#i wish i had something horribly wrong with me i know its selfish and bad to say that

[cripplepunkfag]

god i wish i could stop fuckin thinking this i feel like such a dick i KNOW people with more obvious and more serious disabilities dont "have it better" but i cant stop thinking about it i just wish i could collapse dramatically and get rushed somewhere and magically diagnosed i feel like such a fuckin drama queen because i feel awful all the time but its just like dizziness and pain do i even have the right to claim im disabled? its not like im diagnosed. its not like i know whats wrong. its not like its serious. maybe i am just fuckin faking it.

[verysanebsdfan]

Killua with a reader who has horrible friendship skills? like is kind of messed up so they don’t really function or take care of themselves so they can’t maintain healthy friendships. so one day the friendship falls out at greed island and she leaves Gon and Killua on they’re own and they meet her again and it’s whatever arc and she’s friends with people and healthy and stuff and he gets kind of upset. like, you’re happy now? you treat other people so well.. but you didn’t do that for me? and he like resents her a little.

SORRY IF ITS TO MUCH URGHH, also this would be more on the platonic side or if you want it could be like doomed friendship

uzgsgzialzi crying rn i suddenly forgot how to write lmao

you didnt specify if you wanted hc or story or whatever, so i tried something?? Also i made up names for your friends sooo...

tw/cw: killua is not happy. very bad thoughts. reader basically doesnt like herself in the first part

𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐂 𝐊𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐚 𝐙𝐨𝐥𝐝𝐲𝐜𝐤 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐆𝐨𝐧 𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐞𝐜𝐬𝐬

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

A day after day, you wonder why are you so different. Of course it pains you when you see you friends laugh and have fun together, but you just can't join. You are too tired to. It has been like this for some time, but it has been just getting worse. How could you laugh so freely, when you barely get up in the morning.

You wonder when has it started declining so fast. It has to be since the fight in Heavens Arena. The reminder of just how weak you are.

"What? Lost your breath? What a shame, i mean, you are a friend of those hella strong kids right? They already got to the 200th floor. Don't you want to do so too? Oh, wait, you are too weak for that, still stuck in the 190th floor"

In the end you lost. It just wasn't your day, that is what you told yourself. You hoped that as long as you stay with them, you would be able to grasp upon the light and get better, and consequentionally stronger.

Is it not your time yet? Or are your friends just progressing too fast? Yes! That must be it! But why can't you?! Are you just- NO! No...you cannot think like that. Gon would not be happy, and Killua too...He would right? Right?

The light is getting weaker and weaker...

𓈒⠀𓂃⠀⠀˖⠀𓇬⠀˖⠀⠀𓂃⠀𓈒

Gon got all the cards. Greed island is over. As much as Gon wished you went with them. you Couldn't, you were so tired. Oh Gon felt so bad for leaving you behind, but as they watched your back when you were leaving, even Killua had hard time not trying to stop you just like Gon.

⋆｡ °✩⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨୧⋆ ｡˚ ⋆✩° ｡⋆

Some months later, you had gotten better and stronger. Mostly thanks to the help of your new friends, well, you knew them before. Your childhood fiends, Elizabeth and Stacy.

They are currently training to become hunters, and you are sort of guiding them.

Well. Some time after the chairman election, you met Gon and Killua again, well, they saw you, you didn't exactly see them though.

Gon was so happy to see you doing well, but Killua wasn't, well, sort of. He was of course glad that you are happy....but why couldn't you be happy with them? Were they not good enough for you?! Did you hate them?!

Of course he was wrong. But he didnt know that. That is what led to the current situation

━━━━⊱⋆⊰━━━━

"Are they better friends than we were?! Huh?" Killua yelled at you "Why did you leave us?! Were we not enough? Thats really selfish of you, you know!"

And with that, he walks away. Thats all... Gon stayed because he wanted an explanation... but Killua left, and did not return to you. Gon knows why you left. Killua doesnt. Gon understands. Killua....

[arcsnonexistantfandomblog]

How Selfishness Contributes to The Arch Illagers Down Fall

Authors Note ------ First, before we start this, as many others said, Minecraft Dungeons deserved a lot more than what it got. I wish within the game you could learn about his story, but of course, you have to pay 10-20 bucks for a book just to read it, the whole book is just the trailer and a little extra [AND more than the trailer could ever give] . However, I don't regret buying the book, that is how I got into the fandom myself. If you want to read it, I recommend going through Wikipedia for the plot, I could have made a PDF file of the book I bought, but I was the type in middle school to draw scenes onto it. However, within the post, you WILL get book snippets for character reference.

Let's be honest with ourselves, this game had so many chances to be a story all Minecraft players could enjoy around the world. Unfortunately, that is not the case...instead in my opinion, the game became slightly, if not a shameless way to market Minecraft to get quick money, it is like Legends and Earth, there was no way for these games to EVER have a good chance to become its own thing and be loved. To have to play DLCS to get the full story is BS in itself. The true story is about a victim of the orb of dominance whose decisions were affected by some selfishness.

Intro ---- Hey, do you remember that post with Magnifico and the Arch-Illager and about how the Arch-Illager had a better position to be the villain? Yeah, I still hold that opinion the ACTUAL reasons were... 1. The character in general. 2.The motives portrayed in the story. 3.The relationship between both 'characters' I still believe those reasons to be true, although the game sucks at letting that be what comes across. The story was a market attempt to allow players of the game to know the lore and... honestly, if it was in the game, it would have been nice... This idea came into concept after talking to a friend about how Walda mentions how Archie and Thord bickering was something that showed they were more concerned about themselves than anyone else...and to be honest? She is correct, this act of trying to make themselves look good without the concern of those who passed WAS selfish. I talked about how the main flaw of most characters was their selfishness within the story. Then in the silence, that gave me an idea, this essay here. Thord and Archie were thinking about themselves and that got Archie into trouble. Karl being self-absorbed over his 'feelings' being hurt caused Archies selfless action of leaving the village Archie BECAUSE of selfishness took the orb because he wanted to prove everyone wrong, not use it to better people's lives. Archie loses his Friends, the PEOPLE he loved because he was selfish to raid their village. The orb was selfish in wanting this power and using Archie as a vehicle for its true motives. Karl is smart enough to run away, but he is so selfish that he runs away, and NEVER comes back to help the heroes knowing what was happening was wrong. Hell, you could say it was pure fear that caused these actions. Walda and Thord were selfish to not only allow Archie out in the forest to die, but they were selfish enough to take Archies's throne. Thord was SELFISH and stole and his SELFISH behavior led to his death. These examples are what are here for reasons, Salah you could argue was selfish to want to kick Archie out...but that came with a little bit of logic and the thought of their people. Yumi does call them out, she KNOWS they would do nothing to defend the village compared to Archie. Yet Archie was selfless and knew it would be safer for his friends to leave.

Thesis - Selfishness contributes to the story.

In the story, the lesson can be that Selfishness contributes to eventual bad outcomes and conflicts. It repeatedly throughout the story shows that it leads to horrible things no matter how selfish it is. Like other villains, their selfish actions lead to harm. Frollo due to selfishness decides to continue with sin, leading to his death. Ursula due to selfish reasons, wanted the trident for herself, therefore it leads to her death. Scar due to his selfishness, wanting the throne, dies in consequence. All of these characters have a negative outcome due to selfishness on their part. However, this isn't about them, this is about several selfish characters in "The Rise of The Arch-Illager" who suffer from not being selfless... and one moment that shows that even with selflessness, it led to a selfish choice. What happens that is interesting is that...Archie is not really the antagonist, it's Thord. The story is about how Archie becomes the antagonist in the end, he does take on the position against the real protagonists, the heroes by the final pages and the damning raid revealed in the trailer. Archie gets another chance at the end of the story because the heroes know what kind of person Archie truly is. The narrator knew nothing of this, it is painted in a light that is misleading in a few ways. That speaks volumes about how different these things truly are. The narrator knows of the danger, not the person who causes it. The Arch-Illager is the combination of Archie and The Orb of Dominance. In fact, the future actions that are made, are also selfish decisions of the orb. This might explain why the Orb is destroyed and Archie isn't.

But this is about the Arch-Illager, or rather Archie, so let's talk about each listed selfish thing for Archie.

The Selfish Actions of Archie.

These actions are important because it shows the character of Archie, and how his past influences affect how he approaches the world. There are 3 arcs in my opinion, The Mansion Arc, The Village Act, and The Orb Act, each act develops Archies's character, but also shows his main traits. He is Compassionate, fearful, peaceful, and reasonable [justified or not], yet he can be selfish, aggressive, and defensive. He has so many times where it shows who he is. But this is about selfishness, not everything else. [] The Mansion Act [] This act marks the first selfish act when he got kicked out due to self-interest, and Walda's decision. Walda had several reasons to kick out Archie, that are addressed before he is kicked out. Like him being Weak, and that he 'endangered a life of a fellow Illager'. I will say how that is hypocritical due to Thord never getting kicked out due to him harming Archie. The selfishness comes from Archie caring about staying in the mansion, living and perhaps Thord to be gone. In those moments he didn't care much about what he might have done wrong, he put the blame on others, just like Thord did to him. His consequence was that after specific actions, Walda was upset, and despite his begging, she kicked him out forever. another consequence was that he was forced into the woods to try and survive.

[] The Village Act []

I would say this act is...interesting, there is no selfish behavior, in fact this arc marks his development. When he had defended Yumi, and his first selfless action happens here, which is important. You can say that Salah was a reason that Archie removes himself from the village, but in reality, Karl would have attacked either way. Karl KNEW who Archie was, if Salah was peaceful and Yumi had introduced Archie to the heroes, he would have attacked. Everyone knew salah was right including Yumi and Archie. That was when Archie was selfless, and that meant he was going...expect. [] The Orb Act [] This is an interesting act, because I have a feeling a lot of selfishness here ACTUALLY also includes the orb this time around. His development made him ready to face the woods, sure he almost died but he made it. It is revealed that the orb actually was a major reason for him getting guided there, and it means that Archie became a victim. Archie takes power from it, yet the Orb made him is vehicle for destruction. Even the orb says that their fates were 'forever intertwined', so here and forward it was a lot of the orbs decision too and was someone who encouraged these actions. Archie was also exhausted, so it was easier for the orb to get Archie on its side. Despite this, Archie still takes it because of Karl and Thord because they hurt him. To make them fall onto their knees, and yet it is interesting that the orb knows about his misery. In theory this means that he has some mindreading or some way to be in the victim's mind [like Bill Cipher]. Another selfish thing they do together is obviously raid the town, twice. This was selfish and it made Archie lose his dearest friends, and 'family'. The orb totally could have done this intentionally to put Archie in a spot where he would listen because he had no one else but it. They were selfish for trying to take the land and turning the villagers into slaves to 'work for the mines'. Archie knew these people to be someone people who did care, and yet...he did this to them. If anything in part I think this was the orbs decision, not Archies. The end of the book implies Archie is taken control of and from there it is easy to say anything else that happens that is selfish is of the orbs doing.

The Orb of Dominance and Manipulation

This is a lot more important than just Archie doing these actions, in fact the Orb protects Archie, feeds him, and gives him a place to sleep the FIRST day they met. This is a lot different than Yumi's decision, she did it out of empathy. She cannot guarantee full safety and comfort, but she can certainly try, and their friendship is mutual. They benefit each other and allow the other to learn some good traits. Yumi develops a point of view that explains Illagers and their violence and can sympathize with them a bit. Archie learns compassion for others, and that leads him to telling the Illagers to leave Yumi [and who she brings] alone purely due to it. Infact Archie even learns skills and actually helps the village, and it means he is thinking about others. Yumi doesn't let what upsets her to be bottled in when Archie is threatened. She speaks on how the heroes could care less of them, and would slaughter their pigs, cows, that they sleep in their beds, and steal their food. It speaks volumes on how and why she would trust Archie more than the heroes and it makes sense. The orb thought? it knows nothing, but the misery Archie has gone through and lures Archie into a position where he is listening and shakes its hand so to speak. Then when Archie is in its grasp it feeds him, comforts him, HELPS him. This thing is an object with a mind...if it had true compassion, it would welcome him with open arms to stay in the cavern and help before this. It is a small but important detail, it has no capacity to care, and will LIE to get its way, as Archie states near the end of the book. Half of the book is about how Archie is backed into this spot where the barley has no say in some of the actions, again acknowledged and implied by Archie that he was getting 'dominated' by the orb. He feels stupid for not thinking about the name before, yet...He was exhausted, weak, and literally just finished climbing a mountain before the deal was made. When you get to the boss fight that also proves that Archie was a vehicle to this, and he is TURNED into a monster by the orb of dominance because it wasn't getting what it wanted from Archie. We get not a single word in the game from this...and yet it is meaningful. Archie is making noise when he is sucked in, That I saw as possible pleading for his life, or even begging to just let him lose. Or he knew that the Orb wasn't going to let it end and he was forced to be in this position. Then...finally when the Orb was defeated and destroyed, Archie 'tries to keep on' [I don't think so], and it breaks. Archie free and ready to approach the world again. I think the orb in that moment was trying to hold onto Archie, wanting more, wanting the world and NEEDING its vessel. I mean that is how I see it based on their relationship. There are several times when Archie was ready to stop and leave this. SEVERAL in counting and I feel like it says a lot. Tldr: The orb is a manipulator who uses Archie as a vehicle to get what it wants for selfish gain.

Now...to talk about the actual topic of Villainy other than the orb.

Thord, how selfishness led to his death.

So... why is this important compared to someone as serious as the orb? Simple, he IS the true antagonist in the story. Until Archie took over the position of that role. He possibly intentionally backed Archie into getting kicked out of the tribe because he was selfish. He lies about Archie, with only a few truths to be selfish and keep himself there. He is selfish by blaming Archie of being the issue and then manipulates the situation by pretending he is hurt. After that he plots with Walda to bring Archie down because he is a selfish person. He steals from the Firey Forge because he does it out of benefit... The most interesting scene shows he is still selfish, begging for mercy, or a deal. He knows he fucked up and maybe will try to still hurt him, but he pleads. There is something interesting, a few chapters before the orb tells Archie to kill Thord, and he refuses to do so, instead making the raid early in the morning in spite. When he is robbing the Fiery Forge and Archie knows this... but Arc, who makes the suggestion to kill? The Orb, Archie is aware of Thords threat and has SUCH a good chance to make him pay for getting him kicked out. Kick him out for stealing and let him venture alone like HE did. To make him pay, He even suggests the idea of waiting to surprise Thord. He was not in the mood to wait. That is interesting, it was an interesting decision. Usually, Archie is rather patient, yet...listen to how the orb says this. " You need to defeat him. Now." Now I do think Archie had agency in his choice, he did. But... when he suggests the idea of waiting, that would be smart because then he could catch Thord and Walda and punish them both. But just to kill Thord? That is what interests me, I do have a feeling the orb had a lot more choice in what Archie does, but I also don't want to undermine that it was ARCHIE'S choice to choose how he could make Thord go. was this to scare him in his last moments to leave him vulnerable like he was to the monsters before? As they always do, Archie and Thord bicker, and both of them are upset. Archie WISHES to return the beating Thord had given him, but he makes the decision not to out of what Thord has, magic. After that, that is when Thord begs, and he is LITERALLY begging. I mean hey, at least Archie gets to chew Walda out with him knowing their plan and watch her fear him! It really isn't funny, it shows how the orb influences how he acts, and that is a burden us readers have to watch unfold.

Karl's Selfishness and how it leads to flee

The most interesting character is Karl, who is more selfish in his self-interest than arguably most characters in this book. He wants to conquer the land and have people kneel for him, yet despite how he acts, he isn't chosen by the orb. Probably because as much as Karl is dumb, I think he wouldn't trust this so easily. He also is just the worst person ever, he is selfish in his actions, what he thinks and... for his life. He spares Archie only for his own gain, that's right his selfless action becomes selfish because getting his name out there to scare the illagers matters more than a life. This doesn't come out the way he wants it to because they don't understand what he says. This is why he flees during the trailer, this out of fear but also selfishness. A hero would risk his/her life to save the world, and a village, yet he doesn't even do that in the first place! He just abandons it and no joke, basically never comes back. His confidence must have cracked.

The Orb and How it is defeated due to selfishness. - The Game

As explained, the Orb is broken into pieces due to its selfish nature. due to the end of the book, Archie goes onto this route because there was no going back. It was in the orbs interest to back Archie so far back that he feels like he could do nothing but go along. I think the orb is Selfish for using a vulnerable man who wanted to live as a vessel for what chaos it wanted. The Orb is selfish because it knows it will destroy relationships in the process. This character is the embodiment of how Power corrupts, and unfortunately allows Archie for some confidence building he needed...yet it was for hurt. It knows so much knowledge, you think it would spare Archie of having to do the work. Of course not! it doesn't have feelings, or emotions to its name. It is an artifact for god's sake, and it only WANTS to hurt. The book gives the characterization for the orb that was needed.

Then when it fails, it decides to push to the edge and becoming a monster, one that towers the heroes and shows what power it has over Archie. He had no consent to this, just the way he screams as he is pulled is such a risen red flag of how SELFISH the orb is to risk the life of its vessel. The orb was the monster the story needed...and that is what it got. Not Karl, not the illagers, not Salah and some of the villagers, not the undead, not the nameless one, not even Archie who was tricked. It was the orb of dominance, the truest and most selfish and monstrous character.

Conclusion

Woo we are done! expect for a basic TLDR for this entire post. All the characters in Minecraft dungeons have suffered due to some of the characters selfish nature. Those who suffered the most were the ones committing the selfish actions. Some characters even die or have something bad happen because of this. In my Opinion I think after the Village arc, all the selfish actions of Archie were due to himself and the orb as well. Admittingly with a lot of influence from the orb of dominance. And you know what? The game BARELY shows this narrative, no hints to this story and we are left to understand just little pieces of everything...which was the trailer. The game is about the sad outcome of when someone is made a vehicle for destruction. This game was never for the full story and that is sad. They could have made a more interesting game if they JUST gave the story a chance to thrive and show us these things. an Illager protag for the first half would have been SO interesting. Now it is a cash grab, with DLCs. It did what they wanted, and they mostly abandoned this game, only adding modes...and for what? It adds nothing to the beauty that this story is. It makes me despise the game and would prefer to keep this book which was the reason I stayed in the game. It would have been fun to have a game from Mojang that just isn't EMPTY. It is empty because the game was from a sandbox, and this doesn't to seem to be their field of expertise and it made the only interesting because of the small amount of story it has. Take it from, if you're planning to play the game and buy it, don't. Just grab the book and watch the Game on YouTube. Support Matt Forbecks book, and if you can't, that is fine, I might plan to go ahead and perhaps read this book and make a series out of it. Thank you for reading/listening to this whole pose.

{I will repost this blog once it has been posted on my YouTube Channel}

[mdhwrites]

I don't know if you've watched Gravity Falls or been deep in the fandom but I just realized how similar Luz and Mabel kinda are. They're both young quirky girls whose selfish actions helped the main villain achieve their goal (supposedly, in Luz's case) and learn the lesson of facing reality instead of being stuck in a fantasy world where they get everything they want (although Luz doesn't really learn this even though it was kinda set-up for her in s1) (they also have a girl rival with shit parents that the fandom ships them with but anyway-)

I'm not saying this to shit on Luz though, I like Luz. But it mind boggles me how Mabel gets shitted on way more than her does despite being younger, actually learning her lesson, and apologizing for it. It might because they're different shows but I know a lot of TOH fans were/are GF fans because of the creators' relationship so the fandoms aren't that different from one another. It MIGHT be because Mabel trusted Blendin so easily despite the situation being shady as hell (while Luz just thought Philip was a normal human in the demon realm) but to be fair, Mabel was cornered in a moment of vulnerability and she literally didn't even know what she was giving him. Abandoning her friends and family for her own fantasy land while an apocalypse going on was really horrible, I won't deny that, but Luz also pretty much did the same when she chose the demon realm (place she doesn't know anything about with STRANGERS) over her own world in the first episode. Sure there wasn't anything horrific going on in the human realm so her ignorance of it wasn't as bad as Mabel's– BUT THEN in TTT she thinks of leaving everyone behind by staying in the human realm while the Collector was doing who knows what???

I don't know, this might be kinda petty, I haven't rewatched GF in ages, but I just think it's unfair Mabel gets more hate than Luz. I feel she's had more character progression compared to the latter and at least she always got called out when she did something wrong and learned from it.

So take all of this with a grain of salt because while I've heard a little of this discourse, I haven't watched a lot of Gravity Falls (recently tried again and found myself not loving the first episode if I'm honest) and have never been a part of its fandom. However, this is a chance to talk about why Luz is so liked and 'relatable' to so many because it is not hard to figure out why people like Luz. Why? Well... A lot of it comes down to framing and how the two shows see the two girls.

Gravity Falls sees Mabel as a tweenage girl.

The Owl House sees Luz as the embodiment of what a teenage nerd wishes they were/could be.

Those are VERY different goals and framing.

One, Mabel, is going to be INCREDIBLY fallible. Neither her or Dipper are anywhere close to perfect people because... Well, they're teenagers. They get way too into certain things. They're awkward when it comes to those obsessions. They're awkward about how to deal with change, consequences, etc. like that because that's just the age they are. They're figuring out the world and are going to run face first into it and that will be awkward, clumsy and often destructive without any sort of excuse besides they didn't think the consequences through. That's kids for you.

The other is... More idealistic. Luz doesn't face real consequences for testing her boundaries and is always bailed out. When she fucks up, she always does it with the best intentions and/or no one actually gets hurt. People coddle her and always make concessions to her desires with minimal push back and always end up on her side unless they're just a REALLY big meanie head. She always makes peoples' lives better, she never gets real criticism or ridicule for her interests and is always accepted by the right people for those interests. Always given more and more for being her quirky self!

A lot of this for Luz is because she's an audience surrogate and TOH wants the audience to feel good about themselves. It knows that a lot of nerds will be the ones watching it and leans in. This is actually contrasted by the fact that, well, Mabel isn't the audience surrogate or the absolute primary character of Gravity Falls. Her role is more complicated versus Dipper who IS the nerdy one who's closer to being the audience surrogate.

Just to really drive this home: People on my Discord have talked about this and one of the biggest 'crimes' as seen by a lot of the fandom is that Mabel causes Dipper to lose out on his dream of researching with Ford and staying in Gravity Falls. I could even see some arguments of things like "He's planning a future!" or "He's making the world better!"

But... Let's shift the framing for a moment from "Mabel caused Dipper to give up on his dream" to "Mabel made sure Dipper chose reality over fantasy." After all, his desire was to throw away his friends, his family, EVERYTHING to just continue hanging out with this one old dude and studying the weird phenomenon of the world, an inherently isolating job. He gets to go on this big adventure and follow his intellectual drive... At the cost of reality and everything he has known.

So why don't people get upset at Dipper for trying to do this? Well, there's a lot of potential reasons that I can't really narrow down without watching the show. It may have just been framed as a positive while Mabel's is framed as negative. It could be that while Mabel's is just a generic, girly fantasy that not much of the core audience actually wants, Dipper's is the cool, smart fantasy that is totally not just a fantasy, but a CAREER. Or it could go back to the root problem: Because Dipper is closer to the audience surrogate, closer to the main character, there is a bias to inherently see his actions as good. We could literally watch two characters do the same thing and we will root for the main character simply because that is who we are trained to root for.

A great example of this from TOH is how Luz is allowed to get mad at people for lying to her but not the other way around. She literally attacks Eda and gets the two captured in Titan, Where Art Thou? because Eda lied to her and she is supposed to feel justified in this anger to make the tragedy angle work. Meanwhile, there is ONE time when anyone gets mad at Luz for lying and honestly, the framing and reactions cause it to end up feeling much more like it was just for a prettier scene change during Reaching Out. After all, Amity still wants to fix Luz's pain before Luz even apologizes for breaking her word by lying. So why doesn't anyone call out the hypocrisy here? Why is NO ONE allowed to get upset with Luz about this?

Because she's the main character. Because we are trained to root for her and, well, Luz also is the one we are told to want to be. She is the every nerd. She is meant to connect to a very wide net of outcasts who feel like they don't belong and wish things were different. Wishes people weren't mean to them or didn't get mad at them when they made mistakes. That just let them be the hero of their own story.

So of course, they don't want Luz to be yelled at, even when that is the actually human and reasonable thing for someone to do. They don't want to question what she does so when the show gives them an excuse, or they have to go to reality if the show itself doesn't give an excuse (This is why people emphasize Luz's age and nuerodivergence to excuse her while bluntly ignoring Mabel's age when it comes to her actions), so that they don't have to recognize that Luz does some REALLY shitty things, especially in the back half of the show. It is simply more convenient for the narrative they want out of the show for Luz to be this way.

