#i will draw a full piece with a good background ground again! i will! i lie!

[arillusionist]

art summary thing except i barely drew anything from may - december

[feathernotes]

BACKGROUNDS IN WEBCOMICS

I want to talk about sustainability in your work process, featuring our fave: Backgrounds. How to simplify, convey, and deliver in comics! (examples include Phantomarine, Wychwood, Shaderunners and Ghost Junk Sickness) The usual suspect to burnout is often the workload involved. Many ppl who FULL HAM on pages that def need a detail cut for many reasons Main one being: You don’t need excessive detail to tell whats happening in a small panel, in fact, less is better. When you observe a page in its entirety, where does the eye travel? Where does the eye stop? Having a fully rendered BG in multiple panels can actually be a huge distraction, on top of the time it takes to get there. So how do you balance?

In Phantomarine, the most detailed panel is the establishing one, it holds our characters and allows readers to understand the positions they're all in/standing at. Its one panel that provides a specific telling detail: the railings behind Phae indicate we're on the boat.

In the bottom left panel,the artist uses the railings again, but doesnt have to render the lights, floor boards, or sea to show where we were, then uses the colours of said BG and mood to paint the rest of the page. This is where colours/gradients and small objects save the day! The same example is here, just flipped. The establishing shot shares DETAILS that you need to show the readers where we are, then the BG of Pavel eating food isnt over whelmed with background characters or other details that get in the way of the ACTION that is to be conveyed

it would be rather distracting if we were to see Pavel eat that bowl, with sooo many more details involved in the panel- instead, the drapes, hues of light, and clever sound effects tell us what is happening. Wychwood does the very same with establishing shots, then KEY DETAILS to provide the reader with where the character is standing, without sacrificing the facial expressions and details of the CHARACTERS that we need to get across

Most detail is in the top panel, the BAR that Julian holds onto is a KEY PIECE to show where they are in the BG already established. Perfect use of BG! Get used to thinking of those key details when changing scenes and establishing shots!

Pick those key details to tell the reader where they are and draw that. If you have a library scene, please just draw that BG once! Take a specific bookcase or key feature, use blocked shapes and colours, and make it less detailed than the provided establishing shot. I also wanna talk about : Action Scenes Focusing on the ACTION of the scenes is SO important when you have them, and often details get lost when a creator focuses on details that can distract a reader! My advice? Most action scenes are best without/need little backgrounds. A few shots from Ghost Junk Sickness demonstrate this. We're paying attention to the action- we've been established where we are before, so let's play in the sandbox now.

Have a panel or two peppered in there, with the same principal as above to ground where your character is, but do not add a BG in every panel. It instantly takes away from the action when it's not integrated as well, and it takes SO MUCH MORE TIME to draw that sequence!

Read More amazing tips: Here are some GREAT examples by the creators of ShadeRunners, HERE who break down how they do backgrounds ( AND CROWD SHOTS!!!!)

TL;DR: Comics are a MULTITUDE of skills and needs. It takes a lot of time and work to pull it off, so working with methods that make it easiest for you as the creator is what will help you maintain that momentum and stability you need! Good luck and get comicking!

[dottiechan]

TWC Secret Santa @wayhavensecretsanta ❄ - Happy holidays, @ejunkiet!

It was an absolute pleasure to create for you, I love Lizzie and Ava so much!!! 🩵 I couldn't decide whether to draw or write, so enjoy a bit of both. (BTW I seriously recommend @ejunkiet's fics of their detective OC Lizzie Quail, they're so good.) Happy holidays again! xx P.s. If you saw me accidentally post a draft of my gift to you a few days before... Shhh no you didn't. 🥲

Summary: After Unit Bravo's holiday dinner with Detective Lizzie Quail, Felix realises all the photos he took with his polaroid camera are botched.

Wordcount: 835

Warnings: smoking, Fuzzy Holidays Feels™

Too blurry. Too crowded. Mason is holding up his middle finger. Not focused on the subject. Ava appears to be sneering?

The polaroids scatter on the floor as they’re being dropped, Felix’s frustration seemingly travelling through his fingertips and into the botched pictures as they skitter across the parquet. He had such high hopes for this holiday dinner they’ve panned - he even volunteered, much to Nat’s suspicion, to help decorate the warehouse to prepare the background for his perfect winter photos. There doesn’t seem to be a single wall or piece of furniture without strings of fairy lights or garlands hanging off them - and yet somehow, he managed to mess up all the pictures he took.

“I should have just used my phone, not this stupid polaroid Nat gave me,” he grumbles, as he sinks to the floor dramatically from the sofa. He turns his head to the left, expecting a response from Mason, but aside from the shrug of a shoulder, and a puff of smoke, he’s as disinterested as always. Felix allows his head to loll right now, and peeks through the open doors into the dining room, but his other team members are too far to share in his misery. Lizzie is in the middle of a story, which has Nat’s full attention, and Ava’s full, well, everything? Attention, adoration, respect, senses, everything. They’re cute, the way they hold hands over the table, how Ava squeezes Lizzie's hand encouragingly when she trails off or gets embarrassed by her own rambling. Felix hoped he would capture a moment between them, something candid, something like right now, but he’s missed his windows of opportunity - like for instance when Ava finally allowed herself to be dragged under the mistletoe with Lizzie, but their picture was ruined by the detective spilling her drink all over herself.

“Felix?”

“Leave me alone,” he replies, but he also cracks one eye open to make sure Nat, who’s just entered the room, doesn’t lose interest in his pity party on the floor. But she’s already retreating, so he starts flailing his limbs as if he were making a snow angel in the sea of polaroids. “Please don’t leave me alone. Mason won’t talk to me and I’m embarrassed. I messed up all the pictures. I tried taking them like you showed me but I messed up.”

“They’re not so bad,” Nat says kindly as she sits with her friend, plucking the odd semi-decent pictures from the ground. “See? This is lovely.”

“Yeah, but Lizard has hot chocolate spilt on her sweater in that one.”

“Don’t call her that,” Mason grumbles, as he sweeps some polaroids off his lap - the by-product of Felix’s snow angel performance - and flicks his cigarette into the flames of the fireplace. Nat pretends not to see, but the pain flashing across her features has already made Felix feel a little better. They spend the better of the next hour going through the pictures and sorting them out, while Mason sits close-by, smoking, lost in his thoughts. All that breaks their peace is Frank Sinatra’s drawling voice coming from the record player, and the occasional laughter from the lovebirds still camped in the dining room. By the end of it, they’re left with a handful of decent-ish photographs, and Felix wastes no time sticking them into the photo album he got from Lizzie for Christmas.

There was a moment today, a moment worth capturing, one that was befitting of the old silver screen movies Nat made him and Lizzie watch, between Ava and their beloved detective. Naturally, Felix - a rotten romantic at heart - is pissed that he wasn’t able to capture it. It was a moment far better than the forced kiss under the mistletoe, a moment of intimacy, when the pair thought they were away from prying eyes. A hand under Lizzie’s jaw, Ava’s eyes fixed on the prize, wanting to kiss but being unable to take their eyes off of each other… Obviously the shutter of the camera ruined it, causing the pair step away from each other, and Lizzie to hide her blushing cheeks behind the curtain of her frizzy hair, but that’s beside the point. They were happy. Maybe happier than he’s ever seen them. Things are often so fucked up, with the odds always stacked against them, that Felix sometimes lives in the comfort of these moments. He lives in his family’s happiness, in his friends’ laughter, in Lizzie’s tight hugs, in Ava’s pats on the shoulder… If he could, he’d capture all these moments in a jar and keep them very close always. Photographs are the next best thing - which is why he’s bummed out the picture he took of this moment must be so unrecognisable that it was swallowed by his sea of botched photographs.

He’s lost in thought when Mason nudges his shoulder, a polaroid of Lizzie and Ava in his hand stretched towards him.

“Found this under the sofa. Not too bad, if you’re into this lovey-dovey shit.”

[koraesrambles]

GREAT READING ADVENTURE part 2

Just finished reading the first volume of SAGA by Brian K Vaughan, which covers the first six issues of the story.

I'm. Um. Holy crap guys.

Sandman's horror was beautiful but a little much for something I'd usually read just for fun, but dang it, Saga is EXACTLY my kind of story in almost every single way. To say I loved the volume is an understatement. I have to again add reading the entire series to my list which aaaaah if I have to read the entire series of every single book on this list I'm probably going to die. Why am I doing this to myself? I make terrible decisions.

The Writing

I've never heard of Brian Vaughan before, so I don't know his history in comics or how much he's done, but I did read his end letters and saw how he'd been nervous about cancellation and how happy letter to the editor letters made him, so he seems like a pretty alright guy.

The writing in this volume is well-paced and engaging. It started En Media Res, which is something I tend to favor myself. It's a bit of a cliche to start with the birth of a baby, but it didn't stick out or feel dull to me. Also, the mom didn't even die, so it's already doing a lot better than 99% of stories I've seen that begin with a birth story.

Brian made me fall in love with the two main characters almost instantly. I'm glad he started out in a high stress situation, because we were able to get to know who they were and how they handled stress and danger in record time. He made me care about these two star-crossed lovers when romance is normally a pretty hard sell for me. I also really liked that he made the decision to have them be an already established couple who clearly loves each other instead of a will they/won't they situation. I also really loved that I never doubted their relationship's strength, even when they were bickering and fighting.

Anyway, the writing was beautiful and vivid. I felt like the story was well paced and that he introduced the characters in an easy to follow way. I liked the choices he made to try and get us to like each character (obviously I like Alana and Marko best, but the mercenary guy won a LOT of points by being willing to kill a dude to save a child, and the fact that the robo dude's wife is pregnant gives him immediate sympathy (though he's kind of on ice for being racist and trigger happy. . . )

The theme of children and saving children extends to all of the main cast of characters throughout the book. Even the bad guys who want our heroes dead are disgusted at the idea of harming a child, no matter how unfortunate their birth, and all of this with the voice over of Hazel talking about being born and how all children begin as simple ideas.

Honestly, it's downright poetic. I love stories like this, stories about families, stories where people are willing to do anything to protect the people that they love, it's just my jam. The only complaint I have is the fridging of the spider creature thing at the end of issue 5. He'd done such a good job of not using the death of a woman to motivate a male character at the beginning of the story, so I was bummed out that we still got a "he killed my girlfriend" storyline. But just because it's overused doesn't mean it didn't work in this instance. So, trope is annoying, but not incompetantly done.

The Art

The art is drop dead gorgeous. I wish I could draw like this. It's the type of art that I see and it makes me itch to pick up a pencil and start tring to figure out how they did it. The artist, Fiona Staples, is incredible. I found myself studying the backgrounds, how she was able to pull our attention to the things she wanted us to see while still making sure every frame was full and felt grounded in the world. I started taking notes on the way she was drawing the action scenes! How she made them poigant and the way they were all pieced together. It's freaking amazing. I would love to be able to produce art like this some day.

Some of my notes, just cuz I think they're cool:

don't just draw the action, draw the moment before and the effect after.

you don't always need highlights

background can be lower rended, which adds to the style

move the camera around the character, it doesn't have to always be from the same angle.

These are probably super obvious tips to anyone in the world who knows anything about comics, but I dunno, they just absolutely stuck out to me this time. The sense of adventure and fear and excitement the art invoked was just perfect for me. I loved it.

The Characters

As mentioned earlier, the writer did a really good job at introducing everyone and making me interested in them, at least a little. I cared immediately for the couple, the mercenary grew on me and the robot is clearly doing his best even though he's in a crappy situation and is kind of an asshole.

The character designs were all distinct and I had no problems telling anyone apart. I always knew where we were and the stakes for each character was very clear.

I can't remember all of their names, but I dunno if that's the writer's fault so much as I just can't remember names for the life of me. I can remember Hazel's name. Hazel's name stuck with me.

Usually when I start a story that has the cast separated at the beginning I'm looking forward to them meeting up. Even during times where one of them is hunting the other, like Zuko hunting down Aang from Avatar the Last Airbender. But uh. . . I do not want them catching up to each other in this one xD how bout we just say that Marko and Alana raise Hazel in a happy family, and nothing bad happens to them ever again, the end?

Yeah, not that kind of story. But I'm enthused by the lack of both child and parental death so far.

