#so basically has this big ass tattoo on his sleeve and in the middle there are nick&carole&tom's name

[pollyna]

Navy regs are in books that quote books that quote books. Ron has all of them somewhere in the house, with Tom's precise handwriting pointing out all the spelling issues and doing the theoretical maths his degree didn't help him to understand. In a less neat calligraphy, in some pages, Nick's notes are mixed with doodles and his own notes. Of Annapolis he will forever remember the heat and the hours in class, before their callsigns, when Nick used to make him late because he had to kiss him one minute more and Tom had the most convenient, and convicing, excuse for them.

(Maybe he could find some of those books and show them to Bradley the next time he's going to come around. He could probably appreciate them? Or maybe he should ask Maverick?)

Regs say no tattoo, but regs say a lot of shit Ice used to correct back then and that he corrected during the years. Regs say no tattoos, and Tom said they were stupid, so Ron got his first, then his second, and half of his right sleeve. The only people who know of them are his friends, his doctors, his mirror and his tattoo artist. Having to wear a shirt all day, and a jacket for most of it, has its advantages, even if he fucking hates being an admiral most of the time. But it's almost time; another couple of years, and he's going to retire and never again put a foot on a Navy base.

The studio isn't the biggest in town, but Ron knows the artist and their dad, and they are both the best for what he needs. He's so focused on the piece of paper between his hands that he almost misses two young women saluting him, with a half-panicked Adrmial Kerner, sir!

At ease, Lieutenants, glad to see someone knows where to get good ones. He smiles because he knows they shouldn't be there, but he shouldn't be either, so it's not really a problem. He's going to add something when something, someone, hugs his leg and has all his attention. Oh, who do we have here? George? You're so big now, boy! he picks up the kid. Mom is waiting for you! he points towards one of the rooms, and, in less than five steps he takes, George tells him all he can fit in, and it's a lot.

(Ron finds himself wondering if Bradley was the same at that age.)

So you're already back for the next piece, uhuh? a voice asks. You know, I can't live without you, hon, he answers, laughing loudly. They laugh with him, but it dies when he passes them the piece of paper. I'm so sorry, Ron, they murmur, and he finds himself smiling lightly, trying not to cry again, thank you Carly.

He takes off his jacket and then his shirt, and his right arm is colorful but not whole. Are you ready, big guy? they smile, dipping the tattoo gun in the red ink as ready as I was the first time he answers. Carly draws and talks, asking questions about the kid (he's a man now and he's almost as tall as me), about the kids (if they destroyed the base while I was gone, at least they're going to let me retire), about Tom and there, Ron has to take a breath because it fucking hurts. He doesn't know if it's the point they're working on or missing Tom or both, but he has to ask Carly to stop for a minute. (He was-the last few days were the hardest. Did you know he used to write mathematical formulas when he was bored during lessons? He and Nick were good friends, Tom was the reason behind the Mother Goose. I miss him. I miss them all Carly). Almost five hours have passed by the time it's done, and by that point they're humming random songs and listening to the description of the rock George found outside his school that same morning. All done, Admiral. You already know what you have to do, right? I'd like to see you next week to check on some of the edges around the elbow, but it's already looking pretty great. Ron barely hears her because he's so intent on looking at his arm, where now Tom's name is adorning his arm, just inches away from Nick and Carole's. Yeah, yeah whenever you want Carl'.

(It's seven in the evening and the cemetery is empty. The bouquet is a happy one, and his shirt leaves are already up. It's done, I finally finished it. He starts and you're here all together now. I miss both of you. I hope Tom's there too. I hope you're all okay now.)

The regs say no tattoos, and Tom said fuck 'em all, and now they are all there while he flies and teaches and lives another day, under his uniform and out in the open.

[sednas]

𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐄, 𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐕𝐄𝐒 𝐌𝐄 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐘

// feeding up my twisted sugar daddy fantasies here with fictional characters since (rich) men scare the shit out of me irl \\

⠀ૈ☆ ft. sugardaddy!gojo, sukuna, toji, nanami, geto x gn!reader

⠀ૈ☆ tw: sugar daddy theme, smut, alcohol, 'slut' used once, dumbification

𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎

pretty boy is in the fashion and/or cinema industry for sure

he loves to show you off during every events he has to attend to

he always has fun when you're by his side, teasing you the whole night or sending wide grin to every person who stares at him with jealousy

he's also slightly obsessed with you and your body

he loves to give you compliments, sometimes it's highly inappropriate tho

like the one time he growled "damn your ass is going to be the death of me" in his workplace, in a room full of people.

he's shameless

and like I said, he's obsessed, cornering you against a wall, whispering in your ear in a velvet voice only to make you shiver and smirking like a college boy when he succeeds in making you flustered

he takes you on vacation every chance he gets, he's honestly looking for an excuse to have you all for himself during at least one month

he wants you to fully depend on him, he will find every excuse to make you drop out college or quit your job

you don't need to make money, you have him

and you don't need to think when you make such a perfect cock sleeve

well, that escalated quickly isn't it?

gojo loves to tease you in public, it's when you're surrounded by pretentious people during a party that he's the most active

he gets you all wet and flustered just with his words and mindlessly plays with your hair for the rest of the night

sometimes he manages to control himself for the whole event, keeping his hands on him and only winking at you a few times

but, he doesn't most of the time.

the party barely even started that he has you already spread up against the shiny sink of the bathroom.

"shhh don't make a noise pretty, or they will hear you..." he whispered against your ear, grabbing your neck to lift your head so you could look at him in the mirror.

you felt him moving his hips, fucking you slowly from behind, dragging his dick inside of you so you could feel every inch of him. your hair was falling everywhere on your face, contrasting with how they were perfectly arranged back when the party started. but oh he loved the sight, seeing you absolutely ruined because of him. you whimpered weakly, trying to push yourself on his cock, hoping to make him move faster.

"patience baby, we've got all night." he cooed, making sure to slam his hips harshly against your ass at the end of his sentence just before going back to his agonizingly slow pace.

𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐔𝐍𝐀

he is the boss of a big chain of tattoo and piercing stores

he's not that busy but he still pretends to be too occupied to spend time with you

he wants you needy and desperate so he waits until you're basically begging on your knees to have some attention

toxic piece of shit

even if sometimes he doesn't text you for a whole week he always makes sure to send you gifts

you receive your favorite flowers, stuffed animals, gorgeous clothes or... toys

have you already forgotten who we are talking about?

a pink vibrator packed in a pretty box with a little card where it's written "wait for me to try it (:"

isn't that sweet?

he likes to give you unexpected visits in the middle of the night, having the spare keys to the apartment he bought for you

you slowly woke up, feeling hands on your waist and a mouth placing wet kisses against your neck.

"hey, don't move." you immediately melted against his chest, hearing his deep voice behind your back, sending shivers down your whole body. he kept kissing your skin, sometimes biting it to leave a mark and licking it right after to ease the pain. he moved a little closer, to purposefully make you feel his hard boner against your ass, growling in a low voice when he felt you rubbing yourself against him.

"I said, don't move." he reached for something in of the drawer, and you began to squirm when you heard a familiar sound. holding you in place, he put the vibrator between your legs, causing you to immediately shake against him. he laughed at your reaction, holding your hip firmly with his other hand.

"you're so cute. let's see how long you can hold it."

𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎

he would be a psychiatrist/doctor (oh the irony 💀)

you have him wrapped around your finger and he doesn't even care showing it

he lives for your touch and melts when you caress his black hair

he takes you to a lot of restaurants where the food is deliciously expensive just because he genuinely enjoys your conversation

he's extremely careful to your needs, he buys whatever you want before you can even ask for it

he's extremely busy but he still manages to spend a lot of time with you (fuck you sukuna you should be ashamed of yourself)

I already said it but fancy diners are his favorite, getting to see you all pretty just for him and talking and listening to your voice for the whole dinner are his definition of pure bliss

he privatizes an entire building for this kind of date, asking for candles and classical music in the background

you two can observe the city lights while eating, or more precisely, you watch the neon lights of the city while mr simp boy admires your face's features with adoring eyes

alexa play plum nuts by etta james

he doesn't want to have sex with you

wait wait, don't leave! let me rephrase: does he want to have sex with you? yes, absolutely yes

but does he want you to feel forced to have sex with him since he provides you everything you need? no, absolutely no

the first time you two fucked was totally unexpected and almost accidental

his cheeks were red from the alcohol and the arousal as he kissed your inner thighs lovingly, like he was savoring this moment.

"are you sure?" he asked three times for your consent already, at this point you just pushed your hand through his dark locks, bringing his head closer to your sensitive parts while whimpering impatiently.

he smiled a little, kissing your thigh one more time before burying his head between your legs, licking you greedily, keeping your legs spread by grabbing the fat of your thighs in a gentle hold. he was almost the one who made the most noise, going absolutely feral on you, wet sounds echoing in his penthouse while the neon lights of the buzzing city under the building were the only source of light in the room. your hips lifted on his face against your own will, feeling his skilled tongue running down on you.

"you taste really good angel. mind if you come for me?"

𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐀��𝐈

tired ceo of some big company

always so busy but more than happy to have you by his side

he offers you to attend his meetings with him and it always makes him happy to hear you say yes

even tho it's really boring and let's be honest, you understand nothing of what they're saying

you just sit there being pretty, waiting patiently for him to finish

he gets distracted by your pretty face every damn time, stopping mid sentence or making a typo while writing an email

he tends to overwork himself and gets really stressed out sometimes, lucky for him, you're here

seeing you reminds him that he can have a good time once in awhile, so he thinks big and takes you somewhere on a yacht for two or three weeks, drinking fancy drinks somewhere in the caribbean sea

similar to geto, at first he felt a little uncomfortable with the idea of having sex with you

the key words are 'at first'

but how could he resist when you welcomed him so warmly in his office that day

"I don't think it's appropriate to do this here..." you heard him say while you were rubbing your face on his crotch, kissing the buldge that quickly appeared on his pants. you lifted your eyes to look up at him, squeezing your cheek against his thigh, making him slightly twitch. you two exchanged a stare that lasted a few seconds, and the minute after he was undoing his belt himself, effortlessly giving in. there was this glint in your eyes, full of desire for him, and him only, that immediately lighted up a fire deep inside of his chest. a deep grunt echoed in the room when you took him all the way in your mouth, the head of his dick touching the back of your throat.

"fuck yeah just like that..." you felt arousal leaking out of you by hearing his moans, bobbing your head in a slow and teasing pace but taking him deeper every time. you felt his fingers running across your hair, gently lifting your head to look at your face.

"I think someone's coming sweetie. don't make a sound but keep going, you wouldn't want us to get caught now would you?"

𝐓𝐎𝐉𝐈

first let's just pretend this man is not canonically broke asf 😭

second, I'm sorry but I can't see him gaining money legally, he's the worst in every way and even sukuna has more morals than him

so, I think he would probably be the leader of the biggest gang of the country or something like that

keep you out of his business in order to protect you

like sukuna he will leave you touch starved and aching for more so you're all obedient and submissive just how he likes it

he sends you clothes he thinks would look stunning on you but acts indifferent when you wear them

he loves to show you off during parties, keeping you extremely close and making sure everyone gets the hint that you're his by firmly grabbing your ass with his big hand

he probably already had someone killed because they looked at you a little too intensively

yeah he's that jealous

he offered you a collar/chain/bracelet with his name on it and he absolutely loves seeing it shine on your skin

he takes you with him on vacation whenever he wants to, but he mostly does it when one of you is feeling particularly stressed and/or anxious

he likes to fuck the stress out of you too <3

"that's right, take my cock like a good little slut..." his deep voice made you heart beat faster, feeling his chest pushing your body against the cold material of the kitchen counter, harshly grabbing your waist with rough hands to control your body like you were nothing but a ragdoll. considering his strength you were. while ramming into you, he grabbed a handful of your hair to expose your neck and giving it rough bites. you felt trapped, caught between him and the counter, your body jolting under the force of his thrusts, you felt all of your strength leaving you. this sensation was accentuated when his hand reached down your body, giving you pleasure while shoving his fat cock inside your tiny hole. your eyes crossed, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure you were feeling. he smiled at your dumb expression, tightening his grip around your waist and your hair.

"you're so cute... you're doing good sweetheart turn off that little brain of yours, you don't need to think, all you have to do is take my cock."

a lovely reminder that reblogs and comments are highly appreciated ♡

jjk masterlist

[oh-boy-me]

Demon Outfits Discussed

The wait is over :) thank you for your patience and all the lovely comments on the casual discussion!!

I feel like it got longer this time, so I hope it’s all an enjoyable read!  Also, I apologize for the ugly pictures--it was the easiest and fastest way to both have all the design in one image and also prevent it from stretching so far.

Like last time, please don’t take this too seriously; we love these boys and Justin doesn’t know them but has no grudges against them.  We’re just harping on their fashion sense.  Absolutely no hate is intended towards the boys or the design team!

Participants in the discussion were

Jo ( @jodaneko ), our art major with storyboarding/character design experience, who finds they have more in common with Satan each passing day.

Justin ( @justinlester0629 ), our fashion expert, who dressed up and filled a wine glass with water for the occasion.

Noodle (Me), our untrained eye who owns the Barbie as the Island Princess video game on three different platforms.  It’s not even that good.

Featuring emergency guest star Megan ( @maggo77​ ), my sister who is physically near me as we look at the backs of their designs for the first time.

Edit: Distracted by the pretty jacket, we made a mistake when putting in Levi’s silhouette rating.  It’s the worst.  2/10, not 6.

Lucifer:

“Boy looks like he’s about to swing open the doors of an expensive mansion during a debutante party and give some SCATHING NEWS.” —Justin

“Short shoulder cape and a long split butt cape lol” —Jo

Jo has realized that based on both outfits, Lucifer doesn’t want people looking at his butt.  Possible reasons are: he doesn’t have one, or Diavolo someone was getting distracted.

His shoes match his outfit.  After last time that’s all I care about.

A triple popped color, and how many layers is the middle one?  Is that a book?  Dude has like 27 collars.

The forehead diamond is very important and it’s great that there are diamond buttons to match it.  But uh.  How about those red diamonds on his sleeves.  They.  They sure are there.  (I actually like the red accents and that they match his gloves; I just can’t take the diamonds seriously.)

  Lucifer 🤝 Some Horses Diamond on the Forehead

The peacock motif is HERE and we’re all living for it.  HOWEVER, the feathers on the cape and coattails should have matched, OR there should have been more lime green because there’s so little of that color.

The pants have a pleat in the front, which Justin says means he responsibly irons his clothes, and Jo says only heightens the fact that under the capes this is a marching uniform.

Can he fly?  Jo says these are baby wings that can’t support his weight, and his cape has a hole for the top pair but blocks the bottom pair?  Can’t believe Lucifer handicapped himself for the sake of fashion.

The red makes it regal and the wide flowy design makes it imposing.  Good job, Lucifer!  I might actually be intimidated if I saw you.

Definitely the classiest outfit.  You can tell they put care into it.

Mammon:

“BITCH MY BODY CANNOT TAKE THIS KIND OF SEXY, I THINK I AM OVERHEATING!  NO MORE FURTHER COMMENTS, YOUR HONOR.  HAUTE AND HOT.” —Justin

The whole thing does amazing with only three colors.  We’ve noticed the trend of black and white + one color, but I mean hey.  It’s working so far.

Damn those pants sit low.  No wonder literally all of you wear belts.

The leather jacket?  The studs and harness?  Bless.  Justin calls it “the perfect blend of stylish and ‘I’ll see you tonight *wink*’”.

Kind of don’t like how the belts connect to the pants, though.  It looks better in the back.

“He found a really cool jacket, but it didn’t pair with anything so he just didn’t wear anything.” —Jo

Honestly though?  We’ve all made fun of Mammon for having big hoe energy in his outfits, but like, he knew he had wings and planned his outfit to accommodate for that.  He’s the only one who didn’t cut holes in his outfit.  Maybe Mammon was the smallest hoe after all.

Also if there’s a motif it repeats elsewhere, like the studs and diamonds on his jacket and pants.  Did he and Lucifer have a “tastefully putting diamonds on my outfit” battle?  Because Mammon definitely won.

One of the charms broke off the belt loop and he never bothered to replace it, and honestly thank god there isn’t two of those anymore.

Torn between wishing the boots were tighter to match the rest of the outfit and saying “yoooo they’re open in the back!!!”

Ok so so far we’ve said generally only good things, but there is one major issue with the design: Its gravity.  Everything points down, his tattoos, the diamonds, even his wings.  The center of gravity in the image is his shoes.  Bitch loved his shoes so much he made his whole outfit point to them.

Either way this was universally considered the best and I mourn Justin who doesn’t know how far Mammon’s standards are gonna fall from here.

Leviathan:

Diagonal zipper

“Levi what the fuck.” —Megan

He looks like an e-boy.

Honestly it looks like he borrowed something from Justin’s wardrobe for Pride but he didn’t know how to put it on.

APPARENTLY the biggest hoe.  Abs that he shouldn’t have coming through a mesh t-shirt.  I thought Mammon’s pants were low, but Levi’s whole-ass ass is out.  Ok Levi, I see you.

The shirt pattern is good but he probably leaves it partially unzipped because it’d look really dumb fully closed.

Justin loves the funky pants pattern and Jo likes the pants but not with the outfit.  It’s because the devs were too coward to give him a thick tail base so his pants had to fill that role by sharing the pattern.

The shoes are good, and not just because they incited Justin’s deep-set hatred for Christian Louboutin and his uncomfortable red-bottom shoes.

Justin is offended that he’s hiding his suspenders; either show them completely or not at all, no in between.  Jo’s not fully convinced it isn’t just one suspender.  What are his suspenders doing?  What are they attached to?  Are they holding anything up?  Apparently not.

Jo pointed out that if you squint the belt on his waist looks like fangs and the orange dots on his sleeves looks like eyes so it’s like theres a snake head on his outfit.  Cute!

The gloves are throwing us off though.  Why is Levi of all other brothers need gloves?  I bet he has sweaty hands.

Ok really, does his sweater unzip all the way into two pieces?  Or does it hang by that tiny thread underneath the tail hole?  There’s even a button, just in case.

Can’t believe this antler-sporting, suspender-wasting nerd went diagonal zipper on us because we beat him at a trivia game.  Should have just zipped his hood.

Satan:

HONEY.

“I hate everything about this.” —Megan

First of all, he’s straight up wearing Lucifer’s casual shirt.  Does it only button down the back?  Can he take it off?

Then he spilled bleach on his pants.  Like I get what they were going for but with the white on black that is literally just bleach stains.

Incredibly differing opinions on the belt.  He got it in the cowboy department.  Justin adores it.  Jo despises it.

And are those… athletic slip ons?

And now the elephant in the room.  The ribcage made of ribbons.  The ribboncage.  The idea is great!  I love that they gave him a skeletal theme without throwing him into a Hot Topic.

But if you take the ribboncage and feather boa off he’s literally just wearing a dress shirt and some nice jeans.  And that’s the problem with Satan’s demon form.  Not that it looks goofy.  It’s that they took risks but then hid all the risks behind business casual.

Also Megan said that the back of the ribbons look like a rock climbing harness.  Someone (probably Justin) said the front reminds them of the underbelly of a green cockroach.  Ew.

The feather boa would look better if it was over something you wouldn’t literally wear at the office.  (And also didn’t look so much like worm on a string.)

“He is going to Dragcon 2020 and is definitely going to take a picture and ask to lip sync, but accidentally start beef with Acid Betty.” —Justin

On a good note, loving how the tail fades to highly radioactive green.  Feels dangerous.  Megan pointed out that it’s a pretty wimpy tail, though.  Jo enjoys the self-conscious posture it expresses.

That’s basically the only good thing we have to say, though.

I just????

Merry Christmas.

Asmodeus:

The kanji on the picture is just saying that the coattail is the same on both sides.

Ok now with that out of the way, HONEY.

I’m sure he says that to others but I hope he says it to himself too when he looks in the mirror.

Starting with the good.  The wings?  Adorable.  The heart-shaped hole to accommodate them?  Adorable.  One of the only good adjustments.

And I love that the tips of his horns look venomous, like a scorpion tail!

We love a good floral design and a good twin tailcoat.

But once again, the shirt just has too much going on.  The flowers.  The buttons.  The brick-pattern stitching.  The brooch.  The long collar.  The fact that if he closed the last button it’d end in a diamond covering his crotch.  Sometimes less is more, Asmo.

That scorpion brooch is the best thing to ever grace my computer screen and it shouldn’t have to share the spotlight with the rest of his shirt.  It should have wrapped around his arm and been paired with some more jewelry.  Then he could have ditched those giant cuffs.

The bleeding heart tattoos are a really good idea!  But they should have been angled better and not like someone else put them on at the roller rink.  And maybe they shouldn’t have been outlined in pink.  Those aren’t tattoos, those are gaping holes in his arm.  Is he ok.

I’ve been avoiding the pants, but.  The pants.

���Oh dear god. Oh no that’s… I thought you were a designer…” —Jo

One side is buckled the ENTIRE way down, and then the other side is COMPLETELY plain.  It’s too extreme on both ends.  It should have been only half a leg of buckles.  Not whatever this is.  I still don’t think he can bend that leg.

The shoes are ok but they COULD have been a stiletto so.

Jo is DONE with these demons’ inability to wear socks.

We expected better from you, Asmo.  I hope you have to fasten all those buckles every morning as retribution.

Beelzebub:

He said “how many belts can I wear on one outfit.”

Justin said it’s like Barry B. Benson and Post Malone had a beautiful baby boy, and Obey Me! is cancelled for creating a sequence of events that could lead to me hearing that with my own two ears.

The jacket?  Stunning.  “It’s steampunk mixed with Jack Sparrow, mixed with Billie Joe Armstrong,” says Justin.  It’s got puffy sleeves!  And there’s objectively too much going on with the jacket, but since it’s a leather jacket I can forgive it.  Justin and Jo can’t.

I’m not sure why they keep giving him weird jacket collars but I prefer belt number 9 to fur.

“Why is it bucked in the back?  Couldn’t it have just been a jacket?” —Megan

Good that the black tank isn’t only black, but he has so little color on his outfit that it would have been nice for it and the matching pattern on his boots to have been a color besides gray.

I don’t mind the belts down the leg because they’re not too in your face.  Jo wants the white belt to be thinner.  Justin wants him to just pick one and go with it.

Poor Beel, he can’t do his lil thigh pat pose without his right hand being assaulted by studs and that bear trap-shaped buckle.

Justin feels like the cowboy boots are too wide up top and it’s probably because they’re FAKE cowboy boots.  I don’t know why he didn’t just get cowboy boots instead of putting fake coverings over his dress shoes.

Can’t fault the twin belt, though.  And the wing hole isn’t terrible.

Idk I guess.  They knew what they wanted to do at least.  

That seems to be the pattern with Beel: they know what they want to do, but something weird happens in the middle of it.

Belphegor:

“I don’t know which Teletubby let their son go through the it’s just a phase mom phase, but they should be ashamed.” —Justin

A toddler who just learned how to cut holes in paper got a hold of his hoodie.

Is it a hoodie?  A jacket?  A poncho?  The cow print actually isn’t terrible.  At least it had the decency to be unique in its spotting.  And the actual presence of blue is very appreciated.

On the topic of colors, Jo is calling the devs out on their apparent fear of color.  “Put the pink elsewhere, cowards,” they say.

We actually don’t hate the horseshoe, and using it for the belt buckles is actually really clever.  Even if 75% of them are doing literally nothing.  Feel like he didn’t need that many.  Could do without the bottom one, maybe even bottom two.

There’s a teeeeny tiny cowbell on the back?  Megan apparently finds that VERY important.  Why do they go to such great lengths to remind us that Belphie’s a cow?  Beel doesn’t rub his hands together 24/7.  Mammon doesn’t even get bird wings.

Just like Satan spilled bleach, Belphie has tar pants.

It’s nice to see a change in pant style, but.  Am I biased because I hate harem pants?  Maybe.  Are these harem pants too short on him?  Yes.  Maybe they were supposed to be parachute capris?  But it just looks he outgrew them too fast and Lucifer won’t buy him new pants yet.  At least they look comfy.

If he puts his keys in those pockets will his pants fall down?  Probably.  That’s a problem considering his are the only pants that look like they could hold any keys.

The shoes are fine.  I can enjoy a high topped sneaker.  …Is that a security tag?  Did he steal his shoes.  Belphie stole his shoes.

On the tiny tail hole, I appreciate that Belphie went for modesty.  But I hope it’s impossible to wear these outfits outside of demon form because I don’t want him walking around with a tiny hole right above his ass.

Honestly he doesn’t even look like a demon?  He just looks like… a cow.

There’s one more aspect of their demon forms that I didn’t feel comfortable forcing into a smaller space than it deserved: Silhouettes.  Jo puts a lot of weight on silhouettes and their role in character design.  Is it dynamic?  Is it recognizable?  Jo ranked them as such:

1. Lucifer: 9/10.  Care and effort were put into this design and it shows. 2. Mammon: 7/10.  Points deducted for most of it being form fitting but otherwise still manages to get a passing grade. 3 (tied). Beelzebub: 5/10.  His wings have actual mass but his horns being mostly hidden by his head reduce his score. 3 (tied). Belphegor: 5/10.  Evens out since his clothes aren’t as form fitting as the others but they also kind of turn him into a blob. 5. Asmodeus: 4/10, and only because he’s got multiple wings and that his tailcoat breaks up the bottom half. 6. Satan: 3/10, for the fact HIS BOA carries most of the work in altering his silhouette. 7. Leviathan: 2/10.  The tail and horns prevent this from being a total flop.

Our (surprisingly unanimous!) ranking of their outfits (not counting Megan her opinions deviated) were:

Mammon

Lucifer

Leviathan

Belphegor

Beelzebub

Asmodeus

Satan

In conclusion, any M-rated fic that doesn’t have it take demon Satan 20 minutes to take off his shirt is too unrealistic.

[yumehoxo]

Convinced- eren x reader

(⚠️WARNING⚠️ -this story contains substance use, strong language, sexual content and more)

*Ding*

Connie:

-Yo imma pick you up at around 7:30-ish to be ready.

"Ughh I hope I'm making the right decision" you thought to yourself.

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It's was already 7:12 pm and you haven't even gotten up to change yet, you look at the time one more time and see how late it has gotten and frantically rush to your closet to get something to wear. 'This is such a drag. Why did I even bother to say yes'. You chose a short miniskirt and a cropped shirt and put them on as fast as you can. You ran to the bathroom and fixed your hair and makeup. As your in the middle of doing your make-up Connie calls you. 'Oh no. don't tell me he's here already it's only 7:20' you whined. You pick up the phone call and Connie says.. "Yo I'm in the neighborhood but I'm having trouble finding your complex, mind giving me some directions again?" you sighed, " You have been to my apartment over 20 times now how do you not remember??" You asked. "Look bruh it's really confusing and you already know ian good with directions!" Connie said frustrated. "As soon as you enter the neighborhood you take a right, then two lefts." You said pissed off. "OH YEAHH I REMEM-" you ended the phone call. As you finished off your lipgloss, you grabbed your bag and debated on if you should wear shoes or heels 'I don't even know if I remember how to walk in those' you said looking at your heels, you grabbed your shoes instead. Then you heard it, a rapid knocking at the door, indicating Connie was here. You grabbed your things and did a little jog to the door.

"Woah you smell so good!" Connie said. He was wearing sweatpants and a Dolce & Gabbana long sleeved shirt. You couldn't lie he was a good looking guy and he knew how to dress, and on top of that he's one of the most funniest people you know.

"Thanks Connie" you said sarcastically, rolling your eyes. "Who's hosting this party anyways?" You ask as you lock your door.

"It's this guy named Jean or something like that" Connie says.

Your eyes widen to the name 'well now I know Alessia is going to be there'. "Wow I guess that's just my luck huh?" You say.

"What do you mean that's 'just your luck'?"Connie asks. The expression on his face is pure confusion.

"We used to date in high school, that's all" you state with a relaxed attitude.

Connie presses the elevator button to get back down to the first floor and he asks "Isn't that, kind of a big deal, like what were the odds that you both went to the same out of state University?" Connie asks.

"I dunno I guess it is." you shrug. 'I mean he isn't wrong I haven't seen him since senior year and I'm now a sophomore, that like what almost 2 years?' Your thoughts get interrupted... "Y/n ... Y/n... Y/N??" Connie basically shouts, gaining your attention back to reality.

"W-what do you want, goddamn?" You ask irritated by his loud tone.

"You weren't answering me, I was trying to ask you are you going to drink tonight?" Connie asks.

"Uhh I don't know yet, I'll see how crazy the party is when I get there, and if it's bad then I probably won't drink much" you say as you open his passenger side car door.

"Drink much?? SO YOUR GOING TO DRINK?" Connie asks excitedly.

"Why the fuck are you screaming I'm literally right next to you? But yeah I am." You respond back.

"O-oh sorry I don't realize how loud I get..." he says scratching the back of his head with a nervous expression.

As you guys are driving you don't even realize that it's almost dark outside as the yellow sunset hits your skin in the car. Connie's music was playing way to loud but you would have to get used to it anyway once you get to the party, 'at least his taste in music isn't bad' you think to yourself. As (s/n) plays in the background. You've been to parties before but since it's been so long, your nerves are through the ceiling and the butterfly's in your stomach are giving you mild cramps. 'Just take a deep breath, you've done this before.'

Before you know it, you and Connie are already at the party, it's being hosted in a big house with it's own gate (that was left open). You can see the flashing lights coming through the windows and as you drive closer you can feel the bass of the music. Connie parks his car off to the side so it's easy for him to get out, and you both exit the car.

"We won't be on the first floor, all the secondary people who didn't get invited personally by the owner or the owners friends stay on that floor" Connie says.

"Reiner invited me since we've been friends since Freshman year" he states.

"Oh okay, hopefully it's more calm upstairs.." you say as you guys walk to the front door.

As soon as the the huge double doors open you can see a sea of people partying. All packed together like it was a concert or something. You see couples making out, girls grinding on guys, people throwing up because they can't take what's in their cup any longer, there are girls without any clothing on waist up exposing their breasts to a group of guys. Connie grabs your hand and leads you threw the crowd. He can see the look of concern and disgust on your face.

"Sorry that you have to see this." He says rolling his eyes.

He grips on to your hand a little tighter since the crowd was getting more packed the further down you go. The finally you guys reached it, the stairs. There is a velvet rope indicating that only a certain few are allowed up there. Two men stood there, one of them smoking a cigarette and the other holding a list of names.

"Name?" The man with the list asks coldly. He had dirty blonde hair and tattoos on the sides of his face.

"Connie. Connie Springer." Connie says back equally as coldly.

You can feel the eyes of the other man landing on you, you can feel him looking at your body and then breasts.

"Your good to go." The blonde boy states.

'Finally' you think to yourself in relief. Just the fact that someone was probably just thinking of having sex with you without even knowing you made you feel uncomfortable. You start walking up the stairs and you can still feel his eyes on you, specifically your ass. You were fuming up 'does he have no shame?!' You think angrily to yourself. You've had just about enough you were about to turn around and tell him off.. then Connie walks right up behind you so it's blocks the mans view. You sigh out in relief.

"Sorry about that, some people just have no self control." Connie whispers in your ear so the man doesn't hear anything.

You and Connie make your way up the spiral staircase, you can imminently feel how much more quieter it gets when you get up there. In front of you guys is a hallway with 3 doors on each side and double doors at the end of the hall. You notice the doors have signs on them. "Vacant" or "Empty". Only two of the doors had the sign flipped to "Vacant".

"There for people who want private rooms, like if only a certain group of people wanted to do something together or if you wanted to hookup with someone." Connie says.

"Yeah I figured, that's really smart." You respond back. You can feel the vibrations of the music downstairs at your feet.

"Thank god were not down there" you say in relief.

"Yeah, that place is crazy all the time I don't know how people find that fun." Connie says rolling his eyes.

Connie opens the door for you. To the right there's a T.V hooked onto the wall and a group of 10 people sitting together just talking. To the left is a mini kitchen. You can see that behind the kitchen is a table with food, drinks, and cups there. You noticed the cups were color coded, three colors, neon blue, neon pink, and neon green. In front of each cup was a sign. In front of the neon blue cups was the sign "Taken", I'm front of the of the neon pink cups was "Not looking for any relationship", and in front of the Green cup was "Single". Connie went ahead a grabbed a blue cup and poured himself the fruit punch and alcohol mixture. Connie was currently dating Sasha but she was on a trip with her family for the holidays leaving Connie all alone. You went ahead a grabbed a green cup for yourself and poured (f/d) in it instead. You weren't going to have alcohol until a little later since it was only 8:13 pm.

"Come on let me introduce to everyone I know" Connie says taking your hand leading you to a room in the back.

Connie leads you to the room which contained a Billiardo table to the very right which two men were using and there was a couch at the back that had a group of people sitting there. You could see Jean sitting on the floor in between a black haired girls legs while throwing darts to the wall. His hair was grown out and he looked much more mature. Next to the black haired girl on the couch was a blonde boy with an undercut. On the couch on the other side was a brown haired boy with long hair tied back into a messy bun, he has tattoos on his right arm and some on his left, and he had stud piercings in his ears. He was wearing grey sweatpants with a shortsleeved shirt with the word "Primitive" on the front. They shirt wrapped perfectly around his sculpted biceps. You looked away to make sure nobody notices that your staring. Next to him is a blonde girl she was somewhat tall and had facial bangs. There are two girls on the floor, another blonde girl but she was short and more petite and another girl next to her with brown hair and freckles flirting with her making the blonde one blush. You realize Jean and the black haired girl cups are blue. You also see that The blonde boy and the girl next to the brown haired boy guys are also blue. Everyone else's cups were green. 'A lot of taken people' you think to yourself.

"WOAH NO WAY" you can hear Jean scream locking eye contact with you "IS THAT REALLY YOU Y/N?" He says while getting up. You can tell the black haired girl is staring him down.

"Y-yeah. It's been so long!" You say while side hugging him. You can smell the faint scent of marijuana on him. The black haired girls eyes reach you staring you down, looking at your breasts and body figure. You turn your head to the back of the room Where a tall brown haired boy and blonde hair boy make their way to you.

"Yo Reiner!" Connie says while dapping him up.

"Yo Connie!" He says back. His eyes land land on you, locking eye contact.

"Connie who'd you bring with you?" He said with a smirk on his face looking at Connie and then right back at you.

"Oh this is y/n, she's normally a homebody but she finally agreed to come with me to one party" Connie said while rolling his eyes.

"Nice to meet you, I'm Reiner." He said while sticking his hand out indicating to shake hands with him. You shake his hand, and he holds on a little longer instead. You manage to let go without being awkward or rude a flash a smile at him. 'What the fuck.' You think to yourself . You can see the brown haired boy next to him seems nervous and a little shaky. He look at him and smile and he gives you a nervous smile back.

"H-hi my n-name is Bertolt" he says clearly shaken up. Connie slaps his hand onto Betolt's shoulder and says..

"No need to be shy Bertolt just be yourself! Nobody is going to like you if your going to act so shy." Connie said with a cheeky smile on his face.

"Hey, I'm Y/n" you say with a smile on your face, making him blush even harder.

"Anywaysssss enough of that" Connie says while taking you to the group of people at the sofas.

"Everyone, this is Y/n L/n" Connie says 'I can introduce myself dickhead' you think to yourself.

"I'm Armin, nice to meet you!" The Blonde boy says sweetly. 'He's like a cute cinnamon bun' you think to yourself. You smile sweetly back at him.

"I'm Annie. I've actually seen you around we have a class together." She says with almost little to no expression on her face but you can tell that's the way she is. "Actually i remember you; you sat next to me in that chem lecture one time!" You say back.

" I'm Mikasa." She stated coldly. 'Damn mad at me already? I barely fucking did anything.' You think to yourself but not daring to say it out loud. You force yourself to smile  'I hate these type of things everything seems so forced' you think. "Nice to meet you" you say while giving her a fake smile.

"H-h-hi I'm H- histori-a" the blonde girl said barely managing to get any air as the brown hair girl is choking her from behind. "And I'm Ymir" she says with a huge grin across her face. You start laughing at their greeting. "Y'all seem close " You say as you sit yourself next to them Connie following behind you, finding a seat facing it backwards, and then sitting in it so his chest could be resting in the back side.