And that is okay from a casual standpoint. A lot of fiction is escapist. There's nothing wrong with wanting to jump into a world where you're never actually wrong and never in trouble. Where your angst is always met with hugs and understanding rather than actual human emotion. That's how media works. Most mass appeal products are escapist. It's part of why the Isekai genre is SO prevalent right now because it is one of the purest forms of escapist fiction out there, especially due to modern isekai tropes.

But if you're going to talk critically about something, escapism is very rarely a good jumping off point for it. It will make you ignore a LOT about the work because it's uncomfortable for you to ask questions about it. I'm not talking about "Why does this world have magic" sort of things mind you. I'm talking about, say, "Why does this character get so many power ups, so easily, and with little effort in earning them?" When you want escapism, the pacing won't bother you. If you're actually looking at themes and payoffs, it will bother you a LOT. And yes, this does tie into TOH because if you want to be Luz, getting the glyphs feels great! If you actually interrogate the story, you go "Wait, they hadn't actually done like... ANYTHING with her not having magic in a magical world and she already gets a spell? And two of these spells she does literally nothing for. Arguably three since she is put into timeout as a punishment and gets the glyph I guess for being a bad person." That TOTALLY is good storytelling and makes sense with positive themes and proper explorations of its own ideas.

*sigh*

It's a rough push and pull and it can make it so people, even if they like the show, who disagree with the popular opinion, the one that usually lifts up the audience flattering elements the most, are just in a rough position where they hear the same opinions over and over again. All while knowing that if they speak up, they'll be stomped on.

Just like Mabel was while Dipper was raised into the spotlight. At least by the fandom.

======+++++======

I have a public Discord for any and all who want to join!

I also have an Amazon page for all of my original works in various forms of character focused romances from cute, teenage romance to erotica series of my past. I have an Ao3 for my fanfiction projects as well if that catches your fancy instead. If you want to hang out with me, I stream from time to time and love to chat with chat.

A Twitter you can follow too

And a Kofi if you like what I do and want to help out with the fact that disability doesn’t pay much.

[katyspersonal]

Do you think Shabriri ever loved someone the way Midra did and who kept him grounded but that person was killed or taken or betrayed him? Thus leading to the feeling of “nothing is holding back my madness” in his mind? I feel like he manipulates us with Melina for a deeper reason than just…. “uwu burn the world down for your love.”

(Also I had these Gen reaction images saved in my camera roll and I am dumping them here for you. Suffer).

(Bottom one is when the “middle men” make up their minds about which side of fandom conflicts they are on).

Crow I- No but when will it stop XD Alright then, since you're going to be like this, allow me to give you a counter-point that Shabriri's point is a bit different in a way you deserve!

"You are about to sacrifice something precious. The life of a fair maiden, that you would toss into the fiery forge. Only so that you may be Lord. What a horrible thing to ponder. Your ascendency requires her sacrifice, whether she wishes it or not. But how would the Lord, crowned so, be looked upon?"

He explicitly states that throwing someone into a fire to become a Lord is wrong from the moral standpoint, making us feel as though the choice is somehow ours and not Melina's, and not because of "love" fdjhfdsh So, I could even say that........

BAHAHAHAHA BACK AT YOU CHICKEN

*clears throat* ANYWAYS,

(sorry for old doodle post it is just relevant) Whereas it doesn't boil down to it entirely and my version of Shabriri have always been a fire!Micolash a bit messed up on the head, he did have a friend that he lost! He is Tree Sentinel-ish, but rather than protecting the Erdtree at home, he was a traveller type (like in the homeworld of Onyx and Alabaster Lords, since Lords can travel to the Land Between in turn)! This is why his armour reflects trees that are green even in cold and winter, to reflect being far away from the "sunlight".

I'd say it was his only friend; not because everyone was mean to Shabriri for no reason but the other way around, but because Shabriri himself was pretty unsettling. Lacking empathy in a bad way, where he allowed it to lead him to be manipulative and cruel person, being a bit cold, not communicating with people beyond selfish wishes like their "use" or his own entertainment, all that! He has been careful enough to not be known as a liar; after all, he needed to feel trustworthy for people to believe his slander of the Nomads! But his kind of person demands either a very patient and compassionate person with a lot of energy.... or a happy blunt dumbass that can't be bothered like this guy fdshds

In its clear form, Lord of Frenzied Flame must "take every sin, every affliction" etc. "Destroy all that divides and distinguishes" is not a 'natural' sentiment about Frenzied Flame but invention of Shabriri regarding this """religion""", that targets the Erdtree first of all things! Together with how he made his brand of Frenzied Flame sickness befall on everyone in the Lands Between!

Whereas already having been the guy who would understand an Eldrich Horror better than a fellow human, I do think that such a "focus" likely had a backstory! He was not focused on personal revenge and pain as much as he thought about it transcendentally, understanding the cause!

That character, his ex friend, actually first appeared in my dreams, and there he has been punished and imprisoned for some sort of transgression despite having been a pleasant person! So I decided to simply use what my brain already made FOR me in a sleep and say this friend was punished for "heresy", that was not the case but you know Erdtree and stuff.. That was the only true friend Shabriri had though, but he was quick to think of all the factors that led to it, how many other people it effected, what was fundamentally wrong with human society as a whole. His already existing detachment simply made him react differently; not with his heart but with his mind. That made sure he found true understanding with what the Tree Fingers wanted, as opposed to other people that saught them more in terms of "making deal with the Devil"!

So answer to your question is a yes and no at the same time x) Losing that friend to corrupt laws/religion was quite a push down, but... Some situations ONLY work on certain people, and he was such person. I love the IRONY of his story where the people in power blamed and accursed Shabriri for the slander of the Nomads, however... was it HE who set the system that punished every "heretic" in motion to BEGIN with? :') It is not like they HAD to bury a whole nation underground instead of negotiating and getting to the bottom of the claims.

And I swear it has to be canon that these were his last words to the people who punished and banished him hahah. It feels much in character despite us not knowing enough about him :pensive:

Awareness of the fundamental unfairness of the system is something he is successfully transmitting on the people who get effected by the sickness he unleashed. Their scourched eyes are named Shabriri's Grapes, after all!

[local-fanfic-addict]

The Bad Ending

<Previous | Part Two.1 | Next>

(Destiny Forsaken angst. Can be read as a self-insert, but was written with an OC. Not an X reader.)

Inspiration: Guns for hire - Woodkid

Trigger warning - Suicidal thoughts, feelings of betrayal, unhealthy coping mechanisms, general angst.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Vanguard meeting had left Vlairyn-3 feeling… Empty and cold. Her Exo mind was still trying to fully process what had happened, all the new information she had learned from her last trip into Savathuns throne world. The Traveler had left The Fallen, The Eleksni, behind. Why wouldn’t it leave humanity? It had tried once before and failed thanks to Rasputin… But now it had another chance to run and hide. She had been right all along in her theory, and she absolutely hated it. She didn’t want to be right. If there was ever a time she wanted to be wrong, it was most certainly now. Was it even possible for an Exo to not fully process something? Her breath was staggered, she sounded almost out of breath. She knew that wasn't technically possible but there she was anyway. 

Numb.

With trembling hands, she removed her helmet, casting it aside with reckless abandon. Her eyes were glued to the ground as she took one aimless step after the other, her feet carrying her to an unknown destination as her circuits flooded with uncertainty. 

She started to run, run as fast as her legs would take her, run as fast as she had ever ran. Like running away would help at this point… There was nowhere to run to!

If Vlairyn had been human, the sudden collision with the railing of the wall would have knocked the wind out of her, but all she did was bend it a little, her hands clutching onto the cold metal with a vice-like grip, like if she let go she would fall apart. Her eyes slowly looked out over the city behind the wall, like looking out over the vast expanse would bring her a sense of calm to know it was all still there. The glowing lights shining like stars fallen to earth under the shadow of her once infallible creator. It couldn’t have been all for nothing… right? It couldn’t have been. The Traveler was like a god to her, she had followed its will since before the tower had even existed, she didn’t know anything else but now… Now she didn’t know at all. The Last City had been created with the help of the Traveler, surely it didn’t want to leave what it had created to the darkness? To leave the guardians helpless against the Witness? It couldn’t be that selfish… 

With trembling breath, the Exo lifted her head to look at the Traveler and her resolve immediately shattered, all the talking she had done to try and keep her faith strong was gone. She had nothing, and she felt nothing. Nothing but a horrible emptiness. A void where the warmth of faith should have resided. The cold clutch of darkness had curled its fingers around her heart. 

She leaned over the railing, her body shaking uncontrollably as she unleashed a long, anguished cry into the city below her feet. Her voice seemed amplified with its metallic filter as she spilled her soul and purpose out to be lost alongside her faith till only a shell of a guardian remained. She continued to scream in anger and hopelessness and to lament all the things she wished had happened until no sound came out at all and she was left clinging to the metal of the railing, shaking with strained sobs though no tears fell from her eyes. 

“Why us… Why me… Why Cayde, why Sundance, why Osiris, why the Hive?! Why did I have to be right, why are you so cruel, why did you lie, why did you pick us, why do you want to leave us, why why why why…”

The inner voice of her mind rose up to the endless sky and crowded out any rational thoughts, leaving only a buzzing in the ears as her own screams echoed faintly behind them. 

Vlairyn slumped from the railing onto her knees, stumbling back until her hands grasped for purchase at the gold embellished memorial plaque of the fallen hunter vanguard, her metal fingers feeling the raised image of Ace as if it would materialize in her hands and bring Cayde along with it, like everything would be better if only he were there to talk to her.

She sat in anguished silence for what seemed like several lifetimes before her face hardened as her jaw set with finality, feeling the cold prickles of ice being called to her fingertips. Her gaze reached up to the white orb as it seemed to be getting further and further away. 

“I’ll no longer be a pawn to any deity or paracausal being! Not you! Not The Darkness!” She yelled, hearing coolant rushing around her ears, roaring and echoing the same rage she had cried with. How she wished to be anything but a guardian of the light in that moment. 

Dead.

Death would be better, she thought, looking down towards the bottom of the wall so many hundreds of feet below her with the city resting at its base, so many people probably unaware of what had taken place in Zavala's office only minutes earlier… 

Too bad she was immortal. 

She wouldn’t kill her ghost, the one being she thought might understand her now.

“You’ll pay when these walls come tumbling down. And mark my words, they will.” Her voice was cold as she stood against The Traveler, feeling the cold grip of The Darkness finally setting in around her, all traces of warmth- of light- gone. 

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

tw: derealization/dissociation, suicide

mostly venting, but also looking for advice

the past few months have been really hard for me. i realized my favorite person was abusive and toxic and lost him and all but one of our friends, then got very suddenly got into a relationship with my remaining friend. while i was in that relationship for two months, my mental health kind of crashed really horribly and i had a lot of episodes of derealization and suicidal thoughts. i guess that was too much for my partner to handle though, because we broke up and she called me toxic for only reaching out to her when i was in crisis. which, idk what to think about that really, because i kinda get where she was coming from but she was also the only person i had.

and now i have no one but my brother, but its different with him because we dont really get vulnerable around each other and im older than him so i feel like i cant break down around him.

ive felt so incredibly lonely. i have no friends and im haunted by the feeling that its all my fault. that i ruined it and lost all my friends because im selfish. i feel so guilty.

along with that, ive been not really feeling like myself and hating who i am. i want to be a different person. i want to start over. i want to start over so badly and not even to just fix what i fucked up i just want to have a completely different life.

and i know its really bad and fucked up but i wish there was more wrong with me. i wish something bad would happen to me. i want a reason to give up and scream and sob. sometimes i even wish my dissociation was worse so at least i could escape or live in my own head or wherever the fuck just so i dont have to live my stupid life.

and i know its even worse but i think most of all i want something wrong with me so people will help me and give me the attention i want. and i know im selfish but i just want someone to be able to take care of me. i dont want to work anymore im already so tired. i just want to do nothing all day i want to lay down i want to sleep.

Hi anon,

I'm really sorry to hear about the difficult time you've been going through. It sounds like you've experienced multiple losses and have been struggling with your mental health, feelings of loneliness, and a desire for a fresh start.

It's understandable that you feel lonely after losing your favorite person and friends. It's important to remember that relationships can be complicated, and sometimes people may not have the capacity to support us in the way we need. It's not necessarily your fault that these relationships didn't work out, and it doesn't make you a bad person. Loneliness can be incredibly challenging, but there are steps you can take to help build new connections and find support.

When it comes to wanting to be a different person or have a different life, it's natural to feel that way during difficult times. However, it's important to remember that personal growth and change can happen without completely starting over. Exploring new interests, setting small achievable goals, and focusing on self-care can all contribute to a sense of renewal and positive change.

It's also important to address the thoughts you mentioned about wishing something bad would happen to you or wanting attention from others. These thoughts can be a sign that you're in need of some additional support and care. If you can access or afford it, a mental health professional such as a therapist can help you explore your emotions, process your experiences, and develop healthy coping strategies.

Please know that you're not alone, and there are people who care about your well-being. While it may feel tough right now, with time, support, and self-care, it's possible to find healing, create meaningful connections, and discover new possibilities in life. Remember to take things one step at a time and be gentle with yourself.

I hope I could help, and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun

[imaginaryhuman]

Forgiveness. We can't seem to quite be done.

And I always wonder why.

I know it's been beyond me all this time. I notoriously fail at making amends or anything of the sort. Like a spoiled kid, I've just put everything I don't like in some box and away from sight. Only to be unearthed when it knocks against all corners to tell me "Don't go there. Don't go there. Don't go there."

Where?

You can't tell me, can ya?

Just don't go there-- where the bridges burn or where you stand across yourself and your loneliness?

... but I can't.

Maybe it's because I can't forgive anyone for myself. Huh. Maybe that's the problem-- I've never forgiven anyone for myself. On that same note, I may be incapable of forgiving myself of anything. I'm not sad about it. It's probably a more painful point that I can withstand allowing something to fester this way. What a horrible person. Sure am, aren't I? Not in the way that potentially gets me the "beloved asshole" type of title but the kind of sinister that subconsciously makes babies cry or animals hiss. The type that would make anyone with decent instincts stay a few steps back or something not too close.

Reasonably so. Because if a situation needs selfishness, I'd take it. If a situation needs selflessness, I'd use it. Goodwill is a tool and it doesn't always have anything to do with a person being good or bad. Or I could be wrong. A kinder person may assimilate life lessons differently. But I had not been a kind child. My siblings can attest to that. I'm not sure I've learned to be a kind adult either. In the whole kindness and rightness argument, even if it doesn't make sense since they're not even opposites, I'd gag on the dick of righteousness as long as I stay safe, unhurt. The painless route. "Who wants to grow if it'll just feel like shit anyway?" says the proverbial bitterness of being just an inch above 5 ft. I can drown in a fucking kiddie pool. Says the wistfulness of my existence. Says the shallowness of my own goddamned heart.

"Forgive me for I have sinned"

Even if your emotional response to sin is really none of my business, sure, I will forgive you. Is that how it goes?

"Let it go for your peace of mind"

Ya darned well wish, don't ya? Can I get a hell to the no? Truly, if I want peace of mind I'd rage and hate you until the day (or night) I die. Isn't that just fantastic? Quite romantic too, no? In my world, the most pathetic cliche to exist is that in hatred exists a great love. Maybe that's what it is. Or maybe not. And here where for most people, I'd feel nothing but muted feelings (I can't... only for very few)-- I will be in awe of the flowers blooming on your future grave. I will slumber through the nightmares that wear your face. Not an ounce in my lifetime's reservoir of regret will be spent on any singular thought of you.

"What's there to forgive?" Everything. Nothing. Wait. Stay still, monumental and magnanimous in your patience. Just be still and wait... and wait... and wait. Exist nowhere near me but close to my heart. A horrible home for someone like you with its questionable chambers and a rhythm that you can never dance to. Wait. Stay still, monumental and magnanimous in your patience for me who will probably never forgive you. So wait and I'll be an old dog with no more tricks to learn.

It's neither right nor kind but who's to say it's wrong wrong wrong?

Sound the sirens and flash the lights. Lock it up-- arms to back and spiral down then up the steps to the gallows. Listen to the chants. Sway softly to the applause.

[prince-tulip]

Im so sorry for what I've done...im trying to be a better person, its just hard when all I want to do is fix everything ive ever broken. Trying to grow and understand these horrible illnesses, impairments or injuries, whatever life may throw at me. Its a journey im trying to bring to an end..i want a beautiful life..

The bitterness is something i still struggle with, maybe it plays into my life, more than i wanna admit, the guilt and shame i feel in those situations alone makes me want to die. The unrelenting feeling of emptiness topped with a conflicting sense of invalidation. God, it is so ugly to feel..disgusting completely. I am disgusted with myself. I have a need for filling roles for people that i feel obligated to fill, its about that shame. Its about not knowing how to let go what needs to be let go because you dont understand what letting go is. Its about not giving into nostalgia. Not seeking validation in something that can no longer give you that, not falling in to bad habits or abusing drugs, abusing alchohol, abusing, sex, porn, anger, depression, hate, impulsiveness, just things that hurt you..im trying to be clean..im trying to break free..theres a big picture im trying to paint, im focused on me and trying to just be good to others.

I can be alone, i can be who i need to be right now to find who i will be later. Im strong and steadfast. I love you, all of you, anyone who ever was there or will be. Past, present and future. Im coming to terms, one day.

The pain was real, its real. The realization of my wrongs are real, the achingly painful emptiness is real. I need to feel it and face it. Face the realization. The realization that i mirror othed people. That i don't give people boundaries or myself.

The realization of it all...how was i so detached, so careless...i can blame it on all i can but it doesn't mean i didn't do anything..doesn't take away from the false reality i was living in, that i didn't understand that it literally tore me apart, changed me to hurt loved ones, its as if i wanted to get to a point to where i was so crazy and so fucked up. Split personality, split reality, split fucking brain, filled with contradictions and fears, making any kind of decision is aweful, it makes me change as a person, like i will die or the worst possible event will happen, it is unrelenting. Theres so many ways that i didnt know how to function without living in destruction. Was it my bpd? Was it my autism? Was it my anxiety? Was it the cognitive distortion? Or was it whatever defense mechanisms i made up in my head?...why wasn't i a better person to people i truly love? Or am i just not a capable of living normally with normal relationships?

Im in deep pain and i can only try to be a better person from here..thats all i can do, there's not much time left. I could die tomorrow. Which i act scared in that regard but i also have always had a weird feeling of relief in the thought of dying instantly, anywhere or anyway, whatever time or place.

Selfish, i know. Its too easy right? If i always thought about how i deserve nothing but punishment then why would i wish to die? For that would just bring peace.

My brain almost undoubtedly would go "oh thank goodness now i don't have to make that phone call now" and laugh with a hint of irony. Nervous in way of course as well. For why shouldn't i be? For if there was a heaven or hell, I do not in the slightest know where i would go. Probably somewhere in between if i had to guess.

[bpdonni]

im falling apart and i dont know if i can fix it.

ive never felt worse in my life. ive been in the psych ward twice, but those times don't hold a candle to now.

i cant afford to live. i cant afford to die. my family can see that im struggling-the very ugly and worst parts of myself are on full blast. im hurting everyone, especially cedric. he's just trying to keep everything afloat, but im too busy in my own head to do what i need to in order to make up for it. most people who interact with me hate me. i always wondered why, but as i lay around in this ball ive been in all day, im realizing that everything i was put through was too much. it made me into a monster. im always mooching off my mom and brother but they hardly ever even message me anymore. my own fucking father hates me. my best friend in the world got tired of my shit. ive become tired of trying, so i only really try at the one thing that keeps me useful at all. the only thing that is keeping me alive, but killing me even more: work. i like my job! but its lonely because of the night shift, and that im too awkward to try to make any friends there.

my coping mechanisms are further dragging me down. ordering food when we can't afford it at all. hypersexuality. self-isolation. it's making me a selfish, horrible person. but was i ever not a shitty person? i don't think so. all i have to offer anymore is the money i make that very barely keeps us afloat. and i keep going to the train station, but i just... can't end it. i want to. but i can't bring myself to do it. whether it's because of the stop being crowded, or chickening out, or realizing me dying won't actually lessen the load on my family... i know this last point to be true in theory, but what good am i doing here? i dont have the energy to be the parent i need to be. I SHOULDN'T HAVE TO BE A PARENT I LOVE THEM I SHOULDN'T FEEL LIKE THIS BUT WHY DID THEY DO THIS TO ME WHY THE DUCK AN I THE ONE PICKING UP THE PIECES IM BIPOLAR AND BPD IM DOOMED BY THE MOTHERFUCKING NARRATIVE WHY ME WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY WHY IM DESTINED TO KILL MYSELF IM NOT GONNA LIVE PAST 30 SO WHY AM I THE FUCKING ONE WHO HAS TO DO THIS WHY COULDN'T THEY STAY OFF METH WHY DO THEY REFUSE TO LOVE ME- ah i can't blame them on that last part i hate me too. that's in large part their fault. and the part of my life that i cling to, the one thing i know for certain: my queerness. i love it but why couldn't it be something that you know people liked? so many people voted for donald fucking trump so they could see people like me kill themselves for their comfort? why do i need to be the bigger person and deal with it? i can barely think of anything else besides death, WHY? my baby polar bear. it occurred to me that i think she was actually only 10 or 11. what did i do wrong? i know the answer to that. couldn't afford to take her to the vet when i KNEW something was wrong? now instead of paying back the vet, im drowning in the costs to cremate her. god, i cant get her face out of my mind. i tried to close her eyes, her mouth, but rigor mortis had set in too much. i could smell the death on her not quite breath. i took the responsibility of making sure the kids and my partners didn't have to see that. i wish she hadn't been alone. i wish that i had checked her cage as soon as i came home. god, the smell of death is one that you never forget. i can still smell it now. from when i saw the decapitated corpse and her sloughing skin, to boo boo... this is the most raw look of death ive ever seen, two instances in the past couple of months. it's gross, it's ugly, it's scary. so why do i want to be dead so bad? why do i want to do this to everyone i love? why can't people see that im in complete fucking ruin? it's starting to become pretty apparent now, but still. i can't really... get this out. because if i tell anyone the extent, my trips to the train station, typing my legal information in my phone when i forgot to bring my id, because i was so sure that time that i was going to do it. ive also been staring longingly out the window of the 7th floor at work, thinking about taking the elevator to the 10th floor and jumping. it'd be a nice view before i go at least. i could also take all the pills in the house (except the others prescriptions.) weve got all these huge bottles of tylenol- talked to my husband. theyre making me a grilled cheese.

[rhielizabethj]

Am I toxic by admitting that maybe I made a mistake?

Do I enjoy the toxic rollercoaster? I’m so confused and these thoughts are consuming my day to day life. I want to take it all back, I want to tell you I’ve made a horrible mistake. You’re the one I want to be with, but I’m so scared to look like a fool again. I’m so scared that it will go back to how it used to be. I’m scared nothing will change and that I’m just setting myself up for my heartbreak and trauma.

Is that what feels like to slowly start going crazy? I’m trying so hard to do all the right things. I’m going to therapy every two weeks, I’m reading again, I’ve just recently purchased a membership to the gym. I’m trying so hard to heal, to move on, let things go. Yet here I am spending my days missing you, regretting ever leaving you. I feel like I must be going crazy. I know better than to cave when there’s been no change or growth. Why is it so hard to move on?

I don’t even know how you’re feeling, we’ve become almost like strangers and it makes me really sad to think about. I don’t know where your head is at or how you feel about me. I know you are on dating apps again and I know that it’s easier to move on to something new, easy. You’d be able to have someone who hasn’t seen your worst, or bad behaviour they’d be your personal cheerleader filling the spot that use to be mine. I’d hope that in 2 months you still care, you still wish we were together. Why am I doing this to myself? I feel like a sad pathetic washed up version of the woman I use to be.

I wish in moments like these I had a normal brain. A brain that would realize that the way you treated me was wrong. That it would realize that maybe this needed to happen. But my heart is aching to be back in your arms. I catch myself abruptly crying at work, or when the kids have gone to bed. I stop myself from wanting to call you or message you. Exciting things that have happened I’ve had to force myself to not think of you. Why can’t this just be fucking easier?

Does this all mean that I did make a mistake or is this a normal feeling to feel during a break up? Do you feel like this? All these questions that I’ll probably never get the answer to.