Final Thoughts

Saga is extremely fun, fast paced, well written, well illustrated, interesting and fun fantasy/scifi comic that I can absolutely learn a lot from. I knew the comics on this list would be good, but I was still pleasantly surprised by how this comic, that I had never heard of or run across before, was able to draw me in and attach me to the story so quickly. Beautiful. I'm very glad I read it.

[consistantly-changing]

Undescribed tweets in order (images after the first two) after the cut:

"It's personal, but of general interest, I think. If you've ever read some interesting news on Twitter/Reddit/Substack that seemed legit, about a major corporation, and then wondered why the mainstream media never picked up on it, this glimpse behind the scenes might explain why.

"Background/Recap: Eleven years ago, I wrote the ending to Minecraft. I never signed a contract, so I retained copyright. Then Microsoft bought Minecraft for 2.3 billion dollars, I was put under pressure to sign a contract giving them my copyright, I refused, and things got messy.]

["(For those who like a little evidence with their story, here's the original contract, which I refused to sign when I wrote the ending in 2011, and refused to sign again when Microsoft bought Minecraft in 2016.)" Attached is a photo of the contract, with a coffee mug covering the address. Full transcript underneath everything.]

[The tweets continue: I basically kept quiet about the whole mess for years. Wasn't sure what to do. Then, late last year, after a lot of thought, I decided to place the ending to Minecraft in the public domain, under this Creative Commons Licence." Attached is a link to creativecommons.org.

"So, I gave away my copyright. People were now free to do what they liked with the narrative at the end of Minecraft (the End Poem). Set it to music, use it in a school play, make T-shirts and posters of it, paint it on the side of their van, whatever.

"But there's no point giving people a present if they don't KNOW they've been given it. So I wrote a long piece on Substack, telling the story. It went mildly viral. A terrific editor at a major global media organisation read the piece, and got in touch.

"I won't name the media organisation, because that lets me be more indiscreet here. Anyway, the editor and I worked on a shorter version of my piece, for publication by them. As part of the process, it was vetted by the media org's lawyers.]

["I sent the lawyers all the relevant email chains, the original contract, everything they asked for. And they said, yes, you clearly own the copyright, you can indeed legally place the work in the public domain, etc. Piece was fact-checked, all was good.

"Then Microsoft were asked for comment. And everything ground to a halt.

"Microsoft employ 1,700 people in their legal department. That's a lot of lawyers. And they are all very familiar with the Streisand effect. (I know YOU know what the Streisand effect is, but I will explain in case my mum is reading this.)

"Quote "The Streisand effect is the way attempts to hide, remove, or censor information can lead to the unintended consequence of increasing awareness of that information." unquote." Attached is a link to the Streisand effect on Wikipedia.

[So the traditional old cease-and-desist letter, demanding you take down a post, is out of style. So are empty threats. They just draw attention to the problem. What works best is the POSSIBILITY of a negative response... but not the actual response.

"And so Microsoft, with 1700 legal staff available, didn't reply to requests for comment from a major global media organisation about an about-to-be- published story explaining how Microsoft didn't own the ending to the most successful game of all time.

"And... it worked. Silence worked. The lawyers at the media organisation, understandably but annoyingly, lost their nerve. Because you fill silence with your own most vivid fears. Maybe Microsoft had a secret, second contract signed in blood at midnight!

"Without a comment, even a "no comment", it was impossible to tell what Microsoft knew or planned to do. And that was too much risk for the media organisation's lawyers, because Microsoft have 1700 lawyers and unlimited financial firepower.]

["So, a great editor, with huge experience and passionate belief in the piece, and an established writer with books published in over thirty languages (and who has, if anything, a reputation for being TOO bloody honest)... couldn't get a truthful, fact-checked piece over the line.

"To be clear, if this story was about some tiny little indie company with no legal department, it would not have faced anything like this scrutiny, and it would have been published weeks ago. It's been obsessively fact-checked by lawyers. It holds up.

"But the simple existence of the seventeen hundred people in Microsoft's legal department were enough to kill the story. They didn't need to say or do anything. Indeed, saying or doing anything would have weakened their position.

"If they said or did anything, we could have reacted to it. If they made a good objection, we could have changed a few lines, and published. If they made a bad objection, we could have shown them proof that we were right, and published.]

["The hilarious thing is, the original 10,000 word version of this story, with far more detail, has already been published. It's been on my Substack for the past month, and Microsoft have done nothing. There's nothing they can do: my story is true.

"What they CAN do is try to minimise the SPREAD of the story. No point attacking me when they don't have a leg to stand on, because that would trigger the Streisand effect.

"I know that journalists at several national newspapers have, by now, asked Microsoft for comment, and they have been blanked too. If you are a trillion dollar corporation, this strategy works. You can intimidate the mainstream media, without triggering the Streisand effect.

"What can YOU do about this? Well, I wrote the piece to let people know that the narrative that ends the most successful game in history is now in the public domain. So you could read my original piece, retweet this thread; let people know that it's free now, they can use it.]

["And here's the first tweet, if you want to retweet this thread. Thanks for reading this far! And happy new year..." Attached is the link to the first tweet.

"Well, I woke up to see that this thread had taken off. Which is great! Because I spent all day yesterday trying to get that thread right. To make it a good, truthful, fun read. And now it's keeping people Engaged And On The Platform. So...

"I'm a professional writer who worked all day yesterday, for free, to make more money for Elon Musk.]

["What can YOU do about this? Well, I wrote the piece to let people know that the narrative that ends the most successful game in history is now in the public domain. So you could read my original piece, retweet this thread; let people know that it's free now, they can use it.

"More specifically, if you're a journalist, you can read my original 10,000 word version, and see if you think there is a story in it. And then you can ask Microsoft for comment.

"Here's the original 10,000 word piece that tells the whole story." Attached is a link to the story.]

["And that is a BEAUTIFUL example of exactly what I talked about in the suppressed piece I wrote about Microsoft and Minecraft. Things are now structured so that corporations (and billionaires) keep all the money generated by the work of writers and artists.

"So, if you liked this thread, or my Substack piece, or the End Poem (or any other writing I've given away for free), and you would like to thank me, rather than Elon Musk or Microsoft; well, great, here's a donation button!" Attached is a link to the author's PayPal.

/End ID]

[Contract transcript: All text created for the ending for the game known as "Minecraft".

In consideration for the payment of £1 receipt and sufficiency of which is hereby acknowledged I hereby. assign to You with full title guarantee and including by way of present assignment of past, present and future copyright (if applicable), all copyright, design right, database right, trade mark rights and any other intellectual property rights in the Works described and all materials produced pursuant or preparatory thereto.

That includes the exclusive right to do and to authorise others to do any and all acts in relation to the Works throughout the World together with all rights of action in respect of any past or existing infringements of such rights by any third party.

I also waive any so called moral rights and therefore grant to You, complete, total and unlimited rights to use. modify and adapt the Works for all purposes and in any manner or media you think fit.

I agree to never assert any rights in the Works nor challenge Your rights in them.

I agree to keep confidential and not to use nor disclose to any third party any information that may be considered secret, proprietary or confidential that I may have received disclose it or any part of it to anyone without Your written permission.

I acknowledge that You do not undertake to use, exhibit or otherwise exploit the Works in any way.

I warrant, undertake and represent to You that: (a) I am fully entitled to grant and assign all rights in the Works to You; (b) nothing in the Works shall infringe the copyright or any other right of any third party or breach any contract or duty of confidence, constitute a contempt of court or be defamatory or blasphemous; (c) I am at least 18 years old or have had this Agreement reviewed and explained to Me by My parent or guardian and have had the opportunity to take independent legal advice in relation to its content and effect.

This release shall be governed by and construed in accordance with English law and will be subject to the exclusive jurisdiction of the courts of England and Wales.]

Read this Twitter thread... (partly because Microsoft doesn't want you to.)

[freezing-turtle]

Art Month 2024 is complete! I have once again overcome this challenge, having (hopefully) grown far stronger than I was before! My roster of Drawn Characters is certainly more full than it was before.

This post is going to be a sort of master-post of all the posts of Art Month 2024, an easily scrollable listing with a bit of commentary and reflection here and there. It'll be below the break (assuming I do this right). Feel free to point out your favorites, and maybe share this (or the individual posts) with others who may find the artwork cool or neat. Thanks for being here with me this October, I am taking a bit of a break from drawing for now (need to recover physically with Rest and mentally with Gaming).

Day 1: Watermelon Teto I don't remember why I went with the Majima Melon meme, but I'm satisfied with it.

Day 2: Furina I feel like I enjoy the mini-Furina more than the actual main image. She's just so silly.

Day 3: Cheryl Was very happy about the background on this one, actually. It still takes longer than just a flat color or gradient, but this style of background painting is still pretty quick. This is also when you can say I turned the makeup up to 11, and yeah. I just find it fun, and can't really do much with it irl, so it works its way into my art rather often.

Day 4: Shantae I did not realize Shantae had this much pull. This one got a lot of traffic and hype, at least compared to the rest. I do like it on its own merits, I feel like I adopted parts of the original style well, but yeah, it shocked me a bit. Again on backgrounds, though, I feel very confident with my clouds these days.

Day 5: Spirit Tracks Zelda Feels well-made, but almost doesn't feel like its mine as much because of how closely I stuck to the original artstyle. Also, I'm not so happy about the background. It's fine, but it sure took a while for it to just be "fine."

Day 6: Balatro This was very well-liked by the official Balatro Discord server; I think it helped that most people focused on imagining/ reimagining joker cards, so this was a lot more fresh.

Day 7: Bunnies I felt it was important to have some requests in here, and spread out, so that I could maintain motivation by saying "I have to get to at least here so I can make this for my friend!" It's a different flavor of motivation, which I think keeps things fresh and functioning well. I made the designs for these two, then went to check, and I realized the black bun was a boy bun, but didn't want to redo the whole thing, so I just decided he would be a femboy in this.

Day 8: Sakuya The rare animated work from me. I'm really unfamiliar with CSP's animation tools (and animation tools in general), so it was a bit of a struggle making this work right. Previous frames of the knife kept appearing behind the current frame until I moved everything to the right on the timeline, then the frames disappeared as expected. I don't know why or how that fixed it.

Day 9: Reina I'm not very satisfied with this one. I know very little about the character, and I feel like it just doesn't look right, but people who know her seem to have enjoyed it, so I guess it's alright.

Day 10: Sigune This might just be my best art in general? Like, this one went so well. Strong expression, good fore/middle/back ground, everything is lined decently well, it's just a really strong piece. "My Best" might be subjective, I could shift it around depending on criteria and how I'm feeling; it's almost certainly the most detailed illustration this character has ever gotten, though. I don't think I've seen anyone else draw her this well.

Day 11: "Rare Occurrence" This one felt silly, but still pretty good. More painterly, and mostly background, which I used in-game screenshots to help guide me on (mostly just the center mountain). I probably should've thrown a ToP in the background, better solidify the AH reference. Was kinda surprised to find that people used to hate this episode, though, it permanently altered my ability to see pink and brown sheep, and I thought it was the origin of Ray's "ENDERMAN!" voice clip, but I didn't rewatch the full thing to check.

Day 12: Palutena I did not consider what effect the cropping would have given her outfit. I just didn't want to draw all those details, there's just so many bits. I also wanted to draw a girl with gold makeup, and a goddess of light seemed like a strong fit. I think it was a strong idea, but my execution on the face wasn't all there, in my eyes.

Day 13: Athena Cykes Painting over the courtroom background like that probably wasn't necessary, but it's pretty alright, at least. I tend to prefer shorter, untied hair, but these wild ponytails with strong shapes are fun to draw as well. Same sort of deal as with Miku (or Teto).

Day 14: Femme Joker [P5] I thought this one was going to spread better than it did. It's okay, though. I'm happy enough with the posing, and drawing male characters being feminine is fun in a slightly different way to drawing female characters being feminine. Probably has something to do with my transier feelings, we don't need to get deep into it, though.

Day 15: Super Hat Witch Sort of a different format so I could show off more of the concept of what the character does, rather than a simple pinup or whatever. I'm glad the requester found the hat to be sufficiently Big, I kind of expected at least a joking "the hat should be Bigger."

Day 16: Skyla & Elesa I hid Shadow the Hedgehog in the background, he's in one of the windows, barely visible. Another one where I feel like I could've done better, especially around the faces, but the concept felt very nice and was a nice twist on what I was seeing in most of the trending Skyla art.