"I'm Eren, Eren Yeager." The brown haired boy said in a relaxed tone but you noticed his eyes went to the top of you, to your feet, and back up. 'Goddamn who gave him the right to be so hot' you thought to yourself. "Nice to meet you, Eren." you say in a relaxed tone making sure you hide your nervousness.

As the night went on, Reiner and Bertolt came to join you guys. After many attempts of Reiner trying to flirt with you he gave up as he got a drunk. They talked about all the drama that's been going around, who's dating who, who got arrested, who got so fucked up "that one time". They more they talked the more they drank. After awhile you saw it was 11:15 pm and you finished what was in your cup. You left the room and made your way to the kitchen to see if they had any good alcohol drinks, you open the fridge and grab and vodka bottle and pour yourself a shot. You jump up and sit on the counter and took a look around, everyone who was once watching infront of the T.V were either asleep or on the balcony outside. 'Ahhh some peace and quiet' you think to yourself then you remember that Alessia told you she hooked up with a guy named Jean 'wait a second something doesn't add up how could have she hook up with Jean if Jean has a girl friend?'  You go on your phone to see if she put anything on her story and she did.. she was a black haired boy who was tagged with the name "Jean". 'ohhh okay so it wasn't the Jean I knew' you thought to yourself relieved. You grabbed your bag to get the blunt that you rolled before you came... as your looking you realize you can't find it, you frantically search through your bag"what- where is it I swear I brought it?!" you say frustrated.

"Brought what?" A familiar voice asked, you froze for a slight second startled by it. You turned to to see who said that, it was Eren. He was even taller then he looked when he was sitting down.

"O-oh my god you scared me" you responded back sounding startled.

"Oh sorry I didn't mean too, I thought you heard me open the door." Eren said. 'Wait is that piercing on his-' you realize your staring too long.

"It's fine don't worry about it, but I brought a blunt with me before I came but I can't find it now." You say back.

"Damn maybe you dropped it somewhere." He responded not breaking eye contact with you as he comes into the kitchen.

"Y-yeah maybe.." you say back. 'Why's he coming over here?' . He walks over to the fridge and grabs a drink, leans his back against the fridge (which is right in front of you). After 15 seconds of silence he strikes up a conversation

"If you want I have a blunt? But we have to share." Eren says.

"Wait are you sure?" You ask him feeling guilty.

"Yeah it's no big deal" he says while smiling at you.

You were right he does have a tongue piercing.

"Thank you so much" you say back.

As you guys share the blunt you both start talking about your school schedule, turns out that you have the same lunch break and most of your classes are the same just with different teachers. By the time the blunt is finished both of your eyes are bloodshot. You look at his arm he has a tattoo of a dragon, 'that's the same one I have' you think to yourself in utter shock 'how did I not notice?'. Just to make sure you ask him..

"Do you mind if I see your tattoo really quick? You ask him.

He walks closer to you and lifts up his sleeve exposing the whole tattoo and arm. 'Wow he's so built' you think to yourself. You take a good look at his tattoo it confirms your theory, it's the same tattoo that you have. You got it the second you turned 18, it symbolizes 'strength' a lot of people have it but it's still quite rare to see someone else have it.

"Wow I was right!" You say excitedly.

"Right about what?" Eren asks confused. You lift up you one side of your crop top exposing the right side of your rib cage, showing him your tattoo. He puts down his drink next to you and asks..

"May I take a closer look? Only if you don't mind though." Your face turns a little red the thought of him being that close to you kind of scared you.

"Y-yeah s-sure." You say nervously. He brings his face closer and looks up at you realizing how red you are. He smirks. He traces over your tattoo with his thumb. Just his touch makes you shiver a little 'goddamn why do I have to be so nervous he's not even doing anything!'  You feel your face getting hotter as he traced it. Then you feel it, he places his whole hand on your waist and pulls you closer.

"W-what are you doing? You ask him super embarrassed as your face flushes an even darker shade of red. He gets up close to your ear and whispers.. "What? Are you just going to act like you haven't been thinking about this all night? I've seen the way you've been looking at me." Eren said with a smirk on his face. Just the way his breath feels on your ear made you shiver. You slightly spread your legs a little open so he can fit right in front of you. He grabs onto both of your thighs and pulls them more towards him making your entire body come closer to his. You can feel your skirt slight hiking up the more you legs spread apart. He looks you up and down before leaning in and gently kissing you once, his lips felt soft against yours, you can smell the scent of mint and weed mixed together, you can feel him smile against your lips. He clearly knows how much  your enjoying this. He kisses you again this time more passionately, you feel his hand move to your lover back pulling you even more closer, you wrap your hands around his neck and give in. He bites softly on your bottom lip making you moan slightly, he takes this chance to force his tongue inside, asserting his dominance. You fight to not let him win,you try your best, but you lose. He slowly stops, and kisses your lips tenderly one more time. Then he places his lips on your neck playfully nibbling at your neck, he finds your sensitive spot, causing you to stifle a moan, you can feel his smile against your skin. The coldness of his piercing against your skin makes you want more. He continues sucking,kissing, and licking your neck for a little longer and then he stops. He gets up close to your ear and says...

"Why don't we take this a private room? I would hate if anyone interrupted us." he said with his eyes full of lust.

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                                                                                                          Authors note:

This took me awhile to write I have a headache now lmao

Anyways if y'all could please lmk if I should change anything or if there any errors I would appreciate it 😌💞✨

[loudestcloud]

After a long brake from this saga, it returns for her birthday! However, I should start this by saying the obvious fact that I don't like they way Nami and women in general are drawn, I really wish the mangaka had a middle ground between the 'If I sneeze I'll snap in half sexy girls' and the 'i will crush you in my fat rolls ugly girls' types but here we are and this is what we've got. As a result, most of my connects would usual be how I wish she her skirts would be longer n such but I'm not gonna do that because I don't want it to get in the way of the actual content in the post. Let's go: NAMI!!

'First appearance': it's not the first at all, idk what to call it tho, it's her 3rd. it's just the one in We are so technically counts. It's probably the nostalgia, but I love this look. I can't place why but I'm not even mad at the weird stripe lengths design, it's just cute to me. The sleeves are short but long enough to hide her tattoo and I adore her skirt too like the dark orange parts remind me of blood oranges!

Baratie, Loguetown, Little Garden, first Arabasta outfit, (& Long Ring Long Land) Post-Arabasta & Post-Enies Lobby: This was probably a common or local brand for her cos she's rocking that skirt in all different colors 👌 Also, I just wanna start by saying, all her t shirts actually go past her hips? So her skirts would actually be longer than they look cos she's actually draw quite strange when in tops. Anyway, shes starting off strong with this nice pink top n I like the nice shade with the white. Then, a dark blue for the first and only time ever for Nami to pick out. I personally think lighter colors are nicer for her tho. Bringing us to this BEAUTIFUL baseball jersey with purple sleves, get it bitch oml! 😘 I don't think that skirt matches very well but it's still cute. Then, she tries stripes and I think it works out well and I think the 3/4 length look is good for her too so that one is nice. The diamond pattern tank top is actually one of my favourite Pre-Skip looks just because it's so well matched with the skirt. You can't see in the picture but the dot inside the circle is the same yellow as her top so it's just very well done, definitely an actual set. And the lace? Amazing. I hate the feel of lace myself but it looks amazing.

Baratie, Drum Island, Post-Arabasta, Long Ring Long Land Whisky Peak, Post-War, Punk Hazard: Now, I don't actually have much to say about these, I just think they are worth mentioning.i like Nami in shirts with text, I always spend way too long trying to read em lol. Anyway, I like the Drum Island shirt & Punk Hazard shorts because ✨ stripes ✨

Water 7 & Enies Lobby: Nami's first dress! And also a new skirt! I like this frilly style more, I wish it stayed around tbh but oh well. Water 7 gives us the iconic blue shirt & tie with matching shoes and it's a blessing really. Then, Enies Lobby gave us the strange Denim outfit that Paulie hated with all his mind 🤣 At the time,I thought it was a cool outfit. It's not bad, the too looks a bit armour so it's go that going for it and that jacket slaps in my opinion. I like long sleeves on cropped jackets.

Thriller Bark: Pink! When I saw the first outfit, I thought something super bad was going to happen because it looked fancy and that anime for 'time to die'. Lucky for her, nothing happened at all apart for her just looking really grown up. I like her hair too, super cute. In the next fit, it's a total flip, quite punk. Her belt is a nice contrast from her skirt and I LOVE her top! Her party outfit looks like an itchy lace and the straps, while I live frills, look very irritating. It looks cute but I could never wear it myself. Lastly for this set is one of my all time favourites for Nami because she gets to wear a necklace! It's very small and hard to see but I think it's amazingly cute. This combination of her hair being down again, a nice pokadot shirt, full length jeans and a big smile from making a friend makes it all the best.

Sabaody Archipelago & Levely: As with the 3rd outfit set, I just think these are neat. She's rockin' a different necklace, shorts and a 90s style flower top then in Levely she's chillin' in a simple puff sleeve shirt with hearts a cross the chest. Simple looks, very effective

Fish-Man Island, Punk Hazard & Dressrosa: Fish-man island comin' in hot with the iconic Timeskip look and belt! This, I much prefer the Crimin bra because it's simple plus her hair is up really cutesy. Also it's funny cos that would have been expensive for she didn't steal all the outfits she did. Looks wise, Punk Hazard is my favourite but I really dislike that it doesn't cover the bottom of her boobs and its not really supportive. I think it's my favourite because it reminds me of Frankys vibes. Dressrosa's is also really cute but once again looks like the frills would tickle a bit. Also I like her shorts.

Zou: A DRESS! not only that but it's Purple, a color she's not worn before more than as sleeves years back. It's an interesting dress style, very lacy and would brake easy but it's VERY nice to look at. Her next looks bring back the ruffley frills and basic shirts. The half button shirt has her 2nd number on it and the colour matches her skirt! I like the purple coming back in her next skirt but what I like way more is her last Zou look. It's a nice halter neck with black lace trim then to make it better, her skirt is a wonderful shade of red that has an adjustable rope belt with little gold buttons on! I just- 🥰

Whole Cake Island & Wano: everyone's lord and fashion savour, WHOLE CAKE!!! I mean look at how cute she is in that first one! That fairytale aesthetic really owns my ass at this point! Then it's a total shift with that more mature sexy style red turtleneck dress no sleeves? The side by side vibes are 😘👌 love em! Plus, this arc gave us more purple AND 2 box neckline dresses which I think with Nami they really work. The forts Wano ouyfit is only here cos blue really works for her. It look okay but I don't think they are as nice as most people do. Idk what it is about it, I think it's just too square. The 2nd is nicer to my eyes, idk

And lastly, I just wanted to Shout out the First eps and the Dead End Adventure outfit cos it looks like Vector from Despicable me:

This post was made listening to 'One Piece vibes' by Kato & rewatching One Piece

Sanji

Luffy

Zoro

[hrina]

Serotonin

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M for mature WORD COUNT: 23.7k REQUESTED: nope!

hi everyone 🥺🥺🥺 she’s here 🥺🥺🥺 please be kind to her 🥺🥺🥺 i poured my heart out into this fic. it’s the longest (and probably the best) standalone piece that i’ve ever written. if you want to let me know your thoughts, reblogging and sending feedback to my askbox would mean the absolute world. 

p.s. since this fic is extremely long, it may cause the tumblr mobile app to glitch. if that happens to you, i suggest opening it up in google chrome or safari instead. enjoy 💕

~*~

September 4th, 2019

You always sit in the middle.

The front makes you feel far too exposed. It’s more likely that you’ll be called upon by chance, and your professors are liable to notice your absence if they’ve grown accustomed to seeing you sat squarely before them during every class.

The back is riddled with too many distractions. You know that you’ll end up watching the shows playing on the laptop screens of the students in front of you. You might not even be able to hear the lecture all that well. Despite your aversion to sitting at the front, you still want to pass with a decent grade.

The middle of the lecture hall serves as a happy medium.

Margaret and Mateo agree. That’s why the three of you push through the door and make a beeline for the trio of free seats located directly in the middle of the room. They seem to be calling your names. You nudge past a pair of girls who are absorbed in a hushed conversation, taking the time to apologise for the inconvenience. A moment later, you plop down into your chair; Margaret takes the seat on your left, while Mateo slumps against the one on your right.

“You’d think that with the thousands of dollars we pay each year, they’d be able to afford more comfortable chairs,” Mateo mutters, resting his chin on a closed fist. You snort in response.

Margaret flips her silky hair over her shoulder. “It’s because they’re too busy offering ridiculously-high salaries to profs who can’t even teach.”

You shoot her a look, cocking one eyebrow teasingly. “We all know that you want to namedrop Allende. It’s okay—you can say it.”

“She’s horrible,” Margaret groans, burying her face into her hands. “She speaks the language perfectly, but she can’t fucking relay the knowledge in an effective way. Isn’t that the entire point of teaching?”

“That’s what you get for minoring in Spanish,” Mateo mutters.

You laugh and nudge him with your shoulder. “Oh, like your minor is any better? How do you say ‘dumbass’ in Latin?”

“It’s the root of most European languages!” he protests.

“It’s a dead language!” You and Margaret say at the same time. You turn to face each other with wide eyes; an incredulous giggle slips past your lips. Mateo opens his mouth to form a rebuttal, but then the door to the lecture hall slams shut, and every head in the room snaps in the direction of the sound.

“Glad to see that trick still works.” Dr. Renault claps his hands before rubbing them together excitedly. Subconsciously, you sit up a bit straighter in your seat.

Dr. Renault is a short, balding man, with a face framed by thin gold spectacles and a belly that bulges slightly over the waistband of his suit bottoms. He fiddles with his red tie as he makes his way over to the podium at the front of the room. You’ve heard good things about him; almost everyone who has taken his class has left shining reviews and gushed about his skills. The buildup has set your expectations high. You don’t think that you’ll be disappointed.

Your eyes drift away from your professor, drawn, now, to the person walking a few paces behind him. The man has wavy brown hair that curls just behind his ears. He’s wearing a patterned green sweater and black trousers; a pair of dark brown loafers adorn his feet. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up slightly, and you can’t help but to notice the smattering of dark ink that decorates his left forearm. Big, bulky rings cover nearly all of his fingers. Tortoise-shell glasses keep his dark hair pinned back—you think that the strands would flop over his forehead if left untamed.

“Welcome, everyone,” Dr. Renault starts, and you turn your attention back to him. He’s standing behind the podium now; there’s a small stack of papers in front of him. “First things first: can you all hear me properly? Or will I need to use a microphone for the duration of this course? I don’t mind.”

A low rumble of responses travel across the room. You shake your head; Margaret and Mateo do the same. You can all hear him just fine.

“Alright,” your professor clears his throat. “My name is Gabriel Renault, but you can call me ‘My Lord’.” He smiles, and the class laughs weakly. Dr. Renault holds out his arm, gesturing to the tattooed man that you’d been studying before. “This is my assistant, Harry. He’ll be grading most of your work this semester, so if you’re looking for someone’s ass to kiss, it should be his.”

Everyone laughs a bit louder this time, including you. Harry steps forward and offers a small smile but doesn’t say anything.

Margaret leans into you. “He’s kind of cute,” she mumbles, shrugging. “In an old-man sort of way.”

“Oh my God.” You cover your mouth and shake your head at her words, but you have to admit that she does have a point. Realistically, Harry can’t be more than four or five years older than you, but the clothes he’s wearing don’t exactly fit the dress code for someone his age. In fact, his outfit looks like something that you could probably have pulled from your grandfather’s closet.

Margaret giggles quietly and recoils, sitting up properly again. When you look back up, your eyes lock immediately with Harry’s. Even from thirty feet away, you can see the mossy green of his irises and feel the intensity of his gaze. A lump forms in your throat, but nonetheless, you shoot him a faint, barely-there smile. He looks away.

Your brows knit together in confusion, but you force yourself to shrug it off. “Bit of a prick,” you breathe to no one in particular.

Mateo looks over at you inquisitively. “What?”

“No, nothing,” you whisper, waving his question away. You turn to face the front again, watching conscientiously as Dr. Renault takes hold of the stack of papers in front of him and splits it into two. He gives one half to Harry before addressing the class.

“Harry and I will be handing out the syllabus for this semester,” he announces. “There will be a short quiz at the end of each class. Don’t worry,” he smiles wryly when quiet murmurs begin surfacing amongst the seats, “They’re only composed of five multiple choice questions. They’ll each count for two percent of your grade; I know it doesn’t seem like a lot, but I find that sometimes students will need that two percent to stay afloat in the course.”

“Me,” Mateo mutters quietly. You and Margaret snicker.

“There will be a quiz at the end of today’s lecture,” Dr. Renault continues. “I’ll be going through the syllabus with you for the first half of the class, and then we’ll do a quick review of the content that you should already know.” He and Harry begin distributing copies of the syllabus to each student, coaxing your classmates to pass the papers down their rows.

“So today’s quiz should be relatively straightforward. An easy two percent,” Dr. Renault says, before casting a glance at his assistant. “Wouldn’t you agree, Harry?”

Harry nods. “Yes, sir.”

You balk at the huskiness of his tone. The words are impossibly deep and throaty. Margaret stares at you with wide eyes and leans in closer.

“If I could fuck a voice…,” she hisses.

“Shut the hell up,” you retort, trying not to laugh at her candour.

Something nudges your arm; you turn and find Mateo holding out a few copies of the syllabus for you to take. You slip one out from the pile and pass it on, but not before glancing up and spotting Harry standing a few feet away at the end of your row. He’s chewing on the inside of his cheek. The two of you make eye contact again, but this time, it’s you who turns away first.

“There will be a short paper due next week.” Dr. Renault is speaking again. “Don’t fret—it only has to be seven-hundred-and-fifty words. One thousand is the maximum, though I doubt anyone will want to be writing that much after only the first week of class.” He chuckles to himself. “I’ll go into more detail as we read through the outline of the course. Grades for any tests and assignments will be posted online, but we’ll always give the physical copy back to you so that you can use it to study for the exams.”

A girl in your row raises her hand. When your professor nods at her, she asks, “What exactly did you mean when you talked about a review? Like, what kind of information? Just the basics?”

“Yes,” he replies, his cheeks rounding out as he smiles. “Only the content you learned in the introductory course. I believe they taught a chapter on neuroscience, am I correct?”

Everyone releases a quiet murmur of affirmation. Dr. Renault pushes his glasses higher up on the bridge of his nose. “Excellent,” he says. “So that would be the basics of this course—the three main components of an axon, the chemistry behind an action potential, the parts of the brain and their general functions, etcetera. All of that serves as a foundation for neuropsychology.”

“Okay, thank you,” the girl says. You recognize her—you’ve had a few classes with her, but her name escapes you.

“You’re very welcome.” Dr. Renault beams, and you fight to suppress a smile. He seems so nice—you find yourself predicting that this will quickly become one of your favourite classes.

“Is anyone missing a copy?” Harry pipes up, holding the remaining papers aloft. Your spine stiffens at the guttural rasp of his voice, and you take note of the slow drawl that crawls past his lips.

He has an accent. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Margaret fanning herself in small motions, and you roll your eyes with a soft snort.

When nobody raises their hand, Harry lowers his arm and turns to make his way back to the front of the lecture hall. You train your eyes on him, studying the way his shoulder blades protrude with every slight swing of his arms. His back is broad, tapering off into a narrow waist and long legs.

He’s probably six feet.

You cross your thighs over each other.

“Alright.” Dr. Renault resumes his initial position at the podium. “If you all look at the first page of the syllabus, you’ll find my email, as well as Harry’s. I’ve also taken the liberty of including our office locations and the hours during which we’ll be available. Please don’t hesitate to come in for extra help; it’s what we’re here for.”

“Maybe I’ll head on down to Harry’s office for some extra help,” Margaret murmurs. You don’t miss the suggestiveness lacing her words. You scoff and bump her gently with your elbow. Mateo peers over at the two of you, but you just shake your head.

“She’s being gross again,” is all you say.

He puckers his lips and nods knowingly. “Of course.”

“Are you guys down for a latte at Grounded later?” Margaret pokes her head into the conversation, her voice a bit louder than it should be. You and Mateo shush her; she pouts.

“To answer your question, though,” Mateo says, “Yes.”

“I’ve missed their coffee,” you say wistfully, staring off into nothing. The three of you fall silent, instead deciding to tune in and listen to what Dr. Renault has to say about the layout of the course. Despite your sharp concentration, your ears tingle with the feeling of being watched, and your eyes reflexively fall to the side.

You catch only a glimpse of green, and then it’s over just as quickly as it had begun.

  September 11th, 2019

“How much are you willing to bet that Mateo wrote exactly seven-hundred-and-fifty words?”

Margaret cackles. “He probably didn’t even reach the minimum.”

“You’re so mean!” you laugh, turning the corner and zeroing in on the door of your lecture hall. “Have a little faith in him.”

“Let’s wager an iced coffee from Grounded,” she suggests, lifting an eyebrow. You nod and push open the door. The room is full of students buzzing around and chatting. A quick glance upward reveals that Mateo has already reserved three seats in one of the middle rows. You and Margaret climb the steps of the hall and squeeze past a few students sitting right next to the aisle.

“Sorry…excuse us,” you murmur.

“Hey.” Mateo smiles when the two of you finally reach him. You drop down into your chair, blowing a wayward strand of hair out of your face and yawning loudly.

Margaret doesn’t waste any time. “How many words did you end up writing for the paper?”

Mateo grimaces. “Like…seven-hundred. I’m hoping Renault doesn’t actually count them all.”

“Oh, fuck yes!” Margaret beams and points a finger at you. “You lose. I like my iced coffee with a shot of vanilla bean, bitch.”

“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” you groan, batting her hand away before turning back to Mateo. “And technically it’s Harry who’ll be grading them. Hopefully he’s lenient with that stuff.”

Mateo doesn’t seem to have registered your last two sentences; in fact, he disregards your correction completely. His gaze bounces between you and Margaret, creases weaving into his forehead. Eventually, it dawns on him, and he releases an affronted squawk.

“You guys bet on me?”

“I gave you the benefit of the doubt!” you protest, lifting your hands in the air. “Margaret’s the one who—”

“Good morning, everyone!”

Dr. Renault is at the front of the room, standing behind that same podium from last week. He’s wearing a bright red polo shirt and a pair of blue jeans, which makes you smile for absolutely no reason. The colour of his top brings out the rosiness of his cheeks, and when he offers up a bright grin for the class, his teeth appear to be even whiter than normal.

Behind him, Harry’s standing off to the side with his hands clasped at the small of his back. He’s clad in a black button-up and black trousers. The outfit would have been completely appropriate had it not been for the suspenders striping up his sides; the silver buckles on each strap glint teasingly in the light.

“Why does it look like they swapped closets?” Mateo mumbles. You giggle softly.

“The first thing we’re going to be doing this morning,” Dr. Renault says, “is giving back your quizzes from last week. They’re short, so Harry had no trouble getting around to marking all of them. He’ll be handing them back to you in just a moment.”

You wait with a bated breath as Harry pulls a stack of sheets from his messenger bag. He begins calling out names, and each person quickly scrambles up from their seat in order to retrieve their grade. Mateo’s name is one of the first to echo around the room. He grimaces offhandedly at you and mutters something about wishing him luck. You and Margaret make a show of crossing your fingers and holding them up as a proclamation of your support.

Mateo clambers down the steps, graciously accepts his quiz, and folds it up without looking at it. He makes it all the way back to his seat before thrusting the sheet into your hands and averting his gaze. “Tell me what I got,” he pleads. “I can’t look.”

You chuckle at his theatrics before opening up the paper and letting your eyes rake over the mark circled in red. “Perfect,” you say quietly, a small smile playing on your lips. Your friend’s eyes go wide, and then his cheeks split apart with the force of his grin.

“Oh, thank God,” he sighs, slouching back in his chair and rubbing his palms over his face. “That two percent is going to keep my ass from failing. I’m calling it now.”

“You’ll be fine,” you scoff, swatting at him half-heartedly with the hand clutching his quiz. Mateo thanks you as you hand the sheet back, pleating it once more and tucking it into the sleeve on the inside of his binder.

Margaret’s name is called a moment later, and yours follows immediately after. You both look at each other and shrug, standing from your chairs and stumbling through the row. Margaret ends up in front of you; you stare down at your shoes to make sure that you don’t trip down the stairs. Your face heats up at the mere thought of humiliating yourself in front of the class, in front of Dr. Renault, in front of Harry.

In a matter of seconds, you’re standing before him. Margaret moves out of the way and treks back up to where Mateo is waiting, subtly flapping her page around to indicate her mark. You stare at Harry evenly, your gaze never leaving his face—he’s looking down at your quiz, and he’s hesitating.

His apprehension makes you nervous. Had you done poorly?

Eventually, he pulls the paper out of the pile and looks up. His eyes meet yours.

The green of his irises is even more vivid up close. It knocks the wind straight from your chest. You can see the flecks of hazel dotting the area around his pupils, and the way his eyelashes brush along his browbone when he lifts his head. There’s a small mole beneath the corner of his mouth. His lips are full and pink; they look soft.

“Here you are,” Harry says, and for a moment, you’re confused. Here you are, stationed in front of him. Had he been waiting specifically for you?

Then, you realise that he’s got his hand outstretched, offering you the marked quiz clutched between his long fingers.

You’re an idiot.

“Thank you,” you say dumbly.

Your hand brushes his when you pluck the sheet out of his grasp. There’s a cross tattooed on his hand, right above the divot of his thumb. You turn around, and for a moment, you think you hear him say something from behind you—it sounds suspiciously like “good job”—but you shake your head free of the thought. He doesn’t seem like the type.

On your way back up to your seat, you allow yourself to glance at the grade scrawled across the top of the page. A perfect score. You exhale in relief. Your attention is drawn to where a small, messy smiley face has been drawn in red pen. Beneath the doodle, there’s a few words of encouragement:

Well done. Keep it up. H. x

You gnaw on your bottom lip, so focussed on the note that you nearly pass your row. Margaret hisses at you, and you stop cold in your tracks, silently berating yourself. After a few painful moments of squeezing by the other students sitting closer to the aisle, you drop back down into your chair and fold up your quiz quickly.

Had there been a note on Mateo’s quiz?

You can’t remember. Maybe there was, and you’d merely skimmed over it. You don’t want to ask him about it right now, though, because the room is silent save for Harry calling out names and your peers shuffling forward to received their tests.

You lean forward and pull a brand-new notebook from your bag, sneakily slipping your page inside the knapsack and zipping it back up. Neither Mateo nor Margaret make inquiries regarding your grade. It’s like an unspoken rule: you always do well.

The three of you settle into your seats and wait for the lecture to begin.  

~*~

“Hi.” You lean forward and shoot the barista a friendly smile. “Can I get a medium iced coffee with one sugar and a shot of vanilla bean?”

“Sure. Anything else?”

“Um…” You say, biting your bottom lip. “Actually, can you make it two? That’s it, thanks.”

“That’ll be five dollars and ten cents.”

You fish your wallet out of your bag and produce the correct amount of money. Margaret grins from beside you; you both move down the counter as you wait for your drinks.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say, rolling your eyes. “I can tell you want to brag.”

“That’s what happens when you come to expect too much from Mateo.”

You laugh. “You’re such a bitch.”

“But you’re the one who’s friends with me,” she shoots back, lifting an eyebrow teasingly. Her straight brown hair is braided today, draped over her shoulder and cinched at the bottom with a sparkly pink hair tie. You reach out and play with a loose thread on her sweater before yanking your fingers and snapping it off cleanly. She yelps, but the sound quickly dissolves into laughter.

“How’s Spanish?” you ask wryly, mostly because you’re in the mood to see her fly off the handle.

She scoffs. “Allende is…a demon. It’s only the second week and she’s already fucking killing me.”

“Just drop the class,” you suggest, shrugging your shoulders. “You can always take it next year—maybe she won’t be teaching it, then.”

“I thought about it,” Margaret says, sighing. “But Valentina would murder me. She wanted me to be able to speak the language fluently so I could learn more about our culture and shit. Even if I tell her that I’ll retake the class next year, she’s still gonna flip.”

“That sucks.” You pout and shoot her a sympathetic look. “Valentina should learn to trust her daughter’s judgment.”

A low, hollow laugh echoes in the back of your friend’s throat. “Not likely.”

You try a different approach. “Well, at least you’ve got me—since you’re stuck taking the course, I promise that I’ll listen to all your rants and complaints.”

“Oh, really?” Margaret grins. “Is there an expiration date on that offer?”

“Nope,” you reply, popping the syllable playfully. “This coupon is valid until the end of time.”

“Two medium iced coffees, one sugar and one shot of vanilla bean!”

You and Margaret accept your drinks, sending out quick spiels of gratitude. The barista smiles and tells you to have a good day. As you walk away, your friend guides her straw into her mouth and takes a lengthy, obnoxious sip of her drink. She throws her head back and moans dramatically at the flavour.

“Mhm,” she says, smacking her lips. “It tastes so much better when it’s free.”

“Fuck off,” you laugh, shaking your head. You fix her with a begrudging smile, but something behind her catches your eye. Stupidly, you freeze right in the middle of the basement corridor, the straw of your coffee resting against your parted lips.

Inside the room, Harry’s sitting behind a desk, his tortoise-shell glasses perched on his nose as he rifles through a sizeable stack of papers. There’s a red pen nestled between his fingers, and the sleeves of his black button-up have been rolled a handful of times, leaving his forearms exposed. His tattoos are much clearer now that there’s less distance separating the two of you. You spy an anchor, a rose—

“What are you—?” Margaret scowls and spins around. “Oh.” She turns back to you. “His office is right here? That’s convenient.”

You reluctantly tear your gaze away from Harry so that you can look at her properly. “How so?”

“Well, if he wants to get coffee, he doesn’t exactly have to go very far.” She smirks before taking another sip of her drink. “Plus,” she swallows, “It’s convenient for me, too. I can grab a latte and then pay him a visit right after for some of that extra help.”

She wiggles her brows. You snort.

“You’re ridiculous,” you tell her earnestly. She just giggles, shouldering the strap of her purse and angling her chin to the left.

“Let’s go,” she says. “I really don’t wanna get stuck in traffic again. Last week, it took me, like, two hours to get home.”

“Yikes.” You grimace at the thought, but Margaret’s already pedalling away.

“Come on,” she calls over her shoulder. You follow her, but not before deciding to spare one last glance into Harry’s office.

Your breath hitches in your throat when you find a pair of grassy green eyes staring back at you intently. Harry’s gaze is unwavering; there’s a certain peculiarity about it. It’s searing, like he’s taking you apart piece by piece, unravelling every layer to study what lies beneath. Your skin crawls with the humiliation of getting caught, but something else, too. Anticipation? Exhilaration?

The exchange doesn’t even last a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity. Your lips curl up into an uneasy smile as you try to quell the nervous frothing in the pit of your stomach. For a moment—a foolish, optimistic moment—you think that he might actually return your friendly expression.

Harry merely blinks, twirls his red pen over in his fingers, and looks back down.

  September 18th, 2019

“Shit,” you mutter to yourself, looking down at your phone. Your class starts in five minutes, and you’ve just made it onto campus. You’d texted Mateo already and kindly asked him to save you a seat, but your eyes are drooping and you’re absolutely exhausted. Before you can even weigh your options, your feet are carrying you down into the basement of the building to retrieve a cup of coffee from Grounded. You can’t even be upset about it—your body clearly knows what it needs, and right now, that need is manifesting itself in the form of a massive dose of caffeine.

You hop in line, pulling up Mateo’s contact and composing a quick message regarding your whereabouts. Before you send it, you ask if he or Margaret would like for you to buy them anything. A short moment later, he replies, assuring you that they both already bought their coffees and are as awake as ever.

You guys didn’t even offer to get one for me? How rude, you type back, a small smirk on your face.

Mateo’s response is instantaneous, like he had already rehearsed what he was going to say.

In our defense, we thought you were dead.

You snort softly and shake your head as the message sinks in. Your phone clicks quietly when you lock it, but as you lift your gaze, you catch sight of an intricate drawing and freeze. Your eyes nearly bulge out from their sockets when you register that the left arm of the person standing in front of you is littered with tattoos.

An anchor.

A rose.

A mermaid, whose chest is on full display in all of its naked glory.

There are countless others, but you don’t have enough time to study each one, because just then, Harry is stepping up to the counter to recite his order.

“Morning, love,” you hear him greet the barista. She blushes profusely and grins at him in return. Your shoulders tense at the gruffness of his voice, and you briefly wonder just how deep it can get.

You don’t catch the rest of the trade, trying to focus instead on anything other than how good Harry’s ass looks in the khakis adorning his legs. He cracks a low joke, and the barista laughs. Smiling slightly, he casts a casual glance over his shoulder, and you stiffen when his eyes land squarely on you. His pleased expression fades.

“Also…,” he says, keeping his gaze on you for a moment longer before turning back to the counter.

You don’t tune in to the remainder of his sentence, mostly because your ears are ringing and your heart is hammering wildly beneath your ribs. Harry pulls a crisp bill from his pocket and hands it over before moving to the side and waiting for his drink. It takes all of your willpower to look at everything except for him. The barista abandons her post at the cash register to prepare his coffee. You stand awkwardly at the beginning of the line, waiting for her to come back.

She finally does after a couple of minutes, greeting you cheerily and subconsciously leaning in so that she can hear your order properly.

“Hi,” you say. “Um, can I get a large vanilla latte with an extra shot of espresso?”

“Sure,” she replies, but as soon as you begin to pull your wallet from your bag, she stops you. “Actually,” she says, “The man who was just here paid for you. He gave me a ten and told me to keep whatever was left over.”

“I’m sorry?” You blink.

“The man in front of you,” she elaborates. “The one with the accent.”

Your lips part in surprise. Instinctively, you whip your head to the side, just in time to watch as Harry disappears around the corner.

~*~

You end up being a few minutes late. The sound of the door being pushed open is painfully loud, and you have to conceal an embarrassed cringe when your entrance is met with dozens of faces staring down at you. Dr. Renault is in the process of speaking, but when you walk in, he injects a quick, “Welcome, good morning, pull up a chair!” into the middle of his sentence. You try for a sheepish smile and hope that it comes across as sincere.

“That was humiliating,” you mutter when you finally collapse into the seat next to Mateo. He’d saved you a spot right beside the aisle; you send out a silent prayer of thanks. “This is why I’m never late.”

Your friends both shoot you knowing looks, their features soft with compassion. You sigh quietly, taking a long sip of your latte and trying to shrug off the mortification looming over your head.

“As I was saying,” your professor continues, unperturbed by your brief interruption. “The midterm is next week. It will cover chapters one through three; I trust that everyone has begun reviewing?”

Low murmurs are all that he receives as a response. Dr. Renault chuckles and pushes his glasses further up his nose. “I’ll be going into further detail regarding the exam during the last twenty minutes of today’s class. As for right now, Harry will be handing back your quizzes from last week, as well as the assignments that you all submitted. There were a few bumps, but overall, I think most of you did well.”

And just like that, all eyes fall on Harry. He steps forward, a stack of sheets balanced in the crook of his left arm. He clears his throat and licks the pad of his thumb to effectively grasp the corner of the first page.

“Morning, everyone,” he says huskily. “I’ve paired your quizzes from last week with your papers, so you’ll be getting both at the same time. If you’ve got any questions regarding your grades, please feel free to consult me at the end of today’s lecture.”

That’s the most that you’ve ever heard him speak, you realise.

Harry peers up at the class, his eyes skimming over the rows of students before landing on you. You’re not sure if it’s real, or if your mind is just playing tricks on you, but he seems to stare at you for a beat longer than anyone else. You swallow heavily, hoping that he can’t see the violent bobbing of your throat from down below. A moment later, he calls out a name. The girl in the chair in front of you jumps to her feet, and the spell is broken.

One by one, each undergraduate stands and ambles down the stairs of the lecture hall to retrieve their marks. Margaret’s name is called; Mateo’s follows a few moments later. You smile encouragingly at them and watch as they descend the steps.

