#he has like 4 references from his past content but only like 3 are visible in these doodles

[artistdove]

A pesky bird as appeared and he left me a present.....MY HOUSE!!!

Time to enter the void btw cuz life stuff happening again

[carlisles-girl]

OMG UR CAIUS FIC WAS SO GOOD COULD YOU DO SOMETHING AB ARO PLEASE

a/n: Thank you so much! I’m very excited to write for Aro, he’s one of my favourite characters, more so because of Michael Sheen’s performance. I put a slight reference to something in this, you might catch it if you know other projects Michael Sheen has been in, but you might not, and that’s alright. Hope you enjoy <3

another a/n: I did put one or two feminine terms in this work, such as ‘mia regina’ which is ‘my queen’ in Italian, so do skip over it or replace it with something else if you’d like. I love writing this type of material in the middle of my classes, it adds so much adrenaline to not get caught.

-

Aro Volturi With A Human Mate

-

Instead of being angry and frustrated like Caius, Aro was more excited.

Like as if he was getting ready for a big party.

A human for a mate was inevitable for some vampires, of course, but Aro didn’t expect to be included in the some.

He was excited since it was rare for such high profile vampires to socialize with humans.

Aro often gushed to his brothers, excited to meet you, but also for them to meet you.

He wanted to host a ball for your welcome.

But Marcus noted that it would probably be slightly frightening for you to be in a room full of vampires.

Most of the vampires would look at you as if you were some sort of a snack.

Because it Marcus’ comment, Aro assumed it would be a greater choice to send an invitation to a tour of the castle.

Free of cost, of course.

When you had received the invitation, you were beyond excited.

An invitation to a tour of an ancient castle with endless legends, for free?

Absolutely.

The tour was the next day, so of course you were slightly nervous.

When the tour commenced, a very pretty woman named Heidi lead the tour group.

She began to speak of secrets of the castle, as well as secret corridors and legends.

Some things a normal tour guide would most likely have no idea about.

Heidi then looked in your direction, and smiled brightly at you.

“It’s very lovely here. I’m sure you’ll love it.”

Just when she had finished her sentence, she opened the doors where there were three men sitting in thrones, and what seemed to be 4 guards.

The man who sat in the middle, greeted everyone and began speaking greatly of the castle.

He had only stopped when he motioned for your tour guide, Heidi, to come forward.

She did as told, and held her hand out towards him.

You would have thought it was to greet him, but it seemed like he was concentrated, or zoned out.

“Magnifico! I will get Demetri to escort them.” (Translation: “Magnificent! I will get Demetri to escort them.”

A man who you assumed was Demetri, walked in your direction.

“Come with me, all will be alright, rest assured. However, do not look behind you.”

You went with him, doing as he said, but immediately turned around when the rest of the tour began screaming.

“What the hell was that?!”

Demetri just grabbed your wrist and brought you upstairs.

“Just stay in here, I’ve been instructed to keep you under my eye. Aro will explain everything to you.”

“Aro?”

“The man who sat in the middle throne.”

You nodded, and decided to sit on one of the window seats.

You wanted to ask Demetri as many questions as you wanted to, but you didn’t want to bother him, or disrupt him from his job.

When the door had opened and Demetri bid his farewells, you had turned around and saw Aro.

“You must be Y/n, correct?”

“Yeah, and you’re Aro?”

“I am, I assume you have a good amount of questions?”

You nodded, and Aro moved swiftly but smoothly towards the opposite side of the window seat.

“May I?”

“Of course.”

He sat opposite to you, and smiled slightly at you.

“There’s no need to be afraid of me, or the others. You’re the most safe you could ever be in the castle. I promise you, I will keep you safe.”

“May I ask why the rest of the tourists were screaming when I left?”

“I sense that that question should be answered later, appropriately.”

You were slightly frightened as to what the final answer would be, it could be anything.

Perhaps there was a reenactment of the past after you had been escorted, one of the tourists got pushed and the rest screamed since one of them fell, or the worst:

They were murdered.

“I feel like I already know what happened.”

“I sense that you do know, too. I will tell you everything in a moment. But for now, would you care to lend me your hand?”

You trusted Aro, though you were positive your ancestors were screaming from above or below not to trust him.

You held your hand out in front of him, and before he held your hand in his own, he asked for permission or something else.

“I want you to think of the happiest memory you have stored in your mind, I will describe it to you. I will not see anything else besides the things you want to show me, unless I have your permission.”

You thought of a memory, and then placed your hand in Aro’s palm.

He covered the back of your hand with the palm of his other hand, then he began telling you small details of your chosen memories you had even forgotten about.

When he was finished, he brought his head up from looking down, and smiled at your face of bewilderment.

“That is so cool! Is that like your superhero power?”

Aro smiled widely at your interest in his gift, and began explaining what his was.

“I have a gift, it’s called tactile telepathy. I can read everyone’s thoughts and memories with a single touch. The others in this coven have multiple different gifts, they help keep us safe.”

“So you’re all like superheroes?”

“Vampires, darling.”

After that, Aro enjoyed seeing your memories whenever you two were apart for some sort of time.

Especially say you were having a difficult time attempting to explain something to him, he would hold your hand and immediately understand what you were trying to say.

“I understand you, cara mia. I always will.”

And he was right, he understands you in every way possible.

Aro memorized your body language on how you react to different things, as well as your facial expressions.

When you’re uncomfortable with something, he will do absolutely everything in his power to make you comfortable.

Aro will burn down the entire world for you.

When it’s time for you to go to sleep, you best believe that Aro set up the most lavish and comfortable room for you.

The best and most comfortable bed, of course.

You lay down on his chest, and he brushes the hair out of your face, admiring your tired eyes looking back at him.

“Would you like for me to read to you, dearest?”

You nodded your head, and Aro would get up from wherever he was seated, swiftly retrieve a book, lay back down next to you, and begin reading.

He loved having you hold his hand while he read, it lets him see what you’re imagining the scene that he’s reading to you.

And when you fell asleep while he was reading, he would be so very content.

You curled up next to him, sound asleep on his chest.

Aro adored seeing what you were dreaming.

He loved how humans brains worked while they were sleeping, keeping your mind entertained with multiple little scenarios.

When you woke up, however, Aro would prefer to have you describe your dreams, if you remembered them.

He loved to learn more about humans, especially in the modern age.

And you loved to learn more about vampires, especially in the ancient times.

Aro would often tell you stories of each coven he encountered, his old family and friends, and his past human life.

As much as he wants you to be changed into a vampire like the rest, he can’t help but smile whenever you got slightly nervous around him, stuttering over your words, and hiding your face with your hands out of embarrassment.

He pays attention to little details about you.

Especially your eyes.

Even the shade of your eyes stops him from changing you. Your eyes wouldn’t be as unique anymore, they’d be the same red as everyone else’s.

“You have the most magnificent shade of colour in your eyes, mia regina. I simply cannot get enough of them.”

Being absolute best friends with Demetri.

But wherever Demetri was, Felix wasn’t too far behind.

You three are like a troublemaker trio, always causing trouble and pulling pranks on different members of the guard.

Never Jane or Alec, though. Unless it was a scheduled board game night or something along the lines.

Which Alec loved to take away different players senses, allowing him to cheat in the games you’d play.

He doesn’t do it all the time, though.

Marcus was a lot more welcoming towards you, perhaps more than anyone else.

Whenever Aro couldn’t, he’d show you different areas of the castle you hadn’t seen yet, and would give you wonderful pieces of advice along the way.

“Remember to stay true to yourself, never let anyone think for you.”

Aro will spoil you insanely.

If you mention a specific piece of clothing even once, you better expect that when you wake up the next morning, Aro has an elegantly wrapped package placed at the foot of your bed with a note written in fine handwriting.

“Mia amato, I have seen you speak of this article of fabric, and I have gone out of my way to make sure you have every little thing you admire. I need you to be the happiest you can possibly be. Please accept my gift, and meet me by the gardens by noon. I’ll see you then. Cordialmente, Aro.”

You two have annual walks throughout the garden, usually during golden hour. The sun still above, but setting at the same time, making it seem like Aro was made of a trillion Tiffany Yellow Diamonds.

He loved finding a flower that suited your mood for the day, and putting it behind your ear.

“My beautiful.”

You two often walked either arm in arm, or hand in hand, but sometimes you would hold him closer with your arm wrapped around his waist, your head leaning on his side or shoulder.

Often times, when the moon is visible, you would slow dance together, looking at each other with smiles on your faces, just appreciating each other’s presence.

Usually, Aro would come back into the castle around 2 in the morning, carrying your sleeping self up to your shared room, after you had fallen asleep on his shoulder while sitting in the garden.

The rest of the kings and guards would be predominantly more happy than from before you had arrived.

You had given Aro something to look forward to after trials and mountains of work, something he didn’t have for hundreds of years.

Though, Caius was still slightly jealous of you.

You had practically stolen one, if the not the most, needed member of the vampire world. Aro was nearly as focused on you than he was on trials and legislature.

He’d warm up to you eventually.

At least, you hoped.

Speaking of trials, you wanted to sit in and watch the trials, to see what it was about, and how it worked.

You knew the most of it, of course, Aro had already told you. But you wanted to see it live.

Aro was quick to say no, he didn’t want you to get hurt, or worse, killed.

He understood what would happen to him if his mate was killed, Marcus was the example. He couldn’t even bear the thought of you not being by his side.

Though, you owning the key to his heart, convinced him to let you watch, letting both Jane and Alec stay on either side of you, protecting you if anything were to go wrong.

You would usually sit on Aro’s lap, and then the throne when he had to see what was truly going on by using his gift.

Jane usually stood on the left of the throne, and Alec on the right.

Mainly since Caius sat on the throne in the left, and Jane loved to torture the criminals.

He loved the front seat view.

Constant look backs of reassurance to make sure that you’re alright.

Nearly always having your hand in his.

Forehead kisses.

Constantly bringing the back of your hand up to his lips.

Getting the absolute best care in the world, health wise especially.

When Aro proposed, it was in the bedroom the both of you share, and he was reading some poetry to you.

All was going swell, and then he got to one page.

“I can write no stately poem

As a prelude to my lay;

From a poet to a poem

I would dare to say.

For if of these fallen petals

One to you seem fair

Love will waft it till it settles

On your hair.

And when wind and winter harden

All the loveless land.

It will whisper of the garden,

You will understand.”

At the end, you were leaned up closer to him, looking at him in awe.

He closed the book, and placed it aside gracefully, before leaning slightly closer to you. Placing his hands overs yours.

“Do you remember who wrote that, cara mia?”

“I do. That’s Oscar Wilde, right?”

“That’s right. There’s so much I want to say to you, especially in this particular moment, but I don’t think there’s enough words to express my love and affection towards you. I’ve known you for a little while, and I can feel the bond between us, and I know you can feel it, too. The universe has guided us together, and I am so very thankful for every second we have spent together, and I’m even more thankful for the rest of eternity we have. However, I am the most thankful of the fact that I have the most gorgeous human as a mate. I love you so much, anima mia. Will you do me the best thing that could ever happen to me in my thousands of years, and marry me?”

You said yes, obviously, who wouldn’t?

You leaned over to press your lips against his, as he held one side of your face with one hand, and the other hand slid a ring on your ring finger.

While Aro wanted an extremely lavish wedding, with all the diamonds in the world, you wanted something more of a homely essence.

So you compromised, and had a bit of both.

Aro invited nearly every vampire to the wedding, wanting to show you off in every way he could.

The Denali’s, Cullens, Irish coven, everyone was invited.

Except for the Romanian coven, Vladimir and Stefan. Not trusting them to be in your presence.

The wedding was held in the garden, the arch where Aro stood had your favourite flowers intertwining around it, with diamonds pressed in the centre of each individual flower.

Demetri walked you down the isle, smiling proudly when he handed you over to Aro.

Proud that his leader had finally found true love, and that one of his best friends is finally where they need to be.

After the official wedding ceremony, the rest of the night and day were spent smiling and showing off each other to the guests.

When the night ended, it was finally time for you to be changed to a vampire.

Aro sat by the bed were sitting on, making sure that you were absolutely ready to be converted to a vampire for the rest of eternity.

“Are you ready, my darling?”

You nodded your head, and Aro took one final look into your coloured eyes, attempting to remember every small detail of them.

Aro then moved your hair away from your neck, before placing his lips over where he would finally bite down and turn you immortal.

“Just say when, and I’ll see you after.”

[adashofniallandasprinkleoflunacy]

you’re someone i just want around: III

“You can have me tonight or never

I thought you understood

Baby, some people are meant to be loved and others just naked

So take what I’m willing to give, love it or hate it.”

—Wrong, Zayn and Kehlani

A/N: alright SO!!!! the original part 3 ended up being at the cusp of 50k words (because i have no self control) and that is a LOT to read in one go so it’s getting split into parts 3 and 4! which means!! double update laidese and germs!!!! part 4 will be posted this SUNDAY, AUGUST 16th at 5PM PST/8PM EST :D we hope you enjoy this chapter, feedback is greatly appreciated, and please please PLEASE!!! if you like it, reblog it!!! and if you want, go nuts in the tags!! every single one is read!!! it keeps content creators motivated 💌leyla @sunflowervolvimp3​ took the liberty of making an incredible playlist to go along with our story, so feel free to check it out and see if you can find any clues as to what’s in store for the characters 👀without further delay, here she is...buckle up 👁👁this is gonna be quite the ride

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

word count: 24.2k

content/warnings: cheeky banter over texts, The Crew dragging Niall to shit, more banter over a glass of cheap wine, vampire!harry showing up to “interior design” sessions looking like a runway model, some fwb smut, degradation kink, very mild mentions of blood, and some ugly tapestries that somehow lead to sexting

///

Y/N definitely puts Harry’s number to good use. Very good use.

In fact, during the span of the next month or so, Harry reckons that she pulls up his contact on her phone so often that she probably has him listed on speed dial. The assumption is dramatic and probably incorrect, on behalf of his arrogance, but with how much time they start spending together, it’s hardly a stretch.  

It all begins exactly a week after their first time meeting. 

Harry still hates clubs. 

He hates them more than he did last week. He hates them more than he did yesterday, more than he did this morning, and even more than he did a minute ago. He fucking despises them. 

And yet, as Harry stands here before the mirror in his enormous double-sink bathroom, fiddling with his damp hair as his flouncy dress shirt hangs unbuttoned from his broad shoulders, he’s absolutely positive he has never hated clubs more than right now. 

Niall got to pick the venue this time. He’d texted his choice in the groupchat (which is respectfully named Dinner Plans) about four hours ago, making sure to get the word out decently early so that everyone could start making their preparations, all in order for the crew to be on the move by nine P.M. 

It’s now nine thirty-seven, and everyone is fully set to leave at the agreed upon hour. Everyone except Harry. 

This, however, is not uncommon. He’s always the one that takes the longest to get ready, no matter how soon he starts. No one can remember an instance where Harry has ever been ready on time— which says a lot, considering most of the gang has years of memories from which they can pull. Mitch especially. With almost a century of friendship behind them, not once has the older vampire ever seen Harry stick to a deadline. His flare for being fashionably late is less a flare, and moreso an irritating burn. It always throws off their game a bit, but at this point, everyone has gotten used to the seemingly young vampire’s theatrics. 

