#also just noticing i didn’t fucking finish the family portrait but that’s not my problem

[vaccumajksjsjs]

guys,,, new and improved blaine family art just dropped⁉️⁉️

jkjk BUT i finally got around to drawing the family w all the new members bc found family has a grip on me rn-

idk how the quality is bc this was drawn on a fairly large canvas compared to the ones i usually draw on so

i’ll give y’all close ups bc it’s also good for introducing them one by one💪💪

e: the tired parent of 1000000 kids.

elijiah(ellie): one of e’s adopted siblings who sees e as more of a third parent most days. he loves being in high places.

evelynn(lynn): ellie’s twin, and another of e’s adopted siblings. lynn is the kid who eats mud pies and insists everyone else does too.

percival: the oldest of the 4 legal kids e adopted, they’re a peacekeeper between the kids.

noah: the baby of the family!!! also one of the legal 4.

artemis: the wild child. 2nd oldest of the legal 4 (i feel like it sounds like a club- like i gotta capitalize it or something now damn) and also an ai.

katherine(katie): brandon’s little sister that he lost in the divorce /hj- she’s the shyest of them all.

owen: the little goopy slime alien thing who i love dearly <33 e found them and said “is anyone gonna take them? no? then they’re mine” and although legally e doesn’t have custody, they’re basically e’s kid and lives w the family. as a bonus, they can both bond over being legally not sentient beings <3

HELP I CAN’T SELECT ANY MORE IMAGES I’M CRYING

guess we gonna have to finish this in another post-

[startanewdream]

James and/or Sirius laughing at Harry for growing (or trying to) grow a beard 🧔

That’s it

That’s my comment

Ahhh, it's midnight for me I work early tomorrow but I just *had* to write something along these lines!

Set during winter break at Year 6 (or my fave pining Harry time). Warning for some slang and also that I edited on the phone

________

“Fuck. No, no, it can’t be… fuck!”

The first slang would have made Sirius stop on his way down the hall, but the tone of desolation that follows it, added by the most hopelessness he has ever heard in Harry's voice, makes him open the door to his godson’s bedroom without waiting for an answer.

(Always risky when it comes to teenagers, but it seems to be an emergency)

The first thing he notices is the rotten smell, then the smoke coming out of a cauldron with the fire beneath still lit; sparkles are coming out of Harry’s wand, which he holds high (underage magic? That he won’t tell), but then Sirius’ gaze falls on Harry’s face and he ignores anything else.

Because on Harry’s face there is something so horrendous that Sirius won’t dare to call it a beard. It’s hair.

Harry’s chin spots the same hair as in his head. It’s a dark messy beard that makes him look as if his hair grew all around his mouth.

“What the hell?”

“Don’t laugh!” Harry tells him immediately, a little bit threatening, but Sirius is truly too shocked to even break a smile. This thing is too ghastly for even him to crack a joke about it. “I… I messed up, okay?”

“Kid, that’s an overstatement,” Sirius says, getting closer to his godson slowly. He touches his beard. “How did you get hair on your chin? That’s the weirdest thing I’ve ever seen.”

“Ugh.” Harry throws a guilty look to the cauldron on the floor. “It’s Grandpa Monty’s fault.”

“Unless his ghost came back to screw your face, it seems as if you did this to yourself, kid.”

“No, I… Look!” He picks a scroll, waving it in front of Sirius’ nose. “I found his old notes in the attic. Five-Second Eazybeard! I swear I brewed the potion exactly as he wrote.”

Sirius eyes the smelly potion.

“Are you sure it was your granddad’s notes? This doesn’t seem like Monty's style at all.”

“Well… I thought so. He was the potioneer in the family, right? And he invented Sleekeazy!”

“And then he didn’t launch anything else,” Sirius reminds him, looking at the potion instructions.

“Because he was rich enough and didn’t need more money?”

Sirius laughs. “Nah, Monty was curious enough to keep inventing. This was probably an attempt that didn’t work.” Sirius shakes his head, smirking. “Look, I am not trying to pull a Lily here, but trying untested potions? That’s a bad idea, Harry.”

"I haven't had problems so far," Harry mumbles to himself. As Sirius is about to ask him what he means by that, Harry grabs his hand suddenly. "I learned the lesson, ok? Now you gotta help me!"

Sirius lifts an eyebrow. "The only thing that would help you is a scissor."

"I've tried! The bathroom is full of this thing, but it just grew back! I've tried to cut it magically, and it's all the same. You are the adult here, do something!"

"What do you want me to do? I can't do an antidote just looking at the ingredient list! You need Lily, just call her—"

"I…" the part of Harry's face that is not covered by hair flushes. "I can't. She is at the Burrow now, helping Mrs Weasley with the New Year's party."

"Then let's go, I am sure it will be easy for her—"

"No!" Harry looks in panic now, his eyes widened. "She cannot know what… what happened."

"Lily will know as soon as—"

"Not… not Mum, it's… look, that's fine. Mum will be back tomorrow, I will just spend the New Year hiding in my room pretending I don't exist."

"Harry… there's nothing to be embarrassed about. You know, growing hair body is perfectly normal at your age—"

"Ugh, stop teasing me."

"I wish I could, but you look truly horrible." Sirius winks at him, sitting on Harry's bed. "What prompted you to do this?"

Harry's flush intensifies.

"I was trying to grow a beard."

"Oh, really?"

"It's… it's stupid, okay? But Ginny was… I mean, I heard some girls saying that they enjoyed guys with a beard and I can only grow that stupid stubble and—argh—I just thought I could give it a try but now I have hair growing all around my head and—"

"You are babbling, kid, I got it."

"No, you don't." Harry runs his hand through his hair, looking very much like James when he is most nervous. "You get to grow a beard when you want it. You get this whole shining hair. You get women to sigh for you and I… I am just this stupid teenager who can't even have a full beard."

Sirius blinks. "You are worrying way too much, Harry. And, well, if you want to be assured, you are nice—girls have taken a fancy to you, haven't they?"

"That's just the Chosen One thing, it's not really… me."

Sirius fights back a smile. Harry seems really desolate.

"Look, you've grown well. You are still growing. I am sure people notice you. You have your mother's gorgeous eyes and you do look like James—if there is any comfort in this, I remind you that James got Lily to feel attracted to him, so you can't be that bad." Harry frowns, and Sirius isn't sure if it's because he doesn't want to think of their parents being attracted to each other or if because he doesn't trust Lily's opinion on this matter. "I am sure Ginny thinks you are attractive, beard or no beard."

Harry jumps.

"Who said anything—"

"Oh, are we still pretending you don't fancy her?"

Harry looks away. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

"Yeah, sure. So you don't mind going to the Burrow now and showing up like this?"

"Of course I do! I mean… Ron would tease me."

"Ron."

"And the twins. I mean, look at this!"

"Yeah, I would be upset if they didn't. So many joke opportunities. You are hairy, Harry."

Harry puts his hands in front of his face. Sirius refrains from telling him this doesn't hide his beard at all.

"So… what do I do now?"

"We truly need Lily's help on this… we need to go to the Burrow."

"I can't—"

"Don't worry." Sirius breathes heavily. "Your godfather won't leave you alone on this."

_________

"It was an accident, Lily," Sirius tells her, his hand playing with the hair over his chin. His new grown hair beard reaches his chest and Sirius is almost finishing a braid by now. "I was trying some old potion, and then Harry was close and it just splashed in both of us."

Lily lifts her eyebrows, her eyes moving from Sirius to Harry and then back.

"An accident?" she repeats, incredulous.

"I am so sorry," he says, the portrait of innocence. "Could you help us with an antidote? And before you say anything, I know I shouldn't have tested an unknown potion. But do this for Harry, not for me. Poor kid doesn't deserve to spend the night hiding. It's a New Year's party after all!"

Lily shakes her head, amused.

"Fine, because you asked so eloquently. I will grab my potion kit, a hair inhibitor should be enough."

"You truly are the best, Lily," Sirius tells her, beaming.

Harry waits until his mother is out of the room to let out a relieved breath.

"Thanks so much, Sirius," he says.

Sirius nods, still messing with the hair on his chin. It's so weird and it looks as ghastly in him as it does on Harry.

He doesn't regret applying that potion to his face. His sacrifice worked just as he planned to: with two people having hair growing out of their chins, the attention was divided and with Sirius taking the blame, people felt sorry enough for Harry to not mock him much.

"Hey," they turn around to see Ginny coming closer, holding a tray with some sandwiches for them. "Mum thought you would be hungry while hiding here."

"Thanks," Sirius says, because Harry seems too busy pretending to look outside the window, anything so he can try to avoid Ginny looking at his beard.

Ginny nods at Sirius, but she approaches Harry anyway.

"Your mum is already working on the antidote, don't worry," she tells him gently. "Look, it's not as bad as that time Percy tried to grow a moustache, remember?"

Harry chuckles. "You are so lying."

"I would never," she assures him, voice light. "Look at me."

Harry turns to her almost as if he can't control it. His eyes soften as he gazes upon her, and Sirius is suddenly reminded of how Lily always looks when she sees James.

Ginny raises her hand slowly, giving Harry plenty of time to back away, but he just stays quiet as she touches his beard, her fingers running through it. Sirius suspects Harry isn't even breathing anymore.

"It's soft," she tells Harry and for a moment they just stare at each other. Sirius decides that he is really witnessing a moment that he doesn't want to, but his attempt to quietly leave the room only alerts them to his presence. Ginny's hand falls back as if she got electrocuted. "Anyway, you look better without it."

Harry grimaces. "I guess that stupid stubble is better than this."

"Stupid stubble?" Ginny blinks, evidently surprised. "It's not stupid, I… I mean, girls love it on you."

"They do?"

"Yeah, well, just thinking about your stubble brushing my skin—I mean, their skin, as in other girls' shoulders, or holding your face while… never mind, I just… I just heard it, that's all. You are drawing a lot of attention."

"I know, all this Chosen One stupid thing—"

"It's not it... you are really oblivious to your charm, Harry."

"You think I am charming?" Harry asks, longing evident in his voice now.

"I…" Ginny hesitates, turning away as if she doesn't want to answer this while looking at Harry, and her eyes meet Sirius. He smirks at her, knowing perfectly well her answer. Ginny's face reddens even as her jaw sets in a protective instance. "Yeah, with the stubble. Everyone knows it. It's common knowledge. I… I have to go, I think I heard Mum calling me."

Sirius could point out that Molly didn't call her at all, but he opts for just letting Ginny go, his smirk more than enough to let her know she didn't fool him.

At the other corner of the room, Harry's face is spotting a huge grin, watching the door with a dreamy expression.

"She likes my stubble!" He declares happily. "Oh, I need to take off this stupid long beard now."

Sirius shakes his head at Harry, amused. At least Harry won't ever complain about his inability to grow a beard again.

[acciomalfoy]

BETROTHED (DRACO MALFOY X READER)

Summary: To avoid you being betrothed to an old man, Draco comes up with a plan.

—

"Dear Y/n, your mother and I have discussed your coming of age in great depth, and we have decided your betrothal has been delayed far too long. We will begin meeting with potential suitors immediately, as far too many eyes are watching us. We're looking forward to seeing you at Christmas. Best wishes, your Father."

I gasped as I crumpled the letter, shoving it deep into my pocket. How could they do this? I knew I shouldn't have opened anything from them in the Great Hall, but as the tears fell, I only just remembered why. I stood up quickly and walked as fast as I could out of the Hall. As soon as I was out, I broke off running, my loud sobs echoing in the castle. Paintings stared at me as I ran past, their disapproving eyes raking me over.

"How did that one get into Slytherin?" I heard one murmur, a snicker followed. I ran straight around one of the corners, and smacked right into someone.

"L/n?" Godric, why? Malfoy held my wrists in front of me, staring into my blotchy face.

"Let go of me." I sniffed, and tried to pull away. His grip only tightened, but his tone softened.

"L/n. What's wrong? Did someone say something to you?" His voice sounded concerned, but this was Draco Malfoy of all people. Did the boy even know what the word meant?

"M-My parents!" Tears rolled down and down my face. I didn't want to be married to a sixty year old man. I wanted to be free to love who I yearned to, like the Weasley's were.

"What about them? Are they okay?" When I lowered my head, he let go of one of my wrists to lift it.

"They're betrothing me!" I wiped my nose and another round of sobs overtook me. Of course, I knew a girl two years below me who was already married off, but for some reason I never thought it would happen to me. One of my friends was, but Tracy swore he was only twenty. A name like Engleberton doesn't sound like it belongs to a twenty year old.

"I'm sorry, L/n. You know, it does happen to pretty much every Slytherin. Who's it to?" And then we were hugging, in the middle of a corridor. I knew his problems were so much bigger than him, or me, but for some reason he was listening to me. He was caring about what I had to say.

"I don't know. They've only just begun the meetings. My life is over!" He patted my back, and I tried not to cry on him, I really did. But then my nose and my eyes were leaking, me being powerless to stop them.

"How would you feel about being betrothed to someone in Hogwarts." His head leant on mine, and I really didn't know what was happening.

"Pretty much every pureblood is inbred here. I think I'm the only one who isn't. If only Pansy's parents weren't cousins, maybe she wouldn't have that nose." He stepped back, and looked at me.

"I'm not." He murmured, and I almost had to lean forward to hear it. He wasn't inbred? Damn, could've fooled me.

"Listen, Malfoy. I appreciate it, I really do. I used to have a crush on you, back in third year. The thing is, you've changed. You're a slave, and the binding tattoo on your arm is the only thing stopping me from kissing you right now. I really wish we could have worked through it, but there is no way in hell that I will ever, ever have an allegiance to him. I would rather die." When I jerked my arm back, his fingers fell.

"I'm sorry, Malfoy. I really am." I forgot about the reason he was being nice, and remembered I was probably going to be married to a sixty year old. I shed another tear, and walked away from the saviour. If he couldn't save himself, then he couldn't save me.

"Wait!" He shouted after me, and I turned around in surprise.

"What if I changed sides?" His eyes were wild, and mine widened. Was he..?

"Malfoy, you don't have to do that." I looked at him, the impulsive slytherin, and sighed.

"I do. If I want to have you, then I have to. You said so. I'll go owl mother and, well, I'll see." With that, he turned around and walked away, in a similar way to I had. Except he wasn't crying, or even sniffling. He was being a saviour, and he was trying.

When I turned in the opposite direction, I realised what it meant. He was really trying to protect me. I had always assumed Pansy and Malfoy would end up married with little blonde pug babies. I had never seemed to catch his eye, except now, when it mattered most. I reached into my pocket to pull out the crumpled letter, and reread it. Godric, I hoped Draco would help me.

A week had passed when Pansy came barrelling into the Great Hall, a newspaper clutched in her hand. She was waving it about, and I couldn't hear what she was saying.

"Engaged! Can you believe it?" She shrieked as she passed some students. When her eyes caught mine, she raced over.

"When were you going to tell me? Salazar, Y/n! You know I like him! We were always meant to be together. Fuck, this really stings. You're my best friend, how could you do this?" Her eyes started watering, and I snatched the newspaper out of her hand.

"The Malfoys and L/n's exciting news? What the fuck?" I skimmed the front page, and I felt bile rising in my throat.

"Oh my Godric, I'm-I'm going to be sick!" I looked around desperately, but I couldn't see a single thing nearby that I could throw up in.

"L/n!" Malfoy was yelling at me, and as soon as I saw him I couldn't help it. My vomit flew all over him, and I stared at him.

"How could you? You evil bastard!" I shouted at him before shouldering him as I ran past. Fucking cow! How on earth could he do this? Deep down, I already knew what I was going to do. If my betrothed was a death eater, then I would have to talk to Harry. Harry Potter could help me, he would have to help me.

I knew where the Gryffindor common room was, thanks to being study partners with Hermione. Smartest girl I've ever known. I ran up the stairs, swallowing the taste of vomit in my throat. I cast a quick spell, and the scent vanished, as well as my uniform being cleaned up. I knocked desperately on the portrait, and a first year opened it.

"I need Harry." If Harry came, then I knew the other two would. Sure enough, Harry was in the middle, the other two flanking him.

"Y/n! I heard the news! Are you okay?" He was hugging me, and I was reminded of how sweet he was.

"No, I'm not. Malfoy's a death eater, I'm sure you already suspected it. I told him last week I wasn't getting married to him if he was on that side, and he said he would change sides. He hasn't, and I haven't heard anything to show that he is. I need your help to put him on the right path, or I'm going to have to leave Hogwarts. Permanently. I'll be running away if I have to marry a death eater." I said it quickly, but the golden trio caught every word. Hermione's hand went to her mouth, but it was more in horror than surprise.

"We suspected, but we didn't know for sure." Hermione said, looking at me quite sadly.

"We have to go to Dumbledore. He can help us. Draco can join the order-" Harry began.

"No, Harry. For Malfoy to join the order, he has to be one hundred percent loyal. He has to go against everything he's been taught, and the very role he is destined to fill. He has to abandon his family, unless they are willing also. This is incredibly serious. We have to talk to him first." Hermione finished. Harry nodded slowly.

"I'll check the map." He turned around, and I watched his retreating figure as he went up the stairs.

"Thank you guys. You're seriously the best. I can't tell you how much I appreciate it." Ron looked uncomfortable, but Hermione smiled back. They gestured for me to come inside, and the portrait closed behind me.

"It would be an incredible advantage to have the Malfoy's on our side. That's practically an unlimited funding, and with their high status they may be the deciding factor in whether other families join us. I only hope we can convince them." Hermione brushed a hair out of her face as Harry came thundering down the stairs.

"He's in Dumbledore's office!" Harry pointed at his name, and I stared. He was doing it. I didn't know why he was trying so hard to help me. I couldn't help but wonder if he had ulterior motives. Malfoy has hardly noticed me, I'm not sure he's uttered a word to me. And now? Now he's going to the ends of the earth for me. I didn't know what to think.

"He must really care for you." Hermione put a hand on my shoulder, and I nodded, swallowing thickly.

"I know it's horrible of me to wonder, but he hasn't shown any interest in me for the five and a half years that we've been at Hogwarts. Surely, if he was doing all this to help me, he would have?" I looked wildly at the three best friends, and they gazed back at me, almost pityingly.

"He has, Y/n. He really has." Ron said. I shook my head.

"He hasn't. He seriously hasn't." Ron laughed, but his heart wasn't in it.

"In first year, I called you Malfoy's girlfriend when he was picking on us. He screamed at me, and then he threatened to snap my wand if I said your name again." Ron looked almost spooked at the memory, and I rolled my eyes.

"That's him being protective of a fellow Slytherin, not him having a crush." Hermione raised her eyebrows, and I raised mine back.

"Fine. I caught him doodling your name and his, with hearts around them." Hermione looked smug, and I laughed.

"Probably drawing crosses through my name." They all sighed.

"D'you remember last time gryffindor versed slytherin? When Malfoy fell off his broom?" Godric, how could I forget? He had an empty look in his eyes, and it scared me.

"Yeah?" I didn't know how on earth they could relate this one to me.

"He was making fun of me, so I told him I had a crush on you. I said something like, after I ask Y/n to celebrate gryffindor winning, we'll see who's laughing. I think that's what I said. He went completely white, even paler than normal. Then a gust of wind came, and it was like he wanted to fall. He let the wind take him." Harry looked at me, and I knew, deep down, he was telling the truth. A knock at the portrait interrupted us. I moved aside, and Hermione opened it. She stared.

"Who is it? Oh, blimey." Ron took a peek, and he didn't like what he saw. I poked my head around to see Malfoy. His eyes caught mine, and I looked away to see his robes were no longer covered in vomit. Good for him.

"Y/n, please come talk to me." My first name sounded foreign on his tongue. I looked at my friends, and despite their hatred for Malfoy, they nodded. I stepped hesitantly, and the portrait closed behind me. He gestured for me to walk with him, so I did.

"I owled my mother last week, like I told you. She didn't reply, and when the newspaper was released this morning I found out, just like everyone else. I know you're not willing to be a slave to Him like the rest of my family, and I agree. I've been given a task by Him, and I don't intend on doing it. I talked to my mother in a firecall this morning, and they are moving into a location known only to them, and the secret keeper, much like Potter's parents. They'll be protected there, and I'm protected here. I'm trying to fix this, Y/n, I really am." It was a lot of information, and he took my hand as he was speaking. The Malfoy's were going into hiding. That alone was massive. Their assets must have been frozen and transferred, so He can't access the funding. I looked at him, and squeezed his hand.

"Thank you, Malfoy. It really does mean a lot. I have to ask you, why are you doing this?" We stopped walking, and he looked down.

"I've had a crush on you since first year, and I've wanted you for three." Godric knew what he meant by 'want'. I kissed him, right there in the middle of the hall, because his nose was dotted in faint freckles, and never before had someone been so determined to help me.

He kissed me back.

[obeiii-mee]

Hi there! If its okay, could i ask for headcannons of the brothers finding out MC is an Artist? Something like, finding there sketchbook or napkins w doodles on them jfjdjs Or maybe they catch MC glancing at them alot while trying to draw them? hfjd Ty!! Your writing is really good~

Of course it’s OK! I’ve always liked the idea of MC having a really interesting hobby and teaching the brothers about it. I feel like all the brothers would be very supportive of them, even if they all had various reactions to their hobby but I really love writing wholesome moments like that. Sorry this took longer to come out, I made them really long to make up for it!

Also thank you. Your compliment means a lot :)

————————————-

The Brothers’ reactions to MC being an artist:

Lucifer:

-Well if you’re going to glance at him every two minutes, he’s bound to notice

-I mean, you’re pretty damn obvious

-Lucifer got pretty used to you whipping out your sketchbook whenever you could

-So for you to start doodling in his office while he worked wasn’t exactly unheard of

-He caught you staring at him before looking back down at your drawing, continuing your series of furious scribbles

-Now you piqued his interest

-“You seem very focused there love. What are you drawing?”

-Scared the crap out of you because he rarely ever talks when he’s working

-You were reluctant to show him but Lucifer has his insisting face on

-When you passed him the sketchbook, he momentarily froze

-Your drawing was so detailed and full of emotion, capturing him slumped over his desk, exhausted but determined to finish the work he’s been assigned

-He was so surprised and stunned, for a second, he forgot to breathe

-“It’s not exactly one of my best drawings yet but-“

-“You never fail to impress me MC.”

-He suspected you were drawing him but he wasn’t expecting this much effort to be put into it

-He would definitely keep all your drawings of him

-Loves all your work but secretly adores your sketches of him best

-Lucifer would occasionally look over your shoulder while you sketch, taking a peek at what you’re drawing and smile to himself

-He’s never felt this much pride for someone else before

Mammon:

-Was pissed you would rather spend time with an object rather than him

-It annoyed him at first because he couldn’t tell if you were listening to him or not while you had your nose stuck in your sketchbook

-Basically, he was jealous of a sketchbook

-You can’t do that Mammon, that’s Levi’s thing

-So one day he decided to see what the fuck was so great about that giant notebook you always have with you

-He turned your entire room upside down searching for the damn thing before finding it

-He flipped through it and I’m sure the entire House of Lamentation could hear his gasp

-You drew him for pages and pages in all sorts of positions and styles and he was a flustered tomato going through them

-You willingly drew him? The scum of a demon who could never do anything right unless it involved money? You put your time and effort into these sketches and doodles despite him being condescending and a dick at times?

-Excuse me but this man is already head over heels in love with you, you can’t keep giving him reasons to fall for you

-He was so engrossed into your work that he didn’t notice you behind him

-“Mammon why is there a mess in my room-“

-“HOLY SHI-AHHH!!!”

-Too embarrassed to even think of an excuse for going through your shit

-“Ah those...I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have drawn you without your permission Mammon-“

-“Are ya kiddin’ me? MC, I feel insulted that you didn’t tell me about this sooner. Can...Can I keep some of ‘em??”

-Now he insists that you draw him as often as possible and would even pose for you (he loves the attention let’s be real)

-He wants to see all of your drawings and will endlessly support you

-Thought about using your skill as a way to make money because art can be very expensive

-But in the end, he dropped the idea

-Why would he sell something so precious to him??

Levi:

-He probably has a sketchbook too

-You guys draw Ruri-chan together in your own styles

-Levi always insists that you’re much better at drawing than him tho

-Your talent makes him a little jealous but at the same time he’s fascinated

-Was so surprised when he found out you were into sketching

-Levi was even more surprised when you showed him all the drawings you’ve worked on for your favourite anime and video game characters

-OK but how come you’re so perfect? Not only are you a lovely person that is willing to watch anime with him without insulting his opinions but you can draw? W...h...a...t...?

-He requests several sketches of ‘The Tale of the Seven Lords’ characters and will actually tape them to his wall

-Some of them are right on his Ruri-chan shelf

-“Hey normie, do you...do you mind teaching me how to draw? I want to learn.”

-Is 100% determined to learn how to properly sketch from you

-You started drawing him as well, usually while he games

-You better stop, he’ll have a nosebleed if you keep being so nice to him!

-Draw him as an anime character and he will start fangirling

-“Phew. OK I’m finished.”

-“What did you draw?”

-“Hentai.”

-“This. Is. A. Masterpiece.”

-Will proudly show your work to his brothers (usually the same drawing more than five times)

-What did an otaku like him do to deserve you??

Satan:

-He found out you were an artist fairly quickly

-I meant he found tissues with doodles you left behind everywhere

-He kept all of them

-It was so refreshing for him to see you so invested in your drawings the same way he is in his reading

-You’re still under the impression you’re being sneaky by drawing him while he has his nose in his books

-You ended up finally gathering enough courage to show him one of your portraits of him

-He had a reaction similar to Lucifer’s really

-Praise!

-He made your drawing into a bookmark

-Idk how but he did

-You leave him a few doodles of you and him being all lovey dovey and he absolutely adores them

-Will lose his marbles if anyone says anything remotely negative about your style or talent

-Draw him fluffy animals pls he will literally have them framed and fixed up in his room

-Also if you draw any of his brothers (specifically Lucifer let’s be real) in a silly way he will actually start snorting with laughter

-You sketch him pretty damn often and he can’t really complain

-It’s really peaceful when you two are in the library and you’re working on your doodling while he reads aloud to you

-Buys you equipment like pens and pencils and even sketchbooks when he knows you’re running out

-He’s really delighted when you come over to show him your drawings

-Once he caught you staring at a cat as you started sketching it

-He actually didn’t think it was possible to love someone this much

Asmo:

-Noisy little fucker that he is and in need of drama, he looked through your sketchbook

-Thought it was a diary at first but nope

-Imagine his surprise when he found pages upon pages of drawings of his brothers and him

-Except his weren’t really a surprise

-He’s gorgeous of course you would want to draw him

-But oh my God, do you realise how much he values art??

-I know he looks as if he only thinks about sex but he definitely has a thing for creativity and art like painting and photography

-“MC darliiiing~? Why didn’t you tell me you can draw?”