You grow nervous as the stack of papers nestled in Harry’s arms begins to dwindle. It’s silly, but whenever your work happens to be located near the end of the queue, you always feel a niggling sense of paranoia biting at the back of your brain. Realistically, you know that your assignment will most likely be present in that pile, but there’s always that small what if.

Finally, though, you hear your name ring out.

You immediately decide that you love the way it sounds exiting Harry’s lips.

You stand, grateful that you don’t have to squeeze past anyone. Maybe you should aim to sit in a seat next to the aisle more often—it’s awfully convenient.

Your heart is thudding wildly in your chest, and as you make your way down to where Harry waits, you grow afraid that he’ll be able to see it pulsing through your shirt.

Don’t trip, don’t trip, don’t trip.

Fortunately, you reach the bottom stair without a single misstep. Harry’s staring down at your papers, his lips tucked into a thin line. When you clear your throat gently, he looks up at you. Twin pink spots dot his cheeks when he realises that you’ve been standing in front of him for a moment too long. He holds out your assignment and your quiz, the pages held together by a skinny silver clip.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. You hesitate for a second before adding, “And thank you for paying for my—”

“Evan Ross.” Harry cuts you off without blinking, the next name rolling off his tongue seamlessly. You blink in surprise, stiffening. Your mouth pops open as a mixture of shock and hurt washes over you.

Your chest grows tight with emotion, and your eyes burn as you whip around and hurry back up the stairs. You keep your head low as you slide back into your seat; Margaret and Mateo are too absorbed in a hushed conversation to notice the distressed expression on your face, but you don’t mind. In fact, you’re thankful for it.

Your mouth feels like it’s full of cotton. Needing a distraction, you unfold the small pile of papers in your hand and glance down at your grades. You’ve achieved a perfect score on your quiz. At the top of the sheet, scrawled in red pen, there’s a smiley face and a brief note:

Well done. Glad to see that somebody’s been paying attention. H. x

You direct your awareness to the written assignment in your other hand. A bright 95% stares back up at you, along with another few words of encouragement:

Very insightful. Great job. H. x

Your eyes narrow. You sit back in your chair; a quiet, incredulous laugh bubbles up in your throat. Luckily, it’s faint enough to avoid being detected by anyone else. You shake your head in disbelief, skimming over Harry’s comments one last time before angrily shoving the pages into your bag. They crinkle loudly—you know that they’ll be all bent out of shape by the time you’ll need to retrieve them, but you don’t care.

You straighten up and risk a glance down to where Harry is still handing assignments and quizzes back to last of your classmates. He smiles at one boy and gives him a reassuring nod before his green eyes stray upward, as though drawn by an invisible magnet. His gaze locks with yours, and the mild curl of his lips quickly flattens out. You clench your jaw and look away, huffing petulantly through your nose.

What a fucking dick.

  September 25th, 2019

“I’m not ready,” you declare, slapping your binder down onto the small foldable desk attached to Mateo’s seat. Your friend jumps in surprise, his eyes growing ludicrously wide, and Margaret cackles loudly from beside him. Despite the panic coursing through your veins, you crack a small smile.

“Good morning to you, too,” Mateo grumbles, his shoulders still hunched from your sudden intrusion.

You groan and collapse into the chair next to him, massaging your temples in hopes of avoiding an oncoming headache. The sensation tends to creep up on you, and you’re sure that it’s due to the measly amount of sleep you’d acquired only a few hours prior. Margaret leans over, extending her arm and offering you a sip of her coffee. You take it and flash her a grateful (albeit pained) smile. Her latte is still a bit hot, but that doesn’t stop you from swallowing down a large gulp.

“What’s wrong?” Margaret asks as you hand the cup back over to her. “Did you not study enough?”

“Yeah,” you say, scowling deeply. “The proposal for my experimental psych class was due last night, so I spent pretty much all my time working on that.”

“Don’t worry,” Mateo says. “You always do well, even when you think you won’t—you’ve got this.”

“Thanks,” you mumble nervously, blowing him a meek kiss. You shift closer to him so that you can scan the contents of his open textbook, hoping to memorize a few final facts before the exam starts.

Dr. Renault and Harry walk in a few moments later, both carrying intimidatingly-tall stacks of paper. A hush falls over the classroom—the abrupt silence makes your professor laugh.

“Don’t worry!” he says. “It’s not that difficult, I promise.”

Somehow, you don’t believe him.

In a matter of minutes, the tests have been distributed, and all of the students in the room are sitting with one seat separating them from their neighbours. Dr. Renault announces that he and Harry will be perusing up and down the aisles, ready to answer any questions regarding the exam. Subconsciously, your toes curl in your shoes—you definitely won’t be asking Harry for further clarification, no matter how badly you need it.

“You will have one-hundred-and-twenty minutes to complete the midterm,” your professor says. His smile is supportive, but it does nothing to soothe to anxious knot in the pit of your stomach. “Good luck, everyone.”

With that, you flip to the first page of the packet. The next two hours are filled with the sounds of pencils scribbling on paper, the hushed whispers of Harry and Dr. Renault, and the occasional lone, hacking cough.

  October 9th, 2019

You’re sitting in the library with Mateo when your phone buzzes with the notification. You glance down at the screen and gasp loudly when you read the words:

Harry Styles has posted to the forum.

“Mateo!” you hiss. He doesn’t reply. Looking up, you see him bopping his head along to the music playing through his white earphones. He’s twirling a pencil through his fingers absentmindedly and skimming through his neuropsychology textbook. You kick his shin underneath the table.

“Ow!” he yelps. The sound is far too loud, considering that it’s only nine in the morning and you’re both situated in an establishment that demands silence.

“Shh!” you say, frowning slightly. He pulls out one of his earbuds and stares at you with bewildered eyes. You choose to stay tacit, simply holding up your phone and letting him read the notification lighting up the glass screen.

“Okay…,” he whispers, glaring at you. “Why the fuck did that warrant such a hard kick?”

“I’m sorry.” You wince. He’s right. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s fine.” He waves off your apology before fishing his own cell phone out of his pocket and unlocking it swiftly. Together, the two of you pull up a browser tab and type the name of your school’s website into the search bar. You log into your student accounts and click on your neuropsychology class. The link takes you to the collective forum, and your eyes sweep over Harry’s name at the top—the most recent post. You tap it gently and begin to read.

Hi all,

Attached to this post is a spreadsheet containing your scores on the midterm. In the first column, you’ll find your student number. In the second, I’ve provided your mark as a percentage. As always, I will be available after class today if you have any questions regarding your grade.

See you soon.

Sincerely,

Harry

You hold your breath as you scroll down and open up the spreadsheet linked below his message. After a few prolonged, painful seconds of searching, you find your student number and zero in on the percentage located right beside it. You swear that your heart stops.

62%.

Sixty-two percent.

Your lips part in surprise. You take a long, hard look at the spreadsheet, wondering if maybe you’d landed on the wrong row, but no. Your number is there. And a few pixels away, a dark, insidious 62% stands out in black. You inhale deeply, trying to keep yourself from hyperventilating.

“I got a seventy,” Mateo breathes, looking up from his phone and closing his eyes in relief. A moment later, they pop back open. “How about you?”

“A sixty-two,” you whisper, unable to tear your gaze from your screen.

He balks. “Come again?”

“A sixty-two,” you restate, a bit louder this time. “I—”

“Don’t panic,” Mateo says immediately, holding up his hand. You finally manage to focus on him, your eyes growing damp with anxious tears.

“Hey,” he says sternly, reaching over and laying a comforting palm on your forearm. “Don’t panic. It’s only worth twenty-five percent, okay? You’re doing really well on the quizzes so far, and you did great on that first paper, too. That was, like, another five percent or something, right?”

“Yeah,” you say, nodding weakly.

Mateo chews on his lips, but his expression is determined. He mimics your nod, though his appears to be a bit more assured. “Okay,” he tells you. “So, here’s what you’re gonna do: you’re gonna go see Harry after class today and set up an appointment so that he can go over the exam with you. And then you’re gonna take in all that information, and you’re gonna ace the final at the end of the semester, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you repeat, but this time, there’s a bit more conviction behind the word. Mateo knows how bad your anxiety can get—he’s caught you in the middle of an emotional breakdown more times than you’d care to admit. But he also knows how to keep you grounded, and he’s almost always able to bring you back down when your thoughts take you elsewhere.

“Thank you,” you tell him, swallowing heavily. “That’s a good idea, I’ll do that.”

“Yes, you will,” he says, and then he sits back and flips his textbook shut. “Come on, let’s go grab a coffee before class. My treat.”

~*~

When you get your exam back, there’s another haphazard note scribbled at the top in red.

It’s okay. I know you’ll do better on the next one. H. x

~*~

As your fist lands the first perfunctory knock on Harry’s door, you find yourself wanting nothing more than to spin around and speed away as fast as you can. Harry lifts his head from where it’s buried inside a book, fixing his gaze on you and cocking his head to the side.

“Hi,” you say nervously. “Um, sorry to bother you. My name is—”

You’re shocked to hear it escape Harry’s lips before you can say it yourself. You clamp your mouth shut and nod silently, too afraid to utter anything else.

“Hi,” Harry replies. His voice is the epitome of a lazy drawl. “What can I do for you?”

“I was wondering,” you start, pausing to clear your throat. “If—um—if I could talk to you really quickly about my midterm?”

“Sure,” he says, shrugging indifferently. “You can sit.”

As you step forward to position yourself on one of the padded chairs in front of his desk, Harry shuts his book and stands. You can’t stop your eyes from following him. He tucks the hardcover back into a vacant slot on the tall shelf located in the corner of the room.

“You have a lot of books,” you note. Immediately, you want to strangle yourself for letting the observation slip out.

He simply bobs his head. “I like to read.”

“Me too.” God, why the fuck won’t you just shut up?

But when Harry turns back around, you’re shocked to find the smallest hint of a smile playing on his lips. His gaze locks with yours, and it fades just as quickly as it had come. You swallow forcefully; your mouth feels like a desert.

“Do you have your midterm with you?” Harry asks, crossing his arms over his chest. You look away immediately to keep yourself from ogling his biceps. He’s wearing a dark green crewneck and a pair of khaki pants again. His hair is tousled, like he’s been raking his fingers through it incessantly, and his glasses are tucked into the collar of his shirt. There’s a slight shadow of stubble scattered across his jaw. His lips are flushed a perfect shade of pink; they look smooth and soft.

“Yeah.” You snap out of your stupor and answer him quickly. Leaning down to unzip your bag, you say, “Sorry. It’s right—”

“Why’re you apologising?” Harry asks, creases of confusion etching themselves into his forehead. You pause and peer up at him, your hand buried in your knapsack.

“Sorry?” you ask, afraid that you hadn’t heard him properly.

The corners of his lips jump only slightly. He repeats his question with the same amount of ennui. “Why’re you apologising?”

You blink. “Er…I don’t know, sorry. I mean—!” You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head, feeling your cheeks grow warm. Eventually, you give up on searching for the right words, instead pulling your exam out of your bag and thrusting it forward. “Here you go.”

Harry takes the packet from you, bringing it up to his face. He grabs his glasses from where they hang on his chest and slides them onto the bridge of his nose. You look away when his eyes land on the shameful grade scribbled at the top of the first sheet.

“I didn’t do too well,” you say, training your gaze on the floor. “As you can clearly see.”

Harry hums in response. He flips through your midterm quickly, spending only a few seconds on each page. “That’s odd,” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

You peek up at him through your lashes. “What’s odd?”

He shrugs. “If I’m remembering correctly,” he begins, fixing his green eyes on you, “You’ve been doing well on the weekly quizzes. So…what went wrong this time?”

You swallow heavily, bringing your hands together in your lap and fiddling with your fingers. “I was working on a research proposal that was due the night before the exam,” you explain timidly. “So, I guess…I just wasn’t able to study as much as I should’ve.”

Harry nods. Quiet ensues. Your attention stays glued to the ground.

“Well—,” he clears his throat. “I can go over it all with you now, if you’d like.”

“Oh, no,” you say, shaking your head immediately. “I’ve actually—I’ve got to be somewhere after this.”

It’s a complete lie. You don’t have anything scheduled for later on. But your heart feels like it’s about to give out any second now, and the hairs on your arms are tingling apprehensively. You feel like an idiot, tripping over your words and second-guessing every syllable that leaves your lips. Harry’s unwavering, unforgiving stare is making you want to curl up into a ball and sink into the floor. You can’t imagine any torture greater than spending another minute in this office.

“I see,” Harry says. A long moment passes as you wait for him to say something else; when he doesn’t, you jump in to fill the awkward silence.

“I just came by in hopes of scheduling an appointment,” you rush out. “Is that okay?”

“It’s what I’m here for.” There’s no humour in his tone. You nod, gnawing on your bottom lip.

“What day works best for you?” you prod gently. The air is thick; you don’t think that even the sharpest of knives could slice through the tension. Harry rubs his nose with two fingers and taps his thumb against his lips, lost in thought.

“How does ten in the morning on Monday sound?” he says at last.

“The one coming up?”

“Yes.”

“That’s fine,” you tell him. “Thank you so much—I really appreciate it.”

He doesn’t reply, choosing instead to return your exam to you and retire to his chair. You zip your bag back up and sling one strap over your shoulder, standing from your seat and subtly trying to wipe your clammy palms against your thighs.

“Send me an e-mail on Sunday,” Harry says suddenly, drumming his fingers along the smooth surface of his desk. Your eyes are drawn to the gaudy rings on his hands, the jewellery glinting alluringly in the light of his office.

“Regarding what?” you ask, your brows knitting together.

“The appointment. Just as a reminder,” he states, shrugging his shoulders placidly. “I’ll put it in my calendar too, but you can never be too prepared.”

“Right,” you say, nodding. “Okay, I will. Thank you again.”

“It’s no problem.” Harry pauses for a moment before adding, “Take care.”

A bit of the stiffness in your body trickles away at his words—is it possible that he’s beginning to warm up to you?

“Have a good rest of your week,” you say as you start to back away toward the door. Against your better judgment, you offer up a small, friendly smile.

Your feet carry you a few steps further; you attempt to restrain yourself from shooting him one last glance before you turn to face the other way (though of course, you can’t resist.) You think you see the corners of Harry’s lips twitch, but you don’t stay long enough to reflect on it.

Only once you leave his office do you decide that it was merely your eyes playing tricks on you. If majoring in psychology has taught you anything, it’s that humans are extremely unreliable creatures.

Sometimes, we only see what we want to see, you think. The words tumble through your head in the form of a dynamic mantra, echoing continuously until you stagger outside and into the comforting hold of the cool autumn air.

  October 13th, 2019

No matter how many times she tries, Margaret cannot down a shot without cringing after swallowing. She always declares that this time will finally be it, that she’ll throw the alcohol back without so much as a grimace, but both you and Mateo know by now that it’s all just nonsense. Her countless attempts are the main reason for her eventual, inevitable inebriation whenever you all decide to go out for drinks.

“Fuck!” Margaret yelps, squeezing her eyes shut and wincing radically as the vodka burns its way down her throat. She reaches for the glass of water standing a few inches away and takes a desperate swig. You and Mateo laugh as she pounds her fist against the table in frustration. You’re sitting across the table from your two friends, the three of you nestled comfortably in one of the booths lining the wall of the pub.

“Told you,” Mateo says dryly, shooting Margaret a wry smirk. She shakes her head and smacks her lips together.

“No, let’s do one more,” she says, her voice taking on a pleading quality. “It’ll be this next one, I swear.”

“Slow down,” you tell her, holding your hand up. Even from a few feet away, you can see the dilation of her pupils and the rosy flush on her cheeks. She’s never been good at pacing herself, and you really don’t feel like ending the night with your hands in her hair as she retches over the toilet.

Margaret pouts; Mateo grins knowingly at you, the thin gold chain around his neck glinting against his dark skin. You’re all a bit buzzed, and though your friends want to continue, you don’t intend to get plastered tonight. There’s a nagging voice in the back of your mind, reminding you that you’ve got your appointment with Harry tomorrow morning, and you want to be as alert and attentive as possible.

You’d sent him an e-mail earlier this evening, right before the taxi had pulled up into the parking lot of your apartment complex. The correspondence had been simple, just a quick verification of the day and time, followed by a short closing remark and your name. You’d snapped your laptop shut as soon as the message had gone through, willing yourself to tuck the thought of it away into a dark, incognizable corner of your brain.

“Did—?” Mateo hiccups quietly and swallows. “Did you guys hear that Grounded is closing down?”

“What?” You and Margaret both nearly snap your necks to gape at him.

“Not permanently!” he backtracks, throwing his hands up in the air. “Just for a couple of weeks! They’re doing renovations in the basement, remember?”

“I knew that,” you say, cocking your head to the side. “But I didn’t know they were doing them there—I thought they’d just closed off the area near the biology labs.”

“I guess not.” Mateo purses his lips, and Margaret pouts.

“How am I gonna survive without their coffee?” she moans, her shoulders deflating.

You shrug and trail your finger around the rim of your water. The glass is clouded with condensation, drops trailing down the side and dampening the coaster lying underneath. “There’s always Starbucks,” you say, though the suggestion is lackadaisical, unenthusiastic. “But the closest one is halfway across campus.”

“Exactly.” Margaret sulks, placing her elbow on the table and propping her chin up on her fist. “How the fuck am I supposed to stay awake in Spanish, now?”

“Pop some modafinil,” Mateo mutters under his breath. You look at him with wide eyes and burst into laughter a second later. He grins; Margaret elbows him in the ribs, but even she can’t suppress the small smile that creeps up onto her face.

“I’m serious!” she says, her voice shaking with the ghost of a giggle. “Even for neuro, like…I don’t know how I’m gonna get through it.”

“Neuro is at ten in the morning,” you stress, lifting your eyebrows in disbelief. “Just be grateful that it’s not an eight o’clock class—if that were the case, you’d really be fucked.”

Margaret raises one shoulder lazily and rolls her eyes. You lean forward and take a sip of your water, humming appreciatively when the cool liquid runs down your throat and fans out across your chest.

“Speaking of neuro,” Mateo starts, running a hand through his dark, kinky hair, “How did you guys do on the quiz from last week? The one on cognitive processing and perception.”

“I only got one right,” Margaret snorts, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I was kind of zoning out during the lecture, to be honest.”

“Shocker,” you tease. She scoffs in mock-offense, and you flash her a smile to tell her that you’re only joking. You turn to Mateo. “I think I got, like, three out of five,” you say, squinting your eyes and puckering your lips. “Not my best work.”

“It’s still a pass,” he replies, winking playfully.

You chuckle and nod. “True. Plus—,” you tap your nails against your glass and make a vague gesture with your other hand, “—Harry’s nice little notes are always a bit of a confidence boost, you know what I mean?”

When your question is met with silence, you look up from the table with cinched brows and puzzled eyes. Both Margaret and Mateo are gawking at you, their lips parted and their expressions ripe with confusion. Subconsciously, your mouth twists down into a frown; you sit back against the padded material of the booth.

“What?”

“Harry…,” Margaret shakes her head, tucking a silky strand of hair behind her ear. “Harry doesn’t write nice little notes for us.”

“What?” you say, creases digging into your forehead. “No, I mean—the comments he leaves on the quizzes and stuff! You know, like, right at the top of the page?”

“He’s never left a comment on any of my quizzes,” Mateo tells you. He turns to Margaret. “Has he done that for you?”

“No,” she says, pursing her lips. “Not at all.”

Something inaudible passes between them, and when they both look back at you, they’re trying to hide their amused expressions. The scowl on your lips deepens, pulling at the muscles in your cheeks and making your face grow sore.

“Why the fuck are you guys looking at me like that?” you ask, fed up with their cryptic behaviour.

Margaret scoffs loudly and barks out your name. It’s enough to grab your attention, and when you glare at her, she beams wickedly and hisses, “He’s trying to fuck you!”

You can’t help it—you laugh. Margaret’s grin fades, and Mateo cocks an eyebrow at you, waiting for your glee to subside. After a long moment, your giggles dwindle, and you smile across the table at your friends. They remain frozen, still as bewildered as ever. Their silence aggravates you; in a matter of seconds, you’re glowering at them.

“You can’t be serious,” you deadpan, looking at them with blank eyes. “The only time Harry’s ever really spoken to me was when I went to schedule that stupid appointment! I swear to God, he avoids me like I’ve got the plague.”

“Maybe’s he’s avoiding you because he likes you,” Margaret suggests. Her brown irises twinkle with mischief.

A disdainful sound bubbles up in your throat and flops out of your mouth. “Not likely.”

“Why else would he write you little notes, then?” she demands, and you hate to admit it, but she has a point. You’ve got no idea why Harry’s trademark scribbles are always at the top of your tests and assignments, especially since he seems to intent on evading you whenever the two of you happen to cross paths. You chew furiously on the inside of your cheek, only able to offer up a half-hearted shrug.

“We don’t even know if I’m the only one,” you say. “He could be doing it for some other people, too—let’s not jump to conclusions.”

Margaret and Mateo snicker. You glare daggers at them. Mateo is the first to fix you with a semi-apologetic smile.

“Sorry,” he tells you, his teeth gleaming in the low lighting of the bar. “It’s just—Margaret might be onto something.”

“She’s not,” you say flatly.

Margaret releases an offended squawk, pinning you beneath her stern gaze. “Hey!” she squeaks, pouting indignantly and pointing her index finger at you. “Just because you’re in denial doesn’t mean—”

She breaks off right in the middle of her sentence, her eyes growing outrageously wide when they land on something behind you. You tilt your head to the side and scratch your cheek, afraid that maybe she’s noticed a spot or a new blemish blossoming on your face. But then she squeals, her hand shooting to the side so that she can deliver several excited slaps to Mateo’s arm.

“Holy shit! Speak of the fucking devil!”

Everything clicks into place, then, and your jaw drops. You spin around in your seat so quickly you’re surprised that your vision doesn’t go blurry. After a quick sweep of the room, you find the thing—or rather, the person—that has Margaret losing her mind.

Harry’s dressed in a simple black t-shirt and a pair of black, high-waisted, extremely baggy trousers. The pant legs are comically wide, but somehow, he makes it work. His hair is fluffy, and his sneakers are pristine, not a speck of dirt in sight. Something shiny glints near his waist and catches your attention; you find the patterned frame of his glasses peeking out of one of his pockets. Briefly, you wonder if he’s cold—it’s a bit of a chilly evening, and he doesn’t appear to be sporting a jacket.

“He looks good,” Mateo notes.

You and Margaret swivel your heads around and stare at him. He shrugs. “What? It’s just an observation!”

And despite the panic simmering in the pit of your stomach, you laugh softly. You’re about to settle back into the booth and hope for the best, but then Margaret lifts her arm in a frantic wave and shouts, “Harry!”

Your lips part in shock. She must be drunker than you thought.

“Margaret!” you whisper furiously, ducking down and gaping at her. You’re no longer facing Harry, but you get the feeling that he heard his name, because Margaret giggles, twiddles her fingers, and curls her hand in a beckoning gesture. You place your elbows on the table and bury your face into your palms, too embarrassed to look up.

“Oh my God,” Mateo mutters. “He’s coming over here.”

And sure enough, after a few long, painful moments, Harry is standing in front of the table.

“Er, hi,” he says, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly.

Mateo offers him a small smile; Margaret beams widely.

“Hi!” she says cheerily. “Sorry, this might be weird because you don’t know us. I’m Margaret, this is Mateo, and this is—”

Just as he had done in his office, Harry breathes your name before it’s uttered. Margaret stops speaking immediately and mashes her lips together to suppress a giant grin. Mateo catches your gaze from across the table; his eyes are the size of tennis balls. You want to groan—subtlety is most definitely not their forte.

“Um, yeah,” you reply. You glance up at Harry momentarily before looking away. “Hi.”

A beat of silence ensues.

“So, Harry,” Margaret jumps in. Her tone is a bit too loud, but it’s not noticeable over the mindless chatter echoing in the pub. “What brings you here?”

Harry shrugs, clasping his hands behind his back. “Just out for drinks with a few of my mates.”

“‘Mates’,” Margaret parrots, lowering her voice and putting on a horrible accent. You gawk at her as she giggles. “That sounds like fun—we’re doing the same thing! What’s your favourite type of alcohol? I like vodka.”

“Jesus Christ,” you mumble, shaking your head imperceptibly. When you look back up, you find Harry’s eyes sweeping across your face. A coy smirk dances on his lips.

You take note of the dimple that carves itself into his cheek and groan inwardly. Just when you thought that he couldn’t get any more attractive…

“I’m more of a whiskey guy, myself,” he says. His shoulders relax a bit; the tension in his body visibly melts away. Though Margaret is the one who had gotten you into this mess in the first place, you suddenly find yourself thankful for her presence. It’s easier to socialize when you’re around someone who makes it their mission to inject comedy into a conversation.

“I’m going to go grab us another round,” you announce gently, making a move to slide out of the booth. Before you stand, you look over at your friends. “What do you guys want?”

“I thought you said we had to slow down,” Margaret says, shooting you a confused frown.

“I changed my mind. What do you want?”

“Just a root beer for me,” Mateo says, trying to hold in a laugh.

“Another shot of vodka!” Margaret cheers, throwing her arms up. She sighs and leans her head on Mateo’s shoulder; he pets her hair, humouring her. She hums and speaks the words that she promises before every drink. “I’ll do it this time. I won’t even wrinkle my nose.”

“Okay,” you say with a curt nod. You stand and face Harry, hesitating only for a second before murmuring, “Well, it was nice to see—”

“Harry!” Margaret suddenly cuts in, drowning out the rest of your sentence. “Would you be a doll and go with her? I don’t think she’ll be able to carry all of our drinks back by herself.”

“I—,” Harry glances at you out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, sure.” His throat bobs when he turns and asks you, “That alright with you?”

No!

You want to scream your refusal at him, and then leap across the table and pummel Margaret with hard, closed fists. But instead, you merely purse your lips and bob your head once. “Yup. Let’s go.”

~*~

“Hi.” You smile at the bartender and lean your forearms against the counter. “Can I get a root beer, a shot of vodka, and a vodka cranberry, please?”

She nods, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder and giving you a thumbs-up. You exhale deeply as she bustles away to prepare the drinks. Your skin is prickling with nerves, hyperaware of the fact that Harry is standing right next to you. Casting a furtive glance around the pub, you gnaw on your bottom lip. Harry’s friends are sitting on the other side of the room; they’ve claimed a booth as well. A few of them are piled atop each other as they all struggle to squeeze in. The sight makes you chuckle.

“So,” you hear from beside you. Harry’s gaze is steady as he rubs his fingers against his chin. “What did your friend mean when she said that she wouldn’t wrinkle her nose?”

The question is so arbitrary and out of the blue that it pulls an involuntary laugh from your mouth.

“Oh, Margaret?” you ask. When Harry nods, you continue. “She just sucks at taking shots. She pulls a face every time, so whenever we drink, she always tries to stop herself from doing it. It never works, though.”

Harry smirks. You look away. A few long seconds draw out before he speaks again.

“They seem nice,” he tells you. When you cock an eyebrow at him questioningly, he elaborates. “Your friends, I mean.”

“Oh.” You dip your chin. “Yeah, they’re great.”

He opens his mouth to say more, but just then, the blonde bartender returns with the drinks you’d ordered, setting them down onto the counter in front of you. “Anything else?” she asks, drumming her fingers on the surface of the bar. Your eyes are drawn to the low cut of her top.

“That’s all, thanks,” you declare, but then you pause. “Actually…,” you decide, and you turn to Harry. “Do you want anything?”

He balks, slightly stunned. His eyebrows shoot up into his hairline, and you suppress a small smile—that’s probably the most expressive you’ve ever seen him.

“No, no,” Harry assures you. “I’m alright.”

“I insist,” you say, and there must be something powerful in your gaze, because he just purses his lips and forfeits his repudiation.

“Er, I’ll just have a coke, then.”

You and the bartender both nod simultaneously. In less than thirty seconds, she’s got his drink standing alongside the others on the counter. “That’ll be eighteen dollars,” she tells you. You unzip your wallet and hand her the exact change before taking a quick sip of your vodka cranberry.

“I’m surprised you didn’t order whiskey,” you joke lightly, peeking over at Harry. He lifts the rim of his glass and takes a hearty gulp of his soda, licking his lips once he swallows.

“I—,” he begins, shaking his head. “Actually, I don’t drink.”

“Oh, really?” You cock your head to the side. “Why not?” A moment later, you backpedal hastily. “I mean, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“It’s fine,” he says. “I used to drink a lot while I was doing my undergrad. Like, a lot. Shit happened, and I ended up needing to get my stomach pumped. After that, I just kind of…made the decision to lay off.”

“I see.” You falter. “Was it difficult?”

Harry nods, but only barely. He suddenly seems much more interested in the shiny floorboards of the bar. “Yeah, it was. But it was for the best. I’m here now, and I’m a teaching assistant for two classes, so I’d say things worked out pretty well.”

“Two classes?”

“Yeah. Neuropsychology, and then Doctor Chen’s psychopathology class,” he tells you.

“I was actually thinking of taking that,” you confess. “It looks really interesting.”

“It is.”

Though your mouth is dry, you hold up your vodka cranberry. “Well, then…cheers to you. That’s definitely something to be proud of.”

Harry gazes at you through his lashes and lifts his own drink, clinking your glasses together. The two of you take a sip at the same time; his eyes hold onto yours over the rim of his cup. You’re the first one to look away, your heart hammering as you reach out to grab Margaret’s shot. Harry mimics you and wraps his fingers around Mateo’s root beer.

“What’s your favourite drink?” he inquires, his grassy eyes alert. You pause.

“Probably tequila,” you say eventually. “It goes down smoother than anything else, I’ve found. Plus, it doesn’t take much for it to fuck me up.”

A low chuckle slips from Harry’s lips. Your thighs clench together at the sound.

“Guess I’ll have to buy you a shot of tequila later,” Harry tells you, leaning against the bar. “To repay you.”

You can hear the blood thundering in your ears. There’s an odd, fluttery sensation in your chest. You aren’t sure of whether it’s excitement, or anxiety, or perhaps both. All you know is that this is uncharted territory for you. You think that maybe it’s because of the pub and the atmosphere it provides: something laid-back and nonchalant. Harry has never spoken to you like this—like you’re a friend. You have no clue how to feel about it, so you settle for simply hoping that you won’t accidentally say the wrong thing and dash all of the progress you’ve made.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you answer, shaking your head. “I think that this was me repaying you for that coffee you bought me a while back. Do you remember?”

Bringing up his previous act of generosity makes you nervous; he’d swiftly cut you off the last time you’d tried to thank him for the latte. But—much to your surprise—his features don’t harden when your words sink in. You watch as his brows knit together for only a moment before a spark of recognition flickers in his eyes.

Harry’s expression opens up as the memory dawns on him, like petals from a rosebud. “I do.”

You shoot him a tight smile. “See? So now we’re even.”

He smirks. “I guess we are.”

You swallow down the lump in your throat and lift your chin in the direction of where your friends are still waiting. “Shall we?”

He nods, holding out his arm and inviting you to take the lead.

Your feet have only carried you a few steps when you hear someone call out, “Wait!”

Instinctively, both you and Harry spin around. The blonde bartender is back, raking her fingers through her hair and sliding a napkin across the counter. She’s looking at Harry, a roguish smile twisting her mouth upward. When he leans forward to accept her offering, you catch a glimpse of a series of numbers written across the serviette in black ink. Something in your stomach drops grossly; you turn to avoid witnessing Harry’s reaction and hastily speed away.

Margaret claps her hands excitedly when you return with her drink. Mateo looks at you inquisitively.

“Where’s Harry?”

“He’s coming,” you mumble, refusing to meet your friend’s eyes. You remain standing as you take a long sip of your vodka cranberry. Mateo’s lips curve down into the smallest of frowns, like he can sense that something is off with you. Thankfully, he doesn’t pry.

A moment later, Harry appears beside you, holding out the glass of root beer in his left hand. “Sorry, mate,” he apologises to Mateo. “Here you go.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Okay!” Margaret exclaims, rubbing her hands together and staring intently at the shot of vodka resting on the table in front of her. “I’m gonna do it!”

Mateo grins at her, giving her the type of smile that you’d offer to a child who’s just done something endearing. You snicker silently.

The hairs on the back of your neck stand straight up when Harry turns to you and lays a large hand on your forearm. You stop breathing as he leans in close and whispers against your ear, “Is this the part where she…?”

The words are warm against your skin. A violent shudder races down your spine. In response, you can only muster a nod and a high-pitched, “Mhm.”

He chuckles lowly before pulling away.

Margaret downs the shot, and you, Harry, and Mateo all laugh when her face collapses into a vicious grimace. She’s still grumbling about her failed attempt when Harry states that he should be getting back to his friends on the other side of the bar.

“Have a nice night, you lot.” He shakes Mateo’s hand and shoots Margaret a small smile. He then turns to you, his gaze locking with yours. Your cheeks tingle hotly.

“And, you…,” Harry murmurs, the corners of his lips twitching. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You nod, swallowing with some difficulty. When the words finally make it out of your mouth, they’re wobbly and forced.

“See you tomorrow.”

~*~

Around one in the morning, you and your friends have decided that it’s time to put an end to the night. Even Margaret is ready to go home.

“I’ve got to be up early tomorrow, anyway,” you explain to her. “My meeting with Harry is at ten.”

“Right.” Margaret nods knowingly and wiggles her brows. “Your meeting. Are you guys gonna fuck in his office?”

“Margaret!”

“What?” she laughs, gathering her hair into a low ponytail. “That would be so hot!”

You shake your head. Mateo pinches the bridge of his nose. The three of you head toward the exit of the pub, passing by the large group made up of Harry’s friends. They all seem to be having a great time, absorbed in a flurry of conversation and laughter. You scan each face quickly, frowning when you note that Harry isn’t among them. He must’ve gone to grab another soda, you decide, or perhaps he had to use the washroom. Either way, you don’t dwell on his absence.

You wrap your windbreaker around your body as you step out into the chilly October air. Beside you, Mateo sighs—his breath emerges as a small, foggy cloud.

“Do you guys want me to call an Uber?” he asks. He shoots Margaret a pointed glare. “Or are you gonna do it this time, you cheapskate?”

“Excuse you,” Margaret protests, still sloshed. “I’m not a cheapskate!”

“You’re literally the stingiest person I know,” Mateo deadpans. She squawks.

While the two of them bicker, you glance around and take in your surroundings. The road in front of you is dark and quiet, disturbed only by the occasional car. There are squished wads of gum, burnt cigarette butts, and haphazard attempts at graffiti littering the sidewalk. The streetlights bathe you in a warm, orange glow. About twenty feet away, a man and a woman are engrossed in a series of heavy kisses.

You pause. Your eyes narrow.

Holy shit.

“Fine!” Margaret yells, fishing her phone out of her pocket. “I’ll call the Uber!”

She’s too loud.

Her voice carries through the air.

Lips parting, you watch in horror as Harry detaches his mouth from the bartender’s neck and turns his head toward the noise. His eyes land on your face, and your chest seizes up in panic. In the millisecond that passes before you look away, his features morph from an expression of surprise to that of shame.

You whip around, nearly snapping your neck.

“Actually,” you say shrilly, interrupting Margaret and Mateo’s squabble. “Let’s hit up one more place. I’m not ready to head home just yet.”

Your friends stare at you, mystified.

“Okay…,” Margaret says slowly. “Why don’t we just stay here, then?”

“No!” you blurt before you can stop yourself. The divot between Margaret’s eyebrows deepens. Her pupils bounce from side to side in drunken confusion, but then her gaze lands on the person behind you that you know is Harry, and she gasps.

“Fuck,” she whispers. You glue your eyes to the floor.

Mateo is gawking, too, now. You shake your head and reach for the pair of them, wrapping your fingers around their arms and guiding them further away from the scene. “Let’s just go,” you murmur quietly. The words taste sour on your tongue.

“What—?” Margaret turns back to you, her nostrils flaring angrily. You find solace in knowing that she’s equally as upset as you are.  “What do you wanna do?”

You shrug, too overrun with humiliation to meet her eyes. Mateo wraps a protective arm around your shoulder, and you busy yourself with ogling the buttons on his coat. Your throat is tight with emotion, ears ringing relentlessly.