I treated my children’s father badly, I had moments where I wasn’t the nicest. I let that relationship fall apart because I was too selfish to realize my patterns, to realize I was destroying my family and relationship. Sometimes I think maybe that’s why I allowed you to treat me badly. Maybe I thought I deserved your treatment because of how I treated Daniel. The more thought I put into this is realizing I think I thought shitty treatment was all I deserved because it was a bad girlfriend to him. I made mistakes, mistakes I wish I could take back, but I’ve made peace with it. I realize it was a hard lesson I had to learn. I realized it doesn’t matter that I was going through untreated postpartum depression, it doesn’t matter if his family hated me, it doesn’t matter if my addiction was at its worst. It doesn’t matter because it shouldn’t be hard to treat someone with love and compassion, with grace and kindness. We all have past, trauma, hurt and pain but it doesn’t allow us to treat others so terribly.

I’m trying, and I’ll keep trying day by day to heal, to get to a good place where I love myself again, and forgive myself for not putting myself first.

I think there will always be a big part of me that thinks I made a mistake. That I should have fought harder, that maybe all you needed was time. Maybe I should have vocalized my feelings rather than being scared to make you angry. I guess at this point it’s just something I’m going to have to live with, I made this bed, I guess it’s time to lie in it.

[goremet-chef]

trying to control my emotions is so difficult man, like i can be honest with myself and lay out the whole truth, but that little voice inside me will always be like "okay, but what if we dont know the whole truth? what if something happened we dont know about and our fear is completely warranted?"

its sad because its not like.. the 'little voice' isnt an alter or something, its just ME. i bring myself so much misery, i feel so ashamed. i cant believe im our host. i bring all of us down, and im not even being dramatic or anything, i genuinely do. im selfish, and my method of coping with reality is to LEAVE it, when someone else fronts im biting my lip waiting to crawl back into front and take me out of here. i stop our social alters from even ATTEMPTING to be social because im too scared of the consequences (even if its just part of life, it rips my soul apart to be rejected, im so tired of being seen as weird)

its honestly kind of impressive, but despite all this fear that ties me down to the floor, i cant i CAN NOT ask if somethings wrong

i cant do it, because thats admitting defeat. thats me saying 'yeah ill be honest im sure nothing has happened on your end, but ive been drowning myself in anxiety and i need validation that my fear is for nothing like how you probably think it is'

i cant keep doing that. i hate being such a piece of work!!!! its never simple with me, everythings always fine until it literally isnt. ive convinced myself my friends, my closest bestest best besties, ALL hate me and ive been so depressed only for them to act completely normal and then i realize oh actually they dont and i was sad for nothing :] okay!

like. i just.

the last time i was ever open about how i was feeling, was when i was in contact with my groomer. i loved him i think, and i felt like i should be open with him, because he was my FP and the amount of crying i did every day was so pathetic

that was when i learned i had bpd and thats why i acted the way i did, and so i tried to be more open about it because i heard that i should and it would be good for my relationships, but all it did was make him tired with me, tired that i was constantly scared and asking if he still liked me

that was a bad time for me, i cant ignore that. being in constant contact with him was basically just giving me trauma every single day. my system was SO active trying to manage the stress, it was bad. i cant just blame myself for how i was acting, because it was a terrible horrible situation that i dont wish on anyone else, but man i wish i did things different

but like?? its like no matter the option i pick, its still the same!!! different outcome but shitty nonetheless

do i open up and tell the people i love that oh actually im really scared and im constantly afraid you dont love me anymore? or do i just. sit with the pain.

if i tell them, best case they tell me 'no dom, we still love you' and thats that, worst case they get annoyed with me, they see me as too much to handle, they pity me because something is clearly wrong with me

if i dont, then i do exactly what i do now, which is just wallowing in self hate and loneliness for 3 whole days, waiting for something thats not gonna happen because i havent fucking COMMUNICATED that i want it

i think technically, being open is the way to go. if i hadnt been stuck in such a shitty situation with a person like BRIAN then i wouldve probably seen better outcome. im open that i have BPD, so people should be aware what theyre getting into. if they stay despite knowing, they care about me, i know this is true. a lot of people book it once they hear you have any sort of cluster-b personality disorder because they immediately assume yr some kind of abuser, so this already is a good thing that i have people open enough to not immediately classify me as one and run

i just get scared like. what if i ask if somethings wrong and something IS wrong?? what if its my fault? id be so ashamed in myself. i dont have enough experience in human interaction to know how to fully like. handle that situation, the unknown outcome is what scares me the most

[sh1tido4you]

I havent written in like a year. Not like anyone actually cared or anything but i mean nobody even reads what i write. So this is all really just a waste of time. But i wanna talk to people. I want to feel heard, sometimes i dream of getting on stage and scream the words thats been wrapped around my neck for a long long time. But at the same time, i dont wanna be pitied. I hate the faces people make when they pity u it just makes u feel even more pathetic than u actually are. I just want to get this out of my chest u know? Ive really been struggling. I struggled my way out through my childhood. I was molested by my own family, i dated men thrice my age in primary school. I was abused, physically and mentally for years and at the same time taking care of my sister. I grew up poor. I grew up with no money but we had enough to live. Every day i wake up i think of ways to escape home, i didnt even have anyone to turn to. It got so bad i started self harming. I wanted to die so bad that i prayed for it, and gosh i still do. Im not a good person. Ive done some really bad things, people find me bad and theyre right. I keep telling myself that im a person of good heart but i know my evil my demons know me. Theyre apart of me and they will always be. Im not pretty. Im not strong, im not smart. I dont have a hot body, my hair is thin. My family is broken, and im very poor. Dont get me wrong im grateful for what i have but the truth is there im just unlucky in so many aspects of life. Ive had uncountable amount of exes in the past and to be frank i still dont know why. I have an amazing boyfriend, this year it'll be our 4th anniversary. Yeah, longest relationship ive been in. Hes from a beautiful family, financially stable parents and good relationship with his siblings. He has a big no huge family and he is really lovely. I dont know what seems to be the problem but i am starting to be unhappy. I feel like he is going to abandon me some day and no matter how hard i try to convince myself otherwise, deep down i know it'll happen. And the worst part is that he should. Hes amazing and im nothing good, in a disgrace, im a girl destined to always fail. Ive failed at everything but please, i dont wanna fail at love. Love is extraordinary, its something i genuinely feel so much with great force its my strength. I am full of it but i deserve none because im a horrible person inside and out. But we all crave for something we dont deserve right? Hes been making me feel like shit lately and i know he didnt mean that but i can feel him slowly fading out of my life and im so scared of getting abandoned again especially not him. I feel my safest when im with him in fact hes the only person i can really, truly count on. So im scared like hell. Damn it denver please dont run away. Im sorry im so selfish but i cant live like this anymore. I dont want to go through my shit for my entire life alone. My parents they dont get it. They think the that the main reason to my unending problems is because i dont pray enough. They think that the only solution to all my problems is simply just pray them all away. I wish it was that simple. They dont know how i kneeled down, sobbing and praying that God will end this all away. In the toilet, at 3 am with blood dripping down my arm. Its just too hurtful that i started to pray to just die. If He doesnt want me to stop suffering then He can just end me its that easy. God why do u hate me? Why cant i feel light like the other children? Why do i always have to be strong, isnt this enough? Havent i suffered enough? What more are u trying to prove? Until when? Im just so tired. Theres so many responsibilities i have to take as i get older, the amends i have to make with people that i dont want to have in my life just for the sake of being a good person. I want to live freely and happy and loved and safe. But then again, we all crave for something we dont deserve right?

[starbornsinger]

Elriel/Gwynriel/Elucien Theory Time :)

Ok so in regards to the Az POV chapter, I have some thoughts. This is super long and detailed and also tearing down ships, so uh, beware.

⚠️ACOSF spoilers (duh)⚠️

So I was re-reading the thing and as I was reading the conversation between Az and Rhys, it kind of hit me. I used to be an Elriel shipper until ACOSF, and I was really all for it.

But I don't think they're in love.

See, earlier in the chapter, Az is thinking about how jealous he is of the other couples. We know he isn't very lucky in love, and seeing Elain and her mate and their mating bond upsets him. I think he fancies Elain because she's beautiful and sweet, but I don't think he's in love with her. I think she's another thing he can't have, and he feels frustrated and it only makes him want her more. Because he thinks, why shouldn't he have her? Why is the Mother so cruel as to deny him love? And he thinks, "well all my other brothers have Archeron mates, why don't I? It must be a mistake!"

I think what Azriel's biggest issue is though, is that he wants love so bad, he's willing to risk it all for the first girl he feels attraction too. It also feels relevant that the primary thing we see in his POV is his physical attraction to her, his sexual attraction. We don't see much of how he thinks she's so sweet or so clever or so gentle, but instead how nice her tits are and how badly he wants to kiss and fuck her. I think he doesn't particularly want Elain, and while he likes her, I think what he really wants is love. True love, just like his brothers and friends. He thinks the Mother must be wrong because they both got Archeron sisters while he didn't, and his attraction to Elain makes him wish they were Mates so he could finally have that true love that's entirely his own.

But she's not. And he can't. I think what Azriel wants most isn't Elain. He wants her sexually, and he admires her and has a crush on her, but the thing he focuses on and gives him the most emotion is that she has a Mate and he doesn't, and that everyone does but him. I think he wants someone like Elain and wants to feel happy, but I think he doesn't exactly want Elain. When he thinks of her, he doesn't seem to be truly in love as we've seen other SJM couples are. And sure, it's early, but it's also been like— 2 years. I don't think they're in love sadly, I think Azriel just wants to move on from Mor and finally find love. He has a type, and when he found someone who loosely fit into the mold of his ideal partner, he jumped at it because he's desperate to have someone love him. All his life, he's struggled with self-love and love from others, and I think that it's deeply affected his relationship with love itself.

Physical attraction and desire and interest isn't love. And the idea of her being mated already only makes him mad— that of course the first girl he likes for the first time in 500 years, of course the girl that could help him move on from Mor, is mated. I think that only makes him feel more passionate towards her; and Rhys notes how he seems to think he has a claim to her, when he doesn't. It makes Az angry, not because Rhysand thinks he's being possessive and reckless, but because it's true. He genuinely can't have her.

As for Elain, I think she's far too hesitant to be with him. She reminds me of Daisy in The Great Gatsby, and how she claims to love Jay but she won't leave Tom, or jilt him. Now this is a different situation, because Daisy was selfish and didn't want to give up her comforts and stability and fame. Elain, on the other hand, doesn't seem ready to have a serious relationship with Az. I think she is still severely affected by Graysen's rejection, and is still clearly not over him. I don't think she's ready to accept Az fully and be with him, and I also don't think she's ready to reject her mating bond with Lucien.

I don't know 100% what's going on with Elain, but what I do know is that clearly she is intrigued by Lucien in some capacity. Ok Elriel shippers, don't come for me, but there are several scenes in which Elain seems to want to talk to Lucien, or whatever the heck. But also seems disinterested, like when she dismisses his Solstice gifts and doesn't speak to him.

However, I don't think she's resentful towards him exactly, or at least that isn't the main reason she's like this. While we know he was helping Tamlin lowkey, Feyre and the IC all understood he was on their side, and was their friend. So it seems kind of odd to still bear a grudge against him, but who knows.

But funnily enough, she has yet to reject their mating bond. If she's so disinterested, or hates him so much, why hasn't she turned him down? Mother, she's barely spoken to him at all. I think the obvious reason behind her disdain or distancing from Lucien is her connection to Graysen and her human life. Of all the sisters, Elain has not yet adapted to or accepted that she is Fae— or if she has, she's sure as hell not happy about it. Even Nesta in ACOSF mentioned how she actually likes her ears now, and we know Feyre has totally accepted being Fae. But with Elain, she had the most human connected life of them all, and to have it taken away from her is shitty.

For Elain, her happiness seems to come from a love of gardening, of family, of people. She has very little human things to hold onto, and adding a Mating bond to the mix right as she's made Fae is like she's had all her humanity stripped. She doesn't hate Lucien, she hates the bond. She dislikes that it's chained her to someone and taken away her choices, which we know is a big deal for the sisters after being imprisoned, kidnapped, and Made. I think Elriel is an infatuation, because even though she doesn't love Az, he's helping her rebound from Graysen (and giving her control and power over her love life). He's a choice she (can't really) make, but a choice nonetheless. With Lucien, she feels she has no choice with him, and no control over her obvious attraction I say obvious because mates have a primal attraction of some level to each other , and is probably afraid that accepting the Mating bond will remove any last connections she has to who she used to be, and the human she feels she really is.

But she also hasn't rejected it, because I think she realizes that Lucien is a genuine and kind and hot guy, and that rejecting him would be a stupid idea. He's been very patient and very kind and accepting, and has always given her the freedom of choice when it comes to the bond. I think Lucien is the kind of guy that would be very easy to fall in love with, and I think Elain sees that and knows it.

Also, I think with ACOSF, it feels relevant that Cassian pointed out specifically how Elain looked beautiful in black at the ball, but it looked horribly wrong on her. With SJM the devil is always in the details, and I think it was a clearly accentuated bit of symbolism. Although Elain looks beautiful, the black dress wasn't for her. And although Elriel is very sweet, it won't work out. She won't thrive in the Night Court, or with Azriel. Az doesn't challenge her or meet her as an equal (like all other SJM ships), and they don't push each other to be better or to accept themselves or whatever etc etc.

And I really used to like Elriel, but I think that surprisingly, Elain will be the one who says "stop, I can't do this" to Az. I think she knows she isn't ready, and I think she knows they aren't meant to be. Even if a Mating bond was put in place between her and Lucien, I still think their relationship wouldn't work because they're both too insecure, too closed off, too non-communicative, and too stagnant together to be a healthy or good match. I think with Elain they would struggle to understand each other even if they were fond of each other and can relate on some level, but at its rawest form I think they won't truly be able to be themselves with each other.

With Elain, Azriel's shadows— a key part of him— disappear. While I initially thought, awww that's so cute, she's a light in his life, I soon realized I was wrong. Az's shadows are not just a part of him, they're an extension of him, of his will and subconscious and emotions. So Elain chasing them away, while chasing away the shadows and darkness seems cute, isn't a good thing. Most of the time with shadows, we think "ew bad!" Because they have an inherent connotation of negativity or sorrow or depression or darkness etc etc. And while this is partially true, Azriel's shadows and darkness are a part of him. His sadness and struggles are a part of him. And his shadows aren't just representative of that, they're also a representation of how he overcame his abuse and turned that fire (pun unintended) and anger and trauma into something beautiful and powerful and a weapon. I think they can serve as an armor and a shield, and while that's not good, I also don't think they should fully disappear.

More on that: with Azriel's shadows, we know they're a part of him, right? So I think an important part of self is self-regulation. Rather than be consumed entirely by shadow, or totally exposed to the light, I think he just needs his shadows to be calm and present, but not controlling or hiding. I think the whole "Elain bringing him out of the shadows" bit sounds cute at first, but then you have to think of it like this. In order to be with Elain, he would have to change. He couldn't be a spy or a shadowsinger or a torturer, and he couldn't be dark and introverted. With her, he has to push that aside. Those are key parts of him, key parts that would have a big impact on their relationship. Elain can't be with someone with so much blood on their hands or a history of violence or darkness. We know that, because we know that sort of thing upsets her and she doesn't like it.

Azriel can't just be himself with her, he has to become someone else. And while he's attracted enough to not care, after awhile, that grows exhausting. Being in love and not being your true self, all of it, is exhausting. And while some might argue "why can't he be his true self?!" well my slime, I think we both know that even if we wanted him to, Elain would be silently resigned about it. I don't think— no, I know— Elain can't be with someone like Azriel. Even if they have feelings, even if they have lust or affection, it isn't love. They aren't in love, and they won't work out no matter how much we want it to.

Onto Elain: with Elain, this all ties back to what Cassian said in Hewn City. She looks beautiful in black, but it's wholly wrong for her. The Night Court is wrong for her, and darkness is wrong for her. While some yin-yang relationship tropes can work very well, I don't think this will. She doesn't like the darkness or accept it, and she doesn't want to be a part of it. I think the Night Court is good and happy for her when she makes her own little garden world, and only then, really. It's like living in the middle of the desert and only thinking of the beach: it's not the right place for her.

I think the Spring Court needs her, and I think she needs it. Here's more on that.

So we've seen the set up and execution of the fall of the Spring Court. We know that it's in shambles and is weak and needs a new/better leader than Tampon. I feel like SJM is setting things up for a new book focused in the Spring Court, because in a lot of ways, it's becoming the centerpiece for action in Prythian (aside from the Night Court). I genuinely believe that as Tamlin's second, Lucien will take over the Spring Court as High Lord. He doesn't fit in with Autumn, didn't fit in with Night, and wasn't really a part of Spring. But with Spring, it was where he was happy, where he felt safe, and the home he chose. Chosen homes and chosen families are a big deal for SJM, and I think that Lucien will return to the Spring Court to try and help it, because Mother knows it needs it. I think Elain belongs there, not only because she needs to be in an environment suited to her, but because she needs to heal.

We've seen a theme of helping others heal in order to heal ourselves, and I think a good book idea (and what I think an Elain book would be about), is healing the Spring Court and helping it. Elain is a gardener. She wants to see things grow and blossom, wants to get her hands dirty and dig in! But she can't do that in the NC. I think she needs something new and fresh and blossoming that she can help and tend to, and I think the person that can be at her side for that is Lucien. I think with Azriel, she can't see growth and life and flowers. He's a different kind of person, far too different, and the two wouldn't mesh well. Elain isn't like Persephone and Azriel isn't like Hades; although she's flowers and he's death and they're attracted to each other, they don't fully accept those roles and cross into each other's. Elain could never be a killer or someone who wears black or thrives in a darker place, and Azriel couldn't be someone who is in the full heat of the light and wear bright colors and be cheerful and flowery. In a dream world, yes, but I think in this one, no. SJM loves to create realistic relationships and realistic relationship conflict, and I think we'll see this here. Even though they want it to work, and in theory it should, it won't. I think they know it too. Azriel's shadows vanish when she's around, and Elain struggles to feel comfortable in the darkness and Night Court, and fit in with the others in the black dress that is wholly un-Elain.

I also think that this relationship doesn't bring development to the table. The forbidden love concept is adorable and a trope I love, but this love isn't one that will push them to grow. Azriel can feel loved and happy, but can he feel fully accepted? Can he stop being ashamed of his shadows, of his violence? Of who he is? Can Elain break out of her shelf and be more assertive, and truly grow and change? Can she be herself and be happy? The answer is a sad no. Their relationship is sweet and cute, but it won't truly work. I genuinely believe Lucien is a better match for Elain, and while the Cauldron isn't always right (like Rhysand's parents), it usually is. If he isn't, then I'm all for independent Elain.

Now onto the moment you've all been waiting for: who should Az be with?

Gwyn. :)

[puppy-phum]

Atlas: Enneagram + DMBJ Characters (3/?) ↳ Type Two: Zhang Qiling

"If something’s wrong you can count on me. You know I’ll take my heart clean apart, if it helps yours beat." x

@creatorsevents Recreate Your Creation: My old Enneagram + The Untamed -series x

for a person like zhang qiling who even himself doesn't know who he is, choosing a type was almost impossible. the laws of "typical humans" don't really apply to him, so to speak. but type two still seemed to fit the most as it describes the version of zhang qiling we see once he's allowed to be and do what he wants, mostly after the iron triangle has already retired.

type twos are decribed as caring, self-sacrificing and generous ppl. despite zhang qiling's various memory losses and ppl using him in his vulnerable state, he has not turned into complete stone. he saves those he considers innocent, tho he also lets go of those he doesn't see necessary to save. deep inside he is a caring person who will sacrifice for those he considers his. his ten years behind the bronze gate are a testimony of that.

in this sense, zhang qiling also has the bad tendencies of type twos as he often forgets about his own needs while focusing on others. as he hasn't been allowed to express his own wants and needs in his life, ignoring them has become easy. disconnecting from himself, he regards himself inhuman and a monster, which seem to connect to what is seen as type two's deepest fear – being unworthy of love:

"They [twos] believe they must always put others first and be loving and unselfish if they want to get love."

zhang qiling might not have been taken care of in his life but he still has this wish of being loved deep inside of him. his wish to not disappear even when his memories do seem to speak of this old fear. meanwhile, he is ready to hurt himself to protect those he doesn't want to be affected by his unnatural life.

zhang qiling's precense is, despite of this, a great comfort and inspiration to others:

"They [twos] enliven others with their appreciation and attention, helping people to see positive qualities in themselves that they had not previously recognized."

i feel like this decribes the relationship zhang qiling has with wu xie. it is also what zhang qiling means to pangzi as pangzi always trusts xiaoge's presence when in need, and it can be considered something that makes liu sang see zhang qiling as his idol despite not knowing him.

when it comes to the levels of development for type twos, it's hard to say anything as zhang qiling hasn't been able to cumulate all of his life experiences and change accordingly. i mostly pick up traits from the best levels as he shows empathy, care and generosity towards ppl he sees as important. he has not learned to take care of himself but i cannot recognize the manipulative, people-pleasing and selfish traits described on the lower levels for twos. he will not force ppl into loving him or feel bitter about their distance as he is most likely going to outlive them all and should stay in his solitude for their sake. is it altruism or his simple wish to redeem himself when he comes to help others either way?

when considering other types, i see some aspects of six and five in him. six is present in his sense of loyalty, five in his curiosity – tho i ponder if that curiosity exists simply as a wish to know or if it's just his desperation to learn what his past was like. another type i consider close to zhang qiling is type one with its selfcontrol and sense of purpose (tho, once again, i ponder if this is simply him speaking or the ancient duty installed to him). his wing i would put in type one too, naming him "servant".

what i consider his other half tho, is type four. type fours are invidualistic, honest, sometimes moody, and isolate themselves very often as they think that others don't understand them. they place a lot of weight on discovering who they are, and even if this is also tied to zhang qiling's horrible duty and what it has done to him, it's also the force that drives him forward. zhang qiling even has his "one connection to the world" to work as the miraculous rescuer fours often seek while trying to figure out what they hold inside of themselves. he wants to know who he is and be content with it.

[sunflowervolvimp3]

you’re someone i just want around: VII

Sunflower, my eyes

Want you more than a melody

Let me inside

Wish I could get to know you

Sunflower Vol. 6, Harry Styles

A/N: okay so this part was so much fun to write!! it originally was going to have four more scenes but uh. as we all know. i am very wordy. so the other scenes I have planned will have to be split into what will probably become two more parts and you guys will just have to deal with getting another two chapters 😌 but this part is really exciting because we are getting a lil bit of angst mixed in with harry’s general dumbassery!! love to see it love to hear it!! and please if you like what you are reading here!! reblog it!! leave reactions in the tags (we read every single one)!! send a message to andrea and i!! feedback and interaction is what keeps content creators motivated to keep cranking out nearly 30k every one to two weeks!! and that’s a general rule for all content creators not just us!! we do this for free so a lil love note is always appreciated 💌 alrighty now that that’s out of the way!! let’s dive in!!

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

word count: 26.6k

content/warnings: another good dose of denial, Fajita Friday with a side of blended margs, waking up on the wrong side of the coffin, brutal analysis of niall’s non-existent love life, ribeye!y/n x rotisseriechicken!harry, a horrible impersonation of Bob Barker, “are you there, God?  it’s me, harry,” degradation, the violation of worksafe laws through the improper use of a ladder, mild pain kink, alexa, play ‘kiss it better’ by rihanna, and the rise of kinkrry (dir. j.j. abrams)

As Harry climbs up the stairs to Y/N’s apartment the next Friday night with a bag containing tequila, orange liqueur, and limes clutched within his jeweled hand, there are two thoughts flickering through his mind.  

The first, which weighs more heavily on the vampire, is if Y/N prefers her margaritas blended or over ice, as Harry feels that tells a lot about a person, and it would be such a disappointment to realize now that Y/N isn’t a fan of the blended beverage.  The second, which should weigh more heavily on his mind if he had his priorities sorted out, is how Y/N had managed to convince him to let her cook dinner for the two of them.

In reality, it hadn’t actually taken much convincing on the mortal girl’s part at all.  When she messaged him on her lunch break earlier that day, asking what he was up to that night, Harry had sat up on his couch, drawing Niall and Xander’s attention to him in a confused manner. He’d stared at the message for only three seconds before opening his phone and pressing on her contact name.  The action had come so easily to him that he didn’t even think about hiding his eagerness to speak to her, and instead pressed his phone tight to his ear as the other line rang three times before she picked it up.

“Harry?” Her confused voice rang through his phone speaker, the sound of the bustling cafe apparent in the background. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, love. I just, uh…just wanted to talk to you, s’all.” Harry had replied, shushing the questions he could see hanging off of Niall and Xander’s lips. “How’s work today?  Busy?”