-He actually shrieks at how well you’ve captured his beauty

-He insists that they look like actual pictures of him

-Takes several pictures of all of them and posts them on DevilGram

-A bit salty when you drawing anything else but him

-However, he can’t deny that you’re one of the most talented individuals he ever met

-He comes up to you every day and lractically begs you to draw him

-One time you came in your room to find him naked and asking you to draw him

-Is actually kinda good at drawing himself

-Specifically people

-He has enough experience exploring the human body so he surprisingly enough, knows a thing or two when it comes to body proportions

-“MC draw me like one of your french girls~”

-I’m sorry I had to do that

-He also likes the attention he’s getting when he poses for you

-He may think he’s the most beautiful being in all three realms but he definitely thinks you’re the second

-So he often offers to draw you too

-He likes having cozy chats with you while you draw

Beel:

-You left your sketchbook behind in the kitchen with him

-Mammon needed your assistance to get down from where Lucifer hanged him after one of his failed money schemes

-He knocked a glass of milk nearby it and had a panic attack for a minute

-Legitimately thought he ruined the whole thing

-Was actually about ready to cry because he knew how important your sketchbook was to you

-Looked through it just to make sure there were no splotches or anything

-To say he was relieved when he realised it was fine would be an understatement

-He was kinda drawn to your sketches, most of them carefully drawn and expressive, even some of the ones you scribbled out

-One specific drawing caught his eye though

-You drew him and Belphie together, with his twin brother’s head resting on his shoulder while Beel ate

-He was mesmerised by your talent and by your thoughtfulness

-Beel felt bad about it but he kept looking through your sketches, enchanted by everything in it

-You drew him and his brothers several times

-It’s safe to say the discovery of your drawings brightened his day

-Gave back your sketchbook later

-He apologised for going through it without your permission more than he needed to

-You had to accept his apology because he looked like a kicked puppy

-Feels very honoured whenever you let him look at your work

-Is more than happy to pose for you!

-But that might be a bit of a problem seeing as he tends to move around a lot

-“Whoa, that looks just like me! The food I’m eating looks really realistic too...which is making me hungry. Let’s go to Hell’s Kitchen, you can finish this there!”

-Supportive bean

-You gave him a family sketch of him and all of his brothers once

-Normally, he only likes gifts he can eat

-But he treasures that drawing more than food at times

-“This...this is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me! Thank you MC! But uh, someone’s missing in this drawing.”

-“Ah shit, who did I miss?”

-“You.”

-If anything ever happens to Beel or his happiness I swear to Lord Diavolo-

Belphie:

-OK but you left your notebook just sitting there right next to him???

-How do you expect him not to look through it?

-Belphie doesn’t care much for privacy

-And he doesn’t exactly have morals either

-He didn’t even know you were into drawing

-Which to be fair, wasn’t scandalous considering he sleeps 20 hours a day

-But he wants to be more involved in your interests so that’s why he took initiative with your sketchbook

-Idk what he was expecting but definitely not a sketch of him staring back at him

-His heart skipped a beat but I don’t even know if demons have hearts

-The cheeky little shit took pictures and may or may not have made on your drawings of him his wallpaper

-Most of the drawings were of him sleeping, surprising...absolutely no one

-“So that’s what you’re up to whenever I go to sleep huh? So cute~”

-But besides all that, he is really touched

-I mean, if there’s anyone undeserving of your love and respect is the piece of shit of who tried to kill you

-Yet here you are, continuously showering him with affection and now this

-Probably spent hours looking at your sketchbook while you were at R.A.D

-Didn’t say anything to you when you came back except handing your notebook back to you

-Though he was less of a smartass and more affectionate for the rest of the day

-Next morning, you took the liberty of waking up before him and sketching him again

-He grabbed your arm halfway through your doodling and grinned at you from under the covers

-“Drawing me again huh? You won’t mind me doing this while you’re at it then right?”

-Now he’s sleeping in your lap

-Whenever you show him your work, he makes a small approving noise but he’s seriously impressed

-Draw Lucifer or Lord Diavolo in any offensive manner and he will actually start giggling

-Gets all huffy puffy when you draw his brothers instead of him (we all know Beel is the exception)

-I may have a thing for Belphegour

Al~

[chelsfic]

Five Times Nandor Tried and Failed to Make a New Vampire, and One Time He Succeeded - Guillermo x Nandor fic (one-shot)

WWDITS Masterlist

Summary: Journey into Nandor’s past and discover the real reason he’s been so hesitant to turn Guillermo all these years...

A/N: I hope you enjoy this small offering!! If you like and comment that would make me a very happy little writer creature.

Warnings: Crack, Fluff, Smut, mentions of concubines in Nandor’s human past, Blood drinking...obviously

---

“Truth be told, I’m not feeling my usual plucky, intrepid self.”

  Nandor bares his fangs in a nervous smile. He’s sitting stiffly on the chaise in his crypt, fiddling with his rings as the documentary people question him about tonight’s...big event.

  The vampire lifts his eyes to the ceiling and exhales before continuing, “It’s just--and I don’t like talking about this, but Guillermo says I need to work on expressing my...feelings--it’s just that in the past I might not always have been... entirely successful in making new vampires.”

  There’s a beat of awkward silence during which Nandor casually picks at some lint on his sleeve.

  “I mean, there was my nineteenth wife…”

  ---

  Andrakis

  Nandor languished in the empty halls of his palace for a week after his thirty-seven wives left. But at a certain point there comes a time to stop moping and start acting. Plus he’d eaten all of the servants and he was a little alarmed by the crowd of peasants outside armed with pitchforks and torches. 

  So, his new vampiric form was a little problematic. He was now homeless, wifeless and--worst of all--horseless. Driven from his land, Nandor was forced to take refuge from the lethal light of day in whatever haphazard way he could. He snuck into wine cellars. He broke into catacombs. And, most shamefully, he even buried himself in the earth when no other shelter was available. But at least his new state gave him the means to solve one of his problems. 

  There was no reason that Nandor should have to walk the night alone. He thought he remembered enough of what transpired on the battlefield to be able to turn someone else into a vampire. And as soon as the thought occurred to him he knew there was only one person with whom he wished to share this cursed gift.

  Andrakis . His favorite wife. She was sweet and young, with a magnificent ample backside that Nandor loved to squeeze and slap. She had not yet bore him any children but perhaps that was for the best. No messy loose ends for her to leave behind. He knew she would agree for she, alone among his wives, had wept sorrowfully as they rode away. 

  Nandor used his new vampiric senses to find her. It took months, but eventually he tracked her back to her family home along the Euphrates. He walked through lands scorched and ruined by his own army and he thought about the first time he laid eyes on Andrakis. As he recalled, the town was on fire and his men were pillaging the wealthy houses for gold and jewels. They were also rounding up the attractive, young citizens for...reasons. Nandor took one look at his sweet Andrakis and said, “No! That one is for me and me only!”

  So romantic.

  He could have kept her as his concubine, but Nandor was infatuated with her sweet, soft spoken ways and her delicious round thighs. He gave her jewels and furs and when he finally returned from the campaign he made her one of his wives. All Nandor’s wives loved him, of course, because if they didn’t he would have their heads chopped off. But it was different with Andrakis. She seemed to truly care. She fretted when he went into battle, insisting that she be the one to help him don his armor. She cried real tears and begged him to be safe and return to her. It really moved him. Also, again, she had a fantastic ass.

  The night he, at last, found her, Nandor floated up to her window, scratching at the wooden shutters and calling to her softly. 

  “My sweet Andrakis! It is I, your husband, Nandor the Relentless! I’ve come to assert my claim on you, cherished one! Do you...want to, maybe, come to the window now and let me inside?”

  With his heightened abilities, he could hear her soft gasp and the rustle of fabric as she pushed back her bed coverings and slowly approached the window. Nandor heard her heart racing, the thundering gush of blood flowing through her veins and her trembling breath. He opened his mouth and his eyes rolled back with pleasure as he caught the smell of her blood just on the other side of those thin planks of wood.

  “Time to open up, sweet one!” Nandor singsonged, placing his hand on the shutter as if he could reach through and grab her.

  “Is it really you, my husband?” Her voice was as soft and sweet as he remembered. 

  “It is really, really me, Andrakis!”

  She unlatched the window and Nandor beamed at the sight of her pretty, round face. That may have been a mistake--he kept forgetting about the fangs--the poor woman took a quick step back and brought her hands to her chest in shock.

  “Oh, my Nandi! What has happened to you?” her eyes widened and she took a cautious step toward the window, peeking out over the sill, “You are flying, dear one!”

  “Isn’t it great?!” Nandor laughed, kicking his legs out merrily and doing a little twirl. “I thought you might want to join me. You know...with the flying and the eternal life and the--ehm--blood drinking.”

  She started to shake her head before he even finished and Nandor’s smile faltered. He rushed back to the window sill and placed his hands there, just on the outside edge of the invisible barrier protecting the home’s occupants. 

  “Andrakis...I am so lonely. And...and there is no one to help me with my armor or give me a massage when my head hurts. I think you liked being my wife, didn’t you?”

  The woman’s eyes flood with tears and she comes even closer, leaning onto the window sill and reaching out a shaking hand to press against his bearded cheek.

  “I love you, Nandi! And I am honored to be your wife, always. I will not take another husband, but… Nandor, I am frightened!”

  “My honey,” Nandor crooned, laying his forehead against hers as she leaned out the window, “There is nothing to fear. I will protect you forever if you will stay by side.”

  ---

  “...and then I ate her.”

  Nandor held his hands out and shrugged his shoulders, “What are you going to do? These things happen, right? No! I was very upset about it for the next eighty years or so. She trusted me to take care of her and I fucking ate her!”

  Nandor stares into space for a long moment. He’s had eight centuries to get over the loss of his favorite wife so it’s not grief that shows on his pinched face. It looks more like apprehension and self-doubt. The crew asks a muffled question and he starts as if they’ve woken him from a daydream.

  “No...no I do not think I would ever recover if I were to lose control with my Guillermo,” his hands clench into fists on his knees. “I will not lose control.”

  There’s more silence and one of the crew members suggests cutting the interview when Nandor continues as if he hasn’t heard them, “Guillermo is strong. He’s a cool, vampire killer guy now. He will be alright. He...he has to be alright.”

  ---

  “Nadja?” Nandor stands at the threshold to her and Laszlo’s crypt, anxiously plucking his fingers in the air. “May I speak with you about something in private? In the fancy room?”

  Nadja is braiding her dolly’s hair. There’s something really creepy about that thing that Nandor can’t quite put his finger on. Like it’s always watching him. Yeesh . Nadja rolls her eyes and snaps, “Can’t we talk in here? I’m going to tell Laszlo whatever pig-brained scheme you’re wanting to talk about anyway…”

  Nandor glances at Laszlo, hunched over and diddling the keys of his organ with a shit-eating grin, “That’s true, old chap. There are no secrets between me and my sweet mamtam…”

  Laszlo winks smarmily and Nandor rolls his eyes, “Please, Nadja! It is just a formality!”

  She shrieks in aggravation, accidentally yanking the doll’s hair and then cooing apologetically at the thing. Nandor grimaces uncomfortably.

  “Fine, you stupid ostrich. But this better be quick!”

  Once he’s properly secured the curtain and made sure to check for eavesdroppers, Nandor lays it out for Nadja. He speaks haltingly and without meeting her eyes. 

  “So...you see, now that Guillermo and I are...are...more than master and familiar, I am wanting to make him a vampire. But you may have noticed that my past attempts in this area have been a little shaky…”

  “Shaky! I think you mean totally fucked up the rotten asshole! Don’t forget you told me all about Babsy the Brainscrambled!”

  ---

  Babaius

  Babaius was a little guy he met a couple hundred years after the whole thing with Andrakis. He was a Wallachian painter’s apprentice and he had agreed to do a gratis portrait of Nandor for the practice. The portrait was flat and middling, but what did you want? It was the 16th century and the cool Renaissance shit hadn’t exactly reached the backwoods of Eastern Europe quite yet. More important was the fact that this cute painter guy had managed to ingratiate himself with the apex predator he had unwittingly invited into his home.

  Originally, Nandor’s plan was to kill him once the portrait was complete. But the longer he sat there, staring back at the man as he worked with that cute little half-smirk on his face, the longer Nandor had to appreciate his form. Babaius was not as curvy and sensuous as Andrakis. He was taller and leaner. But his lips were pleasantly plump and his fingers long and elegant. Again, Nandor felt the weight of eternal loneliness and he began to wonder.

  This time he made sure to feed beforehand. When he arrived at the human’s rooms he found him looking more excited than Nandor had ever seen him.

  “It’s complete!” he gushed, grabbing Nandor’s hand and pulling him over to the easel. “Come see!”

  Nandor stared at the clumsy, dour-faced rendering of himself and smiled politely. Is this really what I look like? Why is my head so small?

  He felt the weight of Babaius’s hopeful eyes on him and schooled his voice into false praise, “Wow! It’s...so...wow! You sure used a lot of...orange on my face, didn’t you? Bold choice…”

  “I’m so pleased that you like it, Nandor,” the human’s voice was slightly breathless and he looked up through his lashes coquettishly. Ah ha!

  “Yes, well, now that that’s done…” Nandor swept Babaius’s long hair off his shoulder and plucked at the collar of his thin shirt. “Perhaps we could discuss other things…”

  “ Oh, yes! ” Babaius trilled, launching himself into Nandor’s arms and frantically dropping kisses on his neck, chin and jaw. “I thought ...but I wasn’t certain… but yes, Nandor! Yes!”

  Nandor wrapped his arms around the man’s back and laughed a little at just how easy this was going to be. No mistakes this time. He was completely and totally in control.

  ---

  “Alright, Najda! I get it! I know you have to give them more than just one drop of blood now, okay?”

  Nadja nods somberly, “That poor man. Could not even remember his own name after you turned him. What happened to him again?”

  “I ripped off his head,” Nandor snaps, sinking into the couch cushions in a sulk. “It was the humane thing to do.”

  Nadja squints her eyes trying to remember something, “But wasn’t there someone else after…?”

  Nandor’s lips thin into a narrow line and he crosses his arms over his chest with a huff of annoyance, “I suppose you mean Aggy the Shrieker?”

  ---

  Agnes

  Agnes was something called a Quaker, which meant that she did not go about wearing a crucifix. She was also highly susceptible to hypnosis. Nandor didn’t think this had anything to do with her Quaking, it was just a nice bonus. She’d served him well for a number of years, procuring a very fine assortment of virgins for him night after night. The good lady was entirely ignorant to the fact that it was she who drew these young innocents to their doom. Nandor erased her memories each time before sending her away. She would hem and cluck along with the other Friends when news of a disappearance reached her ears.

  After a few decades, Nandor noticed that her face was starting to turn wrinkly and her movements were not as swift as they once were. The prospect of finding another familiar with a brain as soft and accepting as Agnes’s was a wearying thought. Enough so that he considered, once again, trying his hand at creating a new vampire. 

  This time it was a sure thing. Agnes appeared at his doorstep that night, like always. At her side was a fresh-faced boy whose blood positively shouted his innocence. Delicious . Nandor would feed first. Then he would just do a quick refresher of Agnes’s hypnosis so that the poor lady did not have a fright once she saw Nandor’s blood stained face. And then a quick nip and plenty of blood. Voila! A new wrinkly-faced vampire baby is born.

  The plan was faultless.

  ---

  “And no hypnosis! Alright. Seems nit-picky, but fine!” Nandor grumbles. He seems suddenly to remember that Nadja is helping him and his voice softens, “ Please, Nadja . No more walking on memory street. Just tell me what to do so that I do not hurt Guillermo. I cannot stand the thought of him becoming a shrieker .”

  “Nandor, you beautiful giant baby,” Nadja’s face gentles into genuine sympathy. “I’m going to tell you just what to do. Even you won’t be able to mess this up.”

  And she does. She tells him how to listen to his human’s heart and count the seconds in between beats, waiting until just the right moment to finish drinking. She advises him to prepare his blood ahead of time, decanting it into a vial or mug. He should not count on Guillermo being conscious enough to suckle from his wrist as he’d originally intended. Pour the blood down his throat if he has to. Once he drinks the blood the transition will begin, but Nandor’s work is not done. He must procure for his new vampire the most succulent of virgin feasts. He must care for him during the sickness. He must watch over him and make sure that the baby vampire does not do anything silly like run out into the sunlight or drink a gallon of holy water. 

  “You must be resolved and sure in your actions!” Nadja finally says, casting a skeptical glance at the immortal warrior. “You think you can handle all that?”

  Nandor sits there looking shell shocked for a moment before twitching his mouth into a forced smile and holding up two thumbs.

  “OK-A!”

  ---

  On his way back to his crypt Nandor glances into the camera and leans in conspiratorially.

  “She does not even know about Roger the Rocker or Benjy…” he whispers, his lips folding into an embarrassed frown.

  ---

  Roger

  During the 1970s Nandor went through a brief but intense love affair with punk rock. Disco would soon supplant the vampire’s fixation on studded leather and the Sex Pistols, but for a few fleeting years he was, truly, insufferable.

  “ Fucking goats’ balls ! Nandor! We are trying to have a blood feast in here! Will you turn off that unholy screeching!?” Nadja shouted, blood dripping down her chin as she drew back from the pathetically mewling woman sandwiched between herself and her husband. 

  Laszlo reared back with a lecherous grin on his bloody lips, “Did I hear you mention something about unholy screeching, my sweet dimplebottom?”

  “ Oh, Laszlo! ” Nadja giggled, leaning over the dying victim to latch onto her lover’s mouth. 

  Nandor slammed the door to his crypt and rolled his eyes, “Don’t mind them, Roger. They’re just a couple of sell-out perverts who don’t understand ay-narchy and non-conformationism.”

  Roger was a young human man with spiked green hair and a studded leather vest. He was the coolest familiar Nandor had ever had. He was also an alcoholic and a heavy drug user and half the time he didn’t even do what Nandor asked of him. But once he explained about “the man” and toppling “the system”...well, Nandor still didn’t get it but he was impressed! He felt that Roger would bring a certain rebellious youth to their cohort that might give them a cutting edge in these modern times. 

  The problem was that Nandor had never tried drug blood before. It didn’t hit him until Roger was half-drained but then the world spun off its axis. Nandor ripped his face away from Roger’s savaged neck, stumbling backward and falling down hard on his ass. The vampire exploded into a fit of giggles as the familiar twitched limply on the floor beside him.

  “Roger! I am ball tripping!” Nandor laughed, turning his head to look at his friend, “Whoopsie! Almost forgot! Time for a little drinky, Roger…”

  Nandor tore into his own wrist, ripping a jagged wound open with his fangs and smearing the gore over Roger’s lips and chin.

  “Chug! Chug! Chug!” Nandor cackled, falling back down and letting his wrist fall limp against the human’s mouth. He started singing softly under his breath, “Ayyyynarchy and the U.S.A.! U.S.A.! U.S.A.!”

  In the end Nandor was so high he went to his slumber completely forgetting about the moaning, half-turned man on the floor of his crypt. He woke the next night to find Roger wandering around the front lawn, sun-burned and hideously deformed. He also had no memory of who Nandor was or anything at all about his human life.

  Nandor wouldn’t see him again until decades later when he caught the skeevy creep trying to take a bite out of Guillermo at the Sassy Cat Club. Nandor was so spooked to see the evidence of his past failure standing next to his most cherished human companion that he...perhaps handled the incident in a less-than-totally-gallant manner.

  ---

  Benjy

  Benjy...to be honest, Nandor isn’t entirely sure what came of the old clunker. He turned him and dumped him. Maybe not his finest moment but...Nandor had other things on his mind at the time…

  ---

  Guillermo

  The moment that Guillermo flew to their rescue at the Nouveau Théâtre des Vampires, Nandor felt something shift inside his chest. It was an actual physical sensation like a key turning in a lock. How many years had he spent building moats, walls and fortresses between himself and his handsome, caring, devoted, achingly good familiar in order to protect his sweet innocence from the poison that was Nandor the Relentless? And all along he’d been underestimating him! Nandor watched Guillermo twirl, kick, punch and stake his way through a theater full of angry vampires. In the end he stood alone on a mountain of conquered enemies, covered in blood and heaving with the adrenaline of battle. 

  Nandor had never been more aroused.

  He was silent and brooding on the drive home. He sat in the passenger seat and kept flicking his eyes in Guillermo’s direction, hoping to catch his gaze. But his ex-familiar kept his eyes fixed on the road, his face a storm cloud of some scary-looking emotion that Nandor couldn’t name. The vampire felt unease crawl up his spine. Was he planning to leave again as soon as he dropped them off at the house?

  Nandor cringed in embarrassment as he watched the look of disappointment cross Guillermo’s features at the sight of the wrecked foyer. Dead bodies littered the floor, candle wax and blood stained every surface. He was overcome with shame and humiliation that they had made such a mess of the home Guillermo had toiled to maintain for eleven years. 

  Guillermo stood awkwardly in the front doorway, not quite inside and not quite outside, hovering on the threshold of their home. It was their home , wasn’t it? Nandor’s eyes flicked to the sad, dirty mattress in the cupboard beneath the stairs and he silently cursed himself. It’s possible he may not have made this quite a happy home for Guillermo.

  “I’ll just...go now…” Guillermo’s voice was soft and uncertain again, as if he hadn’t just committed a bad ass massacre.

  “No!” the word strangled from Nandor’s throat and he lurched forward, raising his hand to stop the human. For a split second he was completely unguarded and the raw desperation in his voice and on his face froze Guillermo in his tracks. Then Nandor’s eyes shifted to his fellow vampires, feeling the weight of their stares and he continued in a closer approximation to his usual haughty authority, “I would speak with you a moment. In private.”

  Once the door to his crypt clicked shut Nandor rounded on Guillermo, taking him by the shoulders and pressing him into the heavy wooden door. He loomed over the human for a moment, fangs bared, breathing raggedly as he scented him. Guillermo’s intoxicating, virginal aroma was mixed with the tang of his enemies’ blood. The irresistible fragrance threatened to overcome the vampire and he let out a pitiful mewling cry as he pressed even closer. Nandor’s forehead thunked against the door and his body was flush with Guillermo’s. Now he would know . The hard, bulging evidence of Nandor’s arousal was pressed into the human’s soft thigh-- unmistakable . Nandor keened a sob and his body went boneless as he fell to his knees in supplication before the human.

  “Guillermo, please!” Nandor sobbed.

  Guillermo stood as if paralyzed, staring back at his former master with shocked, wide eyes. Nandor felt broken, like one of those colorful donkeys split open and pouring out his guts. He did not exactly know what it was he wanted. Everything about this moment was highly uncomfortable. For one thing, the floor was very hard and hurty on his knees. For another thing, his erection was straining painfully in his pants. Also, he was realizing for the first time in his long, long life that there existed a person whom Nandor loved more than himself. And he was desperately, mortally afraid that Guillermo would leave him again.

  “What is it, master?” Guillermo flinched at the slip up but he pressed on, his eyes burning with earnest intensity. “What do you want?”

  Nandor had known the answer to this question for eleven years. He knew it the first time he laid eyes on the sweet, plump mortal working the panini press at Panera Bread. He knew it the first time Guillermo graced him with his smile after Nandor showed him his fangs. He knew it when Guillermo came to live with them, hauling his rolly luggage case up the front steps and shaking with nerves and excitement. He knew it when he spent hours crafting his familiar’s sweet face from glitter. He knew it when Guillermo cried, silently begging Nandor to give him a reason to stay. He’d known it in a thousand different ways for a thousand different reasons and he’d keep knowing it for a thousand years, long after the flicker of Guillermo’s short human life extinguished.

  “You,” Nandor’s voice was a broken whisper. “I want you, Guillermo.”

  The air expelled from Guillermo’s lungs in a shaky gasp as he fell to his knees as well. He took the vampire’s face in his warm little hands and Nandor had to remind himself that those were hands capable of plunging a wooden stake through his heart. The very thought sent another wave of lust through him. 

  Guillermo’s lips trembled and his eyes flooded with tears as he spoke, “If you’re just saying that to manipulate me…”

  Nandor grabbed Guillermo’s wrists, circling them with his long fingers, keeping him from removing his hands from Nandor’s face. 

  “No, Guillermo. I--I have not been a good master to you…” Nandor gulped, fighting years of careful control in order to get the words out. “I’ve lied to you many, many times. Made you think that you were just a servant to me. I thought that I was protecting us both. But...really I was hurting you. When you left me I...I…”

  Nandor’s voice trailed off and Guillermo allowed it, not wanting to push his fragile vampire too far. 

  “If we’re going to do this, I need to know. I need to know what exactly you want from me, Nandor. Because I know what I want. I’ve known for eleven... fucking years,” Guillermo’s voice hardens toward the end and Nandor feels himself go weak. His little Guillermo...so forceful and strong!

  Suddenly the human was leaning in and brushing his lips over Nandor’s. It was the barest, gentlest hint of a kiss but it felt like a live wire touching his skin. Nandor’s eyes drifted closed and he saw stars as Guillermo pushed his tongue between his lips and plundered his mouth. Oh, why had he forced them to wait so long for this?

  Guillermo pulled back, the combination of his blushing cheeks and the splatter of blood along his jaw was a powerful image. Nandor whined, following Guillermo’s movement and pecking kisses to the man’s mouth.

  “Nandor, wait! Stop!” There was mirth in Guillermo’s eyes but a fragile uncertainty as well. “I need you to tell me this is what you want. That I’m not going to wake up tomorrow and find you pretending this never happened. Things have to change if we’re...if we’re going to do this.”

  Nandor nodded frantically, pawing at his human’s face as unmanly tears spilled from his eyes and rolled into the whiskers of his beard. 

  “Yes! Please! I want this. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. You’re brave and strong and cool and beautiful and I lo--” Nandor’s mouth snapped shut and his dark eyes widened in fear at the words that almost slipped out. But when he took in his human’s guarded yet hopeful expression he growled and forced them out. “I love you, Guillermo.”

  Guillermo choked on a sob and his face crumbled rather alarmingly. 

  “I love you so fucking much you stupid asshole,” he replied.

  Nandor scowled, “Hey! There’s no need for all that!”

  But before he could work himself up to being truly affronted, Guillermo launched himself at him, knocking Nandor over backwards and attacking his face with his mouth. 

  “Things are going to change,” Guillermo repeated between open-mouthed kisses along Nandor’s bearded jaw.

  “Yes!”

  “I’m not gonna dig graves for you anymore or polish your boots!”

  “...Alright.”

  “And,” Guillermo ripped open the fly of Nandor’s trousers, eliciting a delighted howl from the vampire, “you’re going to make me a vampire.”

  ---

  “So tonight is the night!” Nandor injects false levity into his voice as he strides down the hallway carrying a stack of towels on one arm. The camera shakes as the crew follows behind him. 

  “I’ve made all of the arrangements! We have a juicy virgin in the cell…”

  The camera peaks into a dimly lit closet where a young man is bound and gagged. Across his forehead giant block letters spell out: “DO NOT EAT! GUILLERMO’S VIRGIN FEAST!”

  “I’ve decanted plenty of my blood…”

  Nandor holds up a mason jar filled with thick, dark crimson liquid as he mounts the stairs.

  “I’ve got the towels and Guillermo has a first aid box ready…”

  He finally arrives at the door to the big, blue bedroom and turns around to face the camera with an apologetic smile.