“Can we go somewhere else?” you ask weakly—your friends are nodding before you’ve even finished the question. “I want to get fucked up.”

  October 14th, 2019

Your head hurts.

Standing in front of Harry’s office, you wish that you’d forgone that final shot of tequila. Your stomach churns uneasily even now—hours later—and you find yourself struggling to recall certain points from last night. You don’t remember much, but what you do know is that Margaret hadn’t ended up being the one hunched over the toilet at three in the morning.

Where the fuck is he?

The door is locked, leaving you no choice but to stand outside in the hall and lean against the wall for support. Your eyes are puffy and red from lack of sleep. You’re fairly certain that your cheeks are swollen, too. You’d cried yourself into a fitful slumber just as the sun began to rise.

You touch your face; your skin feels grainy thanks to the tears that had escaped your eyes and soaked through the cotton of your pillowcase.

You check your phone and bite your lip. It’s a quarter past ten.

Harry is never late.

You’ll wait another ten minutes, you conclude, and if he doesn’t show up, you’ll just go home.

Only a minute after you settle on the decision, the squeaky sound of shoes slipping against polished tiles reaches your ears. You turn toward the sound just in time to watch Harry skid around the corner. Before you can stop yourself, your brows shoot up in dry disbelief.

He’s a mess.

“Hi,” Harry says, slightly out of breath. “Sorry to have kept you waiting.”

He’s wearing a pair of brown corduroy trousers that sit lopsided on his hips and a white button up tucked beneath a tan-coloured sweater vest. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up unevenly, and the vest itself is wrinkled near the hem. His tortoise-shell glasses are crooked on his face; his hair is disheveled. That same messenger bag is slung over his body, but there’s also a disorganized, rumpled pile of papers in his arms. A loose sheet slips from his grasp and flutters to the floor.

“Shit,” Harry mutters. Silently, you bend down, pick up the page, and hold it out to him. He grunts, wrestling one hand free to accept it. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” Your words are monotone; you refuse make eye contact with him.

Harry digs his fingers into his pocket and produces a set of keys. They jingle cheerfully as he jams one into the lock on the door and twists it to the side—you wince at the loud noise. A telling click echoes through the air. With a gentle push, the door swings open.

“Ladies first,” Harry mumbles. Forcing your chin up, you walk into his office.

The room is very different compared to how it had been a few days ago. It’s emptier. A couple of boxes are strewn across the floor, packed up with supplies. All that’s left on Harry’s bureau now is a red pen and a desktop computer. Even the tall bookshelf in the corner of the room is bare, void of all the novels that it had previously housed. You cock your head to the side, nibbling apprehensively on your bottom lip.

“Sorry about the mess,” Harry says, shutting the door and staggering over to his desk. He plops the pile of papers onto the corner of the table and collapses into his rolling chair. “Renovations start the day after tomorrow, so I’ve been clearing out my essentials.”

“All of your books are essential?” you mutter, gingerly taking a seat in one of the cushioned chairs across from him. You don’t intend for him to hear the question—it’s actually more of a taunt, if you’re being honest—but he does.

“I like to read.” He shrugs.

You unzip your bag and rustle around for your midterm. “Me too.”

When you finally retrieve the exam, you pull it out and look up at him for the first time that day. His lips twitch almost indiscernibly, and it’s a soft, mocking lilt when he says, “I know.”

It dawns on you, then, that you’ve already had the same conversation in this exact spot. Your face grows hot, but you compel yourself to shake off the embarrassment. Clearing your throat, you slide your midterm onto his desk in hopes of changing the subject. “Here you go.”

Harry’s eyes fall to the packet.

“Right,” he says, tucking himself in closer. He licks his lips, turning it to the side and opening it up to the first page of questions. “You can see it like this, yeah?”

You nod, placing your elbows on his desk and slyly trying to massage your temples with two fingers—your headache seems to have only gotten worse.

“Okay.” Harry shifts in his seat and points to the third question on the sheet. “This answer here was B. The common name for fluoxetine is Prozac.”

“Got it,” you say, nodding solemnly. You feel silly for having forgotten something as simple as a type of medication.

Harry’s eyes skim the paper before he shifts his finger to the bottom of the page. “And this one here—,” he starts, “The motor cortex is located in the frontal lobe, just before the central sulcus.”

“Oh, shit.” You cringe, pinching the bridge of your nose. “The one in the parietal lobe is the somatosensory cortex, right?”

“Exactly.”

You shake your head, and then immediately regret doing so—it feels like someone is drilling screws into your skull. “What a stupid mistake.”

“It’s not, really,” Harry says, scratching the underside of his jaw. “The parietal lobe tends to be responsible for processing sensory information—some of it is visual, but most of it is tactile. And because of that, it’s really easy to get it mixed up, because we tend to associate touch with movement.”

“That’s exactly what I did,” you admit, pursing your lips.

He shrugs. “It’s okay. You’re learning—that’s the point.”

You glance up at him and find his eyes trained on you. It’s like he’s trying to convey something unspoken, but you don’t quite know what it is. Your throat bobs with a heavy swallow, and you force yourself to look away.

“Next page,” you urge softly. Harry obliges.

He places his finger beside the first question at the top. “This answer was D—all of the above. Because yeah, cerebrospinal fluid is produced by the ependymal cells, but those are located in the choroid plexuses, which, in turn, are found in the ventricles.” He puckers his lips. “It was a bit of a trick question.”

“No kidding.”

Harry’s lips curl grimly.

He’s in the middle of explaining the next error on your exam when your stomach flips and the top of your throat pulses dangerously. You sit back in your seat, one hand flying to your belly while the other shoots up to cover your mouth. Harry looks up at you quizzically; his expression softens when he absorbs your wide, terrified eyes and your hunched shoulders.

“Are you gonna be sick?” he asks quickly, straightening up.

At that exact moment, the nausea passes. The tension melts from your body, and your chest visibly deflates. You exhale quietly; your hand drops from where it had been shielding the lower half of your face.

Nervously, you peer up at Harry, only to find him regarding you with a blank expression. His lips are tucked into a thin line, and his stare is shallow and emotionless. You open your mouth to say something, but he beats you to it.

“You’re hungover,” he states flatly. There’s no humour lacing the words.

“I—,” you grit your teeth. “Yeah, I am.”

Harry sighs regretfully, sinking back in his chair. He hooks his finger into the collar of his shirt and twists it around to loosen the material. Your lips part in shock, eyes nearly bulging out of your head.

“And you’re marked up,” you exclaim before you can stop yourself.

Harry’s brows knit together in confusion. As soon as the realisation strikes, though, he sits up straight, his nostrils flaring with a sharp inhale. His hand flies to cover his throat, but it’s too late—you’ve already seen them.

A number of dark, splotchy purple marks stand out against the smooth, tan skin of his neck. You’re not sure how many there are in total, and you don’t think that you want to know. Harry’s staring at you, his expression severe. You can’t tear your gaze away from his face—it feels like an eternity passes before either of you says anything.

“I think…,” Harry speaks slowly, his eyes flitting from side to side as he studies your features. “We should reschedule.”

“Good idea,” you breathe.

“And I think,” he adds, still using the same tone, “That we should both agree to keep this entire ordeal…confidential.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Deal.”

You can’t help it, then—you snort once before dissolving into laughter. Though bewildered creases dig into Harry’s forehead, the corners of his lips slowly curve up into a smile. Before long, he’s joining you in your amusement, his chest vibrating with deep, rumbling chuckles. His blocky front teeth latch onto his bottom lip, and he covers his mouth with his fingers in an attempt to subdue the sounds.

Deep in your abdomen, you can feel a tight little ball of jealousy festering. It had been conceived yesterday upon seeing the bartender slip Harry that napkin, and it had grown once you’d witnessed him kissing her outside of the pub. The hickies on his neck should be sending you into a downward spiral, but the hilarity of your current situation is enough to overshadow the ugliness—at least for the time being.

Later, you know that you’ll probably feel sick to your stomach, but you’ll just choose to blame it on the surplus of alcohol from last night.

“Wait, wait,” you say, rubbing your palm over your cheek. There’s a small smile on your lips, and your shoulders tremble with silent giggles. “What—when do you want to meet, then? Didn’t you say that renovations are starting soon?”

“Oh, shit.” Harry’s face falls immediately. He frowns in thought. “Does tomorrow work? I’ll be here in the afternoon.”

“I’ve got class until noon, and then I’ve got to leave for a dentist appointment at one,” you say mournfully.

Harry curses under his breath. You rub your hands together anxiously, watching him come to the realisation that you’re both out of options. He pinches his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger, gazing down emptily at the exam still splayed out on the desk.

“Okay,” he murmurs. He looks up at you, speaking with a bit more conviction. “Come over to my place on Wednesday, then.”

The look of unapologetic shock on your face must be priceless, but Harry holds his ground. The gears in your mind immediately kick into overdrive; you try to quell the noise—it’s only going to make your headache worse. You look at Harry, hoping that he can’t see the way you’ve just swallowed down the hard lump in your throat.

“Your place,” you echo dumbly. “On Wednesday.”

Harry nods assuredly. “Yeah.”

It’s taking everything in you to steer clear of an overreaction. Harry’s suggesting it because he wants to help you improve in time for the final exam—he’s just trying to do his job. You don’t want to be the one to make it weird. There’s a certain kind of maturity to his idea, you think, and you want to show him the ease with which you can meet him on that level.

“Are you sure?” you ask. “I don’t want to, like, impose.”

“I’m sure.” His reply is firm. “You’re not imposing. I told you that I’d go over the midterm with you, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

You nod, rubbing your clammy hands against your thighs. “Okay.”

“Perfect,” Harry says. He reaches forward and folds your exam closed before sliding it back to you. “Can you make it for, let’s say, six in the evening?”

“Um, alright.” You hesitate. “Where exactly do you—?”

“I’ll e-mail you my address,” Harry promises before you can finish your question. You clamp your mouth shut, nodding again. You don’t miss the delicate curl of his lips, or the shallow, nearly invisible crinkles that appear at the corners of his eyes. You stand up, slipping your midterm back into your bag and tugging on the zipper to ensure that it stays secure.

“Okay, well…,” you look at him through your eyelashes, too afraid to fix him with a proper stare. “Have a good day, then.”

He shoots you a tight, pained smile. You wonder if he’s already regretting his offer.

“You too.”

And for the second time in less than a week, you find yourself exiting Harry’s office with a muddy mind, sweaty palms, and a racing heart.

  October 15th, 2019

“You’re going to his house?” Margaret shrieks.

You wince and bury your face into your palms. The half-eaten plate of gnocchi that you’d ordered is pushed off to your right, abandoned. Margaret stabs her lasagna with her silver fork, shovelling a piece past her lips and chewing frantically. “What were you thinking?” she demands through a mouthful of pasta.

In the dim lighting of the restaurant, her gaze is piercingly judgmental.

“I was thinking about my grade!” you retort defensively. You groan, squeezing your eyes shut. “And I didn’t want to be the one to make it awkward. Like, if he’s suggesting it, that obviously means that he doesn’t see anything wrong with it. So, if I get all freaked out, then I just end up looking like a child.”

Your friend turns your words over in her head, tilting her chin from side to side in acknowledgement. “I get that,” she says, swallowing her food. “But I’m still fucking upset about the other night.”

“You and me both,” you mumble, averting your gaze.

“Hey,” Margaret says sternly, fixing you with a strict glare. “You’re not allowed to feel embarrassed about that. You did nothing wrong—he’s just a dick.”

“He’s not a dick,” you tell her, a hint of admonishment creeping into your words. “And it’s not like he asked me out before hooking up with her. There’s no valid reason for me to be mad about this.”

“Say that again,” Margaret warns, pointing her fork in your direction, “And I’ll punch you straight in the tit.”

You snort.

“I still want you to sleep with him,” she says casually, popping another bite of lasagna into her mouth. “But if he wants my forgiveness, it better be a phenomenal fuck.”

“Margaret!”

“What? I’m just telling it like it is!”

“Jesus Christ.”

  October 16th, 2019

You had been looking forward to today’s lecture. It’s all about memory processes and mnemonic devices, retention and phenomena regarding recollection. You’d been hoping to integrate some of the information into your study habits—though you already know all about the spacing and testing effects, you’re always open to learning new tricks.

Yet you don’t find yourself as immersed in the class as you thought you’d be. Margaret and Mateo are beside you, giving themselves to Dr. Renault with rapt attention, but you can’t seem to devote to him that same level of focus. A small, naïve part of you wonders why, but deep down, you know the exact reason for your lack of concentration.

And that reason is currently standing off to the side of the room, his tattooed arms crossed over his chest and his olive eyes fixated shamelessly on you. You have to suppress a smile—he’s not even trying to hide it.

Around thirty minutes ago, Harry had returned the quizzes that you had all written last week. You’d looked down at your paper to find a perfect score, along with a messy red scribble in the corner.

Well done, love. See you tonight. H. x

You don’t think that your heart has ever swelled so rapidly. Even now, sitting in the middle of the room, you can hear the blood rushing through your ears. Sometimes, when you glance down at Harry, he’ll look away—other times, he just stares at you evenly, refusing to be the first to give in. You’ve witnessed his lips twitching with a forbidden smirk on multiple occasions. It takes everything in you to keep from grinning like a maniac.

What the fuck is going on?

He must be in a good mood, you decide. You peek down at him one last time—to your surprise, his attention is elsewhere, eyes trained on his watch to check the time. When he lifts his head back up, you deflect your gaze immediately and try to ignore the giddy warmth that erupts across your chest.

You refuse to look at him again, but in your peripheral vision, you swear that you see his shoulders rumble with a silent laugh.

~*~

Harry’s building is really nice. The floors in the lobby are shiny and polished, and glass chandeliers hang from the ceiling. Actual chandeliers! The windows are large and clear, letting in just enough natural light from outside to make you feel like you’re starring in an episode of Gossip Girl. You shoot a timid smile to the woman sitting behind the front desk—since when do apartment complexes have receptionists?

Even the elevators look like they’ve been recently renovated. The buttons light up when you press them, a thin ring of red surrounding each number. You find yourself humming along to the music playing softly from the speakers.

The elevator dings when you reach your level. “Fourth floor,” an automated voice announces. You chuckle incredulously as you step out into the hallway. How the hell is he living here?

Your eyes narrow as you scan the plaque on each door that you pass. 4A, 4B…

4C.

You stop short, running your fingers through your hair and tugging on the sleeves of your denim jacket. You pull your phone out from your pocket and glance at the time—it’s exactly six o’clock.

Before you can lose your nerve, you lift your fist and rap gently on the wood. The sound is drowned out by the ringing in your ears. You swallow heavily and shove your hands behind your back, waiting with a held breath and a racing pulse. The passing seconds feel like eons; you’re about to knock again, but then there’s a faint click, and the door is swinging open before you can blink.

“Hey,” Harry says, not unkindly.

You offer up a nervous smile. “Hey.”

The first thing you notice is that his outfit looks nothing like the usual ensemble he wears to your lectures. You were beginning to think that all he owned in his closet were slacks and button-ups and any other articles of clothing that make him look about twenty years older than he really is. But here he stands before you, sporting a light grey hoodie and a pair of black sweatpants. Cute little ankle socks cover his feet, and—as he had on the first day of class—he’s pinned his hair back using his glasses. His eyes seem brighter than usual, and his lips look slightly swollen, like he’s been chewing on them continuously. The prospect of him being antsy to see you makes your stomach flip with anticipation.

You force the thought out of your mind and silently berate yourself. He’s not eager to see you, and there’s nothing here for you to dissect—you’re reading too much into this.

“Come in,” Harry says, stepping away from the door and making room for you to pass through. You thank him softly, gliding past the threshold and taking a short moment to toe off your shoes.

“How are you?” you ask him, though you don’t meet his gaze.

“Good, thanks,” he replies. “You?”

“I’m good.”

“Good.”

You snicker hollowly—the playfulness he’d channeled today in class has clearly faded away. Harry turns on his heel and pads down the hall; unsure of what to do, you simply follow. You take advantage of the fact that he can’t see you, allowing your eyes to rake over his broad, muscular back. Your mouth waters when you cast only a momentary glance at his ass.

“I figured we could set up in the kitchen,” Harry tells you matter-of-factly.

“Sounds good.”

He nods and stops in front of another doorway. Just as he had done before, he steps aside and motions for you to enter first. “After you.”

You hate the weak articulation of your response. “Thank you.”

Everything in the kitchen is white, save for the black marble countertops and the sleek grey refrigerator standing proudly in the corner. On the table sits a bowl of bananas and a small stack of letters and bills. When you glance at Harry with a puzzled look on your face, he just shrugs.

“I really like bananas,” he says, somewhat sheepishly. His sudden awkwardness makes you smile.

“I prefer pomegranates,” you reply, a hint of teasing evident in your tone.

Harry nods. “Those are good.”

“Right?” you say, setting your bag down onto one of the kitchen chairs. “They’re a real bitch to peel, though.”

“I know,” he hums, rolling his eyes. “It takes forever.”

You chuckle and look up at him properly for the first time since he’d opened his front door. His irises twinkle with mischief, and the sight makes your heart flutter in your chest. You’re not used to seeing him like this—with just a few short sentences, it feels like he’s let down his guard and is allowing you to see a new side of him. You like it. You don’t want to screw it up.

“Have you got your exam?” Harry asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. You blink and nod quickly, unzipping your bag and pulling your midterm out of a random binder.

“Here we go,” you murmur, handing it over to him.

He hums gently before motioning for you to take a seat. You lower yourself into the chair at the head of the table, and he chooses to occupy the one adjacent to you. The skin on your arms prickles when he shifts a bit closer. He unfolds your exam, opening it up to the second page.

“Right, then,” he says, clearing his throat. He points to the top of the sheet. “We ended off with this question the other day, yeah?”

“Yes.”

“Okay,” Harry mumbles. He slides his index finger to the very bottom of the paper, where your next error is circled in red. Your attention is glued to the small cross tattooed on his hand.

“For this one,” he starts, tapping the page softly, “Sleep spindles become apparent on a monitor during the second stage of light sleep, not the third.”

“The third stage consists of delta waves, correct?” you ask. Harry nods—you think that there’s a trace of pride in his expression, but you can’t be sure.

“See?” he tells you, pinning you with a serious look. “You know this stuff. You just had a bad morning that day, that’s all.”

His words make you want to lean over the corner of the table and tackle him in a hug.

“I—thank you,” you stammer instead. You focus your attention on your exam, praying that he doesn’t catch the stupid smile that spreads across your face. Your cheeks are aflame, and your heart feels like it’s only seconds away from giving out. You adjust your position in the chair, crossing your legs and shoving your hands beneath your thighs to hide the way that they tremble.

The two of you work through most of the remaining questions together—you’re shocked at how many of the correct answers you actually know. You feel like an idiot for having gotten them wrong; when you mutter as much under your breath, Harry shoots you a stern glare.

“You’re not an idiot,” he tells you, a hard edge to his voice. You shrink beneath his piercing gaze. “This is why we encourage going to bed early the night before an exam. You know so many of these, but a lack of sleep can really just screw you over.”

“Yeah,” you say, sighing softly. A second later, you add, “Thanks for bearing with me.”

“It’s my pleasure,” Harry responds. He flips to the last page of the packet. “We’re nearly done,” he reveals, and you have to fight to hide your surprise when he smiles teasingly at you. “Then you’ll be able to get me out of your hair.”

You scoff and emit a nervous laugh. “If anything, I’m the one in your hair.”

“Not true,” Harry says. His shoulders shake with a cool shrug. “I wouldn’t have been doing anything tonight, anyway. Your presence is a welcome distraction.”

You snort, though the sound rapidly dissolves into a violent cough. Harry’s eyes widen, and he rubs his palm over his forehead when the realisation hits him.

“Fuck,” he murmurs before speaking up. “I didn’t even offer you something to drink, Christ. What can I get for you?”

“Um,” you choke out, placing your hand on your chest. “Water—water’s fine.”

“Brilliant.” He shoots up from his chair and darts around the counter. You curl your fingers into a fist and deliver a few gentle pounds to your sternum. When the hacking fit passes, you swallow heavily and squeeze your eyes shut, embarrassed beyond belief. You busy yourself with staring at the last page of your midterm, skimming mindlessly over the words on the sheet.

Lost in your humiliation, you don’t look up when the loud clinking of glass reaches your ears. It’s only when you hear the deep baritone of Harry’s voice that you lift your gaze.

“Er…would you mind?”

Your jaw drops.

“How the hell did you manage to do that?”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Harry protests as you stand. His features contort with concentration. “They all just fell down at once!”

You laugh and scurry around the counter quickly. Harry’s standing in front of an open cabinet, his forearms acting as the only barrier between several cups and the floor. He wrinkles his nose as he shifts, only to freeze immediately when one of the glasses slips further down. You pause beside him, looking for a way to provide help without causing anything to fall and shatter.

“Why’re you just standing there?” he demands, but the question is laced with laughter.

“I’m trying to find a way to get in here!” you say, giggling. You gnaw on your bottom lip to suppress a smile, stepping closer to him and placing your fingertips delicately onto his elbow.

“Okay, maybe—lift your arm a bit for me.”

“What?”

“Lift your arm!”

“Alright, shit!” Harry obeys.

You hunch your shoulders and slip in between him and the counter, ending up with your back pressed against his chest. His breath washes out onto the shell of your left ear—a shiver races down your spine. You bite down harshly on your tongue as you lift your own arms, carefully plucking each glass from its teetering position and placing them all safely back onto the shelf.  

“There we go,” you murmur, holding out your hands in front of the cabinet—one last act of caution. His arms fall from where they were outstretched next to yours. You give yourself a mental pat on the back, smirking proudly and turning around.

Your breath gets caught in your throat.

Harry hasn’t moved an inch.

His expression is unreadable, features stony. His eyes stare at you with such intensity you feel as though he’s pulling you apart layer by layer and scrutinizing everything that lies beneath. You watch anxiously as his tongue dips out to wet his lips—the action is over just as quickly as it begins. His strong chest moves against yours, rising and falling with shallow, sporadic gasps. You swallow roughly, refusing to make the first move.

But then Harry lets out a defeated sigh.

“Fuck it all,” he says.

A pair of large hands fly up to grip the sides of your face, and he covers your lips with his.

~*~

If someone had told you a week ago that you’d end up like this, you’re pretty sure that you would have cackled right in their face. Hell, if someone had told you ten minutes ago that you’d end up like this, you would have considered it to be the grandest comedy special of the century.

But there’s nothing funny about this situation.

You fail to see any bit of humour in the way that Harry presses his lips to yours with a bruising force. You don’t laugh when he steps closer to you, trapping you against the counter and sliding his fingers into your hair to keep you near. And you’re not fucking around one bit when you melt against him, your hands slipping past his waist and your fingers interlocking at the small of his back. A soft, pleased sigh escapes your lips.

Finally.

“I’ve thought—,” Harry breathes against your mouth, cutting himself off so that he can pepper hard kisses to the corner of your lips. “—thought about this so much, you’ve got no idea.”

“Shut up,” you murmur, digging your nails into his back through the thick material of his sweater. He presses a forceful kiss to the curve of your jaw; you can feel the way his cheeks lift with a smirk.

It’s frenzied, it’s feverish, and it’s been a long time coming. Harry doesn’t waste a second, hiking you up onto the counter and tugging your denim jacket from your shoulders. You whimper delightedly at the action. His fingers find the hem of your white t-shirt, slipping beneath the soft cotton and rucking it up your sides. His nails scrape gently across your skin, leaving a searing path behind. Your top falls to the floor, leaving you in a plain, nude bra.

Your face heats up in embarrassment—of course, you’re wearing the foulest undergarments you own. You hadn’t exactly expected to wind up here.

“You too,” you protest breathlessly, trying to turn his attention away from the sheer ugliness of your intimates. You ball the fabric of Harry’s hoodie up in your fists; his body rumbles with a faint chuckle. He steps back, fixing you with an intense stare as his grip curls into the collar of his sweater. You watch with hot cheeks and dilated pupils, clenching your thighs together when he finally rids himself of the material.

He’s got a few dozen more tattoos hidden beneath the sweatshirt, designs littered across his shoulders and his chest. You’re not even surprised. Your gaze falls to the intricate butterfly inked across his abdomen. Harry moves back into your space, and you reach out to trail your fingers along the insect’s ebony wings.

“It’s gorgeous,” you mumble softly.

“I want you,” he replies.

You look up at him with wide eyes. “Have me, then,” you say, lunging for the knot on the waistband of his sweatpants.

“Wait.” He stops you, his long fingers circling around your wrists. “Not yet. First, I’ve got to—”

“What is it?” you ask, somewhat impatiently. You duck your face down, intending to sponge kisses up and down his neck. Your urges are dashed, however, when you catch a glimpse of the marks already scattered across his throat. The hickies aren’t as dark as they had been a couple of days ago (they’ve faded into a light brown, now), but the mere sight of them still leaves you paralyzed with resentment.

You sit back on the counter, your features hardening. Harry watches you in confusion before it dawns on him. One of his hands shoots up to cover his neck.

“She—it didn’t mean anything,” he tells you quickly.

You choke on a dry laugh. “And this does?”

His eyes grow dark. He cups your face in his palms, leaning forward so that his lips brush against yours when he speaks.

“You have no idea,” he says lowly, “how much this means to me.”

You gulp. Your voice shakes when you say, “Prove it.”

Harry kisses you urgently, wrestling his way in between your legs. Your thighs fall open easily, welcoming him closer. He growls gruffly when you hook one of your calves around his hips, drawing him in. His fingers dance up your spine, playing hesitantly with the clasp of your bra. You arch your back, silently encouraging him to take it off.

He makes quick work of the ordeal, undoing the three little hooks in a matter of seconds. Your lips detach from his with a loud smacking sound when the cups loosen around your chest and the straps slide from your shoulders.

“Lemme see, love,” Harry rasps. “Please.”

You swear that those four words are enough to have you soaking through your jeans.

You pull your bra from your body, tossing it away mindlessly. Harry diverts all of his attention to your breasts, reaching up to caress them in his hands. His thumbs stroke over your skin. Your nipples grow tight with arousal, and you’re about to beg him to just do something, but then he bends down and engulfs one of them into his mouth.

“Shit,” you breathe, tilting your head back. “That feels good.”

Harry continues to fondle your other breast with his left hand, while the right slips down so that he can plant a firm grasp on your waist. He rubs his fingers soothingly along the space just above the waistband of your bottoms. You’re torn between pushing your hips back against his touch and curving your torso forward into his mouth.

He pops off of your chest, licking his lips and scattering a haphazard trail of kisses along your cleavage until he reaches the other side. He’s quick to pamper your other nipple with the same amount of attention, sucking avidly and swirling his tongue around it. You whimper, his actions unearthing something wild buried deep in the pit of your belly.

“Harry,” you moan, gripping the edge of the counter tightly. “Please.”

“My hair…,” he mumbles quietly, moving away from your chest and leaving a path of wet kisses up your neck. You sigh when he bites down gently on your collarbone.

“What?” you murmur, your eyes fluttering shut. Harry snickers.

“Pull—”

He kisses your throat.

“—my—”

He kisses your chin.

“—hair.”

He kisses your lips.

Your fingers twine immediately through the wavy brown tendrils at the back of his neck. You stroke his hair zealously, your nails bumping against the glasses that are still perched on top of his head.

“Take these off,” you mumble, giggling against his lips. Harry smiles, removing the frames. Instead of folding them up, though, he slides them onto the bridge of your nose, his cheeks dimpling with a smug smirk.

“You look hot,” he says matter-of-factly. “I’d love to fuck you while you’re wearing my glasses, but I think you’d just end up with a headache afterwards.”

“My God,” you mutter, shaking your head softly and pulling them off. His words are intended to mock, but they’ve only succeeded in turning you on beyond belief. You leg tightens around Harry’s waist, and you place your hand on his right shoulder to guide him down for a kiss.

“Are we—do you wanna—?” you inquire between soft smacks of your lips against his. Harry seems to catch on to what you’re trying to ask. He nods vehemently, winding his arms around your waist and squeezing you tightly. Your breasts squish against his bare chest—the contact sends a shiver down your spine.

“C’mere,” Harry says, helping you stand from the counter. You reach out for the knot on his sweatpants again, but just like before, he interrupts the act.

“Stop that,” he instructs, his lips twitching in amusement when he registers the pout on your face. “I wanna do something else, first.”

“What is it?” you whine. Harry flips your hands over and traces small circles into your palms. He plants a few chaste pecks on your lips before guiding your fingers into his hair once more.

“Keep them there,” he murmurs as he kisses down your neck. “You’re gonna need something to hold onto.”

You open your mouth to question him, but then he’s dropping to his knees and fiddling with the button on your jeans, and your voice betrays you. Harry tugs your zipper down slowly, peering up at you through his eyelashes and fighting to mask a conceited grin. You wiggle your hips as he jerks your pants down your legs, eventually stepping out of the material once it pools at your feet.

“I can smell you, love,” Harry whispers, groaning wantonly and pressing his forehead against the top of your left thigh. You swallow violently at the pure lust coating each syllable of his sentence, arranging your feet so that they’re planted a bit further apart.

“Can I have it?” Harry asks, looking up at you for permission. His fingers hook into the fabric of your panties.

You nod feebly, choking on the word. “Yes.”

With that, he yanks your underwear smoothly down your legs, throws one of your thighs over his shoulder, and goes to town.

You tilt your head backward as he licks a wide stripe up the length of your folds. His plush, swollen lips pepper kisses against the innermost parts of your core. Your clit throbs when he pulls it into his mouth and sucks gently. He grunts appreciatively when you tug on his hair.

“Don’t stop,” you breathe, your eyes fluttering shut. The cold edge of the marble counter presses into the small of your back, but you pay it no attention. Harry places one hand on your waist, while the other snakes around to cup your ass. He pinches your bum lightly, chuckling when you squeak and twitch in response.

“How’s it feel?” he asks, sticking his tongue out and flicking it rapidly against your clit. Your lips part with a lewd moan, and your fingers tighten in his curls. You feel him smirk against your cunt, evidently satisfied with your answer.

“Harry,” you breathe, your chest heaving. “You’re gonna make me cum.”

“Good.”

He doubles his efforts after that. You can’t even be embarrassed about the sounds that leave your mouth. It feels like he’s everywhere at once, pressing kisses to the inside of your thighs and lapping fervently at your folds. You jump when he circles your entrance with the tip of his index finger, and whimper as he slowly sinks the digit inside of you. He probes around, cursing at the sensation of your walls bearing down on him.

You can’t believe that this is happening. Never in a million years would you have predicted that you’d be standing in Harry’s ridiculously expensive kitchen, stark naked, with his lips and his tongue guiding you to the brink of an orgasm.

Things have a funny way of working out, you suppose.

Harry hooks his finger inside of you, petting a rough, sensitive spot. You cry out and fall over the edge. The muscles in your legs shake so violently that you have to lean against the counter to keep yourself upright. The heel of your foot digs into Harry’s back, and your grasp on his hair grows unbelievably strong. He continues to pump his finger in and out of your cunt, his thumb rubbing against your clit as he pulls back to watch your features contort in pleasure.

“Beautiful,” he mumbles, kissing the skin just beneath your navel. “So fuckin’ beautiful.”

“Damn,” you whisper, inhaling deeply. You pause when you realise that you’ve still got an ironlike grip on the wavy tendrils atop his head. Releasing his curls, you flex your fingers and wipe your sweaty palms against the sides of your bare thighs. Harry’s eyes glitter.

“You’re good at that,” you say breathlessly. He grins, and you swoon upon spotting the deep crevice of his dimple.

“Can I kiss you again?” he requests.

A winded laugh falls from your mouth. “You didn’t ask me if you could before.”

“I should’ve.” He grimaces. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you seriously saying that right now?” Your eyebrows climb up your forehead.

A low grunt escapes Harry’s lips when he stands. You watch, amused, as he places a hand on his lower back and stretches. His nose wrinkles in contempt.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “Back problems.”

“Why’re you apologising?” The corner of your mouth quirks up. Harry pauses, looking down at you before an incredulous chuckle rumbles from deep in his chest.

“You’re something else,” he says, shaking his head. You smile, winding your arms around his neck and steering him in for a long, lazy kiss.

He tastes like you. The realisation makes you moan.

Sneakily, you run your hands down his back, taking only a moment to marvel at the way his muscles shift beneath his skin. You stop right above his bum, gliding your fingers over the elastic of his bottoms and circling back to the front. Harry scoffs when you begin tinkering with the tie on his sweatpants, and you giggle. Despite his slight jeer, though, he allows you to continue.

You pull at the string, and it promptly comes loose. “Wait,” Harry says.

You groan.

“I swear to God,” you exclaim. “If you don’t let me get you naked—”

He grabs your face in his palms and cuts you off with a bruising kiss. Your empty threat dies on the tip of your tongue.

“I just meant—,” Harry mumbles, the words hot and sticky, “—maybe we should take this to my room.”

You pull back and blink. “That’s awfully forward of you.”

His face is vacant until your sentence sinks in, and then he laughs. The sound comes from deep in his diaphragm, capping off at the end with a high-pitched squeak. It makes you want to grab him and cover his lips with yours until you’re both struggling to breathe.

“C’mon,” Harry commands, tangling his fingers with yours.

He leads you out of the kitchen and down the hall, stopping at the last door on the left. As soon as you step into his room, you note that his bed is preposterously big. That’s the only observation you’re able to make, though, because then he’s picking you up in all of your naked glory and flinging you onto the mattress.

You yelp in surprise, scrambling up to where a mountain of pillows is propped against the headboard. Harry watches you as he saunters over, his eyes hungry and voracious. His tongue swipes over his teeth as he joins you on the bed. You giggle eagerly.

Once your lips convene again, the atmosphere shifts. The playfulness is gone, replaced by something deeper, something greedier. Harry licks into your mouth, ravenous. You whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist and subconsciously bucking your hips up off the duvet. You can feel his cock inside his bottoms, hard and heavy and waiting to be freed. Fed up with the numerous delays, you grab onto material covering his thighs and yank it down. He notices your struggle, and he sits back on his knees to help you in your quest to get him undressed.

“I’m not—,” Harry begins, but he’s too slow.

Your eyes grow wide when they land on what lies beneath his sweatpants.

I’m not small, he might have started to say, or perhaps, I’m not wearing any underwear.

You’re not sure which statement it would have been, because both are true. He’s now equally as naked as you, his cock swollen and curved against his stomach. The tip is flushed a light pink, dotted with clear drops of arousal. A prominent vein runs along the underside—you’re suddenly overcome by the urge to feel it against your tongue. A few inches lower, there’s a tattoo of a tiger’s face inked on his thigh. You feel your stomach tighten as an entirely new wave of desire washes over you.

You look up at Harry with unreadable eyes. He stares back at you, and—for what may be the first time ever—you think you see a hint of insecurity brewing in his gaze. He swallows; you get the feeling that he’s going to say something, but you beat him to it.

“You’re so sexy,” you tell him earnestly, and then you kiss him again.

He ruts against you, his cock sliding along the inner crease of your thigh as the two of you move together. His hands slither up your body to squeeze your breasts, and you arch into his touch. After a few minutes of him devoting his attention to your chest, he reaches over and pulls open the top drawer of his nightstand.

“I’m clean,” he says, panting. “But…just in case.”

You nod once. “Agreed.”

He fishes out a condom, the foil packet crinkling loudly in his grasp. The sound snaps you out of whatever trance you’d fallen into.

You’re really about to have sex with Harry.

Harry, who grades your papers.

Harry, who is employed by the university that you’re currently attending.

Harry, who ignored you for weeks.

All of those things should send off warning bells in your brain. They should remind you that what you’re doing is wrong, and the two of you could get into an unbelievable amount of trouble. Your academic career might very well never recover. Harry could lose his job.

But you don’t care. Because though he’s the same Harry who grades your papers and who works for your university and who ignored you for weeks, he’s also Harry, who writes little notes on all of your tests and assignments. Harry, who bought you a coffee just because he felt like it. Harry, who was willing to devote a hefty portion of his free time to reviewing your midterm with you and showing you where you went wrong.