Day 17: Hisami Yomotsu Between this and Sakuya, Touhou Tumblr was surprisingly kind to me (surprising in the fact that I didn't really expect it to be here and be active in spreading stuff like what I made)

Day 18: Nifl & Fjorm There's this artist I follow who is a big Nifl fan, and I shared this in her server, and she seemed really happy and excited about what I made, so that felt pretty great. I also like what I did here; faces were a little experimental, mixed results a bit, but Nifl definitely looks good to my (present-day) eyes.

Day 19: Mirror Maiden I really like Mirror Maidens. The closest thing we have to a playable Mirror Maiden is maybe Layla, who is another one of my favorite Genshin characters, but I want her to have the blue lipstick (and also to not get screwed out of appearing in all the new Sumeru content, she just got left out of the Sumeru group photo in the current Event going on, I'm mad about it).

Day 20: Guildmarm I think I forgot to add a layer to show the glass of her glasses more properly, but it's a very minor thing. I wish MH4 was on something other than the 3DS.

Day 21: Bowsette Felt good about my modifications to the more standard Bowsette designs. The green eye makeup felt really appropriate here, capturing the green part of Bowser's head that usually gets left out. Background was cool, too. Probably could've put more thought into the floor tiles, but, nah.

Day 22: Dark Magician Girl I still don't really get the rules of YGO, but I imagine she's playing (or trying to play) a Spellcaster deck of some kind, based on the fact that the [Spellcaster] tag was on the card I used as a reference image.

Day 23: Queen Deltarune I tried to put not that much effort into this and it still did well. Oh-ho-ho. Also, nobody's pointed out the Cool S. I felt like it fit.

Day 24: Gumi-Mew This one had a lot more effort, it was kind of like a birthday present. Really happy with the dynamism in the pose, it's maybe not perfect for rounding the corner like that, but kinda rocks.

Day 25: Poison I think this is where I realized I was getting fatigued mentally. I was still doing alright, but I was needing to take more and more breaks. Really sleepy.

Day 26: Pyra Definitely wish I had remembered the animal hoodie. Probably would've been harder to draw, but I think it's cuter. Also, this one got a bunch of people to tell me to finish playing Xenoblade Chronicles 2; I'm sure it's good, but I just have other priorities at the moment.

Day 27: Spooky Corrin Another one where I hoped it would've been more popular. I've seen a lot of her this year in particular, but maybe I was just looking for it this time. Still happy about it, I think the little dragon form is cute.

Day 28: Creepyfrogsta "You've met with a terrible frog, haven't you?" is still just hilarious to me. It's good to break things up with something silly and fun every now and again. Get that variety in there, it helps pass the Art Month (in case you wanted advice on how to complete on yourself [probably don't dive right in with a full, 31-day month. Maybe start with just a week if you feel unsure]).

Days 29 and 30: Hexed Trainers Had to fuse two days somewhere to slip under Tumblr's 30 image limit, this combo made the most sense by far. Modified it to also have my regular Hex Maniac from Art Month 2023 in the background (as well as using that background because it's better). I would be lying if I said I didn't at least kind of want to be transformed into a cute goth/ gothy girl. Most types of girl would already be a good start.

Day 31: Aversa Costume I think my shading could've maybe been better, some details aren't perfect, but I was fighting my way to the finish line, and sometimes you just have to be happy with whatever you can get done. I can do better in the abstract, but I couldn't do better in that moment, and that's an important thing to keep in mind, you know? I hope this will be good for me in the end. I don't know if Art Month 2025 will be a thing yet, but we'll see.

Thank you for making it all the way to the end, this post and all the art in it took a lot of time to make happen. I appreciate your support, I'm glad that if nothing else, I can make people's days a little bit better using the skills I've been practicing for years.

[hibiscus-tea9]

Hi there!!

I’m Hibiscus, I’m an artist, writer, and musician!! I make music less than the other 2 tho -.- Anyways! I’m really excited to start sharing my art and I even want to start doing commissions!! So this post is about my commissions!!!

My commissions are always open unless I say otherwise, so all you have to do is make sure to read the rules and message me with the details of your commission!!!

PLEASE NOTE

I may refuse your commission! I will, of course, give my reasoning for it but if I refuse it then there may not be a way for you to get that specific piece from me. A big reason I’ll refuse a commission is because the rules were not followed so just make sure you follow the rules and you should be fine!

Rules

Provide detailed description of your commission idea

State whether or not your commission contains NSFW

Pay with Cashapp

Pay BEFORE I start working on the commission

Periodically checking the progress of your commission is fine and encouraged, but asking every day or multiple times a day is invasive and may be grounds for me to refund your commission and refuse further work with you

Be aware that I can, and will take on furry or anthro commissions but they may not be the best quality! I will try my best but if you are not satisfied I will still refund your money! <3

Similar situation with real people in a stylized piece, only I charge extra for that. I struggle to draw real people so I charge extra to compensate for that struggle, this does not apply to realism of real people only stylized pieces of real people, again if you’re not satisfied once it’s finished I will refund your money

If the commission takes longer than it should I will refund 10% of your payment back, if it takes too long again I will refund another 10% (EX. You pay $30, I will refund $3 every time there is a delay on the commission)

Most of my commissions will only take a few days or even just a couple hours but the more complicated they get, the more time it will take, and the more money it will cost

Please do not ask for these things in your commission!!!

Gore

Ped0ph1lia/loli/shota

Z00ph1lia

Insanely complicated poses/ designs (unless you’re prepared for your commission to take much longer and cost much more)

Realism piece of animated character

Prices

Sketch - $5

Head shot, no/plain color background - $10

Bust, no/plain color background - $15

Half body, no/plain color background- $20

Full body, no/plain color background - $25

Character sheet, no/plain color background - $30

Realism/portrait, messy/scratchy rendering - $35

Replicate art style, no/plain color background - $40

Add ons

Full rendering - +$1

Simple background - +$2

Complicated design/background/pose - price varies - +$1-$10

Additional characters - +$1 per character

Real person (not realism) - +$5

Please make sure you list the character you’d like, where that character is from, the type of drawing you would like, any add ons you’d like, and your cashapp handle!

Once I see and approve of your commission I will send my cashapp and you may pay me for the commission!

Finally I would like to ask you all something! Do you think my prices are fair? It’s the first time I’m doing commissions so I’m not sure if they’re good or not >~< comment and let me know!

Here’s some examples of my art! Some of them are a bit older so my art style has changed since I made them >•<

[leonardoeatscarrots]

🍀🌊📚☕

Q: You wish your art was more... (fill in the blank)

A: Again, I wish my art was more regenerative versus draining. I enjoy art, but sometimes trying to get into it can feel like hitting a rut.

Q: What's the hardest thing for you to draw?

A: Detailed furniture and architecture. I love intricate backgrounds because they really pull a piece together, but my brain is not built for it. This also socks because one of the side plots in my main comic is primarily about architecture. Ugh. Perhaps I should get back into model building.

Q: How many layers do you typically use?

A: It really does depend... typically I'll use one or two for the sketch, one for the lineart, two for the colors (which I merge) and one for the shading. But depending on the grounds, lighting, and completely of the piece it could be more. 5-50 is a good range for a finished comic panel or full piece. Most of my layers are named and placed in folders as well.

Q: Do you do warmup sketches before drawing? (Bonus: do you have any to share?)

A: I sorta consider the thumbnail/sketch to be part of the warmup. Otherwise no.

I used to, but I don't think I have the files anymore.

Thanks Sidhe for the ask ::] I appreciate it a lot 🙏

For the OG post click here

[lilac-gold]

Day 4- Omori AU Whumptober 2023

AI-less Whumptober Day 4- ALT Prompt Drowning

@ailesswhumptober

Fandom: OMORI Rating: Teen Word Count: 2283 Summary: Rococo cannot swim. Unfortunately, there is a lake at Camp Headspace, and he’s just been pushed into it. AU: Summer Camp AO3 LINK See this post for a summary/explanation of the AU

Rococo had just finished his latest piece of art, and in his expert opinion, it was his finest creation yet. Over the course of the summer, he'd developed his skill significantly, going from crayons to pencils to biros, from sketching to painting to everything.

He’d been working on his realism as of late, so his most recent picture was a portrait. It depicted Spaceboy, donned in full space pirate attire. He’d even added a cape and eyepatch! It was bright and colourful, just like Spaceboy was, and the background was covered in shiny, silver, stuck-on stars. Rococo could hardly wait to show it to everyone.

The first person he found was Spaceboy, who was overjoyed, saying that he looked like ‘a real space pirate'. Rococo grinned proudly at that. The next was Kim, who was in a rush but offered a quick 'good job, kid' nonetheless. Then it was Jawsum, who (as Rococo expected), offered to buy it. They agreed to organise commissions at a later date, Rococo planning to give the painting to Spaceboy that evening.

Then, he spotted Marina.

“Hi, Marina!” He waved, forcing down his apprehension at her stormy face. Marina was unpredictable at the best of times, and right now, she did not look happy. Rococo was reminded uncannily of her expression a few days prior, when she dissected a bunny she found in the forest. “Wanna see my picture?”

"No," She replied shortly, snippily. Rococo's eyes widened pleasingly. 

"Please?" Rococo begged, following her as she began to stomp away.

“Go away, Rococo,” She glared at him huffily, folding her arms. Rococo wilted a little. “I’m not in the mood for your stupid art.”

“It’s not stupid!” Rococo cried out defensively. “Art is le magnificent! It is–”

“Yeah, yeah, I get the idea,” She rolled her eyes. Thinly veiled curiosity sparkling in them, she asked, “What’d ya’ draw?”

He brightened up again, displaying his beautiful portrait to her. “Spaceboy.”

“Lame,” Marina sighed. “He’s boring. Why didn’t you draw me instead?”

“Oh– well, I– um…” Rococo stuttered, then shook his head a little. “I will be sure to draw you next time, Marina. I just… Enjoy making pictures of Spaceboy, too!”

“Never mind, I don’t want you to,” she said dismissively, peering down at a bug she’d spotted on the ground.

“What? Why not?” Rococo asked, rather put-out.

“I don’t like your art,” Marina shrugged, crushing the bug with her boot. “Not my thing. Too flashy. Not enough blood.”

“Not enough blood?!” Rococo echoed, incredulous and indignant to the highest degree.

Marina nodded sagely. “You can never have too much blood in your pictures. Yours don’t have any, so they suck.”

“Le gasp!” Rococo gasped Frenchly, holding a hand to his heart. “Well, your experiments suck more!”

“At least I’m not a failing artist,” she shot back angrily.

“How dare you?! I’m not failing! Jawsum’s going to commission me later!” Rococo stuck his chin out.

“Who would buy that?” Marina snorted derisively. “I’m no artist, but neither are you, Rococo.”

“Hmph! I’ll show you,” Rococo crossed his arms, saying petulantly, “It’s hardly like you’re a proper scientist. You just cut up poor, innocent little animals and claim that it’s for the sake of research. It’s concerning.”

“Hey!” She growled, fists clenching. “I am a scientist!”

“Nobody’s going to listen to your findings unless you portray them well,” Rococo told her derisively, having perfected his condescending tone by the time he was eight. Sweetheart was a great example, and he was exposed to hers constantly.. “And you are awful at talking to people. You need to be charming and charismatic, Marina! Like Hero. And like me. You’re just scary.”

“Scary?!” Marina glared daggers at him. “I’ll show you scary–”

“What’s going on over here?” Aubrey walked over to them, twirling her bat casually in her hand, and Rococo couldn’t help but stare at it. He knew Aubrey wouldn’t harm them, but her bat sure did look like it could do some damage.

“Rococo said I’m scary,” Marina blurted out, folding her arms tighter.

“Marina insulted my art!” Rococo added on grumpily.

“Just stay away from each other for a while,” Aubrey told them, sighing. “Why can’t you campers get along? You’re as bad as Kel and I were at your age.”

“You mean as bad as you are now,” Marina muttered unpleasantly.

But Aubrey just huffed a laugh and ushered them in opposite directions. Rococo sulked for a while, musing over his latest piece. Maybe it wasn’t quite as magnificent as he’d first thought. Now that he looked at it properly, the proportions were a little off, and the colours not quite as bright as he’d like. Spaceeboy’s smile was lopsided, the sky was darker in some places than others, and the fineliner marks were too thick around Spaceboy’s ear accessories (Rococo had initially forgotten to add them so had to draw over the ears.