  “ Vampires only! ” He slams the door in their faces.

  Once the door closes behind him Nandor lets out a long breath and his head falls back to hit the wood with a loud thunk. He lets the facade drop for just a second and the cloying anxiety and terror of what he is about to do rises to the surface. Then Guillermo looks up at him from where he’s sitting up on his big new bed and Nandor forces a cheery smile. 

  “Who’s ready for their unholy transformation?!” he warbles, shaking the jar of blood in his hand. 

  Guillermo grins, coming over to stand before him in all his warm, soft, human grandeur. Nandor drops his head and plucks at the sleeve of his ex-familiar’s thick, stripy sweater. He hopes that Guillermo will not think himself too cool to wear such garments once he is a vampire. He’s grown to love Guillermo’s simple human clothes.

  “Nandor…” Guillermo takes the jar and the towels from him, setting them down on his bureau next to the collection of wooden stakes and crucifixes. “You don’t have to pretend. I’m scared too.”

  The vampire lets out a breath and tugs his human into his chest, wrapping him in a fierce, suffocating hug. He lets his cheek rest on top of Guillermo’s dear head. Guillermo clings to the front of Nandor’s long tunic, pressing his face into the rich, embroidered fabric and wetting it with his tears. 

  “It’ll be okay,” Guillermo comforts Nandor, his voice trembling with emotion. In the short weeks since the incident at the theater and since their relationship took such a sharp turn in the right direction, Guillermo has been shocked and pleasantly surprised to find how dramatically the dynamic between them has changed. Guillermo isn’t just Nandor’s equal now. He’s his touchstone, his protector, and his deeply cherished lover. 

  “You don’t know that, Guillermo,” Nandor sniffles. “What if I brainscramble you like I did to Ba...Baba...Bambie?”

  “Babaius?” Guillermo prompts, pulling back from the embrace enough to lock eyes with the weepy vampire. Nandor has told him his whole sorry history of failures and abominations. It was Guillermo’s idea for Nandor to seek out Nadja’s guidance. And though he’s nervous and frightened about his transition...there is no one else in the world from whom Guillermo would accept this gift. “You won’t scramble my brains, Nandor. I trust you.”

  The soft cry that Nandor makes at those words cuts to Guillermo’s soul. 

  Nandor sniffs and attempts to pull himself back together. He speaks confidently, as if his words are an incantation that will somehow conjure success, “Well, of course you trust me, Guillermo. I’m a very strong, cool vampire. There’s no reason I shouldn’t be able to make another vampire when a freaky pervert like Nadja is doing it all over the place.”

  Guillermo snorts and pulls Nandor in for another quick squeeze before drawing away toward the bed, “Should we…?”

  “Yes...oh! Wait!” Nandor grabs the towels off the bureau, hissing when he accidentally grazes a crucifix with his hand. He hurries forward and starts laying them down on top of Guillermo’s thick comforter. “I don’t want your nice, new bed to get ruined.”

  Guillermo smiles warmly as he watches his ex-master’s efforts. 

  “Well...it’s not like I’ll be sleeping on it anymore after tonight…” he murmurs, causing Nandor to think about the shiny new coffin sitting next to his downstairs. 

  Nandor shrugs, “No...but we might--you know--do other things on the bed still…”

  He smooths his hands over the towels and retrieves the jaw of blood, placing it within easy reach on the nightstand before climbing onto the bed and stretching out in an unintentional come-hither pose. Nandor’s soft, long locks fall over his shoulders and his big, dark eyes look up at Guillermo with longing and terror. He pats the spot beside him on the bed.

  Guillermo clambors up after him, stretching out at his side and letting his head fall into the mountain of pillows that Nandor had insisted on purchasing for him after their...reconciliation. He smiles shyly and looks up at the vampire, his cheeks turning bright red.

  “Is it alright if we...do some of those ‘ other things ’ first?” he asks, dancing his fingers over Nandor’s tunic. “You know...my last time as a h-human?”

  The stutter in Guillermo’s voice interrupts Nandor’s contented perusal of his human’s delicious body and he meets the man’s eyes. Guillermo’s cheeks are irresistibly red and his lips are parted slightly with lust. But his eyebrows are all crinkled and there are still some tears leaking from the corners of his eyes. Nandor can’t really relate to Guillermo’s fear. When he was turned he was in the middle of dying on the field of battle. He didn’t have a clue what was happening when the strange vampire descended upon him. What would it feel like to go into it knowingly? To place his life in the hands of the one that he loved knowing there was a chance that things might go terribly wrong?

  Guillermo is incredibly brave.

  “Yes, my Guillermo,” Nandor cries, leaning in and pressing their mouths together in a desperate kiss. “Anything you want.”

  They take their time with the kiss, lips and tongues sliding and probing as they clumsily undress each other. By the time they’re both naked the floor of Guillermo’s bedroom is littered with discarded items of clothing and the towels on the bed are askew. Guillermo throws his leg over Nandor’s thick waist and straddles the man, their aching erections rubbing together as he leans down to trail kisses across Nandor’s hairy chest. 

  Nandor throws his head back in the pillows, his hair tangling as he writhes underneath Guillermo. He will miss the feeling of his human’s impossible warmth. The way his kisses seem to sear a blazing path over Nandor’s cold skin. The way his silky smooth rod pulses with molten heat. The feeling of plunging inside Guillermo’s fiery, grasping tightness. Nandor curses himself, yet again, for not allowing them both to have this sooner. 

  Guillermo’s hips rise and fall as he strokes himself against Nandor. The air between them grows humid with their breath and the room fills with the sounds of whimpers and moans. Guillermo places a hand on Nandor’s chest for balance and he leans over to his nightstand to grab the small bottle of lube sitting there. 

  He holds it aloft and says, as if reading Nandor’s mind, “Do you want to feel me one last time before…?”

  Nandor’s lips split into a grin and he grabs the tube from his human’s hand, nodding fervently as he drips the liquid onto his fingers. He’s careful and gentle with his Guillermo, mindful of how new this still is for him. He reaches between his delicious thighs and slides his wet fingers around until he finds what he’s looking for, pressing gently and then more firmly as Guillermo opens up for him. 

  Guillermo’s breath escapes him and he presses down on Nandor’s fingers with a wanton cry, riding him needily. Once he’s ready, Nandor pours out more liquid, slicking his cock and grasping Guillermo’s hips to move him into position. 

  “Are you ready, Guillermo?” he asks and the words take on an added meaning with the knowledge of what’s to come hovering in the air between them. 

  Guillermo senses Nandor’s seriousness in the moment and he meets his eyes, smiling softly before replying, “Yes, Nandor. I’m ready. Really .”

  The sex is a revelation and a comfort. Falling into Guillermo is like coming home. It’s like finally finding the place he was always meant to be. Even 700 years ago when Nandor was a ruler in his prime, he never felt this level of peace and belonging. He watches his beautiful, strong, brave human fall apart on top of him. They take turns setting the pace. Guillermo bounces frantically in Nandor’s lap until the vampire grabs his hips and holds him still so he can thrust upward, slowly and tenderly. He penetrates deep until Guillermo is near tears and the human’s poor erection is leaking copiously onto Nandor’s soft belly.

  Nandor finally releases his hold on Guillermo’s hips and wraps his hand around his erection, pumping up and down quickly as he bounces the man on his own cock. 

  “I’m close, Guillermo,” he whispers, stroking the human rapidly to edge him along. “Come with me. Please!”

  They fall over the precipice together, panting and clinging as their bodies quake with the intensity of their love making. Guillermo collapses on Nandor’s chest and the vampire wraps his arms around him automatically, soothingly running his palms down his lover’s sweaty back as he twitches and catches his breath. 

  “You’re getting very good at that, Guillermo,” Nandor murmurs with a hint of teasing in his voice.

  Guillermo snorts, “Yeah, I think you’ve almost got the hang of it, too, Nandor.”

  Nandor laughs and smacks his behind playfully, “Do not be thinking that just because you’re going to be a vampire you can start being so cheeky with me! I’m still seven hundred and twenty-eight years older than you, mortal.”

  Guillermo grins and hums in response, pillowing his head into Nandor’s broad chest with a contented sigh. 

  After a little while, Nandor shifts Guillermo off of him and lays him down on the bed with a gentle reverence. He picks up one of the towels and uses it to carefully clean him, dabbing between his legs and swiping over his soft stomach. Nandor takes his time, his face turning dark and serious as he contemplates what comes next. 

  When he’s finally finished he says, almost shyly, “There’s just one more thing I want to do first…”

  Nandor stretches out at Guillermo’s side and rests his head over the human’s chest, directly over his beating heart. His hair fans out over Guillermo’s flushed skin and the human brings his fingers up to toy with it as Nandor listens. 

  Thump...thump...thump…

  How many nights has Nandor awoken in his coffin, still gripped by the horror of a half-remembered nightmare and listened for that comforting sound to lull him back to sleep? How often has he heard that steady rhythm interrupted when Nandor did something that particularly stirred his familiar’s illicit attraction? How many thousands of beats has he taken for granted over the years? Soon that steady tattoo will cease forever. Nandor feels panic grip him but he reminds himself that things will be different this time. Guillermo will come back to him as he always does. 

  He does not feel ready but the hours are ticking away and he’d like to finish this well before dawn. Nandor shuffles up the bed, leaning on an elbow and letting his hair cascade down around Guillermo’s face. He brushes his thumb over his lips, caresses his jaw line and the ridge of his brow. He’s memorizing the way his beloved looks right now, flushed with life. 

  “Guillermo, I want you to know that even if I do scramble your brains--which I won’t!--but even if I do, I will take care of you forever,” Nandor says, his eyes wide and earnest. “I’ll never abandon you or rip off your head. That’s a promise.”

  Guillermo should scoff or snort or roll his eyes but instead he sobs and beams up at Nandor as he answers, “I know, baby. I’ll never leave you or rip off your head either. I promise.”

  Nandor nods and his dark eyes shift to focus on the crook of Guillermo’s neck. His skin is still slicked with the cooling sweat of their coupling and Nandor can see his pulse jumping in his throat. He opens his mouth in a hungry leer and his fangs elongate slightly.

  “This will hurt, Guillermo,” his voice is dark and menacing, but also mournful. “I am sorry.”

  He snakes a hand behind Guillermo’s neck and cradles his head to the side as he lowers his mouth to his vulnerable throat. He hovers there for a moment and marvels at the way his lover’s body surrenders so sweetly to him. Guillermo is soft and loose in his arms, the perfect victim. Nandor banishes that word from his mind. Guillermo, sweet, sensitive, competent, strong, scary, loving, powerful Guillermo. He is not a victim. He plunges his fangs into his human’s soft neck and takes from him the sweetest gift Guillermo has ever given. 

  Nandor’s terror and anxiety melt away as the blood pours over his tongue and down his throat. He has always known that Guillermo would taste delicious but this is ridiculous. He tastes like the joy of riding John over an open plain, he tastes like the excitement of watching the Dream Team do battle on the basketball court, and, most of all, he tastes like Guillermo. Like fuzzy knit hats and secret smiles and quiet evenings playing chess. Like longing and hunger and wistful pain. Like strength and desire and the thrill of conquest. Nandor drinks deeply, memorizing the flavor as his lover goes more and more limp in his arms. 

  He listens, once more, to the beating of that heart, just as Nadja said to do. He waits like Guillermo used to do, listening to the pops while he was making his corn kernel snack in the multiwave machine. Once the rhythm begins to slow Nandor pulls back, licking his lips and scrambling for the jar of blood on the nightstand. 

  He gathers Guillermo into his arms and the human moans low in his throat. Nandor feels unadulterated joy at the sound. He is still here . But when he looks down at his human’s pale, ashen face, a sob tears free from his throat. His lustrous, brilliant Guillermo diminished to such a drab reflection… Nandor mentally slaps himself and unscrews the jar, bringing it to Guillermo’s pale lips. 

  “Time for your snack now, Guillermo,” Nandor’s voice shakes. He strokes his fingers through the human’s curly hair as he lifts his head and begins to tip the contents of the jar into his open mouth. 

  Nothing happens for a small eternity. Nandor watches the blood pool in his lover’s mouth and spill out the sides of his lips with a feeling of increasing helplessness. 

  “Guillermo? Can you still hear me? It’s time to start drinking so you can become a cool vampire just like me and your friend, Armand…”

  Guillermo’s eyes are closed and his body is unnaturally still.

  “Please drink, Guillermo! I’m going to be very cross with you if you do not!”

  His skin looks waxy and he feels heavier in Nandor’s arms. The vampire tugs him further into his lap and clutches him to his chest, tears falling onto the eerily calm face.

  “Guillermo, you said you wouldn’t leave me again, please! ”

  Guillermo swallows. Nandor watches with a giant, goofy grin on his face as the man’s throat bobs and the blood disappears from his mouth. He brings the jar back up to his lips and continues to hand feed him, taking comfort in the way Guillermo’s lips purse as he drinks down the vampire’s life-giving blood. 

  “That’s it, my cherished one,” Nandor says, slipping into endearments he used several lifetimes ago. “Drink, sweet honey. And don’t ever fucking scare me like that again !”

  Guillermo snorts as he drains the dredges from the jar, blood bubbles forming on his lips as they curve into a smile. Nandor watches, his eyes wide and wondering, as Guillermo’s eyes flutter open and he feels a sense of intense relief when he recognizes that smile as the same one he fell in love with eleven years ago. Only...you know...with the fangs and the blood stains…

---

  “So, I’d say it was a marked success!” Nandor shouts into the camera a few nights later. “Of course, there was a lot of vomiting and achy-pains in the beginning...but once that passed and he drank some human blood everything was OK-A! Isn’t that right, Guillermo?”

  The camera zooms out to include Guillermo in the shot. He’s sitting next to Nandor on the chaise, their hands clasped together between them. His skin tone is very much the same although without the lively blush that used to grace his cheeks. He’s noticeably in tact, no pointed ears or deformities and seemingly in full possession of his brains. 

  He smiles and the camera zooms in on his newly minted fangs.

  “ A-OK , Nandor,” he corrects in an affectionate tone. He leans over and kisses the immortal warrior on the cheek.

  Nandor, still unused to public displays of affection, smiles nervously and answers with a roll of his eyes, “As I said, Guillermo!”

[bopbopstyles]

Temptation (pt. 1)

RATING: M/smut

WORD COUNT: 9.4k

CATEGORIES: fratboy!harry

“Can I ask you something?”

She turned back and looked at him. “Sure.”

“Why haven’t I seen you before?”

She shrugged at his question. “Dunno. I’ve never been to parties here before. We’ve got different majors. It’s a big school.”

“Not that big.”

“Big enough.”

“Too big if I missed out on meeting you until now.”

Her breath caught. The words fell from his mouth with such ease, such nonchalance, as if his words didn’t shake the ground she stood on.

or

Harry’s a fratboy and Nora (might) be in love with him. (part 1)

PART TWO | PART THREE

After a semester abroad, the last thing Nora felt like doing was going to an American frat party.

She had spent the semester in Germany going to clubs and house parties, weird bars and day drinking at festivals. All she wanted was a pint of good beer, a cute boy to flirt with in her horrifically bad German, and go home and curl up in her double bed. Now she was back home going to a beginning of semester frat party where there would be shit beer, she wouldn’t be “the cute American girl,” and she was back to the Twin-XL life. It was the weekend before school started, so she knew it would be crazy—no one had work to do, no one was stressed, and everyone was desperate to be back at school and away from their families.

But Maddy wanted her to go, and so she was going.

“You’re going to drink these boys under the table!” Maddy called to her from their bathroom where she was curling her hair. “We’re going to play rage cage, I’ve already decided.”

“I hate rage cage,” Nora lied. She loved it and she knew it. “Abroad changed me!”

A bootie came flying in her direction, and Nora caught it before tossing it back to Maddy. “You’re a shit liar.”

She took another sip of the drink she had mixed, some decent vodka and Fresca, her secret weapon of a mixer. “Who are you going after tonight again?”

Since Nora had left Maddy had decided she was in love with the boys of Delta Sigma. They were mostly the international boys who didn’t seem like they’d be the frat type and were so hot you couldn’t tear your eyes away from them. Also, apparently their parties were insane. “His name’s Liam,” she said, “and he was quite possibly the most gorgeous boy on earth.”

“What’s his instagram again?”

She read out a handle from memory, and Nora typed the handle into her phone as she took another sip. She scrolled through the photos, most of which appeared to be from frat parties, with the occasional more artsy photo of him and friends. They appeared to be on actual film, which was interesting for frat boy. “Is he a photographer?”

“No, why?”

“These photos looked like they’re on actual film," she replied. Nora clicked on one and it’s a photo of him, but she noticed he had tagged someone. Someone with the handle @harry_styles. She clicked on the name and was immediately entranced. Based on his bio, he was their year at school, but she had never heard of the kid before. He also appeared to be British. She scrolled through his photos, all taken on film, and gorgeous. Some were of landscapes, but most were portraits of people doing simple and mundane things. He was incredibly talented. “Some kid named Harry takes them,” Nora told her.

“Oh, I think he was friends with Liam. I’ve seen them before.” Maddy strutted out of the bathroom and striked a pose, perfectly curled hair bouncing behind her head as she shook it. “Like?”

“Love.” Maddy was wearing a snakeskin bodysuit, ripped black jeans, and heeled booties, and she looked incredible as usual. “Now what the fuck am I going to wear?”

“Good lord, you will be the death of me someday, Nora Tate.”

The party was in full swing when they arrive. They weaved their way through the crowds on the front lawn, Maddy jabbering in her ear about how hot this Liam kid is. Nora simply nodded along, thankful for the vodka coursing through her veins, because the amount she did not want to be there was pretty high.

The lights were low and the music was loud when they opened the door, the smell of sweat and cheap beer hitting her immediately. Ah yes, this was why she left America.

“Rage cage," she reminded Maddy, and Maddy squeezed her hand before pulling her deep into the crowd. They  weaved their way through the throngs of people to the kitchen, where they poured themselves drinks, and then Maddy dragged her to the basement.

There were four pong tables set up, three of which currently had games going—all simple games of pong, and a bunch of people loitering around the tables waiting for a turn. “We’re going to have to start the game,” Maddy told her quietly.

“Yes.”

“I don’t want to.”

“Why?”

“I’m scared!”

Good lord. “Who do I talk to about starting a game of rage cage?” Nora yelled into the loud room.

Everyone stopped talking and looked in one direction.

Harry was leaning against a table in the back where a computer is set up, most likely controlling the music. “Me,” he yelled in reply, standing up. “Let’s play.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Maddy told her, laughing, “and I love you.”

Harry was fucking gorgeous in person. Like, he was gorgeous on social media, but in person he was effortlessly beautiful. Cropped hair with a wave to it, high cheekbones, and the swagger of someone who truly didn’t give a fuck about what people think of him. She suddenly decided that Maddy was not alone in her love of this fraternity.

A bunch of boys, freshman pledges from the looked of it, finished filling cups with beer and setting up the table. Nora grabbed Maddy’s hand and led her over to the table. She set them up right in the middle, the best place to be, and placed their cups in a safe zone of the table. “Remember, controlled bounces," she reminded Maddy, who was notoriously horrible at this game, “and I’ll help you drink if you need it.”

“My savior,” she replied, and Nora snorts in response.

“Want to start?” She looked up and Harry was standing next to her, holding a ping pong ball out to her. His accent was like butter and she honestly wanted nothing more than to hear it constantly on a loop.

“Sure.”

Some pledge had the other ball and positioned himself across the table from her, and everyone scrunched together around the table. Bodies pressed closer and she tried to ignore the feeling of Harry’s arm flush against hers.

“Good at this game?” Harry asked her, leaning his head over so she could hear him.

“Actually, yes,” she replied.

“Let’s see,” he said, and she thought she caught a wink before she bounced the ball and made her first cup.

Maddy was drunk, despite the fact that Nora had been avoiding giving her a cup the whole game. The problem wasn’t Maddy though, it was the other people at the table. Upon discovering Maddy was a) still quite sober and b) horrible at the game, they took it upon themselves to single her out, sending all their cups her way. Meanwhile, Nora was in her happy drunk phase, one that could be sustained by sipping a drink every hour, but became messy if she went too hard.

Next to her, Harry was flushed and laughing, the alcohol and the game having loosened him up. They kept bumping into each other, their fingers brushing when he passed her the pong ball, and it messed up her breathing every time.

There’s only three cups yet, and she was just praying that Maddy didn’t end up with the bitch cup. But as the ball and the cups worked their way around the table, some pledge drinking one and a girl drinking the other, there was only one left. And the ball was coming straight for them.

“Fuck,” Nora said under her breath.

Harry looked down at her, somehow having heard her. “You good?”

“I just don’t want my friend to have the bitch cup.”

Harry glanced over at Maddy. “looked like it would do her in.” “Harry, pay attention mate!” His head whipped back and the tall stack of cups was right in front of him. He took the ball and Nora watched him, knowing he was going to make a perfect shot in, just like he had all night.

Except he didn’t. He missed.

And he missed again.

“C’mon Harry!” Someone yelled, and her eyes focused on the boy standing before Harry, who was desperately trying to make it into the single cup he has in front of him, but the slick beer-covered surface of the table meant the cup was sliding around and he kept missing.

Harry missed another shot.

And the boy before him made his.

“HARRYYY!!!!!” The table screamed, and everyone started chanting his name as he reached for the bitch cup.

He caught Nora’s eye right before he started chugging the beer, some of it spilling down the front of his barely buttoned shirt.

And it hit her—he missed on purpose.

He was trying to make sure Maddy didn’t have to drink it and instead made sure he drank it.

Harry slammed the empty solo cup down on the table and cheers erupted, a grinning Harry the triumphant loser.

“Another game?” Some kid asked, and everyone agrees, but Nora just shook her head.

“We’re good,” she said, taking her and Maddy’s drinks from earlier.

Harry stepped away from the table. “Same,” he said, and no one questioned that.

“I wanna find Liam,” Maddy said to her as they stepped away from the table.

“Okie doke, Tiger,” she told her, and Maddy giggled in response.

She looked up at Harry who was standing right in front of her, blocking their exit. “Thanks for that," she told him, their eyes catching.

“Anytime,” he replied. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

As if she didn’t already know his name. “Nora.”

“I’m Maddy!” Maddy piped up from behind her. “Now we’re on the hunt for more alcohol and some dancing, so could you scooch out of our way?”

Harry chuckled, and Nora just rolled her eyes. “Have fun,” he said, and she tugged Maddy away from the table.

“he was soooo hot,” Maddy said as they climbed the stairs. “Like literally, could-melt-polar-ice-caps hot.”

“You’re so fucking weird.”

“And you love me for it!” She said, throwing her arm around Nora’s shoulders. “Now let’s find us some dancing.”

Maddy hadn’t been able to capture Liam’s attention despite all of her efforts, but she had captured the attention of another DSig boy, who she was now dancing with in the middle of the dance floor. Nora made her promise to tell her if she was going to leave without her, and with that Nora left her to her own devices.

She wandered outside, seeking fresh air, and sat down on the edge of the deck that extended into the backyard. It was quieter out here, the thud of the bass faint and the cold air welcome on her sweaty skin.

“Fancy seeing you here,” a smooth British accent said to her.

She turned and saw Harry sitting a few feet away from her, leaning back on his hands, a beer next to him. His thin white button-down was unbuttoned low, exposing tattoos littering his torso, and thanks to the porch lights and soft glow of the moon she could see the many rings adorning the fingers of hands and the pendant necklace lying on a butterfly tattoo just on his abdomen. She caught sight of a trace of stubble on his chin and perhaps an earring in his ear.

Nora had never been this entranced by another human being. “Tired of your party?”

“Bloody hate these things after a while.” He took a swig of his beer and sighed. “You said it was Nora, right?”

She nodded. “Without an H.”

He cracked a smile. “Harry, with an H.”

“What would it be, sans an H?”

“Arry.”

“That isn’t a name.”

“Most people call me something that,” he said.

“‘Arry?”

“Yeah.”

“Most people call me Nor," she replied.

“But your name is already so short, why do you need a nickname?” She shrugged in response. Just what people did. “You’re taking the thunder of everyone with names that aren’t nickname-able.”

She leaned back on her hands, copying his pose. “Your name is nickname-able.”

“Try.”

Names rolled over in her head. “I’d probably just said ‘H’.”

He was quiet for a beat. “Never heard that one before.”

“Well, I’m happy that I could introduce it to you.”

They were both quiet for a second, and then she heard the scrape of fabric. Harry had scooted closer to her, his position changed so he was facing her, one leg still dangling off of the porch, the other bent in front of him. “What do you study, Nora without an H?”

“History," she replied without a beat. “Mainly German history.”

“Why?” His tone was genuinely inquisitive, as if this was a completely intriguing fact that he simply must know more about.

“I guess…I’ve always liked stories," she told him, finding her words as they come. “And history is really just a bunch of stories that they can learn from and use to make sense of the world around us.”

He considered her answer. “I like that.”

“And you? What do you study, Harry with an H?”

“Comparative literature,” he replied. “Focusing on Italian.”

“Why?”

He grinned. “I’ve always loved languages and reading, and it just seemed like the right fit. You have a better answers than me for this question.”

“You like comp lit?”

“Love it,” he said immediately.

It was rare to find a fratboy who genuinely enjoys what he studies, so Harry was an outlier. “And you speak Italian, I assume?”

“Sì.”

She knew no Italian, but she gathered that that’s a yes. “How long?”

“Most of my life.” He took another sip of his beer, and someone opened the sliding door behind them, music and voices swirling around them. “My grandparents bought a house in Italy before they had my mum and it’s stayed in the family. I’ve spent all my summers and holidays there.”

“You were there for Christmas, then, I assume?” He nodded. “I’m jealous.”

“Best place on earth.”

“Where in Italy?”

“Lucca. It’s not too far from Florence.” He scooted a hair closer to her as he swung his other leg onto the porch, winding his long legs into a comfortable position. “You ever been?”

“To Italy?” He nodded. “Nope. Didn’t make it there while I was abroad.”

“Shame. Where’d you go?”

“Berlin for the fall semester," she replied, and he perked up. “Traveled a bunch, but stuck to central and northern Europe mainly. Copenhagen, Prague, Luxembourg, Amsterdam, Warsaw, and then around Germany. Spent a week in London during Thanksgiving and my mom met me there.”

He ran a hand through his hair absentmindedly, and she watched his bicep flex with the movement. “That sounds incredible. My parents told me being here was my study abroad, so I’m missing out.”

“That’s a shame," she told him. “I needed the break from all this," she waved her hand around them, attempting to capture the absurdity of college and the pressure and the exhaustion in a single motion. “Felt nice to be given the opportunity to slow down a bit.”

“I can imagine.”

Their conversation slowed a bit. The sliding door opened again and a group of girls started talking loudly near them, their discussion circling around some boy they’re all in love with, but they thankfully made their way to the fire pit on the other side of the yard.

“Can I ask you something?”

She turned back and looked at him. “Sure.”

“Why haven’t I seen you before?”

She shrugged at his question. “Dunno. I’ve never been to parties here before. We’ve got different majors. It’s a big school.”