“You good?”

His innocent inquiry pulls you out of your haze. The condom has been rolled on.

You nod firmly, your legs falling open with a surprising amount of ease. “Yeah,” you whisper. “Let’s do it.”

When his cock first enters you, it takes a minute to get used to the intrusion. Harry watches your features for any sign of discomfort; you find it sweet. You pulse around him, and his hips falter as he swears softly.

“Sorry,” he says. “It feels good.”

“Glad to hear it,” you say wryly. He smirks.

You take deep breaths as you try to grow accustomed to the way he’s spreading you apart. He leans down, balancing on his forearms and sprinkling dozens of kisses across your face. His lips land on your forehead, your nose, your cheeks, your chin. The small displays of affection help you loosen up.

“I think it’s okay, now,” you whisper, pushing his hair out of his face. Harry seals his lips against yours, gradually pulling out and thrusting back in. His pace is still slow, cautious, wary; you cup his jaw and skirt your thumb over the small mole by the corner of his mouth.

Steadily, he begins to pick up speed. Within minutes, you’ve got your lips parted and your back curved, your little mewls of pleasure filling the air. Harry curses, sitting back on his heels and searching for a secure grip on your waist. He pistons his hips, pulling you onto his cock with each drive forward. Your fingers dig into the duvet.

“Fuck,” you whine, covering your face with your hands. “It’s so good.”

Harry reaches forward to pull your hands away. “Don’t,” he gasps, his forehead gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat. “Lemme hear you, I wanna—,” he groans, “I wanna hear you.”

You moan in response. The headboard creaks incessantly, but neither of you pay the noise any attention. Harry’s chest is flushed a dark shade of pink, matching the blush on his cheeks. His hair has flopped over onto his forehead; he doesn’t even attempt to move it out of the way. You can feel his thighs flexing against your bum as he fills you to the brim with every thrust.

“Bloody fuck.” He grits his teeth, a vein in his neck popping. “So fuckin’ tight, love. You’re squeezing me.”

At that, you deliberately clench around his cock. One of Harry’s hands splays out over your navel abruptly. The next drive of his dick inside of you is hard and sudden—a form of admonishment. It makes you gasp.

“Don’t,” he warns softly, sliding his palm upward and pinching your left nipple. “Be—be good for me.”

His hand continues further north, and your eyes widen when you feel him wrap his fingers around your throat. He doesn’t apply much pressure, but you moan loudly anyway. His thumb strokes over the gentle curve of your jaw, and his middle finger prods gently at your mouth. Without hesitating, you take the digit past your lips, laving your tongue over his knuckle.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers. He stares at you—completely awestruck—like he can’t fathom that you’re real. You whine and buck your hips against his, urging him to resume his previous pace.

“Filthy,” Harry mutters, shaking his head in disbelief. He releases your neck, trailing his finger down your sternum and leaving behind a damp path of your own saliva.

“I’m almost there,” you tell him, biting on the inside of your cheek to keep your sounds from increasing in volume.

“Yeah?” he asks breathlessly. “Gonna cum for me? Please, darling—I wanna see it.”

“Fuck me,” you gasp, twitching at the lewdness of his demand.

Harry grunts, and with the finger that was just inside of your mouth, he rubs frantic, messy shapes against your clit. The sudden onslaught of stimulation catches you by surprise, and you shriek when your orgasm crashes into you unexpectedly.

“Holy shit!” you cry out, squeezing your eyes shut. Your climax is powerful, splintering through your entire body. Your toes curl into the mattress and your thighs quiver pugnaciously. Harry continues to fuck you, alternating between deep, languid strokes, and short staccato pumps. He digs his fingers into your skin as his rhythm wavers.

“Fuck, I’m cumming,” he groans, his face screwing up in pleasure. You grasp at his wrist with shaky hands, stroking over the anchor on his arm when he releases a string of cusses. Harry snaps into your cunt one, two, three more times before stilling and collapsing on top of you, utterly depleted.

The two of you lie there for eons, it seems. Your bodies are hot, spent, and slick with sweat. He sighs, nuzzling into you and delivering a gentle kiss to your temple. Your chest rises and falls unevenly as you struggle to regain your bearings. The room is silent, except for the shifting of limbs and the sound of Harry’s breathing in your ear.

“Was good,” he croaks, lifting a hand and tucking your hair away from your face with feeble fingers.

You hum and turn to the side, the tip of your nose brushing his chin. “Yeah. It was.”

“We’re fucked,” he adds weakly.

You purse your lips. “Yeah,” you repeat. “We are.”

  October 23rd, 2019

The next week, Harry isn’t in class. Instead, settled in the corner of the room, there’s a short Korean girl with dark silky hair and a bright shade of red daubed on her lips. She’s wearing a brown knitted-sweater that looks awfully cozy, and her feet are covered by a clunky pair of combat boots.

Who would transfer into a class this late in the semester? You wonder. Is that even allowed?

At that exact moment, Dr. Renault clears his throat. His announcement makes all of the blood in your body run cold.

“Good morning, everyone. Unfortunately, Harry will no longer be accompanying us on our exciting quest to learn about the brain.” He gestures to the Korean girl standing off to the side. “This is Hana. She will be my new assistant for the remainder of the course.”

November 13th, 2019

“Oh my God, here it comes!” Margaret squeals, her nails digging into your bicep. You laugh at her excitement. Mateo leans over to pull her painted claws out of your skin.

“Jesus, woman, you’re gonna draw blood,” he berates her. Margaret rolls her eyes and faces him with her hands on her hips.

“I didn’t see her complaining!”

“I was about to,” you pipe up, shooting her a dry smile. Your friend turns on you, her features warping with an expression of betrayal, but before she can say anything, the barista sets three tall cups of coffee onto the counter and calls out your orders.

“That’s us, bitch!” Margaret exclaims. “Thank you,” she adds in a softer tone. The barista just smiles, giggling quietly and wishing you a good day.

You reach out for your latte, taking a small sip and humming appreciatively at the taste. “I fucking missed this place,” you say. “Nobody does coffee like Grounded.”

“Agreed.” Mateo nods.

The three of you make your way down the hall, the sounds of whirring espresso machines and jingling coins growing fainter in the distance. The corridor is teeming with students, people engrossed in animated conversations as they head to their next class. Margaret is rambling about how she can’t wait to resume her routine of drinking three cups of caffeine a day, and Mateo is marvelling at the spotlessness of the basement floors.

“They really cleaned this place up,” he says. “I guess renovations aren’t useless, after all.”

“Mhm,” you hum in response.

You balance your coffee in one hand as you rifle through your bag for the little pot of lip balm that you know is hidden somewhere in the smallest pocket. You’re so absorbed in your search that you don’t notice a tall figure walk right out of the door in front of you and into your path.

“Oh, shit!” you hiss, bumping into a solid body. A few drops of coffee spill from your cup and run down your fingers. The liquid is still hot; you whimper.

“I’m so sorry,” you ramble, lifting your gaze as you apologise to the stranger. “I wasn’t looking where I was—”

You stop in your tracks, and the rest of your sentence fizzles out. Harry’s peering down at you with piercing green eyes, seeming to stare through your soul. He’s wearing a maroon crewneck and a pair of dark brown trousers, and his glasses are tucked securely into the collar of his shirt. His hair has grown since you’d last seen him all those weeks ago, wispy tendrils curling just beneath his ears. Your skin tingles with the memory of running your fingers through the soft strands, and you have to hold back a sigh.

“Hi,” Harry says, the greeting deep and guttural. You swallow heavily, gripping your coffee with both hands.

“Hi,” you whisper.

He buries his knuckles into his pockets, his brown loafers squeaking against the floor. “How’ve you been?”

“Fine.” Your answer is curt. “You?”

“I’ve been alright, yeah.”

“That’s good.”

A beat of silence passes before someone beside you clears their throat. You jump; you’d forgotten all about your friends.

“Okay, well, we’re gonna go…,” Margaret says slowly, drawing out the last vowel of her sentence. She’s only referring to Mateo and herself, but you put your hand on her forearm to keep her still for a second longer.

“I’ll come with you,” you tell her quickly, refusing to look at the man standing in front of you.

“Actually,” Harry pipes up. “I was wondering if I could talk to you about something.”

You force yourself to meet his eyes. Margaret and Mateo step away leisurely. “What is it?”

“It’s about your midterm,” Harry says, even though both of you know that it’s not. Everything on his face reveals to you that his words are a lie, from the pursing of his lips to the furrowing of his brows. Despite your irritation, though, you find yourself nodding apprehensively.

Harry steps back, holding out his arm and motioning for you to walk into his office. You don’t bother shooting your friends one last glance before you oblige.

They’ll be fine; you’re not worried about them.

You’re worried about yourself.

You don’t miss the sound of the lock on the door clicking into place. You busy yourself with studying the office—Harry has begun moving his supplies back into place. The bookshelf in the corner is half-full; a few boxes—each of them are filled to the brim with novels—sit on the floor as they wait to be emptied. There’s a tall pile of papers on Harry’s desk. Your brows furrow in confusion for only a moment before you remember that he’s also serving as a teaching assistant for Dr. Chen’s psychopathology course.

“Er…,” Harry says from behind you. You keep your back to him, choosing instead to run your fingers over the smooth surface of his desk.

“What’s up?” you ask, trying to keep your voice level.

He sighs. “I quit my position in Dr. Renault’s class.”

“Really?” you say. Your tone is light, but the sarcasm in your words carries a harsh bite. “I hadn’t noticed.”

Your name leaves Harry’s lips in a quiet plea. It shocks you so much that you instinctively turn around to face him.

“Don’t be like that,” he implores. “Please.”

“Like what?” you snap, scowling at him. “What exactly am I doing?”

“You’re upset with me,” Harry states weakly. A dry, hollow laugh falls from your mouth.

“Maybe I am.” You shrug, the corners of your mouth curling disdainfully. “Wouldn’t you be upset if the person you’d fucked just decided to ghost you for a month?”

“I didn’t—,” he starts, but you cut him off without hesitating.

“Yes, you did,” you say, a hard edge creeping into your voice. “You kissed me, we fucked, and then you fell off the face of the planet.”

Harry remains silent, because he knows that you’re right. You grip your coffee tightly in one hand, the other coming up to rub tiredly at your forehead. Your heart is about to beat out of your chest, but there’s an odd, gratifying sensation spreading through your body. It feels good to tell him off, you realise. The anger and resentment brewing within you for the past month has made you astonishingly bitter.

“Why did you bring me in here, Harry?” you ask, sighing. “To tell me you quit Doctor Renault’s class? Because I already knew that.”

The words hurt as they exit your mouth. Hana seems like an absolute sweetheart, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss the little notes scrawled in messy, boyish handwriting at the top of your weekly quizzes. You blink rapidly and will the reflection out of your mind, drumming your fingers against the side of your latte.

“Bloody hell,” Harry mutters, shaking his head. “Why the fuck do you think I quit?”

“Excuse me?” Your brows knit together.

“Why do you think I quit?” Harry demands, his lips twisting into a frown. You balk, hating that the question has caught you by surprise.

“I—,” you start, growing frustrated. “How the hell am I supposed to know?”

“God, you really are quite dense, aren’t you?” Harry asks, chuckling sardonically.

You narrow your eyes. “I didn’t come here to be belittled.”

“What did you come here for, then?” he shoots back. “Why’d you agree to speak with me?”

“Because I wanted an explanation,” you say, feeling your chest grow tight. The words are thick when they leave your lips. “But if you’re not going to give me one, then…”

“Fuck, wait,” Harry rushes out. He blocks the path to the door as you try to sidestep his broad frame. “Please, just…lemme figure out a way to say what I’m thinking.”

You cross your arms over your chest and glare at him.  “You’ve got two minutes.”

He scratches the back of his neck, pulling gently on the collar of his dark sweater. You watch him turn phrases over in his head and hate that even now, in the middle of an argument, you still want to kiss him. Your lips prickle as you recall what it felt like to lick into his mouth, and how he swallowed up every single one of your moans.

“We had sex,” Harry finally says carefully. “That’s against the university’s policy.”

“I’m aware,” you say. You’ve realised this—why is he reiterating what you already know?

“I’m not allowed to be involved with a student in the classes where I’m…,” he continues and shakes his head, “Basically, if I’m a teaching assistant for a certain course, the people enrolled in it are off-limits.”

“I know.” You’re growing impatient, now. Harry’s mouth twitches.

“But I’m no longer the teaching assistant for Doctor Renault’s class,” he says softly. His stare is earnest, like he’s trying to tell you something without actually saying it.

You pause, allowing his words to sink in. Your lips part when the situation dawns on you, and you suddenly understand what he chose to do—what he’s done. You look up at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, your fingers constricting so tightly around your coffee that the cup nearly dents under the pressure.

“You—,” you initiate, but Harry interrupts you before you can continue.

“Have dinner with me,” he requests with prudence, approaching you slowly. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go. We can even see a movie after, if you’d like.”

Despite your dispute from only a few minutes ago, a small smile creeps onto your face. Harry takes another step toward you, and your stomach flips in anticipation. You gaze into his eyes, taking note of the way his green irises glimmer with hope. He lifts his hand and runs his thumb over your jaw. You find yourself leaning into his touch.

“You want to take me out on a date?” you ask, fighting to keep your eyelids from drifting shut. Harry smirks, his dimple popping on his cheek.

“I do,” he confirms, pinching your chin gently. “Will you let me?”

“I guess,” you say dreamily, and then your lips are on his. He exhales in relief, wrapping his arms around your waist as yours loop behind his neck.

Sparks are whizzing around in your brain. You’re sure that, realistically, they can be attributed to some sort of neurotransmitter, but you choose to believe that it’s just The Harry Effect.

You eventually pull apart for air, gasping hotly and scattering kisses anywhere you can reach. “As much as I’d love to continue this,” you say, sighing delicately as Harry delivers several hard pecks to your lips, “I need to head home and finish up a research report for my experimental psych class. It’s due on Friday.”

“Fine.” Harry drags himself away from you but keeps your face nestled in his hands. He runs his index finger along the seam of your mouth. “Go on, then. Congratulations on being a responsible student, I suppose.”

You smile and hold out your hand. “Give me your phone,” you order. His lifts an eyebrow teasingly; you mirror his coy expression and elaborate. “Let me put my number in. That way, we don’t have to e-mail back and forth like we’re in our fucking fifties.”

“I like to think that e-mailing is a very efficient way of sending messages,” Harry says.

You laugh. “Are you saying that you don’t want my number, then?”

“No, no,” he backtracks quickly, fishing his phone out of his pocket and unlocking it before handing it over to you. “Here, by all means.”

“That’s what I thought,” you simper. You key your information into the device, grinning as you pass it back to him. “There we go.”

Harry leans down, stealing a chaste kiss before you can even register what’s happening. He pulls back, humming impishly at the stunned expression on your face. “There we go,” he repeats, flashing you a crooked smirk.

He escorts you out of his office, down the hall, and up onto the main floor. Every so often, your hands brush as you walk. When you reach one of the many exits in the building, you turn to him.

“You’ll text me, right?” you check, succumbing to the small sliver of doubt that nags at your brain.

He nods. “I promise.”

“Okay.” You chew on your bottom lip. Your mouth subconsciously lifts into a doting smile. “Have a good day, Harry.”

His eyes are full of tenderness. “You too, love. Take care.”

You turn and push through the doors without looking back.

When you finally find your car in the winding maze of the parking lot, you feel your phone vibrate in your back pocket. You dig it out and open it absentmindedly. A soft laugh slips past your lips when you discover a text sent from an unknown number.

“He’s cute,” you murmur to yourself, your eyes scanning over the message.

It was really nice seeing you. I look forward to having dinner with you soon. H. x

~*~

thank you for reading 💖 and thank you to @all-things-fic, @emotionally-imbruised, and @imethiminthemorning for being my betas! i love you guys [masterlist] [askbox]

Dopamine (a Serotonin extra)

if you enjoyed this piece, please consider donating to my ko-fi! thank you bunches <3

[blake-belladonna-defence-force]

I just reas through a bunch of ypur prompt fics and i really enjoy them! In case you still do them, what about figure skater Blake trying to teach ice hocmey player Yang some basics :D

Thank you! 😁

Huh. I’ve seen more Skater Yang than I have Skater Blake so I’m happy to put more Skater Blake out into the word!

Also... I think I’m developing a soft spot for Blake with a side shave and piercings.

Rebelious Blake and Dapper Gentlewoman Blake are my favourite Blake’s to write...

After Gremlin Blake, of course 😁

/////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

“Somebody went ass over tit.”

Blake grinned at the growl that came from her friend as she laid on her floor, calmly giving Blake the old middle fingered salute.

“Piss right the fuck off, Belladonna.” Yang groaned as she sat up, glowering at her. Her flannel shirt hung off of one shoulder and her jeans were covered in dust and dirt. She dusted herself up and stood up, pointing at Blake. “You said you wouldn’t let me fall!”

“Mhm.” Blake hummed, quirking a pierced brow, tongue slipping out to rolling her lip piercing. She felt her faunus ears shift forward with intrigue. “But you didn’t fall; you flew, babe. Big difference.”

“You think you’re so smart.” Yang huffed, reaching over to pluck at Blake’s muscle shirt and leaned in challengingly. “Don’t you? You sarcastic little shit.”

“It’s part of the appeal.”

“Is it, though?”

“Drew you in, didn’t it, Princess?” Blake bit back a laugh at the insulted look on her friend’s face and pulled her back over to her skateboard. “C’mon, Gorgeous. Try again.”

Blake couldn’t help the low chuckle that followed when Yang’s cheeks darkened. The one nickname that could get her to flush so easily…

“You’re such a pain.” The hockey player whined as Blake held her hands and guided her onto the board, carefully helping Yang balance her weight. “Like, I’ve gotten into fights on the ice that cause less pain in my neck than you.”

“You love me.” Blake murmured, smiling softly up at Yang and running her thumbs across the hockey player’s knuckles, quietly moving across scars and callouses.

“Yoooo!” A masculine voice called, making Blake’s eye twitch and a low growl to work its way from her throat. “Get it, Belladonna!”

“So help me, Wukong,” Blake yelled over her shoulder, eyes narrowed and ears pinned. “I will stick your board so far down your throat, you’ll be coughing up splinters on your deathbed!”

“Wow. Brutal.” Yang smirked down at her, yelping quietly as the board shifted under her feet.

“Ugh. Sorry about him.” Blake muttered, reaching her hand up to scratch at her side shave. “Boy has it in his head that my sharing my board with you means something.”

“And does it?” Yang asked softly, carefully running her hand along Blake’s tattooed arm, tracing the sleeve in a manner that was almost reverent. “Mean some thing?”

“You know what... let’s find out.” Blake whispered, smile softer and far more tender than she thought possible.

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter Three): The Art of Haunting

Notes: Once again I’m late to posting this, though can you be late to posting something when you make your own schedule? Its time to finally see Dahlia at work and her getting to know her new partner as well as some of the citizens in Hope County.

Word Count: 12866

Chapter Warnings: Cursing, Anxiety Attacks, Ms Mable’s problem with Italians, Slut Shaming, Sexism (thanks, Hurk Sr.) 

For chapter one and the warnings about this fics overarching themes, please click here! 

For the previous chapter; click here!

Dahlia huffs out a little breath of air as she looks at herself in the mirror. Trying to look professional and put together, she’s lightened up her eyeliner a little. But it’s the shirt that’s killing her. She doesn’t mind the dark army green and likes it as an overshirt but buttoning it up just feels too put together for her. Dahlia thinks of how she saw Hudson wearing hers, tucked in and half buttoned on, she starts to try it, but just the act of tucking her shirt in feels completely unnatural.

She settles for just leaving it open over a black tank top and rolling her sleeves up to her elbow. If Whitehorse has a problem with it, he’ll call her out on it. Her shirt doesn’t have any messages or graphics on it, which is something. If he knew her better, he’d know that’s reason enough to celebrate. Dahlia ties her hair back in a small ponytail, the most her short hair can manage, with strands still falling out. But, it’s a bit more out of her face.

A deep breath to ease her nerves.

She’s been a cop for around two years, jumped at the chance to join the Academy not long after Lloyd and Caroline took her in,  but at the Reinette station she had Lloyd practically holding her hand every time she was unsure of something. Not to mention, there wasn’t much to do as a cop in Reinette. She probably spent the majority of those two years in the station pelting Chase with spitballs. If Hope County is minor league, Reinette was playing catch in the backyard.

Throwing on her leather jacket, she goes out to the shed and gets her bike out, throwing on her helmet before starting it up.

There’s a flutter of anxiety in her stomach as she walks into the station. A mixture of excitement and fear, she’s not sure which emotion is winning out at the moment.

“Good morning, Junior Deputy,” Nancy greets her with a smile as Dahlia hangs her jacket on a nearby hook. 

“Morning.”

“Earl wants to see you in the bullpen office, through that door right there.” 

In the open office with collections of desks, she sees a few random officers, and the two deputies from her interview. Dahlia’s heart picks up spend when Hudson looks over towards her, flashing a grin. 

“There’s the Rookie.” 

“About time, probie.” 

“Hey…” 

“Not for nothing, you might wanna fix your uniform before the sheriff sees.” 

“Stickler?” 

“Rookie!” The sharp bark of a yell rings out, Whitehorse coming out of his office and making Dahlia snap to attention, “what the hell, sort your uniform out, this is a police station, not high school.” 

“On it,” she responds, buttoning up the shirt to just beneath the neckline of her tank top. 

“Tuck it in too.” 

“Yes, sir,” she grumbles, following orders. Ironically, she feels more like she’s in high school now. Getting barked at about dress code violations. 

“With that settled,” Whitehorse knocks his knuckles against the only desk without anything on it, “this is gonna be your desk, feel free to settle into it when you get a chance. Come back to my office, we got some paperwork and details to take care of, then you’ll be out on patrol with Pratt.” 

Pratt grumbles something she can’t quite hear, and she rolls her eyes, following Whitehorse back into his office. There are a few forms he places before her and she gives her half assed signature on them. Then he starts rummaging through storage in his office, getting a belt out with holsters and pouches. Empty and then he starts to lay out what’s to fill those, each items she recognizes well from her job in Reinette. 

Handcuffs, standard steel and gleaming under the lights of the office. A baton, pepper spray, a walkie talkie style radio,  a taser, a flashlight, and a black Glock 22 sidearm. 

“I’m sure you heard all of this back in Louisiana, but the weight of a loaded gun is a heavy one. It’s a lot of responsibility, it should only be used when absolutely necessary.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Alright then, gear up and get ready for patrol.” 

She nods and loops the utility belt, fastening the buckle then attaching each thing she needs, the weight of it all hanging around her waist as she goes back to the bullpen to meet with Pratt. 

She can’t help but let out a huffy sigh when she sees Pratt standing beside his desk and drinking coffee, chatting with Hudson. Her eyes instinctively drawn to the female deputy, remembering that conversation she had with Whitehorse. A crush. Her heart hurts. How can she have a crush, she knows nothing about Hudson, are they meant to be this superficial? Hudson is beautiful; no one with functioning eyes could debate that fact. Long dark hair and olive-green eyes, there’s a tattoo on her forearm that Dahlia never noticed before. Some sort of eagle with an American flag, maybe she has military in her family? Not that this fact means anything to Dahlia, why would she care about that? 

“Looks like I’m stuck on babysitting duty.” Pratt’s voice cuts through her thoughts like ice water being splashed in her face. She flushes red, realizing how stupid she must have looked just gawking for a moment at a pretty girl. 

“If anyone’s stuck babysitting it’s gonna be Rook,” Hudson tells him, rolling her eyes and flashing another big smile at Dahlia. Everything about her is so warm and comforting. Crushes suck, she’s finally in control of her life and her body decides she can’t control it. Instead of responding or communicating like a functional human being, Dahlia scratches at the back of her neck and avoids eye contact. 

“Whatever, c’mon, probie I ain’t got all day.” 

Dahlia reluctantly follows after Pratt, out to one of the parked patrol cars. He climbs into the driver’s seat and she plops herself in the passenger side. Sheriff gone, she immediately starts to undo the buttons on her uniform shirt. 

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m not wearing my uniform like this, not if I don’t have to.”

“Well, you have to.”

“Whitehorse isn’t here.” She shrugs and untucks her shirt. 

“I have seniority over you, Rookie. If I say you need to have your uniform on properly, you have to.”

“Shut the fuck up.” 

“You need to respect your higher ups.” 

“You wanna lecture me about respect and my uniform, or do you wanna go do our jobs?” 

“Fine, but you better lose the attitude.” 

“I’ll get right on that.” She rolls her eyes, looking out the window of the patrol car as Pratt starts up the engine. This is going to be a less than fun probationary hire, hopefully it won’t be long until she’s able to patrol on her own. 

The morning rolls by slowly, no calls in or anything needing attention. Dahlia is comfortable in silence for the most part, content to just watch the environment as they drive around. Forcing conversation or small talk isn’t appealing. If she grows close and gets to know people, she’d rather it happen naturally than just desperately trying to fill silence. 

Pratt is less comfortable with silence, she learns quickly. As much as he talked crap about not wanting her to annoy him or be a problem, he’s far more concerned with getting her attention than she is his. 

“So, you came here from Louisiana?” 

“Mmhm.” 

“What made you wanna become a cop?’ 

“…”

She already passed her interview, she doesn’t want to spend her time rambling to someone else about her situation; he just wants to do her job. 

“Not much of a talker, huh?” 

“…”

It isn’t until around noon that something finally happens. It’s nothing major, a red ford driving through a stop sign. No crashes or accidents, but illegal, nonetheless. Pratt flicks on the lights and the siren, rushing after the traffic violator. The truck pulls off on the side of the road and Dahlia goes to unbuckle her seat belt. 

“What are you doing?” Pratt asks, looking at her like she’s lost her damn mind. 

“Getting out to give this guy a ticket.” 

“You’re not going anywhere, you stay right there.” 

“What?” 

“You heard me, I don’t want you getting out of this car,” he tells her one more time as he steps out. She groans, it’s just a ticket, but at least it was something. It’d give her an excuse to stretch her legs. Does he seriously think she can’t handle writing a ticket? She glares as Pratt talks to the man and writes up the ticket, returning to the patrol car without any trouble. 

“I call the next ticket, at least.” 

“Doesn’t work like that.” 

“What do you mean it doesn’t work like that? You have to let me get out of the car at some point.”

“You’re gonna sit and learn by observing.” 

“Observing what?! You walking to a car? I know how to write tickets, that’s basic, you can at least let me do that much.” 

“Don’t ask questions, alright?” 

“I will ask any and every question that I damn well please.” 

Pratt scoffs at her before starting the car back up, the day continues much the same to Dahlia’s absolute chagrin. 

Someone speeds, she’s told to just stay in the car. Someone makes an illegal turn; she’s told to stay in the car. They’ve pulled over the fourth person of the day, someone they caught on their phone driving. Once again, Pratt tells her to sit still as he goes and takes care of it, coming back afterwards. 

“I swear to god if you don’t let me do something, I’m gonna scream.” 

“Don’t be a brat, there’s no need to send you out for traffic violations.” 

“It’s better than just sitting here, my legs are falling asleep.” 

“Deputy Pratt, Hale, this is dispatch,” Nancy’s voice drifts through the radio in the middle of the car. 

“Pratt responding.” 

“We have a call from Ms. Mable, Peaches got out again, you’re our nearest unit.” 

“Ugh, can that old b-,” he pauses for a moment and a grin comes across his face, looking over at Dahlia, “you know what, I think this is perfect for the probie’s first call. Tell her we’re headed that way.” 

“You sure that’s a great idea, Pratt?” 

“Already on our way, over.” 

“Peaches?” Dahlia asks as they start to head up to the northern part of the Henbane River area. 

“It’s Ms. Mable’s cat, she’s always escaping and gets into all kinds of trouble. The F.A.N.G center is the closest thing we have to animal control, but we don’t ask for their help unless absolutely necessary.” 

It makes sense, she guesses, not much is needed to tame a cat. 

“If it means I can get out of the car, I’ll take it.” 

She yawns and leans back in her seat as Pratt starts to take her up a mountain slope, signs for Peaches Taxidermy catching her eye. There are two buildings when they park as well as a large caged in enclosure, with a box. Seems like a lot of space for a cat, maybe she has big dogs as well, though the enclosure appears empty. An older woman with short dark hair is standing nearby, a little toy mouse in her hand. The deputies get out to greet her and when the woman sees them, her expression goes sour. 

“It’s about damn time.”

“Got here as soon as we could, Ms. Mable.” 

“Well, it wasn’t soon enough and who the hell is this?” The woman’s eyes narrow at Dahlia. 

“I’m Deputy-” 

“Junior Deputy,” Pratt cuts her off and she scoffs. He can’t at least give her the deputy title. 

“Are you Italian?” Ms. Mable asks instead, and Dahlia can’t help but give a look of disbelief, what does that matter?

“Uh, like, half, yeah.”

“Oh, just what I need for my jewelry to go missing.” 

“Okay…. not even gonna tell you what the other half is…” 

“Do you have any idea where Peaches might have gone?” Pratt steers the conversation back, thankfully saving Dahlia from anymore conversation about her heritage. 

“Sometimes she goes down to the little camp south of here.” 

“Alright, we’ll get it taken care of. Probie, go grab that bag of treats.”

Dahlia nods and grabs the bag of treats, chicken livers, because animal treats are all weird and gross. She carries it with her as she follows Pratt down the rural little path, over a little bridge that crosses a stream. The woods clears out to a small campsite with tents and an extinguished campfire. 

“Not to be a buzzkill, but isn’t this a little below our paygrade? I mean Mable isn’t decrepit, surely she can get her own cat back.” 

“Don’t worry about it, just get the treats out, Peaches will come running to you.” Pratt is leaning back against a towering tree, arms crossed, relaxed like he’s on vacation. 

“Okie doke…” 

Dahlia rifles through the bag and gets out a treat, squishy and weird under her fingers. Her hands are going to reek like cat food for the rest of the day. She crouches down and holds the treat out; looking around the area, trying to find the housecat, but she can’t see anything. 

“Here Peaches,” she calls out, hoping to entice the cat out. 

Then she’s on her back. 

The wind has gone out of her lungs, heavy paws pin her shoulders down as a mass of golden fur lands on her. She blinks for a minute, stars dazing her vision as shock overwhelms her. Then she takes it in. Sharp feline eyes glaring down at her, one gold and the other blue. 

A cougar. 

She clenches her jaw; she’s pinned and can’t reach her weapons. She’s at the mercy of the animal. Its lips pull back and white fangs shine in the daylight, the sun illuminating the golden cat on top of her. Beautiful, she can’t help but think as she waits for those fangs to sink into the tender flesh of her throat. 

It pushes it maw into her open hand, where the chicken liver is and gobbles it up. She’s next, isn’t she? But once the treat is gone, the cougar licks at her hand, collecting any leftover flavor. Then it turns back to her, the main dish after an appetizer. 

A sandpaper rough tongue rubs over Dahlia’s face. Something is revving like an engine on top of her…the cougar is purring. Pressing and nuzzling its fluffy face against Dahlia before giving another lick. No hint of bite or teeth mingling in the affectionate gesture. What is…

Pratt is laughing, she realizes. 

The cougar’s paws shift so she can lift her arms and she reaches to pet the seemingly docile mountain lion. That’s when she feels, a collar, the creature’s face was too close, and she was unable to see it. As she shifts the collar, she hears a bell jingle. 

“Peaches, meet Rook. Rook, Peaches,” Pratt manages to say through his hyena cackling. 

“Peaches!? Holy shit…holy shit!” 

Dahlia is able to move out from under the cougar, Peaches shifting her weight enough to allow the young deputy to stand up. The big cat watches as Dahlia moves, tail delicately flicking back and forth, mismatching eyes gleaming. A thunderous purr lets out as Dahlia scoops up the bag of treats that fell in the pounce of Peaches landing on her. She offers another and the cat greedily eats it from her hand. Dahlia’s cheeks ache from the big smile stretched across her face, this is incredible. She’s feeding a mountain lion, domesticated mountain lion. 

“You know…” Pratt draws out, laughter having died out as he watches them, “I kinda expected you to freak out.” 

“This is so cool. She just…domesticated a cougar?” 

“Yeah, from what I heard this ain’t the first one either, technically this is Peaches two.” 

“No points for creativity, but fuck, this is, holy shit.” She scratches beneath Peaches’ ear and she leans into it, purring with every rub of Dahlia’s blunt nails. 

“You like animals?” 

“Don’t you?”

“They’re okay,” Pratt walks over and pets Peaches head, “I’ll take you to the F.A.N.G Center, we ever catch a day off.” 

“Yeah,” she catches what he just said and raises an eyebrow at him, “you wanna spend your days off with me?” 

“C’mon we gotta get Peaches back to Ms. Mable.” 

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Use the treats to lure her back, toss ‘em and she’ll run after them.” 

“That seems tedious…” 

“Nothing else we can do; you can’t pack her.” 

“I mean, I could,” Dahlia says with a shrug, Peaches is big, but she’s strong. Wouldn’t be easy, per say; but she could manage it. 

“You can’t lift a cougar, Thumbelina,” Pratt tells her again, ruffling her hair as if to emphasize her diminutive size. She pouts and glares at him. Dahlia digs out a treat and lifts it up. 

“Peachy up,” she says and pats her shoulder. 

To her surprise, the cougar jumps right up. Front paws on Dahlia’s shoulder and hind legs on her stomach. The deputy uses her free hand to wrap around the cougar, feeding her the treat before moving to use both hands to support the cat’s weight. Her legs and arms strain with the strength to lift her, but she doesn’t buckle. 

Pratt scoffs as Peaches nuzzles against Dahlia, sandpaper rough kisses. With a roll of his eyes; the older deputy leads the way back up to Peaches Taxidermy. Dahlia’s trying not to laugh as she carries the cougar, licks and nuzzles that leave her hair sticking up at odd angles, irritating red raised spots on her skin. Peaches might actually be more affectionate than most housecats Dahlia’s been around. 

The walk uphill nearly sends her tumbling, making Pratt snicker as she gets her bearings back. Finally, they return to the cleaning, Ms. Mable seeming to perk up, if only a small amount, at the sight of her cat. 

“There she is, gracing us with her presence,” her tone is meant to be sarcastic, but there’s no genuine malice as Dahlia takes the time to carry Peaches to her enclosure. 

The big cat takes her time getting the message to jump down, but after a moment she leaps off onto the big rubber tire in her enclosure. Dahlia gives her one more scratch behind her ears before stepping out of the enclosure, locking the little latch. 

“How’d she get out?” Dahlia asks, looking for tears in the caging, if need be she can mend it for Ms. Mable. 

“I was feeding her and she went rushing out.” 

Dahlia nods in understanding, at least there’s no more efforts that need to be made. She tries to fiddle with and fix her cat drool covered hair, but without a mirror she gives up. Pratt snickering against the back of his hand as she makes her was back over from the cage. 

“Try to keep a better eye on her, have a great day.” 

“Eh, get out of here, shoo!” 

Her and Pratt go back to the patrol car, Dahlia plopping down into the passenger side with a huff. Pratt turns to look at her, a stupid grin pulling at his lips. Her cheek is irritated, no doubt bright red from Peaches’ scratchy tongue and her hair is falling out of it’s tie, as well as sticking up at weird angles. Little golden hairs are clinging to her clothes. But, she’s grinning.

The laughter erupts, her cheeks ache and her stomach twinges as she can’t contain it. She holds her sides, cackling at the ridiculousness of the entire situation. She just carried a cougar. She’s covered in kitty slobber. 

“You look like you’ve been through a tornado!” 

“I just carried a cougar,” she says amazed, “ there’s nothing you can say to ruin this day!” 

He just rolls his eyes as the laughter dies down; Dahlia pulling down the mirror to fix her hair. After a few moments of her taming slobber coded flyaway hairs the radio crackles to life from the car console. 

“Units, there’s been a call in from Audrey, she said Aaron is back behind her diner and rummaging through trash.” 

“Pratt, responding, we’ll be there shortly,” he starts the car engine back up, “fuckin’ Tweak.” 

“Tweak?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow as she fastens her seatbelt. 