There was always room for improvement! His next masterpiece would simply have to be even more breathtaking. Marina’s feedback was actually helpful, if he squinted very, very hard. He did tend to avoid reds, and they could probably make some of his pictures more stark. Blood grossed him out a bit, but it wouldn’t hurt to try drawing some, he supposed…

“–was actually thinking the lake,” he heard a voice say from nearby. Marina. In his gloomy walk around camp, he’d wound up on the other side of it, near the girls’ cabin.

“Really, Marina?” He heard her older sister, Molly, exclaim in surprise. Rococo had always been curious, so couldn’t help but listen in. “That’s not typically your style, darling.”

“I know,” he heard Marin a reply. “Still. I figured it would be a good idea after what he said.”

“If you’re certain, Marina,” Medusa, the youngest and most terrifying of the sisters– how someone so small could have such an intense death stare, Rococo didn’t know– replied. “Then I say you ought to go for it. Such hostility towards you cannot be permitted.”

“I’ll leave him a letter, telling him to meet at the lake. Then, I’ll show him what I really meant to say.”

Rococo, entirely missing the sinister undertone to her voice, raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise. It seemed that Marina wanted to reconcile, putting their differences behind them. Besides, the lake would be an amazing place for him to paint! He had just gotten a new set of watercolours, after all…

He feigned confusion when Spaceboy gave him the letter, seemingly sent as the sisters’ errand boy. Its contents were exactly what he expected, requesting he meet Marina at the lake, but Rococo was an excellent actor, so Spaceboy was none the wiser when he expressed his apparent befuddlement. He always did have a flair for the dramatics…

“Le gasp!” He lifted his hands to either side of his face, clearly shocked. “It appears that Marina wants to apologise to me. As she should, that little fillet mignon!”

“Good luck making up with her! I know how tricky Marina can be to handle,” Spaceboy smiled widely at him. “I’d be happy to help if you wanted any!”

“Really? You would do that?” Rococo asked, beginning to beam himself before faltering a little. “Alas… This is something I must do alone. I would not want to upset her by dragging you into our feud, and thus… I must go alone.”

“Okay,” Spaceboy agreed, clearly trying to hide his devastation at being denied. That smile had to be a facade! Anyone would pay millions to accompany him for even a second upon realising his talent, and Spaceboy had witnessed it firsthand! “Bye, Rococo!”

And so, Rococo began his epic journey. In the woods, he battled spiders, rocks, thorns; the terrain was treacherous, but it was nothing the great artiste Rococo couldn’t handle! At one point, he battled with a tree, his hair tugged by its sharp and twisting branches as he struggled to get free. He won that battle, as he did every fight. Eventually, he made his way to the lake, scanning the area for Marina.

There was no sight of her.

“Marina?” He called out cautiously. “Marina?!”

No reply. It appeared that he had been tricked. 

Sighing, Rococo took a step towards the lake. His tussle with the forest had left him a little disorderly, so he gazed into his reflection closely, picking out pieces of twigs and leaves from his glorious locks. Rococo was not made for the woods. Perhaps he ought to have tied his hair up before setting out into it alone.

The water was perfectly tranquil, and as Rococo looked over it, he realised just how stunning it actually was. The sun was starting to set a little, shades of pink and orange dancing across the sky, a warm gradient running across it that was reflected in the lake before him. Rococo’s mouth dropped a little in wonder, forming a round ‘o’ shape. He’d never quite noticed just how pretty it could look before.

He considered sitting down for a while to continue surveying the wonderful view. He would lounge across the healthy green grass, watch the sun slowly go down as the water glittered. See the beautiful pinks and reds of the sky gradually darkening into a cool shade of cerulean, breathe in the lovely forest air. Enjoy the peace and quiet, rest for a while away from the chaos of camp. Rococo breathed in deeply, marvelling at the lake before him–

And gasped in shock as he was unceremoniously shoved into its waters.

His arms flailed, time seeming to slow down for a second as Rococo stared, wide-eyed, at the rapidly approaching azure below him. It no longer sparkled, overcast by his shadow, the blue seeming vast and all-encompassing.

Rococo was powerless to stop himself from crashing in, the seconds unfreezing themselves and seeming to pass twice as quickly to compensate. His gasp was cut short by a sudden flood of water, Rococo choking on the liquid as it slid uncomfortably down his throat. His lungs quickly tried to expel the unwanted fluid, Rococo coughing painfully and desperately trying to kick towards the surface. The water was freezing, far colder than he’d expected, shocking his system and forcing his eyes wide open in panic even as they stung from the lake water. He tried peering through the darkness, but all he could see was black.

Every sound was muffled, Rococo’s ears popping disconcertingly as his nose filled with water too, feeling strange and out-of-place. His skin numbed with the cold enclosing him, Rococo shuddering as it seemed to seep into his bones. He forced his coughs to stop, focusing on kicking upwards fruitlessly, his heavy clothes weighing him down. The watercolours in his pocket would be ruined by this point. That seemed like a silly thing to worry about just then, but Rococo still felt a spike of disappointment rise in him all the same.

This whole thing wouldn’t be such a problem if he knew how to swim, but in his neighbourhood, there were no pools whatsoever. So Rococo was left throwing his arms and legs about without a clue of what he was supposed to do, desperately trying to hold in the remaining oxygen he had. His head spun with the burning need to breathe out, colourful spots beginning to pierce the black all around him. Rococo was suddenly hit with the realisation that he was going to die.

He didn’t want to die. He had so much left to do! He had to harness his skill and be the best man at Sweetheart’s wedding and fund Spaceboy’s trip to the stars with his commission money! Rococo couldn’t die, not yet, he refused to.

But no matter how much he protested the notion, Rococo’s lungs expelled what little air they had left eventually, and all that was left to breathe in was water. He choked and spluttered, only causing more of the blasted liquid to flood into his system. Inside of his lungs, there was a sensation that seemed tearing and burning all at once, far too different from the unforgiving cold all around him. Panic engulfed him in waves, the hot tears budding in his eyes a stark contrast to the omnipresent cold surrounding him. Rococo was going to die. He was going to die alone, in a lake, surrounded by the pressure of hundreds of gallons of water.

Marina must have pushed him, Rococo registered distantly, remembering the sharp shove against his shoulderblades. She’d wanted this to happen. And for what? To prove she was stronger than him? For all he knew, this was just another of her experiments. He was simply unfortunate enough to be selected as the test subject.

He was going to miss Sweetheart when he died. Sweetheart and his grandma and his friends at Camp Headspace. Rococo wished he had at least said goodbye to her before setting off towards the lake. He was so stupid.

His chest spluttered weakly, Rococo spotting what looked like a huge set of teeth before his eyes slid shut. It was almost… Peaceful, floating within its depths, once the frantic hacking of his lungs subsided. They still felt like they were being crushed, but the feeling was far away, distant. Like it was happening to someone else. His mind was blurry with alarm and something else, but Rococo wasn’t too worried. The only thing that really bothered him by that point was the cold. The biting iciness that enveloped him was unwelcoming and cruel, wrapping him in an unwelcome, inescapable embrace. He was going to die. There was nothing he could do.

Sinking slowly down, Rococo finally succumbed to the darkness.

[my-very-cool-dream-journal]

Okay first dream!

I remember this one VIVIDLY, and I’m going to try and go into full detail. Basically, I’m pretty sure my stepdad was a genius inventor in this dream, so he built me a bunch of cool stuff. The first thing he built me was a bumper car, and I drove it around a bit and stuff.

Then, it cut to me on a cruise (which I did just go on one so) and turns out my step dad built me a vr headset?! And it was like, super duper cool! I mean, I already have a vr headset, BUT THIS ONE WAS COOLER. I remember walking through this virtual, like, MMO (kinda like VRChat) but eventually getting bored and taking off the headset. My room on the cruise was super cool too. It was super futuristic, with a full on story game for me to play.

However, I decided to go into the pool with my friends (however they looked nothing like my friends, and I think one became Susie from deltarune at a point??) and we hung out for a while.

Then, I think I used VR in the water, and this time it was me battling Queen in Deltarune. However, this must’ve been my brains idea of an area in the Snowgrave route, because we were sword fighting on a dock and the ocean around us. I think it was representing surfing through the deep dark web? It was really cool, so I’ll draw out a little example for you.

So the battle commences. For some reason I was fighting with this glowing blue crystal, and as cool as it looked, it didn’t do any damage. And the game even roasted me on this, being like “Maybe you should fight with something that actually does damage?? So I picked up one of the pirate swords off of the ground (there were like 7) and started fighting. It was quite suspenseful! In the background I think there was some pirate music playing, however I like to imagine that it was a pirate remix of AOTKQ. I think it ended with somebody telling Queen that she’d be a good mod for their discord server, which then she becomes a stereotypical discord moderator and falls to the floor. She then tells me some stuff that I don’t remember, and the battle is complete.

I then took off the vr headset and hanged out in the pool a bit more before getting out and going to the hangout area. There was this adorable little kitten that I accidentally got wet and cold by wrapping a wet towel around it (I didn’t know it was wet, I thought it would work as a blanket) so it hated me :( I’m also pretty sure it had two names: Charlie and Marina. It for some reason had a full on in depth like, video game profile, so I checked it out and turns out the cat was an rambunctious rebel (which I did not sense from the kitten.) Then, it evolved into this weird looking donkey unicorn, which I DID NOT like, but my stepmom and the lady working there did.

Then, I remember the last part vividly. I had the name “Noelle” written on a piece of paper In a very strange font (I did not write like this.) then I was like, “Wait, Letters don’t look like this, I’m dreaming!” And I started LUCID DREAMING. However, I was in the process of waking up, so I was like “cmon stay asleep…” while imagining..a shoe? But here’s the interesting part. I was hearing voices (which sounded like my dad and stepmom) yelling at me to wake up, kinda like they did on school days. Same, not wanting to be lectured, woke up, AND IT WAS ALL FAKE?! There were no voices, my parents were asleep! I was really angry at that.

So, I forced myself back to sleep for a few moments to which a had a (semi related) dream (however not a lucid dream sadly). I was in the pool again, and one of my friends asked “why are you spending so much time in the pool?” As she said that, a scene from Ruby Gilman played?? I haven’t even seen it yet lol. I looked down at my legs to make sure they weren’t fins, and my friends were talking about why Susie from deltarune had such a long face. I looked up and there was Susie, sitting in the pool with us. I whispered “long nose” and then smacked her on the nose. Before she could react, I woke up.

TLDR, I was on a cruise ship, spent a lot of time in the pool, played a lot of VR (including a Pirate Queen boss fight from deltarune), made a strange unicorn kitten hate me, got yelled at by nobody, and smacked Susie on the nose.

Thanks for reading my dream!

(Unrelated but I like to go to sleep listening to music, and a few minutes after I woke up a Lofi remix of Final Duet started playing and I just 🥲)

[emile-hides]

Crybaby imagines

I can’t find any BNHA X Reader blogs with their requests open, so heck it. Make the content you want to see in the world.

MHA Blonde boys react to reader crying (for various reasons)

Characters: All Might, Present Mic, Fatgum, Aoyama, Ojiro, Kaminari, Bakugo, Honenuki, Monoma, Mirio

All Might

1-A is an amazing bunch

It sort of just all hit you like a truck, really

How much 1-A had grown, how much they’d overcame

You’re not even entirely sure what sparked the thought process

But once it stared, you couldn’t stop

You were just so?? Proud??? Amazed???

Suddenly you were crying at your desk in the teacher’s lounge

Quiet, heavy tears

Your co-workers took notice, but it was Toshinori who approched your first asking what was wrong

You hadn’t even noticed you were crying

When you get into the why he’s all ears

He sits next to you and is soon joining in on the kid’s progress

He talks mostly about Bakugo and Midoriya, you go on about Asui and Koda

It turns to laughing and quietly bullying the kids for a moment as you two enjoy some of the sillier memories

Soon Toshinori, too, has tears in his eyes

He sobs more than you did

He’s just so proud of these kids!!

You feel like an old married couple talking about their 30-something kids living far from home

Kind of silly considering they’re all 15 and currently in class right down the hall

You two have to go see them during lunch break

Present Mic

Crying in Solidarity

You stood with Hizashi in front of a grave of a kid you never knew on an overcast day

He’d normally make a comment about the weather matching the mood but...