“As busy as it always is on a Friday afternoon.” Y/N answered with a sigh, and a small smile tugged at the corner of Harry’s lips as he heard a loud slurp through the phone, leading him to picture a stressed out Y/N sipping the last remnants of her iced latte. “But I’m over halfway through my shift, at least, so… it’s all downhill from here.  In a good way.”

Harry had nodded slowly, as if the mortal girl could see him through the phone. “I’m glad to hear that.”

His friends, however, seemed to be less glad to hear it, and paused the golf tournament that was playing on TV to stare at him with incredulous expressions on their faces. 

“Who are you talking to?” Niall had demanded, kicking his foot into Harry’s calf with more force than what was necessary. “We’re going to miss the first swing!”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Xander snickered to the Irishman next to him, a devious smirk lighting up his face. “It’s that human he’s been obsessed with for the last, like, two months.  His little plaything.”

Harry had stood up then, flipping the pair off with a pointed glare before turning towards the kitchen, intent on finding some peace and quiet where he could carry on his conversation without having to worry about Y/N overhearing something she shouldn’t.

“I don’t want to take up too much of your break,” He murmured, resting his elbows over the cool marble countertop of his kitchen island that was nearly the same temperature of his skin. “But calling you seemed easier than texting.  I’m free tonight—” He always kept his Friday nights free for her; had she not realized that by now? “So I was thinking I could be at your place around eight?  Or nine?  What works for you?”

And it was then that he had heard it, breaking through the cafe ambient noise that caught Harry’s inhuman ears, and the inquisitive whispering of Niall and Xander in the other room.  As clear as if it were really right in his ear, Harry had heard the sharp intake of breath, the slow exhale that followed, and the melodic voice that he’d become so familiar with, shaking ever so slightly.

“I was, um, actually thinking you could come over a bit earlier.” Y/N had replied, the tapping of her fingertips against her back room’s linoleum table reverberating around Harry’s head. “I got groceries yesterday, and I was going to make fajitas tonight, and I realized I had enough food for two people, and so if you don’t have anything else planned—”

Harry hadn’t meant to cut Y/N off— listening to her nervous rambling is one of his favourite things, and he’d never purposefully forfeit the opportunity to hear it (and that fondness aside, cutting off her speech would be rude)— but shock overtook his body and triggered the response before he could stop it. “You want to cook me dinner?”

“I—” The speaker crackled again, and Harry could practically picture the hesitation wrinkling across Y/N’s face, the caution in her tone a clear indication of how hard she was working to stay upright on the tense tightrope known as their relationship. “Yeah, I do.  I’m not a chef or anything, but my friends and I used to cook for each other all the time, and Fajita Fridays were one of my specialties, so—”

“I would absolutely love it if you cooked for me.” A slow grin had spread over Harry’s face, pulling the dimples from his cheeks in a way that he’d recently noticed only she could. “What time should I be over?  Do you want me to pick you up from work?”

“No, that’s fine.” Y/N had assured him quickly, the breathlessness in her voice leading Harry to picture the light rush of heat that was probably working its way over her cheeks. “You can come over around six, if that works for you…?”

Harry had checked the Rolex hanging off his wrist, which displayed the time of 2:33PM back to him. “Six is perfect.” He’d replied with an airy yet firm voice, nodding to himself once again. “Can I bring anything?  Is there anything you need me to pick up?”

“Oh, uh...no.  No, you don’t need to bring anything.  Just your appetite; I make a lot of fajitas.” The surprise that echoed in Y/N’s voice and the small laugh that followed had drawn an pleasurable ache from Harry’s dormant chest in a way he couldn’t explain. “Thank you for asking, though.  So… I’ll see you at six, then.”

“Sounds good, love.  I’m looking forward to it.” Harry had smiled again, despite no one being around to view it, and continued to smile even after he had hung up and made his way back to the living room, where his two friends had greeted him with an array of exaggerated vulgar motions and kissy faces.

He had waved them off, and though he’d glowered at them hotly and shrugged off their prodding questions, he couldn’t find it in himself to stifle the grin that the human girl’s offer had left behind on his cheeks.  She wanted to make him dinner. Just the two of them. It’d been so long since anyone had gone so out of their way for him like that, he hadn’t been able to help his giddy reaction.

As he reaches the final stair leading to Y/N’s floor of her building, a tired sigh falls from Harry’s pink lips.  He should’ve known better than to call her with his friend present, he thinks, as his footsteps echo around the empty hallway.  The moment he’d plopped back down on his couch, Niall and Xander had ignored his dismissive attitude and proceeded to continue to bombard him with a million questions about her, and a million more digs at his ego when he had later excused himself from their tournament to get ready for the dinner.  Although he’d normally be able to ignore their obsessive inquiries without so much as a second thought, he’d berated himself throughout his entire shower and get-ready routine, the harsh judgement ever-present in the back of his skull as he’d picked up his favourite ingredients for margaritas from the grocery store.  He should’ve known better.

It’s bad enough that he’s toying around with Y/N’s feelings just for his own selfish needs, but every time the topic of Y/N came up around his friends, it ended with the exact same question, just as it had earlier that day.

“So when do we get to meet her?  Like, officially meet her, and not just hear her moaning through your wall.” Niall had asked as he took a sip of his Guinness beer, layering a childish snicker on top of his curiosity.

“Yeah, I’d love to see the girl that domesticated you.  Always thought she’d be fictional, actually.” Xander’s laugh had matched Niall’s as the two of them watched Harry slip a fresh t-shirt over his head. 

A tightness had developed in Harry’s chest then, so tense that it had nearly stopped him from smoothing the shirt over his inked chest. “You don’t get to meet her.” He had replied curtly, shooting the two vampires a stern look. “She’s not something for you two to gawk at, she’s—”

Niall had interjected then, the mirth in his eyes refusing to bow despite Harry’s seething. “Your girlfriend?” 

Harry had stared witheringly at the Irish immortal. “No.  She’s not my girlfriend.  She’s just a friend I have an arrangement with.  An arrangement that will become much more complicated if she starts hanging out with other vampires and notices that there’s something… off about us.”

“Off?” Niall had questioned, grinning cheekily with a flash of his fangs, his blue irises dying blood red. “I have no idea what you’re referring to, mate.”

Pausing in front of Y/N’s front door, Harry takes a moment to swipe his hair back from his face, tousling his curls until they fall into just the right place.  His chestnut locks are beginning to get a little long again (they curl around his ears and tickle the nape of his neck now), but he can’t quite bring himself to cut them just yet; Y/N has a habit of reaching for them whenever he goes down on her, and the sensation of her tugging on his hair is too satisfying to let go of so easily.  As for the rest of his look, Harry has opted to keep it casual tonight, wearing a blue and pink flamingo patterned button down over his Chicago Cubs t-shirt, paired with a rust-coloured pair of corduroy pants and his white vans.  If their usual routine is any indication, then Harry will be staying the night, and he’s learned over the years that it’s much comfier to leave the next morning in loose clothes than trying to yank on a pair of tight leather pants in a stranger’s bedroom.  Not that Y/N is a stranger; in fact, he could probably get away with bringing an overnight bag now.  But there’s something so presumptuous in showing up to a dinner date with a bag, and in a shocking— though fleeting— change of heart, the last thing Harry wants is to seem presumptuous. 

Harry raises his jeweled knuckles and raps on Y/N’s door in a rhythmic pattern, straightening his back and leaning against the frame as he waits for the door to open. 

Even through the wooden barrier, Harry can hear the old music floating through the bluetooth speaker that he knows sits on Y/N’s kitchen counter, the sizzling of peppers and onions in a pan, and Y/N singing to herself softly under her breath, the latter of which pauses as soon as Harry knocks.  Instead, it’s replaced with the soft padding of bare feet against the laminate floor, the click of a lock, the removal of a door chain, and the turning of a knob as the door swings open. 

And then Harry sees Y/N, and the sight of her catches the breath that he doesn’t really need. It lodges in his lungs and at the back of his burning throat, causing an odd sensation to churn the pit of his tummy as a sudden wave of heat pours into his cheeks. 

If Harry’s pride wasn’t as steadfast as he likes to portray, he would openly admit that it truly is frightening how just one glance at her can make his entire nervous system flare. 

It’s obvious that Y/N’s been at work all day; her mascara is slightly smudged beneath her eyes, and the ponytail bouncing at the top of her head is loose, with wisps of hair falling out and framing her face.  Her clothing, however, has been changed from her usual work polo and jeans to a cotton bralette that clings to her chest and displays a strip of her stomach that makes Harry’s mouth water.  Her black leggings have mesh cutouts on the side, and while that detail would normally draw Harry’s eyes by default, it’s the multicolour patchwork cardigan hanging loosely off her shoulders that really catches Harry off guard.  Or, more specifically, it’s his multicolour patchwork cardigan that catches him off guard. 

“Hi.” Y/N smiles up at him warmly with the edges of her eyes crinkling, her hands grasping the side of the door tightly. “Six P.M. on the dot, Holmes.  I’m impressed.”

“Solving mysteries isn’t my only speciality.” Harry matches his grin to hers, his dimples making an appearance as his expression grows. “Although speaking of mysteries… I think I just solved the case of my missing cardigan.” With his free hand, Harry reaches forward and tweaks a button on the article of clothing, his fingers brushing against Y/N’s bare tummy when he pulls away. 

A wispy giggle falls from Y/N’s cheeks as she opens the door wider to invite Harry in. “Right, that case.  I was about to call you about it, actually.  We got a big break-through last night.”

“Did we?” Harry raises an eyebrow as he steps into her apartment, shifting the fabric tote bag in his right hand to his left as he squeezes into the narrow corridor beside her. “And what was the big break, exactly?” 

Y/N wraps her arms around Harry’s neck as he snakes his now free hand around her waist, clutching her close to his cool body. “Well, I was trying to go to sleep, and I was cold, so I went searching in my closet for an extra blanket, and found this tucked in the back from when you let me borrow it last weekend.” She explains lightly, twisting her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Case closed.  Elementary, my dear Holmes.”

“I thought that was my line?” Harry quirks an eyebrow as fond amusement dances through his emerald eyes, his cold palm giving one of her love handles a playful squeeze. “First you steal my cardigan, and now my catch phrase.  What’s next?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” Y/N says with a shrug, her smile growing wider with every passing moment as she nudges his chin teasingly with the tip of her warm nose. “I could steal a kiss, I suppose?  That’s a very you thing to do.”

“Not quite.  Usually you’re the one trying to steal one, and I make you ask for it. Beg, even, if I’m feeling a bit meaner than usual.” Tilting his head to the side and shaking it slowly, Harry lets out a long sigh. “You’re losing your touch, Watson.”

“Tragic.” Y/N matches his sigh as she begins to untangle her hands from his hair, but when she tries to extract herself from Harry’s grasp, he just holds on tighter. 

“But for the sake of tradition…” Harry’s eyes fall to the mortal’s lips as he wets his own with his tongue. “How about a hello kiss?”

Despite the usual iciness of Harry’s touch, heat begins to blossom through Y/N’s chest as she tilts her head up to meet Harry’s mouth.  The kiss, unlike many they’ve shared before, is tender, and only lasts for a brief moment before Y/N settles back down on the balls of her feet. 

“Hi.” She whispers, her hands curling around the fabric clinging to Harry’s muscular shoulders. 

“Hi.” The vampire replies easily as he finally releases his grip on her waist, taking a step back from both Y/N and the bashful instance they’d found themselves in.

He allows her to lead him down the entrance hallway and into her living room, drifting behind her towards the kitchen and glimpsing over all the ingredients she has scattered around her counters.

“You look beautiful in my cardigan, by the way.” Harry throws out casually, admiring the way the article hangs off her figure in the most adorable oversized fashion. “If I didn’t make that clear enough before.  And,” the monster takes a sudden deep whiff for emphasis, “it smells delicious in here. Seems like Gordon Ramsey doesn’t have shit on you, huh?”

Although the initial compliment brings a flush of pleasure up Y/N’s spine, she chooses to focus on the latter half of Harry’s comment. “I’d like to think so, yeah.  Dinner is almost ready, if you want to take a seat at the table.  Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Actually…” Harry holds up the bag in his hand and bounces it jestingly, fully bringing it to Y/N’s attention for the first time. “I thought I’d make us margaritas to go with the fajitas.  Really commit to the theme, y’know?”

All of the previous drinks that Harry has made for her float through Y/N’s mind, and her mouth salivates at the thought of drinking another of his incredible creations. He really does have such a wise talent with liquor that she finds herself subconsciously wondering how that had come to be. “Of course; we can’t do Fajita Fridays halfway, now can we?”

“No, we can’t.” Harry agrees with a firm nod, setting the bag down on her small kitchen tabletop and unpacking the ingredients he’d toted with him. “Do you prefer your margaritas over ice or blended?”

The correct answer immediately rolls off the mortal’s tongue. “Blended— I’m not insane.” She states with a scoff, picking up her spatula to stir the pepper and onion mixture on the stove as she bobs her head towards the cabinet at the far end of the room. “The blender is just up in that cupboard there.”

The corners of Harry’s pink lips tug up at her response, and he nods to the girl as he drifts over and reaches for the cabinet she’d motioned to. “Gotcha.” He says, pushing back a few decorative serving platters before extracting the blender sitting on the back of the shelf. “Oh, this’ll do nicely.”

His comment is met with a quiet snort from Y/N, who glances at him from the corner of her eye as she turns her attention to the sautéing chicken in her skillet. “Oh, it will, will it?” She asks sarcastically, her lithe fingers adding pinches of seasoning to the dish. “Are you a blender connoisseur, then?”

“Of course I am, angel.  Y’have to be, to make a half decent margarita.” Setting the kitchen appliance in the counter, Harry studies it with a keen eye, running his fingers over the smooth glass and slightly worn buttons. “It has a little bit of wear and tear, but that’s to be expected; the rest of it seems to be in decent condition.” He unwraps the cord from the base of the blender, plugging it into the wall before pressing the pulse button a few times to make the machine roar to life. “Listen to that engine purr… A blender like this could bring a man to tears.”

“That’s good to know.” Y/N snorts again, shaking her head at Harry’s antics as he begins to prepare his ingredients. “If you need a knife for the limes, there’s one in the block there.  And ice is in the freezer—”

“That’s good to know.” Harry mimics her prior reply with a shit-eating grin on his face, his hand wrapped around a bottle of Don Julio he’d snagged from his bar shelves. “I was about to check the cabinet again.”

With a shake of her head, Y/N steps past Harry to open a cupboard and fetch a serving dish. “Alright, smartass.” She bumps her hip against Harry’s as she passes him, the motion sending a jolt of electricity across the vampire’s pelvic bones. “Keep it up and you’ll lose dessert privileges.”

Although she tries to step away, Harry twists a cool arm around Y/N’s waist, pulling her back against his chest as he smudges a kiss over her pulse point. “‘M sorry.” He murmurs, keeping his voice low in an attempt to hide the smile brewing on his face. “I’ll be nicer, then.  I’d hate to lose dessert—it’s my favourite part.”

With his lips over her neck, Harry can feel the exact moment Y/N’s heart rate increases, his ears pricking with the now familiar and adored sound.  Her warm hand cups his over her belly, fingers tracing over the knuckles of his icy touch. 

“I know it is.” Y/N tilts her head to the left, trying to provide Harry with more access to her neck as his mouth continues to ghost over her skin. “So I’d hate to take it away.”

The human girl’s familiar and achingly sweet honey and lavender scent fills Harry’s nostrils as his nose brushes against her jaw.  When he refers to her as dessert, Y/N doesn’t know how genuinely Harry means it. “Alright.  I’ll behave.” He relents, but he squeezes her tummy tightly as his teeth graze her skin one last time before pulling away. “For now.”

When Y/N detangles from the cage that is Harry’s arm, she busies herself with cooking again, doing her best to hide the light sheen of sweat that is beading her forehead.  It’s almost embarrassing, really; despite only being here for five minutes, Harry’s already pulling reactions out of her that she didn’t even know she had.  If she doesn’t get a hold of herself soon, she’ll be on her knees for him before he’s had a bite of dinner. 

With that thought in mind, the mortal forces herself to focus on the tasks at hand, continuing her banter with Harry while making sure to keep the subject matter PG as she plates the food and Harry blends drinks for them.  Her tiny table, which she’s already set for two, is soon filled with dishes containing sautéed vegetables, chicken, and other various toppings, and Harry pours his margarita mix into two glasses before sitting across from her with a curious air. 

“So this is what you and your friends used to do back home, is it?” He asks, crossing his arms and resting them on the table as he regards Y/N with a tilted head. “Fajita Fridays?  Taco Tuesdays?  Meatloaf Mondays?”

“Meatloaf Mondays sound depressing.” Y/N shoots back with a scoff, her hand wrapping around her margarita glass and lifting it to her mouth to take a sip. “We weren’t that pathetic.”

Harry exhales a sharp but quiet breath from his nose once—the beginnings of a laugh— before offering a dry reply. “No, it doesn’t have a very nice ring to it, does it?” He says, watching eagerly as her eyes widen at the first taste of the drink rolls across her tongue. “Do you like it?”

Y/N clears her throat as she lowers her glass from her mouth. “It’s...strong.” Y/N replies slowly, taking another gulp and smacking her lips in an exaggerated fashion. “But yummy.  This is a repeat recipe, I think.” 

The praise warms the pit of Harry’s stomach as he raises his own glass, motioning to the girl before him before bringing the edge of the cup to his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He murmurs, setting his drink back down after taking a sip and letting his eyes roam over the food before them. “So how did you and your friends do this?  Everyone would just reach in at once, or—?”

“Oh, well, we—we used to say grace first, actually.” Y/N admits after a moment, her eyes momentarily flickering to the gold cross dangling from Harry’s neck.  Although his usual cross earring is absent tonight, his pearls out of sight as well, and he’s only wearing his opal and lionhead rings, that familiar cross necklace is present as ever. “And then we’d move everything around the table clockwise from the person who actually led saying grace.” 

Despite Y/N previously mentioning that she’d been a regular church goer in her hometown, this new information sparks an interest in Harry’s mind. “Really?” He quirks an eyebrow as the human girl reaches for a warmed tortilla and begins to spoon her toppings inside. “But you don’t do that now?”

“Nope.” Her lips pop on the final consonant sound of the word. “Did you say grace growing up?” She asks curiously, nodding to the chain around Harry’s neck. “You always wear that cross, so I was just wondering…”

“Oh, uh—yeah. Yeah, we did.” A crease furrows the space between Harry’s brow as he selects his own tortilla, keeping his eyes glued to the food. “My father used to lead it every night.” Although he could leave the comment there and be done with the topic, more words of explanation spill from Harry’s mouth without him realizing how much he’s actually saying, his gaze remaining trained on the way he’s filling his tortilla, almost as if it’s a monumentally difficult task that requires his utmost attention. “I liked to listen to him say it.  My father had a very calming voice; he could be loud and boisterous when he wanted to, but at home, he always kept cool and collected.  It was comforting.”

Y/N notes the use of past tense when discussing Harry’s father, but doesn’t comment on it.  With the knowledge that his mother had passed away in her mind, she assumes the same has happened to his father, and the realization twists her heart in a new and aching manner. “You speak like that, you know.” She tries to steer the conversation into a lighter direction, registering the sadness in his emerald eyes when he discusses his family. “When you’re telling stories about your life.  Your voice is low and even, quieter than usual.  It sounds a bit like a…lullaby, I guess.  Or like— like an audiobook, like someone’s reading some old poetry, or—” Her cheeks flame beneath her skin as she drops her eyes to her plate. “Sorry.  That, um, that sounds strange.”

The outpouring confessions from the girl across from him brings an awed expression to Harry’s face.  He had always assumed his voice was more of a siren song than anything— capable of luring his victims into a false sense of security before he showed his true monstrous form.  But if the stuttering of Y/N’s heart and the brightness in her eyes is any indication, maybe that isn’t quite the case.  She described him as a lullaby, yes, but she didn’t sound betrayed at the thought of him spinning stories in order to keep her pliable under his grasp.  If anything, her words give the impression that she enjoys it.

“I’ve heard stranger.” Harry murmurs after a moment, his unusually bare forefinger rubbing over his lips pensively as he waits for Y/N to raise her head again. “Thank you.  That’s a compliment, really, saying that I sound like my dad used to.”

“Well, I mean, I’ve never heard your dad speak, so take it with a grain of salt—” Y/N forces out a laugh, despite her cheeks and neck still feeling uncomfortably flushed, “—but I imagine it’s similar.  After all, he raised you, didn’t he?”

Harry nods slowly, his mind so wrapped in his own memories that he doesn’t even think about the incriminating answer about to fall from his lips. “He did, yeah, but it’s been a while since I’ve been able to speak to him.” He admits, pinching his chin between his thumb and index finger as he lifts his left shoulder in an empty shrug. “Memories fade over time.  Things change.  People change.”

Although she can feel that they’re beginning to breach a more serious topic, Y/N doesn’t pull back like she did in the restaurant.  She rationalizes this action to herself as she sips her margarita and collects her thoughts, saying that it’s just because it’s easier to be honest in her apartment than a brunch restaurant. But the truth of the matter is that the longer she spends with Harry, the more Y/N wants to know him. Really know him, outside of their usual arrangement. 

“That’s true,” She agrees with hesitancy etched into her voice, keeping a measured glance on Harry’s body to read his reaction. “But you can’t have changed that much since you last saw him.  When…” Her words trail off when Harry locks his emerald eyes with hers, but she takes a deep breath and finishes her question in determination. “When did he pass away?  How old were you?”

In the immortal’s mind, the answer forms without any delay.  His father had been the first to go in his family; the combination of breathing in smoke from the forge and his age being four years his mother’s senior had stopped his heart before hers.  The news of his death reached Harry a few days after it had happened, and he had just made it back to Holmes Chapel in time to watch the funeral service from afar.  

Despite his appearance being frozen at twenty-six, as it always would be, Harry was nearly twenty-nine to the day of the funeral.  Gemma had been thirty-three by then, standing with their mother and a tall man by her side, who whispered what her brother hoped were reassuring words in her ear.  His sister's eyes had been nearly a perfect mirror of Harry’s, with the exception of a few crow’s feet beginning to show around them.  And his mother had been dressed in widower’s black, a veil pulled over her weeping face to allow her the bit of discretion that was expected in Victorian times.  Harry had been distressed when he saw the veil, despite expecting it to be there; he’d hoped he could get one more glimpse of her eyes before he had to leave that day.  He had entertained the idea of walking over, expressing his condolences, and compelling her to forget she’d seen her lost son, but the thought had twisted an ache into his chest that had nearly brought him to tears, and—

“I was twenty-one when he passed away.” Harry spits the sentence out, and the familiar lie burns his throat in an entirely foreign way than the thirst he’s used to. “He had lung cancer.” At least, that had been Harry’s assumption after he read up on the disease years after his father’s undetermined passing.  It made sense, given that all the grit and soot from the coal and metal grime had found its way into the air of the blacksmith’s shop, and after slaving away for years in order to keep food on the table, it had also eventually made its way into his father’s system… “It progressed quickly.” 

As he watches sympathy glaze itself over Y/N’s eyes, all he can think about is how undeserving he is of it.  Even though he’s compelled the mortal girl in front of him, gained her trust, been invited into her home, and is kindling a connection with her, all for the simple act of drinking her blood, Harry thinks that this might be the most monstrous thing he’s done yet— paint himself as a victim of circumstance, hiding all the wrong-doings he’s ever committed, and allowing Y/N and her softly-beating heart to feel sorry for him. 

The conversation moves to an lighter tone after that, which Harry does on purpose; the less he needs to tell her about his fabricated sob story, the better.  And, truth be told, he’d much rather hear about Y/N’s day-to-day life.  It’s been so long since he had human concerns, and when he did, his concerns certainly didn’t have anything to do with being betrayed by customers because the cafe wifi was down.  It’s almost amusing to him, listening to her rant about all these insignificant people, and he can’t help the way his dimples begin to peek out of his cheeks as she raises her voice at imaginary customers. 

“So I told him, in my most polite voice, that we were aware the wifi was down, and that we’d called the provider to let them know, and that they were sending someone as fast as they could to fix it. And do you know what he said to me?” Y/N widens her eyes in incredulous disbelief as she takes a bite of her fajita, chewing and swallowing quickly to continue with her story with more emphasis. “Do you know what he said?”

“No, I don’t.” Harry shakes his head in endearment, hiding the laugh forming on his rosy lips behind his margarita glass. “What did he say?”

“He said—” Y/N twists her face to mimic the customer’s expression, dropping her voice down five octaves lower as she speaks with a ridiculous tone. “‘Oh, well, can’t you just fix it?  You work here, don’t you?  What else do you get paid for?’ Can you believe that?” She states the last phrase in her normal voice, scoffing at the memory as she crosses her patchwork covered arms across her chest. “Like, I’m a waitress!  I don’t work at an internet company!  I’m trained to bring you water and sandwiches— which are more cucumber than anything with actual substance—  so it’s not my responsibility to figure out why you can’t load Candy Crush on your phone!”