“He’s one of the local methheads, most of ‘em hang out in the abandoned train cars. But not ole Tweak, he’s a big fan of digging through dumpsters and shit.” 

“Is he dangerous?” 

“Nah, just a pain in the ass. We’ll pat him down, if he’s got any of the shit on him, we take him in for a while. If not, all we can do is tell him to scram.” 

She nods in understanding and pulls out her phone, searching for drug treatment facilities in the area that offer affordable or pro-bono help. It’s a long shot. She knows that. But she knows that treatment does more good than locking them away does.  The nearest place is in Missoula; not exactly ideal, but it’s an option. 

Dahlia digs a scrap piece of paper out of the glove department and scribbles down the number, name, and address. If Pratt notices, he says nothing. She settles back in her seat, watching the world pass by as they make their way south bound through the region.

 The lake calm around the island in the middle of the whole county, splashing peacefully against the shores. A deer and it’s baby grazing near the woods. She remembers what she’s been told, about the hiking trails in the mountains. Dahlia has always loved animals and nature, memories of hiding in the woods for days at a time, warming snakes under her jacket or trudging through swamp lands in search of alligators. Then she remembers Pratt mentioning the F.A.N.G Center. She’s read a bit about it, like an animal sanctuary that allows public access. They have some famous bear there. 

“What days do we get off?” 

“Jesus, didn’t you bother talking to the sheriff about that shit?” 

“No.” 

“Fuckin’ Christ…,” he shakes his head,  “Deputies get the best shifts, with weekends off.” 

“So, you wanna go to the F.A.N.G center, Saturday or Sunday?” 

“Oh, um, uh…”  He scratches at the stubble on his chin, his posture stiffening somewhat. 

“You said, you’d take me, right?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll take you there… Around like noon, Saturday, good? 

“Sure.” 

Maybe Lloyd was right; Pratt might not be as big of an asshole as she thought. It’s nice of him to offer to show her around places; maybe they can become friends. Even if she’s not the most talkative and he’s not the nicest, who knows, might balance out somehow. 

They pull up to the diner, the same one Whitehorse treated her to the other day. But sure enough in the dumpsters behind the building she can see a man digging through the trash. Pratt parks and shuts off the engine, apparently, he’s okay with her doing this because he doesn’t stop Dahlia from stepping out of the car. Why he’d be more concerned with her at traffic stops than dealing with a drug addict, she wouldn’t know, but she has no intentions of looking a gift horse in the mouth. 

“Hey, officers can you help me?” A voice asks, stopping them before they get to the dumpsters. The voice is noticeably a bit different from what she’s become used to hearing here, it’s a man with a map in his hand, maybe he’s not a local?

“What can we help you with, sir?” 

“I’m trying to find my way to Rock Bass Lake, but I’m having trouble, finding my way.” 

“It’s far east of here, you have to,” Pratt starts to help, being the one of the two who could actually give directions. Dahlia decides she might as well take care of the Tweak issue while he does that. 

His hooded back continues to dig through the trash; muttering things she doesn’t quite catch. The stranger’s foot slips out under him where he’s climbing up to get in the dumpster and Dahlia lurches forward, catching him before he can fall. 

“Oh fuck, uh thanks, man,” he stutters out as she gets him back on his feet, he’s wearing a backwards cap under his hood, tattoos up on his neck and what may be a tattoo or a smudge of dirt by his eye. 

“No problem, you alright?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” his eyes land on the sheriff department patch on her shirt, “oh shit, uh, officer.” 

“Hey,...?” She tries to prompt him for his name, even if she already knows it. 

“Uh, Tweak, well my name Aaron, but call me Tweak, please.” He shuffles his feet and awkwardly scratches at his face, stumbling over every word. 

“You know you can’t be doing this, right?” 

“I, uh, well I know that legally, I like can’t. But, I gotta, like, uh, prepare and shit, man.” 

“Prepare?” 

“Shit’s about to hit the fan and I gotta be ready to try to help, ya know?” He scratches at the back of his neck, hard enough for smears of red to stain his fingers. 

“That’s a nice thought, but I think the diner owners would prefer to find other ways to prepare…” she chews her lip, knowing what she needs to check, “do you have anything on you, right now, like substance wise?” 

“Um, oh, uhh, well, I, no, definitely not, I’m clean, m-man, I promise.” 

“You know I gotta check, right?” 

“Yeah…” 

With the ease of someone completely use to pat downs, he place his hands on the dumpster. She sighs; drug cases just aren’t fun, especially when it’s just possession cases, not sellers. It’s one thing to arrest someone for doing something awful and ruining someone’s life. But, when you know what they need more than anything is help, it bugs her to treat them like criminals. She pats him down with a heavy heart, her jaw clenching when she finds a baggie of crystal meth in his pocket.  Enough that could warrant at least three years in prison. 

“I swear, I uh, I really don’t know how that got there, I-“ He stutters to explain it away as he turns to face her. 

“Look, dude,” she speaks low, double checking that Pratt is still talking to the non-local, “I know this is rich coming from someone who just met you, but I don’t wanna see you die from this shit. Legal, illegal is whatever, I don’t want someone getting the call and finding you dead in your own sick.” 

“I, uh, I, appreciate that, it’s just, ya know...” 

“It ain’t easy, I get that. I don’t know if you can read this,” she pulls out what she wrote down, then realizes how that might have sounded, “not like I don’t know if you can read, but ‘cause my handwriting is shit, I, you know what I mean.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I uh, can see the number clear, yeah.” 

“But, it’s a place in Missoula that offers treatment and they work with your income, so you can afford it. You agree to call this place and try to get clean and  I’ll ‘accidentally’ flush this stuff and forget I found it on you, sound fair?”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s yeah, absolutely, fuck, yeah,” He’s nodding his head furiously to agree. She wants to hope it’s excitement for treatment and not just getting by with having meth on him. 

“Now, if I find out you didn’t, and you get busted again. I will arrest you. And, uh, if you have any trouble getting to Missoula for treatment, you just call down to the station, ask for me and I’ll try to get you taken care of, alright?” 

“That’s yeah, thank you so much, I, thank you,” he gushes and takes the little card from her hand, while she tucks the baggie discreetly into her pocket.

“Okay, now get out of here and leave their dumpster alone.” 

Tweak goes running off; no doubt eager to take his victory and consider it done. Conveniently, right as Pratt manages to break away from the man asking directions. 

“Swear to fuck, that dude didn’t understand a damn thing I said,” he raises an eyebrow, “Tweak didn’t have anything on him?” 

“Nah, he must have smoked the last of it.” 

“Eh, well, you got him to buzz off. All we can do.” 

“Yeah, but, I gotta go to the bathroom, real quick.” 

“Gotcha, we’ll grab a bite to eat while we’re here too.” 

She nods in understanding, the two of them heading into the diner. Cassie the waitress from yesterday is nowhere to be found today, she notes before she heads to the bathroom. Guilt that what she’s doing is indeed illegal and could get her fired eats at the back of her head, but she flushes the drugs away anyway. In a couple weeks, she’ll call the treatment facility and see if he's called in.  As she’s buttoning the uniform shirt up, she notices something she hasn’t seen before. What appears to be a helicopter parked at a clearing behind the station, a helipad is the word she thinks?

“The station has helicopters?” 

“Yeah, there’s a lot of woods and fields here, so when we have missing people…helps to get a bird’s eye view.

“That’s really cool,” she admits as they step out of the patrol car. 

“Yeah, I’m our station’s pilot,” Pratt tells her with an arrogant smirk that makes her immediately regret deciding to bring it up. She gives a nod in response, not wanting this to drag on into an excuse for Pratt to stroke his own ego.

Pratt and Hale make their way back into the station bullpen, Hudson is at her desk and working over some paperwork. Little pieces of dark hair falling into her face, the strands that can’t be pulled back into her braid. Dahlia’s heart picks up a strange pace at the way the light catches in Hudson’s green eyes. Ignoring it and swallowing the lump in her throat, Dahlia sits down at her own, bare desk, still needing her to add her own touches.

“Heard you guys had to get Peaches back for Ms Mable,” Hudson comments as Hale and Pratt settle in.

“Yeah, the big old cat got out again. Probie packed her all the way back from that campsite.”

Hudson lets out a breathy little laugh and heat shoots up Dahlia’s face, she leans back as far as she can in her chair without toppling over, nearly upside down and staring at the wall so the other two deputies won’t see what she’s sure is a beet red face. She’s not sure if it’s the sound of Hudson’s laugh or possibility of embarrassment. Carrying a cougar seemed really cool to her, but what if Hudson thinks it’s stupid?

“You seriously carried that giant cougar?”

“I mean, we had to get it back,” Dahlia says, doing her best to shrug nonchalantly as she leans so far back. At least when she sits back up, she can blame the red color on blood rushing to her head.

“Rookie, you’re gonna fall and split your head open.” Whitehorse yells out, making Dahlia jump and nearly make his prediction a reality. She didn’t even hear his office door open, she slides back into place, glaring in his direction as she sinks almost all the way down out of spite.

Another rustle catches her attention and she realizes the two senior deputies are packing up, the shift coming to a close.

“Well, we’re headed to the Spread Eagle for a drink,” Pratt says. She remembers the image of Whitehorse and Lloyd blowing off steam at the bar after a shift, how good of friends they must be. Seems, Hudson and Pratt are that good of friends as well. Then she remembers the F.A.N.G Center invitation.

“Oh, uh, Hudson?”

“Yeah?”

“Pratt offered to take me to the F.A.N.G Center Saturday,  you wanna come along?”

Pratt’s jaw clenches and she sees what looks like a faint red color brushing over the apples of his cheeks. Hudson is grinning a bright smile though.

“Did he?” she raises an eyebrow at him and Pratt avoids eye contact, “sure, that sounds fun.”

“Yeah...fun,” Pratt grumbles as the pair leave the station, saying goodbyes to Dahlia and Whitehorse.

“So, how was the first day, Rookie?” Whitehorse asks her once the other deputies have left.

“Decent, Peaches was cool, but…”

“But?”

“Pratt wouldn’t let me hand out any tickets or citations, up until Peaches, he was making me sit in the car.”

“Yeah, that figures,” Whitehorse says in a low voice, as if that makes complete sense and maybe to him it does.

“It figures?”

“That what happened to Danny hit him harder than he lets on, Hudson’s been taking it the worst, but it hurt everyone.”

“Danny?”

Whitehorse pulls up a chair to her desk, sitting himself down and taking a sigh as he pulls his hat off his head. There’s a far off look in his blue gray eyes as he collects himself. She moves herself up properly to sit, clenching her jaw as the mood shifts in the office.

“He was the deputy here before you, he was here longer than Hudson or Pratt.”

She nods, not wanting to interrupt, just letting him know she’s listening. He takes another sighing breath, voice rasping from the difficulty of talking about this.

“He was Hudson’s partner, during a routine traffic stop, he was shot and died on the scene. He was a good man and his death has...left an impact on us all.”

“I’m sure, thanks for telling me.” She’s not sure how she’d feel about it, having never lost a coworker in the line of duty.

“No problem,” he rises from his chair and plops his hat back on his head.

A warm heavy hand lands on the top of her hair and he ruffles it, she laughs. The little gesture makes warmth flood her heart, he really does remind her so much of Lloyd every now and again. It helps make this entire thing a bit easier and maybe that’s part of why he wanted her to take this job so bad, maybe he knew his old friend would make this process a less painful one.

She grabs her jacket from the little hook, throwing it on as she follows the sheriff out of the station. The cool night air chills her skin, a breeze blowing her hair back. There’s a beautiful night sky hanging overhead, the stars are brilliant and vibrant. Nothing blocking out their radiance. A soft gasp escapes her lips. 

“You won’t see a night sky like that anywhere else,” Whitehorse tells her, squeezing her shoulder; warmth seeping into her bones even as the night tries to chill her. 

“It’s beautiful.” 

“Do you know any constellations, Rookie?” 

She shakes her head no, feeling Whitehorse squeezing her shoulder, the warmth and kindness of it grounding in a way. 

“That one right there is Andromeda,” he points out a collection of stars that are meant to create some image, not that she can see it, “you know her story?”

“No.”

“Her mother, Cassiopeia, pissed off a bunch of nymphs and when they sent monsters after them. She chained Andromeda up and offered her as a sacrifice to save herself.”

Dahlia clenches her jaw; a mother offering her child up to a monster. She wishes that didn’t resonate so deeply in her heart. Constellations have never been something that interested her, she thinks stars are beautiful, but every time someone tries to show her a constellation she can’t seem to see the picture in her head. They’re just specks of light, pinpricks of vibrancy in a black void. But… she makes a note of these ones, hoping she can find them again later. 

The rumble of an engine and tires screeching ends the peaceful moment, a white truck coming to a rubber burning. She tenses, the frantic driving setting her on edge immediately.  A man jumps out of the driver seat, about six feet tall with a beard and snakes tattooed down his forearms. The word WRATH tattooed and crossed out on his chest; she immediately is reminded of the worker at the hotel. She was told it was now in Eden’s Gates hands, those sins seem to be standard within the religion.

“Lonny, was expecting to see you sooner,” Whitehorse greets him.

“Just now got word, you had some of our men locked up.”

“Your men?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow, the wording throwing her off. His narrowed eyes land on her and he smiles. It doesn’t reach her eyes and images of wolves baring their teeth flash through her mind.

“Members of the Father’s flock; Nathaniel and Theodore. You wouldn’t happen to be the new deputy who arrested them, would you?”

“You already know about me?”

“Well,  when brother Theodore called he mentioned a little girl trying to play cop.” The man inches closer, into her personal space.

“I’m not playing anything and your ‘brothers’ were robbing the bar.”

“Confiscating deputy, cleaning up filth within the county, you should be thankful we’re trying to do your job for you and actually help the people here.”

“Your ‘help’-”

“We’re clocking out for the night Lonny, our night shift officers have all reported in, you can talk to the dispatch about bailing them out.” Whitehorse interjects, sticking a hand between them.

“Will do… that your bike?” He asks, nodding towards her motorcycle, barely acknowledging Whitehorse.

“Yeah, what’s it to you?”

“Just making small talk.  You two have a good night, I’ll be seeing you around deputy.” Lonny tells her as he starts to walk back into the station, giving her a clap on the back that’s meant to look friendly, but there is nothing gentle in the harsh smack.

Once he’s out of earshot, Dahlia turns to look at Whitehorse, her expression must be making it clear what’s on her mind.

“You don’t wanna be making enemies your first day on the job.”

“I wasn’t doing anything, you saw the way he acted.”

“Just try to place nice, Rookie.”

“I do play nice, but I’m not taking anyone’s crap. He wants to pick a fight with me, I’ll pick one right back.”

“Try to stay on Eden’s Gate’s good side, they’re not dangerous, but they’re not people to be fucked with.”

“I’m not fucking with anyone, but if they break the law, I will arrest them same as I would anyone.”

“I’m not saying not to,” he puts a hand on her shoulder and looks into her eyes, trying to calm her, “I’m just saying try not to fuel any fires.”

“I ain’t fueling shit,” she grumbles, fingers clenching around her helmet.

“Stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting...I’m scowling.”

“Well stop that too, head your ass home and stay safe, Rook.”

“Okay, dad,” she says with a roll of her eyes, earning another hair ruffle from Whitehorse. She waves a quick bye and pulls on her helmet before heading home.

The alarm clock buzzes her awake the next morning and she groans, half dressed, and her blanket tossed across the room. Sweat has built on her skin over the night. Reinette was worse with heat, but it’s hot enough to annoy. Then again, maybe she’s just being a baby. She’s always been finicky with temperatures.

Fresh from the shower, she’s trying to figure out what to do about her uniform. She knows already she’s going to blatantly disobey uniform policies when Whitehorse isn’t around. But she can’t exactly get away with wearing shorts. Ripped jeans and a cropped top are all she can manage, buttoning the green shirt up before going into the station.

“What are you wearing?” Pratt asks when she starts unbuttoning her uniform shirt in the patrol car. 

“Clothes.” 

“Barely. No ones going to take you seriously dressed like that.”  

She shakes her head, it’s not that bad. Black velvet and lace, with a laced up ribbon tie. There’s some stomach showing where it cuts off, peeks of it through the lacey section of the fabric, and maybe through where it’s laced together. 

“Skin is skin, everyone has it, who cares?” 

“People around here will care.”

“Oh please, no one worries about shit like that anymore.” 

Pratt rolls his eyes before he starts up the patrol car engine. They’re barely thirty minutes into patrolling the Holland Valley when dispatch comes through the radio. 

“We got a call from Hurk Drubman Sr., says someone’s messing with his campaign again,” the dispatcher Nancy tells them.

“This should be interesting,” Pratt murmurs under his breath before picking up the radio to answer, “Pratt and Hale, responding.”

Dahlia can’t help but let out a little sigh, only a day in and she’s caught on that ‘interesting’ to Pratt more than likely means it will be something meant to annoy or embarass her. But then again last time, he thought introducing her to Peaches would scare her and that was just plain cool. As soon as she talks to Lloyd and Caroline she just knows ‘I cuddled a cougar’ is going to be the first thing she tells them. So, what’s truly the worst that could happen?

They travel through the Henbane River region and around; Drubman Sr.’s home is apparently not far from where the Whitetail Mountain area meets Henbane, north of the entire county. It’s a nice area, with a large house, a giant garage with a Jeep parked inside of it, and it’s right on the water; white steps leading to a dock. It’s beautiful place to live, that’s for sure. As they pull in, she sees an older man with a dark mustache and a cap pulled over his head, he sits in a chair on the porch with a shotgun in his lap.

She shoots a glance over to Pratt, the sight of a weapon setting a bit on edge, but he seems unaffected. Guns weren’t uncommon in Louisiana, southern state and all. But, the people in Reinette tended to be less…blasé about their gun ownership she supposes. Only using them for farming purposes; dealing with pests, wild animals, and on one of two sorrowful occasions having to put down a beloved animal who had no hope of recovering. She can’t say she knew anyone who’d just have it out like a lap puppy.

Dahlia follows Pratt out of the car and she immediately feels the old man’s eyes land on her, her skin crawls, he doesn’t like her. She knows what it’s like for someone to despise her and this man is already about there.

“About damn time!” He immediately bellows out as they come up to the porch.

“Is every old person in this county an ungrateful dick?” Dahlia grumbles under her breath, earning an elbow in her ribs from Pratt that almost hurts, she sticks her tongue out at him.

“And who the hell is this? Bad enough you even let women on the force, but now they’re dressing up like whores!”

“Rude.”

“Don’t worry about her, why did you call?”

“Some liberal fuckhead broke onto my damn property and vandalized my signs!”

Dahlia cranes her neck a bit, there’s a stack of signs just behind the old jackass, red and white Vote Drubman signs that have been covered in various curse words, all written in dark black marker. Apparently, someone doesn’t like him, she can’t possibly imagine why. 

“Alright, we’ll file a report for vandalism and see what we can do.”

“Which is code for doing a fat load of nothing, that’s the problem with cops nowadays, too scared to take any action. Too pussified to put a bullet in anyone anymore.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s actually the exact opposite, but go off, I guess.” 

“Probie, get the report forms from the car.”

She groans and makes her walk back to the patrol car, digging out the forms to file a report before bringing them back. Pratt is asking questions and jotting things down as the old man prattles them off. Despite never seeing who did it, he’s convinced it must be some ‘libtard’ and probably a ‘minority’, desperate to sink his campaign.  She leans against one of the pillars of the house, staring off into space as Pratt starts filling out the small detail crap. 

“You a registered voter?” Hurk Sr. suddenly asks her.

“You called me a whore, five seconds ago.”

“I said you were dressed like one, get it right.”

“Jesus fucking christ.” 

“Hey, daddy!” A masculine voice suddenly calls out, there’s a man walking onto the property. Portly and tall with short dark hair.

“Oh god, he’s back.” Hurk Sr. grumbles, rolling his eyes.

“Now, I’m not gonna lie, I’m a little sad you couldn’t come get me from the airport and made me walk all the way out here. But no hard feelings between family, and,” his blue eyes land on Dahlia and she raises an eyebrow at him, “oh, you didn’t have to hire a stripper just to welcome me home, not that I mind.”

“Excuse you?” Dahlia says low and stern, indignation making heat floods up her cheeks, what is wrong with him? It’s a crop top and jeans, not pasties and a g-string, who the hell would even look at her and think stripper? How desperate do you have to be? Her hand is hovering over her taser as the man comes closer, if he does anything weird, he’s getting it.

Pratt sputters and bursts into laughter, holding his stomach as he cracks up. She kicks him firmly in the shin and again when he just laughs louder. This isn’t funny,  she’s about to murder every man here. 

“God damn it Junior, I am in the middle of discussing a serious matter, I told you not to come back here!”

“Oh, don’t be like that daddy.  You know mama doesn’t want me at the Marina since she had Xander move in, says she can’t have too much stupid in one place, same reason she doesn’t like when Sharky visits.”

“So why the hell should I have to put up with it?!”

“Ah, come on.”

“Hey, if we’re done with the report can we go?’ She looks over at Pratt, between stripper comments and family bickering, she’d rather be elsewhere.

“I don’t know I’m having fun,” he says pressing a hand to his mouth, nearly out of breath from laughing.

“You left the keys in the car and I will leave your ass out here.”

“Well, we’ll be going now.”

“Oh, you’re already leaving,” Junior as his dad called him, starts to say, looking directly at her chest and the meager amount of cleavage she’s showing. Her fingers wrap around her taser.

“You can’t tase him for that.”

“Bullshit,” she grumbles as she yanks open the car door. 

Dahlia plops down into the passenger side with a heavy sigh, disgusted by the interaction. Why would anyone ever look at her sexually? She doesn’t like that; she has the sex appeal of a twig and she likes it that way. It’s ridiculous. She hears Pratt start snickering again as she starts to button up her uniform shirt, even when she glares, he just keeps laughing, each cackle earning a strong “Fuck off,” from her. 

“You should let me drive,” Dahlia says after boring hours of traffic stops pass by, landing themselves back in the valley.

“What?”

“If you’re not going to let me hand out tickets, at least let me drive so I don’t go crazy from boredom.”

“You need to find a hobby or something, you’re bored every second.”

“I’d be less bored if you let me drive.”

“I’ve seen how you ride your motorcycle.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“How you haven’t been pulled over, you drive like a maniac.”

“I don’t go that fast and I’m smart about it.”

“You aren’t smart about anything.”

“I’m smart about noticing the people trying to steal copper from the railyard,” she comments as she spots three men grabbing copper in broad daylight to shove in duffle bags so they can sell it.

“God damn it,” Pratt grumbles and flashes on the sirens, she grabs the spare set of cuffs, they skid to a stop in the railyard.. The three men scramble to escape, but Pratt and Hale are already out of the patrol car and nearly on top of them.

Dahlia manages to grab the back of two of their shirts, pulling them back towards her before they can get to the woods. Judging by the groan, Pratt nabbed the other guy.

“You’re under arrest for trespassing and theft, you have the right to remain silent, anything you say can and will be used against you. You have the right to an attorney if you do not have one will be appointed to you, do you understand?”  She reads them their rights as she quickly manages to slap handcuffs on them both before either can run away.

When she turns to get a good look at their face, she recognizes them. Two young boys she’s seen around the trailer park, probably around her age, from what she’s seen they still live with their parents and seem to have no plans of working or going to school.

“Aren’t you kinda old to be helping kids steal shit, Boshaw?” Pratt asks as she’s putting the two younger boys into the back of the car. They’ll be a little jammed in, but not her problem.

“C’mon man, this shit is just left out here, no one does nothing with it,” he grumbles, she recognizes him as the guy from the trailer park who technically doesn’t live there, Sharky, at least she thinks that’s his name. 

“Doesn’t mean you can just take it, dumbass,” she says, rolling her eyes. He can’t be this dumb. It’s not like any of them are going hungry or don’t have the necessities.

“Who the hell are you?”

“The deputy currently arresting you.”

“Junior Deputy,” Pratt corrects in his never-ending quest to be an asshole.

“Junior deputy, like the cop crap they tried to make us do in high school?”  Sharky says, raising an eyebrow at Dahlia. 

“I’m twenty.” 

“Jesus, I thought I was dumb, shouldn’t you have graduated by now?”

“Get in the car, now”

They put the cuffed Sharky in the backseat of the cruiser along with his two partners in literal crime. Dahlia wonders for a moment if this will make things worse in the trailer park, they’re already not fantastic. But things haven’t gotten worse after that initial night, a beer can being thrown at her head is still the worst thing to happen. No one is friendly with her, but nothing has escalated. A part of her worries if arresting three trailer park residents, well two residents and one trailer park adjacent will make things escalate. Though, Boshaw didn’t seem to even recognize her. So, she’ll take that as her saving grace. 

There’s a large jail in the Hebane river area but she’s learned quickly that it’s no longer functional. Offenders now held in the small collection of cells in the back of the station and if the crime is bad enough, they’re shipped off out of county to the nearest big city prison. Apparently, there just wasn’t enough criminals getting caught to justify the cost of maintenance for the huge building. 

They pull into the station parking lot, dragging the three offenders out from the back of the cruiser. They start the booking process, filing the paperwork as the three stooges sit handcuffed on a bench.  She catches them making faces a few times before they’re being taken back to the cells. 

“You son of a bitch!”  A sharp gruff yell comes barreling through the front of the station. The sheriff holding back a man’s cuffed hands as he twists and tries to evade him. It’s an older man, maybe older than Whitehorse, with a bald head and glasses. 

“Screaming at me won’t help you, Dutch.” 

“Fuck off, I didn’t do nothing wrong.”

“You can’t trespass.”

“Those peggies have trespassed and taken everything from us, yet I don’t see any of them here.”

“We literally had two Eden’s Gate members here, yesterday,” Dahlia answers with a roll of her eyes. Some people try to act like things are unfair just because they’ve been caught. She’s not ignorant to flaws or failures in the law, police brutality against black people, profiling, and the like. But this isn’t that type of situation. A peggie breaks the law, they get arrested, a non-peggie breaks the law, they get arrested. Plain and simple. 

“Who the fuck asked you!?” 

“Enough,” Whitehorse says as he makes his way towards where Dahlia is, voice lowering so the man can’t hear him, “it’s not worth the fight, Rook.”

She rolls her eyes; nothing is ever worth the fight it seems. First it was that Lonny guy and now this guy. Maybe she’s too quick to argue, but that’s the reason she wanted to be a cop. Fighting for justice and all that, doing what’s right and not letting people push her around. When the hell is, she going to find a fight that’s worth it?

The older man, Dutch, gets settled away in his jail. Whitehorse walking back from the cells once he’s secured it. 

“That guy had an attitude problem,” Dahlia grumbles. 

“That’s Dutch, one of our prepper doomsday guys, anti-government, anti-law, he’s a regular at this point.” 

“He doesn’t think very highly of Eden’s Gate.” 

“Not many do,” Pratt tells her. 

“Dutch is the kind to assume the worst of, well, anyone. You’d be smart to avoid him, Rook.” A warm hand on her head, ruffling her hair punctuates that sentence. 

The day drags on calmly and boringly after that, the end of the shift once again ending with Hudson and Pratt going to the Spread Eagle. And she goes home alone to her empty trailer...to eat dinner from a tupperware container. 

And the next day isn’t much different; a report filled out for some petty theft from the Golden Valley Gas Station, more patrol of her begging Pratt to just let her drive, let her write a ticket, anything. By noon she was just adjusting her seat up and down to keep herself moderately entertained. Pratt was far from amused, but he only has himself to blame. And that evening, Pratt and Hudson go to the Spread Eagle to relax after work. She goes home alone, trying to ignore the melancholic ache when her footsteps echo in the empty trailer; the only sound that greets her. 

Thursday, nearly the end of the work week, she gets a break in the form of cows busting through the fences of the Davenport farm.  Sun high in the sky, she and Pratt led them back home, with her patching the fence once all was taken care of. A cow licked her, and Pratt stepped in shit, the ideal day. Then the end of the day rolls around and she finds herself watching the two older deputies leave for drinks again. 

She’d be lying if she said the end of each workday doesn’t leave her a little melancholy. Watching Pratt and Hudson go hang out, while she makes the trip back to her sparsely decorated trailer surrounded by people who hate her. 

Asking to come along would be pointless. She’s not old enough to drink and wouldn’t want to make anyone feel awkward about it, or at least would feel awkward herself. It’s just one of those things where trying to be included would make it that much more apparent how she doesn’t fit in. 

 It’s not Pratt or Hudson’s job to include her, to make her feel better. She can’t be upset with them because she feels out of place no matter where she goes. 

And when the end of Friday comes along and she’s watching them go off to have fun without her, the way longtime friends only can. She reminds herself of the planned trip to the F.A.N.G Center, holding out hope that it will be a positive step to feeling a little less like a fish out of water.

Dahlia has survived her first week of work;. she hasn’t been fired and she hasn’t been maimed at this point. There’s a long way to go in terms of, well, everything. But she has yet to fail spectacularly. Small blessings, she supposes. 

The sun is out bright and shining Saturday, and she wonders if her good mood shows on her face. She’s waiting a distance from the trailer park entrance, not wanting him to have to deal with the residents who may not be a big fan of cops. Which is all of them from the looks of it. Dirty looks thrown her way only increasing since the railyard arrest, one of the younger boy’s mom muttering something that rhymes with witch, when Dahlia walked past. 

She takes a deep inhale of fresh air, feeling the early day sun warming her skin where her tank top doesn’t cover. A breeze blowing by through the field of white blossoms, the faint scent tickling her nose. The young deputy only knows a bit about the F.A.N.G Center it’s like a mixture of a zoo and an animal sanctuary; with a super domesticated bear as their mascot. She has three goals going into today; become better friends with her fellow deputies, not make an idiot of herself in front of Hudson, and pet a bear. 

A small black car comes pulling up; it seems as if trucks are much more common in Hope County, Pratt is driving, and Hudson is in the passenger seat. Bugs are crawling in her stomach, butterflies or whatever, just at seeing Hudson through the windshield; her hair is out of its usual braid, long dark hair brushing just above her chest. Getting worked up over seeing loose hair, what is wrong with her? Hudson is just a person, an unbelievably attractive and seemingly really cool person, but a person. The car comes to a stop as Dahlia berates herself internally.

Dahlia stretches her arms out, listening to the pop of her joints before she pulls open the backseat door behind Hudson; her desire for leg room outweighs her desire to have a better view of the older deputy. Besides, knowing her luck she’d have a heart attack at the sight.

“Joey,” Pratt says, looking at Hudson, “switch seats with Rook.”

The sound of him using Hudson’s first name just sounds strange to Dahlia’s ears, but she supposes they’re close while she’s still just the rookie.

“And why would I do that?” There’s a hint of mischief in Hudson’s voice as she asks and Dahlia catches her cheeky smile in the rearview mirror, heat pricking up under her skin at the sight.

“Because…,” Pratt chews on his lip, stumped to find one, “shut up.”

“I’m fine in the backseat,” Dahlia says, shrugging, she’s not so immature that she’d fight over who rides shotgun. Okay, maybe if it was Pratt or Chase, she’d be that immature. But, not with Hudson.

One issue with getting closer to her coworkers that becomes glaringly obvious during the drive is that developing friendships requires talking. Dahlia isn’t great, good, or even okay at talking. She has the verbal skills of a cavewoman raised by wolves. Everytime she strings together a complete sentence, she’s impressed. Bonus points if it actually makes sense. 

As Pratt drives them through the area, idly chatting with Hudson as the radio plays, she finds herself constantly wanting to talk. But it never happens. The words constantly stuck in her throat, bubbling beneath the surface, but never escaping her mouth. It always feels wrong. The subject changes before she has a chance to chime in, the conversation about things and places she knows nothing about, and each time Hudson so much as glances her way it feels like her entire body is shutting down. 

She ends up just settling back into her seat, gazing out the window as the scenery passes by. Maybe it will be easier at the F.A.N.G Center, animals and stimuli all around; things they can all talk about. 

That hope shifts into dread when she sees the busy parking lot outside of the center. Families carrying around kids into the small zoo. She doesn’t hate crowds, per say. She’s been to dance clubs and stuff; traveling up to the bigger city in Louisiana to dance and blow off steam. But, she doesn’t like certain crowds. There's a difference when music is pumping into the room; a different energy to everything. But, maybe it won’t be that bad.  It's realistically probably not that many people, the place isn’t a huge zoo, so it likely looks more packed than it actually is. Maybe it won’t be as bad inside. 

Pratt finds a parking spot, relatively far out, unable to get anything closer. Dahlia steps out of his car, kicking up dirt as the two other deputies get out. She gets the best look at Hudson she’s gotten since the day started. Hudson’s hair is out of it’s usual plait, blowing around in the breeze. The pale yellow of her top contrasts beautifully against her dark skin; the tank top also allows Dahlia to get a better look at Hudson’s tattoo. As she suspected an eagle design with the American flag that makes Dahlia suspect some sort of military background in at least Hudson’s family. 

“Come on.” Pratt slaps a friendly hand on Dahlia’s back, making her jump, how long has she been staring at Hudson? Oh god, she’s already made an idiot out of herself. She lets him usher her a bit towards the entrance, trailing after the pair of older deputies after a second. 

“There’s a lot of people,” she comments when they step into a long line, filled predominantly with families and kids. 

“Yeah, there’s not much to do in the county, so this is where almost everyone goes.”

“Options around here are basically; drinking, hunting, fishing, the F.A.N.G center and the arcade.” 

“I saw stuff about uhhh, god, Clutch something? Looks fun…”” Little memorial spots for some stunt guy who’s from Hope County. Maybe she’ll take her motorcycle through one of the little stunts. Some seem fine, probably avoid the planes and she thinks there's one where the guy just set himself on fire and called it a stunt. She’s reckless, but even that seems dumb and also she can’t fly. 

“I don’t even know why they still have that shit up; no one is dumb enough to try that crap,” Hudson says, rolling her eyes. 

“Its an old daredevil guy; someone thought it’d be a smart idea to mark his stunts for other people to try, all its done is lead to lots of drunk idiots crashing and getting themselves hurt.” 

“Yeah...dumb.” Dahlia shoves her hands in her pockets, staring at her feet, now she looks stupid. So, that’s fun. 

“Huha, you smell...like a cheeseburger!” A loud goofy voice comes from the giant waving version of their famous bear; a statue perched high in the air that greets you when you come in. That’s a voice that will...get old quickly. 

They get inside and Dahlia immediately realizes that no, it does feel just as packed inside as it does outside. In fact, it feels worse. The small zoo, sort of animal sanctuary, is largely composed of it’s animal enclosures. Wolves, cougars, bears an eagle sanctuary, and she sees some skunk and wolverine enclosures. This leaves less area for the visitors to wander around and given how many people are here; that’s not pleasant. 

People move, bump, and shuffle around; someone nearly sending Dahlia directly into Pratt’s back. Kids shriek and yell, excitedly running to look at each and every animal, not caring when they slam against someone on their way through. The heat of the day isn’t bad, but when packed in with every family in the county it feels unbearable, people brush past her and she feels their body heat. 

“Everyones crowding around Cheeseburger; wanna go see the other bears?” Pratt offers, looking back at Dahlia for confirmation. 

“Yeah, sounds good.” Maybe that means it will be a little less packed over there. They shuffle through the area, some kid running by and smearing sticky cotton candy fingers over her jeans. She keeps hearing the annoying cartoon voice; both from the overhead statue and people packing around little bobbleheads that say the same lines over and over again. 

She’s not a germaphobe, she’s not claustrophobic, she doesn’t have misophonia, or any of those things; at least she’s never considered herself any of those things. But she doesn’t like this. It’s too much. When she’s gone places to dance; it’s one overwhelming stimulus. The music is so loud it overwhelms everything else. The closeness to people not bothering her because she’s preoccupied with the energy of it all. This...is clumsy, gross. Instead of one overwhelming stimulus it’s several stimuli all clashing about and banging together. Instead of losing herself in fun and feeling a part of something; she feels awkward, clunky, out of place. Happy families, messy children, the two older deputies talking breezily as they weave through it all; occasionally stopped by someone who knows them. 

“Oh Joey, I haven’t seen you in so long-”

“Hey, Pratt, how have you been?” 