So on this Friday night, there isn’t much more to do other than mold to his habits; Harry answers to no one except himself and it’s been that way for decades now, for a reason he’d rather not reminisce. He doesn’t owe anything to anyone, especially since he’s the one that always takes charge of getting them where they need to go, as well as getting them inside said destination. Complaining about their leader wouldn’t do the gang any good for a number of reasons, especially because Harry rarely ever listens. It is what it is— he’s just the way he is, and they’ve all learned to live with and respect that.

The funny thing? Harry does it on purpose, though his friends aren’t aware of it. He drags out the process of getting prepared simply so he can put off having to step inside one of those circus acts people refer to as clubs. He goes as slow as possible and does as much as possible, spreading seconds into minutes, and maybe— if he’s insistent enough and feeling particularly pesky— an hour. His record is an hour and twenty-eight minutes, which he wears with pride, much to his group’s unamusement. 

Harry knows no one will ever say anything about his annoying tendencies, unless they’re willing to volunteer themselves to take the reins for the night. Vampires are alert and productive, but only when they want to be— which is usually only when it benefits them— and only if they can muster up the patience for it. And frankly, none of the creatures he associates with have the patience required to deal with security, driving, and other obstacles the way Harry does. He’s indispensable, and therefore, everyone puts up with his shit. Quid pro quo has never been more effective. 

So here Harry stands, now thirty-eight minutes past the original time sorted for departure, carefully combing volumizing mousse into his slightly wet curls and spinning each ringlet around his index finger to give them the definition and bounce he’s so well-known for. Here he is, finishing up his post-shower routine as all of his friends mill around downstairs in his living room, waiting for him to come down so they can pack into his car and head out for the weekly hunt at whatever establishment has been deemed fit for the night. And here he is, taking his sweet time so he can be the signature pain in the ass that everyone hates to love. 

Once Harry has thoroughly coated all of his hair with the fluffy white cream, he pulls out his hair-dryer from the cabinet below his sink, snapping its accompanying diffuser into place and flipping his head upside down. He carefully scrunches his curls to his roots with the attachment, moving in thoughtful circles as he hums to the rhythm of a song he can’t be bothered to remember the name of. Staring down at his polished jet black heeled boots, he absentmindedly taps against the porcelain ground to the beat of the music, sighing wistfully as warm air circulates its way across his scalp. 

Harry turns his shoes to the side, admiring the detailing along the back of the heel. Across the curved surface is the word SUCKER, bedazzled onto the article with multicolored jewels, glitzing beautifully under the fluorescent lighting of his bathroom. The shoes had been a gift from a friend with connections in high places; more specifically, connections to the man who sits on the throne of the Gucci brand. Harry hadn’t questioned the present when he’d received it— only an idiot would bat a cautious eye at such a luxury. He’d fallen in love with them the second they landed in his palms, decked out in a gorgeous satin box and wrapped with sparkly black tissue paper. The only words that had dared leave his lips were, “Fuck, I think I just got hard.”

The shoes had fit like a charm, and he had wanted to save them for a special occasion. But given that he has hundreds of years worth of special occasions lined up for his future, he’d shrugged off his pickiness and yanked them out the back of his closet for tonight. What better way to show them off than at an overhyped disco hall? 

Harry flips his head right-side up once again, ruffling his fingers through his soft, shiny curls to check for any wet patches or stringiness. He rolls up the wire to his styling tool and puts it back in its designated spot, grabbing his favorite paddle brush and attentively filtering it through his hair until he gets the tousled waves that he’s grown so fond of sporting. He musses them until he’s satisfied with his appearance, nodding at himself casually in the mirror as he proceeds to wrap up the last few necessities he has left. 

Harry buttons his blouse, admiring it in the fogged mirror. It’s a flowy sheer black piece with holographic threads sewn through its expanse, the fabric continuously shimmering with every shift of his muscles from underneath. He leaves the last three holes empty to better show off the dark butterfly inking on his lean chest and the swallows suspended in flight along his collarbones. He doesn’t really have to leave the shirt open, given that the material is see-through to the point where it leaves very little to the imagination, obvious in how all the tattoos along his arms are clearly visible. But he does it either way— he likes it when people stare. He’s got the assets, he might as well flaunt them.

Harry loosely tucks the hem of the shirt along the brim of his high-waisted beige slacks, which he’d ironed with precision to an ideal fold. He opts out of a belt tonight, wanting to display the array of elegant buttons that line the front of his pleated trousers. The pants hang slightly flared around his ankles, and if someone’s interests were intent enough, they might catch a glimpse of his favorite socks underneath the cusps, the words FUCK IT printed across the dark cotton fabric. He always makes sure to have an aspect in his outfit that could make for neat conversation.  

The vampire pulls out one of his drawers, ghosting his fingers over his collection of jewelry before picking out a pearl necklace and his father’s gold-plated cross necklace, as well as a colorful array of rings. He makes sure to retrieve the most significant two, as always— his lionhead amethyst daylight ring and his mother’s opal. He never goes anywhere without them. 

After he’s slipped on those accessories, bending and stretching his fingers for good measure and feeling everything settle into place, he picks out the gold cross earring that matches his necklace. It used to be part of a pair that belonged to his sister. As he watches the gold twinkle in the artificial light, he briefly wonders what happened to its twin, but pushes the thought away before it leads him down a path of pessimistic speculations. 

Harry loops the dangly piece through his earlobe, sighing through his nose as his gaze jets around his entire look, searching for any possible faults he could tend to that would prolong the inevitable— another night of drunken morons and thick synthetic smoke. 

Harry decides to fold the cuffs of his shirt up to his elbows, knowing that it makes his veiny forearms look appealing. He rummages through his selection of colognes before deciding to go with his trusty Tom Ford Tobacco Vanille, spritzing a bit along specific pressure points on his neck where a pulse would otherwise be present, following along with the insides of his wrists. The scent of cloves, sugar-frosted vanilla, and cedar wood envelope him in a warm ambiance. After that task is complete, he fusses with his necklaces for a minute or so, settling the cross between his pectorals and resting the rosey pearls across his clavicle, fingering at their smooth surface in thought. Much to his defeat, everything seems to be in order, down to his freshly lacquered black nails. It’s not his fault he’s nearly flawless. His long— and unfortunate— extension on life had given him a plethora of years to work himself into a state of physical perfection. There’s only so much one can do to their appearance before it becomes superiorly stagnant. 

Harry tunes his heightened hearing for a second, listening in to the conversation his friends are entertaining on the first level of his condo. Niall’s voice is the first one that comes through, unsurprisingly. He’s always the loudest and has zero filter, present in how he’s freely ranting about Harry’s exaggerated mannerisms as he paces back and forth across the floor, footsteps heavy. No one seems to be paying him any mind— As usual, Harry thinks to himself, snorting softly— because everyone appears to be caught up in their own personal lives, too lost in gossip and exchanging opinions to give the Irish vampire any thought. 

None of his gang seem bothered by his lack of rush, but Harry knows he can’t keep them waiting forever. Fridays are the day they’d all collectively agreed to hunt together and it had been as so for almost twenty years. Being the leader, Harry can’t let his childish distaste for nightlife get in the way of what’s best for the group. He needs to hunker down on his selfish inclinations and be a responsible friend, or else a human might not be the only person Niall sinks his fangs into tonight.

With one final lingering stare at his reflection, Harry goes to retrieve his phone from its face-down position on the dark marble counter, simultaneously reaching for the light switch to begin powering down his apartment for the next couple of hours until he returns. Hopefully with a pretty girl hanging off his arm and less of a burn in the back of his throat. Although Harry may be cynical, he’s also practical; if he’s going to have to spend eternity on this planet, he may as well try to conserve enough energy to make it bearable. After decades of adjusting to electricity, the last thing Harry wants is to return to candlelit rooms and going to bed in time with the sun. 

The sudden chime that shrieks from his device causes him to jump a tad, brows furrowing in mild confusion for a few reasons. First, because it’s such an odd coincidence that right as he went to grasp it, his smartphone had gone off; it’s almost spooky. Second, because anyone who would normally dare message him at this hour is currently sequestered downstairs on the cushions of his sectional sofa, waiting for him to emerge from his room. Who else could possibly need to contact him this late, especially at the beginning of the weekend? 

Harry flips his red iPhone curiously (yes, he’d bought it in red for the purpose of irony), peering down at the unknown number shining back up at him from the screen. 

The text is simple enough: Hey, accompanied by three disco ball emojis. 

After a few seconds of blank blinking and adamantly searching through his mind for a clue as to who this could be, the answer smacks him square between the eyes. The memories come to him in quick flashes. 

A bald bouncer with a stupid name. A two-story room with seven foot tall speakers and a bar nuzzled in the corner. A group of loud, tipsy girls in stilettos and glittery dresses. One girl, sitting amidst the ruckus looking alone and indifferent while everyone around her gave into inebriated chaos. Mitch urging him to go talk to her. The overwhelming smell of honey and lavender. Gentle caresses placed across the tattoos painting his arms. Pretty lips the color of fresh blood, drained glasses of liquor, and witty banter exchanged between suggestive glances and cheeky grins. Shouldering through a crowded dance floor with the young woman in tow. Settling her into the passenger’s seat of his Cadillac and feeling heat explode across his cold cheeks when she’d yanked him down by his collar, kissing him like his lips were her only source of air. 

A quaint apartment complex, flickering lights in a corridor, and a worn couch. A warm mouth, smudged lipstick, teary eyes, and the gentle, shaky echo of, “I want to make you feel good.” High-waisted silk pants discarded on the floor, a cream lace blouse, and pastel pink lingerie. Thighs squeezing his head as her sweet taste spilled across his tongue. The mortal’s bare back pressed to his chest as he worked his hips roughly into her, mumbling dirty promises against her ear. Sugary whimpers and needy pleads. The warm, tangy flavor of her blood filling his mouth and sedating the burning in his throat. Childish giggles shared in a tiny flat, her warm fingers sewing between his icy own and tugging him into her room. A sleepless night full of steady breaths and only one heartbeat. A stupid tapestry and an ugly popcorn ceiling. A late morning strewn with sarcastic jokes mumbled over the rim of a coffee mug. Pulling his favorite t-shirt over his head and inhaling the sweet smell that had been glued to every thread. 

Making a drastic decision and typing his information into her phone. 

Harry doesn’t mean to speak aloud, but the name slips down his tongue as easily as he’d drawn moans from hers. “Y/N.”

It’s not like he didn’t remember her, because he did. And it’s not like he hadn’t thought of her since, because he had. But it’d been in passing and barely relevant— faint recollections in the form of fleeting seconds. 

He’d thought of her a couple days ago, when he’d been wandering around the mall with his friends. They’d passed by a candle shop where, among all the mixed scents, there had been the unmistakable aroma of lavender and honey somewhere inside, smelling vaguely like her. She’d unwillingly made her way to the forefront of his mind when he’d gone to do laundry, picking out his baby blue Marc Jacobs t-shirt from his hamper and feeling his eyes dilate and fangs protrude— a result of animalistic instinct. As it turns out, she had left a bloodstain along the inside of the yellow collar of his tee. It was dried and crusted over by the time he found it, but the effect it had on him remained the same as the night he’d drawn it fresh from one of her arteries. He’d chucked the garment into the wash carelessly with hardly any hesitation. 

The girl had even elbowed into his brain during an important self-care session. He’d been sitting in his glorified bathtub— which, in shallow honesty, is just a jacuzzi— with his cock twitching in his palm while his head hung over the edge, an orgasm teetering along the trench of his stomach as he’d repeatedly thumbed over his tip. When he’d finally coaxed himself into a climax, moans running freely across the empty halls of his home, the image he saw in those short moments of pure bliss was of her. It was Y/N, sitting in front of him with her hands clasped between her bare thighs obediently, his prick running along the length of her warm tongue as her eyes pleaded for him to cum. 

But, as he’d stated before, the picture had only lasted a handful of seconds. As soon as his high had died down, it had disintegrated to ash, and he’d been left with a slightly startled mental imprint in its wake, which had faded away within minutes. He hadn’t thought of her since. 

That is, until now. Until the surface of his jade eyes are reflecting the message his phone had just received at nearly ten P.M., her identity obvious in her choice of emojis. 

A disco ball. The exact same character he’d assigned himself beside his name in her contact list. It was an inside joke; a result of the hatred they both shared for clubs, juxtaposed by the fact that they had met in one. It was a cute determining factor in their minimal acquaintanceship, and he’s always a sucker for a good paradox. 

Harry continues to stare down at the text message, trying to conjure up some type of answer. She couldn’t have caught him at a better time, quite literally. She could be his saving grace tonight, if he plays his cards right. Maybe if he swoons her enough, she’ll invite him over again, and he can avoid another night full of shit-faced idiots and blinding strobe lights. 

After careful consideration, he swipes open into their new text conversation and taps back a reply he deems appropriate, satisfied with how it shows his personality— the same one the mortal girl had been so taken with upon their first encounter. 

Well, this is awkward. I don’t remember giving my number to a disco ball.

The vampire waits idly for a response, watching as the message delivers and is immediately marked by a read receipt. He doesn’t know why, but he likes that she has them on. 

A swift pause follows— in which he has no doubt she’s probably attempting to come up with some type of witty remark to his— and then the three grey bouncing bubbles pop up, signifying that she’s typing back. His device bloops with her response, vibrating in his large palms.

Funny as ever, I see. It’s Y/N, from the club last Friday. 

Harry’s slightly disappointed by her humor-lacking answer, but he’ll keep the interaction going for curiosity’s sake. Some people are fun in person and just not that bright virtually. Can’t always have it all.

Oh, hey, Y/N! So are you translating on behalf of the disco ball that wanted to talk to me or…?

He can practically see her eye rolling up at the grungy ceiling of her room and that notion makes his lips twitch. 

Ha. Ha. Hilarious! But no, I’M the one who wants to talk to you, actually.

Harry can feel her sarcastic tone through this specific message and that gives him hope. Maybe she does have social networking skills. 

Oh. Well, give the disco ball my best regards then, will you? Don’t want it to think I’m being rude and casting it aside.

The creature can’t see it, but now Y/N’s lips are the ones jolting as she sits on her bed in nothing but a towel, damp hair beading water down her naked shoulders and back.

How caring of you! I’ll pass on the message.

A full grin begins to edge across Harry’s cheeks as she returns his banter just as easily as she would face to face, dimples threatening to indent into place. That’s more like it. 

His fingers poise over the keyboard, mind flicking through the different scenarios he could steer this conversation towards. He has to be perceptive and respectful, but also keep her entertained. He figures asking about her intentions is the best route to take, but he’ll do it subtly. Being too direct could come off pushy. 

So...what gives me the honor of basking in your presence tonight, hm?

He adds a thinking face emoji to the end of the text as an afterthought. He rarely uses emoticons, but now is as good a time as any to start, especially because he has to seem like someone who belongs to her generation, rather than a Victorian era immortal.

Well, you said if I wanted more interior design advice to shoot you a text so...here I am, seeking your expertise.

Harry allows himself to break into a wide simper at the shrouded compliment. It goes right to his ego, just as he likes it. She’s smart. 