Not now

His fists were clenched, and though his smile stood strong and his glasses hid his eyes

They couldn’t catch his tears

You held his hand in silence and pretended not to notice the falling of his facade 

It happens very seldom

He was shaking, you could hear his breath hitch hard despite his attempts to remain calm

You didn’t know this Shirokumo kid, you’d never met him, you couldn’t pick him out in a crowd if you had to

You didn’t even know who he was to Hizashi

But you knew it tore him up inside that he was buried here

You knew he kept his emotions well contained for everything else but him

You pulled Hizashi a bit closer, letting him lean onto you as tears began to run down your cheeks

The two of you stood in silence and cried on this, an overcast day

The weather really did match your mood.

Fatgum

Crying in relief

The hospital door opened with a loud slam

You didn’t really mean to slam it so hard but now wasn’t the time to go apologizing to inanimate objects for being a little rough

Your voice shrilled even louder than the door the name of the patient laying on the bed in the center of the room

Taishiro looked up with a face of ‘Oh shit’ which was the correct face to have

You were mad for all of the time it took to yell about how worried you were

FIRST OF ALL he didn’t even call to tell you he was in the hospital, you got that information from Tamaki

Second, you barely even know what HAPPENED to land him here

And THIRD,

Nope. Anger’s gone. Evaporated like a puddle in mid July.

Taishiro had sat up in his bed with a nervous smile, peppering in the nicknames and speaking in the gentle voice as he reached out to console you

Just seeing him sit up, his arms bandaged lightly around the wrist

It all just came crashing in

He was fine. 

Tears over flowed as you cried a bit louder than you had yelled previously

Hiccuping and gasping out how worried you were and how mad you still wanted to be

Taishiro just laughed an apology as he hugged you, thankful for your concern

He promised to call next time

You found yourself yelling at him to never do this again

Aoyama

Crying on command

Acting was something you had mastered

More or less anyway

You dove head first into a role and you were damn good at it

But everyone has weaknesses

You’d locked yourself in Aoyama’s room, going over lines and choreography for some little play in the park you two had signed up for

Now you sat on his floor as he painted your nails, glaring daggers into the script

You had to cry. 

It seemed so easy. Think of something sad and cry over it on stage. Simply.

and yet your eyes remained dry, your stage make-up perfect

Aoyama had been couching you, weeping all sorts of tears for your amusment

It wasn’t helping

You turned your glare to Aoyama, who was completely enthralled in drawing tiny art pieces into your nails

God he was bright

....bright.....

You looked directly up at the light on the ceiling and stared

Your eyes wide you forced yourself not to blink

It hurts

And it worked

You looked back to Aoyama with tears streaming down your face and searing pain in your retina

He applauded your dedication

Ojiro

It’s all just a lot

You weren’t really sure when it all became so much

But everything you’d been working at and training for suddenly weighed more than you could bare

You found yourself in the middle of the UA empty halls, flat on the ground on your stomach

Tripping was the breaking point

The straw that broke the camel’s back, as they say

You just started sobbing

When you heard footsteps coming you just kind of... wiggled out of the way

Pressing yourself to the wall you just continued to cry to yourself, curled in a ball, expecting the other person to just pass you by

Instead a soft white handkerchief gently pressed to your cheek, followed by a quiet “Are you okay?”

You were not okay.

Ojiro sat himself beside you as you wiped your face, continuing to sob

You didn’t offer an explanation, he didn’t ask for one

He sat in the hall quietly with you, his tail giving the occasional swish to brush your cheek of tears

The silence gave to time to catch your breath, and realize class probably started a long time ago

When you got up to be on your way, he joined you

He didn’t offer to walk you where you needed to go, he simply did

His quiet wave, his silent smile, his patient glances at you

It all made everything feel just a bit lighter

The next time you’d see Ojiro in the halls, he’d smile at you

And he’d be delighted if you could smile back

Kaminari

Crying from shock

It was just a little zap to the hip, a little bee sting

He’d been doing it to everyone in class, learned it from some stupid tiktok

When it was your turn to get stung, you let out the loudest yelp in the class

He laughed at first, proudly proclaiming how he’d gotten you

Until you whipped to him with fury in your eyes, along with tears

His panicked “Shit, wait, I’m sorry” fell on deaf ears as you quickly gave him a return jab in the hip

Without the actual shock part it probably wasn’t as painful

So you did it a few more times for good measure

Then he jabbed you again

And it was on

Jabs to the hip turned to jabs to the gut, armpit, neck, even right dead center in his chest

You were both in pain and sure to be covered in bruises when Iida finally separated you two

It was hard to see with the tears swelling in both your eyes

But when Denki made direct eye contact with you before giving a glance to Iida, you knew

You nodded, an evil smirk crossing your face

The two of you took your index and middle fingers, driving them quickly and roughly into the class rep’s hips simultaneously

His yelp had the entire class laughing

It then also had the entire class in study hall for the rest of break

Bakugo

He’s just kind of a dick

Standing outside of class 1-A you felt as though your heart was beating in your throat

When the door opened you jumped out of your skin as a green haired boy came out at full speed

He managed to stop on a dime before slamming into you though

You choked out the courage to ask him if Katsuki Bakugo was in class

The kid before you stared in shock before turning around and calling for a “Kacchan”, telling him someone was here to see him

You glanced in the door and watched as several people pried the man you wanted to see from his seat, shoving him forcefully to the door

They all then slammed the door behind him, keeping the green haired kid who seemed in a rush to leave trapped inside

He barked a what at you that made you reconsider all your choices

Still. You swallowed all your courage, and said what you came here to say.

You confessed your feelings to Bakugo, bravely. 

He stared at you with a face of utter confusion, and it managed to catch you a bit off guard

He looked like he didn’t know how to respond

Which he, of course, didn’t.

So he responded the only way he really knows how

Anger.

“WHO THE HELL EVEN ARE YOU?!”

He called you some background extra. What gave you even the slightest though he’d want to be with some nobody he didn’t even know the name of

Within seconds of his screaming the 1-A doors slammed open yet again

The group who’d peeled Bakugo from his seat before jumped from the room and began wrestling him into submission, berating him for his treatment of you

But you were inclined to agree with him

You told them it was fine. He was right, you were just some nobody

You couldn’t stop your voice from shaking, tears streaming from your eyes as you gripped tightly at your shirt

Not knowing really what else to do, you turned and ran away

It was well over a few hours later, and you were still crying alone in the court yard

You flinched at the sound of footsteps approaching you. You closed your eyes and planned to make a run for it somewhere else to avoid bothering anyone

“Hey, dumbass,” a hand placed on your forehead, pulling you back to lean on the person behind you, “You could do a lot better than an ass like me.”

You glanced at Bakugo, who was looking far into the distance, his ears red

You cried and apologized. He didn’t say much else, but his hand remained on you, keeping you in place

You found yourself invited out more, running around with Bakugo and his friends, being rowdy and dumb as teens should be

Your crush on Katsuki Bakugo soon became a distant memory as he grew to be one of your closest friends

Honenuki

Yawning

You flopped dramatically onto the common room couch and let out the loudest, most drawn out sigh you could muster

This act of pure drama drew the attention of Juzo Honenuki, who simply chuckled at your antics

You stretched like a cat across the couch, reaching for him lazily with one hand, you swatted at the book he’d been comfortably reading

He gave another chuckle and inquired what you were after

You answered with an equally dramatic and drawn out yawn, bringing tears to your eyes as you again stretched to him

You then closed your eyes and snuggled into a couch pillow

Honenuki’s hand stretched across the couches and found itself on your head, giving gentle pets back and forth

Once he found himself a good stopping point, Honenuki put his bookmark in place and snapped the book closed

He gave a stretch and a yawn before encouraging you to your feet

You lazily tangled your arms around one of his and draped yourself over him

The two of you walked to your separate dorm rooms arm in arm, occasionally letting out more and more exasperated yawns and sleepy giggles

Monoma

Crying from pain

This was... probably your fault?

You remembered running into Awase from class 1-B while going a bit too fast though the halls

Next thing you knew you were in front of him, on your ass, staring up at him upside down

It took a minute for the pain to register, but as soon as it did tears stung your eyes

You couldn’t even really say anything as Awase’s eyes filled with panic when he’d realized what he’d done, quickly dropping your arm and stepping back, probably planning to make a run for it

The is until his blond classmate came up behind him, pressuring him to apologize in a loud, negging tone

When Awase again avoided your eyes, opting to shove his hands in his pockets as he glared at the wall, Monoma dropped to his knees and offered you assistance

The question of “Do you need to go to the nurse?” was accompanied with a handkerchief dabbed at your eyes

Monoma helped you to your feet, apologizing for his classmate, assuring you you were fine and didn’t need to report this to a teacher because you were clearly fine look at you you’re fine

I mean you weren’t bleeding so... Yeah? You were fine.

He sounded like he’d be the one in trouble if you told someone about Awase self defense flipping you over his shoulder

When he offered again to walk you to the nurse, you declined

He was right, you were fine, just a bit sore

You wiped the tears from your eyes and thanked him for his concern as you walked passed him

You also apologized to Awase for bumping into him, though he just huffed a response

You didn’t get very far when you heard quick steps following close behind

Monoma was just checking in to make sure you for sure weren’t going to tell anyone class 1-B’s Awase threw you like a rag doll

He also just figured while he was here he’d ask if there was anything he could do to make up for this incident

Like... buy you lunch sometime.... Or take you out to a nice cafe he knows after school... maybe...?

He just. Didn’t want you to think class B does hit and runs like this on all the pretty students

Mirio

Crying from laughing

Your sides hurt

You gripped onto yourself as you leaned onto Mirio, cackling harder than you had in a while

He was retelling some jokes he’d gone over with Sir Nighteye at his internship today, regaling you, Tamaki, and Nejire with perfect one-liners and horrid puns

You all were laughing far too hard for this late at night

Tears pricked your eyes as you slapped at Mirio’s leg, gasping for breath you begged for a time out

You have the most contagious laugh, Mirio was positive his jokes only ever landed because you laughed at them so easily

When you finally caught your breath you sat up, rubbing giggly tears from your eyes

You gave a glance around the room and found Tamaki doing the same, though his tears were from the yawn he’d just given

All three of you watched Tamaki adorably shifts as he rubbed the tired from his eyes, something he flushed over when he’d finally noticed the attention

Nejire declared that meant bedtime and hopped from her seated position, pulling Tamaki along with her

In a matter of moments she was dragging the tired boy out of the room to their own dorms

You and Mirio chuckled at her antics before you too got up to get going

Mirio offered to walk you to your dorm, which wasn’t far down the hall, but he made such a show of it how could you say no?

Of course he spent the whole walk telling even more terrible jokes that continued to crack you up

By the time you’d gotten to your dorm you were so giggly you couldn’t see straight

Mirio waved as he turned and walked the 5 feet back to his own room

He then turned around and waved again, claiming he already misses you

You giggled at him and returned to your own room

He loved your laugh.

[aro-comics]

Jealousy (Part 1)

Part 1/4 - finally starting the jealousy comic 🎉🥳!!! I guess it’s a weird thing to be excited about considering the subject matter but it’s a comic I’ve wanted to share for some time now. While I wish most of my comics could be positive/focused on the good parts of being aro, the fact of the matter is that its tough sometimes too. I struggle with feeling okay about my identity and I know some of you do too. I hope that this series can at least shed some light on these feelings, and remind us that we’re not alone in what we’re feeling even when it’s not great 💚 This parts mostly introducing how I was feeling a few months ago. I used to never have any sort of reaction to ship art, but these days more often than not I’m finding myself jealous. It really surprised me at first, because ... i shouldn’t technically feel this way, at least on the surface? I know I don’t want to date/feel attracted to people that way overall, so it doesn’t seem to make sense that I would feel jealousy. But after some reflection I realized what that feeling was based in (stay tuned for the next few updates 😉). P.S: just to clarify on the art of the ocs on slide 6 - they’re some really old characters I had from when I was a teen 😂 I used to think that they were my “ideal type”/the kind of people I would want to date but deep down I knew i felt nothing for them that way lmaoooo. It confused the heck out of me b/c I know that these two really would have been *perfect* for me technically. Guess it makes sense now tho cause I know I’m aro 😅

[Image Description:

Slide 1: “Sometimes, I look at art of people in (romantic) love …”

Celia sitting at a table, looking down at her phone with an uncertain expression. Her desk has a teacup and an open sketchbook where she has drawn one of her characters. 

Slide 2: A closeup of Celia’s hands holding her phone. She is on instagram, and is looking at what appears to be a sketch of two characters. A taller white person with a spiky short hairstyle with an undercut is leaning in for a kiss with a shorter south asian woman with a bob cut.  