“Not that big.”

“Big enough.”

“Too big if I missed out on meeting you until now.”

Her breath caught. The words fell from his mouth with such ease, such nonchalance, as if his words didn’t shake the ground she stood on.

“Nor!”

She looked up and Maddy was standing in the doorway and she was thankful for the distraction. “You okay?”

“I wanna go homeeee,” Maddy said, her words slightly slurred. “I’m tired.”

“Let’s go home then, babes.” She downed the rest of her beer and then turned to Harry. “See you around, H.”

Before he had the chance to reply, Nora walked inside, the door shutting behind her.

Maddy and Nora spent the rest of the weekend decorating their apartment and analyzing Harry’s sentence to her. Maddy was convinced that he had a crush on her, but Nora begged to differ. Nora thought he was just a poetic guy who had a bit too much to drink. Maddy rolled her eyes at her but let it drop finally and began describing Niall, the adorable Irish boy who she had been dancing with. He was sweet and funny and a good kisser, and didn’t try to get her to come home with him. Just got her number and told her to find Nora so she could go home since she was drunk and tired. (Sometimes, Nora thinks, it’s a bit sad how low the bar was set.) She seemed to have forgotten all about Liam, who she said was just too unattainable that it wasn’t worth trying.

By Monday, Nora was anxious to get into the classroom. After a semester of operating at half intelligence because all her classes were in German, she was excited to be able to actually communicate her full thoughts on a topic. She wanted to write papers and read things that intrigued her.

She'd put a lot of thought into crafting her schedule, leaving time for her shifts at the coffeeshop on campus, while also balancing her schedule between History, German, and Gen Ed requirements. She'd chosen to takes an Urban Studies class for her technology requirements, since it required use of something classed GIS. Maddy was an Urban Studies major, so Nora decided that it was safe to assume she’d help her pass if she needed it.

She chose a safe seat—middle of the room, middle of the row, able to see the screen but not too close that she looked too eager. She unpacked her notebook, already labelled for the class and her pencil bag with her favorite pens. She was ready to be back at school.

She was not ready for Harry Styles to slide into the seat next to her.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he said, and she just about jumped out of her skin.

“Fucking hell.” The words fell from her mouth without pause. “You scared me.”

He leaned back in his chair. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not," she said, catching her breath. “What are you doing here?”

“Fulfilling a Gen Ed,” he replied. “This seemed interesting and easy enough. You?”

Embarrassingly, the same reason. “Me too.”

He smiled. “Was nice to see a familiar face when I walked in.”

Before she could reply, the lecture started, and her mind tuned out everything else in the room. Their professor went over the syllabus, which seemed decent, and then started in on the first lecture. Nora was quickly engrossed, scribbling notes about different city planning techniques and histories, making notes of things she wanted to look up more on. The professor had a good lecture style—succinct, engaging, and a bit funny. He had some memes throughout his presentation that got the class laughing, and she tried to ignore how Harry’s soft chuckle made her stomach flip.

In fact, she spent the whole class trying to ignore Harry.

She tried to ignore the way he bit his lip while he wrote notes, the wrinkle in his eyebrows when he was trying to understand something, the way he pulled on his lip when he was reading intently. How his handwriting was messy but clear, how he said “fuck” lightly under his breath when he smudged ink, how his leg bounced up and down when he was trying to focus.

But most of all she tried to ignore the fact that he kept glancing over at her.

Because the thing was, Nora was not in the market to have feelings for someone. She didn’t want to have a crush. She wants to have aimless sex with cute boys and go about her life as she wanted. After the fall, she'd decided that boys were confusing and a waste of time.

Jonas. She'd met him at a house party and it had been a fling—they’d hooked up a couple of times, he’d make her tea and breakfast in the morning, they’d drunk text each other, and he’d act like her boyfriend if they were out together. Sometimes the things he’d say and the way he’d look at her would make her wonder if it was more for him. If he cared. But then, before she knew it the semester was over and it was time to go and their didn’t even have a proper goodbye. It was weird and confusing and when she left she didn’t know what to make of it, because if they’d had more time she probably would’ve dated him. And now, sometimes she'd remember the way he’d back her up against a wall and wonder if she'd find someone who would kiss her the way Jonas did.

So when Nora looked at Harry, she couldn’t help but wonder how he would kiss. And that was when she knew that even though she had only known him for two days, she was developing a crush.

And that was the opposite of how she wanted to start her semester.

When class ended, Harry turned to her and said, “Want to go pick up their course books?”

She didn’t have a class next, so she had no excuse. So she just said yes.

“What did you think?” He asked, adjusting his backpack on his shoulder as they exited the lecture hall.

“The professor was great," she replied. “Really engaging and seems like he was not going to be harsh of a grader since it’s an intro class.”

“Yeah definitely. And I liked how he explained all of the different city plans with such detail but also clarity. He seems to know what he was doing.”

They turned to exit onto the campus green, and she pulled her coat a little tighter around her. It was January and she had forgotten how cold it could get in Massachusetts. “Which section do you think you’re going to do?” The professor had mentioned at the end of class that they would have weekly discussion sections with their TAs to go over material and readings, and had listed out the different time options. She was leaning towards Wednesdays at 11, just after their class was over.

“Probably Wednesday at 11,” he replied. “Fits best into my schedule.”

Fuck. “I was thinking of doing the same one," she told him. This was not good. More time around Harry was not going to be good for her.

“Really?” Nora couldn’t help but take joy in the smile that spread across his face. “Thank god. I hate going into those sections and not knowing where to sit.”

They turned into the building with the campus bookstore, and Nora unwound her scarf from around her neck. “Well, you won’t have to worry about that.”

“Do you have other books you need to pick up?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I’m going to hold off and go after my other classes so I can figure out what I can get at the library first.”

“Good idea.” He pulled out the syllabus from his backpack and studied the instructions their professor had written down for the books their need. “I think they’re over this way,” he said, leading the way to the back corner.

“Spend a lot of time here?” She asked, shocked he knew where to find the books without even asking for help.

“I worked here during freshman and sophomore year,” he replied. “They never change up the organization of this place.” He scanned the shelves with his finger, mumbling the names of the authors they were looking for under his breath. Nora stood behind him and couldn’t help but smile. “Here,” he said, pulling two copies of one out. “Hold them?”

“‘Course.” She took the books and held them in her arms while he continued his search for the second and third titles they need. He quickly tracked them down, snatching them off the shelf and adding them to the pile in her arms. “That it?”

“Yes.” They weaved their way to the front register and she followed Harry, watching how his long brown coat whips around his ankles when he walked.

After they paid, they walked back out to the campus green and stood on the edge of the sidewalk facing each other. “Do you have another class?” He asked her.

She nodded. “Later. Think I’m going to go home and drop these off first, though.” She lifted the stack of books in her arms and he smiled.

“Bit too heavy for you?”

“Shove off," she said, and a smile sneaked onto her face when he chuckled.

“Well, I’ll see you on Wednesday.”

She took a step back and shouldered her bag. “Bye, H.”

“Bye, Nora.”

She tried to ignore the beauty of the way he said her name. But she failed.

~

Maddy and Nora had been in the library for most of Saturday doing their readings for the next week, and by seven o’clock Nora wanted to bash her head into a wall. She kept re-reading the same sentence about the layout of Vienna’s old city and couldn’t process any of the words.

“Maddy," she whispered, poking her in the arm with the cap of her highlighter. “I want to go.”

“Stop poking me, you ass.” Maddy looked up from her readings. “Let’s get out of here—I feel like I smell like library at this point.”

We packed up their stuff quietly, ignoring the death stares from a girl with a problem set spread out on the table in front of her. “It’s like they don’t realize that people naturally make noise when they move," she said, and Maddy snorted, earning them more glares. “Come on, we should go before we’re killed in here.”

She followed Maddy out of the room they were in and made their way down the hall, the sound of Nora’s sneakers squeaking on the tile floor earning us yet more glares from people. It was literally the first week back at school, Nora thought, how are people already so stressed about work?

Maddy suddenly slowed her walk and matched her pace with Nora’s, leaning in close to her. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but isn’t that Harry walking towards us?”

Nora looked up and realize that it was Harry. He was wearing an oversized black sweatshirt and a pair of houndstooth pants that he somehow makes looked both comfortable and stylish, along with a pair of glasses. She simply does not understand this boy’s ability to looked so good constantly. “I cannot talk to him right now," she told Maddy. “I looked like complete shit and he looked like…a Greek god.”

“Shut up. You’re going to talk to him because he was basically beelining over here.”

“Fuck fuck fuck fuck," she said under her breath.

“Nora.” Harry’s voice was soft because of the library, and she loved the way it sounded. “Maddy, right? I’m Harry.”

Maddy nodded. “Nice to meet you.”

Harry’s gaze turned back to her, and she decided then and there that she loves him in glasses. He was not just a Greek god, he was a studious Greek god. Tortoise shell, peak book nerd. “How are you?”

“Good," she replied. “Was just doing the reading for their class.”

He groaned. “I haven’t even started it. How bad is it?”

She shrugged. “A bit dry, but not horrible.”

“Great,” he said. “I have that to look forward to doing. What are you two up to tonight?”

She looked at Maddy, who shrugged. “Unsure at this point.”

“We’re having another party if you want to come.”

“We’ll be there,” Maddy said before Nora had the chance to reply. She shot Maddy a death stare, which Maddy just ignored.

Harry grinned and it was utterly adorable. “I’ve got to keep working, but I’ll see you guys later.”

“Bye H.” The nickname fell from her mouth with ease, and he smiled in response.

“Bye Nora.”

He walked away and she turned to Maddy, who was grinning ear to ear. “What?”

Maddy shook her head and gave her a knowing smile. “You’re fucked.”

She looked back to Harry’s receding figure. Maddy was right. Nora was completely fucked.

They had been at the party for an hour and Nora had yet to see Harry. She didn’t know if he was hiding or something, but no matter which room she went into or how hard she looked, she still couldn’t manage to spot him in the crowd. The party was bigger than last weekend as everyone was now on campus, and Maddy and Nora kept running into people they knew, so now they’ve developed a little crew to hang out with. Their friends Taylor and Lauren arrived shortly after Maddy and Nora did, and they brought with them a girl who was in the same sorority as Lauren and was dating a DSig. As a result, they all end up trashed and dancing without much time passing.

Nora threw her arms around Maddy and screamed the lyrics to a Post Malone song, and Nora felt utterly, blissfully happy. She had forgotten about this side of frat parties while she was gone—how happy she was when she was dancing and there was alcohol coursing through her veins. Some girl must have gotten hold of the music, because the song changed to an old Taylor Swift song and the girls lost it, jumping up and down in the crowd and screaming the lyrics at the top of their lungs.

“I need a drink!” Nora said when the song was over, her throat hoarse and her hair sticking to the back of her neck. The song switches, and the Maddy screamed—it was her favorite song and she had to be on the dance floor for it. Nora could see the torn look in her best friend’s eyes, and she shook her head. “I’m good—I’ll be back in a second.”

She pushed through the crowd, apologizing as she dug her elbows into people to make a path to the kitchen. She grabbed a beer, needing something cold and not too strong, and leaned against the countertop, letting the cooler air wash over her skin.

“Hello.”

The words tingled down her spine, and she turned her head to see Harry standing in the door jamb. The kitchen had mostly cleared out, so it was just the two of them and a set of girls who looked like freshman trying to decide which mixer was less disgusting with their bad vodka. “Hi, H.”

“Having fun?” He was wearing a black t-shirt and it was tight in all the right places and Nora had to force herself to not consider what it would be like to take it off of him.

She nodded. “Couldn’t find you, though.” The words tumbled from her mouth before she could stop them and Nora wanted to shrink into the counter. She sounded desperate and psychotic—she had barely known this boy and now she was complaining about now being able to find him?

But Harry just smiled. “I was upstairs,” he explained. “Was trying to finish a bit of work before I started drinking.”

If he was doing work here, Nora assumed he lived in the house. “You live here?”

“Unfortunately.” He moved towards her, grabbing a beer from the fridge next to her, and Nora caught a flash of light blue on his fingers. Harry painted his nails, she realized.

This fraternity boy painted his goddamned nails light blue.

Who was this boy?

What planet was he from?

And more importantly, where had he been all of her life?

“I like your nails,” she said. “What color is that?”

He glanced down at them. “Dunno. Stole it from my sister over winter break. I can check and text it to you later, though.”

“I’d like that.” Nora took another sip of her beer, the cold drink feeling good in her body. “Where are all your friends?”

Harry shrugged. Nora got the sense that he didn’t really care about all the fraternity stuff and she liked that. Frat boys had always annoyed with their “bro energy” as Maddy called it and she’d met some real assholes during her time in college. Harry seemed like an outlier though. “You want to dance?” He asked her, breaking her out of her trance.

She straightened up. “Sure.” She tried not to think about the fact that she cannot, for the life of her, dance sexily. Maddy had made fun of her for it since freshman year, and despite her efforts Nora had not been able to master the art of looking hot and dancing. She was more of a whip-your-arms-around-and-scream dancer.

When they reached the crowded living room, Harry grabbed her hand and Nora loved his callused hand in her hers, the way he held it tightly so he didn’t lose her in the crowd. He didn’t go too deep into the crowd, wanting to make sure they had space to breathe and it was not too hot. When he stopped moving he tried to create space for them, wanting to make sure they could actually move, not just stand there like idiots and battle for oxygen on the dance floor. Nora took a long swig of her beer, and then she started to sway her hips, deciding to throw caution to the wind.

She liked this boy. She had a massive crush on Harry and his soft words and the way he called her by her full name and smiled at her. She had a crush on the way he was dancing—awkwardly and with a goofy grin on his face, screaming the lyrics to the Top 40s hit along with her. She liked that he didn’t seem to care what people thought of him, that he painted his nails baby blue and knew how to dress himself. She even liked his tattoos, which she usually secretly judged people for, but on Harry they fit him. She wanted to trace the outlines of them and ask him about the stories behind them, to know everything about him. She liked that he took the hit during rage cage for Maddy. She liked that when they were dancing he gives her a thumbs up to check in and make sure she was doing okay.

She really liked him, she realized as she dances with him. She wanted to impress him, but not in a way that’s uncomfortable—more in a way where she just wanted him to see the best parts of her. But she also wanted him to know her, she realized. She wanted him to know things about her and like being around her as much as she did. Because he put her on edge, but not because he made her uncomfortable, but because of how much she liked him. She wanted to know him, even if it was just to be friends, because he seemed interesting. She felt like he has layers to him, and every time she snatches another piece of information she only has more questions.

Even if they were just friends, Nora wanted to know him, she decided.

So she decided, fuck it all, and danced like she didn’t have a care in the world, because she wanted him to see the real her. She wanted him to see her awkward dancing and to accidentally hit him in the face with her hair so that he knew her and could bail if he didn’t like her. She wanted to give him and out and see if he took it.

And he didn’t.

They dance for what feels like forever, their beers long gone. He grabbed her hand at one point when people were becoming pushy and pulled her closer to him, their sweaty bodies touching each other practically every time they move. They sang their favorite songs, and he leaned down to whisper in her ear, “I fucking love this song,” when Mamma Mia came on, and Nora decided that it’s the cutest thing she had ever found out about someone. She told him about her obsession with Drake when In My Feelings comes on, and he admitted that he listened to this song on repeat for three hours one time. They had these snippets of conversation on the dance floor, their faces close and voices loud enough to be heard over the music.

SexyBack came on and they both devolve into seventh graders, obsessed with this song and not really caring about the meaning. Nora danced, throwing her hands up and dropping her hips lower than she had before.

And then someone slammed into her back, throwing her straight into Harry’s chest.

The feeling of him close to her set her skin on fire.

She had kept just enough distance during the evening to make sure they weren’t this close, but it had not taken much for them to be fully flush against each other. And now they were and Nora could feel everything. One of her hands was on his pecs and she could feel the smooth muscle across his chest, and the other hand landed on his side, the palm of her hand on his abs and she felt the outline of abs there. Her fingers dug into his skin, grappling for balance as she tried to find her footing.

Harry’s hands immediately found her waist, holding her steady. His fingers felt like they were searing on her lower back, the contact sending Nora into outer space. And she didn’t know if it was from the alcohol or from him, but either way her head was spinning a bit.

“You okay?” He asked, his accent smooth as butter in her ear. His lips were close enough that they brush softly against her hair and the edge of her ear. Nora was trying not to hyperventilate, but also maintain her footing, and not press all of her weight onto Harry.

She was about to answer that yes, she was fine, so sorry, when someone bumped into her again, pushing her back into Harry. He stumbles this time and wrapped his arms around Nora fully to try and keep them both upright. He was essentially hugging her at this point and Nora thought her heart might have stopped the second she felt him tug her close to him.

“Someone’s really trying to push you over, aren’t they?” He said with a chuckle into your ear.

“I’m so sorry,” Nora apologized, finding her footing and straightening. She didn’t push away from Harry though, and he didn’t let go of her. “I didn’t mean to fall onto you—or into you, I guess?”

He shook his head. “No matter. You okay, love?”

Love. The word reverberated through Nora’s head and she tried to keep her wits about her. She knew she was feeling mushy tonight—all these thoughts of Harry and how adorable he was and sweet and kind had got her melting for him, but maybe that was the alcohol? She couldn’t keep it straight. And when he called her love, all of the efforts to keep it together just fall apart.

“I’m okay,” she answered softly. “Are you?” She looked up and into his eyes, and even though the room was dark, she could still make out his eyes in the strobing lights, the flashes of his beautiful hair and his high cheekbones. She could see his eyes meet hers and Nora felt this pull in her chest to kiss him. He didn’t break eye contact with her and Nora was just searching his eyes, begging for an answer, an explanation, some hint to tell her what to do and what he bloody wanted.

Because she knew what she wanted. She wanted to kiss him.

“‘M fine.” His voice was like sandpaper and she wondered if his mouth was as dry as hers was. He hadn’t moved his hands from her back, only loosened them slightly so he was not holding her quite so close.

She inched her fingers upwards, one landing on his shoulder, the other on his elbow. Nora wondered if she was imagining the way his breathing had quickened. Did she kiss him? She wanted to. She wanted to kiss him so bad. She wanted to know what his lips feel like on hers, if they were as soft as they felt when they bushed her ear. She wanted to know what he tasted like and how he would kiss her. Did she just do it? She searched his eyes one last time, the seconds stretching into what feels like hours. “Can I kiss you?”

He blinked.

Nora held her breath.

Then, his lips were on hers and suddenly Nora knew exactly what his lips feel like on hers. They were soft like velvet and he smelled like heaven.

He kissed her like it was his last breath, desperate to know if she breathed the same air as him. Deep and wanting, the intensity building with every press of his lips to hers. It was urgent, yet soft—he didn’t lick into her mouth, just stays on her lips. And man, can the boy kiss.

Her hand moved from his shoulder to his neck and wound through the hair there, a breathless moan leaving his mouth, and she wondered if he liked it when she pulled his hair.

So when he finally did lick his tongue against the seam of her lips and she widened them, she pulled, ever so softly.

And he moaned deeply, his grip on her waist tightening.

Nora wanted to kiss him for the rest of time.

Her other hand moved from his elbow to his back, fingers finding the material of his shirt and pulling him closer to her. Her fingers curled into the cotton, the sweat from them dancing on her palm but she didn’t care because she wanted him closer. She could feel every inch of his body flush with hers and she loved it—the way he felt against her, the way her skin was lit on fire, the way she wanted to drink purely Harry until the end of time.

“Nora,” he said, pulling back, allowing both of them to catch their breath, “do you want to come upstairs?”

She hesitated. It’s not that she didn’t want to—she’d love to fuck this boy until the dawn of time—but she had no idea where her friends were, and she would rather not let them think she’d been kidnapped. And if she thought about it, she knew she probably shouldn’t. She barely knew Harry and she had class twice a week with him, and most likely a discussion section on top of it. If it didn’t work out, she had to see him constantly for the rest of the semester, which was not ideal.

His finger raised her chin slightly so she had to look into his eyes. “I’m not trying to get you to sleep with me, by the way. I just want to get out of this fuckin’ sweaty crowd so I can kiss you properly and not worry if I’m going to be kicked in the back. And if you don’t want to, that’s totally fine too. I’ll stay here if you’d rather that. Or we don’t have to kiss at all—I don’t want you to do anything you have to.” He was rambling, unsure of his standing. Her hesitation had thrown him for a loop and Harry wasn’t sure if she even wanted to kiss him at all anymore. Was she into it? He thought she was from the way she pulled him towards her, but from the hesitation he wasn’t sure and he wanted to be sure.

“No, it’s not that,” she said, and his fears were immediately pushed aside. “I just want to let my friends know where I am first.”

“Oh,” Harry said. “Where are they?”

Nora looked around the crowd, but couldn’t catch sight of them anywhere. “When I left they were here. Lemme try texting them.” She pulled out her phone and found a string of texts from the group chat with Maddy, Taylor and Lauren discussing the fact that she was making out with Harry Styles and that they were fine and to do whatever she wanted, that they’d find her when they were going to go and check in. Truly the best friends of all time. She quickly texted them that she was going upstairs to Harry’s room and then she looked back up at him, his lips quirked in a smile. Nora wondered if he saw the texts, but then decided there’s no reason to freak out—he was making out with her, after all. “Upstairs?”

“Upstairs.” His fingers wound through hers and he led the way out of the crowd, dodging groups of frantic dancers and couples making out just as they had been. He navigated the crowd with ease, his tall frame putting him a head above most other people, and Nora just held onto his hand and let him lead her out of the crowd and up the stairs.

It was quieter on the second floor, a row of doors to bedrooms shut and soft music drifting out of some, the loud thud of the bass from the main floor less intense. Nora stayed close to Harry, her body magnetic to his. He led her down the hall, telling her who lives in all the other rooms, pointing to the bathroom as they passed it, just in case she needed it. Then, they were standing outside a room with his name on the door and he turned to her.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” He asked her, searching for confirmation, which he found when Nora nodded.

He pushed open the door, a soft light from his bedside table lamp illuminating bits of the room. Nora saw posters of bands, a minimalist map of Milan, and stacks upon stacks of books lining the walls. She stepped inside and he shut the door behind her, and she continued to investigate the room, taking stock of the various pieces of information she could collect from its decoration. A guitar leaned against the wall, sheets of paper next to it with scribblings on them—he was a musician—and a basket of cleanly folded laundry lies in the corner so she knew he was clean and tidy. He had photos of his family on his dresser, which warmed her heart, and a stereo in the corner with a stack of records next to it.

“What do you think?”

She turned to him. He was leaning against his door, a look of curiosity and a hint of fear on his face. They were still learning about each other, and he had exposed a huge part of who he is to her by letting her in here. “I think you like music and books.”

Harry just laughed. “Well, you’re right about that.”

He didn’t move from the door, so Nora decided to take the lead. She wanted to kiss this boy again, not have a conversation about his favorite book he read or the musician that transformed his understanding of music. She sat on the edge of his bed, leaned back on her hands, and gave Harry a look that screamed, “Come.”

And he does, a quirk in his brow. He stood between her widened legs, brushed a thumb across her jawline, and then leand down to reconnect their lips. Nora softened immediately, her hands begging for purchase on his skin, and pulled him towards her. Harry kicked off his boots and then gently pushed Nora up on the bed, following her, the desire written all over his face. He was about to lean down to kiss her again when Nora said, “Wait. Shirt?”

He pulled it over his head without a second thought, and Nora relished in the sight of his tattoos. The butterfly on his abdomen she’d seen before, the swallows on his pecs, the ship on his arm that she hadn’t. The small musings up and down his arms that she would look closer at later, she decided. In the mean time, she pulled him in by his neck and he collapsed into her, his weight a welcome feeling against her body. Nora widened her knees and hooked her ankles around him, resting them on his lower back. The pressure pushed him closer to her core and she gasped at the feeling—she couldn’t help it. He was big. Bigger than she expected.

Harry stopped his assault on her neck and looked up at her. “This okay?”

“God yes,” she replied. “Keep going.”

He smiled, and returned his lips to her neck, pulling and prodding at her skin with his lips and his teeth, sucking what would be a hickey later onto the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Usually Nora despised hickeys, but she couldn’t find the reason to care right now. Her hands scrabbled at his skin, trying to find purchase, the feeling of him grinding slowly into her and his lips on her neck almost too much.

“Harry,” she said, gasping for air as he tugged at the neck of her shirt to gain more access, “roll over.”

She unhooked her ankles and he rolled, pliant to her words. She straddled him immediately, loving the view of Harry Styles spread out beneath her. His hair was tousled from her fingers, lips swollen from her kisses, chest rising fast from her. She felt him beneath where she sat on his abdomen and it made her smile. Then, she pulled her shirt off and she watched him look at her.

Nora hadn’t always loved her body. She remembered the first time she ever took off her shirt, the boy looking at her didn’t know what to say or do with her breasts, and she hated it. She wondered if they were too big—girls in films have breasts, but never ones that were like hers. The size that hurt when she ran and gave her back aches. The size her friends didn’t really understand—the size Nora hated as a teenager. But in the past two years she decided to stop giving a fuck. She thought she was beautiful and she was done letting what other people think of her change that. And when she let Harry look at her, she was wondering what he was thinking. Did he think she was as beautiful as she does?

And then he told her. “Good lord,” he said, voice hoarse, “you’re gorgeous.” He leaned up and kissed her cleavage that’s exposed, Nora’s fingers finding a home in his curls.

“Fuck, H,” she whined at the feeling of his lips on her tender skin. She bent down and captures his lips with her own, pressing him back onto his back, loving their bare skin on one another. They were battling for both air and dominance, and when Nora’s lips started traveling down his neck and onto his chest, Harry thought he stopped breathing for a second. She sucks a hickey on his pec, right above the swallow, and then blew on it and he practically shivered from the sensitivity.

He could feel her traveling southward and even though he wanted her to suck him off—good lord did he want her too—he stopped her. He tugged her up, reattaching their lips, a “C’mere,” whispered between them. He wanted to kiss her for longer, he wanted to drag this out as long as possible. And also, quite honestly, if she kept occasionally rolling her hips like she was doing he might come from that alone. She was gorgeous, yes in the way she looked, but also the confidence she exuded and the way she told him what she wantd and the way she was tracing up and down his arms and sides with her fingers leaving goosebumps in their wake.

He was fucked, because this girl had managed to turn him into putty after knowing him for just one week.

And then she started really moving her hips back and forth. Nora knew what it wa doing to him and she loved it—loved the knowledge that she was the one making him feel this way and she wanted to see how far it would go, how far she could take it. So as she kissed him, their lips moving in sync, she rolled her hips on his, grinding down every once and a while, drinking up every breathless moan leaving Harry’s lips, savoring each grunt, and when he let out a low, “Nora, please, fuck,” she knew she had him in her hand.

She smiled against his mouth and turned her head, leaning down to his ear, and whispered, “Tell me what you want, H.” He grunted and she rolled her hips again, the seam of his jeans rubbing against her clit in a way that sent shivers down her spine. “What do you want?” She asked, her voice low and dripping with desire.