My expertise, huh? I take it that my taste in wallpaper left you pretty satisfied last time, then?

A similar grin buckles Y/N’s face at his playful smugness and she bites into the side of her index finger to try and suppress it. After a moment of thought, she releases her digit from between her teeth and taps back. 

Very satisfied, yeah. Your help was greatly appreciated.

Harry scoffs coyly, leaning his shoulder against the lightly fogged black marble wall of his bathroom, his friends and plans for the night all but forgotten. He’s having too much fun flirting to pay anything else much mind. 

My pleasure, love. I’d be more than happy to give it again, anytime you need it. Just make sure to fill out the customer service survey my boss emailed you. I’m shooting for a raise and could really use the brownie points. 

“Cute.” Y/N murmurs to herself in amusement, her chest fluttering as a result of the pet name, alongside how well they’re getting on. It’s almost like no time has passed at all. Almost as if they’re friends. 

She’d been nervous to reach out, fearing that he’d see it and ignore her— or worse, leave her on read. Needless to say, this is going way better than she could’ve hoped

Already filled that out. Gave you five stars and everything. Would’ve given you six if it was allowed. 

Harry shifts his weight against the surface he’s using for support, chuckling softly as he gnaws along the inside of his cheek. He feels like a teenager with all of this borderline childish back-and-forth. He’s not mad about it, though. It’s pretty enjoyable. 

Thank you so much for your input! It’s taken into deep consideration. VERY deep consideration, if I recall correctly.  

Warmth pours into Y/N’s cheeks at his innuendo, and she somewhat hates that he can get her all flustered without actually being present. He’s really good at this. A true lucky strike, to put it in his own words.

I’m glad my standards are held so highly, especially since I’m trying to book another advising appointment with you. 

Is that so?

Very much so. How about tonight, if you’re free? I’ve got a dire situation with some wood paneling that I just can’t handle alone.

The vampire’s irises flare crimson red in triumph. It looks like he won't have to put himself through another mortifying ordeal tonight, after all. 

I’m on a tight schedule, Y/N. These expertise are highly sought after, yanno?

Y/N snorts at his pompous joke. “Moron.”

Another text comes in from Harry before she can even think of a response.

However, I think I might be able to squeeze you in for a help session today. Say in about 10 to 15 minutes? 

With newly brightened eyes, Y/N gives the message five repasses to make sure she’d interpreted it correctly. She can’t believe he’d agreed, especially at an hour when most people already have weekend plans cemented for the night. And by the length of time he’d given her to prepare, she’s extremely thankful she’d decided to shower prior to attempting a booty-call. 

Sounds perfect. Do you need me to send you my address or do you remember, by some miracle?

Don’t worry about it, pet. I have a pretty good memory of that night. You made it hard to forget. 

Another layer of heat crawls up her neck and into her ears. She knows this is a casual thing, at best, but for some reason, the idea that he had deemed her unforgettable makes her entire body feel like it’s glowing. She tries to brush it off, chalking up his compliment to how they’d seen each other barely a week ago so of course he remembered. It was fairly fresh in both their minds. 

But Y/N is from an area where she was just another face in the crowd— another timid girl in an ocean of a hundred small-town carbon copies— and she’d certainly never referred to herself as anything particularly special. To have Harry, who is such a refined and attractive person, who most likely has dozens of hook-ups under his belt, call her that? Of all people? It just hits differently. 

She shakes herself out of her head, remembering that a very interesting boy is waiting for a response on the other end of her phone.

Alright, then. See you in 10 to 15 minutes, Mr…? 

Y/N comes to the realization that she doesn’t even know his last name. She doesn’t know the last name of the guy she’d let into her house and between her legs. God, if her parents could see her now...They’d blow California into a crater. 

The name’s Styles. Harry Styles. 

She immediately recognizes the reference, chewing at her bottom lip to keep a tab on a girly giggle. It’s probably not healthy how easily he reduces her into such a dopey puddle. 

Alright, then, Mr. Harry Styles. See you soon?

Very soon. Can’t wait to show you the wood samples I just found.

With a sly smirk dimpling his cheeks, Harry pushes off the elegant stone wall of his luxury bathroom, locking his device and absentmindedly tapping it along his palm as he does a quick mind-sweep of the interaction he’d just had. He’s going to get his needs taken care of—both intimate and carnal— by a girl with whom he meshes with so well, no less. This night has taken an unexpected turn for the better, and he’s never been more thankful for making such a rash decision the morning after a one night stand. 

The shrill boom of an Irish accent breaks Harry out of his flirty stupor, the sound bounding up the stairs of his flat and echoing off the tiles in his bathroom. “Harry, did you fucking desicate up there, you prick?!”

The vampire’s head snaps to the side towards where the sudden intrusion is originating, clearing his throat softly before answering, mostly to anchor himself back into the present. He’d been too busy floating in a daydream bubble to give his friends any proper attention. “I’m on my way down!”

Harry flicks off the light switch to his master bathroom, heading into his dimly lit bedroom and scooping up his wallet from its usual spot on top of the dresser. He tucks it into the wide front pocket of his slacks along with his cell phone, rounding the king-sized mattress at the center of his space, footsteps muffled by the thick maroon carpeting across the ground. He stops under the doorframe, giving his room one last calculating glance to make sure he isn’t leaving anything important behind. Once the creature is sure he’s set, he reaches over and slides the switch meter all the way down until the hanging lamps on the ceiling fade to black. 

Harry clambers down the glass and metal staircase, passing the collection of original paintings organized across the expanse of the largest wall in his home. His friends spot him from the huge couch once he’s halfway down the steps, and of course Niall is the first to make his presence audible.

“Fucking finally.” The blue-eyed vampire groans in exasperation, shooting up from his seat beside Xander, arms falling across his lean chest. “I thought you’d died. Really died.”

Harry dismounts the last stair carefully, heeled boots making a soft clicking sound against the polished light-wash wood of his floorboards. He pushes a few rogue curls out of his eyes, the corners of his mouth jilting upwards teasingly as he regards the fellow immortal. “If I have to keep staring at that shitty paisley button-up you’re wearing, I just might.”  

Niall’s irritated expression shatters into one of sheer hurt, hands fumbling with the silk fabric of his shirt, lips melting into a pained pout as he contemplates it sadly. His tone comes out whiney and defensive. “Hey! I really like this one!”

Harry side-steps the boy, giving him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Your fashion sense makes me question my friendship with you.”

Niall’s face pinches with anger, thick brows furrowing as he roughly swats the brunette’s wrist away. “And your dickhead attitude makes me question mine.” 

Harry’s jade eyes dance with evil glee as he returns his palm to where it had been resting before to give a curt squeeze, his rings playfully digging into the muscle beneath Niall’s top. “And yet here you are, sitting on my couch, waiting to get into my car. Funny how that works, innit? We benefit from one another. Mutualism at its finest.”

The Irish man shrugs himself free of his friend’s hold once again, glaring at him with darkening eyes, but there’s no true malice behind it. “More like parasitism.” 

“So are you two gonna kiss now or what?” Mitch’s soft, mocking voice butts in as he drifts up beside Niall, hands tucked into the pockets of his dark denim straight jeans and his long hair tied back into a low ponytail. He’s wearing a light-wash Rolling Stones t-shirt he’d gotten at a concert he and Harry had attended back in the eighties, along with a pair of scuffed up sneakers. Pretty casual for a club— too casual, in Harry’s opinion. “The sexual tension is killing the audience.” 

The green-eyed boy cranes his sight back onto Niall, raising his eyebrows in question and puckering his lips. “What d’you say, Ni? Wanna kiss this little disagreement better? I’m down.”

The pale young man makes a gagging noise, stepping away. “Don’t know where your mouth’s been. But if your bed fellows have anything to say about it, it’s nowhere good. I’m going to respectfully decline.” 

“There was absolutely nothing respectful in that response.” Adam chimes in, chuckling as he bumps Niall’s shoulder with his own, hands clasped casually behind his back. “You need to work on your people skills.”

“My people skills are fine.” Niall quips back sarcastically. “Harry just isn’t a person, he’s a demon.” 

“Technically, we all are.” The curly-haired vampire points out, walking over to his matte leather couch and retrieving a pin-striped, grey-black fitted blazer from its backrest. He tosses the jacket over his shoulders, shrugging it on and fixing the material over his torso, the curves of the piece accentuating the strong muscles of his back and the dip of his slender waist. “I just don’t care to hide it, really. Especially not when it comes to Niall’s taste in clothes. Which is rubbish, by the way. If that wasn’t clear before.”

“It was.” Niall deadpans, gaze half-lidded and petty.

Harry fixes the sleeves of his coat around his forearms, smoothing out any wrinkles and buttoning the cuffs. He momentarily ducks into the kitchen, his enhanced eyesight spotting the small digital time-stamp of the oven even from across the room. He has less than thirteen minutes before he has to be at Y/N’s flat. He should’ve suggested a longer time span.

Harry turns back around to fully face his crew, situating his collar into place by folding it along the back of his neck, appraising their expectant appearances. They’re all waiting for him. He’s the one driving, after all. 

The immortal clears his throat, hands dropping to pat at his blazer pocket, making sure that his keys are in his possession. He sighs lightly through his nose, a knowing grin trying to force its way onto his lips but he keeps it at bay, wanting to maintain a straight expression to garner less backlash for the news he’s about to break. 

“I’m not going.”

The pause that fills the atmosphere and the blank faces his friends dote are almost comical. Harry bats his eyelashes at them without a single twitch or jerk of his features. He wants them to understand he’s being serious.

After at least ten heartbeats— a guess, considering no one in the room has one to provide an accurate measurement— a raging exclamation explodes from behind the other three vampires in front of him. 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

Harry watches in mild amusement as Xander stomps up from behind the group, shouldering between Mitch and Adam and sticking him with a glower dark enough to instill fear in any living being. But Harry is hardly living, and he’s definitely not scared of a vampire who’s practically a newborn. Xander’s the youngest of them in terms of the immortality scale— he’d transitioned back in nineteen ninety-six when he was thirty, which gives the illusion that he’s older when in reality, he isn’t— so Harry’s strength easily outmatches his. Xander is basically the puppy of the circle, and he’s certainly yappy and annoying enough to support that title. His lack of age and wisdom is also probably why he’s the most explosive. 

Harry kinks an eyebrow up at the taller, tanned man, looping only one button through its designated hole in the middle of his jacket. That will allow him to show off what lies beneath it while also making sure the article won’t be a pest in the windy California night. “I’m not kidding. Something else came up that...peaked my interest.”

Xander’s fists momentarily clench by his sides and he then folds his arms across his lightly heaving chest, trying to hide his anger away along the insides of his elbows. He spits his words through gritted teeth, attempting to keep his cadence level. “What could have possibly come up so late that you only let use know after we waited for you for over an hour?”

Harry can’t stop himself from smirking this time around, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards with condescension. The statement that he produces is all too familiar to Xander, given that it mirrors the reply he had used on Harry exactly a week ago, when the leader of the group had asked him what his intentions were once they’d gotten inside their club for the night. “I have a date.”  

Xander’s entire face flushes a faint shade of cherry red. His forearms tighten across his body, tone more strained than before as he actively wills himself to remain calm. “A date?”

The shorter vampire smiles at him with fake innocence, working his every nerve like it’s his job. Harry doesn’t know why, but pissing Xander off is always such a delectable pastime. “Yup. With a girl I met last week, actually.”

“You don’t go on dates.” Niall pipes up, looking around at the other men in the room in confusion, almost as if his comment should be obvious. “You rarely even spend the night. Said so yourself.” 

Harry shrugs one shoulder indifferently, checking his reflection in the closest section of the glass wall that overlooks the city skyline, the lights of the cars and buildings below twinkling otherworldly. “I guess it’s less a date and more a booty-call, to be honest. I only agreed ‘cause it’s easier than having to drag my ass to that horrid club you chose to spend hours trying to find someone. This meal’s already prim, proper, and served. And I know for a fact I’ll enjoy it, so there’s no real harm.” 

He turns back to Xander, the man’s peeved reaction tickling him more than he thought it would. “What was that you said last time, Xanny?”

“I told you to stop calling me that.”

“Oh, yeah! I'm just grabbing a to-go box for my already prepped meal.”

Harry’s friend’s cheeks dye a deeper shade of crimson, dark veins webbing across the iridescent whites of his eyes for a flickering second. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

Harry counters the angry expression with a bright smile, his dialect dripping with arrogance. “Girls dig it. And you seemed to dig it, too, if I recall correctly. Remember? You might not. Post-orgasm amnesia and all that.” 

Xander takes a measured inhale, releasing it slowly and allowing his anger to ebb away gradually, ignoring Harry’s blast from the past. His next question is physically directed towards their ex-chauffeur, but is truly aimed at the gang as a whole. “Who’s going to take us, then?”

The curly-haired vampire shrugs his shoulders once again, uninterested in the topic that is quickly growing old. “You could take Niall’s car. Problem solved.”

The whole clique lives in the same condo complex, mostly due to convenience. It’s already tricky for vampires to find others of their kind, so it’s a miracle that they’d all managed to end up together in the first place. And it’s an even bigger miracle that they got along well enough to form a tight-knit coven, which is the closest thing any of them now have to family. Living in close proximity is the ideal way of maintaining that rare bond, plus it allows them to help each other in staying safe and keeping their urges in line. 

Since they all live in the same building, Niall’s car is in the garage right beside Harry’s, so transportation shouldn’t be an issue. They just always take his vehicle because he’s the only one that actually enjoys driving. 

“Are you mental? Like actually, genuinely insane?” Xander sputters in appalled shock. “Niall drives like a lunatic!” 

“Oi, piss off! Maybe you should learn to drive then, huh? Instead of having all those guys you shag take you everywhere.”

Xander ignores Niall’s insult, putting his palms up in disgust, backing away. “I refuse to get in a car with him behind the wheel. Dying once was good enough for me.”

“Did I miss the memo?” Niall snaps, glimpsing around at all the monsters standing around him, attitude tight with annoyance. “Y’know, the one where you all just decided to shit on me tonight?”

Harry bursts into an airy cackle, listing his head to the side as he gives Niall a humorous once-over, his dangly cross earring dabbing across the crisp cut of his coat’s shoulder blade. “You don’t necessarily make it hard, love.” 

Niall’s jaw clenches as he narrows his icy blue eyes. “Xander’s right— you are an asshole.”

“Yeah, well, he’s also right about you driving like you’re on tranquilizers.” Adam sighs, running a palm up his face, using his index finger and thumb to massage either of his temples, despite the fact that they lack a pulse. “I guess I could drive? I hate it, but Mitch hates it more, so I’m our best bet. Better than Road Runner over here.” 

“Yeah, just keep talking about me like I’m not present. That’s fine. I’m spitting venom in all your drinks tonight.” 

“Well,” Harry boasts abruptly, interrupting the game of verbal ping-pong happening in front of him, taking a quick peek at his phone for the time. As much as he loves causing some good-natured chaos between his friends, he has less than ten minutes to make it to Y/N’s apartment on time and traffic’s a bitch at this hour. “I have nothing to do with this anymore, so I’m just gonna take my leave. You lot have fun figuring this out.” 