A snicker finally breaks free from Harry’s throat as he watches Y/N angrily stuff a piece of chicken into her mouth. “Sounds like you had a rough day today.”

“That’s pretty average for me, honestly.” Y/N sighs again, rubbing her hand over her forehead as she polishes off the rest of her second margarita. “Ugh, it pissed me off.  I wanted to shove his phone right up his ass and ask if his wifi connection got better.” A small smile breaks out across Y/N’s lips in spite of herself as Harry stifles another giggle at her witty comment. “But I’ve talked about it enough.  How was your day?  What did you do?”

“I did a bit of work in the morning, nothing too noteworthy.” Harry replies, deliberately keeping his answer vague as he twists his lionhead ring around his finger. “And I was about to watch a golf tournament with Xander and Niall when you called.”

Harry thinks nothing of mentioning their names, but is surprised when Y/N’s brow cinch in thought. “Which ones are Xander and Niall?  Is one of them the long haired one?” She asks curiously, pulling her (his) cardigan off one shoulder as the tequila begins to course through her veins and heat her body. 

“The— no.  No, that’s Mitch.” Harry says slowly, cocking his head to the side in confusion. “How did you know that?”

Y/N feels a spike of embarrassment in her stomach, and shyly avoids Harry’s eyes as she answers. “There was a photo of you with a group of guys in your apartment, in the living room.” She mumbles, tapping her fingers against her newly cleaned plate. “One of them— I think he was next to you in the photo?— had long hair.  Another had blue eyes, glasses… and brown hair, I think?  I don’t really remember the rest…”

Harry hums in the back of his throat, quiet and low. “That was probably Niall.” He guesses, finishing his own margarita and setting the glass down gently. “If I’m thinking of the right picture, then Xander was the one standing next to him.”

Y/N pictures the faces in her mind’s eye, imagining the two brunette boys in the clothing from the photo, slumped next to Harry on the couch of his stunning condo, knocking back pints of beer and plates of nachos as they watch golf on TV.  It seems strange to picture Harry doing something so… normal.  She forgets, sometimes, that he’s a regular twenty-six year old man.  In her head, when she thinks of Harry, regular is the last word that comes to her mind— even when he’s sitting across from her in a casual outfit, doing something as simple as eating dinner while he asks her about her day, Y/N struggles to remember that this man is just that: a man.  

Maybe, she ponders, as Harry stands up with the explanation of making more margaritas falling off his lips, it’s because she’s only ever really been alone with him.  With the exception of the club where they met, and his friends interrupting their weekend a few weeks prior (her cheeks flame at the recalling of the embarrassing memory), Y/N has only ever seen Harry in her own context.  

As the blender whirs to life behind her, the human twists in her chair to catch a glimpse of the object of her thoughts.  Even beneath his opaque shirt, she can see the muscles of Harry’s back flexing as he bends down to slice a lime, squeezing the juice into the top of the blender while holding his jeweled hand underneath to catch any seeds.  When Harry is around her, he’s charming, cocky, self-assured, and— on the extremely rare occasion— vulnerable.  What’s he like around his friends?  

Just as cocky, Y/N is sure; she can’t picture Harry letting go of his signature smirk so easily.  But does anything else about him shift when exposed to different company?  Is there different vocabulary that slips from his mouth?  What about his tone of voice?  Does that change, too, like Y/N’s used to when she was around Bradley, or when she’s with customers?  He mentioned earlier that he’d been watching golf, and that was the last sport she'd ever think he’d have an affinity for, let alone one he’d enjoy enough to make a day out of watching tournaments.  What other personality traits and pastimes is he keeping from her?  If she were to be a fly on the wall while he was with his friends, would she see someone completely unrecognizable in his Gucci boots and translucent shirts?

The sudden lack of noise from the blender snaps Y/N from her thoughts, and Harry detaches the pitcher and carries it to the table, filling her empty glass with a smile. 

“There you are, miss.” He winks at her quickly before filling his own cup and standing back from the table with a grin, his free hand folded behind his back as he straightens his posture. “Now,” He begins, his accent slipping into a more posh tongue as he bows his head lightly. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

Despite her worries, a soft laugh rolls from Y/N at his impersonation of a server. “Yeah, actually.” She drops her voice lower again, plastering an angry expression onto her face as she reaches into her cardigan pocket and retrieves her phone. “Your wifi is down.  What kind of restaurant doesn’t have wifi?  Can’t you fix this?”

A loud snort echoes from Harry’s mouth as he sets the blender back down on the counter before sliding back into his seat across from her. “Sorry, love,” He laughs, his regular accent back in its place. “That’s a bit above my paygrade.  I can, however, offer you some compensation.”

Wrapping her fingers around the icy margarita glass, Y/N leans forward, resting her chin on her free hand as she appraises Harry with a kinked brow. “Is that so?” She replies in her regular voice as well, her interest piqued. “What kind of compensation?”

“It’s part of our Friday Night Special,” Harry slides his hand across the table and pushes the baggy rainbow sleeve of Y/N’s cardigan down her arm in order to brush his cool fingers up and down her bare skin. “And it features bottomless margaritas paired with cunnilingus from our most handsome waiter.”

A fluttering warmth begins to knot itself around Y/N’s core, but she does her best to keep her composure as she straightens her spine and glances around the apartment. “Sounds intriguing.  So where’s the handsome waiter?”

Harry’s pillowy lips plunk down into an exaggerated frown as he presses a hand to his chest, his other hand continuing to stroke over Y/N’s forearm. “Ouch, Watson.  That hurt.  Might need you to kiss it better.”

“Oh yeah?” Y/N challenges, lifting her drink to her lips and sipping it slowly. “Where exactly does it hurt?”

Instead of answering her query, Harry simply stands from his chair and rounds the table to stop in front of Y/N, extending his hand to her.  She lays her fingers inside his cool grasp, allowing him to pull her from her seat.  He’s closer than she realized, she thinks, as her chest brushes with his and the intoxicating scent of his cologne fills her senses, only getting stronger as Harry nudges her nose with his own, his lips just barely gliding over her own. The copper specks around his pupils glitz under the muted lighting, electric from the alcohol, from the sensation of her close proximity, and from the ever-present intention of getting between her legs.

When Harry finally speaks, his thick cadence washes over her just as much as his tequila-scented breath, his free-hand tugging suggestively at the waistband of her leggings. “If we go to your bedroom, then I can show you.”

“Mm, is that so?” The girl gives in to his gesture, stepping forward as the vampire begins treading backwards towards their new— though entirely familiar— destination. “You’re gonna show me, then?”

“I most certainly am.” The boy keeps their bodies close, making sure that his lips continue to just barely graze hers as he moves, teasing her nerves into a frenzy. “I plan on showing you over, and over, and over…”

Y/N can’t bring herself to resist the offer.  She’s only human, after all.

///

The next morning, Harry wakes up tangled in Y/N’s sheets to two surprises: the sheets on Y/N’s side of the bed are cold and bare, and that Harry is actually waking up.  

Although he remembers falling back onto the scattered sheets the night before (after coaxing three orgasms out of Y/N and her coaxing two from him in return), he doesn’t remember drifting off into the sleep he so rarely needs, and because of that, Harry feels disoriented and groggy in a way he hasn’t in a long time.  He does his best to blink the haze from his usually sharp eyes, knuckling at them with his cool fingers as he attempts to get his bearings.

His sleep-fogged mind struggles to recall what had happened after Y/N had fallen asleep.  She’d drifted off easily and quickly, her sweat-soaked body tucked into Harry’s with her head resting in the crook of his neck.  That noted detail sticks out in his memory because it had made Harry pause before biting her.  She’d been so comfortable next to him, and in such an inconvenient position that Harry didn’t want to shift her to drink. After debating with himself for a few moments, he’d eventually decided on an alternative and had lifted her fragile wrist to his lips.

Even half awake, Harry’s lips quirk up at the hazy memory.  He recalls the feeling of her hummingbird pulse thrumming beneath her delicate skin, practically vibrating against his lips as he stamped a kiss over her vein before biting down.  Her blood had a weaker flow there, but that was alright; he’d just sucked a little harder to coax the liquid from her body, feeling his mouth overflow with her welcomed taste as well as with the supernatural chemicals that inject into her system and dull any pain his feeding might cause. He’d been careful to gauge his consumption by the strength of her heartbeat, and when he’d finished, he’d sealed the wound with a bit of his own blood, as usual. He’d made sure Y/N was healed and settled back in his arms before relaxing into the pillows to listen to her breathing, the soft pillows and her radiating body heat feeling more soothing than usual. Somewhere between counting the movement of her lungs and the sun rising, Harry had fallen unconscious.

It’s strange, being up after Y/N.  Harry has grown used to rising before her and making breakfast, or even just coffee, and there’s something disorienting about being in her bed alone, without her inherent warmth and soft skin, and only the ghost of her sugary scent left behind.  He briefly wonders if this is how she feels when she wakes up to cold sheets and no one beside her (although Harry suspects the lack of his frozen body would make the bed a more comfortable temperature), and thinks that maybe he should begin to lay in bed with her a little longer; if he’s going to fake a relationship with her, it should be a relationship where her partner wants to be around her, and isn’t awake before the sun.

And that’s another thing.  The golden orange light of the rising L.A. sun is just beginning to stream through the closed curtains, so what time is it?  It can’t be any later than seven— on a Saturday, no less— and at such an early hour, Harry would expect Y/N to still be dreamily dozing in bed.  What had drawn her away from her comfortable position in Harry’s arms?

As the sun continues to rise, the light begins to streak onto Y/N’s empty side of the bed and, instinctually, Harry begins to reach for the beam, craving the warmth she took with her when she abandoned the sheets.  Instead of the expected touch of heat, however, Harry is jarred by a burning sensation ripping across his icy flesh.

The vampire yanks his hand back in a flash, his face screwing in silent pain as he bites back a yell of anguish, but the damage has already been done.  The tips of his fingers are puckered with red blisters, which throb as he flexes his hand in the safety of the shadows. Harry digs his sharp teeth into his lip harder, forcing himself to inhale slowly through his nose and exhale shakily through his mouth.

It takes a few moments for him to collect himself, breathing deeply with his eyes closed as he does so, and as he counts his own breaths like he’d counted Y/N’s the night before, what should’ve been an obvious thought enters his mind: why had he burned?  He’s wearing his lionhead ring, which has eyes made of those precious crystals that protect his inhuman skin from sunlight, and as long as he’s wearing it, the sun shouldn’t be able to…

Harry’s sight snaps completely open as he jerks forward in bed, his head throbbing from the sudden movement.  When he’d first awoken, he’d attributed his grogginess and dry eyes to sleeping for the first time in weeks, but as Harry’s jade gaze settles upon his uninjured hand, he realizes the truth.  That disorienting feeling isn’t from sleep, but from the sunlight that had begun to seep through the curtains and affect his body, bouncing off the glossy walls of Y/N’s room and reflecting off her picture frames and furniture.  What would normally not be an issue suddenly becomes the bane of his existence, and what usually isn’t able to affect his body immediately does, obvious in the agonizing sweltering writhing through every single one of his dormant arteries. And all because his lionhead ring is missing from its rightful place.

Granted, Harry hadn’t worn most of his rings to Y/N’s apartment the night before, seeing as how they planned to spend the night in, but he’d kept his mother’s opal and the lionhead securely on his middle finger and pinky, just as he always did.  The former brings him memories of his mother, and helps him keep a piece of her— and who he once was— with him in this strange modern time.  The latter had been a rebirth gift from a family he’d rather forget, and if it didn’t keep him from flambéing himself every time he stepped into the sun, he wouldn’t wear it at all. In all honesty, he probably would’ve chucked into Hell, if he could. 

But the reality of his afterlife is that Harry needs that ring.  So why is it missing from his hand?

Cradling his blistered digits to his bare chest, the wounded vampire tosses back the covers, careful to avoid the streaks of sunshine beginning to light up the small room.  His icy chest soothes the burn in his fingers, which are taking longer to heal than Harry would’ve thought, but if the grating itch of his dry eyes is any indication, the effects of the sun aren’t just limited to direct physical harm, but are also stopping his body from healing itself as quickly as usual.

Harry presses his good hand to his dizzy head and swings his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet onto the ground as firmly as he can to center himself, refusing to cripple under the extraneous circumstances. He fishes his grey boxers from their signature spot on Y/N’s floor, slipping them on slowly as even the smallest of movements seems to strain his muscles beyond reason. As the elastic band snaps around his hips, another frightening possibility seizes his body: his mother’s ring could also be gone. He yanks his hand away from his head, and it takes his eyes a moment to focus on the opal ring.  At least he can breathe a sigh of relief about one thing— if his mother’s ring had disappeared, Harry’s not quite sure what he would’ve done.  

And that thought brings his spinning mind back to the present.  His lionhead ring is gone, and he can’t so much as step into sunlight without undergoing intense, insurmountable pain, so how is he going to find it?

Another groan falls from Harry’s mouth as he rests his forehead in his palm, propping his elbow against his knee so he can shield his eyes from the sunlight by hiding in between his legs.  Daylight talismans are extremely rare; he can’t exactly waltz into the nearest Wal-Mart and pick one up.  The crystals that give vampires such cherished immunity all date back to the medieval era, when vampires were considered mythical legends instead of just plain myths, and what few of the crystals are left are hidden deep within old ruins in the remote wilderness of Europe.  If Harry hadn’t been given his shortly after he was turned, he’s not sure he would have been lucky enough to own one.  He remembers Niall telling him how he had to search every night for months before he found a crystal hidden inside a ruin in Wales, and Xander had once recounted the story of stealing his from the vampire that turned him.  Even Mitch had struggled with the crystals before; although his ring had originally been a gift from the vampire that transformed him, he had to crack the crystal in half and set it into a new ring for Sarah when she had met her untimely demise. 

Vampires have been known to beg, lie, cheat, and steal in order to get their hands on a daylight crystal, so if someone managed to sneak in and take Harry’s lionhead ring while he and Y/N were sleeping, then Harry is going to have a fucking hell of a time trying to get it back. 

As the thought enters Harry’s dazed mind, a chill runs down his back, crawling across his spine and down his tailbone in an unsettling shiver as he slowly turns back to Y/N’s empty side of the bed.  If someone— if another creature just like him, who would be the only other person capable of recognizing such a treasure— got into the apartment and took his ring, and found an unconscious mortal girl with the sweetest honey and lavender liquid pulsing through her veins, then…

The sheets and curtains of the room blow in a breeze as Harry jets off the bed, forgetting to control his inhuman speed as he throws the sliding door open and stumbles into the hallway.  More sunlight streams through the windows of the living room, and it’s taking all of Harry’s dulled concentration to avoid the beams as he staggers towards the kitchen.

It’s not until the immortal smells Y/N’s familiar fragrance and hears the beating of her heart, in tune with her quiet humming, that the fear Harry hadn’t realized had tightened his chest flows out of him in one fell swoop.  He does his best to force even breaths in and out of his lungs, watching as Y/N raises her coffee mug to her lips and blows on the hot liquid before taking a small sip.

She’s dressed in his multicoloured patchwork cardigan again, buttoned up to provide her with warmth and modesty, but it slips down her bare shoulder in a way that allows Harry to see she’s wearing nothing underneath it.  Although the cardigan pools around her silky thighs— which are marked with bruises from the night before— Harry can see the tiniest peak of her panties beneath the fabric, and if he were in a better frame of mind, he might’ve noticed how they’re not the pair she wore last night (that pair had been ripped right down the middle in his frantic attempt to get them off).  However, Harry’s eyes quickly settle on Y/N’s hands, which, after she sets down her coffee cup, pick up Harry’s lionhead ring and begin turning it around in her fingers.

When he sees the ring in her delicate grasp, a wave of sheer rage begins to rumble through Harry’s chest, and it takes every fiber of his undead being to keep it at bay as he approaches the mortal girl. “Y/N,” Harry rasps lowly, voice heavy with the exhaustion that his newfound vulnerability has stacked onto his shoulders. He stands in the one spot of shadow near the kitchen counter, trying hard not to glower. “What are you doing?”

When Y/N turns her head to look at him, her sleepy face smiles softly, eyes nearly as bright as the infuriating sun. Maybe that’s why, Harry thinks, it feels like it burns.

“Morning,” She says quietly, her own voice just as sleepy as Harry’s as she picks up a grey cloth from the table and begins to run it over the ring with precision and care. “How did you sleep?”

It’s a simple, innocent question, and Harry knows that, but his mind can’t think in simple and innocent terms right now.  As the light filling the room begins to pound his head even more, Harry’s thoughts revert back to his most instinctual behavior— rough carnal impulse. “What are you doing?” He asks again, his voice lower than before.  He sounds dangerous, and he means to.  How could she possibly think that taking something from him without his permission is fine?

“I’m polishing your ring.” Y/N keeps that good-natured smile on her face as she replies, but Harry can see the smallest waver in it as she begins to sense his distorted energy from across the room. “It was tarnished, and I have a polishing cloth, so I thought I’d—”

“Give it back.” Harry doesn’t mean to snarl the phrase, but he can’t stop himself from doing it as he thrusts out his hand expectantly; it’s taking all his concentration to keep himself from baring his teeth and letting his eyes bleed red. 

Y/N doesn’t fight him on it, and drops the ring carefully into his awaiting hand without letting her warm skin meet his.  She watches with confused eyes as Harry slips the newly shined lionhead ring onto his finger, a breath of relief sighing from his red lips the moment the metal meets his skin. He finishes twisting it into its designated spot, and he feels like he can actually breathe again.

The human girl waits a moment for an explanation from Harry, some spoken word or action to justify the hostility rolling off of him as he clutches the jeweled hand to his chest.  As the moments pass, however, Harry offers no explanation, or anything at all as he takes deep and measured inhales through his nose, as if he’s trying to relax. 

“I’m sorry.” Y/N offers the words quietly, turning in her chair to properly face him with sincere eyes. “I just noticed that it was more tarnished than your other jewelry, and I thought I could—”

“You can’t take my rings from me.” Harry answers in a harsh voice, his face reflecting about as much warmth as stone on a winter’s day. “I thought I’d lost it.  You can’t do that.”

“I’m sorry.” Y/N repeats the phrase again, gentler this time as she wraps her hands around her steaming mug.  She had guessed that the opal ring was his mother’s, but like Harry’s ruby ring and initial rings, she’d deduced this lionhead decal was more for decoration than anything.  If it was something important, one would figure that he’d take better care of it.  But it seems she’s not as adept at reading Harry as she’d like to think, because his explosive reaction had been totally unexpected.  For the first time since she met him, Y/N feels uneasy in his presence.  Had she really offended him that much?

The truth of the situation, unbeknownst to her, is that Harry’s reaction is no more purposefully malicious than Y/N’s intentions. Although the ring is back on his finger, and the crystals are beginning to protect him again, Harry’s thoughts are still muddied as he glances around the apartment, carefully surveying the circumstance like the top predator he pretends not to be.  There’s still a throbbing in his skull, and his eyes remain painfully dry, despite the fact that his healing has kicked in and mended his blistered fingertips.  In this moment, Harry feels weaker than he has in centuries; if someone were to attack right now, he wouldn’t be able to react quickly enough to protect himself. How could his aching head afford him any clear plan of attack?  How could his burning eyes show him every approaching danger?  How did he let himself become so relaxed— so stupidly lax— that he didn’t notice a mere human slipping off his most precious and needed object as he slept soundly in her bed?

“I really am sorry, Harry.” Rising from her chair with her quiet speech, Y/N steps towards him, hand outstretched to touch his inked forearm. “I didn’t know—”

Her hot fingertips against Harry’s frozen skin jar the vampire, triggering his fight or flight instincts as he tenses beneath her touch. “No—” He wrenches his arm away hurriedly, the searing graze reminding him of the sunlight that had harmed him just seconds ago, his wild eyes meeting Y/N’s in a feral frenzy. 

Although her chest barely moves, Harry can hear the stuttering breath that the girl sucks in through her teeth, her eyes widening at the severity of his actions. “I’m sorry.” She whispers the phrase again, her fingers jerking back from Harry’s arm in shock. “I…”

The more time passes, the more Harry regains control of himself, and as Harry melds his shattered composure back together, he can see the fear beginning to stain its way onto Y/N’s face.  The uneven beating of her heart pricks his ears, as does the scuff of the floor beneath her bare feet as she takes a step back from him.  When that uncertain fear reaches her irises, Harry is suddenly flashed back to their first date, when he’d been worried that she might be scared of being alone with him, and how delighted he’d been when he realized that wasn’t the case.  And now, as a sick feeling begins to settle in his stomach, he knows he’s blown it. 

Inhaling deeply through his nose, Harry urges himself to relax. 

“No, I’m sorry.” He softens his voice as much as he can muster in order to apologize, rubbing his charred eyes with one hand, hoping they’re still the canopy green Y/N is familiar with. “M’just half asleep still, and I was worried that— I’m sorry.” Harry extends his ringed hand in invitation, desperately craving the warmth of Y/N’s touch now that he’s leveled out, but not wanting to take it unwillingly. He wants her to feel safe enough to give it to him. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

There’s a moment of hesitation that flickers in her eyes, but it quickly passes as the mortal lays her hand within his. “You didn’t scare me.” She reassures him, but Harry can hear the falseness of her response immediately, and that guarded demeanor only intensifies the nausea rattling inside him.

Is she lying to save his feelings, he wonders, or to make herself look tougher?  No matter which may be the truth, Harry hates that she has to feel the need to lie.  He’d been upset, yes, but he should know better.  And he should know that she doesn’t know better.  She thought she’d been doing something nice for him; she has no idea about the torturous results his ring protects him from.  And she doesn’t know because Harry refuses to tell her— because he refuses to subject her to that perverted knowledge.  This is his own doing. 

“I did. I did frighten you, and I was rude, and I’m truly sorry.” Harry sighs heavily, dragging his fingers through his sleep-tousled curls. “My ring is just— it’s very important to me, and I don’t really like to take it off, so maybe just—just ask next time, yeah?” He murmurs the words in a soothing tone, his thumb sweeping over her knuckles in a poor attempt to make up for the way he’d berated her. “I know you didn’t have any bad intentions, and I’m not angry with you for taking it, but it just scared me when I woke up and it was gone.” 

“I’m sorry.” Y/N repeats yet again, and although Harry can feel her melting into his touch, there’s still a hint of uncertainty lingering beneath her words. 

Harry forces a grin on his chapped lips, which he wets with his tongue before speaking again. “S’alright, dove.  No harm, no foul.  And no more apologies, yeah?” He brushes a finger over her cheek, trying his best to put on a lighthearted front for the girl. “It was rather tarnished, actually— needed a good cleaning.” 

A shy smile finally creeps its way onto Y/N’s face, and Harry has to stop himself from breathing an audible sigh of content at both the gesture and the lack of prying about why that ring was dirtier than the rest (the answer to said question is just as simple as it is complicated: it reminds Harry of someone he’d rather forget, and if he didn’t need it, he’d drown it in the deepest ocean he could find— keeping it clean is the least of his concerns).

“How about breakfast, hm?  It’s early, but we could make some pancakes, or—” Harry glances at the clock hanging on the kitchen wall, reading the time with surprise before his gaze travels back to Y/N with a confused look. “It’s not even seven yet.  What time did you get up?”

“Around 6:15?  6:30?” She lifts one shoulder in a casual shrug, and Harry’s cardigan slips down her arm with the motion. “I don’t really remember.”

With his other hand still squeezing her own, Harry rugs the sleeve of the cardigan back up her shoulder, smoothing it over her morning-cooled skin. “It’s a Saturday, darling.  What were you doing up so early?”

Despite her heartbeat having not quite returned to its usual tempo, Y/N nuzzles into Harry’s touch as he pulls her closer to him. “Couldn’t really sleep, I guess.” Tucking her face into his neck for a moment, Y/N indulges a penetrating inhale, enjoying the remnants of his mahogany and vanilla cologne before stepping back and past Harry to the cabinet.  

Standing on her tiptoes, Y/N opens the door and retrieves a pink flowered mug before sliding down the counter to her coffee maker. “Want some coffee?” She asks, touching the glass of the carafe lightly to make sure it’s still warm. “There’s butter in the fridge, I think, if you want to make your disgusting drink.”

Ignoring the dig at his beverage of choice— which Harry has explained to her, multiple times, has many health benefits (not that he needs them) and just tastes better than coffee with cream— the vampire leans his hip against the counter, crossing his arms over his bare chest as his brow furrows over his darkening eyes. 