Slide 3: “... and for some reason, I get so, so Jealous.”

Back to scene of Celia sitting at her desk. She leans down with her hand on her chin, and she looks dissatisfied. 

Slide 4: Celia talking to the viewer now. She gestures out with her left hand. “I’m not sure why, to be honest.”

Slide 5: “When I look at people in my life -”

A drawing of three different people against a green background. In the far back is a long-haired person with tan skin. In the middle ground is a girl with long, curly dark hair, light skin, and round glasses. In the foreground is a guy with light skin, wavy brown hair and a neatly trimmed goatee. 

Slide 6: “-even people I wish existed in my life -”

A coloured sketch of two characters on a piece of paper is pictured. On the left is an indian girl with long brown hair, light freckles, holding a phone and wearing a peach puff sleeve blouse. Next to her is her name, Chiara Minhas, along with her pronouns (she/her). On the right is a tall albino black man with short cropped hair and a black t-shirt with an ambiguous university crest. His name, Albion Whitham, is written along with his pronouns (he/him). To the bottom right of the sketch is a note that reads “Old characters from when I was a teen”.

Another note is written at the bottom of the slide in small text: “Note: These are old characters I used to say I would date”

Slide 7: “- I know I feel nothing for them like that. Because I would never date anyone.” Celia sitting, her hand again on her chin but in a more pensive or thoughtful way. 

Slide 8: “But somehow ... I feel this jealousy, all the same. They look so happy. Cozy, warm, safe and wanted.”

Celia looks down, with a slight frown. 

Slide 9: “And the comments are full of praise. Joy. Support.”

A close up on the scene of Celia sitting at the table from the beginning of the comic. She is trying to cover up a frown, and little popups are drawn from the phone showing the comments she is looking at. They say: “Wow! [multiple heart emojis] So cute”, “My OTP! I hope I can find that one day”, “So happy for them! [Another heart emoji]”]

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: I

“And I can't wait another minute

I can't take the look she's giving

Your body rocking, keep me up all night

One in a million, my lucky strike.”

— Lucky Strike, Maroon 5

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

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

word count: 17.2k

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

///

Harry hates clubs. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the f—?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re a real dick, y’know that?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop being such an arrogant little shit.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re going to hell.” 

“I’m already there, mate.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, boomer.” 

“You’re older than I am!” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, I think that’s enou—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then, the culture shock hit. 

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

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

Until it smacked her across the head here in LA.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Precisely his point.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It definitely crossed my mind, yeah!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So how do you like your new home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[girlmeetsliv3]

Cruel Liaisons

~~ Previously Lingerlust ~~

A/B/O!MiniMoni x Reader; Poly BTS

“When one strikes the heart of another they seldom miss, and the wound is invariably fatal.”

Release Date: May 7th, 2021 @ 12:15 p.m. (GMT-5)

Apologies for the late update. Hope you enjoy it.

Trigger Warnings: blood and gore.

February 2nd, 2022

           “Please state your name for the record.”

           “Jeon YN.” YN stared at the recording machine in front of her, it looked antiquated like the type that wasn’t automatically connected to a cloud or storage system. “Those types have to be manually saved. Which can come in handy.” The officer’s cleared their throats, drawing back YN’s attention. What were their names again? “We need you to state your sub-gender as well.” The one on the left spoke lowly, his voice coming out a bit tense and nervous. “Beta.” When YN tried to smell them, she noticed both were wearing scent blockers, though her sense of smell was never her strong suit.

           “This is officer Park Sooyoung and officer Kim Jisoo.” The taller one stated, her tone dull, as if she rather be anywhere else. Judging by the bags under her eyes and the large cup of coffee in front of her – a bed seemed to be her choice. Officer Kim reached to the ground and placed a file on the desk, she opened it to reveal a series of photographs; five to be precise. Males and females from around a same age group are placed with one female in the center, she looks strangely familiar to YN. The rounded tip of her nose and arched brows but she can’t quite place the face. There is someone YN does recognize though, a face she saw just a few days ago.

           “Anyone you recognize?” Officer Kim asks, her tone is serious but airy. The smile on her face after every sentence lets YN know that she’s the ‘good cop.’

           YN points at the second photo from the left, “Him. I saw him in a missing persons ad on the news, but he didn’t look this old.” They had likely picked a picture from when he was younger, the man on the news held a bright smile. His jawline sharp and his cheekbones high but not defined. The man in the photograph in front of her had a pronounced jawline, hollow cheeks, and an ugly scowl that did nothing to mar his features. ‘K.T’ read the bottom.

           “What news channel and around what time?”

           “KBS, maybe late evening. I watch it before I go to sleep.”

Both officers nod, as Park shifts around on her seat. Now facing directly at YN, resting both elbows on the metal table. “Are you aware of the reason you were brought into the station today?” Officer Kim jumps in before YN can answer, “Just so you know you aren’t being charged with anything.”

Yes. “No, I don’t know.” She shrugged, keeping her eyes level and gaze neither too intense nor too bored.

“You’re here due to your affiliation with Alpha’s Kim Namjoon and Park Jimin,” Park spoke, “They’re your employers, correct?” There was an edge to her voice that YN recognized. Many people weren’t fond of them – many had a reason not to be.

“Yes.” YN nods.

“How long have you worked for them?” Kim asks.

YN notes how neither women are writing anything down, nor looking towards the one-sided mirror behind them. Are they perhaps recording this with a second device? If that’s the case it's not just her voice YN must be cautious of, but her expressions as well. “Around nine months, I’m their housekeeper and take care of Hyunwoo.” After a bit of silence from the police, she elaborates more, “I cook, clean, and help the child with his homework.”

“That’s quite a lot for just one person. Especially considering you have little background in those areas before you were hired, correct?”

They’re trying to bait me. “I’m used to doing those things at home.” YN shrugs, she can see the growing frown on Park’s features.

“How exactly did you hear about the job?” Kim leans forward, but one of her hands drops below the table. Park’s eyes dart over to her partner for a second, but YN catches it. Kim likely gave her a signal or something like a reassuring squeeze, YN hopes it’s the latter. “What was the hiring process like?”

“From an acquaintance Dr. Sihyuk.” Both officers nod along, they don’t seem to recognize the name. “Bang’s dead. Unlikely anyone will find something there.” They always knew to cover their bases. “Um, normal, I guess. I sent in an application and then had an interview.”

“You made a lot of money as the Kim’s housekeeper. Did you never ask yourself where that money was coming from?” It seemed the officers were done trying to be subtle.

“No, it wasn’t my place. Plus, most of the money I earned went into paying family debts.”

“Do you know Kim Namjoon’s or Park Jimin’s source of income?”

“Again no. I just did what I was supposed to do.”

“You never thought to ask?”

“No.”

Sooyoung smirks, “Interesting how everyone around the Kim’s just accepts things at face value. Their co-workers, drivers, bodyguards, even their housekeeper just does what their told. You weren’t even a little bit curious as to how they could possibly afford the lifestyle they have?”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” YN’s arms were clenching around the chair, trying to hold herself back from reacting negatively to the hassling.

“But we aren’t cats.” Sooyoung remarks and for a second YN feels like she’s lost a battle. Jisoo points to the picture in the center, it's a beautiful young woman with flowy hair and a bright smile. Her delicate features give away her omega nature. Though the closer YN inspects the picture, they’re bags under her eyes, permanent frown lines etched onto her face, a hollowness to her eyes. She looks somewhere between life and death. “Do you recognize this woman? You lingered on her a bit longer than the rest of them.”

The longer YN stares at her the more she starts to piece things together, but it still feels like she’s missing something. So she gives a generic answer. “She looks kind of familiar. Has that kind of face.”

“What kind of face?” Jisoo questions.

“Like…pretty, popular, all over billboards kind of face.”

It's enough to satisfy them for now. They slowly start removing all the pictures while leaving only the woman’s, the longer YN sees it the more unnerved she becomes. Her head begins to hurt as another migraine begins to pound at her temples. Creating a sort of hazy fog over YN’s mind. Both officers’ then hold up the picture and flip it revealing a picture of the same woman holding a young child wrapped in blankets. She looks so much happier, so full of life. Instantly YN places her, recognizing the toddler wrapped in blue velvet.

“This is Hyunwoo’s mother. The last time anyone saw her alive was three weeks ago when she just so happened to be having dinner with your employers.” Fuck.

Present

           YN’s phone dings as another text from Mark appears on her screen: ‘boss wants to know when you’ll start paying?’ She groans exhaustedly, responding with ‘I have been paying. He gets half my salary every week.’ Which hasn’t made living very comfortable for YN, but she makes do with what she can.

           Mark: It’s not enough princess, not with the way daddy’s been spending money.

           Me: What am I supposed to do if you keep giving him money?!

           Mark: That’s not up to me. So, the money?

           Me: I’m looking for a second job. One that pays better.

           Mark: Just go sell your eggs or something. Not like you have any use for them.

           “Asshole.” YN muttered, muting her notifications. She looked up to the entrance of the fertility clinic debating whether or not to go in. It wasn’t like she had much of an option; she needed the money and fertility clinics were the only ones willing to provide big sums of money fast. Not to mention she had missed a day of work to make the appointment, which meant less money to give to Mark. I hate this. I hate this so much. YN was about to walk away, leave everything when she spotted a black BMW parked on the curve. Its driver observing her intensely. She knew what it meant.

           Mark was getting pushy. Meaning his boss was getting pushy and YN didn’t need to be on the bad side of some loan shark – not again. So, she mustered up the courage and opened the glass doors, being hit with the smell of lavender and pheromones. It reeks. Nonetheless, she forced a smile on her face and walked towards the front desk. “Hello, I have an appointment with Dr. Sihyuk.”

 “Unfortunately, there is a limit to how many eggs we can safely remove from you. Betas aren’t like omegas, you have a set number of eggs. Removing the majority of them would leave you infertile. We’d also be unsure of whether the eggs are useful or not without running the proper examinations which can take weeks.” Dr. Sihyuk explained as he went over YN’s medical file, each sentence uttered destroying her hope little by little.

“I understand but I am quite fertile. I carry a recessive gene from my father who is an omega. Not to mention I’m not interested in having children so I would have no use for my eggs,” she could sense the doctor’s hesitation, “unlike someone who might benefit from them.” I just really need the money.

“Oh, I know, you betas are lucky in that sense. Don’t have to worry about population growth.” Though it was said jokingly it still made YN uncomfortable, let her know he wasn’t buying her bullshit. The doctor closed the file, “Why exactly are you interested in donating your eggs? Is it for the money?” He saw right through her.  At her silence the doctor sighs, “We get one of you every once in a while. Always wrapped up in some business started by a family member or mistakes you’ve made.” Sihyuk opens a file cabinet beside him and shoves her file in there, “Unfortunately for you there’s no market for beta eggs.”

YN sags exhaustion and fear taking over her, “I –” Sihyuk takes a small white business card out of the cabinet holding it out towards her. “Fortunately for you, I happen to know someone hiring. They specified only betas applied.” Hesitantly YN takes the card, “What kind of job?” Though she knows one should never look a gift horse in the mouth it feels to good to be true. “A housekeeper for an alpha couple. They’re long-time associates of mine. Give them a call you won’t regret it.”

 Evening of June 20th, 2021

           Hyunwoo wouldn’t stop crying. YN truly regretted feeding him chocolate before bed, he had nightmares that had not let the three-year-old rest. Though YN had time and time again reassured them there were no monsters under his bed or strange men coming to take him at night, he wouldn’t hear of it. Insisted she had stayed in bed with him and when that didn’t work cried out for his daddies. The issue being his daddies were currently busy, in the middle of their ruts with their weekly guests. Thankfully, their bedroom was across the apartment from Hyunwoo’s, or else she’d have to explain to the child that the screams being heard didn’t belong to ghost.

           “I want papa! I want daddy!” Hyunwoo shrieked, snot and tears dribbling down his face. At this rate, he’d get himself sick if he didn’t permanently injure his vocal cords – or her hearing.

           “I know. I know, but they’re busy right now. I can go get them later.” When their guests are gone and they’ve cleaned their bedroom. YN never quite knew how they manage to sneak them out and clean up so fast, but she didn’t question it. Less work for me.

           “NO! I want them now!” Hyunwoo bolted towards the door, his little legs running as fast as they could. Though they couldn’t compare to YN’s.