He swivels around on his heel, striding away with his usual haughty air straightening his back, heading towards the corridor that leads to the front entrance of the apartment. The softly lit hallway swallows his silhouette and for the first time since he’d left the secluded confines of his bathroom, he allows a giddy smile of excitement to tweak his lips. Just for a second and not a moment longer. If his friends had seen it, they would’ve taken the piss.

Niall’s accent cuts through the air, prickling at his ears as the glossy, cold doorknob comes into contact with his even colder fingers. “I can’t believe you’d abandon us just to get laid!”

“Lock the door on your way out!” 

///

When a sharp knock echoes across Y/N’s flat, she nearly screams. 

Her nerves have been on edge since the last text she’d received; only after reading that final cheeky message had the reality of the situation hit. 

This isn’t her. This isn’t her at all.

Inviting a total stranger into her home and into her bed was something she’d never experienced before last week. One night stands were very few and very far for her— she could count all the ones she’d had on a single hand, and even then they had been with people she had known to some extent— and it was due to the fact that this type of situation is slathered in mystery and unsureness. Giving herself up in such an intimate manner to someone she wasn’t acquainted to in some shape or form…It comes with a certain amount of risk, both physically and emotionally, which is why she hardly ever engaged in such activities before Harry.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with having that type of exhilarating fun in your life— she praises the women who can go around so confidently and express their sexuality however they please— but she herself had been raised under a roof that was moderate and conservative, and that environment had molded her into the person she had grown up to be. Those traditional concepts ran through the core of her being, and no matter how hard she tried to shake them, they refused to break loose. They weighed on her shoulders, constantly making her second-guess her motives and desires, most of which go against the status quo that had been implemented into her brain from a young age. This— whatever this is— is a huge step for her; it’s the first attempt she’s made to take over her own life and go against the grain she’d been accustomed to her whole existence. 

From the second Y/N had arrived here in Los Angeles and set a foot off the plane, she had been alone. Everyone who cared for her was miles and miles away and she was starting a new chapter on a completely blank page, with no one to guide her hand as she wrote. For the two months she’d spent settling in and trying to meld into her new environment, she had gone at it with a sense of emptiness hollowing the pit of her stomach. No one was there to comfort her during the rough patches, and no one cared enough yet to assure her that things would turn out alright. No one had bothered to tell her she was safe and that nothing would hurt her. No one made themselves available the way people did back home. 

That is, until she met Harry seven days ago. 

Their encounter had been purely for sexual gratification, but during that short time they shared, she vividly remembered him telling her that she could trust him. It was a preposterous statement to make— asking someone to trust you when you didn’t even know their last name— but the gaze in his emerald eyes had seemed so genuine and encouraging, and his voice had been so gentle and soothing, and his touch had been so delicate and consoling...That strange young man— with the pretty curls, intriguing tattoos, and dazzling smile— had somehow managed to untie the knot of unease that had been sitting in her belly for the last couple of weeks. She’s stumped on how he’d managed to wriggle it free; the only thing she can effectively say took a part in it was his eyes. There was just such a glass-like quality to them that reminded her of a mirror. It was like they were reflecting all her emotions back at her, using their familiarity to compel her into a state of mental peace. She’d appreciated it more than she’d let on. 

Something tells Y/N that this is the reason she had contacted him. She wanted to feel that safety net he had provided her with once again. She didn’t need an emotional connection from Harry, she just needed a bit of mental relief. She wanted something to take her mind off all her troubles. Something to distract her, even if it was only for a few hours. And with the way Harry had handled her last time, she knows he’s more than capable of helping her reach those goals. 

Y/N doesn’t think anyone has ever made her feel how Harry had that semi-drunken Friday night. She’d been with a few other people before, and had even been in a long-term relationship with someone she had once thought would end up being her husband, but none of those men came close to this peculiar stranger. 

In the town she was from, it was typical for people to marry their high school sweethearts. It was a small region where everyone either knew one another or knew of one another, so it wasn’t difficult to find someone that could fit into the role that needed to be filled. The person she had found was a boy by the name of Bradley, who she had begun to date their freshman year of high school. 

They’d met through mutual friends and he’d invited her to their first ever homecoming dance, where she had felt like everything was falling into place almost like in a movie. He was cute, with hazel eyes, sun-bleached hair, and freckles that jolted every time he laughed. He was polite, funny, and treated her with enough respect and dignity to keep her hooked for a while. Things had gone pretty well the four years they were together in high school; their relationship wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exciting either. It was just...secure. He was there, and he was willing to give her his attention, and that’s all that really mattered to her at the time. She thought that was all she needed. 

Then graduation came and went, and so did Bradley. He left for college, set on the intention that they would make long distance work somehow. To keep a long story short, it hadn’t worked out how they expected. As the months passed, she noticed he started to separate himself from her more and more. The video chats are what disappeared first; what used to be a daily FaceTime call turned into a weekly one and then, if she was lucky, a monthly one. Phone calls followed the same fate. Texting became a chore rather than something to look forward to and she could feel him slipping, which left her feeling helpless because he was in another state, far away and too out of reach to appropriately solve anything. Energized conversations slowly faltered into five-word messages, which eventually teetered into barely any communication at all. 

When Y/N heard the news that he’d cheated on her, it didn’t even come from him. It came from his roommate. Things ended swiftly after that, which was the saddest thing of all. Almost five years of her life, completely gone to waste. Handling the pain was a whole other misery she’d had to shoulder, alongside the embarrassment and humiliation, which stemmed from the fact that she was aware her peers had heard about the whole ordeal. With the help of her family and friends, she’d eventually gotten over the heartbreak. The weird thing is, she doesn’t think she loved him. She loved the idea of him— loved that he represented everything she had been raised to seek in a relationship. They’d grown up together, their families knew one another, they shared the same friends, they had common hobbies. It was like a match made in heaven, though after it broke off, she quickly came to the realization that it hadn’t been made in heaven at all. Made in a test tube was a more fitting analogy. 

Y/N’s love life after that painfully slow cliche disaster consisted of random boys around town she recognized from school and work. The hook-ups were fleeting and hardly satisfying, but at least they were something. She soon found out that she could do better on her own, but whenever she craved someone else’s touch, she was grateful to have anyone she could get. She’d mainly stuck to the same guys for the sake of consistency; it was easier having people she already knew how to please and vice versa, though she’ll admit it was mostly a one way street. Men can be so clueless sometimes that it’d be funny if it wasn’t so irritating. 

Then Y/N had skipped town and closed off sexually for a while. She had stayed shut down until Harry had walked into her life with that stupid sly smirk and his unorthodox— yet surprisingly attractive—fashion sense, sipping straight tequila like a fucking psycho from the cup in his jeweled fingers. He’d waltzed right onto the stool beside her at the bar, right out of the club with her hand in his, and then right past the doorframe of her apartment, kindly gifting her the best sex of her entire life. He’d worked her every desire with a certain skill and awareness she had never experienced (not from any of her past lovers, and definitely not from Bradley’s vanilla tendencies), dismantling her body as if he’d known her for decades, leaving her sore and aching in a way she didn’t know was humanly possible.

And now here Y/N is, pacing back and forth from her small living room to her even smaller kitchen, chewing along the knuckle of her forefinger as she tries to tie down the jitters running amuck in her belly. 

She repeatedly smooths down the dress she’s wearing, claiming that it’s to get rid of the wrinkles, but in truth, it’s to wipe the dampness from her palms. The outfit had been a birthday present from her cousin the year before and she’s rarely worn it since the move, which is a direct result of her lack of socializing. She only ever really leaves her home for groceries and to attend work, neither of which call for a pretty sundress and strappy tan sandals. Despite having gone out to the club a few times, the dress doesn’t fit that scene either. LA gets a bit chilly at night and she has yet to grow accustomed to the city’s weather. Wearing this after-hours would surely end with her acquiring a mild case of hypothermia. 

The garment is a light blue baby doll design, littered with tiny daffodil prints of varying shapes and colors. It stops about three-fourths down her thigh, fluttering outwards in layered flares, its bandeau-style top held in place by thin straps of the same fabric. She figured she’d deck herself out nicely; from the one interaction she’d had with Harry, she can tell he’s a person of refined taste. It was evident in his expensive clothing and his wide variety of precious rings. She doesn’t know why, but there’s a toiling in the pit of her tummy urging to impress him. 

Y/N’s hair has been freshly washed and blow-dried, her legs thoroughly shaved into silk, and she’d applied a light layer of makeup, done in anticipation that anything heavier would likely end up smeared across her face— a result of sweat and Harry’s dominant persona. Simply reflecting on his commanding sensual presence makes her self-pedicured toes curl in her sandals. 

Y/N hadn’t been sure on how to prepare for his arrival. She wasn’t versed in advanced hook-up culture— her raunchiest experience was in the backseat of someone's 2004 Toyota Corolla. She doesn’t want to get this wrong. Going overboard would make him feel smothered and awkward, but underselling would give him the impression that she doesn’t have any respect for him, save for what lies between his legs. Those are the last two things she wants him to gather from this. 

She’d settled for pulling out a bottle of red wine that had been a house-warming present from the landlord. Not too shabby, but not too loud. And who doesn’t enjoy a cup of half-decent wine on a Friday evening, right?

Y/N had just finished arranging two glasses— which she’d found at the thrift shop down the street for a steal— onto the counter of her kitchen when that swift rapping sound had broken through the tense air of her home, echoing from the front door and causing a yelp to lodge in her throat. 

Ice shoots through her veins. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She takes a handful of penetrating breaths, concentrating on how the cool air feels expanding her lungs. The technique aids in calming some of her nerves, grounding her just enough that she can will herself to move without her knees giving out. Y/N tentatively makes her way down the corridor that leads to her front door, heart hammering against her ribs. She shouldn’t be this riled up— he’s literally already been inside her. There’s pretty much nothing she can hide from him at this point. 

On the other side of the door, Harry is blissfully ignorant to the panic attack threatening to overcome Y/N. 

The vampire leans his shoulder against the frame of the somewhat raggedy door, arms crossed over his thick chest as his gaze bounces judgmentally around all the patches of peeling paint. He chews at a piece of gum— which he’d popped into his mouth on the drive over to make sure he tastes as delectable as always— in slow, lazy motions, jaw flexing as he unconsciously pops an array of tiny bubbles with his teeth, waiting for Y/N to emerge. 

Harry glances up at the flickering light bulb in the hallway of the complex, nose scrunching in distaste at the annoying flashing. She really needs to get a better place, he thinks, reaching up and dragging the pad of his middle finger along the curve of his bottom lip, absentmindedly wiping off a bit of extra chapstick that had colored outside the lines when he’d applied it. He always tries to keep his mouth soft, especially when he knows he’s going to be using it. Plus, the vanilla bean flavor pairs well with mint. 

The sound of a seal cracking open yanks his attention, the door before him slowly swinging inwards. Cool air pours from inside, bathing him in a scent that his frenzied instincts had been subconsciously craving the last couple of days. Harry cranes his neck over his shoulder, spitting his gum out and not bothering to watch where it lands. He turns back just as Y/N’s familiar figure comes into view.

The first thing he notices is the dress. 

Fuck, the dress. 

It’s nothing too fancy, just a casual sundress, but it fits her like it was made specifically for the purpose of testing his restraint. He rakes his gaze up and down her body shamelessly, much like he had on the night they met. 

The light blue background and rainbow miniature floral print compliments her skin tone nicely, making it stand out below the dingy light hanging above their heads. The piece lands about halfway down her thigh, fanning around her legs slightly in frilly folds, tempting him with that bit of innocent exposure. An image of him ripping the dress up her thighs races across the forefront of his mind and he can feel his fangs momentarily break through his gums.  

As Harry draws his sight upwards, the minimal throbbing between his legs only amplifies. The dress cinches just below her bust, accentuating her chest, and he comes to the painful realization that she’s not wearing a bra underneath; she doesn’t need it due to the bralette-like top. One simple tug of his index finger would leave her completely bare and that conclusion causes a sweltering itch to erupt along the back of his throat.

Harry’s irises finally come to rest on her face, finding that the rest of the human girl’s look appears just as it had last week. Minimal makeup, no accessories, and the smell of chamomile shampoo strung through her hair, though it’s easily smothered by her natural scent of flowers and sugar. He also finds that while he had been blatantly undressing her with his eyes, she had delighted herself in doing the same. Watching her gawk at him hungrily caresses his ego immensely, evident in how the edges of his mouth kink. 

Y/N doesn’t mean to ogle, she really doesn’t. But from the instant he’d come into view, standing there propped against her threshold with his ankles crossed and his lean arms folded over his strong chest, she couldn’t control it. He just looks so fucking good— better than last time, which she didn’t think was plausible— and she gets the feeling that he knows he looks borderline godly. 

Harry’s clad in what appears to be a sheer mesh flouncy button-up with holographic threads speckled through the material, shimmering under the dim atmosphere of the hallway. The last three holes of the shirt are left open, exposing his tanned pectorals and thoroughly inked chest. Last time they had been together, she’d been too distracted by the aching between her thighs to properly notice the swallow tattoos along his collarbones and the giant butterfly at the crest of his stomach. But now, she stares at them freely as they expand and contract with his easy breaths, her mouth beginning to water. 

The blouse is covered by a dark pinstriped blazer, the crisp shoulder blades of the jacket complimenting his broad frame as the curves dip along his waist alluringly. The loose top is tucked in along the brim of yet another pair of high-waisted trousers, though they are creme-colored instead of copper. The ironed pants give way to a pair of glossy black heeled boots, which are bedazzled along the back of the two-inch elevation, the jewels twinkling in the shape of a word that she can’t make out at this angle. 

Harry’s collection of luxurious rings and necklaces adorn their usual spots and she gets the impression that he never leaves home without them. His gold cross earring sways back and forth lightly, her warped reflection cast across its surface and staring back at her numbly. 

Harry breaks through the haze his physique had cast on her brain.

“Nice to see you again, Disco Ball.” 

A shiver slithers down her spine at the deep baritone of his voice, English accent slathered across every syllable and dripping with suggestive teasing. She’d forgotten how sultry he sounds, even when he’s not actively striving for it. 

Y/N’s attention jets up from where it had been pasted to his body, the expression across his handsome features one of snarky self-assurance, which tells her she’d been caught. Indents cave into his cheeks, twitching with glee as he bats his lashes slowly, eyes going half-lidded in amusement. He looks so sinful with those shiny ringlets curling around his small ears, framing his sharp jaw and kissing the nape of his neck, alongside those raspberry red lips and the emerald hue sparkling around his pupils. She can’t tear herself away.

After an elongated second of silence on her part, Harry raises one of his sculpted brows expectantly, letting her know he’s waiting for a response. Heat overflows Y/N’s cheeks and buzzes across the shells of her ears.

“H-Hi. Uh— Nice to see you. Too. Nice to see you, too.”

An odd sense of déjà vu flags in the back of her skull and she’s reminded that this is exactly how they’d met the first time around— with her making an utter fool of herself, much to his entertainment.

The crescent above his top lip curves upwards as a result of his grin widening. He taps the tip of his elegant shoe patiently against the cement ground, arms shifting against his chest and she can see the way his biceps strain the fabric of his coat. He’s just so fit.  