And Dahlia stands, pressing herself as close to the nearest wall as she can, so people can push past her with the littlest chance of touching her. She curses under her breath when a kid steps on her toe and their mother glares at her. Everyone in this county seems to glare at her, it seems like. Her toes and head are throbbing when she hears the statue tell people they smell like a cheeseburger for the billionth time. 

The bears are beautiful; two large black bears playing within their pen. Both having been injured in some way, one has it’s leg bandaged, and in the process of rehabilitation. But Dahlia can’t see much more of the bears, before someone shoves past her to get a better look, immediately blocking her view. 

She shouldn’t be here, she doesn’t belong here, she wants to leave, but she doesn’t want to be a buzzkill since neither Hudson or Pratt seem to mind any of this. But her head hurts, her toe hurts, everything is too much and it’s getting hard to breathe. 

“After we grab something to eat, I wanna look at the eagles,” Hudson says, and Dahlia sees her chance. 

“I’m gonna smoke real quick, I’ll be right behind ya,” Dahlia tells them with a wave before she makes a beeline towards the exit. She nearly barrels through a few people as she moves, her throat getting tighter and tighter with every step; heart pounding to escape her ribcage.  She needs out, she needs to get away. 

She breaks through the crowd and into the parking lot; jogging past the people just pulling into the parking lot. Dahlia finds herself in the woods around the center, far enough out that she can no longer hear that insipid statue and she sits down in the grass. She curls up for a moment, knees to her chest as she takes some deep breaths. Slowly feeling her body start to calm down; her heart rate slowing and each breath coming a little easier. It’s been a while since she had a moment like that; though last time it was much worse, and she understood why it happened. This time the cause is a little less certain. 

Maybe it was too much going on, maybe it was stares and odd looks, maybe she put too much emphasis and pressure on this day going well. Maybe she’s just a mess. 

She scrambles her brain to make sense of it; she vaguely remembers a school trip to an amusement park that didn’t go well. But, she’s not sure if that’s enough to warrant this kind of reaction. Hell, if she had this strong a reaction to something that ended badly for her; she wouldn’t be functional. 

The young deputy stands to her feet, lighting a cigarette and letting the nicotine flood her lungs, easing her nerves for a moment before she breathes the smoke back out into the air. She has no intentions of heading back to the center. All that’d happen is her having another freakout, maybe she can revisit the F.A.N.G Center during a weekday after work when it’d be less crowded or once she’s on permanently take a day off for it. 

She doesn’t imagine it matters much; she’s an adult and if she wants to leave she can. But, she doesn’t want Pratt or Hudson looking all over for her when they’re getting ready to leave. During the week, she had managed to exchange numbers with Hudson and Pratt. The exchange with Hudson involved her flushing red and nearly having an aneurysm, but it occured. She sends Pratt a quick text

i left sorry

Hopefully, he won’t be too aggravated with her and Hudson won’t think she’s a total loser. Dahlia slips in earbuds; time to find out how to get home. She heads south, she’ll head that way, then go through the valley. It shouldn’t take more than a couple...hours...she’ll be home by morning...at least.

She weaves and walks through the woods, following along the side of the road as much as she can. Large wooden homes occasionally spring up, residents in their yards talking with friends. Trucks and car passing by on the road. 

A restaurant called The Grill Steak with a brightly lit sign catches her eye as she walks past, family at picnic tables eating burgers and laughing. The smell of the cooking deer and bison making her stomach growl; if she did not have such a long walk home, she would stop to eat. 

She’s tip toeing her way around shallow divots of water, jumping over stumps and fallen trees; crushing grass and plants beneath her feet as she goes. Elks and deer occasionally catching her eye as they wander through; darting away when they see her.  Little pronghorns snorting somewhere in the distance. 

Dahlia isn’t sure where she is, as the moon starts to shine bright and luminescent in the sky. But she’s following along the side of a road and will eventually see something that she recognizes, probably. The activity of the day has seemed to die down, no longer a steady thrum of people and animals milling about as she moves. All of Hope County must be asleep it seems, no cars are even coming down the road. The moon and stars the only light to guide her; music from her phone the only sound to comfort her. 

I’ve been ghosting...I’ve been ghosting along….

Her eyes scan the night scan; taking in the bright pinpricks of light that break through the black void, trying to find Andromeda.  She’s scared for a moment that she’s lost the pattern; unable to track it down and decipher it from every other star. Then she finds it, she believes she has at least;  the collection of stars meant to show the woman chained in place, sacrificed by her own mother. 

Ghost in the world...Ghost with no home…

Bright headlights flash up, a car coming over the hill behind her, light pollution drowning out the stars; followed by sharp honking of the horn. The car; a familiar small black vehicle pulls off to the side of the road, just near her. She turns off the music on her phone, eye widening at the amount of notifications that came in while she was walking. Around eight missed calls between Pratt and Hudson. Text after text from Pratt; a few from Hudson. He’s the majority of the calls as well. Is something wrong?

Pratt swings the driver side door open, slamming it shut as he climbs out. She can practically see the car shaking from the force of it. The passenger side window rolls down; Hudson popping her face out. 

“What the fuck, Rookie!” She yells out. 

“Hi…?” 

“Hi, what the fuck?!” Pratt’s face is tense, his eyes angry as he storms towards her.

“What?” 

“What, what? You just vanished!”

“I texted you.” 

“Barely and then what, you threw your phone in the god damn lake?” 

“I have my ringtone and message crap turned off.” 

“Why?!”

“I don’t like when it rings.”

“Do, do you even know where you are right now?!” 

“...Montana…” 

“Get in the car.” 

He grabs her up by the back of the shirt; dragging her towards the car. She lets him; as much as she wants to wrestle herself away if only to prove a point, her feet hurt and she wouldn’t mind a car ride. She slides into the backseat, Pratt taking his place behind the wheel and Hudson looks back at her. The intensity of the green gaze, or perhaps just the person it’s coming from, makes Dahlia shrink back against the leather. 

“Not cool, Rook.” 

“I...don’t see the big deal…” Dahlia grumbles under her breath, feeling like a child scolded on a family trip. 

“The big deal is you, you had no way to get home, no idea w-where you were going, and god knows what could have happened to you!?” Pratt is stuttering and stumbling over his words, as he rushes to yell at her. 

“I don’t get why you’re so angry, I’m a grown adult, if I wanna leave I can leave.”

“It would, would have taken you five minutes to just find us and we could have all left.” 

“I didn’t wanna ruin everyone else’s fun.” 

“Well, you did.” 

Dahlia sighs and flops back against the seat; tension leaving her as her heart sinks. The one thing she didn’t want to do. What was she supposed to do? She ruined their day this way, she would have ruined it by demanding they take her home. Was she supposed to sit and suffer? Maybe just be normal and not freak out, but that’s kind of a lost cause at this point, isn’t it? 

“Pratt was scared,” Hudson tells her, making eye contact through the rearview window, as the car starts up. 

“Shut up,” Pratt tells her. 

“Why would he be scared?”

“Yeah, Pratt, why would you be scared?” 

“Everybody is shutting up, now.” 

“…,” Dahlia pouts, chewing on her lip, before looking towards Hudson, “did you get to see the eagles?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good…” The younger deputy darts her eyes out towards the window, cheeks puffing out and staining red; why does Hudson do this to her? 

The car ride back is awkward, to say the least. Music drifting through the radio is the only sound to disrupt the silence. Dahlia stares out the window and fiddles with the hem of her shirt; wanting to sink into the seat. 

Each second drags on agonizingly long, each moment filled with fidgeting and shame, wishing more than anything she hadn’t asked to do this. 

Before she decides to fling herself out of the car, they manage to make it back to just outside of the trailer park. The moment the car comes to a stop she’s wrenching the door open and climbing out. 

“Wait a second, I’ll walk you to your trailer,” Pratt offers and the idea of spending anymore time with someone who kinda wants to strangle her at the moment. 

“I’m good, see ya, Monday.” 

“Just-“ 

She’s gone, out of earshot before Pratt finishes his sentence; nearly tripping over herself to avoid the awkward situation. Why he’d want to walk her to her trailer is beyond her, maybe he just wanted more chances to be angry, who knows…. She just wants to go to sleep and forget this day happened, she kicks up some dirt and head hanging low, she makes her way through the trailer park. 

“Deputy…been waiting for you.” 

[rosepetals-flyingbirds]

Litet-vis-maðr.

With: Biker!Ivar Ragnarson x Reader.

Warning: Language… only that?

Word Count: 2,662.

An unbearable loud noise woke you from your sweet nap. It was midday and since you weren’t feeling good your boss gave you a couple of extra hours on lunch break so you went home to try some rest.

The sound was one you grew accustomed too well. Your neighbor was Siggurd Ragnarson, but he wasn’t the problem. No.

It was his family, his brothers and their terrible motorcycles. But one of them always itched you the most: Ivar.

He was flirt in person if flirt was a person. He couldn’t see you without gazing and give you his signed smirk.

You wouldn’t spend your deserved break awake because of them. Feeling brave enough you got to your feet and walked to the small fence. 

The Ragnarson’s were on their bikes and just one of them was on, the one making the annoying noise, Ivar’s.

“Y/N what an honor to see.”

“Well, some people work! Can you please stop with that? I’m not really good today and I need some sleep.” Ivar looked at Hvitserk and shook his head.

“No can do, princess. We are trying some new breakers.”

“Can’t you try at your house? You don’t live here.”

“So you know where I live now?” He teased.

“Siggurd!” You yelled and Siggurd appeared in the place holding a few beers.

“I’m trying Y/N/N, but Ivar likes the attention.”

You tried one more time more calmly, even though your head was bumping. “Ivar, please.”

Ivar turned it down and you got worried for a moment, he actually listened to you?

You walked back to your house and laid down, only to hear the stupid sound again. “Ivar.” You yelled and ran to your door. “For fuck sakes, I swear!”

Then you saw all of them leaving on their bikes.

Thanks to Ivar you lost all your will to sleep. 

                               …

Back at your work you ended your shift around 8 P.M and walked home holding your bag near your chest. Since your job was close to your house you hadn’t brought your car and decided to walk instead.

In the middle of the path you heard the noise and squeezed your eyes praying to not be the Ragnarson you were expecting. 

But it was.

“Feeling better, princess?” Ivar asked and stood on his bike howling it on the smaller speed.

There it was, the annoying nickname. “Can you quit calling me princess?”

“But is that what you are.”

You stopped your steps and glared at him. “Ivar I’m not in the best mood today. So please, back off.”

He turned the bike off and ran to your reach. “Right I’m sorry.” He reached you but you kept walking. “Listen I’m trying to apologize. Siggurd said he saw you awake late yesterday and how tired you walked back to work. I don’t want to be the reason your tiredness get worse.” He moved to your front and blocked your movements. Scoffing you stopped and gave him your full attention. “Thank you. Now how about I take you to eat something? On me of course.”

“Ivar stop trying to get me, listen you’re all pretty and everything but I’m not another name on your list! Go look for that Margaret bitch your brothers used to share.”

“First is Margret and second,” You rolled your eyes at his attempt to correct her name and pushed him regaining your steps. “Okay okay. Look I’m trying to be nice.” He defended.

“No! You’re trying to get on my pants.” He rolled his eyes. “I don’t blame you, you are a guy, your male necessity to feel on top of the food chain and all that shit-”

He grunted. “Why is so hard to believe I like you?”

You laughed. “Ivar, you are a guy, trust me I’m already tired of all the illusion.”

“Go eat with me, a pizza. Then I’ll back off.” You looked deep into his blue eyes.

After a few seconds, you nodded. “Fine! But you are paying!”

You hopped on the bike and Ivar drove you to the best Pizzeria in the town.

In there you sat in the further secluded booth trying to avoid any possible lousy girl that has eyes for the Ragnarson’s.

You two sat facing each other. “So,” He started shyly and you just watched his moves, normally he was annoying the life out of you and then he was nervous?

“So what? Come on Ivar you annoy me all the time.”

“Maybe I don’t want it to be the first and last time we hang out.” You rolled your eyes and started to get on your feet but he laughed and grabbed your wrist. “Please stay. I just can’t believe you here.” He said and his beautiful smile was melting your heart. “Tell me how was your day.” He waved to the waitress and she brought sodas and gave the menu, she spent way too much time watching Ivar’s charming persona before looking you up and down and walking away.

You let it pass and shrugged. “Nothing much, I was feeling bad so I went home earlier, but you know my neighbor’s younger brother is a pain in the ass and didn’t let me sleep.”

“Younger brother, uh? Sounds hot.”

“He likes to think so, but out of his four older brothers he doesn’t look that appealing.”

“Hey!” He shouted smiling. “I’m by far the prettiest,” He said way too surely and you just titled your head smiling at his reactions. He grabbed the drinkings straws and placed inside his mouth under his upper lip making him look like a mammoth. “And the more charming.” His voice became less raspy because of the situation and you couldn’t stop laughing at the vision.

He took it off and looked at every trace of your face. “I made Y/N Y/L/N laugh. I need an award.” He said truly happy.

You nodded your head and enjoyed the sweet atmosphere. He called the waitress back and asked the pizza after arguing with you saying that pineapple pizza wasn’t a real pizza.

The pizza came and you two ate it in silence, you were glancing at his tattoo and wondered about it, by the name Ragnarson you knew where his origins were from, and all of his brothers had the same tattoo in the same spot. “What is the tattoo about?”

He cleaned his mouth with a napkin and turned his palm to be able to see the written. “It was a runic inscription found in the Oseberg ship grave litet-vis-maðr. The owner of the ship was my great-grandfather and all my relatives have that tattoo.”

“That is nice, having something so meaningful and sharing with family, I wonder how would that be.” You smiled at the thought. “What it means?” You drank your soda and Ivar chewed the last piece of pizza for explaining.

“The meaning is debated but generally translated as “man knows little”. It shows us how we are basic down here, that it doesn’t matter how much money or power you think you have, we are just ignorant humans.“

It was really touchy. “Wow, I didn’t know you guys were that philosophical.”

“Yeah.” He shrugged and finished his slices.

The conversation ceased but oddly you didn’t want to. “So how Siggurd know I was awake until the late hours yesterday and how I looked after you left? Did you ask him to spy me?”

He snorted. “Please. If I wanted to spy on you I would do it myself.”

“Good to know, because that doesn’t sound creepy at all.”

He laughed again. “I don’t know I guess he was working on his new music with his stupid band and maybe saw your bedroom’s light on.” It made sense, Siggurd had a band and he was actually really talented, but he didn’t look like the nosy type.

“So you ask about me uh?”

He could defend himself but he always flirted with you so it wasn’t something new. “Maybe.”

You looked around the place and didn’t remember ht last time you went there, you spotted the waitress again and she was literally biting her lip looking at Ivar. “You know, I’m liking all of this.” You moved your hand mentioning the two of you. “But I guess Mrs.RedLips over there are really into you.” He darted his eyes to the young lady and smiled at her. “I can leave if you want me to.” You said pissed.

Ivar chuckled. “Jealous now?”

“Dear Ivar, do whatever you want to do. Just please don’t appear on your brother’s house tomorrow because is my day off and I want to sleep!” You pointed. “Actually if you make me the biggest favor asking your brothers to not go there whether I would love you.”

“You wouldn’t handle loving me.”

“Me? Ivar I can handle anything.” You teased and he asked for the bill.

“How about a ride?” He offered. “We jump on the bike and drive around.”

“If you try anything, just know that I can protect myself and I won’t hesitate to kick your balls.”

Ivar titled his head. “Baby keep talking dirty to me.”

You laughed heartily. “No, please don’t say that!” He laughed too and the waitress literally throws the bill on the table. Ivar shook his head and grabbed the money to pay, you let him. You could split it but Ivar said he wanted to pay and it was his idea after all.

In his motorbike he handed you his helmet. “I won’t use it knowing you can open your head.”

He rolled his eyes. “Y/N why do you make everything more difficult?”

“Look Ivar, thank you but it would be better for me to go home.” You crossed your arms and gave him a small smile.

He cut. “No, listen we can to your house and then you let your purse there and put something warmer and I grab another helmet with Siggurd, sounds good?”

“Why you want that so much? Is a bet or something?”

He took a deep breath. “Woman, you are the most unrealistically complicated person I had ever met. And you know Sigurd is my brother.”

“If it’s I won’t blame you, just tell me already because of I’m tired and way too older to this teenager stuff.” You said with no emotion.

“Is not, I swear.” He answered sincerely.

You thought about his proposal and nodded. “Then okay.” He smiled feeling happy he accomplished another small victory.

                              …

In your house, you took a quick shower and chose some jeans, long sleeve shirt and a jacket.

When you walked into the front yard Ivar was already sat holding the helmets. You grabbed one of them and hugged his midsection while he drove fast. You loved the feeling but he surely didn’t fear to die.

He stopped in front of a garage and you reminded him of your defense classes. 

He just laughed and opened the big door. It had a few motorcycles both fixed and pieces waiting to be put together. A few old car’s seats making a different armchair style. 

A couple of cars, probably something they had been working on and of course some motorcyckes. The place was cozier and bigger than you would expect. “What is that?”

“Our garage, you didn’t believe we would fix the motorcycles on Siggurd’s front yard right?” He pointed and took a few things out of one of the chairs.

“Sometimes I do.” You pointed. “That is so cool.” You couldn’t stop looking at the place, it was mainly vintage, you could easily spot all the Ragnarsons sitting around the place covered in grease working on their loved motorcycles. “So tell me, here is where all of you bring your victims?”

Ivar laughed, fully knowing you meant girls. “Nah, girls don’t like those sort of things. Our uncle has a club and well chicks dig there better.”

You laughed but your eyes were still wondering about the place. “Well, it makes sense.” You saw something craved on the door and saw it was the same runic phrase they had. “Okay, this is like the coolest place ever.”

“Seriously? I thought you didn’t like those things.”

“You’re kidding? Of course I do. I just hate how you and your brothers adore driving around while I’m trying to sleep.” You defended.

“I give you that.”

You looked at the uncountable tools it has over there. “Do you know how to use all of this?”

“I guess my father would disclose me if I didn’t.” He answered and you smirked at the absurdity. 

Ivar asked why and you answered that your car has an annoying sound and you can never fix it.

Then Ivar opened a car’s hood of the one that embellished the place and said he would help you. 

You tried to follow his instruction and all that he explained, when you realized your hand was all dirty just as your t-shirt. “This is easily the dumbest thing you could have put me to do.”

“No come on, look we do this and this.” He mentioned and you saved the information for later. 

You looked at your hand and at him. “Ivar what is the point of teaching me if my car isn’t here?”

“Not everything is practice Y/N.” You giggled and he looked at you wondered if you had lost your mind. “What?”

“Sorry, is just. Not everything is practice could easily be your sextape name.” You kept laughing and tried to place your hand on your lips to control your loud laughs but then your hand was all dirty with grease. 

Ivar laughed and said that karma came to bit you in the ass.

He gave you the cloth and you cleaned the most you could. 

You two talked a few more and he told his childhood stories and you told yours, he offered a beer but you avoided and didn’t let him drink either, he was driving you home after all.

The hours passed rather quickly and you asked him to take you home, you really liked the time but you couldn’t let yourself fall for one Ragnarson, especially Ivar.

He didn’t try anything and it was comforting somehow.

                                …

In your front yard you thanked for the pizza and for the teaching, he agreed and asked you to give the helmet back to his brother. 

The place became silent so you just said goodbye again and started to walk back. “Y/N.” He called. “What about I come back tomorrow or any other day and we can fix your car. I mean really fix it.”

“Goodnight, Ivar.” You answered and grabbed your keys unlocking the door.

“Come on, I need to change the name of my sex tape.” He yelled and you started out laugh, the old lady that lived in front of your house shook her head at Ivar’s words and it made you laugh even more. “Please.”

“I will text you.” You answered entering your house and held the knob in your hand.

He smiled but frowned. “Wait, you don’t have my number.”

“Your brother is my neighbor I will find a way.” You winked and his smiling face was the last thing you saw before you closed the door.

Ivar turned the ignition of his motorcycle on and you heard him leaving the street. 

You bit your lower lip and shook your head thinking about the night.

The annoying Ragnarson wasn’t so bad after all.

                        …

[ncvxks]

hello here’s my second intro!! let the wine induced mess commence!!

[ CHARLES MELTON / ARETE / EUPHROSYNE / MUSE 29 ] / [ SPENCER NOVAK ] is a [ TWENTY-TWO ] year old [ MUSIC EDUCATION ] major. [ HE ] is known for being [ AMIABLE & CAPTIVATING ] but [ PASSIVE & NAIVE ]. when i think of them, i imagine [ MESSY PILES OF SHEET MUSIC, BUTTON-UPS WITH ROLLED UP SLEEVES, HALF-FINISHED MUGS OF COFFEE ]. and even though they’re a proud HU student now, we all have our roots. theirs run back to them being a [ MHP (AQUA) ] graduate. i asked around and it turns out they [ ARE ] an AOP student. in their interview, they managed to woo the admissions team by [ WRITING HIS OWN INSTRUMENTAL ARRANGEMENT OF CAKE BY THE OCEAN AND SHOWING A VIDEO OF HIM PLAYING EVERY PART ]. i guess that’s all there is to know! unless… [ mels / 28 / cst / she/her ]

BASIC INFO

full name: spencer ryan novak

birth date: october 3rd

pronouns: he/him

hometown: seattle, washington

sexuality: heterosexual (bicurious??)

height: 6′4″

eye color: brown

hair color: dark brown

build: lean

tattoos: none

piercings: none

style: used to just be graphic tees with loser sayings on it, but since being in the spotlight he’s had to up his game. now he’s got nice, tailored button-ups and jeans that show off his ass. it’s like queer eye came and fixed him

favorite color: green

favorite food: everything

zodiac: libra sun, sagittarius moon, libra rising

mbti: enfj

hogwarts house: hufflepuff

enneagram: type 2 wing 3

temperament: sanguine-phlegmatic

alignment: neutral good

RAMBLING MESS OF FACTS

ok so spence is literally the cutest fckin NERD like?????????????

in high school he was a band geek like we’re talkin first chair trumpet (he can play like every instrument tho)

he owned marching band lbr

and stood out on the field bc he’s a fcKIN GIANT

so he started at hatchet u to study music education and become the band director he was always meant to be

then america’s next top model started adding guys and his housemates told him to audition????

so he’s like #YOLO and w o w he made the cut!!!!!!

he wasn’t one of the ppl who started out super strong or super weak he was just kinda in the middle of the pack???

then they did the commercials and he fckin OWNED IT bc he has so much personality and it rly came through there !!!!

so now he’s actually In It and he just kept climbing the ranks but his walk was still kinda bad???

all that marching band training didn’t prepare him for runway lbr

so he didn’t win but the winners always disappear anyway so it’s ok!!!

he was gonna just go back to college and finish his degree but after his exposure on antm he was a hot commodity so he got an agent !!! and started doing small roles in movies and stuff!!

but his heart was still with music so he returned to hatchet u and continued his studies (tho he’s a lil behind now, since he was off being mr hollywood)

ok so that’s his story now a few more things

tyra made him get in shape while on the show bc he was this skinny lanky BITCH and that wasn’t gonna work (she didn’t want him to get too muscular tho bc that’s not gr8 for models)

he’s a big giant teddy bear and just wants ppl to be happy and hates confrontation akjdfhlds

super trusting so he’s easy manipulated prOTECT HIM

wants ppl to stop asking him if he wants to be on top

even tho he seems like an innocent baby he’s not lmao

definitely got some action in hs bc he was the hottest guy in marching band LMAO

seems like a player bc he’s dated a lot of people but he just loves love???? serial monogmaist??? Hopeless Romantic™????????????

probably gets his heart broken a lot but it’s ok bc his soulmate is out there somewhere !!!

seriously stop asking him if he wants to be on top

wants to be friends w everyone

literally he is still friends w every person he’s ever dated and it causes problems w whoever he’s currently dating LMFAO

always eating

IMPORTANT THING: he has diabetes and his Big Memorable Moment™ on antm was him passing out after a late shoot bc his blood sugar got too low

HE JUST WANTED TO PUSH THROUGH SO HE WOULDN’T GET ELIMINATED OK

(it’s still one of the top ten most shocking moments in antm history)

ok wanted connections????

one of the girls he’s dated (he’s only dated girls in the past but is lowkey bicurious) (def has sucked a dick before tho)

friends be his friend!!!!!!!!!!

someone he can talk music w

flirtationship

someone who has an unrequited crush on him

someone he has an unrequited crush on

a bad influence

someone he’s a good influence on

someone he’s the emergency contact of (since he doesn’t drink/do drugs bc it messes w his blood sugar levels) and he’s always going to pick their ass up

he also drives the sober cab on campus so someone who’s one of his regulars???

idk????????? hit the heart and i’ll come at u!!

[jesse-mills]

Convenience Store AU

Quick summary: Jesse dies on the beach and wakes up in a convenience store back near Crestwood. A dimension in which Jesse has sick new tattoos, the OA looks like an actual goddamn angel, French is a nerd ass loser who's been pining for Jesse for like 2 years, and everyone gets to be happy.

[[MORE]]

(apologies for awful formatting, this was so fucking long that I got tired of trying to make it read perfectly.)

ok so after Jesse dies it's just. dark for a long ass time right? but he wakes up to blinding light and it takes a moment for his eyes to focus. his first thought is "is heaven a 7/11?" and his second thought is "OH SHIT OA?!?!?" She found him passed out in the middle of the store aisle when she came in from the back room and after a very confused minute of conversation they realize that oh shit, it's the real OG them from the Crestwood dimension. so OA basically hires Jesse on the spot and Jesse has to help her get Hap (the manager, he's suppressed in this body but still a jackass of monumental proportions) kicked out and sent somewhere else. They do succeed after a few weeks (aka they get everyone to file complaints about him until he's relocated to somewhere out of state).

Jesse, however, has a Hell Of A Lot of new things to adjust to, the first of which being that What The Fuck, he looked in the mirror and he has fucking moving tattoos that Definitely weren't there before!! Turns out this dimension has such a thin membrane between it and the invisible river of the Between, weird ass shit tends to happen around people who have travelled through worlds. Jesse soon finds out that he isn't the only one with weird shit happening to him: the angels from the lab, especially OA, have some definite traditional angelic characteristics. OA has a ton of extra eyes on her face and neck and like. everywhere so she tends to wear gauzy scarves around her neck and ling sleeves everywhere. nothing can really be done about the ones on her face but she doesn't really show her face anywhere anyways so it's not that big a deal for her. Homer works at a patisserie in town and has extra eyes on his arms and back, as well as extra mouths on his hands (he wears gloves during work, don't ask). Rachel works there with him (and yes they're all in a thruple because. Oachel rights yo) and has extra vocal chords as well so her singing sounds absolutely ethereal. (She convinced Homer to hire Buck and Angie to work with him there after the OA told them about them.) Scott doesn't have too many extra weird eyes but his hair grows flowers and though he acts pissy about it he secretly really likes them. He works as the town's electrician and Steve apprentices under him. Renata tours around and always brings them back gifts from places she visits, and has both extra eyes on her arms that become part of her signature style (she claims it's prosthetics for the press) and a second mouth beneath her collarbone hidden under scarves so she can harmonize with herself.

BBA already works at the school and so knows them all already, and she shops at the convenience store for snacks at night during Jesse's shift and so is already close to him. She slowly puts the puzzle together herself, but in a very peaceful, calm manner; basically, she notices that he's acting different but doesn't throw a fuss about it ("I think Jesse's a different Jesse now. Hm. I'll ask if he still likes shortbread next time I go."). Lucky for Jesse, BBA and the angels all kind of adopt him.

Why do they keep working at the store after Hap leaves? a) it pays bills and like. they need to eat. and b) it's something to do, it's a normal part of a normal life that lets them spend time with each other and feel like they can finally live happy lives. Plus, Jesse and OA both desperately want to contact their home dimension and tell the others that they're okay, so the store provides a good space to do that.

and then French walks in the door one night because Olive Garden fired him and he needs to support his brothers and mom, and Jesse's world suddenly becomes a Hell of a lot more convoluted. French is confused when the pretty boy from school he was always too nervous to talk to looks up from the front counter and chokes on his drink; he's even more confused when Jesse stays bright red through their entire awkward conversation of "I need a job, are you hiring?" "UH. we are now. let me go grab the paperwork" (read: gay hyperventilating behind the backroom door for the minutes before grabbing the papers.) French is very concerned when as soon as he signs his name the paper just. crumbles to ash without any warning but Jesse just sweeps it into the bin and says "yeah you're hired, UHHH what hours???? work for you????? actually just come in when it does work and we'll get you started okay goodbye!!!" Of course night shift works best for French so Jesse has a mini conniption when French walks in the next night an hour after Jesse gets there and asks if he can start working Now.

French is a fucking NERD ASS LOSER in this dimension. so he's very confused when after a week of training almost nightly (hey, he needs to provide, yo) Steve, his old bully, walks in and greets him very nicely and apologizes for anything he did in high school (he does not notice Jesse glaring at Steve. he is also not aware of Jesse calling Steve the first night he came in and incoherently rambling for twenty minutes straight before yelling "I'M GAY" and hanging up. Steve was confused because didn't Jesse come out in like 10th grade to him??? he didn't bully French for being gay he bullied him for being a nerd ass loser).

French also begins to notice that things are fucking weird in this convenience store, and by that I mean he walks in one night and Jesse is calmly reading a comic book while one of the freezers is literally emitting fucking fire. ("Jesse. Tell me you fucking realize that THE FREEZER IS ON FIRE." "Yeah, OA said to just leave it. Scott's gonna fix it later" "But. But it's on FIRE." "Yeah lol apparently she's been workin on portals without dying and opened a hell dimenson? haha wack right. Just keep the door closed and it'll be fine.") He ends up calling Steve (who is being almost suspiciously friendly now under threat of bodily harm, and who is genuinely trying to be a better person) to ask if this is normal after Jesse tells very seriously after setting up "wet floor signs" that he should stay away from the soda fountain, OA accidentally fucked with it and it's biting people. (French, talking to Steve over the phone: "Yeah dude and then it just fucking crumbled to ash and he said I was hired. Like what the fuck. What the fuck." "Oh yeah lol apparently her husband's shop does the same thing. Btw tell Jesse to stop hoarding snakes in the cupboards behind the desk bc I'm the one Scott sends to fix that shit." "...........SNAKES?!"

Jesse has a weird thing with snakes in this dimension since he 1) found a weird tattoo of a snake with wings that just roams around his body as it pleases and acts like a pet (yes he named it Ramen Noodle. no he does not have shame.) and 2) realized that he can basically charm snakes just by talking to them. Friend shaped noodles. French walks in one night to find Steve trying to convince Jesse to "take them out of the cupboards" and after French cautiously asks what's in the cupboards Jesse just opens it to reveal like 30 snakes that he rescued from the cold (French yells and almost falls on his ass. Steve just sighs as Jesse picks up a ton of them and lets them curl up around his arms). OA does bi-monthly snake banishing (read: making Jesse go to different animal shelters to give the snakes away during winter or releasing them into the wild in warmer weather). (For his birthday about three months in she and Homer and Rachel find him an albino boa constrictor and Jesse genuinely looks like he's about to pass out from joy. He names it Theo, and for some reason, BBA tears up when he tells her and gingerly pets the snake.)

And the thing is, French is such a skeptic that he just can't bring himself to take Jesse seriously when one night about a month in he locks the glass doors and sits down to tell French very seriously that he's not the original Jesse from this dimension. Jesse realizes that French won't very easily be convinced, so he just does his best to flippantly include it in conversation in the hopes that it will slowly convince him. Even after French notices the moving tattoos (he was staring at Jesse's stomach when he stretched one night and almost yelled when a weird, almost tentacle looking tattoo idly moved across his skin) he can't bring himself to believe it, even when he realizes Jesse's eyes are a odd, almost shifting blue as opposed to the warm brown he searched for in the halls every day of senior year, even when there's fire and weird portals and a manager who has even more eyes than her husband (Homer comes in often with baked goods for Jesse and French. the first time French saw what he thought was a prosthetic eye on the back of Homer's hand wink at him, he almost passed out.). What finally convinces him is when Hap comes back.

Hap' s consciousness somehow came through after almost four months of wondering what was wrong with his old job, and when he comes back, French is in the store early just as Jesse is getting there and Homer is about to pick up OA when Hap comes in and points a gun at him. He's yelling what French thinks is nonsense, about a rose window and Prairie and how she lied to him, but he knows better now, he knows, and French is dead sure he's going to die when OA starts yelling back that he's wouldn't dare harm him or any of her friends. He can see in the reflection of the mirror above the front desk that Hap looks deranged, and it's enough to convince him of two things: one, Hap is about to kill him, and two, Jesse was telling the truth all along. He's about to do something desperate, kick Hap or try to grab the gun, something, when there's movement in the mirror and he spots something heavy swinging towards them. He ducks just as Homer creeps up behind them and brains Hap with a piece of scrap metal. The cops are called and everything is mostly sorted out-- Hap, of course, is going to jail-- but French is still shellshocked from realizing that it's all real, that Jesse died and came back in this dimension and that there are angels that act more like his parents than his mother ever has. It's a shock to him, but he gradually adjusts, and Jesse begins slowly filling him in on their old life in the original Crestwood, how they came together when a once-blind victim of a kidnapping came back with vision and stories, how he died on a beach on the way to San Francisco after overdosing on an old man's pain medication. Eventually, he gets the go-ahead from OA to tell the others and fill them in on exactly what happened. They reunite as they're supposed to and eventually become just as tightly knit as they had been. The Steve from Crestwood eventually joins them and while it takes him some time to adjust, he's so thrilled to have Jesse back and that everything is okay here that he's content.

[ranier-layarte]

LONG Character Survey: Ranier Leveilleur

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Ranier Kyran Layarte Leveilleur

NICKNAME: Ran, Raven

AGE: 21-25 (depending on expac)

BIRTHDAY: 1st Sun of the 2nd astral moon

ETHNIC GROUP: Au ra (Xaela)

NATIONALITY: Eorzean – From Ul'dah

LANGUAGE(S): Eorzean,

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: No

ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Isn't this the same as the above?

RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Married

CLASS: Weapon Master

• Proficient in almost all martial weapons.

• Tends to carry multiple weapons at all times.

• Prefers Axes out of all the bladed weaponry

HOMETOWN / AREA: Ul'dah

CURRENT HOMETOWN/ AREA: Shirogane Mansion

PROFESSION(S): WoL, Scion, Machinist, Businessman, Crafter

PHYSICAL: Extremely fit, exercises daily. Muscular build

HAIR: Black/Dark Blue

EYES: Crimson

NOSE: Average, straight, roman-esque

FACE: Straight essentially a greek nose. (At least if I had to try and describe it)

LIPS: A bit on the thinner side, very lightly pink.

COMPLEXION: A mix of Fair and Medium?

BLEMISHES: None

SCARS: Scar on left thigh from stab wound, Scar on left midsection, and upper right thigh.

TATTOOS: WoL tattoo on the palm of his right hand. (Working on giving him another)

HEIGHT: 7'4

WEIGHT: 330 LBS/ 150kg

BUILD: Tall, Muscular, Fit,

FEATURES: None

ALLERGIES: None, at least not yet.

USUAL HAIRSTYLE: Long hair parted in the middle framing the face. Pulled into a ponytail and held with a silver bead big enough for the tail.

USUAL FACE LOOK: Around 40% expressionless, 30% Scowling, 20% Reflective, 10% happy.

USUAL CLOTHING: Higher end clothing generally a mix of casual with formal preferring long pants and a short sleeved shirt. Boots of some kind and armor of some kind at all times. Either under or over the clothes having a preference for the bulkier armors.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR(S): Dying and thereby becoming unable to prevent future deaths and incidents. A fear of the unknown. (Which is part of why he tries to prepare for so many things)

ASPIRATION(S): Being able to amass enough wealth to live comfortably and to continue making the lives of the less fortunate easier. Helping create a better society for all.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Empathetic, Compassionate, Humanitarian, Perseverance, Fairness, Courageous, Loving, Self discipline, Reliable, Thoughtful, Patient

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Bossy, Jealous, Secretive, Grumpy, Harsh, Aloof, Stubborn, Cruel (Only to enemies but that doesn't really matter to people does it?) Arrogant (In some things though less now)

ZODIAC: Pisces

TEMPERAMENT: Mix of choleric and melancholic.