“You,” he said finally. “Fuck, Nora, I want you.”

Nora kisses his cheek and then makes her way down his chest, making a path right to his dick. Harry had given up any contemplation of waiting, he couldn’t wait anymore. He wanted her so bad it genuinely physically hurt. He needed to come and he needed to come now. Nora popped the button on his jeans and Harry lifted his hips to let her pull them down.

Then, a series of knocks came from the door.

Nora’s head whipped up and so did Harry’s. No one knocked on his door usually. They knew he was private, that he didn’t like people in his space unless he invited them.

“Nora?” Maddy’s voice could be heard over the dull throbbing of the bass from downstairs, and Nora let out a sigh. “We’re heading out babes.”

Nora looked between Harry and the door. “Give me one second,” she called back to Maddy, her eyes not leaving Harry. “I’m going to go,” she told him. She had shit to do tomorrow. But also, she wanted to make sure she was not making a mistake by hooking up with Harry, since she was going to be seeing him all the time for the rest of the semester. She wanted to think about this, because she wasn’t expecting this to happen and needed to take a moment to consider the repercussions of her actions. She barely knew Harry—what would he do if they fuck? Would he ignore her for the rest of the semester? He might be nice, but he was still a fratboy, and Nora had enough experience in that department to know the norm wasn’t to bring a girl flowers after.

“Everything okay?” He asked, sitting up as she snatched her shirt from the other side of the bed where had she discarded it.

She nodded. “I just need a second to…think.”

Harry considered this. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing he is—that they have class together for the rest of the semester and it was probably not the best idea to fuck your classmate the first weekend of the semester. “Okay,” he replied. “No worries. I’ll, uh, see you in class, I guess?”

Nora was tugging on her booties and she looked at him with a small smile on her face. “Bright and early Monday morning.”

Harry got up, rebuttoning his pants. As Nora was about to open the door, he grabbed her wrist, acting on pure instinct, and pressed a kiss against her lips. It was softer than the ones before, a simple kiss that was a goodbye, but also a question. A question begging, “What’s next?” Nora broke the kiss, and with a touch to the hickey left behind above the swallow, she was out the door and gone.

Harry stumbled to his bed, his body hitting the mattress with a sigh.

He was so, so royally fucked.

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

i hope you guys enjoyed this! this is my first fic and i’m super excited about her. :) let me know what you think of my lil frat boy harry. there is more coming soon. xoxo

ask me about fratboy!harry here | masterlist here

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

with you [chapter four]

Summary: Clementine pops the question, Louis has nightmares, Violet can’t let go of the past, Mitch doesn’t know how to handle gross feelings, Ruby’s a goddamn sweetheart, Willy doesn’t ever remember to knock, Aasim can’t dance, and James is here, too.

Nothing like a wedding to bring this family together.

Note: tbh working on this story at night is the only thing holding my sanity together while I’m taking care of my grams. But also this chapter was a huge pain in the ass to fix and I’m 0.02 seconds away from punching a hole in the wall. But it’s fine because it’s finished and I ran all the way home just to quickly post this. 

Anyway, thank you for reading and your constant support. It truly means a lot to me. I hope you enjoy ch4. ❤️

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4

Read on: AO3

---

The page remains blank.

No matter how much Violet wills the pen to move on its own, to put all thoughts both known and unconscious to paper, it remains beside the open notebook. As outrageous as it sounds, a small part of her hopes one day the pen will magically come to life and solve all of her problems with its problem-solving ink. Then everything will be okay. 

Though she has a feeling the walkers will go extinct before her pen develops a sentient personality or therapeutic skills. 

And she’ll be dead by then, so it wouldn’t matter anyway. 

“It helps if you pick up the pen,” Aasim said, not bothering to look up from his own work. “Just saying.”

She knows even by his deadpan tone that he’s trying to joke with her, even if he’s not good at it. Laying bait for her to bite back with a sarcastic remark of her own. 

“But then I’d actually have to write something down.”

“Oh no,” Aasim smirks, paying her a brief glance. “Effort.”

That cracks a small smile out of her, and for a fleeting moment, they’re smiling at each other as if that’s a normal thing. It’s hard to maintain that connection, so damn hard, so Violet hides her smile from him by turning away to look towards the gates.

The very same gates that Clementine, AJ, and Rosie pass through. Back from patrol, if she overheard correctly. Even from a distance, Violet can see the delighted grin Clementine wears, a grin only matched by AJ’s. Far brighter than Violet’s. 

AJ hugs her tightly before breaking away and bolting towards Louis, James, and Tenn. Clementine remains, though, arms folded over her chest as she watches the group of boys with such fondness that it damn near makes Violet want to scream.

Shit, just…. Shit . 

“Hey,” Aasim reaches over, tapping on the blank page of her journal with his own worn-out pen to grab her attention. “Lucy had her babies this morning. Seven of them. Well, eight, but one of them didn’t make it.”

Violet tears her glare away from Clementine to instead glare at Aasim. 

“Who the hell is Lucy?”

“One of the pregnant rabbits, remember? Not the one that had babies last week, the other one.”

“We’re still naming them?” Violet asks. Aasim made it very clear that no names were to be used when they started up the rabbit farm by the greenhouse. 

“They’re food, not pets. No names. No attachments.” 

That didn’t last long.

“ I didn’t name her,” Aasim corrects. “Willy did, even though I’ve told him again and again not to. Now when it comes time for us to put Lucy down, he’s not going to talk to me for another two weeks, as if I’m the only one at fault. Remember Albert?”

“Ah, Prince Albert,” Violet nods. “He sure was delicious.”

Everyone agreed that the lovely Prince Albert was one of the handsomest rabbits they had with his snow white fur offset by brown feet and ears. They also agreed that he made one of the best rabbit stews Omar’s ever created. 

Including Willy. That is until Omar offered him one of Prince Albert’s lucky feet and Willy realized just who he had consumed. 

The boy didn’t speak to Aasim or Omar for a week, but Violet believes that he still carries around one of Prince Albert’s feet for good luck, despite everything. 

“Yeah, anyway, did you want to come with me to check on them? Ruby’s out there now. Maybe you could stay with her and help out?”

Violet scoffs. 

“Look, I’ll take your night shift, too,” Aasim adds. “That way you don’t spend all day out there and then have to do a night shift.” 

“I like having the night shift.”

“Every night?”

“Sure.”

“Well,” Aasim taps his pen against the table, thinking loudly to himself. “I’m giving you the night off anyway. Ruby would appreciate your company.”

Oh, would she, now…?

It’s not that Violet minds Ruby. She’s the only girl Violet has left to talk to at this place- the only girl she’s willing to talk to, actually. 

Violet would say that she enjoys evenings spent with Ruby… most of the time. 

The problem with talking to or spending time with Ruby is she’s a lot. Not in the same way Louis is, but more in an overbearing mother sort of way. Always asking her how she’s feeling, asking about her day, if there’s anything she can do to help Violet out or if she wants to do this or that. She’s far too pushy sometimes, especially when it comes to shit she doesn’t understand. 

“Clem’s tryin’, Vi.”

As if Ruby has all the answers to make her happy. She always makes it sound so damn easy. 

“Why can’t ya just talk to each other?”

The problem is that Ruby tries to take care of everyone so that she doesn’t have to think about how to make herself happy. Why focus on your problems when you can bury your pains and wishes beneath fairy tales and other people’s problems?

At least, that’s Violet’s assumption. 

Maybe Ruby is happy. 

Maybe Violet just wishes she wasn’t. 

Fucking hell. 

Just when she thought she couldn’t be any more fucked...

“My company or yours?” Violet mumbles, finally picking up her pen, putting it to paper. 

“What? My company- oh, I see.” Aasim rolls his eyes, dropping his pen in the book before shutting it. “Ha ha, very funny. I get it.”

Violet nearly rolls her eyes, too. Speaking of those who don’t bother with their own shit-

“I was thinking that it’d be good for you to go out there and help her, that’s all,” Aasim says, tucking his notebook under his arm and standing from the table. He means to walk away on that annoying note but hesitates. Then, lowering his voice to one of disquiet, he says, “I’m worried about you. So is everyone else.”

“I’m fine, Aasim.”

“...Right,” he sighs heavily. “Please go help Ruby with the rabbits. I’m only going to be there for a little bit before heading out to check the traps with Louis, and she could really use the help. Please?”

“Fine.”

Aasim lingers, shifting his weight as he gives her a chance to say something more, a chance she refuses. 

“Thank you.”

With that, he’s walking away, leaving her by herself to finish a doodle of a pen with curly hair and fire for eyes with a speech bubble. 

“Why are ya still here?”

---

“Is my neck supposed to feel this stiff?”

“Yes. It’s a sign of a good, unmoving model.”

“Well, good to hear that my career is off to a good start.”

Louis is still sitting there at the table, cracking jokes and trying his best not to move while James and Tenn draw. James points to various parts of Louis’ face before motioning to Tenn’s paper, something that brings a grin to Clementine’s face. 

“Don’t worry, Clem,” says AJ as he hugs her. “I won’t say anything. Can I go draw now?”

“Have fun, kiddo.”

She can safely leave AJ to catch up on art lessons with James. He promised her he wouldn’t breathe a word of this to anyone- even Tenn- until she had everything all planned out.

Now that Mitch has the measurements, the ring is- hopefully- being taken care of, so all that leaves is how she plans on doing this. Several lingering thoughts follow her as she spends most of the day helping around the school, doing usual repairs to the gate and their walls. 

She would’ve checked on Lucy and the other rabbits, but Aasim warned her that Violet was there with Ruby and Louis. She almost pushed him aside and went in anyway, but damn it, she knows better by this point. 

Instead, she and AJ help Omar clean out the fire pit and gather fresh wood, briefly considering letting him in on her intentions. Omar’s a trustworthy friend and while she appreciates his opinion, she decides against telling anyone else until she has the ring. She’s found that battling her eagerness to be growing more difficult with every passing day. 

So much so that she also considers asking about the progress on said ring when she finds Mitch and James near the library’s entrance, speaking in hushed whispers that she couldn’t make out. All talk stopped when she approached them, and began again when Mitch became snappy with her before dragging James away. 

Odd, and not boding well for her, but she firmly believes that if there were any issues she should know about, Mitch would tell her.

When the sky finally turns a lovely mixture of pink and orange, AJ gives her a hug goodnight before making his way over to Tenn’s room for another sleepover. 

Before retiring to her dorm for the night, Clementine pokes her head into the music room to find it empty. A slight disappointment falls over her as she hoped Louis would be up for some piano lessons, but that dissipates when she finds Louis kneeling on AJ’s desk with a roll of duct tape hanging from his mouth when she walks in, a stack of drawings placed beside him. He’s taping up one of the portraits of himself on the wall.

“Ey!” He waves at her before spitting the tape out. “Look at these!” He hops off the desk and points at the one he just hung up. “That’s the one James drew. Charming, isn’t it?”

The amount of detail in the portrait is startling, a fully shaded-in head portrait of Louis that seemingly stares right at her. Even the little details, like his freckles and the scar on his chin, are noticeable.

“It’s way weirder than I thought it’d be,” he says, “having someone stare and dissect every part of your face. Did you know I have a very angular jawline?” He tilts his head up to prove his point. “And James said I have a nice eye shape.”

“He did do you justice,” she says, still admiring the picture. “Very handsome.”

His chuckle comes out loud and anxious, not having expected her to say that. 

“Hah, yeah, except,” then Louis pushes his jacket back to place his hands on his hips, “uhm, do you think my nose is big?”

“What?”

“James said I have a wider nose. He drew it bigger than it actually is, right?”  

“You have a very cute nose.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Clementine giggles. “Your nose is perfectly fine, Louis.”

He eyes the portrait, still uncertain, only to then gasp as if just remembering something. 

“Oh, wait though, ready for this?” He searches through the pile before plucking the one he wants out. “ This is the one Tenn drew.” He proudly holds it up.

She can’t say she’s not impressed. It’s nowhere near as proportional or advanced as James’, but Clementine can see the effort and charm within the lines. Definitely Tenn’s work.

“Wow,” Clementine smirks, nudging him. “I see it now. James is right, you do have a big nose.”

“ Hey ,” Louis reaches up and playfully pinches her nose, “big talk from little button nose over here.” Louis sticks Tenn’s portrait on the wall, next to James’. “There! We’re getting quite the art gallery.”

“One’s missing, though.” Clementine grabs Louis’ picture of Rosie off the desk and tapes it up with the others.

“Seriously?” he asks sheepishly.

“Oh yeah. We’re never taking that one down.”

“Terrific.”

Louis continues to look through the rest of the drawings. He hums to himself lightly, a tune she recognizes. He sticks more drawings on the wall; ones that AJ drew of him and Tenn, one he drew of Disco Broccoli.

He pauses when he comes across the one of AJ, Clementine, and him. The one with the beach ball. He smiles fondly at it before sticking it up there with the rest.

She sits on AJ’s bed, leaning against the frame to close her eyes and listen to his cheerful humming. 

One of the few things she loves in this world is the comfort she has when he’s around. 

It’s a comfort she never thought she’d find again. Before Ericson, she and AJ never had time for comfortable peace. When it was just them, there was always that lurking feeling, that bitterness, that lingered in her thoughts. 

Now, they have a place they call home. 

Clementine can’t imagine where they would’ve ended up had she not crashed the car. They’d still be out in the world, scavenging every little bit they could to survive. They never would’ve met the people she now considered family.

She and Louis would’ve never met, where she and AJ never met anyone at Ericson. 

That’s a really shitty thing to think about.

Finding this place, their home, was the best thing that happened to them. Meeting everyone here- Louis, Violet, Mitch, Ruby, Aasim, everyone - has done so much for them. For years, she worried about her and AJ, about always being on the road in a car that constantly ran on fumes, about running across assholes who wanted to hurt them, about the dead finally getting the best of them. Nowhere to go, no direction. A neverending search. 

 She sneaks a glance at Louis. He has no idea. 

He finishes up, shoving the duct tape in a drawer. Leaning against the desk with arms crossed over his chest, he looks at her with a tired grin, but says nothing. 

She raises a brow. 

“What?”

He shrugs.

It’s like the weariness of their previous night has caught up to him, like something triggered a sinking reality that weighs him down. The shadows along his face from the setting light do nothing to hide the sadness betraying his eyes.

She slowly approaches him and reaches out to grab his hand, tugging him closer to her.

“Hey,” she murmurs.

“Hey.”

“You feeling any better?”

“Of course.”

“Really?” Clementine locks their fingers together. “It’s been a long time since you’ve had one that bad.”

He keeps his stare focused on their hands. “...It wasn’t that bad.”

“Louis.”

“Clementine.”

“It was about that woman, wasn’t it?”

He says nothing, but she can see the answer clear in his eyes.

Yes, Clem, you know it was. It always is.

The first and only living person Louis ever personally killed, and it was purely accidental. It frustrates her that it still haunts him, and even more so that it’ll always haunt him. Even when he expressed the relief of “having it in him” to protect those he loves, there’s always a suffocating weight that comes with the first. If anyone knew that, it’s Clementine. 

That kind of guilt, no matter how irrational, never stops. 

“Dorian.”

“Hm?”

Louis closes his eyes and leans forward to press his forehead to hers.

“Her name was Dorian.”

“Lou-”

“I know.” He pulls back, forcing a smile. “I know.” 

His gaze falls on her nose. He pinches it again. 

“I don’t wanna talk about it right now. Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” she smiles sincerely. “Just… want to make sure you’re alright.”

“You don’t have to worry about me so much, Clem. There are more important ways to spend your time.”

More important? 

She supposes that’s a good way to put it. 

“Y’know, I was thinking about what you said this morning,” Clementine smiles. “AJ’s having another sleepover with Tenn tonight, so we have the whole room to ourselves.” 

Louis raises a brow, a slow smirk spreading across his lips. 

“Wanna build a pillow fort?”

“You read my mind.”

Without any hesitation, she kisses him. It’s a quick, soft, comforting peck that catches him off guard.

Another kiss to his lips, and then another. Clementine holds onto the nape of his neck and moves to his chin, his cheek, placing soft, intimate kisses against his warm skin. 

He looks at her with lidded eyes before his hands caress her cheeks, his thumb brushing just below her eye.

He kisses her, eager for every press of her mouth. He doesn’t stop kissing her, even when she tightens her grip on his jacket and pulls him back with her. The desk hits her hip and he’s quick to lift her up onto the surface, almost knocking over her venus fly trap plant.  

A pleased sigh escapes her lungs as she desperately moves to his jaw, down his neck. Her hands move beneath his jacket, trailing down to the hem of his shirt before bunching the material up. His skin is warm. His breathing is quick, shallow.  

“Clem! Clem!”

Louis yanks back, their lips parting quickly with a loud smack as she nearly topples over from the force of him ripping away. 

The bedroom door slams open and in barges Willy. 

She’s disoriented, lightheaded, blinking rapidly and frantically searching for any sign of danger. All she finds is Louis, who’s now over at AJ’s desk, humming incredibly loud, and Willy hurrying in with a triumphant smile.

“Clem, guess wha-!” The second he sees Louis, he stops and gasps. “Oh no!”

“Oh, look, darling!” Louis stops pretending to look at the pictures and glares at the young boy. “It’s Willy, the boy who doesn’t know how to knock! Nice of you to pop in unannounced this late in the evening !”

Willy’s face flushes a scarlet red as his gaze darts between the two, falling down to Louis’ shirt, which remains lifted to reveal part of his stomach. 

Louis yanks the material down, fake coughing.  

Willy’s face is reminiscent of a fresh tomato at this point. It seems that even he got the sense of what was happening before he ran in. 

Clementine slips down from the desk and tries to casually straighten out her own jacket and adjust her hat with an unfazed face, even though she’s positive that her skin is blotchy and red, too. 

“I’m sorry!” Willy blurts out, covering his eyes. “I didn’t see anything! I’ll knock next time! I swear!”

“Uh-huh,” Louis frowns. “Said that last time, didn’t you?”

Now she’s not sure who’s redder, her or Willy.

“Willy, what do you want?’ Clementine sighs. She composes herself and approaches the boy.

His eyes went to Louis before meeting hers. That’s all she needs.

“Is it Mitch?” 

Willy nods.

Clementine’s heart flutters. Choosing her words carefully, she asks, “Is he done?”

Willy nods once more. 

“Done with what?” Louis asks. 

“Uh-”

“Watch,” Clementine interrupts. “I completely forgot that I have watch.”

“Seriously?” Louis asks, confused. “Wait, I thought Ruby had watch tonight.”

“I switched her,” she lies, moving towards Willy and adding, “I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

Willy leaves without another word, staring down at the floor. Clementine holds back an annoyed sigh. The previous mood is completely gone and now she’s made a mess of lies that she’s gotta detangle before Louis gets suspicious. 

Damn it, Willy. 

Couldn’t have waited until morning. 

Louis gives a thoughtful frown. 

“I’m a little worried about him,” he says, “about Mitch, I mean.”

“Oh, uh, really?”

"Something weird’s going on with him,” Louis nods. “He’s been down in the basement every day for the past week and- ...Well, I went to check on him this morning before breakfast.”

Panic shoots through her stomach and into her heart.

Louis pauses, unsure if he should continue. 

“And?” Clementine presses.

 “...Well, when I tried going down the stairs, I think- well, it was probably nothing. I probably didn’t see what I thought I saw because I could’ve sworn I saw James down there, too-”

Clementine’s stomach drops.

“-and I don’t know what they were doing but before I could even get down the stairs, Mitch threw a shoe at me.”

“A shoe?”

Oh, goddamn it, Mitch-

“Yeah, right at my face! He about hit me in my big nose!”

Clementine rolls her eyes. “Again with the nose thing?”

“I’ve accepted its abnormally monstrous size,” he says. “Anyway, then I saw him again on my way to the greenhouse and he wouldn’t even look at me. Not that he’s one for conversation or anything, but it’s like… I don’t know. It felt weird. I don’t know what he’s doing down in the basement or what they’re doing if that really was James I saw. I’m not sure I want to know.”

“I’m sure it was nothing.”

“Probably… I don’t think I’ve ever heard anyone shout ‘no!’ and ‘out!’ that many times in a ten-second time frame before hurling shoes at me. It was pretty terrifying.”

“Mitch is…” Clementine’s at a loss. While she’s thankful for Mitch’s ability to think on his feet so quickly, she wasn’t sure if she approved of the shoe method. “...Hard to understand sometimes, and he and James are friends so it’s not that weird that they’re hanging out together.”

Louis considers this, though she can tell he’s not completely convinced. 

“...Do you think they’re… I mean, it’s none of my business but if there was something going on between them-”

Oh boy.

Louis then shakes his head, changing his mind. 

“Y’know what? I’m sure it was nothing.”

She sighs. So much for not making Louis suspicious of anything. Then again, maybe this is her fault. She did tell James that Mitch was working on fixing the ring, and she should’ve known that would lead to him trying to help. 

“He’s working on a project,” she says lamely. “He probably wants a second opinion on it from James. ”

“A bomb project? I didn’t think James was a fan of explosions.”

“Firecrackers work as a great distraction for the walkers,” says Clementine, which isn’t a total lie. Mitch brought up the suggestion to James a while ago. They spent a long time discussing the idea if she remembers correctly. 

Well, better not let sweet Ruby know,” Louis says. “She’s still got a personal grudge towards Mitch’s bombs ever since that thing in the greenhouse, you know.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” she smirks. “ ‘A bomb? I will whip his ass!’ ”

Her Ruby impression gets a chuckle out of him. “Hope he knows a shoe won’t be enough to stop her. If anything, that’s just provoking the beast.”

“He’ll have to learn that for himself,” she smiles. Clementine approaches him again, fixing the collar of his jacket and apologizing, “Sorry I can't stay and help you build an amazing, comfortable pillow fort. Will you be okay?”

“Don’t worry about me, darling.” He grabs her hand and kisses her cheek. “We can always build a pillow fort another night, or, uhm, finish what we started. Maybe I’ll go tickle the ivories for a while before bed, so if I don’t see you before your finished or if I’m not awake, goodnight and stay warm.”

She gives him a long kiss goodbye before she leaves. 

One the door’s shut, she takes a moment to take a deep breath. 

Her face still feels warm after all the excitement. She’s still a little annoyed at the interruption, but if she’s right about what Willy was trying to imply, then she has to hurry. She can only hope that Mitch found a way to fix the ring.

The wait is starting to make her anxious.

[geethedentist]

The Sassenach Warrior

Catch up on Chapter 8 here and read this chapter on Ao3!

Chapter 9: Tea Leaves and Existential Crises 

Torrential rain battered the windows. It was loud but I enjoyed the static as I sat curled up in an arm chair near the hearth with a cup of tea. My boots were strewn on the floor below in favor of woolen socks. The back of my head had a large, sensitive lump from where it had made forceful contact with the floor last night. It was now accompanied by a dull throb and minor light sensitivity. Brady had thought me unconscious, and had turned his back to celebrate a premature victory. The power I felt surging off the ground to claim the true victory was indescribable. The match was hard won but I had triumphed, and Dougal got his hands on another bag of coin this morning. 

Becoming more accustomed to the fighting techniques, I determined that I had graduated to a different opponent. A larger one, whose size I could use against him. These matches were hardly about strength, and anyone who thought otherwise was surely going to lose … to me. 

As Jamie entered the room I sat up straighter, stopped squinting, and tried to appear altogether non-concussed. His face was buried in an empty teacup as he sat in the chair across. “There’s an auld woman in the taproom readin’ tea leaves! Give her yer cup once ye’re finished.”

I shifted in my seat, letting my leg hang over the side. “You actually believe that stuff?” 

“Well, I suppose not fully. But there’s always a voice in the back of yer mind asking if it could really be true.” 

I rolled my eyes. “Yes and there is another, louder voice asking how the hell a bunch of soggy leaves could know that.” 

He feigned a pout. “Ye’re no fun, Sassenach.” 

“Well? What did your leaves say? Oh please don’t keep me in suspense.” Waving my hand in the direction of his cup, I took another sip.

Jamie inhaled deeply, as if he seemed unprepared for me to ask him this. His voice turned serious. “Well, she told me a lot had happened to me for one so young.” He shifted his shoulders, and I knew he was thinking of the scars, Randall, the death of his father. It was silly how something like this could dredge up those memories for him. How could this woman have possibly known what his life was like? 

“She said my hardships were far from over.”

I wondered what more the world could possibly do to Jamie Fraser. 

“But there will be one thing to make it all worth it.” 

I looked up sharply to find his blue eyes staring intently into mine. “One thing?” I whispered. 

And with that, the door from the taproom banged open announcing Rupert, brandishing his empty cup. “I knew it!” He said. “I’m goin’ to be a hero in battle! That will impress the lassies for sure.” 

“Let me see that!” I grabbed the cup from him and inspected the contents. “Well this lump looks a bit like a pile of shite … and would you look at that! This one looks like Dougal!” 

Rupert snatched the cup back. “What do you ken? Ye dinna have the sight!” 

I ignored him and looked into my now empty cup. “I’ve got a snake that’s eating itself, and what appears to be a lopsided bannock.”

Jamie was trying unsuccessfully to hide his laughter at Rupert’s rising anger. Rupert held his hands out for both cups; I gave them to him. “Ye ken on second glance, this clump does bear a slight resemblance to Dougal.” 

“It would seem I have got the sight after all.” 

Rupert suddenly began staring very intently into my cup. “But I would be lyin’ if I said I wasna curious about Claire’s leaves.” 

I stiffened. They still knew next to nothing about me. It wasn’t that I was afraid the leaves were going to reveal my true past. But that whatever they did reveal, true or not, they would likely believe it. Sure enough, Dougal was lurking in the corner of the room as Rupert handed my ‘fate’ to Mrs. Graham. 

She spent an awful lot of time with it, rotating it this way and that. She was squinting the whole time; her pale eyebrows knit together and she looked worried. I had noticed my heart had begun to knock against my ribcage. At last, she set it down on the counter. The only sound was some muffled conversation from some patrons in the corner; all the other mouths were shut for once and all of their eyes were locked on the fortune teller. 

“I read yer tea leaves,” she said finally. “Here’s some whisky.” 

I silently reached for the glass and took a large sip. Clearly she was about to drop a large problem onto my head. Another large problem. Why was I gripping the glass so tightly? I had just finished telling Jamie how this is a load of crap. Who was this women to tell me my fate? She could be making it all up for all I knew. 

I pictured her sitting back and laughing while she watched a bunch of sorry fools running around doing ridiculous things just because they believed it was their fate to do so.

“Your life has been full of tragedy.” She began. “No family, nowhere to go back to. You are an outlander no matter where on this earth you think you can run to.”

Breathing heavily, I abruptly backed off the stool. Jamie got to his feet as well.  “No… you can’t know that.” 

“As for the future,” Mrs. Graham consulted the leaves again. “Should ye so choose, ye can be an integral part of something greater than yourself. It will bring ye much more sorrow, it will bring crushing defeat. But it will also bring great joy, and great passion. Ye can replace what ye’ve lost.” 