Harry’s tone comes out playful and lighthearted. He doesn’t need to be invited in again since she’s already explicitly allowed him in before, but he asks anyways, out of courtesy. “Can I come in? Or are you planning on taking me dancing or summat?”

The laugh that escapes Y/N is dense with a nervous edge, but it’s better than a stuttering jumble of incoherent words. She moves out of the way, flushing her back to the wall of the tiny entrance corridor and leaving just enough room for him to squeeze by. “Yes, come on in! Sorry.” 

“You’re alright, darling.” The tall vampire steps forward into the mortal’s home, turning sideways as he does so, chest pressing against her own. He glances down at her lips for a flash of a moment, then back to her eyes. “Thank you.”

Y/N’s grip on her doorknob tightens. She looks up at him through her lashes, bottom lip barely trembling. “No problem. Thanks for coming over on such short notice.” 

Harry runs his tongue across his teeth, pressing it to the inside of cheek as he absorbs the mildly erotic image of Y/N decked out in a frilly dress, glancing up at him shyly as her chest heaves slightly against his own. “Well, I couldn’t leave you to handle that pesky wood paneling all on your own, now could I?”

A smile ghosts over her delicate lips as she shuts the door and locks it, not breaking eye contact. “How generous of you. My hero.” 

Far from it, love.

Y/N slips out from where Harry had wedged her to the wall, beckoning him after her with a gentle turn of her head. The creature tucks his hands into his front pockets, following her down the narrow stretch. They drift past her room (he makes sure not to look in and spare himself the horror of seeing that dumb tapestry) and past her bathroom, into the expanse of her living area. It’s just as small and cozy as he remembers it and he can’t stop himself from scoffing lightly as his sight drifts over the couch. Good memories. 

“Would you like some wine?” Y/N’s question carries softly from inside her kitchen. She’s already gripping the glass bottle in her hand, attempting to pull out the cork, and she hadn’t thought of needing a wine-opener until now. Fuck. 

Harry makes his way to join her, passing underneath the archway and taking the spot across from the girl. He leans his lower back on the counter, hands remaining perched casually in his slacks. “I’d love some.”

“Great.” She huffs, twisting stubbornly at the spongy cap with all the might she can muster, the rough surface scratching her palm. “Let me just— just get this open.”

Harry’s head lists sideways as he wards off a chuckle. “Want some help?” 

Y/N releases an irritated grunt, shoulders slumping a tad as she fails to get the top loose. She holds out the bottle towards her visitor, titling it from side to side in surrender. “Be my guest.” 

The immortal pulls his hands out from his pockets, taking the container from her grasp and the human notices how they dwarf the bottle. It shouldn’t be hot, but it is. 

Harry wraps his ring-clad digits around the cork, giving it one easy twist and Y/N’s jaw nearly falls off as she hears a pop tinge the air. Harry offers her the wine and cap in return, licking his lips to avoid laughing in her face. Supernatural strength always delivers. 

“How…?” Y/N’s owlish eyes flicker back and forth between Harry’s cocky expression and the object in his hands. “How did you even...?”

The brunette gives her a nonchalant shrug. “Guess you loosened it up for me, Thor.” 

She gingerly takes the beverage and its accompaniment from his outstretched palms, blinking at him in mild shock. Her slight unease is swiftly phased out, however; a result of his cute banter. It was probably just a lucky coincidence. “I guess so.”

Y/N pours out two glasses of the dark red liquid, handing one to Harry, feeling her heart skip a beat when he wraps his hold around the stout flute and their fingers brush. He stays like that for a heartbeat, with his icy digits sifted between hers, the amber specks in his irises glittering like diamonds. Then, the moment is over and he pulls away slowly, guiding his drink up to his plush lips. She hates how he can leave her so breathless without a single hitch. 

The girl watches as Harry takes a leisurely sip of the alcohol, his gaze dancing around her kitchen curiously as she finishes recapping the bottle and scooting it into the corner of the counter. 

A thought dawns on her as soon as she focuses back onto the boy before her. Harry looks weird. He looks so weird standing in her small, dingy kitchen with its worn wooden cabinets and fake marble tabletop. He looks so out of place, dressed head to toe in designer brands and fancy fabrics, hands and neck decorated with posh jewelry, and the unmistakable smell of an expensive cologne wafting from his masculine throat. And he most certainly is out of place when it comes to who he’s associating with. He’s out of Y/N’s league, not only physically, but in his behaviors, as well. It’s so obvious it almost hurts. 

Yet here Harry is, looking polished and stylish, while she’s sporting a mere sundress that was probably bought off the clearance rack at Kohl’s. It just doesn’t mix, and she finds herself wondering why he’d chosen her in the first place. When she had voiced similar concerns the day they’d slept together, he had told her it was because she was timid and he wanted to see if he could break through that. But Y/N isn’t stupid. There has to be some other reason. Why else would a rich bachelor pay attention to a small-town runaway in a measly floral—

“I like your dress.”

Y/N glances up at Harry from where her mind had fallen, startled by the sudden interference in her dark thoughts. She’d been tracing across the slope of his structured jaw, mesmerized by how it would grow taut every time he swallowed down a gulp of his beverage. 

She had ambled so deep in her head, she barely manages to mutter a passable answer. “Oh, thank you! I’ve had it for a bit, but I barely wear it.”

The edges of the vampire’s mouth quirk around the rim of his glass, creases wrinkling along the corners of his bright eyes. “It suits you nicely. A beautiful dress on a beautiful girl.” 

Y/N’s belly somersaults, a sheepish giggle running along the undercurrent of her next mumble, so low it’s hardly audible. “Thank you. Again. Thought I’d bring it out for a special occasion.” 

Harry’s eyebrows jump upwards at her comment. He draws his wine glass from between his lips, resting it against his hard stomach and gifting the human a cheeky once-over. “So I’m a special occasion, now, am I?”

Y/N looks down at the straps of her sandals, fighting off a grin. She shrugs one shoulder offhandedly, bringing her cup to her mouth and taking a long drag of the sweet liquor, feeling it wash across her tongue and leave a warm glow in her tummy. “Maybe.” 

Harry hums teasingly in his throat, tapping his pinky pensively along the bottom of his glass, opal ring clinking against the crystalline surface. The color of his drink makes the black polish on his nails stand out almost artistically. “I’ll take any compliment I can get, especially from those pretty lips.”

Another wave of heat flushes across the apples of Y/N’s cheeks. “You really know how to flatter a girl, don’t you?”

The monster tips back another swig of wine, savoring the notes of wild cherry and pomegranate in its palate. Not bad, especially for what he can tell is a ten dollar bottle. 

He cocks his head to the side, irises glitzing knowingly amidst his long lashes. “I think we’re both aware that I most certainly know how to flatter a girl.” 

Y/N’s stare snaps up to lock with his, the faintest whimper stringing her vocal chords. If it wasn’t for Harry’s heightened hearing, he would have never known it’d happened. But he does, and he can feel the throb between his thighs spike as a result. The sounds she makes are just as wonderful as he remembers.

The sexual tension suspending in the room is practically palpable. After a bundle of her heartbeats— which is gradually rising in intensity— echo in his ears, he decides to speak up again. 

“I’ve been thinking about you.” 

The statement can be taken into so many different contexts and that’s why Harry chose it. She could interpret it as innocent admiration on behalf of a smitten lover, or as another layer of sensual praise. It’s versatile, successful either way. 

Y/N blinks at him exactly three times in surprise. “You have?”

She’d been thinking about him, too. Non-stop. And now that she knows it’s mutual, she doesn’t feel so nervous anymore. It reassures her that they’re on the same page of this messy novel written about their undefined association. Or that they are at least within the same chapter.  

Harry bobs his head in confirmation, indulging another sip of wine, letting it filter through his taste buds slowly. His glass is almost empty. “Mmhm. Walked past this candle store at the mall the other day and they had one burning that smelled just like you.”

His confession is sweet and it makes the tips of her fingers tingle. Y/N copies his action, taking another gulp of her beverage, attitude airy and inquisitive. “Is that so? And what do I smell like?”

Harry’s response is immediate and confident, almost as if he’s spent time thinking on the subject prior to today. “Honey and lavender.” 

Y/N nods her head in wonder, laughing gently. “That’s oddly specific.” 

Harry feels like he’s been smacked between the eyes with an iron rod. That was an idiot move. Absolutely moronic. 

He just now comes to terms with how intimate the comment he’d made had been. It suggests that he’s pondered on this topic, which gives the impression that he could be more interested in her than he actually is. He doesn’t need this loose connection turning into some type of cliche romantic comedy; he doesn’t have the space, patience, or emotional stability for it. And certainly not with someone he’s only fucked once. 

The vampire clears his throat, figuring that he can clean up this metaphorical spill by throwing a bit of crudeness at it. “Then yesterday I had a donut, yeah? One of those cream-filled ones. And when I took a bite of it, all the cream just came oozing out and I was like, ‘hm, this reminds me of someone…’”

The slightly endeared expression on Y/N’s face crumbles to dust, voice shrill and indignant at his lewd analogy. “You fucking perv!” 

Harry sputters into a round of boyish cackling, nearly wheezing when her foot reaches over and strikes him on the shin. He clasps over his stomach with his free hand, head falling back in glee as her features pinch in embarrassed disgust. He manages to speak between bursts of giggles, water gathering along his tear ducts due to how hard he’s laughing. “I’m just being honest!”  

“No, you’re being a gross little fourteen year old asshole!” Y/N exclaims incredulously, but she can’t keep herself from joining in on his boasts of amusement. 

His laughter is contagious. It’s loud and unapologetic in a manner she rarely sees in anyone and he just looks really fucking cute with his dimples jolting and smile lines creasing. It’s hard to stay mad at him, though it’s not like she’d truly been upset in the first place. 

Harry reigns himself in, inhaling deep breaths and wiping at his tears with the back of his large hand as a joyful groan rumbles in his chest. A few more giggles sneak out when he sees Y/N’s flat expression, but he manages to stifle the rest. His tone is jesting, poking fun. “If it makes you feel any better, I was respectful enough to wipe the donut down with a napkin, as well.” 

“Fuck off.”

Harry grins down snidely at the last inch or so of alcohol left in his glass, bringing it to his mouth and downing it all in one go. He places the cup down carefully on the counter behind him, his arms finding their way across his stomach, fingertips momentarily tapping at his elbows. He appraises a playfully grouchy Y/N, pursing his lips to hide a smirk. 

He watches as she takes another small taste from her drink, her pulse lulled by its contents. She’s not drunk by any means— not even buzzed— but it had helped calm the tittering in her throat that Harry had been able to detect earlier. She’s relaxed now, all anxiousness washed away by the small serving of liquor and his inappropriate (and extremely funny, if he does say so himself) jokes. 

The creature thinks it’s proper time he gets what he came for. 

“I really am glad you reached out, though.” Harry starts, an easygoing smile nudging across his alcohol-swollen mouth. “Truly.” 

Y/N snorts sarcastically, attempting to hide how his comment had made her pulse sharpen. He’d heard it anyways. “Oh, are you? Truly?”

Harry pushes himself off the edge of the counter, slowly sauntering over to Y/N, who instinctively draws back further against the tabletop behind her. She ogles at him from below heavy lashes, glass still perched between her tinted lips, excited anticipation written all over her body language. He can practically feel the heat radiating off her, rising a few notches the closer he gets. 

“Yeah.” Harry’s arms unfold, one stretching over her shoulder to prop his palm against the cupboard behind her head, the other fiddling with the seam of his blazer. He slides his forefinger and thumb along the single buttoned hole, giving it a rough tug and allowing his jacket to spring open. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that much fun interior designing with anyone. Not for a while.” 

Y/N glimpses down at where his coat had parted, drinking up the sight of his lean torso behind the see-through material of his shirt. Now that he’s nearly pressed against her, his scent is stronger than before, burying her under smoky notes of vanilla and seasoned firewood. A familiar heat pools between her clasped thighs. 

When she pipes up, it’s shaky and whispered, covered in a dreamy undercurrent. “Yeah, me either. It felt...nice.”

Harry’s irises flash crimson for a millisecond, but she’s too occupied gawking at his tight stomach to notice. His dialect takes on a low, seductive twang, the breath of his words fanning across her face. All she can smell is wine, mint, and...vanilla chapstick? 

“It felt really nice.” 

Y/N’s view drags up to land on his lips. They look as soft and appetizing as last time, tempting her to just drop her flute onto the floor and replace it with his mouth. “Extremely nice.” 

An outside force suddenly tips her glass upwards and she realizes it’s Harry’s fingers. He nudges her cup until the liquid inside funnels towards her mouth, his intentions set on helping her finish it off. She drains the wine obediently, staring up at him dazed and moony, feeling a few drops escape along the sides of her mouth and tickle down her chin. The jade-eyed boy then gently pries the glass from her fingertips, reaching over and placing it inside her sink to be handled later. 

Y/N’s hands fall flat against his thick chest, feeling it rise and fall steadily below her grasp as he takes a step forward, their bodies completely flushing together. His palm trails up the exposed sliver of her thigh, diving a couple of inches below her dress and giving the outer area a hard squeeze. He doesn’t go any further; he won’t until she explicitly asks for it. He’s a prick about a lot of things, but never consent.

Harry leans down, running the tip of his cold nose along her clenched jaw, his warm tongue peeking out to collect the streams of wine that had dripped out. The contrast in sensations makes her knees buckle and what he murmurs hotly against her skin doesn’t help in calming those motions at all.

“Wouldn’t mind making you feel that nice again.” 

Y/N’s mind stalls, overwhelmed by his touch and smell. She can feel him sponging tender kisses at the corner of her mouth, and she can feel the palm of his hand massaging at her thigh needily. She can feel his breaths quickening in pace the longer he’s around her, and she can feel the foundation of a moan building in his lungs in the form of small vibrations, which run across her palms and twitch her fingers. She can feel everything; she’s never been more hyper-aware of her surroundings than now. And all because of this one mysterious young man. 

When Y/N finally speaks, Harry feels relief flood his system, though it is swiftly replaced by intense desire. 

“I wouldn’t mind it, either.” 

That’s full permission if he’s ever heard it. 

Harry’s other hand drops from its spot against the cupboard behind her, joining its partner on her opposite thigh. He coasts his palms fully below her flowy dress onto her hips, a lascivious simper crawling across his cheeks at the lack of extra fabric beneath her clothes. “No panties tonight?”

The human swallows heavily, shaking her head as she leans it back against the wooden cabinets, giving him access to her throat. At the sight, the vampire’s fangs protrude, cutting into the inside of his lower lip as venom fills his mouth. He wills himself to maintain control. It’s difficult, considering his sharp eyes can make out the chiseling of her arteries pumping blood just beneath her delicate skin, but he forces composure into his behavior nonetheless. With all of the lights on and Y/N completely sober, he knows he won’t get away with another mid-fuck stunt like the one he pulled last time they were in this position. 

Instead, he distracts himself with what he can draw from her at this very moment— another unbelievable orgasm. 

“Such a filthy little fucking thing.” Harry growls, smearing his lips down the center of her jugular, nipping love bites into her flesh but making sure not to split it open. “S’that how bad you wanted it when you texted me? So bad that you didn’t even bother to wear anything underneath?”