SOUL TYPE(S):  King, Warrior, Server (In that order)

ANIMALS: Raven, Bear

VICE HABIT(S): Training, Fixing machines, Drinking, Rubbing Chin, 

FAITH: The Twelve (Loosely)

GHOSTS?: I mean if you've seen them you can't deny them.

AFTERLIFE?: With everything we see there has to be right?

REINCARNATION?: Yes, it's clear there is.

ALIENS?: Yes.

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Leftist

ECONOMIC PREFERENCE: Prosperous, everyone has what they need. Along with the means to go beyond that if they are willing and able.

SOCIO POLITICAL POSITION: I think there’s enough to go on.

EDUCATION LEVEL: Higher end of the spectrum, attended sharlayan schooling for a few years of his life. (Around three) Was home taught and by other teachers. Extensive knowledge in numerous subjects such as Machinery, Technology, Gunsmithing, Gemology, Business. Holding the equivalent of a mixture of Graduate or Masters in the subjects.

FAMILY.

FATHER: Kyran Layarte

MOTHER: Sahar Layarte

SIBLINGS: Kyari Layarte

EXTENDED FAMILY:

NAME MEANING(S): Ranier (Rainier with out the first I Meaning Wise army apparently)Kyran (Beam of Light) Sahar (Early morning or Dawn) Kyari (???)

HISTORICAL CONNECTION?: My families connection to history? My connection? My father was one of the survivors of the hotgo tribe also. Does fighting in the Calamity among all the other events count?

FAVORITES.

BOOK: Whatever has his current interest, it can very.

MOVIE PLAY: Does this mean Movie or Play?

5 SONGS:

• “Shock me” Baroness

• “Up In The Air” Thirty Seconds To Mars

• “Rise” League of Legends, Glitch Mob, The Word Alive

• “Unbreakable” Of Mice and Men

• “Drown” Bring Me The Horizon

DEITY: Halone

HOLIDAY: Valentione's day

MONTH: March

SEASON: Fall

PLACE: Beside his wife or workshop.

WEATHER: Light rain

SOUND: The turning of pages, the sound of rain, metal moving against each other.

SCENT(S): Smoke, Metal, Old books, and sweat

TASTE(S):  Dulcet, Spicy,

FEEL(S): Rocks, Silk, Smooth metals,

ANIMAL(S): This was listed before.

NUMBER: 1? I don't know.

COLORS: Black, Blue, Red, Gold, Silver

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Metalworking, Singing, Sewing, Gem Cutting, Technology, Smithing, Machinery, Dexterous.

BAD AT: Getting rest even now, Not over exerting himself, Not overthinking potential scenarios that may never happen. Dealing with almost all animals, Even now sometimes talking about what bothers him too well, but he’s gotten much better over the years/expansions.

TURN ONS: Caring, Helpful, Courageous, Educated, Aggressive. Listening, Reliable, 

TURN OFFS: Selfishness, Boastful, Belligerent, Cruelty, Intolerant, Racism, Weak willed, Careless,

HOBBIES: Creating new things be it machines, armor, clothes, weapons, tools, etc. Working on the same as before. Reading, Exercising, Cooking. Shopping.

TROPES: Pragmatic Hero, Bad ass boast, Big Fancy House, Chekhov's Gun, Determinator, Don't You Dare Pity Me, Genius Bruiser, Heroic Build, It's All My Fault, No Challenge Equals No Satisfaction, Super toughness, Friend to All Children, The Chosen One, The Ace, Ain't Too Proud To Beg, Always Save The Girl, Berserk Button, Death glare, Excuse me while I multi task, Game face, Hypocrite, Lady and Knight, Not So Stoic, Not So Invincible After all, Red Eyes, Take Warning, Stern Teacher, Undying Loyalty, The Power of Love

AESTHETIC TAGS: Workshops, Tools, Kitchens, Weaponry, Guns, Armor, Fine Clothes, Rain, Feathers, Azure Skies, Romance.

VOICE CLAIM(S): Keith Silverstein, (Speaking voice) John Rzeznik (Singing) John Baizley (Singing)

FC INFO.

MAIN  FC(S): Free company? Azure Talons.

ALT FC(S): What?

OLDER FC(S): What?

YOUNGER  FC(S): What?

GENDERBENT FC(S): What the fuck?

MUN QUESTIONS.

Q1: IF YOU COULD WRITE YOUR CHARACTER YOUR WAY IN THEIR OWN MOVIE, WHAT WOULD IT BE CALLED, WHAT STYLE WOULD IT BE FILMED IN, AND WHAT WOULD IT BE ABOUT?:

• I genuinely don’t know. Something with the grandeur of lord of the rings maybe? But with the ability to add comedy and romance in the proper way. I'm all for serious movies but I enjoy the ability to add a well executed joke or sweet moment. It also would probably not just be a single film. Taking the general events and using my fics as material would probably be fine.

I’d have to think about it a lot more than I will right now

As for the name, well, I don't really have many options. But, probably something with Final Fantasy XIV as the main title. Give it a JRPG title I suppose as a sub title. Sort of like Warriors Dissonance or Uncovered Stories.

Q2: WHAT WOULD THEIR SOUNDTRACK / SCORE SOUND LIKE?:

• Ambient, switching to full of energy, able to convey emotion. Again mentioning LOTR, the score by Howard shore is really great and able to accompany many scenes in such a fantastic manner. As for the other bits perhaps the addition of artist tracks such as from favorite bands and those songs that have meaning to him. Like the ones listed above. 

Q3: WHY DID YOU START WRITING THIS CHARACTER?:

• As a way to work on and show that, a character doesn't just have to be overly reliant on tropes and cliches. That those are good as part of them but not as defining traits of them. Along with breaking some of those. Like how all protagonists always have dead parents, what's up with that? I enjoy seeing characters that try to break their molds and be more than that.

Q4: WHAT FIRST ATTRACTED YOU TO THIS CHARACTER?:

• My general thing in any game where you can create your own character has always been. To make who you'd want to be in this universe. I did that and then worked on it and reworked things until I got what I have now. So also, yes, he was a self insert.

Q5: DESCRIBE THE BIGGEST THING YOU DISLIKE ABOUT YOUR MUSE:

• Hard one I suppose but. I'd say how he is capable of doing so much. Even though I work with it as it is a key part of him, it's still hard to make him feel right, feel human when he's got these clear incredible strengths. He's very proficient at so many things some would maybe say he's a mary sue type of character. I make an effort to work on how he became that way to offset it. So it's a lot of extra work than if I had him being a more archetypal hero of his type. I may dislike this the most but I also like it. Love hate relationship you know?

Q6: WHAT DO YOU HAVE IN COMMON WITH YOUR MUSE?:

• A good part of our attitudes and personality though on his end they are greater generally. Along with our want to be as best as we can at certain things. 

Q7: HOW DOES YOUR MUSE FEEL ABOUT YOU?:

• Honestly, and in my current state. He would probably be very upset with me and to just know me or the hand I have in his creation and self.

Q8: WHAT CHARACTERS DOES YOUR MUSE HAVE INTERESTING INTERACTIONS WITH?

• Alisaie Leveilleur – She is the main one being his main love interest, girlfriend, and wife later. Though overall he sees her as an equal and a partner, which is part of the reason their relationship grows as much as it does. Along with giving someone who he can trust in and rely on, and vice versa.

• Finn Hogveart - Who harasses Ranier often enough especially with his pet and regarding moogles.

• Alphinaud Leveilleur - and him sometimes get along strangely due to Ranier's relationship with his sister. For a long time he tried to spy on Ranier and make sure he was good for his sister even though he knew he was a good person.

•  Cid Garlond - Ranier sees him as a mentor of sorts, along with someone that he can bounce ideas off of and work with on projects leading to a solid relationship between the two. The two sometimes bicker regarding their work but it's always just them being passionate for the projects.

• Gerolt Blackthorn – Similar to cid in some ways. Ranier looks up to Gerolt and his ability to continue making such amazing creations. Wanting to learn more regarding the processes means Ranier visits him when possible, bringing some drinks for him when he does. Almost having a relationship like bros. Ranier also sometimes has gone to try and sway Rowena on his behalf to lower his debt.

There are more but I don’t want to make this too much longer.

Q9: WHAT GIVES YOU INSPIRATION TO WRITE YOUR MUSE?

• I do not control the write, also Alisaie.

Q10: HOW LONG DID THIS TAKE YOU TO COMPLETE?:

Uhhhh maybe an hour all together. Over the course of three hours.

==========

Tagged by: @amandafullmetal​ @lyllyan-weiss

Tagging: @heyafinney​ @anikisbox​ and anyone who wants to do it that sees this.

[kilroy-harryjr]

“Even death has a heart.”  ― Markus Zusak

BASIC QUESTIONS

First name? Harry

Surname? Kilroy

Middle names? J.

Nicknames? Harry, Harrison

Date of birth? October 13th.

Age? Sixteen.

PHYSICAL / APPEARANCE

Height? 6′0

Weight? 160 ish

Build? Lanky

Hair colour? Blonde dyed black

Hair style? Whatever his hair feels like doing that day

Eye colour? Blue

Eye Shape? Eye-like

Glasses or contact lenses? Both

Distinguishing facial features? Hair?

Which facial feature is most prominent? Eyes?

Which bodily feature is most prominent? Height

Other distinguishing features? His smile on the rare occasion that he’s smiling

Skin? Pale

Hands? They’re there

Make up? Nah

Scars? Not really

Birthmarks? None that he knows of, but he has moles for days

Tattoos? None

Physical handicaps? None

Type of clothes? Dark jeans and button-ups. Maybe a jean jacket if it’s cold. 

How do they wear their clothes? Dark jeans with either a short or long sleeve button up and nice shoes

What are their feet like? Like feet

Race / Ethnicity? White

Mannerisms? Hates eye contact, fidgets a lot if he’s uncomfortable 

Are they in good health? Well...

Do they have any disabilities? Not really

PERSONALITY

What words or phrases do they overuse? Whatever

Do they have a catchphrase? Whatever

Are they more optimistic or pessimistic? Pessimistic

Are they introverted or extroverted? Introverted

What bad habits do they have? Cutting people off too soon

What makes them laugh out loud? Kids falling

How do they display affection? Basically, if he's listening to your boring story and sticks around that's a sign he must like you

Mental handicaps? Got em from his momma

How do they want to be seen by others? He doesn’t

How do they see themselves? As a mess

How are they seen by others? A rude ass weirdo

Strongest character trait? He's pretty committed to getting what he wants 

Weakest character trait? Anger issues

How competitive are they? Only competitive if he really wants something

Do they make snap judgement or take time to consider? Snapping away

How do they react to praise? Depends on who it’s coming from 

How do they react to criticism? Same as above

What is their greatest fear? Lettinghismomdown

What are their biggest secrets? He misses Ruby a lot 

What is their philosophy of life? Whatever

When was the last time they cried? It’s been so long 

What haunts them? Not feeling normal

What are their political views? Yknow, hopefully by the time they're around, politics are more pleasant. Harry probably still wouldn't care though. 

What will they stand up for? Family and people he cares about

Are they indoorsy or outdoorsy? Indoorsy

What is their sinful little habit? Drugs and Arden 

What sense do they most rely on? Uh, all of them?

How do they treat people better than them? He doesn’t

How do they treat people worse than them? Also doesn’t

What quality do they most value in a friend? Loyalty

What do they consider an overrated virtue? Selflessness

If they could change one thing about themselves, what would it be? He’d be more like Harry and less like Harvey

What is their obsession? Cigarettes 

What are their pet peeves? People

FRIENDS AND FAMILY

Is their family big or small? Who does it consist of? Average sized. Two parents, two other siblings. Two grandparents. At one pointthere was a DJ hanging around but he never knew why. 

What is their perception of family? They’re the real ride or die

Do they have siblings? Older or younger? Older, Lucy. Older-ish, Jack. 

Describe their best friend. It’s Lucy and Jack

Ideal best friend? Ruby

Describe their other friends. He has no other friends

Describe their acquaintances. Or acquaintances 

Do they have any pets? Cash, but she’s old 

Who are their natural allies? His family?

Who are their surprising allies? The James’

PAST AND FUTURE

What was your character like as a baby? As a child? Handful

Did they grow up rich or poor? Well enough

Did they grow up nurtured or neglected? Nurtured.

What is the most offensive thing they ever said? There is no time to list them all 

What is their greatest achievement? Telling Ruby he liked her

What was their first kiss like? He doesn’t remember it

What is the worst thing they did to someone they loved? Be mean to her?

What are their ambitions? To make it to college 

What advice would they give their younger self? Tell Ruby sooner

What smells remind them of their childhood? Paint 

What was their childhood ambition? To be like Harry

What is their best childhood memory? Lucy playing with him and Jack so they wouldn't hear their parents yelling at each other 

What is their worst childhood memory? Hearing Harry compare him to his uncle 

Did they have an imaginary childhood friend? No

When was the last time they were crushed with disappointment? When Ruby rejected him 

What past act are they most ashamed of? Being mean to Ruby

What past act are they most proud of? Punching Ian 

Has anyone ever saved their life? His mom

Strongest childhood memory? Being with Ruby

LOVE

Do they believe in love at first sight? No

Are they in a relationship? No

How do they behave in a relationship? Not as asshole-y

When did you character last have sex? Last time he saw Arden 

What sort of sex do they have? I’m scared to ask

Has your character ever been in love? No

Have they ever had their heart broken? Maybe-ish

CONFLICT

How do they respond to a threat? Defiance

Are they most likely to fight with their fists or their tongue? Both

What is your character’s kryptonite? Ruby

If your character could only save one thing from their burning house, what would it be? His mom

How do they perceive strangers? Go away

What do they love to hate? People

What are their phobias? Doesn’t have one

What is their choice of weapon? His fist

What living person do they most despise? No one

Have they ever been bullied or teased? A bit

Where do they go when they’re angry? Hit things

Who are their enemies and why? Ian

WORK, EDUCATION AND HOBBIES

What is their current job? Going to school

What do they think about their current job? He wants to graduate already

What are some of their past jobs? More school

What are their hobbies? Smoking, drawing, listening to music  

Educational background? He’s in high school 

Intelligence level? Smarter than he lets on 

Do they have any specialist training? No.

Do they have a natural talent for something? Drawing 

Do they play a sport? Are they any good? No

What is their socioeconomic status? He won’t go hungry any time soon 

FAVOURITES

What is their favourite animal? Dogs

Which animal to they dislike the most? Birds

What place would they most like to visit? Australia

What is the most beautiful thing they’ve ever seen? Ruby eating ribs 

What is their favourite song? Just anything punk rock.

Music, art, reading preferred? Rock/rap, surrealism, biographies

What is their favourite colour? Grey

What is their password? fuckoffjack666

Favourite food? Pasta

What is their favourite work of art? Andy Warhol - Big Electric Chair

Who is their favourite artist?  Francisco Goya

What is their favourite day of the week? Saturday

POSSESSIONS

What is in their fridge: A lot of wine

What is on their bedside table? Glasses, ashtray, book, lamp

What is in their car? No car

What is in their bin? Ashes

What is in their purse or wallet? Backpack - texbooks, notebooks, pens, cigarrettes, switchblade

What is in their pockets? Nothing

What is their most treasured possession? A painting of Blair made by Harry 

SPIRITUALITY

Who or what is your character’s guardian angel? Harvey

Do they believe in the afterlife? No

What are their religious views? None

What do they think heaven is? Non-existant

What do they think hell is? Nope

Are they superstitious? No

What would they like to be reincarnated as? Cash

How would they like to die? In a car accident

What is your character’s spirit animal? A snake

What is their zodiac sign? Libra

VALUES

What do they think is the worst thing that can be done to a person? Murder

What is their view of ‘freedom’? Being able to do what makes you happy

When did they last lie? Probably on here somewhere

What’s their view of lying? Everyone lies

When did they last make a promise? He doesn’t make promises

Did they keep or break their last promise? So he doesnt end up breaking them 

DAILY LIFE

What are their eating habits? Forgets to eat then eats a lot of junk later

Do they have any allergies? No

Describe their home. An old house his dad fixed

Are they minimalist or a clutter hoarder? Both

What do they do first thing on a weekday morning? Check his phone

What do they do on a Sunday afternoon? Watches Netflix

What do they do on a Friday night? Ask Arden if she’s down to hook up

What is the soft drink of choice? Coke

What is their alcoholic drink of choice? Jack Daniels

MISCELLANEOUS

What is their character archetype? The freak

Who is their hero? Harry

What or who would your character dress up as for Halloween? A clown 

Are they comfortable with technology? Yes

If they could save one person, who would it be? Lucy

If they could call one person for help, who would it be? Lucy

Where do they see themselves in ten years? Graduated college and drawing for work

What is their greatest extravagance? Uh, his cellphone? He doesn't own anything luxurious. 

What is their greatest regret? Not telling Ruby sooner 

What is their perception of redemption? You can't be redeemed if you don't want to be

What would they do if they won the lottery? Leave 

What is their favourite fairytale? The OG Rapunzel where the prince goes blind 

What fairytale do they hate? The mermaid one

Do they believe in happy endings? Maybe 

What is their idea of perfect happiness? Feeling normal 

What would they ask a fortune teller? How he dies

If your character could travel through time, where would they go? Back to meet Harvey

What sport do they excel at? Track, but he’d never do it

What sport do they suck at? Everything else 

If they could have a superpower, what would they choose? Invisibility 

[space-unicorn-dot]

7 Facts About Izzy + 1 About her Soul Steed

@daine-s-adventures tagged me to do this 8 facts about thing that I know nothing about beyond what was posted, so random 8 facts about my SSO character, here we come! Well, 7. And the last one relates more to Copper because I couldn’t think of another one for Izzy.

1. She was raised by her single father and paternal grandparents.

I know I’ve mentioned her father before in the majority of things I’ve written regarding her history because they were very close, but to restate and elaborate, Izzy was raised by her father and her grandparents, on his side of the family, and they all lived on a ranch in SW Florida where they raised, bred, and trained mostly American Quarters and Paints. Her father is a rider and trainer of some renown that has traveled the country to show at the national level and to do clinics on the family’s way of working with horses. Her mother’s relationship with her father was relatively short-lived; she liked him and he liked her, but, ultimately, their passions were just too different, so she moved on, and wasn’t quite prepared to be a mother. Thus, the tight-as-glue relationship between her and her father, Remy, was born. She writes regular letters home to him to keep him posted on her Jorvegian adventures, though they’re grown a bit more few and far between in pressing times, and she’s done her best to shield him from the reality of the events she has found herself in... Though it’s getting harder to pretend like she’s just been leading a normal, horse-oriented life considering so many of her adventures are of the more magical and mysterious type.

2. She wears her heart on her sleeve, but romance is a bit complicated to her.

Maybe it sounds a little cliche or dramatic to say just about everything changed when Izzy moved to Jorvik to experience the island’s connection and way with horses, and possibly to attend the riding academy, but it pretty much did. Magical adventures aside, she also wound up with feelings for one particular circus master. And Izzy’s the kind of person that wears her heart on her sleeve and looks for the best in people, especially people she cares about. And he was charming and she ended up spending a lot of time around him after initially helping set up his circus. Some of it struck her as odd, but she was also being pulled into the middle of a centuries old battle between good and evil, so a lot seemed odd. Maybe part of her problem now is that she’s never exactly been in a relationship, so, for a while, she wasn’t sure how to or if she even wanted to label her relationship with Ydris. And now she’s torn between what everyone else is calling the inevitable (insert, curse your inevitable but hurtful betrayal meme here) and a deep sympathy for someone who’s cause is just, even if his methods are far from what everyone would prefer. For someone in their first relationship, she certainly had to go and fall in love with a right complicated bastard, didn’t she? Oops. >.>

3. She probably gets along best with Linda.

I imagine Linda as perhaps the most understanding and in-tune with Izzy’s position and feelings about things of the three Soul Riders we currently have met. Lisa’s anger over Anne stung more than Izzy would like to admit, and she doesn’t quite feel her to be completely approachable for it. Alex, on the other hand, is approachable and amicable as well, but Linda and Izzy share a passion and fascination for reading and learning about their adventures and the island. Meteor’s also pretty humorous, too.

4. The Druids, on the other hand? O o f. Except Evergray.

The longer she has been on Jorvik, the more her faith in trusting the Druids has been tested. She’s seen her fellow Soul Riders struggle with it, too, and, considering everything, she’s not sure she likes how little they tell sometimes. While she’s not quite sure how her feelings are working out about Ydris, his point of view certainly didn’t help her trust, and Evergray’s been to Pandoria, too. She sees him as far more open-minded about things and trusts his judgement, whereas she’s feeling more and more that the Druids are maybe a bit too stuck in their ways. She’s experienced frustration with the figuratively closed doors in her face, the lack of answer, and still being treated like she doesn’t know enough. But the problem is she doesn’t, and no one is helping her with that on this side.

But her and Evergray clicked quickly. He’s perhaps the only one with a solid relation to the Druids that she really trusts. And he’d be a damn cool uncle to have, no lie. Uncle Everett can visit her anytime.

5. She wants needs to save Pandoria.

Circling back to her deep sympathy and bleeding heart, Ydris’s story has given her an undying need to find a way to save both Jorvik and Pandoria, and that plays a role in how frustrated she is now with the Druids. To her, there has to be a way, if only the Druids would look past the narrow thought that Pandoria is dangerous and something to be feared. Fear clouds judgement, and she happens to believe now more than ever that the Druids suffer from a decent amount of skewed judgement. She can’t quite understand why she feels so strongly about it internally - the idea that they might not be able to do both even brings up some anger and rage for the unjustice of it, but some pieces of the “goddess reincarnate” puzzle may or may not be clicking into place somewhere in her mind’s subconscious.

6. I don’t necessarily think she’ll have Pandoric scars. But “tattoos.”

But she will have something. Since it’s highly likely, and basically all but confirmed in my head, that she’s the reincarnation of Aideen, I think that power will override the effects of Pandoria on an otherwise human body. But I think it would be cool if, when she tapped into her full potential and powers, she had something like the Will Tattoos form like in the Fable franchise, only in runic designs and Pandoric pink in color. In Fable, they’re basically glowing, scar-like features that glow and appear stronger the more you use Will (which is the magic in the game) and they look like this (x) (the blue glowy stuff). They fade over time if you use less Will, and can eventually disappear, but I think in Izzy’s case, they’d remain as faint lines, almost like scars, but more “tattoo”-esque in nature. I’ve felt for a long time that Goddess!Izzy fully awakened would be massively pissed that her beautiful island and horses are under such great threat, that her Soul Riders have been so thoroughly tested and battle-worn, that Pandoria is suffering... And she’d totally fucking wear pink war paint and you can’t change my mind.

7. On that note, she is capable of Soul Rider powers, but also more Pandoric-style magic.

She can use healing abilities of the Star Circle, foresee things like the Moon Circle, travel to and survive Pandoria in a way akin to powers of the Sun Circle, and use offensive attacks like those of the Lightning Circle, but I also imagine her maybe more as a traditional spell slinger, without the need for incantation or wand or rune stick - capable of the more unknown Pandorian magic style that I’m pretty sure at this point fuels a lot of the power and magic of Jorvik. But, since I’m starting to see Aideen as maybe one of these mysterious Pandoric figures like Fripp and Ydris, she can naturally tap into this potential, if any of that makes any sense? xD

She can kick ass and take names at the height of her power, is basically what you need to know. But, of course, since the Druids have been so damn tight-lipped, she’s got a ways to go before she’s understood and realized all of this potential hiding away in her.

8. SPOILER IF YOU HAVEN’T FINISHED THE NIGHTDUST STORYLINE. But Copperflame doesn’t change colors, necessarily, like a Jorvik Wild Horse...

Or Nightdust. While my first reaction to Nightdust’s new look post the quests, I think what I’d really imagine for Copper is “Will Tattoos” for him, too, mimicking the kind of runic designs on the statues in Guardian’s Dale, and a sort of glowing aura like Concorde has in SSL 3, with a Pandoric pink glow to his eyes, his wings, and maybe glowing hooves. Maybe this is simply because I have no idea what color he should change into if they did something like Nightdust’s coat because even though gold is what we traditionally associate with Aideen, I don’t think Copper should be gold. But, I mean, I’m also imagining him rn as a big, fluffy painted draft cross, soooo... I would be happy with some glowing eyes and updated, more permanent/usable wings. xD @SSO, pls let me have a draft build for my starter pon? Can you imagine how cool? How more customizable it would be if we could choose a build type for our starter on top of more customization of their coats? Skreeee???

It’d require a lot of work, obvs, that whole ordeal, but it’d make for some really snazzy cutscene moments and cool game play akin to the excitement of rescuing Justin and figuring out we could fly. Just sayin’.

[oolathurman]

☼ ☀ for Davi?

swtor prompt list:☼  OC’s First time meeting a Jedi☀  OC’s First time meeting a Sith

i’m glad you chose the character who hates force sensitives omg :’)

writing this one in a more casual way to kinda match their personality, let’s see how it goes :V

Davi didn’t like Jedi or Sith more for the stories they had heard of them than any actual experiences with either.

The first time they met a Jedi, they were working on a client’s sleeve. Since they’re a zeltron, they didn’t particularly work on culturally specific tattoos unless it was zeltron in nature, but the rattataki wasn’t looking for a rattataki tattoo, so it was all good.

This Twi’lek guy, blue, he actually had tattoos too, on his lekku, he walked in looking all lost and kind of angry about it or something, and since it was the middle of the week, the one other employee was out for lunch with a friend and they were the only one in the shop. Naturally, Davi excused themself and said hi, asked what the could do for him, and it was only then that the Twi’lek turned to face them and Davi saw that laser sword (lightsaber, their employee would later correct) on his hip. And then, the twi’lek? He was all, “Where do I find Lord Xyrus?”

Naturally, Davi had to pause and blink at that one. So they said to him, “’scuse me?” and then the Twi’lek, he just repeated the question back louder, like that was any kriffin’ help. So they said to him, “Listen, I dunno any lords around here but the Hutts,” and before they could finish their sentence, the Twi’lek’s all up in arms talking about looking for some kriffin’ Sith of all things.

And so Davi’s all, “Listen buddy, I try to keep outta the affairs of Sith an’ Jedi cuz it ain’t for me,” and the Twi’lek’s rantin’ and ravin’ about how he’s a Jedi and he kriffin pulls out his lightsaber in their goddamn shop, and so Davi has to kriffin’ escort this Jedi dude off the premises and call the Hutt Cartel security goons cuz there ain’t no way they’re dealin’ with an angry Jedi, while they’re working on someone’s kriffin’ sleeve!

After that day, Davi made sure that there was a big ass sign on their shop window that said “NO JEDI OR SITH” and “WE RESERVE THE RIGHT TO REFUSE SERVICE” in big ol’ letters, in Basic and Huttese and a few more languages in case someone couldn’t read. The sign helped keep away any other unwanted Jedi or Sith. Too kriffin’ much t deal with, honestly. You want drama? Go talk to a Jedi and and ask them about the Sith, or vice versa.

Now, funny enough, the first Sith they had to deal with, was on much more... well, agreeable terms. And by agreeable, they mean they and Xyraan (she’s one of those friends with benefits types, she mostly keeps good company but Davi’s worried about some of them) were both horny out of their kriffin’ minds and so naturally, Xyraan’s all, “Davi baby, we should go find someone with a big dick,” cuz that’s what you do with friends, right? Call each other baby and find random people in the nightclub for a threesome.

So anyway, Xyraan’s like, “C’mon, it’ll be fun,” and honestly Davi’s just been desperate for a good fuck and they just go with it. So they do their thing where they’re practically scouting out for anyone at this point, and someone caught her eye and she just books it towards that person and, if they were being honest, he wasn’t the best looking but he looked like he’d be down for some fun and apparently she’s been getting real good at finding the guys who’re eager to please and shit.

Anyway, turns out this guy was kriffin’ loaded. Xyraan and Davi were ready to pony up for some cheap motel room and the guy’s all, “I know a nicer place,” and took them to one of those three star hotels near by with two actual beds and pays for the entire kriffin’ thing! Xyraan’s gotten real good at subtly asking guys what gets them rolling in credits, and he just sorta casually mentions he’s a kriffin’ sith.

Now, Davi being Davi, ‘course they freak out. Not in the hotel lobby but they pull the other two outside for a sec and even if Xyraan’s dealt with Jedi and Sith before, it’s not their cup of tea. 

Long story short, he didn’t have his literal lightsaber on him that night but he still had a metaphorical one on him and it was worth it, at least until years later when Xyraan calls Davi up and says to them, “Babe, guess who made it onto the Dark Council!”

They choked on their sandwich.

At least by then, Davi’s gotten good at avoiding those Force using types.

[husberttee]

A Long Ass Guide To VAV

VAV – Very Awesome Voice

Soooo since there were some people who did like my idea of making a guide like this I thought ‘cool let’s do it!‘ I hope this can help people finde out about them and maybe motivate some of you do give them a listen and some love!

Ok so first some general facts;

They had their debut in 2015 with 6 members under AQ Entertainment, which is now A-Team Entertainment. I’d like to point out here, that this company provides ENGLISH SUBTITLES for us (!!!!) which is pretty damn awesome.The group underwent (is that a word) a couple of lineup changes which I will explain further when I come to the members individually. A Fun facts: they have a pretty big spanish following and were guests on a shit ton of youtube channels

Fanclub: Vampz (debut concept was vampires and werewolves and priests and. Yeeeh.Their debut was actually on Halloween. Supposedly there even was a whole ass webcomic but I never saw any of that, sadly.)

We’ll get to the number one most important part now

THE MEMBERS (in order of age)

1.       St. Van – The Leader

Real Name: Lee Geumhyuk

91 liner

Main vocal (POWER vocal) / Leader

A father

Probably speaks better Mandarin than Jacob / lived more than 10 years in China

Loves Jacob; votes Jacob by default

tries hard and gets dragged for it by the younger members

it was revealed that he likes to watch girl group dances (he said it’s because he needs to learn them to be able to show something at fanmeetings and such. Yeah sure bro me too.)

hear someone laughing in the back? That’s him.

roommates with Baron

embarrassed. Generally.

Completely demolished ACE birthday cake with the help of ZeHan once

Likes cars

can drink a lot of water??

Has sleeve-like tattoo on his shoulder/upper arm

2.       Baron

Real Name: Choi Chunghyeob

92 liner

Vocal

Fake Maknae 0.1 // he’s very cute

somewhat speaks english

Known for serenading a male fan with ‘I need a boy’

Super pretty // sweet voice // very good and underrated dancer // funny --> Real idol material right here

Apparently has ‘apple hips’ which are ‘popular’ among the members. Whatever that may mean…

Likes photography and making films

Plays games first thing in the morning

Talkative

A sunshine // scammed the company into giving him an extra allowance of 1000won in a game and spend it to buy fruit for the members

there’s a 26 second long video of him brushing his teeth on A-Teams official youtube channel (these hoes deleted it)

3.       ACE

Real Name: Jang Wooyoung

92 liner

Vocal

A Mom // currently raising Ayno and Jacob

Probably dating Ziu atm

asks members for reactions when he does things

Practices phonation /articulation in his sleep (super noisy, even people in nearby rooms can hear him)

Talks a lot

Wears sunglasses in the pool aka. will fight you in the pool while wearing sunglasses (swag is better than actually seeing your surroundings)

‘I look thinner with my clothes on’ kinda person // he’s ripped

Really likes sport and working out

The groups elected MC

He always seems to know what he’s doing

Covered Winners ‘Fool’ and it’s amazing his vocals are super beautiful

Mullet

4.       Ayno

Real Name: Noh Yoonho

 96 liner

rapper

Participated in the survival show No.Mercy in which Monsta X was formed, but got eliminated in the final rounds

Joined the group as a new member early 2017

Voted to be the cutest by VAV

Fake Maknae 0.2

Part time grill master (Roasts his members)

*Looks at the camera like he is on the office*

Skilled dancer

Writes his own rap

First reaction after seeing Jacob cry was to lie himself horizontal on his lap as a form of comfort or idk that’s the kinda friend he is

in charge of meme

his ideal type is ACE, apparentely

released a mixtape

5.       Jacob

Real Name: Zhang Peng

96 liner

Sub-Rapper / sub-vocal

Chinese

Quite introverted // worries his members cause they want to share his hard times but they feel like they can’t. What a family T-T

Manly manTM

Had a complete mental breakdown once with ugly sobbing and all after receiving a video letter from VAV

Voted himself visual of the group

Nickname ‘Cob’

Sassy af since he’s started to talk more

Idk but I think he’s rich he always wears expensive looking clothes

In charge of abs and keeping a straight face at all times // has super cute smile actually

‘I stream ‘Venus’ as soon as I get up in the morning’

Accidentally made out with ZeHan at pops in seoul

Got featured in the song ‘Trouble’ by former member XIAO

6.       Lou

Real Name: Kim Hosung

96 liner

rapper

member since 2017

Very confident

Super deep voice

Can speak english

Not having any of anyone’s shit (pls let ur members live)

Maybe a bit mean

Pretends to be manly

Majors in acting

Finds  lot of Joy in making fun of Ziu

Gets lots of affection in return that he absolutely really DOESN’T WANT

His most precious possession is the refrigerator

According to him his closest celebrity friend is James Bond

‘which place would you like to visit where you have never been?’ ‘my house’

7.       Ziu

Real Name: Park Heejun

97 liner

Vocal // I love his vocals byE

joined together with Ayno and Lou in 2017

No homo? Yes homo. (no video goes by without him trying to kiss at least ONE of his members)

King of being fake touched and overreaction

Always gets exposed

Raids the dorm refrigerator at around 5/6AM

Eats while being asleep

Suffers a lot from the maknae position

Ended up being my bias somehow

Cucumber anti

a cheerful fella

_______________________________________

Former / Members on hiatus under the cut further down ~ ____________________________________

That was it so far, but...!

They also have a kind of reality show which is called What’S Up? VAV and it’s very fun so I defintely recomment watching it!! Here is a season 2 playlist

Sadly A-Team deleted / put most videos pre-Venus era on private. Their newer Malaysia Videos are really funny though!!!

______________________________________________

MVs

At first I’d like to point out that their earlier songs had quite low production and it’s noticable sometimes. People found that parts of the songs sounded ‘off’. However, they improved every comeback a lot and as they changed producers for Venus they seriously stepped up their game. They have improved SO MUCH, are still getting better and really work hard!!

Debut - Under The Moonlight

Brotherhood (this mv was so fanfiction worthy actually)

No Doubt

Recollection (the FeelsTM)

Here I Am (winter song jacob no lines still good)

Venus / Dance With Me

Flower (this one is my favourite look at that aesthetic and the song was so good wow)

Middle Of The Night / ABC (a bob)

She’s Mine (a super bob)

Spotlight & Gorgeous (two MVs but kind of a package deal cause they’re basically one comeback)

Give it to me

Senorita

So In Love

Thrilla Killa (this one? slaps.)

I’m Sorry

Give me more' (Feat. De La Ghetto & Play-N-Skillz) (I sometimes watch this ONLY for St.Vans sleeve tattoo)

POISON (MOST RECENT!!! WATCH DIS!! ITS AWESOME!!)

Thanks for making it until here and Please stan VAV

Former Members / Hiatus

I will keep these short since the post is already long AS FUCK and while these members DO appear in many of their past videos (Ateam deleted most of the videos :/), ‘advertising’ them here wouldn’t do much good since you’re not going to see them with the group from now on

Xiao

Chen Xiao

Rapper

89 liner

Went on hiatus in 2016 (it was said he has to take care of his sick father)

He once appeared in a VAV video after he left and spend a day with them; the reunion was very heart warming

he made his solo debut with

Bubblegum

and

Share Ya

his song

Trouble

feat. Jacob

ZeHan

Lee Seungmin

Vocal

94 liner

Left to pursue a career as an actor

Was my bias why must u do dis to me

GyeoUl

Jung Un

Vocal

95 liner

Left to pursue a career as producer