“Why couldn’t you sleep?” He questions, his attention glued to Y/N’s actions as she seems to deliberately avoid his gaze.  He analyzes the dark circles under her eyes, apparent even from just her side profile, and a spark of concern ignites his chest.  Could this be his fault?  Is drinking her blood beginning to take a physical toll on her body?  His blood has been healing her bite marks, but what about her iron levels?  Is her circulation being affected?  Mitch has told him multiple times that drinking from humans is okay once or twice a week, as long as there’s a grace period in between feeding, but Mitch has also never had the same human for as long as Harry has had Y/N.  Have the weeks they’ve spent together begun to unravel her?

When Y/N simply shrugs in response to his question, and offers no other words of explanation, a tired sigh falls from Harry’s lips as he steps towards her, taking the now-filled coffee mug from her hands and setting it down on the counter.  He wraps his arms around Y/N’s shoulders, hugging the girl into his chest for a moment to get a gauge on her body’s response.  Her heartbeat stutters, yes, but that’s a usual response to being wrapped inside Harry’s embrace, and it returns to normal after a few beats.  Her body feels just as warm as it usually does, and her chest is rising and falling just as it should be.  Nudging his face into her hair, he breathes in deeply, filling his lungs with her fragrance.  No, nothing smells out of place, and her blood had tasted as delicious and as strong as ever last night.  If she’s having trouble sleeping, the cause isn’t anything tangible. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” Harry mumbles the words into her hair before lifting his head up, extracting the girl from his arms just enough so that he can see her face. “If something is bothering you and keeping you up, then you can wake me up, too.”

Y/N worries her pillowy bottom lip between her teeth as her eyes become entranced by Harry’s rosemary gaze. “I know I could, but I didn’t want to.  You—” She swallows hard in an attempt to clear the thickness from her throat as her cheeks begin to burn. “You were sleeping, and I never see you sleep.” Y/N’s voice retreats into a sheepish tone at the admittance, her eyes falling from Harry’s stare to the floor between them. “You always fall asleep after me, and you’re always awake before me.  You need rest, too, H.”

While Harry would normally laugh at that simple phrase— at the fact that Y/N doesn’t know how wrong she is— Harry’s dimples remain dormant as he focuses on the concern in her voice. “I—” His voice catches in his throat, and he has to clear it before he can say anything else. “I sleep just fine.  Better, in fact, when I’m with you.” He confesses, his thumbs brushing over the exposed skin of Y/N’s neck. 

And after Y/N has extracted herself from his grip to take a sip of her coffee, after she teasingly groans while watching Harry drop a pat of butter into his own steaming mug, after he begins to crack eggs into a pan as Y/N starts to lay bacon on a baking sheet, after all that, Harry finally realizes what lodged in his throat. It dawns on him just as Y/N slips a pink apron over his bare, faintly hickey-bruised chest to protect him from splatters of grease, giggling to herself as he poses with his hand on his hip and makes a vulgar joke about how this looks like the setup to a cheesy porno. 

The vampire comes to the realization that Y/N takes notice of him. 

She notices when he doesn’t sleep.  She notices his exposed skin that could potentially be burned while cooking.  She notices the expressions on his face, reads the tone of his voice, knows when to press a matter and when to leave it be.  And she’s concerned.  She’s concerned about not seeing him sleep.  She’s concerned about him accidentally getting hurt.  She’s concerned about the swings in his moods, the shortness of his answers.  And while Harry knows her real concerns should be about allowing herself to be in such close proximity to someone— something— like him, he can’t help but feel a warmth in his chest at the thought of her worrying about him. 

As much as Harry likes to pretend otherwise, he knows he’s not easy to be around sometimes.  He can be vain, self-centered, self-serving, and inconsiderate.  He can be selfish, dishonest, and manipulative.  His mood can teeter at the drop of a hat, and he changes his mind like the weather on the best of days.  And on his worst of days, sometimes Harry wonders if anyone could care for him, or even stand to be around him, if it wasn’t a necessity. 

Although he’d never admit it, when Harry reflects on his friendships, he can feel a degree of insecurity in the threads that tie him to his crew.  He’s fairly certain that if he and Mitch met under different circumstances— circumstances when both of them were human— they would likely still be friends.  Maybe not as close as they are today, but friends, at the very least.  When it comes to Niall, Xander, and Adam, however… he’s not so sure.  Yes, he cares for them more than he’ll ever care for anyone again, and his loyalty to them is unwavering, but on his worst days, Harry can’t help but wonder if they would be friends if their connection hadn’t been forged on the basis of what they are, and understanding something that no one else can.  If being vampires hadn’t placed them in each other’s lives and sealed them in a bond of venom and blood, would they even have given the others a second thought?  Would any of them have wanted Harry in their lives?  Harry wants to think yes, but it’s not a question of what he wants; the truth is, Harry is uncertain. 

But when Y/N sits across from him with a smear of ketchup on her bottom lip, smiling softly at Harry as he wipes it off with his thumb, and he can’t stop himself from smiling back, he realizes something that’s never occurred to him before.  He’s able to be cared for by someone who is drawn to him for all the reasons humans are normally drawn to each other, and not because they have a mutual understanding of what it’s like to be an other.

Of course, he knows there’s a certain degree of falsity in that; part of his charm and addictive qualities come from what he is, and Y/N, like any other mortal, isn’t immune to that.  But instead of allowing herself to be driven away by the usual uneasiness that pairs with being so close to a vampire for so long, Y/N is leaning closer to him, laughing as he cracks a bad joke, kissing him over their breakfast, and showing evidence that she— against all odds— wants to know him.  And the thought sends a fluttering below Harry’s ribs. 

He wishes, just for a moment, that he could be capable of feeling the same. He wishes he could have the decency to give this girl the proper relationship she wants, or even the decency to break her heart quickly before she gets too attached to someone incapable of seeing her as anything more than a takeout meal.  He wishes he could get to know her— truly get to know her, without any ulterior motives.

But Harry is vain, self-centered, self-serving, and inconsiderate.  He’s selfish, dishonest, and manipulative.  And he has his fangs too deep in this mortal to let her go. 

///

“Are you sure I can’t pick you up?” Harry slides his phone between his ear and his shoulder in order to snag his keychain from his pocket, fumbling for the right key before inserting it into his locked door. “I can just drop my groceries off and then swing by your cafe, love.  It’s no trouble.”

“No, really, it’s fine, H.” Y/N insists from the other end of the line, her voice nearly drowned out from the roar of L.A. traffic around her. “I already left work, and I’m nearly home.  I’ll be over at your place within, like, forty-five minutes, I think?  I just have to change out of my uniform.”

With his front door now unlocked, Harry grabs his phone from its perch on his shoulder before pushing open the door with his hand full of groceries, stepping inside his apartment and nudging the door shut with his foot. “I know, but it’s a long walk to my place, isn’t it?”

“It’s, like, twenty minutes— practically nothing.  And besides, I have to stop at the post office and mail a letter to my parents.”

The corner of Harry’s mouth quirks up as he rounds the corner to his kitchen, setting his grocery bags on the island before leaning his hip against the kitchen counter, his now free hand braced against the cool marble. “You still send your parents letters?  Can’t you just call them?” He asks, tapping a ringed finger against the stone.

“If you knew my parents, you’d send letters, too.” Y/N sighs into the speaker, and Harry’s inhuman ears can hear the jangling of her keys in her hand.  He can picture her searching for them like she did the night they met, digging into her purse until she’s elbow deep, her tongue tucked between her teeth in concentration.

Despite the distinctive sound of a lock turning, Harry can’t stop himself from asking about her well-being. He’s so used to doing it with his other friends, it slips out on impulse. “Are you home now?  Made it alright?”

There’s a hint of exasperated amusement in Y/N’s voice when she responds. “Yes, I managed to walk home all by myself.  Didn’t even get murdered.” There’s another thud, and Harry imagines her shutting her door, pushing her weight against it to lock it properly. “I’m pretty good at taking care of myself, you know.  I have good instincts.” 

If she’s allowed him to get this close to her, Harry thinks, then her instincts aren’t exactly the caliber she imagines them to be, but he bites his tongue to stop himself from correcting her. “I’m sure you do, darling.” He murmurs the reply as he opens his fridge to begin stocking it with the items he’d purchased earlier. “Oh, by the way, make sure you’re wearing comfortable shoes, yeah?  We’re going to be doing a bit of walking later.”

“Right.  And you’re not telling me where we’re going because…?”

“Because surprises are fun.”

When Y/N huffs in response, Harry pictures the girl with a scowl on her face, her arms crossed tightly over her tummy as she gives him an endearing glare. “Not when you’re the one who’s being surprised.” 

Still, despite her protests, Harry hears the rustling of clothing as she pulls off her work polo, followed by the clanking of her belt, the snap of a button, and the familiar rustle of her jeans being peeled off her legs. “You just worry about undressing yourself, alright?  It must be difficult, since you’ve grown so used to me doing it for you.”

“Uh huh.  I’m hanging up now.” Y/N deadpans into the phone, but Harry can tell there’s a lingering smile underneath her flat words. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Alright, doll.  See you soon.” Harry sets a carton of eggs in the fridge before closing it, hanging up the call and slipping his phone back into his black slacks.  

It takes Harry a few more minutes to put the rest of his groceries away in his pantry.  He made sure to stock up on all the ingredients needed to make pancakes at the grocery store, as well as picking up a carton of the fancy pomegranate juice that Y/N had mentioned she was fond of.  In fact, as he was wandering the aisles of his local Whole Foods, he’d found himself seeking out the snacks that he’d seen in her cupboards.  He knows that humans need to eat much more often than vampires do, and seeing as how all the activities Y/N engages in at his condo are rather exhausting and energy-burning, he thought she’d need proper fuel.

After he folds the reusable cloth tote bags he’d brought to the grocery store and puts them back in the pantry, Harry climbs up his glass stairs to his bedroom.  He takes a moment to evaluate his appearance in the full length mirror hanging on the back of his door, sweeping over every detail with a careful eye.  His outfit is alright for what he has planned, he decides; his black slacks and scuffed white vans are comfortable, but more importantly, his white t-shirt embossed with a Hollywood Bowl print that clings to the muscles of his inked arms and broad chest, which Harry knows Y/N will enjoy.  His curls, however, need a bit of tending to, and Harry slinks into his bathroom to add a bit more product to his chestnut locks, getting rid of the little frizz that had developed in the L.A. heat in order to fix his curl pattern.  

As for his jewelry, he leaves on his usual rings: his gold initial pieces, his mother’s opal, his ruby, an engraved band, and his lionhead ring, which shines under the bathroom lights thanks to Y/N’s careful efforts the week before.  Once those are secure, he fastens his pearl necklace around his neck, and fixes the clasp of his cross before slipping a plain gold hoop into his pierced ear.  Once he’s satisfied with his accessories, Harry spritzes his favourite cologne across his body, giving his appearance one more look over as he leaves his bathroom and passes the full length mirror in his bedroom again.  

The Rolex on his wrist tells him that Y/N is due over any moment, and he’s just making sure his Gucci wallet is securely tucked in his trouser pocket when Harry’s ears prick up at the sound of two pairs of feet stomping into his condo downstairs.  It only takes him a moment more to identify the intruders based on their step patterns, and a frown tugs at the corner of his mouth as he checks the time again before sauntering down the stairs.

“And just what do you two,” Harry calls to his unexpected friends as he rounds the corner of the stairs, his eyebrow quirked in question as he steps down from the last platform, “think you’re doing here?”

“We wanted some change in scenery.” Niall quips sarcastically, emerging from the end of the entrance corridor with his hands in his pockets, shoulders shrugging casually. “And I told Xander you might be shirtless, which got him to tag along. But you’re not, much to his disappointment. Though I do think the way you’re about to burst out of that tee suffices. Isn’t that right, Xanny?” 

“That’s not true!” Xander snaps hotly, his cheeks blazing and glare electric as Niall cackles boyishly, stepping around him and towards the kitchen, like he always does when he walks into Harry’s apartment. The tanned man glowers at the other vampire as he makes a beeline for Harry’s refrigerator, slowly pinning his gaze back onto the owner of the condo. He clears his throat awkwardly before offering a solid explanation for their sudden visit. “Adam cancelled on pub trivia night, so we thought you might be available instead.”

Harry shakes his head with a sigh as he makes his way into the kitchen, as well— mostly to make sure Niall doesn’t reach for any of the expensive liquors he has arranged on his bar shelves; they took too long to collect for him to just allow a single person to down one bottle like a shot— and leans both elbows against the marble island. “Sorry, mate.  I’ve got a date with Y/N.”

“So bring her.” Niall pipes up from the fridge, a stolen bottle of Harry’s favourite beer already in his hand. Harry doesn’t complain— it’s a better substitute than his forty year aged scotch. “She went to uni, didn’t she?  She must be smart.”

“I’ve got better things planned for us than pub trivia with two obnoxious knobheads.” Harry retorts, his lips tugging into a smirk at Niall’s responding eyeroll. “That’s not very romantic, is it?  Taking her on a double date with you two?”

“And that’s not very nice, H. I’m offended you wouldn’t go on a double date with Xander and I.” The Irishman sniffles with fake sincerity, biting the bottle cap off his beer despite knowing that Harry keeps a bottle opener in the kitchen drawer to his right. 

Xander watches the spectacle with distaste, his nose wrinkling as Niall spits the cap from his mouth into his hand. “And I’m offended you’d think I’d date someone who does that.”

“It’s not like you have standards.”

“Hey!”

“But then again, no one sets a bar the way I do.”

“The only bar you set for me was potential alcoholism.” Xander mutters spitefully.

“I’d make a great boyfriend.” Niall interrupts with airy confidence, ignoring his friends bickering and taking a deep swig of his beverage, smacking his lips appreciatively. “But humans are too fragile to keep around for long, and most vampires are fucking psychotic. Unfortunately.”

“What about Charlotte?” Harry suggests nonchalantly, hooking his index finger into the cabinet beneath him and fishing for a coaster. He shuts the drawer and skims the item across the top of the counter towards Niall, just in case the man wants to put his glass container down. This is real marble, after all. “She seems pretty tame.” 

Niall glances at the coaster, but doesn’t make any conscious effort to set his drink down. Harry should’ve known; Niall isn’t one to put a pint down until it’s empty, but the possibility is there, nonetheless. It’s not his fault he likes taking care of his home. 

Niall sighs through his nose dismissively, following it with a light rattle of his head. “Charlotte’s too...smart. She’s a bit out of my league, and I feel like she’d get bored of me easily. Also, how would you know if she’s tame or not? You rarely hang out whenever she’s around.” 

“That’s because she hates me.” Harry states flatly, as if it should be obvious. And it should, considering the young woman had not held back on expressing her strong dislike towards the curly brunette. Harry has thick skin and words never hurt him, but Charlotte has a surprisingly vicious vocabulary; if he hadn’t been amused by her anger, she would have come pretty close to genuinely chipping his ego. 

Niall chortles softly. “Well, I mean, you can’t really blame her, can you? You’re kind of a prick.”

“A proper asshole, actually.” Xander chimes in, drumming his digits against the table’s surface and giving Harry a bright, innocent smile. 

The immortal momentarily casts his eyes towards the ceiling in mild annoyance. “Yeah, well, that’s just the way I am. If her and Miss Billy Ray Cyrus can’t handle some dark humor and dirty banter, that’s not my problem. Everyone else seems to like me just fine.” 

“That’s debatable.” Xander corrects. 

“You’re just mad I fucked you once and decided that was enough.” 

“Anywho,” Niall interferes, waving around his beer in order to catch his friends’ attention and prevent a catastrophic World War V, he proceeeds to swivel the topic back onto himself, “like I said, I’d make a great partner. I’m funny, I’ve got a whole shelf full of PS4 games, I like to think my oral skills are pretty decent, and—”

“Have you ever made a girl wet her sheets?” Harry prods with entertained curiosity, cocking an eyebrow questioningly.

Niall pauses mid-sentence with his drink perched to his lips, eyes flitting around thoughtfully as he shovels through cluttered memories of drunken one night stands and fleeting relationships. He relents with a sheepish scoff, shoulders sagging. “...No.”

“Then you’re not as skilled as you think.” Harry remarks passively, titling his head to the side with finality. “And I’m willing to bet Mitch’s next stock of O negative that eighty percent of your hookups probably faked it.” 

“Oi, bet, then.” Niall snorts, grinning around the spout of his beverage as he finishes his sip. He wiggles his brows playfully, squaring his shoulders proudly. “You can’t fake a leg-shake, darling.” 

“A leg-shake?” Harry inquires carefully, pursing his lips to keep from sputtering into pompous laughter. “You mean like this?” He then proceeds to dramatically buckle his right leg, immediately debunking Niall’s ridiculous theory. “Just like that?” 

The Irish bloke’s face drops into a scorned scowl as Xander and Harry break into a round of mocking giggles. He draws into himself with childish pettiness, narrowing his eyes pointedly. “Piss off.”

“Unless she couldn’t walk right afterwards, you didn’t really do what you think you did, Ni.” 

“It seemed pretty real to me!” The blue-eyed boy rebuttals sharply, cheeks tinging bright pink in embarrassment. 

“That’s the point.” 

“This is precisely why I’d never entertain a relationship with you, even as a joke.” Xander pipes up towards Niall, smirking cruelly at his friend’s bruised ego. “I like my orgasms to be real, and I’m not willing to put up an act to spare your fragile masculinity.” 

“Your dick’s probably small, anyways.” 

“Bigger than yours.”

“Is that a challenge? I’ll pull it out right now, I don’t give a fuck.”

“Well,” Harry cuts in loudly, not necessarily keen on watching two grown men compare penis sizes in the middle of his home, “it seems you two have some issues to work out, so the double date is a moot point, anyways.” His jade eyes flicker to his watch again; Y/N should nearly be here, and he doesn’t want these two goons present when she arrives— especially not with their balls out. That wouldn’t be a decent introduction, despite being an unforgettable one. “So I’ll talk to you two later, then.  Thanks for stopping by.”

“Hold up, I practically just cracked my beer.” Niall whines in return, holding up the chilled bottle in protest, leaning his backside against the marble countertop with a decisive motion. “Y’can’t kick us out yet.”

Harry laughs once, the noise sounding more strained than he would like. “Seeing as how I didn’t invite you over, I think I can.” He retorts, tapping a jeweled finger against the table. 

“The blood bag isn’t even here yet,” Xander reasons as he pulls out a chair from the kitchen island, taking a seat and making himself at home as if Harry hadn’t just told him to get the fuck out. “So what's the rush?”

The hair on the back of Harry’s neck prickles at the crude nickname, and the older vampire shoots daggers at the younger as he pushes himself off the marble counter. “There isn’t one, except I think hearing herself be referred to as ‘the blood bag’ may make her a little suspicious, don’t you?”

“We’ve referred to her as worse.” Xander shrugs offhandedly, kicking his feet up onto the bar stool next to him.

Harry’s brows furrow as he pushes Xander’s shoes off his furniture, dusting the leather cushion off. “Referred to her as what?  And when?”

Although Xander lifts one shoulder again as a vague answer, Niall smacks his lips loudly once again as he swallows the rest of the beer, and answers in a matter-of-fact tone. “In Vegas, after you ditched us to get your dick wet.  I think Xander called her a fuckable slab of kobe beef, and—”

“I said ribeye, actually.  Nice flavour, but a little chewy.” Xander corrects the Irishman, but has the decency to look halfway embarrassed when he catches Harry’s stony glare. “And it’s not like we’re wrong, right?  That’s all humans are.”

Niall gives an affirmative nod as he sets his empty bottle down on the marble counter, completely ignoring the coaster Harry had slid to him. “Don’t take it personally, H.  Xanny refers to his own dates as McDonald’s Happy Meal Twinks— at least a ribeye steak is expensive.”

“I’m not taking it personally.” Harry mutters the words in a low voice as his jaw twitches, tensing under the sunlight streaming through his floor-to-ceiling windows. “But comments like these are why you pricks need to get out of here before she shows up, or else I’ll be feeding from one of you tonight.”

A beat of silence falls between the three vampires as the palpable tension flowing off of Harry thickens the room.  Xander and Niall glance between each other and Harry, hardly able to hold the latter’s eyes, before Niall offers a small comment.

“I don’t think Xander would mind that, really—”

“Out.” Harry points a jeweled finger at the entrance corridor with a firm motion. “Both of you.  Go bother Mitch.”

He can see the disappointment and frustration that lingers on Niall and Xander’s faces, but neither of them fight him as they rise from their perches in the kitchen and walk dejectedly to the front door.  Harry briefly entertains the idea of walking them out, but decides against it; there’s a strange buzzing sensation rising through his ribs, and he’s not quite sure what he’ll say as he bids his friends— he has to remind himself that, yes, they’re his friends— goodbye.  It’s safer, he thinks, if he stays where he is and cleans up the mess that they managed to leave behind in their short visit. 

He comes to regret that decision, however, approximately three milliseconds after he hears the front door creak open, and a familiar but unexpected voice echos down the entrance hallway.

“Oh— hi.  Sorry, I may have the wrong apartment…?”

Harry freezes with Niall’s empty beer bottle clutched in his hand, his grip contracting so hard that he hears the thick glass begin to splinter.

“No, no, this is Harry’s apartment.  We were just leaving.” The grin on Niall’s face is audible underneath his Irish accent. “You must be Y/N.”

“I am, yeah.” Harry can hear the tiny thread of surprise at him recognizing her in the human’s words, and the even tinier thread of pleasure that undercuts it.  “And you must be...Niall, I think?  And Xander?”

Niall’s smug reply grates against Harry’s frozen skin, even from down the corridor. “Harry’s told you about us, huh?  Only good things, I hope.”

“Oh, I—”

Harry forces his legs to move with inhuman speed, the beer bottle not even having hit the marble counter by the time Harry appears at Niall and Xander’s shoulders. “Hi, darling.” He says through a strained smile, digging his stony fingers into the back of the two vampire’s arms, an unspoken warning of behave. “Y’made it alright, then?”

When Y/N shines a warm— albeit, slightly confused— smile in his direction, Harry wishes that he’d been faster in shooing his friends out the door, because the action nearly knocks the unrequired breath from his chest.  

She’d dressed in comfortable and casual clothes, as per his suggestion, and is standing just outside the doorway in light washed denim overalls, with a black and white striped t-shirt layered underneath, and her familiar cotton candy pink vans on her feet.  But the detail that digs its way to the forefront of his mind— more so than her satin lips, her heated cheeks that are appled with her smile, and the tousled locks that are pulled back from her face in a low ponytail— is the shining silver cross pendant that hangs on a chain around her smooth neck.

It’s a new addition that Harry has never seen before, and while he knows he shouldn’t be surprised— after all, she’d told him how she grew up in a religious town, how she’d attended church, how she used to say grace before dinner with her friends— the jewelry still piques his curiosity.

“I did, yeah.  It’s really not that long of a walk, H.” Y/N replies, flicking her eyes between Harry and his two friends, who are still watching her every move as if she’s a specimen to be observed. “Sorry, am I interrupting…?”

The Irishman with glasses— Niall, Y/N reminds herself— opens his mouth to respond, but Harry quickly cuts him off as he pushes past his mates to take Y/N’s hand and step outside the apartment, fetching his keys and yellow sunglasses from the small side table by the door in one smooth motion.

“Not interrupting anything, doll.  Niall and Xander were just on their way out.” Although Harry is smiling at her throughout the comment, the mortal can’t help but feel like the last phrase was aimed at the pair still lingering in the doorway.

“We were just stopping by to see if we could steal Harry for a last minute trivia game, but he said he was already booked.” Niall answers with an accepting shrug, glancing at Xander next to him, who’s still yet to say anything to Y/N, though he is carrying an unreadable empty expression as he gives the girl a calculating once-over. “Apparently, whatever he’s got planned for you two is more interesting than a few beers and watching Xander struggle to remember all the battles in World War I—”

“That’s not fair,” The brunette finally chimes in, breaking his attention away from her body to meet the blue-eyed boy’s gaze. Y/N is surprised to hear an American accent fall from his lips. “I’m the only one who wasn’t there, so how would I know—?”

“And you two are already arguing,” Harry cuts over his friends’ bickering, shooting them an annoyed glance as he wraps a cool arm around her waist, cautioning them to watch what they’re saying. “Which will only get worse once you get alcohol in your hands, and that is why I’m not going to subject Y/N to a headache-inducing night of torture.” 

Y/N looks up at Harry with innocent interest swirling in her eyes. “I don’t know, H, it could be fun.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth as a crease forms between Harry’s brows. “Don’t you think?”

Niall catches Harry’s eye, taking advantage of Y/N’s distraction to cheekily flash him his crimson irises for a split second, voice dripping with honeyed sarcasm that only he can detect. “Yeah, Harry. Don’t you think?”