Y/N whines softly when he passes over a particularly tender spot along her neck, shuttering against his chest. “Y-Yes.” 

A low chuckle rolls from Harry’s wandering tongue as he hones in on the area that had coaxed such a delicious reaction. “Fuck, that was such a pretty noise. Are you sensitive here, baby?”

Y/N nods with fervor, running her touch up his pectorals and over his strong shoulders, diving under his coat and fisting at the mesh that strains across his muscular back. Her eyes roll closed, her next confession coming out in the form of a feathery sigh, legs parting wider for him to comfortably fit in between. “I just...I just need you.”

Harry eagerly accepts the invitation, sifting between her thighs and hiking them up onto his hips. The fact that he can suspend her so effortlessly, almost as if she weighs nothing, makes the pit of her tummy boil. “You need me now, d’you? How much, doll? Want you to tell me how much you missed my cock.” 

The young woman winces ever so slightly at the crude word and it amuses him to no end. “So fucking much, Harry.” 

He can confidently say his name has never sounded sweeter than when it trickles from Y/N’s tongue. 

When he speaks, it’s packed with all the pent up turmoil radiating deep in his abdomen. “Did you think about me the way I thought about you?”

Y/N’s reply falls breathily from her mouth without any hesitation. “Y-Yeah. Couldn’t get you out of my head.”

A cocky hum tinges the air on his behalf. “And why’s that?”

“Because…” The girl struggles to swallow, finding it difficult to match how easily brazen he can be. She pushes through. “Because you fucked me better than anyone else ever has.” 

The compliment is one Harry gets often, but for some inexplicable reason, it hits so much deeper coming from Y/N. “Mm. Poor baby just needed to get properly rawed, didn’t you?”

“Had no idea how badly I wanted it until you came along.” 

A dark chuckle rolls from the creature’s lips at her bluntness. He repeatedly passes his textured tongue over the pressure point on her throat, flames igniting in his chest when she releases another watery, desperate mewl. “God, look at you. Practically already dripping. Like it when I play with you like that?”

“Fuck, y-yes.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Please.”

And so Harry keeps going, and he doesn’t stop. Not at her neck, and not anywhere else. Not until she begs him to hours later, when he’s whittled three orgasms out of her trembling body, each one more intense than the last. 

The first one takes place right there on top of the kitchen counter. He boosts her up onto the table, bunching her pretty sundress around her quivering thighs— as he’d fantasized prior— while she fumbles with his trousers. He tends to her every breathy whimper as she eases him out of his briefs, marking his teeth all over her throat with the assurance that his blood will fade the bruises by morning. He tears his jacket down his broad shoulders, panting into her mouth as she undoes all the buttons that line his elegant iridescent shirt, moaning softly when she breaks their kiss to paint her hot lips down the expanse of his heaving chest and tight stomach. Y/N ducks down as far as her angle will allow, wanting to taste as much of his skin as she can. She wants to memorize its salty smoothness for as long as she lives. 

Harry watches her with bliss-drunken fondness twitching his mouth, head falling back to hang between his shoulders as a low, “Such a good girl.” rumbles from his throat. His ring-clad fingers tangle into her locks and scratch at her scalp lightly, strained exhales encouraging her to keep going as she delights herself with tainting love bites all over him. He yanks the girl back up by her roots, grabbing her hips and roughly scooting her forward towards him, clammy foreheads pressing together as he fixes to fill her up for the first time in what feels like eternity. 

The monster’s voice is as dominant and thick as she likes it. “Eyes up here. Want to see you come undone while I fuck you.” 

The way he spreads Y/N open makes her choke out a scream like nothing else she’s ever heard. Harry simply clamps one of his palms over her mouth, continuing to ram into her at a harsh stride, gasping against her ear with every thrust as she rakes her nails across his back. “Gotta keep that pretty mouth quiet. Thin walls.” 

The human feels like her heart is going to break through her ribs and what she doesn’t know is that with every passing beat, Harry feels it tenfold. And it’s driving him fucking insane— she drives him fucking insane. Especially when she looks at him with that glossy, begging gaze, biting into the mound of his hand as he slams his hips inside her so hard, the glasses in her cupboard shake. “Like it when I give it to you rough? Yeah, I thought so. Just like that? Harder? Say please…Christ, you’re a fucking angel.”

Y/N is dirty. So fucking filthy, and Harry loves every second of it. Loves that anything he throws out, she returns with as much enthusiasm, if not more. Loves that she can take his cock as hard as he’s willing to give it, which says a lot, considering his stamina and strength usually surpasses most humans. He’d met very few mortals who can match his sexual prowess and she happens to be one of them. She not only takes it, but pleads for more. She doesn’t just seek her own pleasure, but insists on delivering his own. And though they’re polars opposites at their core— she’s timid, physically standard, and boringly normal, whereas he’s confident, attractive, and unusually superior in every sense of the phrase— they fit together better than he’d ever care to admit. They’re perfectly compatible, down to their personalities and their intimate needs. 

As Harry stands there— fingertips leaving welts across her waist as he grunts brokenly against her throat, stretching her out like she was meant to take him this deep, her moans sounding like classical melodies to his ears— he thinks that maybe...maybe he’ll keep her around. A friends with benefits situation would be the most ideal. And to quote his own clever motto from before, it would be mutualism at its finest. 

The alliance would be nothing emotional; simply for the sake of providing each other with requited relief, as well as providing Harry with a convenient feeding arrangement. Neither of them would have to submit themselves to going to those terrible clubs, they both already know what the other enjoys, and the banter they share is pretty fulfilling. Plus, her blood is one of the sweetest he’s ever had. Whatever magic lies in her veins tides over his cravings in a fashion he’s never quite experienced. They both get what they want and don’t have to deal with the disasters of real commitment; neither are in a place in their lives where they can shoulder such a big responsibility. Harry is emotionally unavailable, as he has been for the past two centuries and as he intends to be for the next dozen. Y/N has just started anew in a place where she has so little to give and so much to lose, dating is the last thing on her mind. A casual no-strings-attached arrangement would be a perfect gift, bow and all.

And with the way they make each other cum multiple times that night— once on the counter, and twice on that trusty old couch— there’s not a single doubt in Harry’s mind that this is most definitely mutualism at its peak. 

///

During the span of the next few weeks, Harry learns a lot about Y/N. It’s surprising how informational someone’s sex habits can be. 

The second week after they had met— and the first since their second very heated, very satisfying encounter— she shoots him a text on Wednesday, of all days. 

Harry isn’t doing anything particularly interesting when he receives her message. He had gone to see Mitch play at the bar that had recently booked him as a semi-permanent gig, sitting in the booth furthest in the back from all of the ruckus, fingers tapping along the waxed table to his best friend’s skilled jazzy guitar chords. Mitch always teases Harry about how he doesn’t have a job, which the vampire always waves off. Working for money is stupid and unnecessary; any materialistic wants and needs that plague him, he can get with the help of compulsion. Therefore, what’s the use in condemning himself the horrors of customer service or a constricting office cubicle? 

His best friend is halfway through his set when Harry’s device vibrates against the sticky surface before him, tittering fingers coming to an abrupt stop. He flips over his iPhone, eyes flickering over the screen, a coy grin spreading its way across his blushed lips. Y/N’s contact beams up at him in return. He’d set her profile as just her name alongside three disco ball emojis, for the sake of their little inside joke. 

I’m getting off work a bit earlier than I thought today and was wondering if you wanted to help me with my ceiling fan.

Harry bites into his bottom lip to muffle a chuckle, shaking his head lightly as he stares down at the comical request. 

That’s odd. Last time I was there, you didn’t HAVE a ceiling fan.

Y/N sits on her lunch break in the backroom of the cafe where she’s employed, a veggie wrap halfway suspended towards her mouth when Harry’s text bloops in, pointing out her embarrassing mistake. She blinks at his correction blankly, eyes closing in faint humiliation as her true intentions are now painfully clear. 

After a second of recollection, she types back some damage control, though it hardly has an impact. Harry’s already chortling to himself just thinking about how contorted her face must look at the moment.

I’m aware, thank you. I meant I wanted help picking one out. I’ve got a few tabs saved as potentials. 

He decides to be a little shit about this whole thing, continuing to mock her.

You could just send me the links right now and I can tell you which one I like. You know that, right?

Y/N knows that. She also knows, by the tone and texture of his response, he’d only mentioned that alternative to be annoying. He knows she’s not talking about ceiling fans, and he just wants her to chase after him. Unfortunately enough for Y/N’s pride, she’s more than willing to.  

I just think your opinion would be much more valuable and effective in person, since you’d be able to help me search for other ones at the same time. We’d cover more ground. Two heads are better than one!

We do make quite the team, don’t we?

I personally think so. A dynamic duo for the books, honestly.

A soft round of applause cuts through the air around the vampire, signaling the end of Mitch’s performance. Harry glances up to see his best friend mounting his guitar back into its case, smiling bashfully at the crowd and nodding his head in thanks to all their praise. Harry coins his luck; things couldn’t have wrapped up at a better time. 

Alright, Watson. What time will you be home?

Y/N stops mid-chew through a bite of her meal, cheeks puffed as the corners of her mouth twitch at his nerdy reference.

I’m off at 6:45. Should be home by 7. 

I’ll see you there, then. 

See you there. Also, why do YOU get to be Sherlock? Seems a bit sexist. 

Harry rolls his eyes at her quip, smirking to himself as he types out his final response.

Well, first and foremost, I’m literally English. Secondly, last time I checked, I’m always the one in control. And frankly, you seem to like it that way. See you at seven, darling.

And at seven on the dot, Harry’s outside her apartment. His friends would be amazed at his punctuality. He only shows it when it’s worth the trouble.

The creature walks up the steps to the mortal’s complex with his Ray-Ban sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, keychain tucked into the back pocket of his black skinny jeans, and his tan Chelsea boots clicking against the cement ground. A light wind whips his Keith Harrington Safe Sex t-shirt against the broad muscles of his back, drawing a soothed sigh from his lungs. He loves the California weather. 

He gives her door three swift knocks with his ring-clad knuckles, stepping back from the entrance and clasping his large hands behind his back as he waits. 

When Y/N answers, Harry tilts his chin down a smidge, looking at her over the brim of his chic black glasses with his signature dazzling smile dimpling his cheeks. He lists his head slightly in a formal greeting. “Detective.” 

The girl’s irises flit up to the ceiling as amusement twitches her lips. She plays along. “Nice to see you again. Detective.”

She moves off to the side, beckoning him to come in and he gladly takes the offer, striding into the flat and down the narrow corridor he’s grown quite familiar with. Y/N follows him back into her living room, gaze quickly drinking up his appearance. He’s casual today— less jewelry, more comfortable clothes— and he works the normal fit as effortlessly as he works his fancy brands. Especially with those tight dark jeans. They hug his thighs in a fashion that should be illegal. 

Harry twists around on his heel to face her, reaching up to remove his sunglasses and tucking them along the collar of his tee. A handful of curls fall across his forehead, framing his face and sculpting his jaw, as usual. A sweep across Y/N’s physique tells him everything he needs to know. 

She’s still in her work clothes, clad in a navy blue polo shirt and a pair of dark skinnies similar to his. Her hair is down, though the strands have a dent that suggests she’d been wearing a ponytail. Her mascara is smudged a tad under her seemingly tired eyes, but her attitude is as bright and lively as always. She appears messy, but he likes it. It’s a type of unconventional beauty that’s natural and genuine, which he can appreciate.

He contemplates her with a certain slyness that makes her shift in her socked feet. 

“I got a message earlier. Sounded kinda frantic.” He drifts closer to the human, a sultry tension growing taut between them. He glances upward for an instant, as if recalling a thought. “Something about ceiling fans…?”  

Y/N chews into her cheek to keep from giggling, allowing him to press his chest to hers. He slowly begins to back her up towards the shabby couch, which has seen this interaction happen one too many times. “Yeah, I’m thinking of getting one. Figured it’d help. It just gets really hot in here sometimes, y’know?”

“Mmm…” Harry thrums in agreement, deep in the back of his throat. His hands crawl onto her hips and grasps them somewhat roughly, index fingers hooking into the belt loops of her jeans as he leans down to brush his soft lips over her own. She’ll never grow tired of the electricity that passes through them every time their mouths touch. It kindles her needs unlike anything else. “It does get pretty hot in here sometimes. Especially if you’re working up a sweat.” 

He pushes her further towards the sofa, movements gradual as she drifts backwards, careful not to trip her. She glimpses down at where their lips are flirting, breath hiccuping when he licks his lightly in anticipation, his tongue just barely grazing her Cupid’s bow. “Absolutely. A fan would definitely help relieve some of that stress.” 

“Yeah.” Harry nudges the tip of her nose with his own, feeling her grab at his biceps for security as he continues inching her backwards blindly. “It can work wonders for when you’re all pent up, too. Especially when you’re really tight, which I know for a fact you are.”

The backs of the girl’s knees hit the edge of the couch and she topples into its cushions. She sits up onto her elbows, sheer need inking into her irises as he patiently begins to undo his belt. His long, nimble fingers work with ease and he seems to be in no particular rush, which pricks at her nerves because she feels completely the opposite. She’d been thinking about him since Friday night— or rather, Saturday morning, when he had actually stayed for breakfast that time around. 

Y/N had sat on top of her small dining table while he took the seat before her shirtless, leaning forward with his arms crossed nonchalantly over her lap as she fed him bites of lemon blueberry pancakes. The pads of his calloused fingers had drawn random shapes across the warm skin of her thighs, attempting to cheekily slip beneath her pajamas shorts and he’d giggle boyishly around mouthfuls of food every time she would swat his hand away. He looked so fucking pretty that morning, with his curls tangled in tuffs and the vague imprint of her teeth scattered across his grinning mouth, angry red scratches decorating his bare shoulders. That wholesome yet dirty image had left her head spinning for days. 

The sound of Harry’s zipper ripping open blinks Y/N back into the present and she nearly gawks as he grabs onto the hem of his graphic t-shirt and yanks it over his head, arms crossing as he does so. He tosses it onto her playfully, laughing as she smacks it away from her face and gives him a deadpan look. Harry leans forward, propping his palms on either sides of her head and bracketing her in, the unmissable scent of his delicious cologne invading her senses as his dark tattoos ripple over the lean tendons of his stomach and arms. His strangely cold forehead flushes against hers and he nips at her top lip, tugging it between his teeth and releasing. His voice comes out as deep and hypnotizing as ever. 

“Get undressed for me. Want your thighs wrapped around my head.” 

Harry comes to find that for such a reserved girl, Y/N has a pretty intriguing sexual mindset. She’s open to a lot of stuff he’d never expect from a rural-town escapee. Her kinks surprise him, but pleasantly so, considering they cross over with a lot of his own. She’s into choking, which he adores. There’s nothing hotter than feeling her pulse slam against the palm of his hand as his array of rings mark into the delicate skin of her throat. She likes being restrained, which translates into Harry pinning her wrists above her head while he slams between her drenched thighs. It’s difficult to achieve that on the sofa, so they end up rolling across the rug on the floor, her legs tangled around his hips like a vine as he pants into her mouth, damp hair flopping over his forehead and tickling her eyelashes. Ideally, he would have used his belt to tie her hands to a headboard. If they were at his place, he would’ve just reached for the metal cuffs he has hanging casually off the railing of his bed, which he keeps there for easy access. But they’re in her living room, so he makes do with what he can. 