All the while she was talking her voice was mounting in intensity, and I was involuntarily backing up towards the door, pricks of tears behind my eyes. With the end of the proclamation, I turned and sprinted out. 

With absolutely no idea where I was going, I kept running. The woman had just laid my whole miserable life out before me, and before everyone. In times when emotions like this began to take control, the cool metal of my ring would give me comfort. I couldn’t even remember how many months it had been since I’d seen the damn thing. 

Should I run off without it? Is it even worth it? All throughout this roiling confusion I was dimly aware of the pouring rain. It didn’t even matter now if I was crying or not. Also becoming apparent was the fact that I didn’t bring my weapons, my cloak, or even bothered to put my boots on. I stopped and looked down at my feet. The once cozy and inviting wool socks were now soaked with mud, and my toes were quickly turning numb. 

So what will it be Claire? Go back, grab your shit, have an awkward confrontation and leave? Or shall I just keep running and lose a couple toes to frostbite? I had a nice head start anyway; everyone else was likely still standing open mouthed in the taproom. 

The scariest thing was not even the harsh reminder of the death of my family. I had always considered myself a solitary person. But when she had declared that I truly had nowhere and nothing to return to, a strange weight of soul crushing loneliness had settled upon me. I had spent so much of my time trying to escape from Dougal that I didn’t even stop to think about what I was going to do when I returned to the pile of rubble that was formerly my parent’s house. My books, my wooden sword and bow, a scorched portrait of my mother lay strewn about in the ash in front of me. I don’t even remember what they looked like. 

I belonged nowhere. 

And it was during this insane inner turmoil when a sound materialized that appeared to be the approach of many riders on horseback. A streak of red between some of the farm buildings at the edge of town, and suddenly I was back in the glade in which I had first met Jamie. A bright red blob in a mass of green, and I stood cursing at myself to move, climb a tree, do something. 

With the same absence of thought with which I sprinted out of the tavern, I was sprinting back. The need to warn Jamie had overshadowed the tea leaves, and my feet squelched in the mud as I picked up speed, barreling back through the door. Mrs. Graham was gone. 

Jamie had returned to the chair by the hearth, his head in his hands. My boots were still on the floor a few feet away. It was as if I had never left, as if I wasn’t standing over his now startled face soaked to the skin and looking like an absolute lunatic. 

“Sassenach, what …” 

“Redcoats.” I blurted out. “You have to hide.” 

“Me? You have to hide!” He spluttered. 

I grabbed his hand and yanked him up the stairs. “All right we both have to hide.” 

I brought him into my bedroom and we crouched just inside the door frame, across from one another. The hallway overlooked the taproom, allowing us to see below. Jamie was looking around the small chamber with wide eyes, as if he found it scandalous for him to be here. I laughed to myself at the thought. My room was a complete mess. The blankets had fallen off the bed, there were empty tankards everywhere, and to be quite honest, it didn’t smell that great.

Dougal was striding around the bar, inquiring about Jamie. “The lad’s done well to make himself scarce. I think some soldiers are headed towards this tavern.” He commented to Angus. “Although don’t ye find it strange the second that sassenach ran out of here, a whole squadron of English show up?” 

“Insufferable fucking bastard. After everything I’ve done.” I groaned angrily and banged my head back against the wall; the doorframe rattled. Pain immediately radiated in all directions and I emitted a high pitched gasp, having aggravated the sore spot from my head injury the previous night. 

Jamie turned his head sharply in my direction. “Claire,” concern dripped from my name, and his hand involuntarily flew up. He forced it back down again. “Are ye all right? Ye’ve been acting quite funny lately and …” He broke off, 

So my strained movements and small winces of pain had in fact not escaped his notice. Of course not. He was more attentive to me than my own damn self. 

“What are you talking about I’m fine.” I quickly removed my hand from the back of my head. 

His eyes narrowed. “Ye never let anyone help you.” 

“I don’t need it or want it. I can take care of myself.” 

Whatever his next rebuke was had gotten cut off when the front door slammed open and in strode about a dozen redcoats. Loud and boisterous, they showed a complete lack of respect for the establishment. Jamie was intently scanning the crowd, undoubtedly looking for Randall. I had no idea of what he looked like. 

“He isna here,” he whispered, more to himself than to me. 

The redcoat in charge had made himself right at home. “Well what are you waiting for?” He sneered at the barman. “Ale for myself and the lads.” 

The poor flustered man scurried about behind the bar, dropping and splintering several glasses in the process. The Englishman had taken up a seat and placed his muddy boots on top of the bar. After the fifteen or so glasses of ale had been served, the redcoat flicked a penny at the barman’s head. 

“Keep the change!” The rest of the men roared with laughter. 

I started to get to my feet. “He can’t just do that!” 

Jamie quickly grabbed my wrist. “Yes, Sassenach. He can.” 

The barman’s face held an expression of utter defeat. Jamie was right. 

“What brings the patrol in today, sir? Ye’re early.” 

“What? We can’t pay a visit to our favorite tavern? Didn’t you miss me?” Came the mocking reply. “Well first off, we’re about to run out of food again, so you’d better tell that little brat of yours to come load up our wagons.”

“Right away, sir.” The man’s head remained directed at the floor. 

For the next hour, the soldiers laughed and drank and harassed the women serving them beer. Jamie and I still sat across from each other. We had started to toss a balled up pair of my socks back and forth. 

“Ow! What did ye have throw it so hard for Sassenach?” He huffed, rubbing his eye. 

I shrugged. “I was bored.” 

Downstairs, the conversation had resumed. The Englishman in charge approached the bar with quite a nasty smile on his face before he spoke. “Rumor has it, you’re harboring fugitives. What’s more, there seems to be an attempt to stir up the rebellion in this very tavern! Among other illegal activities in this shitehole of a town.” Ah. The real reason for the visit. 

Where the hell was Dougal? 

My eyes snapped up to Jamie’s at the very second his eyes came to mine. And for the second time that day, I wanted to run as far away from that tavern as humanly possibly. I made to get up again, wildly turning my head in all directions. Jamie had risked a quick maneuver over to my side of the doorway. His hands held my forearms, and the effect stilled me. Breathing slowing down, I wondered what ridiculous thing I might have done if his touch hadn’t brought me back.

“Claire. Ye’ve got to stay put. What can ye possibly do at this moment?” 

There it was again. His words had driven home the feeling of complete powerlessness conferred to us by the English. My arms trembled with anger and panic under his hands. 

“Fucking nothing.” 

“Nothing aye? All we can do is wait and see what happens.” He said matter of factly. 

“Jamie what if they find us?” I already knew the answer to that. I would be sent to the noose and Jamie would be sent into the arms of Jack Randall. I had never thought my days as a fugitive would come to an end like this. We crouched pressed together, sharing the tiny amount of wall between the left side of the doorframe and the washstand, waiting to see what happened next. 

Downstairs the barkeep, ever the Jacobite, was lying straight to the ugly bastard’s face. “I run a simple, honest establishment sir. I’ll no have ye comin’ in here accusing me o’ such a thing. Not to mention drinkin’ all the ale that I ken well and good ye have no intention of payin’ for! Agh!” 

He crumpled onto the countertop clutching his face into which the redcoat had just emptied his glass. 

The solider grabbed the man by the front of his shirt. His eyes were red and streaming. “See to it that you’re telling the truth then. Because there is a little English bitch and a red headed Scottish brute both of whom the Crown would love to welcome into its custody. The next patrol will be by again in two weeks. If you don’t have more food, we will be taking more coin. Get up lads, we’re leaving.” 

As the last redcoat lurched out the door, Jamie and I let out simultaneous breaths. I turned to look at him. “Are you all right, red headed Scottish brute?”

“Better than ever, little English bitch. But my arse seems to have fallen asleep.” He grinned. “I want to thank ye for coming back to warn me. I ken those tea leaves really unsettled ye.”

I had completely forgotten about the tea leaves. 

“Jamie!” Dougal’s voice sounded from somewhere above. He must have made his way up to the attic during the little English tea party. 

“Right here, Uncle.” Jamie rose, and extended a hand down to me. 

Dougal stopped in front of the doorway, and narrowed his eyes at me. “Where in the devil have you been?” 

I stomped my foot and opened my mouth to give him a wise mouthed answer when Jamie gently squeezed my wrist, a sign which I took to mean shut up. 

“Claire was here with me the whole time. She was the one who told me to hide in the first place. She was the one who first spotted the patrol. I should think ye can place a bit more trust in her, Dougal.” He snapped at his uncle. 

I had the grace not to smirk at him over Jamie’s shoulder. 

A couple days, a couple more bags of coin, and more than a couple bruises later, I was about to return to the tavern from my latest fight. Of course, it was decided that we would be leaving this town in a few days time, before the redcoats tore the place apart looking for us, and I told Gavin as much. 

“Aye it seems that surprise patrol has put everybody on edge. I was actually going to close down the ring for a bit after tomorrow night.” 

“Well you can be sure to see me tomorrow. I wouldn’t miss my last fight for the world.” I would miss this, and I hoped I would have the opportunity to do it again someday. 

“Dinna tell anyone, but ye’re the bonniest fighter that I’ve ever seen.” He smiled. “Half the lads are scared of ye!” 

“As they should be. Goodnight, Gavin.”

After going through my ridiculous ritual of hiding behind the stables for twenty minutes and then creeping up to the window to make sure the coast was clear, I caught sight of the heinous reflection starting back at me and heaved a sigh. My breath caused a bloom of fog across the glass. 

“Well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of my actions.” 

My left eyebrow was almost completely split in two, a dark mass of congealed blood in between. It was surely going to leave me with a lovely little bald spot after it healed, and not even a win tonight to show for it. Given only half the coin I normally receive, I groaned at the prospect of a disappointed and now spoiled Dougal in the morning. 

I had been cocky and overconfident in my big genius plan and I could have split my other eyebrow myself because of how foolish I’d been. Who knows how much money I had just handed over? 

Do you not think things through on purpose or are you that stupid, Beauchamp?

And yet, despite the fact that Scotland was accepting my donations to its fight for  freedom in the form of Dougal Mackenzie’s greedy hands, it felt right somehow. 

The footsteps were completely silent. 

“Claire?”

[madamebaggio]

There’s no Way (that it’s not going there)

Notes: Hello, people.

I have no self-control, it’s okay if you judge me. I threw the idea for this work a while back here. So... It’s time to just get it done.

Have fun!

Chapter 1

Arthur didn’t need to look at Bedivere’s disappointed face to know he’d fucked up. He didn’t need to check Twitter or Facebook, or even fucking E! to know he’d said the wrong thing.

Especially because those few words were branded on his mind.

“There will always be someone to call your hard work ‘bullshit’. Never listen to them.”

Arthur might be a rockstar -even though he kinda hated the term-and have the fame of a bad boy, but he tried -quite hard -not to be a jerk.

He’d just failed miserably at that. 

A few nights ago, he’d been getting out of a pub with two of his band mates. He was slightly buzzed and more than a bit irritated -a so-called fan had insistently yelled at him that Camelot had sold itself to the ‘industry’ -when they were mobbed by paparazzi.

Nimue had pulled her hood up, while Wet Stick had firmly pushed her ahead -she hated the attention of the cameras -leaving Arthur a bit behind.

Arthur hardly ever talked to the media, mostly because they annoyed him, but that night… That night he was tired and grumpy, so when they threw a question at him, he just snarked the first thing that came to his mind, which happened to be a major Freudian slip.

If he were to be completely honest, he hadn’t even heard the whole question. He just heard something like “what do you think” and one name: Sansa Stark.

Sansa Stark was the princess of pop, America’s sweetheart; she was beloved by the industry. She was a feminist and she advocated against domestic violence.

And he -stupid, tired idiot -had said, “I’m tired of this pop bullshit.” Someone recorded it and it went viral.

It was the most ridiculous Freudian slip he could have ever committed on tape. He meant to say, ‘pap bullshit’, he swore by it. But he didn’t, he’d said ‘pop’.

And the world saw it and the internet went batshit over it.

He woke up the next morning with texts from all his friends, from Bedivere and his Twitter was blowing up. It was only then he finally understood the question he supposedly answered: “What do you think of Sansa Stark singing at the opening of the Grammy’s?”

Arthur cringed.

There was way too much noise over this particular topic already.  Benjen Stark was a rock legend; his band -The Watchers on the Wall -was a reference when it came to the genre; they were right along big names like The Beatles, Queen, Led Zepplin. Fuck, Arthur himself was a big fan.

However, earlier that week, it had been announced that Benjen Stark would sing at the Grammy’s along his niece, Sansa Stark, and people had gone crazy.

Benjen was protective of her. That same year, someone had found a picture of him frowning and posted it with the caption: “The face you make when you’re a living rock legend and your niece sings pop trash”. Stark, who at the time didn’t even own a Twitter account, created one just to post a picture of himself with said niece, who’d clearly just finished one of her concerts, with the biggest smiles on their faces. The caption read: “The face you make when your niece is bright and talented and you’re fucking proud of her”.

Arthur didn’t even care that Sansa Stark was singing at the Grammy’s. They could sing whatever the fuck they wanted, in whichever way they wanted. It was none of his business.

But now people thought it was.

Some of his fans were saying how proud they were of his statement and screaming their support; they said it was high time someone positioned themselves against this ‘pop bullshit’. Other fans admitted being disappointed at his retrograde attitude.

People all over the internet had many opinions about it; some saying he had a right to have his own opinion and others claimed he’d been just an asshole. There were talks of sexism, prejudice and just plain rudeness.

Then Benjen Stark himself replied to the video with “That’s exactly the type of attitude we don’t need.” To make things better, Jon Snow and Arya Stark -the lead singers of The Direwolves and Queen Nymeria respectively -had also shown their support to Sansa; which was expected, considering they were a family. The thing was, Arthur knew and liked both of them.

Arthur was already feeling like shit by that point, but then Sansa Stark decided to say something.

“There will always be someone to call your hard work ‘bullshit’. Never listen to them.”

Classy, like her. She’d never be petty or rude, because that wasn’t who Sansa Stark was; she was a lady through and through.

It made him feel even lower. Bedivere’s face wasn’t helping.

“I know.” He said before his agent could even open his mouth.

“I know you.” Bedivere told him dryly. “You’re much smarter than this, you never said anything even remotely problematic before. Why start now and like this?”

Arthur sighed. “I didn’t mean to say anything. I know it makes no difference.” He said when he saw Bedivere opening his mouth. “You know I’m not that much of a prick, Bedivere.”

Now it was Bedivere’s turn to sigh. “I do. At least you apologized.”

He’d posted a formal apology on his Facebook the day before. He’d apologized not only to Sansa Stark herself, but also to all the pop artists, and made clear he respected them all.

There had been no further comments from the Stark Clan.

Arthur took a fortifying breath. “Call your buddies.” He asked Bedivere. “Get me in touch with Sansa Stark.”

XxX

Sansa had disconnected from Twitter since she wrote her reply to Arthur Pendragon a few days back. Shae, her assistant, was taking care of all the social media problem for now. She was tired of seeing the debate over the comment, and the support and attacks from all over the place.

She hadn’t survived under Cersei’s thumb to engage in a Twitter war with Arthur Pendragon of all people.

Her whole family had been beyond offended by his comment, but those were the Starks: always united, no matter what. Arya had wanted to go on a full rant over it, but Sansa asked her not to; she didn’t want to make this bigger than it already was.

If Arthur wanted to be the though rocker with a bad attitude, he could do it without her help.

Jon had also been quite upset about it, because he knew Pendragon and liked him -as much as Jon could like anyone he knew for less than a decade. He commented he didn’t think Pendragon was the type to make comments like these, but also admitted he might not know the other man enough.

Sansa had obviously never met the man, and only knew him by reputation. There was a lot of crossed information about him: some claimed he was as much of a bad boy as he looked, others said he was a caring, laid-back guy who just happened to like heavy rock.

Sansa didn’t particularly care who he really was, as long as he left her the hell alone.

Apparently, it wasn’t to be.

She was running on the treadmill when Shae appeared beside her, lips firmly pressed together like she was trying to contain a scream, and frenetically bouncing on her feet.

Sansa stopped the machine. “What’s wrong?”

Just then she noticed the phone in Shae’s hand. “It’s Arthur Pendragon!” Shae almost squealed, hand covering the receiver. “His voice is so sexy! Can you imagine him dirty talking?”

“Arthur Pendragon?” Sansa couldn’t be more shocked if Shae said it was Cersei.

“He wants to talk to you.” Shae whispered urgently. “Do you want to take it?”

What the hell? Sansa took a deep breath. “Give me the phone.”

Shae passed her the phone and stood there, almost dying of anticipation.

“Sansa Stark speaking.”

“Hello, Stark.” The rough, accented voice called from the other side. Shae was absolutely right; his voice was way too sexy. “It’s Arthur Pendragon here.”

“How can I help you, Mr. Pendragon?” She asked, her tone of voice a thing that would make her mother proud: polite and cutting.

He cleared his throat. “Listen, I was an asshole the other day and said something monumentally stupid. I’m not about to give excuses for what I said, but I’ll apologize again. So… Anyway… Sorry. It was a shitty thing to say.”

Sansa was shocked, totally caught by surprise. She hadn’t been expecting him to say anything of the kind just then. She’d thought he’d give some half-assed excuse and apologize, but he sounded genuinely contrite.

But then again… Joffrey had sounded sorry many times as well.

“I appreciate the gesture, Mr. Pendragon.” She told him politely. “It’s very thoughtful of you.”

Even Shae winched at the frosty tone. There was pause from the other side. “Now, Stark…” He drawled. “I have the feeling you’re being sarcastic.”

She rolled her eyes, happy he couldn’t see her. “I can’t imagine why you’d think that.”

He chuckled. “Charming one, aren’t you?”

The nerve of this… “You apologized, Mr. Pendragon, and I’ve accepted it… I think we’re ‘cool’.”

“Are we?” She could her the amusement in his voice. “Good to know. Can I call you Sansa then?”

She snorted. “Dream on, Pendragon.” Sansa hung up, still hearing his laughter.

Asshole.

Notes: Ok, a few final considerations.

1- Uncle Benjen is a rock legend, but he’s a supportive uncle and nobody will convince me otherwise!

2- I’m calling the Mage Nimue, because I don’t think she should be Gwinevere.

3- This is only happening because this Arthur gives me a serious rock star vibe.

4- This is pure fluff. Honestly, I’m not even considering the real world and music industry. If you want a more faithful portrait of the reality, you’re reading the wrong fanfiction. We’re deep into my fantasy world. You’ve been warned. lol

Let me know your feelings! 

[rangergirl3]

Good morning Tumblr! Or afternoon. *checks watch*

Oh wow, I slept in late. Yay Saturdays! :D

Now that I got a good night’s sleep, I’m going to post here about some of the stuff going on in my life, and if you’d like to read it, great! If not, no worries, it’s below the ‘read more’ line. I didn’t want to take over your Tumblr feeds. :-)

So remember all these shitty parents you’ve seen in media?

1) Denethor (Lord of the Rings)

2) Mother Gothel (Tangled)

3) Orion and Walburga Black (Harry Potter) - okay, so technically we didn’t see either Orion or Walburga, but I do think a screaming portrait counts ;-)

Now imagine they each have a God complex and literally cannot fathom anything being wrong with their parenting style (which included both consistent and varied forms of emotional, physical, psychological, and mental abuse and/or neglect.) Toss in some staggering narcissistic life choices and viewpoints, add in an astonishing depthless lack of empathy, and you have my parents. It was/is a match made in...somewhere other than Heaven. Or at least that’s my opinion. (I know that I’m biased, but then, I’m their kid.)

I lived in 12 houses in about 5 different states before I turned 15 years old. I ended up just writing down our home phone number on a card I kept with me instead of memorizing it because, in my mind, it was easier than trying to keep up with all of the changes going on. I was in and out of schools constantly because of the moves, and because my parents would sporadically want to ‘try homeschooling’. Counted sequentially I attended 8 schools by the time I finished high-school. If my parents had been stable individuals, all this constant transition might not have been such of an upheaval. But instead, they are...themselves. But here’s the main thing:

Before I turned 8 years old, I’d been sexually attacked by two different grown men who were, I think, friends of my parents. I was almost killed both times it happened, and no one noticed what was going on, so each of the jackasses got away with pedophilia, torture, and attempted murder. Basically I survived because I’m stubborn and...I was lucky. Very lucky. (I also played dead the second time and that seemed to work). 

After each of the attacks, neither of my parents noticed any change in my behavior, or really noticed much of anything going on with me. They wanted their kids to be well-behaved, quiet unless spoken to, and...basically had impossible standards for any kid to realistically meet.

I still don’t know who the attackers were (mostly because we moved so much) but when I finally realized what had happened last year and told my parents, they chose not to believe me.

Yep. Seems like my parents are convinced that they ‘would have noticed’ at the time ‘if something was wrong.’ I mean, they didn’t, but then again, they’ve been self-absorbed for years. Oh, and they went on to say that ‘it seems like you (Rangergirl) are making a threat that unless we agree with your version of reality, you won’t speak to us. That makes us very sad, because it’s just not fair to us.’

I’ll be honest - in any conversation where a ‘version of reality’ comes up...you’ve pretty much hit a wall. Especially when it’s the parents refusing to believe their adult daughter because it means they would have to face a reality where they were shitty parents who failed to see what was going on right in front of them.

What really burns me up inside is that they said I have my own ‘version of reality’. No, I don’t, because I don’t have Matrix powers. If I did, I can assure you, Mom and Dad, that this wouldn’t be the scenario I’d create. Instead, I would have made you better parents. 

Anyway. To be honest, I wasn’t surprised at their answer. Devastated, yes. But not surprised. I’d hoped for a different answer, but...yeah. Not surprised. 

See, growing up, I thought it was normal to get hit or screamed at when I ‘did something wrong’ - this included but was not limited to: accidentally breaking dishes while washing up after dinner, eating more than three brownies at a friend’s house, and having poor penmanship on the thank-you cards we’d send to the grandparents after Christmas.

Yes, Mom, because everyone’s judging you and unless your children are perfect in every way, you’ll be refused entrance into Heaven. (That was her convoluted mindset at one point - something about that Bible phrase ‘by their fruits you shall know them’ justifying her mentality that ‘if her kids were bad then she was a bad mother.’) 

I mean, yes, yes she was a bad mother, but not because I broke dishes or ate too many brownies. It was because my mother chose to act in the way she did. She enabled my father’s narcissistic behavior, and when she had a clear choice laid out in front of her, she chose to stroke his ego because that’s what she’s always done.  Ah, breathe it in. Stress, neglect, and an emotional landscape that looks like midnight on the dark side of the moon. It smells like childhood. 

*I am trying not to bitter about the situation, but...it’s been a long year. I promise you that I am doing okay. I have a lot of wonderful people in my life who do care and are helping me, but this is just a lot to process. Anxiety, depression, and complex PTSD are a lot to juggle, but I am going to make it through this.*

I’m pissed at my parents, but at this point, I’m also resigned. I know I can’t change who they choose to be, but I still wish they could see that what they’re doing is wrong.

Some people have told me that my parents ‘do care’ and that they’re both just ‘very clumsy in trying to show it.’

But that’s not the case.

It’s just not.

Because if it was, they would have acted differently. They would have chosen to take time out of their lives to talk this stuff over with me, to take a leap of faith because even though it’s hard to accept something so ugly happened in the past, it’s vital to face the truth so that healing can begin.

But instead, my mother and father just...keep protesting their innocence of any wrongdoing whatsoever. 

“We weren’t abusive - how can you say that?!”

- well, see, I move my tongue and my lips at the same time and then sounds come out - but in all seriousness, there was a lot of messed up stuff going on and I don’t understand why you can’t acknowledge that -

“Do you even know what abuse is?”

 - yes, yes I do, it’s hitting and screaming at your kids whenever they piss you off and then telling them not to say anything to anyone because every family ‘has its problems’ - and neglect is when you fail to notice your first grade daughter is terrified of grown men - 

“Don’t you remember the good times?”

- well, I do remember enjoying the times you weren’t hitting or yelling at me, but since I was convinced I’d do something to mess up and then you would yell at me, no, I woudn’t say those were good times, they were more like ‘not actively bad times’ -

“We said we were sorry!”

- no, you said you were sorry for ‘how it made me feel’ which isn’t really an apology, so the cycle just continued and now I’m not going to just stand here and let you act like jackasses because this is fucking insane

“Can’t you just forgive us?”

- Look, I have forgiven you. Many times. But, you both think, in your twisted way, that forgiveness = forgetting, and you. are. WRONG. 

Forgiveness is not forgetting. That only continues the cycle of abuse without actually addressing it, which is like letting a compound fracture just stay the way it is. Eventually, it leads to disaster.

To my parents, the phrase ‘Forgiving is Forgetting’ is comfortable, safe, and familiar. It’s how they see the world, and it’s how they’ve lived their lives, because this way, they don’t actually have to change. They don’t actually have to do anything differently. They don’t have to take a hard look in the mirror and accept that their actions and choices hurt a lot people, very badly, and that they have done a lot of harm.

They’d rather just glance at the mirror and see a flawless image, because honestly, they are weak, and prideful, and in the end, they love themselves (and each other’s ego) more than the truth.

Which sucks, because it leaves me out in the cold yet again, and even though I’m used to it, I’m not going to let them continue this vicious cycle and pretend that everything is fine.

I’m angry. I’m sad. But I’m not going to let my parents’ mistakes define me.

See, to me, forgiveness is learning from mistakes, accepting responsibility for your actions, and striving to do better, even when it’s difficult and painful.

I’ve made mistakes. I’ve hurt the people I care about, and sometimes, I don’t like to look in the mirror. But I do, and even though it’s painful and difficult, it’s worth doing, because if I don’t, I will turn out like my parents - self-absorbed, avoiding responsibility for my actions, and blind to who and what really matters in life.

My parents put ideals above people. 

I put people above ideals.

Will I agree with everyone on everything?

Nope. But that’s okay. I can still interact with people, respectfully and kindly, without ‘needing to convert them to my viewpoint’ - because that’s how my parents look at the world. They think they’re supposed to ‘be better’ than everyone else and ‘show them the right way to do things’, and that means they’ve thrown away their common sense and empathy, and that is a stupid choice.

So what’s the point this super long post is trying to make? (Also if you’re still reading this, I am sending you a hug and a virtual high five because...yes you’re a superstar <3)

Basically the point is this: I refuse to be like my parents. They are shallow, self-obsessed, and blind to what really matters. Last year, two of my siblings were in a car accident. (They survived against all odds.) Instead of putting their kids first, my parents went on a pre-scheduled trip to Italy. It wasn’t even their first international trip. They just didn’t want to lose the money on the tickets. Last week, another one of my siblings got hit by a car and had to go to the hospital. (He’s going to be okay, but he was and still is in a lot of pain.) This time, my father went to see him ‘right away’, but left the very next day because he ‘had to make sure he had enough vacation days’ for the rest of the year. He left while my brother was still in the hospital going through tests. He left a note to say goodbye, and that was it.

Yes. My parents are...put simply, insane, and so I am choosing to be nothing like them. I am choosing, every single fucking day, to be something more. 