Jaw tensing, Harry bends down to brush his lips over Y/N’s ear, dampening his irritation down into a smooth and silky tone. “Don’t try to spare their feelings, love.  I’ve got something fun planned for us, I promise.” His teeth graze against Y/N’s skin, and he nearly drags his lips down towards her neck until he remembers her stuttering heartbeat can be heard by the other vampires in their presence.

The two creatures gawk at the image before them, utterly baffled at Harry’s unusual tenderness. It’s very out of character for him, that much is obvious. In all the decades Niall and Xander have been acquainted with the Victorian era immortal, neither have ever seen him be so gentle and touchy with another soul, let alone a human. It feels as if they’re looking at some type of warped parallel universe version of the normally stand-offish young man. 

Xander is the first to clear his throat, throwing Harry an annoyed grimace before pulling Niall out from the condo’s entryway. “We’ll see you later then, Harry.  C’mon, Ni.”

The Irishman offers a quick goodbye, gifting the strange girl a frail wave and a parting smile before being half-dragged down the hallway by Xander. Niall wrenches himself free and shoves Xander’s shoulder playfully as they round the corner to the elevator, their quiet voices— no doubt spinning juvenile gossip— fading out of earshot.  The look in Xander’s eyes had been concerning, Harry thinks, but nothing he needs to worry about right now.  If anything, he wants to forget that encounter as quickly as possible, and needs Y/N to forget it, too.

“So,” he pastes an easygoing grin onto his face as he locks his front door, turning to the mortal with a giddy twinkle in his forest green eyes. “Shall we be off, then?”

There’s a lingering look of confusion reflecting back at him, but Y/N doesn’t press the odd encounter as Harry intertwines his icy fingers with her own warm digits. 

“Alright.” She agrees, raising a questioning eyebrow back at him. “And just where are we going?”

///

“The Los Angeles Antique Mall.” Harry announces proudly when he opens Y/N’s door, extending a ringed hand to help her out of his low-riding car. “Twenty thousand square feet of vintage collectables, artwork, furniture, and anything else you could possibly want.”

Y/N stares up at the massive building in front of them, observing the worn wood facade and the collection of what seems to be (half faded) stained rocking chairs adorning the wraparound porch.  There’s also an impressive amount of wrought iron planters with various greenery scattered between the furniture, with groups of people milling between them as they enter and exit the giant mall. 

“You brought me antiquing?” She asks, an bemused look in her eye as she turns to Harry for an explanation. 

Wrapping his large grasp around her smaller one, Harry nods enthusiastically as he begins to lead her towards the door. “Yeah.  It’s fun, actually.  I’m always up for a bit of a treasure hunt, and I thought, since you’re still furnishing your apartment…”

“You know, now that you mention it… I could use some new curtains for my living room.  Maybe a nice side table.” Y/N allows, stepping over the wooden stairs to the door as Harry tugs her along. “But I’m surprised you like antiquing.  Doesn’t really seem like your thing, if I’m honest.”

A mischievous glint flits through Harry’s jade eyes as he treats her to a grin that’s all teeth. “I’m actually quite fond of antiques, truth be told.  I’ve got a good eye for vintage collectables.  And…” He lazily tugs on the handle of the door to open it, stepping to the side to allow Y/N to walk through first. “Maybe we’ll find a nice painting to replace that god awful tapestry in your bedroom.”

A scoff of indignation falls from Y/N’s mouth as she turns on her heel to punch Harry’s sturdy upper arm, nearly getting too distracted by the ropes of muscle beneath his tight sleeve to give a response. “I like that tapestry!  And, seeing as how you’re either sleeping or fucking me when you’re in said room, I’m a little offended that my tapestry is the thing you focus the most on.”

Harry bites his bottom lip between his teeth.  If only she knew how much time he actually spends staring at it. 

“Well, there’s certainly other things I focus on…” He replies with a casual air, slipping his hand into the back pocket of Y/N’s overalls to cup her ass suggestively, guiding her along the aisles of antiques. “But nothing ruins a post-orgasm glow like poor interior design, sweetheart. S’a bit of a buzzkill, y’know?”

“So is being patronized.” Y/N deadpans, extracting Harry’s hand from her back pocket as a hot flash begins to creep up her spine. “You keep mocking my interior design choices, and your orgasms are going to get a lot less frequent.”

The vampire belly laughs as he throws an arm around her shoulders, the action as natural to him as breathing once was. “I don’t believe that for one fucking second.” He replies gleefully, smudging an open mouthed kiss to Y/N’s temple. 

“You don’t, huh?” The human girl raises an eyebrow, cocking her head to scan the towering racks of oddities all around them. “I wonder if we can find you a vintage fleshlight here?”

“Already got one, doll,” Harry rolls his eyes as he brushes his cool fingers along Y/N’s exposed collarbone, his eyes catching the cross pendant again and brimming with curiosity. “And it’s just the tip of the iceberg that is my toy chest, y’know that—” 

Y/N feels Harry’s arm suddenly tense around her, his muscles contracting as his touch jolts away from her collarbones, his hand flexing beneath the open skylights of the building. “Everything okay?” Y/N asks, all her teasing fading away, replaced with concern as she pauses her steps toward the shelves. 

“I—” Harry flexes his fingers again, slowly removing his arm from her shoulder to examine his hand.  The tips of his fingers are a bright red, crimson burns contrasting against his pink skin, and although it only takes a few moments for the marks to fade, the uneasy feeling bubbling in Harry’s stomach lasts. “Yeah.  My, uh, my hand just cramped.  But it’s fine now, I think.”

Who the fuck, he wonders as he cautiously slings his arm back around Y/N’s shoulders, wears a cross made of, not silver as Harry originally suspected, but polished iron?  

Iron jewelry had fallen out of fashion a century ago, and Harry had never been more thankful than when it did, given how his flesh scorches at merely brushing the metal. When he took his family’s trinkets as a way to remember them before he had to leave, Harry had snuck into his father’s forge in the dead of the night to dip the jewelry in gold that he’d stolen from a local merchant who cheated poor peasants out of their valuables.  It had been a tedious task, and rather dangerous due to the threat of being caught, but it had also been necessary; if he hadn’t taken the risk, he wouldn’t have his sister’s cross earring, or his father’s matching cross necklace.  His dad’s pocket watch, luckily, had been made of silver, and didn’t need a golden bath, but everything else had to be encased to protect Harry’s skin.  

Iron jewelry had been a deterrent to him in the years to come after he was turned; it wasn’t uncommon for him to find a pretty young girl from a village and sneak her away for a night of fun, only to discover an iron chain dangling from her neck when he leaned in to take a bite.  It wasn’t a permanent problem, of course, as there were plenty of other soft places he could sink his teeth into, but it had been an annoyance then, and it still annoys him now. 

Harry does his best to push the irritation to the back of his mind, he really does.  He shows Y/N around the twisting maze of antiques, and does his best to showcase one of his favourite hideaways in L.A.  He points to anything and everything that could interest her, and doesn’t hesitate when she asks him to reach something heavy perched on a high shelf, even if she just wants to examine it out of curiosity.  Harry pulls out typewriters, vintage cameras, tarnished cigarette lighters, and a pastel yellow bicycle with an attached wicker basket from 1941, presenting all of the objects with the enthusiasm of a showcase model on The Price is Right, spouting falsified information about each product in the best impression of Bob Barker he can pull off (“This ancient, rusted bicycle— once owned by the Queen of England herself— can be all yours for just one easy payment of $8.99! Taxes and shipping not included.”). 

And although all of that incites multiple tinkling laughs from Y/N, and lights a glimmer in her eye, and compels her to walk closer and closer to Harry until she lets him sneak his palm back into the backside pocket of her overalls, the mystery of her necklace still eats at the far end of his brain. And it’s that insipid, insistent pest of a thought that causes Harry to readjust his grip on the framed Monet print he’d spotted in the racks (Y/N had tried to deny how much she liked it in order to thwart Harry’s triumphant smirk, but she still asked him to grab it for her with a grumble) and spare another glance to the innocent looking cross resting atop her clavicle. 

“That’s a pretty little piece.” Harry slips into a nonchalant tone with ease, nodding towards the necklace as he navigates the two of them around a corner. “Why have I never seen you wear it before?”

Y/N brushes her fingertips over the iron cross with a gentle motion.  Her fingers don’t scorch with a mere graze of the metal, Harry notes scathingly.  Not that he expected it from someone like Y/N. 

“Because I don’t wear it often.” She replies, lifting one shoulder without a second thought. “It was my grandmother’s— not, like, originally, but she’d owned it, and gave it to my mom, who gave it to me, so I guess it counts as a family heirloom, huh?”

“Guess so.” The vampire murmurs in agreement, prickles of wonder still coasting against his skin. “So what made you drag it out today?” Did you subconsciously realize that your neck needs protection when I’m near? Harry tacks on in his head, his brow furrowing at the troubling thought. 

And at that question, Y/N’s eyes drop to the floor, as if her bubblegum pink vans need an audience for every step they take. “Uh, I was just a little homesick, that’s all.” She mumbles the reply, her shoulders sagging as a dark shadow passes through her usually dazzling eyes. 

Homesickness.  The one human feeling that Harry can still relate to. “I’m sorry to hear that, darling.” He removes his hand from her back pocket to wind it around her shoulders again, mindful of the jewelry in question. “Did anything in particular happen, or…?”

Y/N lifts her shoulders once again as she tucks her hands into her pockets, her posture closing off more and more with every passing moment. “Not really.  I don’t know, I— normally I’m fine, but when I addressed my letter to my parents today, it took me a moment to remember my ZIP code.  It’s the same ZIP code I’ve had all my life, but… I nearly forgot it.” She glances at Harry from the corner of her eye, and Harry realizes that dark shadow is guilt.  She feels guilty. “I’ve been in L.A. for less than six months, and almost forgot my parent’s ZIP code.  I didn’t think that could ever happen.”

Harry hums low in his throat, a noise of understanding and finality.  It’s homesickness, that’s all.  That’s explainable, and understandable, and should be enough information to silence the gnawing irritation in his chest. 

And yet...

“Do you believe in God?” The question escapes from Harry’s mouth before he can even think to censor it, his own eyes widening on his behalf as his grip on the Monet print nearly releases from the surprise. 

“What?” Y/N stops in her tracks, although she nearly stumbles forward when Harry’s sturdy arm catches behind her shoulders as her eyes boggle at him. “I don’t— what does God have to do with antiquing?”

If Harry didn’t have to worry about digging himself out of the whole he created, he’d laugh at the incredulous expression on his lover’s face. “I was just curious, s’all.” He struggles to keep his voice casual, steadying his feet against the wooden floor in an effort to ground himself mentally. “I know you were raised with religion, but you don’t really go to church here— not that church equals a belief, but—”

“Um, I don’t…” Y/N extends her arm to let her fingers graze over the shelf of old lunch boxes next to them, feeling each dip of every embossed cartoon character. “I don’t know.  I don’t really believe in, like, a concept of God— at least, not the one I was raised with.  But I believe in…” She trails off as she attempts to gather her thoughts, chewing on her bottom lip absentmindedly as she searches for the right words. “Something.  I don’t really know if it’s a deity, or an energy, or just coincidence, but… I think there’s something out there that guides us.”

“So you believe in souls.” Harry’s mouth presses into a flat line, his jaw clenching for just a moment as he grits his teeth and then reiterates her previous point. “The thing that allows us to be guided, that is.” 

Or allows her to be guided, Harry thinks bitterly, casting his eyes towards their path ahead of them to avoid Y/N’s prying gaze. That’s really the only reason he’d brought up this entire religion conversation— the only reason he ever brings it up: he wants to know if she believes in souls, because in order to be guided by whatever higher power supposedly exists, one needs a soul.  And Harry’s fairly certain his was stolen from him in 1837. 

“I suppose.” Y/N allows, tracing the embossed lettering of a vintage Wonder Woman lunch box. “A soul, an energy, an aura— they’re all kind of the same thing to me.  The thing that keeps your heart beating.  I don’t think it needs to be tied to a religion; there’s so many different religions, but everyone has a heartbeat, you know?”

Harry nearly laughs out loud at the irony, but manages to stifle the sound into a non-committal hum. “Does your something include heaven and hell, or is that too based in Christianity?” He asks, half out of curiosity and half out of necessity. “If someone were to lose their soul…” He knows he sounds insane asking the question, but it bubbles out of him before he can choke it back. “Would you think them damned?”

The mortal girl stares at him blankly for a moment, her mouth just barely open as she considers his words.  He shouldn’t have asked, and he knows that— he knew it the moment the first question fell from his lips.  But the more they discussed the topic, the more it nagged at him.  Y/N, with all her good nature, her listening skills, and her soft heart, are most certainly bound for whatever good lies in store when a soul actually leaves a body.  Harry, on the other hand… If the monster’s conscience were to ever leave this Earth, he knows it’s not for the metaphorical pearly white gates. And for some reason, that notion bothers him more right now than it has in the last twenty decades.

“Um…” A nervous laugh echoes from Y/N’s mouth, the smile curling the edges of her lips not quite reaching her eyes. “Okay, this topic is way too serious for me to discuss sober.  Can I take a rain check on the damnation questions?  I’m getting Sunday school flashbacks, and living through that once was bad enough.”

Harry wills a smile onto his own face, but the expression is more apologetic than anything as he grips Y/N’s hand in his to tow her down an aisle of antique kitchen equipment. “Yeah, of course. Sorry, I didn’t mean to hit you with such heavy questions. I guess I just wanted to get to know my partner in justice a bit more.” 

Y/N takes it in good stride, just as she usually does, her smile relaxing the moment she sees Harry’s dimples peek out from his cheeks. “Don’t worry about it, Sherlock.  I’d expect nothing less from such an established detective.”

As the pair pass under another skylight, Y/N’s cross glints at Harry as if to mock him. 

///

Y/N isn’t lost.

To the untrained eye, the mindless path she takes through the towering and twisting rows of the antique mall may seem like the wandering of someone who has no recollection of where they came from, nor where they’re going, but Y/N is adamant that she isn’t lost.  She isn’t, because when she split from Harry to take a trip to the washroom, he’d warned her not to get lost in the internal maze of the mall.  And Y/N, with a glare in her eyes and a scathing remark on her lips, had assured him that she, a grown woman, would be able to find her way back after she was done, and “Honestly, H, just wander a bit.  I’ll be able to find you easily.”

So Y/N isn’t lost, because she refuses to prove Harry right.  He’s already a cocky asshole with a huge ego, and she couldn’t bear seeing that ego enlarge as a triumphant smirk paints over his face the moment she calls him on his cellphone, admits defeat, and asks him to come find her.  She’ll do a lot of things for that man, but that isn’t one of them.

With that in mind, she turns down a corridor of the labyrinth of collectables, trying to find any discernible items that she could use to pinpoint her location in the labyrinth.  The yellow bicycle, maybe, or one of the vintage cameras Harry had pretended to photograph her with, or even the strange five foot carving of Bugs Bunny that she and Harry had agreed is probably possessed by a demon.  A haunted Bugs Bunny could lead her to her destination— or kill her, truthfully, but either option seems preferable over the solidifying future of having to call Harry.

After another five minutes of aimless ambling, Y/N retrieves her phone from her pocket, a grimace crawling its way onto her face as she opens her contacts to click on Harry’s name.  Her finger hovers just over the phone icon, mere millimetres from humiliation, when a few out of place piano notes float by her ears and catch her attention.

Y/N tucks her phone back into her overall pocket as her curiosity takes over, urging her ears to strain towards the distant melody, as well as for her legs to follow. It’s not long before Y/N is walking with purpose again, albeit a different purpose than before.  As the music gets louder, Y/N begins to pick out more details— how the piano notes that prick her ears are slightly out of tune, how the player begins and stops and begins again, dragging out different phrases, speeding through others with no clear intention.  The minor key of the piece makes Y/N feel like she’s walking into a memory as she wades through the shelves of long-forgotten belongings, old photographs of deceased people in Victorian fashions watching while the young woman falls back in time.

The music grows louder as Y/N reaches a dark corridor with wood paneling lining the walls, and a painted sign saying “Music Room” beckons her down the passageway.  She follows with slow steps, and while she knows that maybe leaving the main mall area and losing her way down here isn’t a smart idea, the music that’s beginning to grow impossibly sweet pulls her forward.  Y/N rounds the corner to find the oak doors to the music room swung open, and when she lays her eyes on the figure sitting at the mahogany ground piano, she recognizes the silhouette of Harry’s back and shoulders immediately.

Y/N’s gaze falls from his flexing shoulder blades to his inked hands, the jewels on his rings catching the low light of the room as his lithe fingers dance over the dusty ivory keys.  He coaxes a melody from the instrument without any difficulty, as if the music had been simmering beneath his skin for ages.  Maybe it has, Y/N thinks, as she watches from the doorway with quiet wonder, and although she plans on silently observing for as long as she can, Harry only completes a few more phrases before the music drifts to a halt.

“I was beginning to wonder if you’d find me.” He murmurs, clearing his throat of the rasp that had settled in his vocal chords as he played. “Thought I’d be getting a scared phone call any moment now.”

The human girl steps into the room slowly, gliding around to the cut out of the piano and leaning across the lacquered wood. “I wasn’t scared.  And I would’ve found you sooner if you’d stayed put. I said wander a bit, not all the way across the building.” She retorts jokingly, trailing a finger along the smooth edge of the piano. All of the sarcasm in her voice melts right out, replaced by intrigue. “I didn’t know you played piano.”

“I, uh, I don’t.  Not much anymore, anyways.” Harry runs his digits between the keys again, using only enough pressure to dust the top of the ivory covers. “I wasn’t sure I’d remember how, honestly, but this…” He lifts an index finger to brush the dust off the gold embossed brand name. “It looks like the one I learned on, so…”

Y/N takes a seat on the wooden bench next to Harry, her shoulder bumping against his as she leans in to smudge a kiss across his cheek. “It sounded beautiful.” She assures him, noting the hesitation in his explanation. “What’s that piece called?”

“It’s one of Chopin’s Nocturnes, in C-Sharp Minor.” Harry curves his fingers over the keys, as if he’s about to begin again, but then relaxes the digits as he exhales harshly. “I don’t play it as well as— as the person who taught me.”

There seems to be a hidden story beneath those words, but Y/N doesn’t press it; if Harry wants to tell her, then he’ll tell her.  If not… Well, she’d rather not drag a sour memory from him in the middle of an antique mall.  Instead, she drags her fingers over his thigh, rubbing just above his knee in a comforting manner. 

“How long have you been playing?” She asks softly, tracing over a black lacquered key with her free hand.  When she pulls away, her finger is coated in dust, and she wonders how long it’s been since the piano has been touched by someone else.

The corner of Harry’s lips twitch, as if her question is particularly humorous. “A while.” He answers simply, and he tilts his head to the side to press his face against the top of Y/N’s head, inhaling the scent of her favourite shampoo. 

“A while?” Y/N repeats the vague answer to prompt further explanation, but when she gets none, she switches to another inquiry. “Can you play me something?”

The moment she utters the question, Harry shakes his head adamantly. “No, I— no.  I’m not that good, love, and I don’t really play for people.”

Surprise colors Y/N’s voice when she replies, lifting her head from Harry’s shoulder to look him in the eye. “This isn’t the time for false modesty, H.” She says, tapping two fingers against his knee as punctuation. “Since when have you been humble?”

A bark of a laugh escapes Harry’s chest in spite of himself, and he curls his fingers over Y/N’s to move her hand further up his thigh. “I’m not modest!  Don’t insult me like that, darling.  S’not nice.”

“Prove it, then.” Y/N massages over Harry’s inner thigh as she issues the challenge, baiting the vampire’s ego with ease. “Play me something.  Show off a little bit.”

Harry squeezes Y/N’s hand once as a quiet groan twists his lips into a pout. “You’re getting pretty good at manipulating me, y’know that?” He mutters, poising his lacquered fingertips back over the instrument. “Fine.  Do you want something sad or happy?”

Y/N ponders the question as she leans her head back onto Harry’s shoulder, her lips finding the edge of his jaw and pecking his cool skin for just a moment. “Both.”

“Both.” Harry repeats with a snort, shaking his head in exasperation as his hands drift to a new position on the keys. “Indecisive little thing, aren’t you?”

The mortal girl lifts her shoulders in a noncommittal shrug, scratching her nails along the fabric of Harry’s pants. “Just play me something.  Please?”

It’s the simplest request with the most complicated implication, but Harry can’t find a good reason to refuse it. 

“This is, um, another Chopin piece.” He feels clumsy in his explanation, struggling to remember the details that he’d once memorized in an effort to seem impressive. “Another Nocturne, in E-flat this time.”

Harry’s fingers begin to dance over the keys, and Y/N listens in amazement as a melody that is both happy and sad begins to spiral out from the body of the piano, wrapping her inside the warmth of the music.  

Not every phrase is even— the more Harry plays, it seems, the more the music phrases, bending and shaping itself around his elegant fingers, rolling with his every movement.  As the music begins to get sadder, however, Y/N notices the change in Harry’s face, and how each phrase begins to get choppier as his fingers stumble their way over the keys. 

Y/N smudges another kiss against Harry’s jaw when his fingers trip up again, squeezing his knee with reassurance. “Keep going.” She murmurs, rubbing his leg lightly as the music stutters again. “It’s nice.”

“I—” The music halts with a jerk of Harry’s hands, which he retracts from the keys as if the ivory burns him. “I don’t remember the rest.” He mumbles, laying his stubbled cheek against the top of Y/N’s head. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.  I really liked it.” Y/N trails her own fingers over the keys, pressing a few of the lacquered notes with idle interest.  The melody she spins out isn’t nearly as nice as the one Harry played, and she laughs at her own expense. “I’m not nearly as good.  I took a few lessons as a kid, but begged my mom to let me quit.  I wish I’d stuck with it.”

“That wasn’t too bad.” Harry’s dimples wink at her as he smiles boyishly, nodding to the keys with false reassurance. “That little tune sounded a lot like Mozart.”

“Uh huh.” The mortal girl rolls her eyes at the lie, bracing her palms against the polished wooden bench before rising from her seat. “Despite that praise, I don’t think I’ll be adding this piano to my shopping cart.” 

“Hm.  Too bad.” Her lover trails his fingers after her, reaching for her hand and intertwining her grasp with his. “It could make a pretty addition to your apartment, I think.”

“It would take up my entire apartment, more like it.” Y/N scoffs as she raps the fingers of her free hand against the side of the piano. “I don’t even think I could fit this in my living room.  Your apartment, however…” She raises an eyebrow as a grin works its way over her face. “You could fit it easily.  You should buy it.”

Harry rolls his eyes as he lets her hand fall from his palm, touching the keys one last time before shutting the cover over the keyboard. “I’m not buying the piano.”

“Why not?” Eyes widening in surprise, Y/N leans onto the instrument, gesturing with her arms the same way Harry did earlier as she shifts her voice to mimic Bob Barker. “It’s made of genuine mahogany, was once played by Beethoven himself, and can be yours, for the low, low price of—” She reaches around the side of the instrument to grab the tag tied around the leg. “Eight hundred and—holy shit, are you kidding me?”

Harry hums in response as he rises from the bench, shrugging his shoulders before crossing his arms around his tummy. “That’s actually a fairly good price for a used piano, you know.” 

Y/N blinks at him, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to find words. “I— okay, yeah.  Sure.  So you should get it, then, if you consider that a ‘fairly good price’.” 

“I could,” Harry agrees, his muscles flexing beneath his tight t-shirt as he reaches to pick up the painting leaning against the instrument. “But I won’t.”

Her brow wrinkling in confusion, Y/N watches as Harry begins to examine the other objects in the room, turning his attention to the book-lined shelves and antique lamps. “Why?” 

The man sighs as he fingers the tassels hanging from a— in Y/N’s humble opinion— particularly ugly lamp. “Because I already have one—”

“You do?”

“—but it’s been in storage ever since I got to L.A. And while I usually love things in excess… alcohol, statement jewelry, orgasms—” He flashes a toothy grin at Y/N. “I don’t think overly-heavy instruments fall into any of those categories.”

“Why is it in storage?” Y/N asks, bemusement laced through her voice.  Before Harry began to stumble through the piece, there was a look on his face that Y/N hasn’t seen very often; a serene air swirled through his eyes, hiding something beneath it that Y/N couldn’t quite make out.  And she wants to. 

“Because I don’t have any interest in playing anymore.  Honestly, darling, I haven’t thought about it in years.” Harry laughs in a nonchalant manner, moving from the antique lamp to the creaking rocking chair in the corner. “Y’can have it, if you like.  Probably do you more good than me.”