The vampire doesn’t stay over that night, not because he doesn’t want to, but because he promised Niall he’d help him out with a car issue. Apparently the motor is making a weird noise and Harry isn’t shocked one bit. Niall barely has the brain cells to be alive, much less to handle the upkeep that comes with owning a vintage vehicle. He thanks Y/N for a good time as he slips into his tight jeans and recovers his sunglasses from the floor, pulling his tee over the already fading hickies littering his collarbones, fitting his accessory into his sweaty curls. 

Harry leans down to where she lays limply, splayed over the couch where he had placed her after picking her up off the ground (only after he’d made her cum twice). He plants a nonchalant farewell kiss to her parted lips, thumbing over her bruised nipples jestingly and grinning into her mouth when she whimpers. “I’ll see you later, Watson. Let me know which fan you decide to buy.” 

Two days later, Harry’s phone chimes again, this time with the unique ringtone he’d assigned just for her. 

He’s relaxing in his bathtub, submerged up to his chest in hot water mixed with Epsom salts and jasmine bubble bath, his locks sudsy with shampoo. He’s in the middle of shaving his face, dragging the straight razor (his time in the nineteen thirties made him picky towards any other tool, especially those simpleton plastic ones) down his jaw carefully, making sure not to nick the little moles under the corner of his mouth. When his device goes off, he halts all his motions, glancing over from the hand mirror he’s holding before his face. He’d changed her contact name to Watson as homage to their funny little dynamic, but he’d kept the disco balls in their place. He respects the roots of their acquaintanceship.

Fan came in. Wanna come check it out?

He had a nagging suspicion he’d hear from her today. It’s another Friday night, after all. He’s just happy she’d texted earlier than last time so he can flake on his friends without forcing them to wait for an hour. 

Wow, you chose two day shipping? You must be itching to see me.

Don’t let it go to your head. The only thing I’m itching for is your professional opinion. 

Right. Well, me and my professional opinion are washing up at the moment so give me thirty minutes and I’ll be there, yeah?

Sounds good to me, Sherlock. 

Harry decides on an outfit that falls at the center of his dressing spectrum— something comfortable but not lazy. Something semi-formal. He doesn’t really have to impress her anymore (not that he had to try that hard in the first place) but he wants to look good, either way. There’s nothing wrong with showing off what he has, both physically and wardrobe-wise. He chooses a horizontal-striped fitted tee made of thick cotton, the lines alternating between brown, beige, and a light caramel. He tucks the shirt into a pair of mid-rise corduroy flared pants that are a dark mustard shade, shrugging on an olive green jacket with red and white stitch detailing along the edges, large images of cacti embroidered along its expanse. His pearls, cross necklace, and he opts out of his earring this time. Rings, vanilla chapstick, mint gum. Keys, wallet, starch white Vans. 

Before he knows it, he’s being roughly pulled into her home from his spot just outside her threshold, his cherry-lacquer nails carding into the silky hair along the nape of Y/N’s neck as his teeth skim over the hollow of her throat. The human grapples to push his coat off his wide shoulders, backing further down the small hallway of her flat and kicking the door shut. She holds his head firmly to the sensitive spot in her neck that he’d toyed with a week prior, and he can’t resist the way his eyes blink crimson— a hunting impulse, stemming from the sound of her blood rushing through her carotid artery. He hadn’t fed last time— vampires only need to feed once a week to avoid desiccation— so he surely intends to tonight. 

Harry’s hands fit perfectly around the dip of her spine, pulling her body tight to his as he paints sloppy kisses over her jugular. He gets his teasing words out in between desperate gasps and breathy chuckles. “And here I thought this was genuinely going to be about the fan.”

“Shut up.” 

Y/N makes a sharp turn, tugging him into her room instead of the living room and it dawns on him that this is the first time they’re going to fuck in her actual bed. All those instances of sleeping together and not once had they done anything on the piece of furniture that was intended for that sole purpose. It’s ironically hilarious and he voices that opinion as they stumble onto her mattress. 

“You know,” Harry murmurs into her mouth as she shoves him flat onto the rumpled sheets (she hadn’t made her bed this morning and that’s endearing, for some reason), straddling his lap as she hurriedly pulls his t-shirt out from along the waistband of his trousers. “Out of all the times we’ve done this— which is quite a few— we’ve never done anything on your bed other than sleep.” 

That’s a lie. He’s never actually slept in her bed. After staring at the ceiling blankly two weeks ago for about eight hours, he had been smart enough to grab his phone from his pants the second time around. He spent that stretch of time playing Mario Kart and watching Unsolved Mysteries on Netflix with the volume down just out of human earshot, so as to not disturb her slumber. 

Y/N ducks in order to drag her wet, pillowy lips down the butterfly inking on his tummy and over the spines of the two ferns on his pelvis, licking across his happy trail. He jerks in response, a soft grunt gurgling in his lungs as she uses her index finger to trace the outline of his hardening cock through the velvet fabric of his slacks. Her voice is distant, giggle breathless. “Yeah, you’re right. How counterintuitive.”

Harry swiftly pops the button of his trousers, helping her coax them down his legs, releasing a stuttery moan when she immediately bends down and mouths at his prick over his briefs. The soiled stain forming around the tip of his cock would be embarrassing if he didn’t know she found it hot. 

His tone is tight but humorous as she continues licking at him eagerly through his underwear, nails digging into his inner thighs. “Am I your first?”

Confusion flickers in her eyes for a moment before she realizes the joke. He’s referring to if he’s the first person she’s slept with on her new bed in her new home. “Yes, you are, actually.” 

Harry’s juts his bottom lip out into an overly-sweet exaggerated pout, talking in a honeyed drawl. “Aw, I get to christen your bed with you? We’re practically married now. When’s the baby due?” 

“God, you’re a moron.” Y/N bursts into a fit of laughter as she mounts back onto his lap, pinching at his torso in fake spite and feeling her insides flutter at the airy giggles that escape him. She gnaws on her bottom lip thoughtfully for a second, watching with hunger as he finishes removing his shirt and momentarily sits up to chuck it onto the ground over her shoulder. 

Harry falls back onto the mattress, folding his taut arms behind his neck, biceps flexing with the movements as his strong chest and toned stomach look as appealing as ever. She runs her palms over his tanned skin, feeling the sturdy muscle shift beneath her touch. Shit.

The immortal slinks his head to the side, eyes going half-lidded in suggestive mischief as he sees the way she’s objectifying him. He doesn’t mind; he actually lives for it. “Are you just gonna keep staring or are you gonna fuck me?”

His lewd comment washes warmth across Y/N’s ears and spurs her into action. In less than a minute, she’s fully unclothed, bouncing on his cock with a type of need that boils the pit of Harry’s belly. His fingers are digging bruises into her waist, slamming her down onto his prick with enough force to make the old bed creak wildly. She may be on top, but he’s still the one pulling the strings. 

Y/N collapses forward, anchoring herself onto her forearms on either sides of his head, burying her face in his auburn ringlets. She bites onto her tongue, trying to keep a tab on the atrociously loud sounds threatening to spill from her mouth. They come out as broken whines instead, which Harry drinks up like a glass of aged bourbon. She fists at his roots, jolting with every thrust he gives upwards, her knees digging into his love handles to keep balanced. At this point, she’s barely riding him at all. He’s just ramming himself into her from below as he guides her hips and she doesn’t have an issue with that at all. She likes when he leads.  

His growl comes out low and raspy, riding on a moan, his warm, choppy exhales pebbling her bare nipples. “How’s that, darling? How’s that cock feel?”

Y/N nods her head frantically, not trusting her tongue to form an appropriate response. 

“Tell me.” He grits out through bared teeth, back arching a bit as he feels the knot of white hot pleasure in his stomach twist and turn. 

“I— I can’t. I’m—”

One of Harry’s hands coasts down the small of her back and onto her ass, giving it a harsh squeeze. She yelps at the new sensation, pain and bliss intermingling. “Yeah, you fucking can. You will. Use your words. Tell me how much you like it.”

A violent shutter runs through Y/N’s limbs and she instinctively pushes back against his palm. Harry’s eyebrows kink in question as he feels her draw her face back from his hair. One look at her eyes tells the entire narrative: She wants him to spank her. 

Harry slowly lifts his hand from her skin, brows raising a bit higher for confirmation. Y/N smears his lips against his forehead and left cheekbone, bobbing her head desperately, whispering a tiny, “Yes, please.” that sends smoky tendrils of hot air cascading down his straining neck. 

When the vampire’s hand comes down, it’s fast and hard, his cold rings biting into her flesh and leaving welts, the sound echoing off the glossy walls and tall bookshelf in her room. The cry that betrays her could probably be heard down on the main floor of her complex. 

The shattered noise makes Harry sanity slip and he’s lucky she’s too lost in her own bliss to see the way his eyes glow dangerously red. “Fuck, you’re such a slut for it.” 

Harry suddenly boosts himself forward, toppling Y/N backwards until she’s the one wedged against the bed. She wraps her arms around his shoulders, nestling her face into the crook of his sweaty collarbones, cracked cries pooling into the junction of his clavicle as he hikes her roughly up his thighs. He sinks further between her legs until he bottoms out with a loud garbled groan, pushing so deep she can feel him in the trench of her belly. 

“Oh my God, Harry— I— fuck, just—just— oh!”

His pace rises in intensity, strokes messy and unforgivable as he fucks her into the bed, the cracking of the frame warning him that it might give away. “Oh, so you liked that, did you? Like it when I call you a slut and stretch you out like one?”

Harry feels Y/N’s teeth rip into his shoulder in order to evade a scream; a strong shiver pin-balls down his spine as a result. Her voice is absolutely wrecked as she talks over her muffled mouth. “Loved it. Loved it so much. Want—Want more. Please, please, please.”

Harry holds her down firmly to the sheets, pounding into her with a form of unrestrained force he’s never exhibited. She just drives him to the brink like no one else has in nearly twenty decades. “Can you feel me in your tummy, pet? Can you feel how I fill you up?” 

“Yes, yes— it’s so good, Harry. You’re incredible.”

“Such a proper little whore.” He has to actively hold back from digging into her throat with his fangs, his eyes screwing shut in concentration as his orgasm begins to burn through his veins. “Begging me to fuck you like one, over and over. You’ve never had it this good, have you?” 

“N-No. You’re the only one who makes me feel like this.”  

“Hands off.” 

“W-What?”

“Hands off.”

Y/N obeys, throwing her arms above her head and letting them hang off the edge of the bed as he’d instructed. It’s not like he wants her to stop scratching down his back, but he knows that if she continues, he’s going to black out. He’s already teetering, obvious in the black webs he can feel materializing over the whites of his eyes.

“Ask for permission.” 

The mortal unclamps her teeth from his bruised shoulder and swallows heavily, her words sputtering out from how hard she’s jerking against the bed. “Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please—can I—can I cum?”

“‘May I cum.’” The boy corrects, half because he wants to be a cocky ass, and half because it’s automatic. He was raised during an era where intellectual accuracy was of utmost value in society. It’s hard to leave those lessons behind. 

Y/N hiccups another mewl, hands curling into loose fists above her head as he continues to fuck her deliberately into the duvet. She repeats his phrase shakily. “May I cum? Please?”

Harry’s lashes flutter open and as soon as he sees her, all doe-eyed, covered in his love marks, with her bottom lip trembling...It’s like a switch flips. When he speaks, it’s soft and encouraging; a drastic contrast from his mood a few seconds ago. “Yeah...Yeah, baby, go ahead. Cum for me.” 

That night, as Harry lays there awake staring at that awful popcorn roof with the taste of her blood fresh on his tongue and her steady heartbeat throbbing in his heightened ears, he catches himself smiling in the dark. It doesn't have to do with emotions or feelings or any of that complicated bullshit. It just has to do with the fact that he found some consistency in his life, as unattached and materialistic as it may be. They don’t have a complex bond or a deeper meaning. They simply just coexist. They provide some common stability to each others’ lives and it helps keep an important balance. Stability is so rare to find, especially for an immortal who is condemned to witness the world constantly evolve around them while they remain frozen in time. Society will change, people change, appearances change, alliances change, and though it can be exhilarating, at times, Harry never truly has a say in it. He’s always just strung along for the ride.

This is different. It’s static, and that’s all he really needs it to be. Sex can be so emotionally messy if lines aren’t drawn and boundaries aren’t set. But with Y/N, it’s like they have a silent understanding— an unspoken agreement signed by both parties. It’s a notion that could have spared Harry his life in the past, and it’s an ideal that— even in death— took him centuries to learn:

Some people are meant to be loved, while others are just meant to be naked. 

///

The third week is when things escalate for the better. 

Specifically, Tuesday night. That’s when the sexting starts. 

It’s a pretty calm evening and Harry finds himself with nothing to do. Mitch is out with Sarah, who had come into town two days ago due to the band she’s touring with being on a three week break. She’d said she wasn’t staying for long— maybe a week, because she has plans to visit some other bloodsucker friends in Canada. Even though Mitch tries to hide it, Harry can tell he’s bummed about Sarah’s short visit. The older vampire is good at hiding his emotions, but Harry’s known him for so long that he could read Mitch’s mood even if he was blindfolded and gagged. 

The jade-eyed boy had been honest with his best friend, asking him what the point was in continuing to see someone whose depth of interest in the relationship wasn’t as developed as his own. Mitch had simply shrugged one shoulder and told Harry that he wouldn’t understand. He mentioned something about how eventually, the freshblood high would wear off and Sarah would find herself wanting to settle down somewhere with someone she could trust for the rest of eternity. Mitch explained that he cared for her enough to wait until then. 

His best mate had been wrong. Harry does understand. He understands the concept of chasing after someone who, in the end, didn’t want anything to do with him. He understands it a little too well, sadly. He figures that’s the same fate Mitch is bound to suffer, just on a less extreme level. 

But then again, Harry’s perception of love is majorly skewed, so who is he to judge?

With Mitch tied up with Sarah (probably literally, though Harry doesn’t dwell on that; it’s none of his business), his options dwindle to the rest of the crew. Niall and Xander had invited him to a concert they were attending, but Harry politely declined the offer. The musicians were some wannabe indie band and Harry would rather swallow a nicotine addict’s blood than listen to a couple of morons sing in cursive. Adam had suggested he tag along with him, Ny-Oh, and Charlotte to a new art exhibit that had opened up in the next town over. It was a thirty minute drive, so it wasn’t that bad, but Harry declined that invitation, as well. He loves art, if the giant collection on his wall has anything to say about it, but he doesn’t get on well with Ny or Charlotte. They say he’s “too much of an arrogant dickhead” to be around for an extended period of time. They’re right, of course, but it still hurts. Plus, Ny has a mullet and Harry knows he wouldn’t be able to withhold from making a Billy Ray joke. It’s best he stay away, lest she end up with an achy-breaky heart.