A lot of the time, I feel that if I’d been a ‘different’ kid, or a ‘better’ child, this whole mess might have turned out differently. But, then again, it probably would not have turned out differently. My parents were not, and are not, satisfied with anything less than what they see as perfection.

I know no one is perfect, but growing up, I tried, so damn hard, to be what they wanted me to be so that I could at least feel worthwhile for short periods of time. My mind had repressed the memories of the attacks, but I was still in a lot of pain that I never felt comfortable talking about with anyone (and especially not my parents).

When I was about 9 years old, I seriously considered suicide, but I decided not to, mostly because I didn’t want my younger siblings to feel like it was their fault. Another consideration was that I knew my parents would be pissed at the mess I left, and I figured that if I wasn’t already dead, I’d get into really deep trouble.

Maybe they would have cared about losing me, but I’m still not sure if that would have been the case. I think my parents would instead grieve the loss of their perfect image. The loss of me, their daughter, would take a backseat to what they considered their real loss - their public image as competent and loving parents. (Which is what’s most important to them, as they’ve demonstrated many times).

It’s what they’re doing now. They claim to be ‘devastated’ at my cutting off contact, but I don’t think they’ll even travel a few states over to sit down and have a therapy session if I invite them. (Something about ‘not knowing the therapist’ - aka ‘we don’t have control over the situation’.) I’m still going to try and invite them to do it, but honestly I’m not optimistic about their response.

It hurts that they don’t see me as important, or worth their time and trouble.But in the end, I’m going to have to let them go regardless of whether it hurts or not.

One of the more painful things I’m realizing in therapy is that I didn’t really have parents growing up. Instead, I lived in a house with two emotionally stunted and dysfunctional adults who either ignored me or treated me badly, and who demanded perfection from me so that they could feel better about themselves. I couldn’t be perfect, so they blamed me for not upholding their impossible standards, and the cycle just went on because neither of my parents wanted to put in the time or effort to fix what was broken.

Right now, I’d put money on the bet that they’re saying that I’m ‘making a big deal out of nothing’ and I’m sure they both think that I’ll eventually ‘come back to my senses and everything will be fine again’.

But I’m not making a mountain out of a molehill, and I’m not going to ‘come back to my senses.’

I honestly don’t think this situation will change, because for that to happen, my parents would have to swallow their pride, and that’s the one thing they will not do. Instead, they’ll proclaim to anyone who’ll listen that this situation is so painful, but just like they’ve done before, they won’t actually try to fix it.

Over this last year, their actions, words, and general demeanor is that of...basically two people looking at a spreadsheet and deciding that I’m not worth the cost to their egos. Overall, I think each of my parents consider me to be an acceptable loss because I’m...just me. I’m not important enough to them to risk upsetting how they both view the world. 

I could be wrong about my parents’ mindset. But I don’t think I am, and...that hurts a lot, because when I was growing up I tried so damn hard to prove to them that I worth something.

I know that kids shouldn’t have to prove that to their parents. 

But I guess that when your parents are narcissists, they only want to see themselves in you, and (when) you don’t show them a good enough reflection, they don’t want you around because your imitation of them doesn’t do them justice. 

Ultimately, I’m not worth a hard look in the mirror. I’m not worth that cost to their ego.

I know that I’m going to be healthier and happier for refuting that toxic mindset, but I really wish the situation was different.

I wish my parents had seen that something was wrong, or chosen to believe me, or even wanted to fix what was broken. But instead, I have to separate from them for my own health, and it is so damn painful, because I didn’t want my parents to be perfect.

I just wanted them to see me as worth their time and effort, even when it was difficult and even when it came at a real cost to them.

But, like I said, I don’t think they’re willing to part with their perfect self-images.

Which hurts, but at least now I know that it wasn’t my fault.

Isn’t. 

It isn’t my fault.

I’ve gotta start using the present tense here. :-)

[gayredmage]

Pay Rise - FFVII Fanfic

I had this story idea collecting dust in my folders. Finally got around to finishing it. Took so damn long because it is uh…interesting…and very difficult to write.

Pairings: President Shinra/Genesis, Genesis/Sephiroth Rating: Explicit Word count: 5519 Summary: President Shinra is bored, lonely and horny. And he wants a new second class soldier to deal with it. Little does he know that Commander Rhapsodos will be giving him more soldier than he asked for.

External Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11636493

Some days President Shinra hated his wife. It wasn’t because she was getting old and needed more botox than she did ten years ago, or that her libido was gone now that she had menopause. No…nothing like that. On the inside she was still the beautiful, young, caring woman Shinra married for money, influence and to get the media off his ass. No, he wasn’t pissed off that the hag had to get old and become sexually unresponsive – not that he would want to touch the ancient treasure in such a way. Because damn it! He was President Shinra! He should have models and whores and dozens of ethnic mistresses, more than what money can buy!

Today he hated his wife because she flared up at him. Angry about Tiffany and Ruby and Stefanie and…Alejandro. She said something about wanting a divorce. Something that Shinra did not want because then the hordes of women would come running and shove their illegitimate child under his nose. And the media would start and AVALANCHE would begin their defamation campaign. No…so long as he’s married he can pretend he’s the loving husband who puts his family first and wouldn’t dare to touch a Honey Bee girl.

So for the moment, the president was confined to his office until his wife finally calmed down and got those new breast implants she (he) always wanted. But that wasn’t a problem. See this was all a game to the president and one that he knew damn well how to play. Pressing a button on his desk phone he called straight to his illegitimate son’s office.

“ Yes, Mr President? ”

Shinra cleared his throat, “I heard you just recently got some new recruits. How are they doing?”

“ …ahh…well those who passed the initial tests are still in training. They’re being supervised by Commander Rhapsodos for now.”

“I see, I see…” Shinra really didn’t give a gil toss, “Say…son…” Shinra smiled, “Could you deliver me their class file? I’d…like to check on some things. You know, being president I’d love to familiarise myself with the strong men of the future protecting this company.”

On the other end, Lazard did his best not to facepalm too loudly, “ A 3rd should be there with the file in 5 minutes. ”

“Good.”

“ Anything else I could help you with, sir? ” preferably unrelated to your wayward manhood.  

“No, no. You’re doing well, my son .” he beamed, “You should be expecting quite the pay rise.”

“ Very well. Have a good day, sir.”

While he waited for his menu to arrive, Shinra noticed an obstacle in his way. It’s a bit…bizarre for the head of the company to request meeting a fresh recruit in his penthouse office right off the bat. Not to mention it would be weirder for a recruit having to explain to their superior that they were to be the president’s audience for…a while. No, Shinra has to request permission to see a recruit like some lowly boot licking grunt to keep face, keep things discrete and actually get the damn thing to work.

Groaning, he called his secretary, “Bring me Commander Rhapsodos. I need him here in no less than 20 minutes.”

“ Of course Mr. President. There is a soldier here with a file, would you like me to deliver it to you? ”

Shinra grinned, “That would be delightful, Vivian.”

The minute she left the room after dumping the folder on his desk, the president had his cock out, “Now let’s see which one of you makes me hard…” he said, licking his lips while drooling all over the cadets’ pictures.

After a quick thumb through and some whistling and a good ogling of their stern faced portraits, Shinra picked his few. He needed to keep a selection of course, in case some weren’t available. Also, it was Rhapsodos. The president shivered as he picked up the phone and glared at the direct call number on the top of file. That redhead was one heck of a sour puss. He hated to deal with him – loud, arrogant, always disapproving, always acting like he had a sword shoved up his ass. Good soldier, but damn was he…difficult. And if it weren’t for his bastard son’s infatuation with the faggot, plus blackmail from both the Rhapsodos family AND Lazard, he would have had Sephiroth ‘accidentally’ get him killed in the wastelands. But then Sephiroth himself had a bit of an ‘interest’ in him. What men saw in the flamer, Shinra had no idea! He was a complete big-headed lunatic for all he knew!

Shinra rolled his eyes. The damn bitch sure does love to take his time to answer the phone. How is he even in 1 st Class if he can’t be prompt? Is it because he’s bent over getting fucked by Sephiroth? Wait, was Sephiroth even taught any of that? He had to have a word with Hojo…

“ Commander Rhapsodos speaking, how may I help you? ”

He cleared his throat, “Ah, there’s my favourite commander in all of SOLDIER! It’s good you answered, very good.” Oh damn he really hated the sound of his irritating voice, “I have a file of the new recruits assigned to you. I was hoping we could…discuss the…well-being of them. You know, being the CEO of such a large company leads to great responsibility and I do love keeping informed of our newer members. It helps me feel progress. Like the greater good is right by our doorstep. I’m proud of SOLDIER and proud of all the new men coming in. Now…what good is a father without knowing his sons?”

Holy Minerva, did he really just-? Shinra facepalmed. His. Sons? Now this was going to be wrong on two levels…first abusing his power, now getting in the mood for some serious daddy/son roleplaying. It wasn’t beneath him, but the fact that it slipped out like that. Damn it! Even over the phone Shinra felt like he was being put on the spot by the bitchy 1 st .

“ Right…Okay…When do you need me by ?”

“Now would be great.”

“ I’m in a meeting with the general. I’ll be at your office shortly after, say, half an hour?”

Well Shinra just pictured the most awkward and painful looking orgy between Sephiroth, Lazard and Genesis in the director’s office with some SOLDIER guard filming the action. As an aside, half an hour really was too long to wait, but better getting the stupid commander rather than the general to bring a recruit over.

“That’ll be fine.” The president hung up. He was too damn horny to give a fuck what the redhead thought. Instead he turned to the pictures in front of him. William Kunsel, oh he had a cute face. Mako blue eyes and soft brown hair with freckles over his nose. He was so damn sweet looking. If the stupid ditz didn’t arrive on time he might have to bust a nut before he winds up with a blood clot or a hematoma or ruptured testicle or something! Then it would be a wasted erection.

DAMMIT! What was taking that bitch so long? He thought as he drummed his fingers on the desk, trying to distract himself with work, work that he basically paid other people to do for him while he sat in his office screwing escorts and interns, promising a good-paying job in return before he kicks them out, forgets their name and has them replaced with a new intern. Checking his watch, only 5 minutes went by, so he decided to watch some lacklustre amateur porn involving babysitters and a horny dad.

He had to admit. He did enjoy that daddy roleplaying. Because he was a man of power and men of power like to always be on top of the world – to be kings! Just as it was getting to the good part where the girls feed ‘daddy’ some cream pie, the president’s office doors burst open and a rather annoyed looking commander sat opposite him.

Quickly closing the window the porn was on, the president turned to the monster in front of him and smiled his big, fatherly smile. Genesis gave him snake eyes and crossed his arms.

“You called me, sir.” He deadpanned. He was in the middle of an important meeting with the general and the director about their upcoming stint in Wutai. Angeal was captured by their forces, his life threatened in exchange for peace and money. And while they were discussing very important life or death strategies, this nimrod who doesn’t even know what a battlefield is calls him to his office.

Said nimrod was sweating.

He cleared his throat, “Ahhh, yes Genesis…” damn this whore was venomous, “I was hoping you could bring me this boy.” He hands him the file and Genesis flicks through it, “He looks like a promising young hopeful. Could maybe be our next first class prodigy, what do you say?”

The commander raised a brow, “He’s a child. It would be at least another 3 or so years.”

The president swallowed. So? And? What’s the point Rhapsodos?! “Well yes…but I’d like to meet him.”

“What for? He’s good, but he’s not far from average.”

Shinra’s eye twitched, “I like to meet them. Just in case. You know, it’s good to meet a future first class soldier while they’re young. Gives them that extra boost in confidence to excel and reach their goal of becoming first!”

If Genesis wasn’t talking to his boss right now, he would have rolled his eyes and maybe hit him over the head with the folder. “Right…”

Well this was going nowhere! The president was getting more and more annoyed with the commander’s bitchy attitude and pushed the whole stack of files towards him.

“Here.” He said, “Why don’t you find me a hopeful then, commander? Expect a pay rise for this.”

Ahh the old pay rise trick. Gen-Gen knew all about that scam. Crossing his legs he started to ponder. What was it that the president wanted so badly with his new soldier? He knew he was wasting his time, time he could spend on actual work and saving his friend. He knew they wouldn’t kill Angeal, Angeal was too nice, but still. The work was important. Gingerly he took the stack of folders and flicked through to find a poor victim.

While the redheaded foe was shopping for the president, he turned back to his porn only to have an advertisement play over the muted video. He would have groaned if he didn’t have company, but still he watched it with half-minded attention…at first.

His eyes went wide. An advertisement for a gay BDSM porn site. Oh hell yeah! Clicking the link he was transported into a world, the good world, of submissive ‘sons’ and dominant ‘daddies’ doing all sorts of fun things. Like having them walk around humiliated in latex dresses and thigh high boots. Of CBT and whips, and leather harnesses and bitchy men turned into desperate, moaning submissives in pain begging for pleasure.

Looking up from his porn he watched the redhead and smirked. Hah, handsome and experienced rascal like him could turn that whining brat into a begging submissive sex doll. His cock went harder and he kept thinking about whipping him with his belt and him in stiletto leather boots, crying, his make up all over the place. He shook his head. That was fucked up. Or was it? He could only imagine how lucky Sephiroth must be for being able to turn that hot-headed whore into a sobbing, desperate mess.

Woah, what? Really? This bitch? And for some reason he was hard as diamond over that thought. But that was never going to happen. He hated him, he could do so much better. Like that sweet boy Kunsel. And maybe Cloud from the cadets. Oh man, was his dick oozing to cum or what?

Genesis’ nose twitched. There was something in the air, something aside from middle-aged man sweat.

“Have you chosen one?” Shinra asked, and Genesis turned to him.

He knew it!

The redhead smirked, “Yes. I have.”

YES! The president’s balls felt like they were on fire, he was practically jumping for joy…on the inside, “Oh? And who would that be?”

Genesis’ grin got wider, “You’ll have to wait, sir , and you’d need to have a discussion first, in private.”

The president’s heart sank, “In private?” are you kidding me? “Why?”

“Hmm…well he’s on a mission now, but he will be back tonight. He’s also very shy and very nervous, you’d have to…calm him down. He could pass out from shock, you know, from getting to meet such an esteemed individual as you.”

Even though the president was horny now and wanted to fuck something now, he had to admit…that sounded very, VERY appealing. If this kid was going to be so shy he needed to speak with him in private, oh and to make it better, he could invite him to his own penthouse…you know. To have him calm and at ease and all, for the honour of being told he’s a hopeful for first class, of course.

He smiled, “I like that, Genesis.” This was going to be good, he’d definitely see to Genesis getting a pay rise or promotion or something! He was his new favourite for sure, “Tell him to meet me in my quarters then. The penthouse.”

The commander nodded, “Certainly, sir…he should be there by 9pm.”

He showered, exfoliated, shaved his privates like the young ones liked, spritzed himself with Gucci cologne, got dressed in a black silk thong and put on his leopard skin bath robe. Damn, he was one sexy devil, he thought to himself as he combed over his thinning blonde hair humming a tune.

The doorbell rang and he quickly headed for the door. Palms sweaty as he opened the door, in his mind seeing a cute little play thing. Bam. Red hair, buttoned up trench coat with bitch all over.

The commander smiled, “Good evening, President Shinra.” He shoved his way inside, carrying a black duffel bag.

“What are you doing here?!” he yelled, bounding towards him, “Get out of my house! You were told to bring me a soldier, which you haven’t done!”

Genesis nodded, opening the large double doors that lead straight into the bedroom.

The president was furious and shook with rage, “I’ll call security!”

“Such a lovely room.”

He was the president of Shinra for crying out loud! The most powerful corporation known to man! But this redheaded bitch couldn’t care any less. What with the way he surveyed the room, heels clicking as he paced about before dumping his bag by the bed. Balling up his fists, Shinra was ready to pull out his phone and call the guards. That was until he had a soft, warm mouth against his.

“Really, sir? You asked for the best and here I am.” Genesis whispered in his ear.

President Shinra’s phone clattered to the ground. A hand was rubbing his viagra laden crotch as the most irritating, though admittedly very attractive, soldier tickled his golden moustache with a tongue heavy kiss. His knees almost gave out - a whirlwind of emotions spiralling around him between wanting to send this man off to a firing squad to wanting to fuck him senseless on his silk-sheeted bed. But he purred , he purred into the president’s mouth and so the old man tossed all preconceptions about the whore out the window. He wanted him. Oh yes, this filthy hoe wanted a piece of the most powerful man in the world in him.

Without a second thought, he had his hairy, oily hands on the firm, round globe of Genesis’ leather clad ass. The young man gasped, gazing back at him with flirtatious mako blue eyes. Shinra smirked - the bitch wasn’t half-bad. If he kept this up, hell he was getting paid leave. Like a nymphomaniac the redhead moaned and rubbed their groins together. Shinra shivered.

“Yeah, bitch. That’s right.” he groaned, drooling heavily as he rutted his tiny prick against the soldier’s thigh.

“FUCK!” A souped up super soldier crushing the family jewels was like a sledgehammer through the groin. That bitch kneed him right in the balls and the president was on his knees shouting in pain with tears in his eyes.

Shocked, he looked over his fat hairy stomach at him kissing and petting his hurting balls. What happened next was too fast and volatile for Shinra to even register it. The soldier had the president’s dick in his lush, wet mouth and then those eyes – those goddamned mako eyes flashed and the old man’s fat face was smothered by a pillow. He was stunned, he flailed. Tried to call security, but in a heartbeat he was spread like an X, cuffed and tied to the four posters of his bed.

“MPHF!” he cried, only to have the pillow be replaced by a ball-gag which forced its way into his mouth.

The bitch was fucking strong. One hand holding his head still, making the president, HIS BOSS , afraid to move his head least his neck would snap, while the other hand pried his mouth open and secured the gag.

The redhead dusted off his hands, “Silly old man. Thought you could cry for help when I had barely even begun my work.”

The commander pulled away his coat revealing an all-black form-fitting BDSM extravaganza. Boots laced up and buckled that came to mid-thigh, tight latex shorts, clear vinyl shirt with a shiny black corset around his itty bitty waist, D-ring collar and a body harness. The president gulped – Genesis snapped on a pair of black latex gloves, with a smug grin on his face. Donning a leather officer’s cap he straddled the President.

“Love the look, sir?” he asked, pulling open the old man’s robe to reveal his hideously overweight and hairy figure before ripping off his underwear. Small erection and loose fitting balls dribbling out of the torn fabric.

The president struggled against his bonds, hoping his guards would do their rounds and check on him. The commander tutted at him, before slapping his moustached face sending his combed over tresses aflight.

Genesis struck a match and extracted two red candles from his bag. Shinra could only stare up at him - eyes wide with fear as Genesis straddled him and lit the candles. The bitch sighed, rocking his ass against the small erection beneath him. The president’s hairy gut heaving with every breath as he feared every move the commander was to make.

Those plump red lips pulled into a sadistic grin as those burning red, hot candles tilted. Searing wax dripped onto his golden, furry chest - patches of skin and hair burning and sizzling as they dribbled down his fat torso. Shinra tried to shout in pain, but he could only chew on the ball in his mouth and watch as Genesis chuckled and continued his assault.

“Don’t fight it, Mr President. You’ll only make me want to do more to you.”

He would have whimpered if he could. Caught between fear and crippling sexual satisfaction as the wax dripped onto his hard nipples. Genesis blew, cooling the wax so it hardened before trailing the candles down the big, gluttonous belly. Swirling them about like he was casting a spell to the underworld as he ground his ass into the thin prick standing at attention between his thick cheeks.

CUM SLUT. Genesis smirked at his handiwork on his large canvas as Shinra twitched; his skin, pink like the pig he is, was going to be branded the next day since the ass couldn’t heal like a soldier. The president, despite the agony, was oozing from his cock head, slicking up the covered asshole of the bitch who rode him. Blowing out a candle, Genesis stood the other on the bedside table.

“Tell me, sir. Are you going to behave?” he asked.

The president glared at him. There was no way in hell Shinra was going to give this bitch whatever he wanted. That was, until he saw a hard leather belt wrapped around the redhead’s hand. He stood his ground - like a fool. The whore wouldn’t kill him, and once Shinra was free of these bonds, he was going to-

His eyes rolled into the back of his skull as his cock was enveloped in hot, wet warmth. It was easy for the slut to take that tiny cock into his mouth and swallow him whole. He sucked - drinking down his vile fluids as he palmed his boss’s sweaty balls. Shinra thrust up involuntarily and Genesis grinned thinking it cute that the old bastard thought he could make him choke with his small friend.

He pulled away, “I’ll ask you again, sir. Will you behave?” His strong hands gripped Shinra’s throbbing cock. Tighter and tighter. The head turned purple, those piercing blue eyes stared into his soul. He was afraid again. But so unmistakably aroused as his mind begged for that face to be in his crotch again. Shinra hated him, his blood was boiling - this man knew every way to crawl under someone’s skin and exploit them. And he knew it so well. The president could not wait to wipe that wretched smirk off his ugly face.

Genesis untied his bonds, though made sure those hands remained tied together, and flipped the old man over. Shinra’s face was smothered by a pillow - he struggled, turned his head to watch the sadist behind him. In a beat, the commander deep-throated the end of the lit candle stick. It was a sickening, sinful display - Genesis’ face splashed by drops of red wax, his swift tongue curling around the end of the red candle as if he were pleasuring it. He removed the candlestick and looked so full of himself. Raising his hand, he brought the belt down.

Shinra screamed in the back of his throat as welts dented into his ass cheeks - his fat rippling as Genesis struck him again. He was cackling, unrelenting as he whipped his boss. Shinra tried to cry out against the gag in his mouth - hoping someone would save him from the commander. But his little prick was enjoying it - slicking up his heavy, round stomach with fluid as the redhead flogged him. Tears welled up in his eyes and the old man sobbed into his pillows as the loud sounds of leather slashing him across the bottom resonated in his room. His skin was cut, bleeding.

Genesis threw the belt down, satisfied at the red seeping from his boss’s wounds. The man’s hairy asshole was beckoning - wincing with every blow and that only fueled his desire. Without any care, Genesis forced the end of the lit candle into Shinra’s loose, haemorrhoid laden ass. The president froze - feeling violated, dirty, wrong, only to then find himself yanked up by the few strands of gelled hair he had left. A proud cock stood by his face, released from their entrapment of tight latex.

“If you play nice, Mr President…I’ll make sure that candle doesn’t set fire to your rear.”

Shinra could not wait to see the day Genesis would finally stop being so cocksure and smiley. The day when he orders the Turks hunt him down and torture him. Maybe have a woman force him to pleasure her with that deft tongue of his in her cunt. He couldn’t wait to jack off onto his tear covered face and watch him break.

The gag came off and the commander fucked his cock into the president’s mouth. He gagged instantly, only making the bitch moan louder at the old man’s obvious distress.

“Mmm. Suck my cock, sir.” he demanded, grabbing Shinra’s fat face and slamming it up and down his dick.

Shinra moaned at the rough treatment, wanting to rub his little prick so badly, but too stubborn to give this bitch the satisfaction of seeing him break at the seams. The candle wicked away, hot wax dripping onto his balls, his hairs singing from the hot wax. He backed up, trying to spread his ass cheeks to stop the fire from burning his skin. His golden moustache covered in spit as he chocked on soldier cock.

It was burning now and he was growing desperate. Whimpering around the dick in his mouth, hoping the sadist had a glimmer of humanity. Genesis pulled away and puffed out the candle.

“That wasn’t so bad, now was it?” he asked, flipping the president onto his back, before pulling out the nub of wax and discarding it onto the floor.

Now was his opportunity whilst he caught his breath. But before he could bellow for his guards, he had a perfect mouth to his and the gentlest of kisses.

“Want to meet a good friend of mine?” sparks went off in those mako eyes and Shinra almost had a heart attack.

Ten inches with a six inch circumference - a giant, black cock waved in his face before disappearing down the commander’s throat. He moaned so deliciously, before extracting it. Shinra shook his head.

“N-no.” he whimpered only to then have the fat head of the dildo sink into his ass.

He groaned and grit his teeth as pain and sick pleasure shot up his spine. He was mad at himself now as he ground against the giant cock ramming its way into his ass as Genesis none too gently fucked him. “Take it, sir! Come on and take it like a real man!” he shouted before shoving all ten inches into the old man’s ass.

Genesis pushed him upright, Shinra too dazed to do or say anything as he strapped the cock down. Circling the bed, the commander was so pleased with himself. The old, fat man bound, defeated, sitting on a fat cock. He deserved a treat he thought.

Getting onto all fours, Genesis pulled Shinra’s head into between his cheeks. “Eat me out, sir. I beg of you.”

The president was happy to comply. Burying his round face into his warm, sexy ass, he licked that tight asshole. His cock was crying, as his lips and tongue pleasured the commander’s fuckhole.

“Fuck yourself on that cock.” Genesis commanded. And Shinra complied as his balls begged for release. His useless prick waved around as he fucked himself and tonguefucked the commander.

The commander turned around, feeding Shinra his cock as he reached down and jerked the old man’s dick. In seconds, the president pulled back and jerked about - eyes to the sky as his whole body convulsed hideously. His cock spat a pitiful amount into Genesis’ hands leaving the poor man unimpressed. Shinra bucked into his palm before slumping forward onto the redhead feeling like he was on the cusp of having a heart attack at the tender age of 59.

Grabbing Shinra by the chin, Genesis shoved his soiled hand into his face. “Clean this pitiful mess up, sir. What a shame…and here you were hoping you could fuck me senseless. All you’ve left me with is a soft cock and pity for your mistresses.”

The president was ashamed. Tears fell from his eyes as he licked the cold, slimey cum off the commander’s hand until it was clean.

Genesis laughed, “So pathetic, you are. There is no way in hell you’d be able to make me cum.”

Pushing president Shinra onto his back, Genesis straddled the old man’s chest as he jerked himself off. A slender hand gliding up and down his pretty dick as the other pinched and teased a pierced nipple through his translucent PVC shirt. Without a sound, Genesis came - thick, white streams spraying onto Shinra’s panting face, soiling his golden moustache.

It took seconds for the commander to catch his breath. And when he did, he put himself away - swung his coat back on, packed his items away and left.

The following week, President Shinra was late to the board meeting. He walked with a limp and cold coffee into the meeting room only to lock eyes with the smirking commander standing with arms crossed by Sephiroth’s side. The old man coughed before taking the head of the table. His cock swelled. Red hair flicked out of a smug face as he rose and saluted the President with the rest of the high ranking members of Shinra. They sat, Shinra moving his seat further than necessary to hide his ‘growing’ problem.

Genesis whispered to Sephiroth. Made a motion with his pinky finger and they laughed.

Sephiroth smiled. “If I may, I wish to start…President Shinra.” his deep voice boomed through the meeting room. Everyone else looking ordinary - bored and tired as they were for every other meeting, whilst Shinra felt too warm. Sweat rolled down his forehead, his knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the table tightly - a mixture of fear and desire welling in his chest.

“Y-yes, Sephiroth?”

The general grinned and looked to his commander before commencing, “How goes that request for additional funding for SOLDIER…and of course, our inevitable pay rise? 13% as we agreed or…?” he trailed off, a murderous glint to his eyes that no one else but Shinra saw.