Y/N rolls her eyes at the deflection, turning her attention away from the topic at hand. “I’m good.” She responds dryly, drifting over to the floor to ceiling bookshelf bolted to the wall. 

Her eyes trail over the exposed spines of the books, reading over the variety of titles with piqued interest.  The amount of genres she sees is countless, ranging from trashy paperback romance novels to timeless classics embossed in gold.  The farther up Y/N glances, the older the books appear, and she gets more and more curious as she glides her fingers over the rippled covers of the books within her reach.

While the novels climb up the height of the bookshelf to the ceiling, Y/N can only manage to reach halfway up the length she needs to, even while stretching on her tiptoes.  She settles down on the balls of her feet with a pout playing on her lips, her attention turning to the wheeled ladder that runs along bars bolted to the bottom of the shelving unit.  It looks rather old— like everything in the antique mall— and Y/N isn’t quite sure it’ll support her weight, despite her test of gripping a rung and pushing on it.

“Harry, c’mere,” She calls over her shoulder, hands gripping the sides of the dusty ladder as she balances a foot on the bottom rung.

Upon her beckoning, Harry saunters over, the painted print she’d selected still grasped in his ringed hand. “Yeah?” He asks, raising an eyebrow in question. “What is it?”

“Can you help me climb up the ladder?” Y/N nods her head towards the far-reaching shelves, biting her bottom lip with pleading eyes. “I want to see what’s on the top shelves.”

Harry’s gaze follows Y/N’s gesture towards the top of the library wall, a look of trepidation flickering through his eyes. “Is that really necessary?”

“Yes,” Y/N answers curtly, lifting her other foot onto the bottom rung before moving from her original step to the next. “And it’ll be a lot easier if you help me.”

Despite his protests, Harry sets down the framed print and complies with the request, grasping Y/N around her waist with firm hands as she scurries up the rickety ladder.  She can feel his fingertips pressing into her love handles over the denim, and it would be a lie to say she doesn’t enjoy it, but she refocuses her attention onto reading over the embossed titles that she couldn’t see from below.

“Y’know, on second thought… take all the time you need, dove.” Harry calls from below her, the smirk evident in his voice as he squeezes her hips once with a laugh. “I’ve got quite the view from here.”

Rolling her eyes, Y/N releases one hand from the ladder to tug a novel off the shelf, examining the half exposed cover before sliding it back into its place. “I bet you do.” She retorts, wiggling her hips just enough to tease him without losing her precarious balance on the ladder.

Although the motion is meant to be a joke, Harry can’t stop the flash of genuine fear that ignites in his chest.  Humans are fragile, he knows, and a fall from the height that Y/N has climbed to could sprain her wrist, or injure her back, or crack open her skull like an egg, or—

“Careful there, Watson.” Harry attempts to disguise the worry in his voice behind a lighthearted joke as his grip on the human girl strengthens. “Wouldn’t want an accident to happen, now, would we?”

“That’s why I’ve got you, Holmes.” A tinkling laugh falls from her lips as she risks a glance over her shoulder at him, her eyes alight with amusement, before turning her attention back to the old novels. “You wouldn’t let anything happen to me, would you?”

There’s a nervous truth hidden underneath her words, and Harry knows it, but that doesn’t stop it from making his skin itch as the casual phrase sinks into his body.  In all his years, however, Harry’s gotten quite good at hiding his emotions, and this is no different.  

Instead of giving a sincere answer, Harry hardens his reply of “F’course I wouldn’t, pet.  Y’can never be too careful.” by letting one jeweled hand drift from Y/N’s hip to her backside, cupping it gently to support her, and taking delight in the way he can feel her body tense beneath his new touch.

It takes Y/N a moment to find her breath again, and when she does, all she can muster is a hum in the back of her throat. “Mhmm.” She sighs, trying her best to refocus on the books lining the shelves in front of her as she climbs higher. “Is that why your hand is grabbing my ass, you pervert?”

“Y’know, that seems to be your favourite nickname for me.” Harry’s smirk deepens as he contracts his hand, squeezing her fleshy backside after she takes another step higher. “I wonder why that is?”

“I wonder.” The flat response echoes from Y/N’s mouth as she pulls another book from the shelf to examine it before replacing it a moment later. “Maybe— and this is just a suggestion, so take it with a grain of salt, but— maybe if you didn’t act like a pervert, you’d get a nicer nickname.”

Although Y/N’s retorts are droll and to the point, Harry can hear the way her heartbeat begins to stutter each time he massages her, and it’s that fluttering rhythm that encourages him to grasp the sides of the ladder with both hands and pull himself up a couple rungs. 

“A nicer nickname, huh?” He breathes in her ear, pressing his chest to her back both to be close to her and to give her more support on the ladder. “Like ‘slut’?” Harry stifles the groan that nearly rolls from his throat when he feels Y/N stiffen. “That’s one of your favourites, isn’t it?”

“I—” Swallowing down the sudden lump in her throat, Y/N grips the sides of the ladder tight between her hands, her skin stretching over her tense knuckles as Harry’s breath begins to hit her neck. “Maybe. I...I suppose.”

Harry laughs quietly as he takes another step up the ladder, keeping himself braced against Y/N as he begins to smear kisses along the side of her neck, mindful of the iron cross that still hangs there. “You suppose?” He repeats, his tone slightly mocking when he hears the mortal shudder. “What about your other favourites?  Y’like when I call you my pretty little plaything, don’t you?”

The honey and lavender fragrance wafting over Harry intensifies as Y/N’s blood pumps faster and faster, the only sound emerging from the human girl being a quiet whimper from the back of her throat.

“There’s another one, though… another nickname…” Letting his teeth gently graze her earlobe, Harry whispers directly in Y/N’s ear, keeping his voice low and throaty as he does so. “It’s on the tip of my tongue, baby...” He suckles sloppily along her pulsing neck, delighting in the taste of her sweet skin in his mouth. “Remind me what it is?”

Already, Y/N’s breathing has grown ragged, and he waits a moment for the aroused girl to form a response, encouraging her with every nip of his teeth.  Just when Harry is about to ask again, she manages to choke out a reply.

“Whore.” She whispers, the embarrassment in her voice overpowered by the lust running through her veins. “I like it when you call me your whore.”

“That’s my good girl.” A satisfied smile tugs at the edge of Harry’s lips as he stamps a gentle kiss to Y/N’s jaw. “That’s another one, too.  My good girl.  And because you’re my good girl…” Harry snakes his right hand from the rung of the ladder to the buttons of Y/N’s overalls, deftly undoing the side snaps and gradually slipping his hand into the space between the denim and her clammy skin. “You’re going to keep looking for your books while I have some fun.”

Y/N lets out a broken gasp as Harry’s fingertips graze over her cotton panties, and her grip on the railing slackens as a rush of heat falls between her legs. 

“Careful, baby.” Harry cautions her, his left hand wrapping around hers and resetting her grasp on the ladder. “Can’t have any fun if you let go, hm?”

“We—” She twists her head to the side, straining to look over her shoulder and towards the entrance as Harry’s digits dance over the dampening spot on her panties. “Someone could walk in, Harry—”

Of course someone could, Harry thinks, but exhibitionism is so much easier to indulge when one has inhuman hearing that can detect the pounding of an approaching heart from fifty feet away.  He doesn’t disclose this information to Y/N, however, for a number of reasons, and instead chooses to scrape his teeth along the shell of her ear once more, his ruby lips soothing the marks instantly. 

“You let me worry about that, alright?” He murmurs lowly, sliding Y/N’s cotton panties to the side and dragging his index and middle finger through her dripping folds, enjoying how she shivers against his chest. “You just focus on finding the book you want and being a good little whore for me, princess.  Let me take care of the rest.”

When Y/N reflects on this moment in bed tonight, her clammy palms twisting around the sheets as she inhabits the memory of Harry’s mint-scented breath swirling around her as he massages two fingers around her throbbing clit with a teasing touch, one specific detail will stick out to her.  She won’t focus on how her heart is pounding so hard that she feels her chest might burst, or how her fingers shake as she reaches for another book on the shelf, per Harry’s quiet but intent instructions.  The thing that Y/N will remember in wonder and— on some level, self consciously— is how quickly the anxiety that spikes through her veins at the possibility of someone walking in and finding the two of them in such a compromising position bleeds into a high like no other.

Y/N likes to entertain the idea that she’s fairly adventurous, and has been open to a lot of things, especially since meeting Harry, but this— allowing him to finger her in a music room at an antique mall, where any customer or employee could discover them— is something so outside of her character that Y/N can’t think straight.  When Harry first slips his long middle finger inside her slick center, the girl nearly collapses, and Harry’s broad chest braced behind her is the only thing that keeps her upright on the ladder.

“Y’like that, doll?” Harry’s hot breath rolls over her neck as he purrs the words, adjusting his grip on the side of the ladder as his other hand skillfully toys with the human in slow and deep strokes. “Filthy little thing, you are, letting me play with you like this.”

The sinful remark draws a mewling moan from Y/N’s mouth as her head dips back onto Harry’s sturdy shoulder, her hands dropping all pretense of searching for a book and clutching the ladder like she normally clutches her sheets, or the headboard of whoever’s bed Harry has tossed her onto. “H-Harry…” She whimpers, her eyelashes fluttering as he circles his thumb around her clit. “Fuck…”

“You pretend to be so sweet, but you and I know the truth, don’t we?” The vampire sponges another kiss along her throat as he delights in the wet sounds his fingers make, which easily become drowned out by the quiet noises of bliss leaving his lover’s mouth. “You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?”

Y/N nods fervently as she allows her weight to fall back against Harry’s sturdy chest, trusting him to support her as he thrusts another finger inside her. “Anything, H, I—” The desperate proclamation is cut off as Harry curls his digits, bumping against the spot in the pit of her tummy that sets her entire nervous system on fire. “Shit, right there, baby, right there…”

Harry’s smug voice rings in her ear as he slows his stride, dragging his fingers in and out of her hot core at a pace that’s nearly criminal. “Y’don’t need to tell me, I know.” He pushes himself forward again, flushing Y/N between his chest and the ladder with just enough room to continue his activities. “I know what you like, how you like it, where you like it… Know my girl so well.”

As Y/N adjusts to the newly close proximity, the bulge in Harry’s slacks grows more apparent, rubbing against her backside over and over with each plunge of Harry’s fingers.  She lets out a strangled whine at the feeling, carving her teeth into her bottom lip in an effort to keep herself quiet. 

“You feel me, don’t you, minx?” Harry moans into her ear, catching his teeth along the shell before dragging them down her jaw to settle his lips just above her throbbing pulse point. “You feel what you’re doing to me?  How just a single whimper from those pretty lips, and one touch of your soaked cunt makes my cock ache?”

Despite her best efforts, a ragged sob breaks through Y/N’s self-imposed gag order, and her chest heaves within Harry’s tight embrace as her head lolls to the side. “I-I want it.” She pleads, her half-lidded eyes struggling to find Harry’s emerald irises in her haze. 

Those sea glass eyes, darker than she’s ever seen them, widen with fake surprise as his mouth curls into a smirk.  When Harry replies, his normally soothing dulcet voice is filled with insincere mocking. “Oh, you want it, do you?  You want me to fuck you in here?” Dropping his voice to its usual low resonance, Harry growls the next phrase in the human’s ear. “I know you want it, you fucking slut.  But you can’t have it right now.  So if I’m going to let you cum—” The conditional phrase pulls a sound of protest from her throat. “—then you’re going to have to do it around my fingers.” 

The begging girl cries out against his neck as her walls clench around his touch, the stifled pants that she gasps into Harry’s ear urging him to speed up.  Instead of giving her what she wants, Harry curls his fingers inside her, pressing deeper into that spongy spot to elicit another broken whine from her.  When he receives it, however, it’s accompanied by an unexpected blinding burn. 

The iron cross that hangs so delicately around Y/N’s fragile throat has slung to the side in her writhing pleasure, finding its way from her flushed collarbones to the base of Harry’s icy neck.  The vampire grinds his teeth as he feels the brand begin to form, choking back the sound of agony that fights its way out of his mouth.  His left hand clenches around the ladder, his knuckles stretching white as the waxed wood nearly splinters under his palm, while his right hand stutters its pace inside his lover, prodding harshly at her G-spot as a single grunt makes it past the cracks of his teeth.

Harry knows he needs to remove the cross from his skin, but he has no way of doing so without alerting Y/N to his discomfort.  If he lets go of the rung, both of them will tumble off, and Y/N has made it obvious how much she trusts him to keep her safe; that option is hardly an option, Harry thinks, struggling to keep his mind present as he fights through the pain.  The other option— the only one, really— is to retract his fingers from between the mortal’s thighs, feign some excuse as to why, and do his best to keep her from noticing the cross-shaped burn mark on his neck that will surely disappear within a few moments of the iron being removed.  It’ll be jarring, he knows, to pull Y/N from the subspace he can tell she’s beginning to slip into, and Harry hates it, but there’s nothing to be done.  His hand contracts inside her, desperately massaging her walls one last time before he retreats to—

The sharp action drags a mangled whine from Y/N’s throat, the sound more shattered than anything Harry has ever heard from her before, and it pulls Harry’s attention from the charring sensation of the cross branding his skin to the overwhelmed girl in his arms.  As Y/N lets her entire body fall against Harry’s chest, her eyes completely shut as she gives into the pleasure bubbling in her tummy, a realization dawns on Harry, searing him nearly as much as the metal on his inhuman flesh: he can’t let go of her.  He’s in too deep— literally, obvious in the way she tightens around his fingers— and if he were to stop now, Y/N would go into a sensitive daze that he can’t deal with in a public space.  If he lets go of her now, he’ll lose the connection he’s spent the last two months making. She might get over it, given that it’s just an orgasm, but subconsciously, there’s a possibility she could resent him for it. Especially in the extremely delicate phase she’s in at the moment. 

He knows it sounds stupid, but he can’t risk that.  He just can’t.  He’ll take burning agony over that any day. 

When Harry reflects on this moment in bed tonight, his jeweled fingers carefully combing through Y/N’s knotted locks as she shifts in his arms, the bite mark on her neck freshly faded to a light bruise, her chest rising and falling gently with quiet breaths, one specific detail will stick out to him.  He won’t focus on the blinding pleasure of Y/N grinding against his hardened bulge, her body moving of its own accord as she gives in completely to the sensations Harry pulls from her.  He won’t focus on the explicit moans that show she’s given up on attempting to quiet, her voice reverberating in Harry’s mouth as he inhales every desperate breath she exhales.  When Harry reflects on this moment, the thing he’ll remember the most is how the second he accepted his fate— that he’d have to bear the pain in order to keep Y/N happy, and he feels like there’s probably some deeper subliminal message hidden beneath that realization, though he refuses to indulge it— the mortal girl tilts her head to the side and begins to kiss Harry’s neck, soothing the scorched mark with her silky tongue. 

The relief is so sweet that Harry nearly cries out a fractured mewl, letting his head fall forward into Y/N’s shoulder to hide his desperate expression.  She continues to whimper into his skin, smudging kiss after kiss on his marked neck as if she knows how badly he needs it.  Even as her orgasm begins to rise in her belly, consuming her every thought, she continues to suck bruises onto his jugular, dragging her tongue over his cool skin repeatedly after every action.  Although the iron still stings, the sensation of Y/N’s textured tongue swiping over it turns the pain to pleasure, and it’s not long before Harry has himself centered once again, refocused on the task at hand. 

He speeds up the movement of his fingers, focusing on curling them inside her as his thumb rubs quick circles over her throbbing clit.  The sounds bouncing around the room are so lewd that Harry almost wishes someone would walk in, even if only to see how good Harry is capable of making his lover feel. 

“Y’can cum for me, baby.  Cum all over my hand.” He mutters in her ear, his teeth scraping against her fragile skin in desperation. “I know you have it in you.  Show me how good you are.”

Y/N feverishly grinds against his hand, all of her senses overwhelmed by the immortal as she licks across his neck. “So—so close, Harry—I—”

“I know, I know you are.” The vampire soothes her in a tone more gentle than he thought possible, palming her soaking cunt with as much pressure as he thinks she can stand. “Let go for me.  I’ve got you.”

The reassurance is the final thing Y/N needs to fall apart, and once she knows that she can, it happens with an intensity that shocks even her.  When the coil inside her belly snaps, a guttural moan tears from her mouth, and she grasps the pole in front of her as tightly as she can while collapsing back into Harry’s chest. 

“Fuck, there we go, yeah? Shhh, keep it down for me, angel. Don’t wanna have to stop until you beg me to.” 

Her grip on the ladder does nothing to support her, but as Harry’s hushed words ring in her mind, she knows she doesn’t have to worry about that.  Harry’s arms and chest are strong enough to do it for her, allowing her to sink into her pleasure as much as she needs to. 

When Y/N slumps in his arms, her neck finally shifts enough that her cross falls back into its designated position between her collarbones, providing Harry with relief from the scorching pain he’d been beginning to adjust to.  He can feel his skin begin to heal itself the moment the iron leaves it, and with that small fear tamped down, the creature can turn all his attention to the girl in his arms. 

He slowly and carefully retracts his hand from her panties, shushing the weak squeak that rolls from her lips at the motion. “Good girl.” He mumbles into her ear, kissing her temple softly as her breathing begins to regulate itself. “Shh, you’re alright.  Y’did so well for me, darling.”

The comforting praise comes easily to him, and as he continues to hold Y/N as she regains her previous headspace, Harry begins to wonder just how far he’d be able to push her before she reaches her limits.  How far into subspace can she go before she hits the point of no return?  Could Harry successfully guide her there and lead her back?  Could she ever trust him enough to submit fully to his every request, taking solace in the knowledge that he can take care of her as well as— or better, even— she can take care of herself?  Harry wants to think yes, but he can’t dwell on the idea any longer; Y/N’s beginning to shift against him again, and he’ll never be able to earn that wholehearted trust if he doesn’t tend to her now. 

Lifting his hand to his own lips, Harry wraps his tongue around his drenched fingers, lapping at the sweet wetness that coats them down to his rings.  He hums in appreciation, stippling another tender kiss to Y/N’s neck when he retracts his fingers from his mouth. 

“Taste so sweet, y’know that?” He whispers, the question half a test to see how aware Y/N is as her head begins to clear. “C’mere, I want you to taste.”

Y/N lazily tilts her head to the side, a small smile playing on her lips as they meet Harry’s for a slow kiss.  Trailing his fingers down her side, Harry skillfully buttons the side of her overalls again, adjusting the fabric to lie comfortable against her skin.

“How are you feeling, hm?” He murmurs, rubbing his large hand soothingly over her belly as her breathing begins to regulate again. “How was that?”

“I feel…” Y/N struggles to make sense of her swimming head, resting it against Harry’s shoulder as she tries to form a coherent response. “Good.”

Harry sighs with relief, smearing a quick kiss to her cheek as he grins. “Good.  That’s good.” 

With his right hand still wrapped around her middle, he carefully lowers himself and Y/N from the ladder, keeping a tight grip on the girl until he knows her feet are planted firmly on the ground. 

As the afterglow of her climax begins to fade, a heated flush begins to crawl up Y/N’s spine to settle on the apples of her cheeks. “I, um—” The corners of her lips tug upwards with a bashful tone, and she twists around in Harry’s arms to shyly meet his canopy green eyes. “I can’t believe I did that.” 

“You didn’t do anything.  It takes two to tango, pet.  And, honestly…” Harry flashes a boyish simper at her as he yanks her closer to him by her hips. “I think I did most of the work.” 

“That’s true.” A breathless laugh stutters from Y/N’s chest as she curls her hands around Harry’s bulging biceps, steadying herself from the after effects of her orgasm, which are turning her legs to jelly. “I could, um…” She flicks her eyes from the door to the prominent bulge in Harry’s black slacks before capturing his gaze in hers again. “Return the favour?”

Harry snorts as he gives a quick shake of his head, his teeth catching on his bottom lip while he runs his hands down the back of her rumpled shirt. “Not here, baby.  How about we wait until we’re back at my place for you to show me how my sweet girl sucks cock, hm?”

“So it’s alright for you to distract me from my book search to finger me in a public area,” Y/N fakes indignation to distract herself from the ache that’s starting to pulse in her core again at Harry’s proposal. “But the moment I want to suck you off, you say ‘not here’?  What kind of double standard is that?”

Lips twitching in amusement, Harry stifles a laugh as he turns the girl in his arms, pressing her back to his chest once again before wrapping his arms back around her waist. “You’re right.  I distracted you from your book search. How rude of me.” He coos, nodding up to the shelf as he grazes his teeth against her pulse. “Think I see a pretty copy of Sense and Sensibility up there.  Y’think you can reach it, or do you need me to do it, sweetheart?” 

The shuddering of Y/N’s heartbeat contrasts with her heated reply. “I can reach it just fine if you behave yourself.” She shoots back, smacking the hand that’s beginning to wander towards her center again. “Or is that too difficult for you?” 

“It’s extremely difficult when I’m near you.” The reply, while truthful, sends a quiver down Harry’s spine, and he presses a chaste kiss to the human girl’s shoulder before releasing her from his grasp. “I’ll get the book.”

Y/N tugs the hair tie from her locks, shaking them out before pulling them back again in a neat manner. “You know, I never thought I was one for antiquing, but today was fun.” 

“Well, it doesn’t usually involve getting finger-fucked on a ladder,” Harry states bluntly, glancing over his shoulder with a dimpled smile on his face. “So I’m not really sure if today can be the marker for an average antiquing session.”

Y/N’s face boils at the brazen comment, and she tucks a strand of loose hair that she’d missed behind her ear as she swallows hard. “No.” She replies with a soft and timid laugh, shaking her head gently. “I suppose that’s true.” 

Harry hums in reply as he snags the old copy of the Jane Austen novel from the top shelf, climbing down the ladder effortlessly and landing back on the ground with a soft thud. “But I’m glad you had fun.” Harry steps towards Y/N with a satisfied air, gripping her chin between his thumb and forefinger as a teasing smile plays on his ruby lips. “And I’m even more glad we found a replacement for that terrible tapestry of yours.”

Y/N rolls her eyes as she smacks Harry’s hand from her chin before snatching the novel from his hands. “Stop being mean to Amanda!  You’ll hurt her feelings.”

A snort boasts from Harry’s throat as he recalls the day she had told him what she’d named the piece hanging from her wall, and he bends down to scoop up the Monet print while shaking his head impassively, clutching it in one hand as he snakes the other around Y/N’s waist once again. “Well, I hope Amanda doesn’t have feelings, because I’m going to burn her.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Oh yes, I am.”

“No, you’re not, because I’m going to hang her over your bed, just so you can stare at her while you fall asleep each night.” 

Harry groans loudly as he guides his lover from the music room and back to the open space of the antique mall. “Please.  If anything is going over my bed, it’s a mirror, not a college freshman’s poor excuse of an attempt at interior design.” 

Y/N wrinkles her nose at the comment, shaking her head at the crude suggestion. “A mirror?  That better be a joke.”

“It was, but now that I’m thinking about it…”

“You’re disgustingly conceited.” 

“Oh please, you lo—” Harry catches himself just before the word love rolls off his lips.  Though he’s said it before when referring to certain aspects of their sex life (like how he loves the way her mouth feels, or how she loves the way he stretches her out), it just seems oddly repulsive to say at this very moment. Too intimate, almost.

Therefore, the creature bites back the offensive phrase and tugs her closer by the waist, covering up his sudden hesitation with his signature smirk. “You like that idea, don’t you, dove?”

Y/N keeps her face neutral as they pass by an older couple examining a grandfather clock. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Sure you don’t.” Harry laughs sharply, nuzzling his face into the top of Y/N’s hair and pressing a casual kiss to the crown of her head. “Need I remind you that your request for my interior design skills is what started this whole thing?”

“And if you had suggested I mount a mirror over my bed, this whole thing would’ve been over before it even had a chance to start.”

“You say that now, but if you were to see the way my cock looks while it slams into your—”

“Harry!” Y/N hisses, blood rushing to her cheeks as he guides her around a corner stacked with porcelain dolls. 

“Fine. No mirror.” Harry relents, a disappointed sigh falling from his lips as he palms Y/N’s waist closer to himself. “But the tapestry needs to be burned.”

“No.”

“Thrown away.”

“No.”

“Folded up and tucked under the bed?”

“Possibly.  And that’s as good an ending as you’ll get.” 

That night, after Harry has satisfied his craving for both Y/N and the sweet liquid that pumps through her veins, and has settled in for his usual nightly routine of rhythmically caressing her back to lull her into a deep slumber, and as he counts the breaths the mortal sighs between nightfall and sunrise while her soft snoring sings a lullaby to his ears, he can’t help but think that…

That yes, this really is as good an ending as he’ll ever get.