and whale sounds. The feel of cold air on my skin. The smell of salty ocean air.

What is your opinion on the buttloads of wolves and big cats out here?

They’re easy and accessible. Most of us know what a wolf and a cat are. We can imagine what they look like, and feel like, and what their life is like. There’s tons of media out there of both, they’re popular in spiritual work, people can identify common archetypal traits with them that they have themselves. I think it’s silly to look down on someone for having a “common” kintype like wolf or lynx or whatever. Even if they find out later that they’re not that kintype, it gave them a jumping off point to explore themselves and dig deeper into what otherkinity means for them. tldr; it’s none of my beeswax and y’all should chill about this.

How does your kintype affect your day-to-day-life?

I’m staunchly anti-cetacean-captivity. I would love to get more involved in local action to protect the ocean, I try to be environmentally conscious. I care deeply about my chosen people.

Do you share any traits generally associated with your theriotype?

I adore swimming and being in the water. I’m very sensitive to sounds. I have sort of a restrictive diet for health reasons. I’m very social.

Worst example of fluff you ever encountered, either in IRL or Online?

Sttoooopp asking this quesstiiiooonnnnnn seriously, seriously, get over yourselves if “fluff” bothers you I promise you will be a happier person if you just let other people lives their own lives when it doesn’t affect you at ALL.

Is therianthropy important in your life?

Yes and no. Is it important enough to affect (some) of my life goals and dreams? Yes. Is it important enough that I have to tell absolutely everyone I meet? No.

Imagine you could shift into your theriotype. There’s just one downside; the shift is forever. Would you still do it and abandon your human life?

I would need some time to think about it, but it sure is tempting.

Is there anything you consider a treat? Like, fruits, dog treats, etc.

For the whale? S a l m o n.

Do you have contacts with therians IRL?

Y...es? I think so. But the line between IRL and Online friends is a lot more blurry than it used to be, I think.

Do you think someone of your family is a therian?

Probably Not.

What is your opinion on those otherkin documentaries? Do you think they’re accurate?

I think that even if they are accurate to the people that are in the show, you’re never going to get the whole picture of what being otherkin is like. I’ve always heard, and said myself, that if you ask 10 people what otherkin is you’re going to get 15 answers because everyone’s internal concept of the phenomenon is different. Plus, positivity and joy doesn’t sell the same way cringe and angst does. [shrug emoji]

Do you actively work to preserve or otherwise care for your species?

Hard to do, living in a really landlocked area and being poor - but I would love to be more active this way.

What do you think your purpose is here? Do you think you have one?

I hate this question. Is it not enough to just Be?

Do you think having an animal soul is an advantage or a disadvantage?

Neither. I think it’s just an interesting experience on the enormously varied spectrum of being an incarnated being.

Any physical activity that reminds you of your theriotype?

Being in the water and swimming. But this can be frustrating more than a fun and joyful experience. As I mentioned earlier, a whales tail is not formed from legs - it’s the spine. So trying to swim “mermaid style” is NOT the same motion as a whale swimming, and it’s a really awkward and uncomfortable movement when my body feels like it should be a smooth and graceful one.

Does weather influence you in your non-human perception?

Cold feels very familiar. Cold and dark, driving rain.

Day or Night?

Still night.

Summer or Winter?

Winter.

If you had kids, would you tell them you’re a therian or would you keep it a secret?

I don’t think I’d keep it a secret, but I don’t know if I’d approach it as “moddy is a therian.” I struggled for a good couple minutes searching to come up with a gender neutral parent term and I still don’t know if I like that one, sheesh.

Would you make a presentation in your school/work/office about therianthropy?

Sure! I think it’s a lot less “taboo” now than it used to be, and there’s likely more kin out there than you’re aware of.

If you have any questions about my answers here or just questions in general about me, therianthropy, orcas, etc...send me an ask! <3