He shook slightly, stammering a little as he tried to find the words. Those goddamned blue eyes were glowing at him again and he couldn’t look away, even when his bastard son frowned at him with mild curiosity. A lovely, pink tongue darted out of those plush red lips and licked them ever so subtly, but with all the sinful, crass intent mustering up images of a night that Shinra could not stop remembering.

“H-how about say…25%? Yeah? I…I believe you boys earned it.”

The redhead’s face softened ironically, “Oh President Shinra…how generous of you for recognising our efforts.”

Lazard nodded, “Yes. I am sure the soldiers would be delighted to hear this. And what of the funding? We are in need of training equipment, a new VR room, renovations to the entire SOLDIER floors…and a handsome relief fund.”

Scarlet scoffed, “Pah! Dream on, sweetie! That money’s for me…isn’t that right, honey?” she turned to the president, pulling her arms together so her tits spilled over her low neckline.

But Shinra had his eyes on the commander toying him, his hand gliding up and down his general’s back before not so subtly whispering to him as if the pair were lovers. The president was green - if money was what this bitch wanted, so be it.

“Write me an invoice, Deusericus and I’ll fill it. What do you need, 5 billion gil?”

Lazard readjusted his glasses, unfazed by the high offer as the rest of the directors gawked. Hojo spilt his coffee down his front and Heidegger was pulling out his beard. “That would be a good start.” he said, writing out an invoice and having a soldier present it.

The president signed it. Immediately, the funds were digitally moved once it was scanned into the system. The rest of the meeting moved along rapidly as Shinra’s hands were tied having dropped a quarter’s worth of profit into SOLDIER because his dick told him to.

Reeve had watched the meeting with scrutiny and post-meeting he hurried after the soldiers.

“Commander Rhapsodos!” he called, catching the man midway from sipping his tea in the SOLDIER break room.

“Tuesti, lovely seeing you.” he smiled, “Have a macaron. I made them this morning.“

“Oh thank you.” he said, taking two brightly coloured desserts.

“Have you met my newest soldier, Kunsel? He’s my ‘eyes in the sky’.”

A young man saluted Reeve, “Pleasure meeting you, sir!”

Reeve nodded in reply, face full of ganache and crunchy biscuit. “Genesis, I had been meaning to ask about that funding in the board meeting. You see, my department is in desperate need of development and I was wondering if you had any advice on broaching the topic with the president.”

Genesis laughed, “And you’re asking me?”

“You do have a silver tongue.”

“Reeve, I like you and I believe you have a noble task in your hands. But I’m not sure you really know what you’re asking.”

Reeve sighed, “I’ll wine and dine you if it comes to it. Just let me know how you did it. You can deflect as much as you like, but I have a strong suspicion you were behind this.”

The commander smirked. “Seeing as you’re so persistent…just let me have a word with the general first.”

Shinra never knew that the cameras in his home were hacked. Or that the moment Genesis got home he was bent over the dining table and fucked by a real man whose long, thick cock was dripping in excitement from having watched his ruthless commander order the pig around. Genesis needed to also have a private chat with Kunsel…see if Reeve had any cameras whose feed could be streamed straight to Sephiroth’s computer.

[dragon-moms]

Entry 125 - Gloria

Today we encountered a problem.

We had continued making good time, and were a good ways into Graz, by the look of things. We increased our number of breaks so Ivana could refer to her maps. I’m sure Merry appreciated it too. She was taking it all in stride, but she also had that near constant look of exhaustion on her, even through her smiles. This was probably the most nonstop travel she’d ever done, and flipping sleep schedules probably didn’t help.

It was getting to me a little, too. I’m not that young adjudicator I used to be, much as I still think of myself as that.

But we were fine. Myrmidon being willing to do all the watches continued to help to ensure that. And so far, we hadn’t encountered anyone looking for us. Maybe Reliquary was more effective at keeping the Queen from wanting to track us down than she thought she would be. Or maybe we were just lucky.

We had stopped again. Ivana was looking at a bunch of notes. I checked in with everyone, and then went back over to check on her, only to see her taking off.

“Hey!” I called after Ivana, but she apparently didn’t listen.

I took to the skies.

“Should we follow, Gloria?” Myrmidon, who noticed us flying off, called from the ground.

“No, keep everyone here and safe, I’ll figure out what’s going on,” I said, trying not to sound annoyed.

Myrmidon gave a little bow. “It would be my pleasure.”

I managed to catch up to her.

“What are you doing?” I said, annoyed.

“Shut the fuck up and fly quieter,” she whispered, looking at a book of notes she was holding in a claw.

“Fly quieter?” I said.

“Shush!” she said, and I gritted my teeth and complied.

She flew slowly, looking at her little book, and I followed behind, trying to figure it out. Finally, Ivana shut her book, put it back in her bag, and sighed. “That has to be it,” she said softly.

“You should have told someone what you were doing,” I said. “We’re a unit.”

“You all are a unit. I’m just here,” Ivana said. She pointed a claw. “All my data says the entrance should be there.”

I followed her claw to look where she was pointing.

A bit away and below was a large stretch of farmland. Rows of crops filled the view for a decent distance. I could make out the entrance to a place where a dragon might live.

“That’s the entrance?” I asked, pointing to it.

“No, it’s somewhere in the fields,” Ivana said.

I looked back down at the rows of crops. “That seems unlikely. You’d find a hidden entrance working the dirt here, wouldn’t you?”

Ivana just looked at me with what I assume was supposed to be a glare underneath her mask. “This is where the White Dragons were.”

“Well, it’s occupied, isn’t it?” I said. “Even if you are right, how are we supposed to look for it?”

“With everyone we’re hauling around? I don’t know,” Ivana said. “We should find a good place to quietly watch until we have a plan of attack.”

“Or we could just send Dagger in,” I said.

“I’m sure the ghost can help, but can ey track movements and routines properly?” Ivana said. “Ey can paint, but from what little I’ve seen I don’t think ey can take notes while ey’re sneaking around invisible.”

“No, ey probably can’t,” I admitted.

“So. Stakeout,” Ivana said. “I’m going to find a hiding spot and start doing just that. Later.”

“What about me?” I asked. “This isn’t a one-dragon operation.”

Ivana looked at me, thinking, likely debating if I could be trusted to help. “Over there. Don’t trust you to get closer than that, but in those trees, you’d be fine. And you can watch this perimeter while I go around the other side and get closer.”

“I’ll tell everyone what’s going on and get there,” I said.

“Right. Try to be quiet. Please. And take notes whenever you see anyone at all,” Ivana said. She flew off.

I headed back, filled everyone in on the situation and told them to set up camp, borrowed some note-taking things from Dagger, and flew back to that group of trees as the sun finished rising.

I was going to be tired.

For a long time, there was nothing. The fields nearby were covered in green. Something tall I couldn’t identify. Eventually, there was a little smoke coming from the farmer’s place. Likely cooking breakfast. But that was it.

It was very hard to stay awake.

I had nearly nodded off when two dragons emerged from the entrance to their place, a Black and a Green. They filled containers with water from a well and flew over to a field a bit too close to me, and started working.

I was nervous, for a bit. But they didn’t seem to notice me.

They were still too far away to hear, but I could tell they were chatting while they worked. Occasionally, one of them would laugh. Occasionally, they’d head back for a bit for more water.

I dug my claws into the dirt below me as I watched them. It took me a while to process why it was upsetting me so much.

But no, the moment I actually thought about it at all, it was clear. That could have been me.

Little farm. Simple life. I could do all the heavy lifting and she could do all the complicated stuff. Side by side like that, every day. And then every night, well…

I couldn’t think about this. I couldn’t take thinking about this.

I did my best to note down what fields they worked in when. Surely that was what Ivana was wanting from me. But eventually, they moved far enough away that I could barely make them out.

I found myself waking up to her weird mask hovering over me.

“What are you doing?” she hissed at me.

I got up, feeling embarrassed. “Fell asleep,” I whispered.

“Fucking obviously,” she said, annoyed. “Get up, let’s go.”

I got up, and followed Ivana as she got a decent distance away, and then took to the air.

“Tell me you at least saw something,” she said.

“I took some notes about when they worked where,” I said.

“That’s not completely useless… give it to me when we land,” Ivana said.

“Sure,” I said.

“I snuck into their place. They live alone, no portraits of family or anything like that. Just the two of them. Nothing that would seem to indicate they know anything about our entrance.”

I stared at her. “How did you get in? It’s in the middle of a field.”

“I’m a fucking thief,” Ivana said, annoyed. “Anyway, the point is, we’d be relatively safe taking them out, since there’s no indication they’d have anyone looking for them for a while, and then we’d have a base of operations to search for the entrance.”

“We’re not going to kill them,” I said.

“What, we’re just going to ask them ‘hey, can we look for an ancient ruin on your farm?’” Ivana said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “We can’t just search in secret during the night. They would probably notice if we got enough light out there to do that.”

“We’re still not killing them,” I said.

“Don’t act like you don’t have blood on your claws. You’re no better than me,” Ivana said, purposefully keeping her eyes ahead of her.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” I said. “But there’s a difference between taking out two nice farmers and taking out people trying to hurt us.”

“I’ll tell you right now what’s going to happen,” she said, her voice angry. “We’re going to fuck around and try it your way, and then those farmers are going to get adjudicators involved and we’re going to have to kill way more than just two dragons, whereas if we did it nice and quiet my way, there’d be no problems.”

“We’ll discuss it with everyone after we get some rest,” I said.

“None of your little friends are going to make a decision like that,” Ivana said. “So whatever, let’s just fuck this up and try to make friends.”

We got back to camp and I went to lay down.

Was I being too soft here? Everyone’s safety was in my claws. Ivana’s strategy made a level of sense.

No. I’m not that person anymore.

I was never that person. No matter how much he told me I was.

I can figure this out, coming to it rested and with everyone else.

I have to believe that.

[softlysoftlyjohnlock]

John isn’t really blogging in TST

So sorry if this has been done already but I haven’t seen anyone mentioning it yet so I thought I should write my first meta after a long time.... Sorry if it has a lot of mistakes I write really fast and don’t check more than twice really

Few things I have noticed...

What is John typing if this is an image/picture opened in his laptop? Seriously I don’t think this is a slip up, this is deliberate. Like look at this... the tItle is JOHN BLOG IMAGE.png. Is this a snippet of his screen?

Is that why the blog isn’t updated anymore?

Look at the past series when the blogs were shown... no seriously look

The “live”/as John types the writing is hovering on the screen blog type we get in a Scandal in Belgravia, though no showing of the actual screen...

And here John’s blog counter being stuck in 1895, BUT this isn’t a photo/picture a snippet of his screen like the one in the Six Thachers

Now you get the message, I can’t add all snippets of where we see John’s and Sherlock’s blogs being shown and not a picture but when actually updated the writing is hovering s2 style...

If John was really updating, and with all the brilliant and busy hovering texts we get this series, why is the (since) s2 when John’s blogging the text is hovering scene missing? Sure the episode is fast paced, it is already busy so they couldn’t add it... yeah okay

But why isn’t updated anymore? This is a picture of the draft... John isn’t really typing... and the blog isn’t really updated...

There’s also what John had written(past tense cause this fucking shit is a snippet, John isn’t really updating look at this shit) is quite funny. This is the text(anything in the parenthesis and italicised is my own additions):

Title: 221Back!

Text: And we’re back! Sorry I haven’t updated the blog for such a long time but things have really been very busy (seriously John what kind of sentence is that. Also confirmation that a lot of time has passed since the last blog, The Sign of Three!!! Mary is seriously pregnant but for so many fucking months.... Anyway back to the text). You’ll have seen on the news about how Sherlock recovered the Mona Lisa (no sorry John it hasn’t broken our fourth wall though it seems more exciting than the fourth wall break of the announced of your daughter named after your wife’s freelance assassin facade... sorry name). He described it as “an utterly dreary case” and was much more interested in the case of a missing horseshoe and how it was connected to a bright blue deckchair on Brighton beach.

Next paragraph: I’ll try to write everything up when I get chance but it’s not been missing portraits and horseshoes that have taken up my time. (You sure mate? You missed 59 calls from your elephant term pregnant wife when she was going in labour because you were with your best friend all day?Mate you put an exclamation mark in we’re back but not in the announcement of you being a father? John your unhappiness is showing...)

Next: I’m going to be a Dad. (no exclamation mark, so he’s not excited... this is not a response from a happily married man about his addition in his family)

Next paragraph: I mean I thought I’d spent the last few years being a Dad to Sherlock (wow dad capitalised? Again? and the hurtful baby is Sherlock jokes again? Damn John, you are exuding unhappiness), but it doesn’t compare. The baby runs all our lives (but it’s not born yet, or was it born when you pretended to write this up, Johnny Boy...) (this is John’s parenthesis: Maybe not THAT different to Sherlock then!) (oh boy he exclamated this and not his announcement... yeah he is so happy about the baby...). If I’m not changing nappies, I’m buying nappies (um.. the baby isn’t here yet?) I’ve fought in Afganistan (sorry not present in the screencap but it’s there for milliseconds) and my best friend once faked his own death (still not over it wow!) but none of that ....(I am assuming here he has written compares but his fingers are always in the way however much I slow down the scene) It’s terrifying and amazing and the biggest adventure I’ve been 

Here it ends... We never see what John “writes” as he doesn’t actually write up but pretend. 

Further proof that John has a picture up of his own blog and not actually updating the blog is the actual corner. Now thank God I have Windows 10, same as John, which is weird if they are still in 2014 thanks to the hiatus and the baby etc. but look at this

Like honestly? The time jumps and the continuation problems we’ve always had.... but this is brilliant... not a slip up... 

I am telling you John isn’t updating and this is why the blog also doesn’t update in our universe but I will leave you to further deductions as well...

Next!

The hit counter has changed moved away from 1895, thank god, but still in our real world it isn’t there. The numbers on counter now are 18493 and there’s weirdly an empty space in front of the 1, the hundred thousand space.

and a clearer image here

um??? why the empty space?

Okay so clearly John’s blog is booming, so much success is coming out of it, surely why not update it? Why leave fans waiting? Is this an act? Or MP?

Then we get these:

He has a touchscreen Windows laptop with removable keyboard. Okay alright the props and their time continuum is messed up we know this... BUT LOOK HE ISN’T ACTUALLY WRITING ANYTHING UP, IT’S A PICTURE HE IS LITERALLY NOT UPDATING HE IS ACTING UP WITH THE PICTURE ON HIS LAPTOP WHY???

And then we get the blogs up at the same time as the deduction scenes...

we get the s2 as John is writing up the case the blog post is on the screen effect, but here the client’s case is still unsolved, while usually when we see John write up the cases it’s after it has been solved... so they are trying to squeeze up the time here?

Next case, next blog post, this time the name is mentioned, so this one is probably linked to the wrong thumb they sent Sherlock. Nothing significant here...But why no title here? It’s meant to confuse us into thinking it’s the ontinuation of the last case but it’s not

Next: Wow John can’t really finish these blog posts can he? This is such a small piece, but why?

Next cases: The Circus Torso and The Canary Trainer. Oh here’s Hopkins and sorry I can’t remember his name while writing this but can’t bother to go find out. Here both of the cases are left with ellipsis again meaning it’s not finished. Here again not much context of the cases but the blog posts and the simultaneous Skype call (i think, could be face-time) are loading up the screen... Why? Why are we going so fast, and why are they showing the blog posts when it’s not updated. we’ll never read, have nothing to do with most of the episode, and are stealing precious time which only makes this more fast paced?

Sorry such a shitty screencap. Next up The Cardiac Arrest. Probably a pun as well, but we will never know because the blog isn’t updating anymore. Also because of much less context we get, yet it get’s screen time.... What is the point of this???

AHAHAH this is a nice one. Literally out of context, ellipsis before and after indicating it’s from some other blog post but then again we will never know because John won’t update his blog anymore... But look at this and tell me what your first thoughts are. What are you first thoughts? 

221B has literally been circled by assassins before, Mycroft has warned John, and then John’s wife turns out to be an assassin so is it really so surprising? An assassin who turned out to be.... is a great wait to end this quote... beautiful. 

AND IT COMES BEFORE JOHN REALISES THAT HE HAS 59 MISSED CALLS FROM HIS WIFE. THEY ARE LAUGHING AS THEY ARE GOING UPSTAIRS ARE FUNNY AND LIGHT AND THEN THIS SHIT HAPPENS.... BEAUTIFUL...

And then that’s it... all the fast paced no context cases Sherlock took up and the very heavy blog post effects covering the screen end with Mary being in labour, but Sherlock’s texts to presumably Scotland Yard begin...

Now I will continue this as I go into the rewatch more but it’s funny how I am stuck in the first not even 10 minutes of the show, analysing only 3 minutes of cases for the last 3 hours... 

Anyway anything wrong please point it out, and tell me our own deductions from these scenes but there is more analysis coming, and if there’s something wrong message me, reply, tell me but go easy on me this is my first analysis type post after a long time!

Lastly, to answer many people who have been asking me, no I don’t think that John lost his passion to update the blog or even follow Sherlock after Mary’s death, but I guess part of the 221Back explains why John has stopped blogging, because he can’t keep up with Sherlock, baby and then all the Mary stuff going on... I also believe he’s acting suspicious and OOC just like Sherlock because it could be MP or they are undercover or something but I guess we’ll have to wait and see...

Plus they didn’t talk much in the episode like??? 

Conclusion: Something bigger is coming, but John’s posts will never go up. The are just snippets of him writing them... but never up.

please @hudders-and-hiddles @finalproblem @quietlyprim @constancecream @deducingbbcsherlock @loudest-subtext-in-tv @love-in-mind-palace and many others look at this I am so struck by it!

[guttersvillemayor]

When The Dam Breaks

[It’s not often that my brothers surprise me. I mean I think I got to know them pretty well when we lived together growing up. They were pretty formative years, if you know what I mean. They always handled things the same ways with very few deviations. However, this one I didn’t see coming. As I was waiting for all the Mosby boys to pull me into a family meeting and give me an intervention or something, I was blindsided by the double agent they’d decided to use instead. Although later it was explained that it was her suggestion and they all just agreed it would probably be better to go that way then try to drag me kicking and screaming. It would seem they also got to know me pretty well during those formative years. And truthfully I should have seen it coming. After all, she was part of the reason I received the first late night visit from the twins. But that’s how I found myself staying up late one night drinking with Wendy while my parents were out of town for the weekend. She had claimed that she wanted some girl time since we hadn’t really caught up or hung out since I’d returned home. Which was the truth. Hell I’d even admit to myself that I was slightly avoiding her because of my conflicted feelings about her relationship with Jonah and my own personal crisis. She was just lucky that she’d caught me with my guard down as I’d already started drinking earlier in the evening. 

Carrying a bag of good booze she joined me out on the back porch were I was just listening to some music, enjoying the rare cool Louisiana evening and drinking, obviously. “Mind if I join you? I’ve brought some stuff from the pub including your favorites.” My head gives a quick bob while I bring the bottle of Angry Orchard to my lips to finish it off. From what I saw her pull out, I knew we’d be sticking to hard liquor the rest of the night.] I’m gonna go inside and get some mixers for the vodka. I could go for a screwdriver right about now. [The dizzy, buzzed feeling hits me the second I stood up and that should have been a warning sign to me, but I was honestly too focused on drowning my feelings and the voices in my head to realized the danger in getting drunk with someone who I was trying to keep secrets from. It doesn’t take me long to deposit my already empty bottles into the recycling bin and pull out some orange juice, couple sodas and ice as well as some glasses to drink from before heading back outside. Wendy silently holds out her hand for one glass and starts filling it up with vodka and then orange juice. There were some perks to having a best friend who spent her life in a bar growing up. Still without either of us speaking, I take the now-filled glass back from her and take a good gulp of the drink.] Damn, you always know just the right ratio to where I can feel the alcohol hitting my bloodstream without feeling like I’m drinking more vodka than OJ. [I raise the glass in the air as a salute to her abilities. “It’s a good thing that I’ll be inheriting a pub then one day.” We chuckle because we’ve always joke that she was born to bartend, though we could never figure out if she’d have done something different if her parents didn’t own the pub. 

She easily fixes herself a drink as we sit in the Adirondack chairs that were brought up on the deck by my parents years ago. No doubt they’ve done similar things on a nice night, sitting out on the porch and drinking wine or whatever old people drink. A low snort bubbles up while I take another sip and Wendy asks what’s got me amused.] Nothing, I was just thinking about my parents and having happy old couple moments out here in these very chairs…. [Suddenly my guttered mind takes the idea a bit to far and as soon as the image pops in my head I can’t help but voice it to Wendy.] God I hope they kept things PG. Or at least did the R rated stuff in your chair. [This causes her to wrinkle her nose at the gross image, but overall it doesn’t stop us from cracking up at what I’ve said. And once the laughter has winded down, Wendy gives a content sigh. “You know I don’t think I’d mind being like that one day with Jonah.” Another reminder of their relationship, about the fact that soon she’ll be my actual sister and yet her loyalties will first go to my brother over me, has me taking a bigger gulp than previously. However, Wendy doesn’t notice as she’s still thinking and speculating to me about her fantasy of a happy romantic future. I’m not proud of how bitter I felt in that moment, but loneliness can do that to a person. If I really thought about it, I could even be bitter about Teddy’s situation in life. Granted his constant companion was a small boy who he took care of, but as a live-in nanny he spent the majority of the day with another human who, for better or worse, loved him and who he couldn’t help but love in return. It only helped to make me realize how alone and unhappy I was. 

Thoughts of Richard start to come unbidden to the forefront and I almost miss Wendy’s question. “Doesn’t that just sound amazing?” Her head turning to meet my gaze in earnest interest of what I thought. Although I couldn’t say if it sounded amazing or not seeing as I hadn’t hear most of what she’d said. I just hoped she wouldn’t notice my disinterest as I nodded my head, taking a big gulp of my drink to cover any awkwardness in my answer. Wendy’s eyes were too much like a hawk at times, able to pick up on the slightest clues in what I was trying not to say. Another potential cue at her double agent status, if I had had my wits about me. And whether or not she picked up on something this time, she still found her way onto the minefield with her next question. “What about you Ems? You’re gonna be 30 in the next month or so. Isn’t there someone you look forward to settling down with? I thought there was a guy back in Baltimore who you lived in the same building with... or was it that y’all worked together? [I quickly shake my head and hold my empty glass out towards her in silent request for a refill. She easily puts it back to rights once again and it’s almost as if she’s happy to ply me with alcohol, not that I question it at the time. “No, I definitely remember you gushing over him several times. Richard, right? But his last name was a little more interesting.” It’s obvious she’s trying to see if she can remember it from past conversations while I snort at her comment causing our eyes to meet. ] You’re one to talk, Melancon. [Wendy gives a slight shrug at that and waves me off. “Well it’ll be Mosby soon enough so there’s no need to go into all that. Now be honest, what was the story with that guy. I know I wasn’t there with you, but I’ve known you long enough to know there was a guy you were at least interested in.” 

A heavy sigh escapes me unbidden and it’s as if my feelings and thoughts were just underneath the surface trying to get out. My voice is soft and low when I finally give in to Wendy’s questioning.] His last name was Espinosa, Richard Espinosa and we were both co-workers and living in the same building. [Turning from her penetrating gaze, I focus my own at the night sky and continue sipping my drink with regular frequency. Whereas I’m pretty sure Wendy had barely gotten halfway through her first one. It was as if Wendy saw the barely visible crack in my shell opening and decided to take a crowbar at it. The damn woman knew how to go for the kill. “Sounds like you two were very close then. How did he feel about you leaving the paper and moving back home?” A million things warred inside of me once she said those words and I can only imagine what my face looked like to her. Even so, all I was intent on doing was finishing my drink and keeping my mouth shut, but I was only actually able to do one of those things. As soon as I’d down the last of my second drink, I let out a harsh chuckle from all the darker thoughts collecting in my head.] I’m pretty sure he didn’t give a fucking damn since he was busy fucking another photographer when I got home one day. Nothing like coming home from a shitty day to just have life dump on you once again. 

[Suddenly it was if the dam had broke and I didn’t care anymore about if the idyllic town of Mosby down at the bottom of the valley got wiped off the face of the earth by the flood of my emotions. In the morning, I’m sure I’d wonder just how much I’d had to drink to reach this point, but in the moment I had no fucks to give. I couldn’t even be bothered to register the shock on Wendy’s face as I grabbed the bottle of vodka and started drinking straight from it. The words flowing out of me between each gulp as easily as the liquor I was consuming.] It wasn’t bad enough that I’d lost my job months before that to the fucking bitch who is sub-par at best. Or that he’d turn into a right dick holding money problems over my head and making me feel like shit. Or that I’d practically wanted to be with him since we met. Nope… I had to still see that shit. With baby vomit caked all down my blouse from this horrible interview at a portrait studio. And I thought that was the last drop into what has to be the darkest pit of my life. But then I had to come home, which was another blow all together, and go through all these horrible feelings and thoughts. Including having my best friend telling my brother what’s going on in my life when I’m pretty sure it was obvious that I didn’t want anyone knowing about it. 

[I’m not sure when I’d started crying or reached the end of the bottle or stood up for that matter. However, I did know that my voice had raised so loud to the point that it cracked and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go, but I wasn’t done yet while Wendy was just sitting frozen in her chair.] I’m almost 30 years old and I was fired from my job so I have to work at my old highschool job, I’m no closer to finding someone to share my life with after spending two years pining for an assclown and I’m so goddamn broke that I have to live with my fucking parents. And I mean, I love them, but who wants to be a grown-ass adult living with their parents? I feel so fucking alone and lost, Wendy. So please don’t ask me if something is amazing because all I see in my future is the shitty fog I’m stuck in. [Slowly, I put the bottle down on the table and try to wipe the tears from my eyes, as if that will somehow help me get control during this meltdown. Already I’m regretting the verbal diarrhea and know that I’ve come too close to the unfriendly thoughts about my brother and best friend. The next words out of my mouth could either attempt to put the genie back in the bottle, sweep the dirt under the rug or completely burn my flimsy house of cards down. And with alcohol in the mix, it was anyone’s guess which one it would be.] 

I love you Wendy, and I swear I’m happy that you and Jonah are happy. [Alright, seems to be going good.] But right now I just want to be alone… [Wait... wasn’t that what I was just going off about?] … by myself. With my thoughts… [Cause that’s done me so well so far. I’m not sure what side of me voiced that thought, but all the same it causes my eyes to drift to the whip cream flavored vodka bottle that Wendy had brought.] … and some more liquor. [Without giving another thought to my shell-shocked best friend, I pick the bottle up from the table and head inside. Somehow, there’s just enough presence of mind to lock the door before heading down to the ground floor where my bed is and I know there’s a bottle of orange soda. My focus solely on having the alcoholic equivalent of a Dreamsicle and drinking until I forget all the other shit in my life. God knows I’ll regret so much of this in the morning and for days, probably weeks to come. But all that mattered at the moment was drowning out everything, including the sound of Wendy talking to someone outside on the patio. I’d deal with the repercussions later.]