           She hugged the toddler, “Alright. I’ll go get your daddies but you have to promise me you’ll wait in bed.” Hyunwoo began to shake his head, “Come on Woowoo, imagine what they’ll say if they hear you threw a tantrum. What would daddies say?”

           That seemed to sober him up a bit, “They would be disappointed.”

           “Exactly,” YN led him back to bed, gently tucking him in. “I’ll be right back with them soon, okay?”

             The hallway felt eerily long as YN struggled with how to politely interrupt without being subjected to the alpha’s rages. Ruts were an especially tricky time and there would be very little she could do to protect herself if it took a turn for the worse. Not to mention she was breaking one of the very few rules set by them: no bothering us after nine pm. YN glanced at her watch, it was currently 11:43 pm. I am so going to lose my job. But Hyunwoo needed his parents, and she didn’t want to risk the toddler running into their bedroom and being witness to something that would certainly cause trauma. Not to mention I might get sent his therapy bills. More debt. YN reached their bedroom doors. A light red hue leaking from the bottom, she willed all her courage and knocked.

           “Come in, darling.” Jimin spoke, his dulcet tone sounding a little rougher than normal. Surprisingly the door was unlocked, so YN opened it. At first, she saw nothing out of the ordinary, just Kim Namjoon and Park Jimin laying in their bed. The red silk sheets, she so often had to wash, concealing their more intimate parts. It wasn’t until YN noticed the stains covering their bodies and the walls. It caused her eyes to dance around the room until she landed on what had caused such a mess: the two dismembered bodies lying on the floor. The red lighting of the room serving to conceal what the stains truly were: blood.

           Namjoon beckoned her inside with a wave of his hand and YN felt obliged to obey. She could still smell the pheromones in their air, still feel their rut. Not to mention, Hyunwoo might have been following her. She locked the door behind her.

           “To what do we owe the pleasure?” Namjoon spoke, smirking and showing off his blood-stained pearly teeth.

[imaginesntingz]

Imagine Gaara comforting you when the depression and anxiety hit

Trigger Warnings: Depression, Anxiety, Swearing(?)

A/N: Hey y’all! This is my first post on this blog. I hope you all enjoy it <3 Please don’t copy any of my works. It’s all originally written and I put a lot of time and effort into my pieces. Please ask me before reposting.

————————-

You were curled up in bed staring into nothingness. The past week or two you’ve tried to keep it at bay, but you felt the ever lingering depression creeping its way in. Nothing in particular happened. It was just always there. There wasn’t a time you could remember it not being there. Sometimes it was muffled like background noise and other times the volume was turned up so loud it was the only thing you could hear. It was your constant companion following you like a shadow. And to top it all off, anxiety was right behind it. You thought about overthinking and overthought about thinking. Racing thoughts kept you up sometimes until the sun shone through the blinds.

Everyone wondered why you were so quiet at times, but they couldn’t hear the ass beating you were getting from your own mind that made it almost impossible to be in the present moment. Nor could you find the energy, the language, nor a fuck to give to even begin to explain the war going on inside you. Temari invited you out to what you thought would be a small kickback yesterday that ended up being a full blown party. Gaara, who was supposed to go with you, was inevitably called in for village business. You ended up socially tapped after just a few hours in. Although Temari was with you and you met up with some chill friends . . Although you were surrounded by people, you still felt completely alone. Although you heard the words coming out of their mouths, you couldn’t keep up with what they were saying. Although you were physically there, you weren’t there. You wanted so badly to just enjoy yourself like everyone else, but it was what it was. After pleading with your sister in law, you finally went home only to find that Gaara was still in the office. One final push that sent you

Spiraling

down

And there you were exhausted but painfully awake in the darkness of your shared room. You didn’t know how long you were lying there. There was no time, only the bottomless ocean that swallowed anything and everything you tried to drop into it. No amount of journaling, affirmations, meditation, prayer, movement, walking, entertainment, pet cuddling, food, water, medication, vitamins, herbs, epsom salt baths, incense, face masks or any of the methods you’ve tried felt tangible to you in that moment. What was the point when you didn’t even have the will to move? How could you think of going on a mission next week when you couldn’t guarantee you’d attempt to leave your room tomorrow? How were you going to take care of your hair if you couldn’t even braid, twist or put it up for the night? How could you call yourself a caring friend when you’re thinking about canceling the dinner you’ve already rescheduled twice?

“My love? Why are you still awake?”

Your husband’s soothing voice jolted you out of your inner dialogue. You hadn’t even heard him come in, too lost in the wall in front of you.

“ . . . Can’t sleep.”

You heard the sound of the door closing and hushed shuffling as he moved around the room. A few moments later, you felt his weight dip the mattress beside you. A warm arm wrapped around your middle, gently pulling you to his chest. His hand moved to intertwine with yours as he spooned you from behind.

“How did it go with Temari? Again I’m sorry I wasn’t able to go with you. I hope you had a good time.”

“It’s fine. It was fine.” you replied flatly.

Gaara caressed the back of your thumb with his own as silence filled the space between you. His lips met the skin of your shoulder and you felt your body gradually relax into his embrace. He was never one to push you when you weren’t ready to talk and always made you feel grounded back to earth with his very presence. Even amidst his many responsibilities as Kazekage, he always made sure to check in on you and provide whatever you may want or need. He would do anything for you if it meant you would feel loved, safe, balanced and happy. Gaara, sweet Gaara, was the love of your lifetimes and you, his. He knew you better than he knew himself and picked up on every detail. Your likes and dislikes. How you took your tea in the morning. Your sensitivities. Every expression. Your body language. The tone in your voice. The slightest change in your eyes. So it was no surprise that he picked up on the shift in your mood right away.

“(y/n) . . . Sweetheart, It’s alright if you don’t want to talk about it right now, but please know that I am here. I love you more than words can express. I am here to listen and support you in any way that I can. I always will be. You know that, right?”

And with that, you couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. Your body trembled as he maneuvered you to face him. He wrapped his arms firmly around you, cocooning you into the safety of his hold. You buried your face into his chest and the calming scent of earth and cinnamon enveloped your senses. Your tears and running nose wetted the shirt he wore, but he didn’t care. Soft kisses were pressed to the crown of your head as his fingers trailed up and down the length of your spine, occasionally drawing soothing circles. You turned your head to listen to the steady rhythm of his heart pressed against you before finally catching your breath to speak.

“I-I’m just so tired of fighting just to be okay all the time. I’ve been taking steps to take care of my mental health, but it still feels like it isn’t enough. It’s like one day I’m fine and a couple days later it feels like I’m back at square one. I just want to exist sometimes. No expectations. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to feel. I don’t want to do anything. I don’t want to be anything. I just want to be.”

He squeezed you gently at your words, pausing thoughtfully before responding.

“You once told me that your dream is to become the peace within and despite the chaos inside of you. The chaos all around us. You said that you wish to heal yourself and pass on healing to others. I know it is easy to lose sight of it when you’re in the midst of what feels like a never ending battle, but I wanted to remind you of it because I never want you to lose hope.”

Your eyes widened in shock and turned glassy as he continued on.

“You have brought me out of the depths of the greatest despair and have played a huge role in supporting me in healing from my past. Your love is medicine to my heart. There were times when I was lost that you reminded me to never lose sight of my dream. To never lose sight of what truly matters. Even in the most difficult times, you have always found hope where others have felt hopeless. That is one of the many reasons I love you. I am your husband, so let me be your strength when you are tired and feel you can’t go on because you are my strength, dear wife. We can get through this together. Remember that healing is a lifelong journey, not a destination. So take it one day at a time. Hour by hour or minute by minute if that’s what it takes. You’re so hard on yourself sometimes, but look how far you’ve come to be here. Right now. How much you’ve grown. I want you to know that I am so proud of you, sweetheart. I hope that you can come to be proud of your accomplishments too.”

A fresh wave of tears came over you, but for a completely different reason this time. You practically tackled your poor mans onto his back and your lips met in an intense yet equally loving kiss. His hands worshipped the expanse of your hips and time fell away. Vibrations hummed throughout your body as you pulled back to look into those seafoam green eyes. His red hair and pale complexion highlighted by the light of the moon peeking through the window. He was ethereal.

“I love you, Gaara. So much. I am so happy that you exist. Honestly when you speak so openly and directly like that I feel like my heart is gonna burst through my chest . . . fuckkkk. In a good way though! But seriously, thank you for being you. I never thought I’d be able to say this to someone without fear, but . . when I am with you, I know that I am home. You are my home, love. ”

His eyes softened before a huge grin spread across his now blushing features. Gaara didn’t smile often, but when he did it was a sight to behold. It was like feeling the warmth of a sunrise for the first time. An all encompassing glow.

He sat up and cupped both of your cheeks in his hands, tears now mirroring your own. “I couldn’t have put it better myself. Do you know how beautiful you are? Truly? Your beauty radiates from the inside out. Honestly, what have I done to deserve you?”

“Sir, have you taken a good look at yourself lately? That’s my line. Fight me. Right now.” you deadpanned playfully.

A look of genuine concern crossed over his face. His hands settled on your waist and his posture noticeably drooped.

“(y/n), I would never fight you.”

“ . . . Gaara, I was just joking. I know you wouldn’t.”

“Sarcasm?”

“Mhm.”

“ . . . Right. I should have known. I’ll do better next time.” he sighed dejectedly.

Your body shook with laughter at your man’s adorably serious face. He’s always trying his best. Only Gaara could go from holding space through your tears of sadness, to making you cry from happiness, to having you doubled over with laughter within a matter of moments just by being authentically himself.

“I love you so fucking much, my sweet Gaara.”

“And I, you. My beautiful (y/n).”

You both slept soundly that night in a tangle of limbs, not knowing where one ended or the other began. Two, who together, are one.

[legends-live-in-memories]

Do You Believe in Magic?

AYO second day in a row can you believe it? I come with more content.

Fics Masterlist

Wallynette Oneshot 3.1K words (no warnings apply) Summary: “What happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object?”

without further ado:

“That’s ridiculous!” He was pacing back and forth, arms waving in the air to compliment his theatrics. “Magic shouldn’t be able to do that, it defies all logic!”

“That’s the point! Magic exists outside of logical reasoning!” The shorter girl was equally as furious, standing in place and growing redder by the minute.

“Nothing exists outside of logical reasoning! Everything can easily be explained with science.” The redhead had paused his pacing to stare down the noirette before him. He was uncaring of his volume, ignorant to how his voice echoed in the large cave. “Your Lucky Charm is nothing more than transdimensional materialisation. An already pre-existing object is broken down into subatomic particles and rearranged at your location.”

“Are you really trying to tell me how my own Lucky Charm works?” She had sounded absolutely livid at the assumption. And Dick had to agree with her. Wally was in no position to tell her how her own powers worked. Before he could interject the screaming match between his two best friends, she was going off again. “And are you really trying to tell me that somewhere in the world existed a red and black-spotted doughnut just waiting to be used? That when Antibug was around a ladybug patterned flamethrower was just lying somewhere?”

“Oh please, there are plenty of flamethrowers all over the world and they probably only appeared ladybug themed due to shifts in light refraction.” He had stopped waving his arms around and crossed them in front of his chest. He was standing in her space now, leering over her trying to be imposing. “Simple fact is magic. Isn’t. Real.”

“You can run faster than the speed of sound! If you really think it was your precious science that saved you after willingly striking yourself with lightning in hopes of tapping into a cross-dimensional ‘speed-force,’ then you’re dumber than I thought.” She had gotten even closer now, pressing a finger into his chest and pushing him back.

“Are they still at this?” Kaldur had walked up beside Dick with two soda cans, silently offering him one. His voice sounded tired, visibly annoyed at the constant bickering.

“An hour and counting,” he sighs. The sounds of their bickering slowly faded into background noise. “For today at least. But they’ve been butting heads ever since she’s joined the team. Kinda exhausting.”

Marinette, a.k.a Ladybug, had joined the team after Wonder Woman deemed Paris officially safe from any more magical mayhem. While the rest of Paris’s heroes chose to retire and preserve the rest of their teen years, Marinette did not have that option. Magical Guardian and all. The JLE welcomed her with open arms and Wonder Woman decided to introduce her to the Team. She got along great with M'gann, the two could almost always be found baking or exchanging recipes in the cave’s kitchen and they, plus Artemis, went on frequent shopping trips. Conner saw her as a little sister, which was unexpected but it probably had to do with the fact she was a whole foot shorter and he had natural instincts to protect those who looked meek. She was anything but meek but first impressions were a damning thing sometimes. Marinette was Kaldur’s biggest supporter, always ready to back him up when it came to tough Team related decisions, something born from her own experience as a leader. The two understood each other the best. She also related to Dick on the importance of secret identities and while the Team still only knows him as Robin, she was the only one who never pestered him on it, respecting the lengths he would go to for the sake of anonymity.

Wally was the only one the newest member clashed with. Magic skeptic, meet magic connoisseur. Unstoppable force, meet immovable object. They almost never agreed on anything. Every time the two were left alone for more than two minutes it evolved into a screaming match. Wally was insistent on pushing all of Marinette’s buttons and she was always eager to defend herself and magic as a whole. Her rather short fuse didn’t make matters any better. It hadn’t affected missions, arguments reserved for the safety of the cave, but it was only a matter of time before that became an actual issue. He voiced as much to Kaldur who agreed with only a contemplative nod.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It’s moments like these where Kaldur hated when Robin was right. At least he was on another mission with Batman so he didn’t have to bear witness to this fiasco.

The Team was currently in Louisiana investigating the disappearance of Dr. Kent Nelson, better known as Dr. Fate, the Sorcerer Supreme. And Wally was being argumentative with Marinette while simultaneously trying to impress M'gann. It had put Artemis on edge and she kept taking jabs at him whenever an opportunity arose. And even when one didn’t.

They had just barely escaped the pit above lava, standing above the cool platform.

“Don’t worry, Megalicious,” Wally had moved to support M'gann, throwing an arm above her shoulders, drawing her into his side. “I’ve got you.”

“Enough!” Artemis had cut in between the two of them, pushing Wally away from the Martian, her frustration palpable even from where Kaldur was standing. “Your little ‘Impress Megan at all costs’ game nearly got us all barbecued.”

“When did this become my fault?”

“When you lied to that whatever it was and called yourself a true believer.”

“Wally, you don’t believe?” M'gann sounded hurt at that. Wally looked across the room, before coming to a silent conclusion.

“Fine, fine! I lied about believing in magic. But magic is the real lie, a major load.”

“I can’t believe you’re still on that.” Marinette, who had remained silent before, finally entered the conversation, ready to defend her craft. “We just fell over five hundred feet below ground into an almost fiery death and you still don’t believe it? Was the magically appearing Tower not enough? Or the fact that our feet are not being scorched right now?”

Wanting to put an end to this conversation, Kaldur said his piece.

“Wally, I have studied for a year at the Conservatory of Sorcery in Atlantis.” He had crouched down, rubbing the surface of the floor. “The mystic arts created the skin icons that power my water bearers.”

“Dude, have you ever heard of bioelectricity? Hey in primitive cultures fire was once considered magical too. Today it’s all just a bunch of tricks.”

“What I do is not a trick. Do you really think destroying the Eiffel Tower, and putting it back in place is just some trick? Or how about when an old akuma was able to control the weather and created a volcano in the middle of Paris? Were those all tricks too? Were the casualties just results of things that don’t exist?” Marinette was becoming increasingly agitated as her rant went on. M'gann moved to comfort her, embracing her slightly.

“Don’t put words in my mouth! I never said the lives lost weren’t real! It was tragic, yeah, but that was due to real scientific explanations.”

“Science can’t bring people back from the dead.” Her voice was more subdued and sombre and her shoulders were curling into her body. The atmosphere was increasingly getting more depressing so Kaldur grabbed onto the latch, hoping that making progress into the mission would revive the Team’s energy.

He ignored Wally’s protests about heat backdrafts and came face first to a rush of frigid air.    

“Do you ever get tired of being wrong?” Artemis was rather smug as she threw a smirk over her shoulder. Kaldur just wished the rest of the mission wouldn’t be like this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Artemis was going to tear her hair out. Or probably Wally’s. Yeah, she was going to tear Wally’s hair out. It had been a week since the Dr. Fate mission and he still hasn't apologized to Marinette. His refusal to believe in magic was not only screwing up the team dynamics but it was forcing Marinette’s hand, pushing her to dig up trauma, to try and prove to him that magic is real. Artemis didn’t understand why it was so important to her that Wally believed in magic but it was and that was enough for Artemis to stand by her friend.

The two haven’t even spoken to each other since the mission and it was painfully obvious that Marinette was avoiding him. Valid, but still aggravating when it put everyone on the team on edge. Artemis wasn’t one to play peacemaker, leaving that to Kaldur and Marinette, but since this ongoing conflict involved the Parasian, and Kaldur had his hands full with a mission in Atlantis, someone had to step up and that person was her. Wonderful.  

She had tracked Wally in the medical facility, tinkering with some of the equipment and taking inventory of their supplies, a job Red Tornado routinely asks him to do. She skipped any greeting and just started plucking items out of his hands. Ignoring his protests, she kept going until his hands were empty then grabbed his wrist, pulling him into the training room and shoving him into the center ring.

“Shut up and stay,” was all she said, crossing her arms and freezing him with a glare. She wasn’t in the mood for any of his gimmicks tonight. The sound of the zetatubes announcing the Ladybug designation alerted her to Marinette’s return from Paris. Time for the next part of her plan.

“Don’t move,” she said as she turned to retrieve the other person for her plan. A firm ‘I mean it’ was tossed over her shoulder as she left.

Collecting Marinette was easier said than done. Artemis was headstrong on a good day, she will admit, but now as a woman on a mission she was down right intimidating and she knew it. Marinette took one look at her expression and bolted for the zetatube she just stepped out of. Artemis was having none of that and was able to grab the much shorter girl before she could get any further. While Artemis was mentally applauding herself she was also begrudgingly impressed with how difficult it was to hold the girl. Dragging her to the training deck was becoming more trouble than it was probably worth.

Artemis could pinpoint the exact moment Marinette’s eyes landed on the speedster because her efforts doubled and she almost escaped Artemis’s grasp. She dropped her gracelessly on the floor and moved to block the exit before either could do anything.

“Neither of you are leaving until you work out your issues,” she was huffing from exhaustion, both mental and physical. “Whether that means punching the shit out of each other or talking it out like normal people: I don’t care. But no one leaves this room until you two stop screwing with the team dynamics.”

She left no room for arguments and turned to stand outside the exit, giving them some semblance of privacy. If they didn’t work out their issues here, Artemis’s plan B involved Connor tossing them into the far end of the coastline. Hopefully, Wally and Marinette were reasonable enough it wouldn’t have to come to that.

Oh, who was she kidding?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wally stared at Artemis’s retreating figure and then at a very interesting spot on the cave wall. He felt like an asshole all week and, after his experience with the helmet of Fate, he knew he would have to be the one to mend the ever growing gap between him and Marinette. Still, he couldn’t face her yet. Every time he looked at her, or saw her hastily leave any room he was in, his mind flashed to those haunting words she had said.

Science can’t bring people back from the dead.

He knew that. He knew there were harsh limitations on what science can and can’t do. Magic shouldn’t have been any different. And he thought he understood what she had to deal with during her time in Paris but he was wrong. He was so painfully wrong that it took his body being overtaken by a mystic ‘Lord of Order’ for him to really comprehend that. He just… He just couldn’t wrap his head around someone so young being entrusted with so much power. Magic was inexplicable. It defied reason and was unpredictable so he never understood how someone as self-assured as Marinette could put her faith in something that unreliable. So he lashed out at her. Then he did it again. And again so much so that he can’t remember ever having a civil conversation with her.

He messed up and he knew it but the shame he felt in the past week was too much for him to handle and he couldn’t bring himself to speak.

“Look,” his head snapped to the sound of her voice. She wasn’t looking at him, holding herself for comfort. “I’m sorry for ignoring you, I didn’t realise it was affecting the rest of the team.”

No. no no nonono.

She shouldn’t be apologizing. She had nothing to apologize for and Wally is the ass in this situation not her so why is she apologizing? He needs to fix this. Fast.

“You don’t need to apologize,” such a terrible start, Wallace. Congratulations. “I was the one who pushed your buttons and called magic a big trick.”

She had lifted her head slightly but her gaze still wasn’t focused on him, rather she was looking beyond him just above his shoulder. He took a step closer and when she hadn’t made a break for the exit, he took that as a good sign.

“Listen, Marinette,” her eyes dart to and away from him in an instant. He didn’t let that stop him though. “All those times, times when I called magic fake or belittled its legitimacy, I wasn’t trying to hurt you. I was just trying to wrap my head around its absurdity.”

“It doesn’t matter what you were trying to do,” she finally locked her gaze on him and the pain swimming in her eyes was going to burn him alive. “You still hurt me. You took everything I did, everything I’ve learned and lost and loved and called it a hoax, you called it unreal, and you doubted everything I’ve ever accomplished. I have memories I may never recover from because of magic, scars that will never heal from something you didn’t want to believe in.”

There were unshed tears in her eyes and Wally wanted to brush them away. He didn’t, but fighting the urge was herculean of him. He didn’t get the chance to respond, though, but he wouldn’t dare interrupt her.

“Did you ever realise how those arguments affected me? I used to look up to you, Kid Flash, before joining the team.” He never knew that. Why didn’t he know that? “You were always so cheerful and the media framed you as someone who believed in the impossible. That was something I needed back in Paris. Because there was nothing more impossible to me than ever getting a chance to defeat Hawkmoth.”

She was openly crying now, her cheeks blotchy and eyes red. Wally didn’t know what to say so he took a chance and opened his arms to her. A silent invitation, a quiet apology. Whatever this little spitfire needed from him. He would willingly give it.

She took the offer and crashed her face into his chest, hands grabbing fistfuls of his shirt. He wrapped his arms snuggly around her, almost crushing her to his chest.

“I needed someone who believed in the impossible to believe in me.” Her sobs were heartbreaking. Wally could only caress her on the back in a futile attempt to comfort her. “That someone was you but then you had no problem looking me in the eye and saying you don’t believe in magic. How could you?”

“I am so sorry, Marinette.” He could never apologize enough. He was willing to dedicate his life making it up to her. He was silently praying to gods he also didn’t believe in that she would let him try. Before she could say anything, and he felt the hitch in her shoulders as she was taking steadying breaths to do so, he continued.

“I never knew what I—Kid Flash— meant to you. I only argued against magic so much because I didn’t want to believe that something that unpredictable was the only thing keeping someone like you safe. I heard all the stories; Wonder Woman loved to gush and brag about her mother’s successor, but I could never believe that someone could do such incredible things by magic alone. It was mind boggling.”

Wally felt more than heard the faint gasp at his confession. He pulled her off his chest, holding her a short distance by her shoulders, so that he could look into her eyes.

“I’m really sorry; I don’t think I can ever tell you how sorry I am.” She needed to know how genuine he was. He may clown around a lot but he was absolutely serious in this moment. He hoped she could see the sincerity in his eyes.

“I—,” she cut herself off, and Wally could see her growing frustrated with her own loss of words. She opened her mouth to speak again but she was interrupted.

“OH just kiss already!” Artemis’s rough voice echoed in the room and Wally’s gaze flashed to where her back was facing them by the entrance. She looked uncomfortable standing there but clearly she had an agenda she was seeing through. He didn’t pay her any more attention as he focused back on the increasingly red girl still within his grasps. The hurt that was previously in her eyes was quickly replaced with embarrassment and she couldn’t look Wally in the eyes.

He felt a sudden rush of confidence at her demeanor and hoped he wasn’t about to make the second biggest mistake of his life. He bent his head slightly, casting a smirk at the small girl.

“Well, if that’s what the people want,” he pulled her closer to him then, her mousy ‘eep’ sounding adorable in response. He cupped her chin between two fingers, tilting her head up. “May I?”

She didn’t speak but her answering nod and slow closing of her eyes encouraged him to close the distance between them.

Wally’s been struck by lightning before but it doesn’t compare to the feeling of her lips on his. Her lips tasted like slowly drying tears and her favourite vanilla lip balm. The kiss wasn’t perfect, her lips were slightly chapped, as were his, and their noses bumped into each other, but it was the best kiss of his life.

They broke away from the kiss but neither moved far from each other. They stayed like that for who knows how long. Staring intently at each other, committing the other’s face to memory. And as Wally stared at her tear streaked face and into her slightly red and puffy eyes, he came to a single conclusion.

He definitely believed in magic.