So that leaves him here, all alone at eight P.M. on a Tuesday, plopped on his couch in nothing but a pair of maroon plaid boxers as Hamilton plays on the ninety inch flatscreen mounted on his glass wall. He had left the curtains open, not really caring that he’s practically naked. The sun’s already set and it’s almost pitch black outside; plus, he lives on the twenty-fourth floor of the condominium complex. The only living being risking an eyeful is a peepy pigeon. Even then, Harry’s more than happy to put on a show. He’s confident enough in himself that nudity is practically second nature. His friends can attest to that. 

Harry lays across his leather sofa with a large checkered throw cushion snuggled into his side, one of his hands slung across the backrest of the couch as the other remains submerged wrist-deep in a bag of Veggie Straws. His socked feet are propped up on his round marble coffee table, ankles crossed and posture anything but eloquent. The apartment is silent, except for the musical streaming through the speakers of his television set and the gentle pattering of rain just outside his glorified window pane, accompanied by the faint flickering of the city lights below. The atmosphere of the room is relaxed and cozy and it lulls his soul in a manner he can’t put into words.

Harry has always liked the rain. Ever since he was a child, he would sit by the small round window of the attic room he shared with his older sister, watching it fall from the sky in sheets of glittering sapphires, soaking into the dry ground and turning it into a slush of dirt he would later sneak out to play in. When he got older, he would prop his shoulder against the doorframe at the back of his father’s blacksmith shop and gaze at it, mesmerized by how it would trickle down the streets of the public market, washing away all the grime that came with a bustling city’s reputation. Sometimes he would stand in it, feeling its cool touch run down his arms and soak into the back of his sot-covered work shirt. He enjoyed how it would cleanse the sticky sweat from his face and neck, its gentle nature leaving him feeling like he could float through air. Then his father would call him back into the store and playfully scold him for allowing himself to get drenched, warning that his mother would kill him if he caught a cold. 

Harry’s changed a lot since then, he knows that, but it comforts him that his love for rain is the one aspect of his personality that two hundred years of Hell had failed to take from him. 

The melodies swimming out of his TV reign him back in from memory lane. 

Harry’s not really one to enjoy musicals, but back when Hamilton had first hit Broadway, he’d used his persuasive supernatural abilities to sneak into one of the first showings. He’d been curious as to what all the hype was about, and the play did not disappoint. The songs were catchy, the acting was good, and the characters were brought to life through raw emotion and comedy. He respected that. And the plot of the story itself resonated with him deeply, as well. A protagonist that rose from nothing, fell in love with the wrong woman, and made terrible life choices that seemed correct at the time, which would all eventually lead to his death. It hit a bit too close to home. 

If he had a dollar for every time he’s seen it since it had come out on Disney+, he could probably pay rent himself instead of compelling others to do it for him. 

The play is halfway through one of its most famous ballads when the monster’s phone dings with a familiar tune. A smirk is already etching itself across his face before he even unlocks his device. 

I need interior design advice. 

I’m still a little sore from our last help session. How’d you bounce back so quick?

Funny, but I need ACTUAL interior design advice this time. 

Harry’s brows furrow in mild confusion and slight disappointment. He draws his hand from the junk food container, dusting off the crumbs. Oh. 

Genuinely? 

Yup!

He guesses he’ll give it a go. He does have pretty exquisite taste; the modern gothic aesthetic of his condo proves that. It’s not like he has anything better to do.

Alright, shoot. 

Y/N releases the breath she’d been holding in. Thank God he’s agreed to help. As much as she’s ashamed to admit it, Harry’s really the only person in LA that she deems relatively close to a friend. She hasn’t managed to mesh well with her coworkers much, despite the fact that she’s been trying extremely hard. She just doesn’t wanna force herself into unfulfilling fake friendships for the sake of having people to flaunt. It’s not right and she knows she’d grow to resent it. 

So instead, she’d reached out to the one California resident who doesn’t make her skin crawl. 

Whew, okay, thanks in advance! So I went out yesterday and got a new bedspread and I wanted some help choosing a new accessory to go with it, which is going on my wall. 

Harry’s ears perk up and his back straightens at her statement. Could she finally, by the grace of fucking God, be getting rid of that shitty tapestry? 

Well, let me see it, then. Don’t keep a man waiting, I’m dying to play Property Brothers over here.

A picture comes through of the two new accessories Y/N is referring to and the way Harry’s face drops instantly is almost comical.

Which tapestry fits better? I’m thinking the Van Gogh style painting of a lighthouse. The blue goes well with the dark turquoise of the comforter. But then again, the forest canopy has those pretty exotic flowers that compliment the coral stitching. I can’t decide. 

The vampire’s face pinches in disgusted horror as he blinks down numbly at the image on his screen. He’s going to be sick. Those Veggie Straws are about to make a hideous comeback. 

…two new tapestries? Did the other one rip or…?

What? No!! I just saw these down at the thrift store and thought they were cute. Why? Are they really that bad??

They’re not just bad, they’re worse. He’s going to ask her to blindfold him next time he visits. 

They’re…kinda immature, dove. I just thought you’d go for something cooler this time, like a vintage painting or a couple vinyls to mount on the wall. 

Immature? 

Oops. He should have picked his words more carefully. Now he’s gone and offended her and she’ll probably bite down the next time he puts his—

Another message interrupts his spiraling negative conclusions.

I know you didn’t just call ME immature when you compared me to a cream-filled donut, Harry. 

The playful tone in the text delivers a wave of relief that is almost as pleasurable as what lies between Y/N’s legs. 

Can I speak freely for a second? Full disclosure, no consequences?

That preface makes me think you’re about to chew me out.

I’ll be gentle, I promise. I know it’s not our usual dynamic, but I’ll give it a go.

Y/N ignores the bristling across her cheeks. 

Alright, go head.

I just think tapestries are kinda stupid. They scream “confused teenager trying to find myself.” But that’s just my opinion. I’m only telling you so you know that I’m probably not the best bloke to go to with tapestry inquiries. 

Harry watches as a read receipt stares up at him for a few seconds. Just when he thinks he might have truly upset her this time, her message bubble pops up. 

So...the one I’ve had hanging in my room the last three times you’ve been over…

I had to actively restrain the urge to strangle myself with it.

Y/N breaks out into laughter. The image of waking up to Harry laying facedown on her bedroom floor, balls naked and mummified within a sunrise tapestry...It’s sending her. 

Well, you know what? That’s not fair! You can’t judge my house when I haven’t even had the chance to judge yours. 

Harry nods once to himself in surrender, reaching up to finger-comb a few rebellious curls out of his eyes. She makes a valid play. 

Fair enough. You’ll have to come over and give me your opinion sometime.

I’d be honored to. Now, would you be so kind as to put your own personal bias aside this once and help me choose which one to put up. I promise I’ll spare you any more tapestry-related problems in the future. I’ll remove it from my customer contract.

Harry sighs defeatedly. He can’t believe he’s giving up his integrity for sex. 

Fine. Send me a picture of both of them up on the wall. It’ll give some perspective. 

Y/N giddily obliges, deciding to send a video instead. That way, she can get all of the angles in one go rather than having to send multiple pictures. 

Harry waits patiently, shoving another handful of chips into his mouth as he taps his foot against the coffee table to the tune of Wait for It, which is playing in the film that has now become the backdrop of his night. When Y/N’s next message comes through, he’s mildly surprised to find it’s a video. He clicks play, watching intently as she circles the two pinned tapestries slowly, making sure to get a proper view from all sides. By the time the thirty second clip is coming to an end, Harry’s leaning more towards the tropical canopy painting. It’s not as loud and she was right about the flowers matching the stitching on the duvet. 

He’s about to tap back “the forest one” when something flashes across the screen that makes him choke on his snack, launching him into a coughing fit.  

It’s within the last three seconds of the video and if he had cut it off in order to text back, he would have missed it. But he hadn’t, and now it’s burned into the back of his eyelids, causing a buzzing sensation to string right to the area between his thighs.  

The last few frames of the video, Y/N had lowered her phone from the position she’d been suspending it, probably thinking she had already stopped filming. She hadn’t. And because of that, Harry gets a full frontal view of her body, covered in nothing except a pair of lace panties and a mid-thigh oversized Avengers t-shirt. The entire screen fills with bare, silky skin and raunchy lace and he can feel his fangs poke into his tongue. 

Harry’s not a pre-teen; he’s not going to drool over seeing a pair of legs. What really gets to him is the fact that it appears Y/N still has a few hickies across the inner area of her thighs, which have failed to fade as quickly as the others. They should be gone, given that anytime Harry feeds (like he had the last time they’d slept together), he always gives her a bit of his blood to heal. Meaning, normal bruises like that should be gone. Maybe he just hadn’t given her a high enough dosage, or maybe he’d marked her more than he remembers, but either way, the stains are there.

The vampire ogles at the paused image with a dry throat and wide eyes. Just seeing her like that, dressed in comfy yet effortlessly sensual attire with no bottoms on whatsoever, freely flaunting his love bites around her apartment, probably looking at them in her mirror, thinking about how his teeth had felt grazing her skin…

It’s enough to pop a stiffy into his briefs. 

Harry glimpses over the top of his phone, swallowing thickly at the large bulge beginning to tent his boxers. His socked toes curl as he feels a longing throb begin to swell at the pit of his clenching stomach. Great. This is just fucking perfect. 

He attempts to tap back a reply, but his hands have started quivering slightly, clumsy thumbs ruining his message to the point where he has to retype it three times.

The forest one. I agree with what you said about the stitching. 

Okay, thank you so much! Your input is highly appreciated, as always.

The immortal finds himself gnawing at the inside of his cheek, weighing on whether he should mention the little softcore porn moment she’d unknowingly shot, or if he should just let it slide and go take care of the issue that is literally weighing on him— he can feel it getting heavy against his thigh. 

His fingers seem to take on a mind of their own, printing out a quick sentence and hitting the send button before he can rethink his motives. 

Did you watch your video before you sent it?

Uh no...It looked pretty okay to me while I took it. Why, do you need a different one? Was the lighting too dark? 

The fact that she sent it by accident only adds to the appeal. She’s such a good girl. So fucking innocent and sweet, she could practically give him a toothache. 

Do me a quick favor and rewatch it all the way to the end. I think you’ll be surprised with what you find.

Y/N leans back against her bookshelf wall, chewing on her bottom lip as a sly grin ticks the corners. She doesn’t have to rewatch the video. She’s fully aware of what she had done, which had been completely on purpose. She’s only playing dumb to see his reaction, getting off on how flustered he seems to have become. Yes, her intentions for contacting him had originally been purely for his opinion on decor. But when she saw the chance, she decided to jump headfirst and take it. What are friends with benefits for if not for times like these, when you’re too lazy to come over but need a bit of relief? 

The human allows a full thirty seconds to pass, simulating that she’s watching the video, and then thoughtfully taps out her response.

Oh, whoops. Sorry for the indecent exposure.

Harry shifts in exasperation against his sofa, the radiating in his abdomen crawling up to his chest and down to his knees. He needs to take care of himself now.

It’s fine, babe. You just might wanna be more careful, cause this time around you got lucky that it was me and it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Could go south if it were someone else. 

Y/N rolls her eyes lightly at his scolding, but continues to play the clueless act, curious to see where it’ll take her. 

You’re absolutely right, I’m so sorry. 

Harry clears his throat, flinching as he feels a soft twitch run up the length of his cock. He exhales tightly, trying to steer the conversation into a lighter mood. He doesn’t want her to feel bad; it’s not like he’s angry about this. He’s hot and bothered and needy, but not mad.

I just think it’s funny you exposed the fact that you go around your house without pants. 

Oh, fuck off! No one ever wears pants around their own house, especially if they’re alone. It’s one of the laws of physics. No human resistance, no pants. 

Harry glances down at his body symbolically, where he’s clad in only his underwear, as well.

Touché.

Exactly. 

A pause befalls the conversation as both parties fish for something new to say. The situation’s become less lively and more intense now and neither are sure how to navigate without crossing a line. In a surge of courage, Y/N decides to just directly communicate her intentions, praying that he doesn’t take it the wrong way. 

I have an idea, just hear me out. For the sake of evening the playing field, I think that since you saw me pantsless, it’s only fair that I see you the same way. It balances out, right?

Harry’s jaw drops in an open-mouthed simper, impressed by her blatant suggestion, but also by how smoothly she had delivered it. He mumbles his next words to himself, voice amused and somewhat awed at how she had managed to spin this to her benefit. “You clever little minx. Bet it wasn’t even an accident.”

You did it on purpose, didn’t you?

Y/N purses her lips, shrugging her brows cheekily.

Maybe.

The vampire scoffs, taken aback not only at the ploy she’d pulled off, but at how unapologetic she is about the whole thing. It’s hot. 

Alright, l’ll bite. Tick for tack. 

The photo that comes through makes Y/N choke on her spit. It’s not anything too revealing, but it packs a lot. Literally. 

It’s a pretty casual picture, and she gets the feeling he took it as so just to be a tease. In the frame, all she sees is a snapshot of Harry’s lap, thighs straining against the flimsy material of a pair of crimson tartan boxers, the large tigerhead tattoo he totes somehow prominent in the low lightning. Of course it stands out, though. That’s to be expected; his thighs are thick in the most satisfying fashion and they’re one of his most defining features. She can also see the bottom half of his lean tummy, the cutoff being the crest of his belly button. His fern inkings are peeking out of from below the waistband of the Calvin Kleins, dark and matte on his lightly bronzed skin, and she spots the nonchalant position of his crossed ankles in the background. 

As appetizing as every little detail is, the centerpiece of the portrait is the obvious bulge pressing into the fabric of his briefs. The outline is so prominent, the picture borderlines on graphic. His cock looks pretty as ever, even when it’s covered; the thin underwear leaves very little to the imagination. 

Y/N has to bite down on her tongue to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Wow, okay, well...Your picture was much more explicit than my video. That’s not fair at all. Throws off the equilibrium we were trying to establish. 

Harry chuckles aloud, shaking his head in amazement at how well she can bend the game to her will. Three weeks ago, when he’d first laid eyes on that shy girl at the club, he would have never expected her to be so bold. Now, she has him wrapped around her pinky like a string.

You’re absolutely right. My apologies. Maybe you should send one similar so we can even out the stakes. 

You read my mind.

Y/N’s next picture causes a hiss to stream through the cracks of Harry’s teeth, eyes glinting red.

It’s a picture taken on top of her bed, the angle set from above. She’s laying on her side, her torso twisted so that her backside is in the shot, her huge tee pulled tight against her waist so it creates an enticing cinching effect. Her thighs are clasped together, the collar of her shirt pulled away just enough that he can see where the valley of her chest begins to curve, and the cheeky lace panties are working utter wonders for her ass. He can’t stop staring. He physically can’t pull himself away, his eyes bouncing across every pixel, attempting to commit the picture to memory to keep it locked in the back of his brain forever. 

Y/N awaits anxiously for his reaction, biting into the pad of her thumb as the seconds list by, wondering if he had enjoyed the nude or if he was just sitting there judging all her flaws. It’s been so long since she’s sent a risky photo like that, she can’t help but stress. Sharing your body with someone digitally is almost as intimate as real sex and it comes with similar worries and insecurities. Was the angle good? Are her stretch marks unattractive? Are the dimples along her backside gross? Is he second-guessing their arrangement? Is he wishing they hadn’t met?

She practically drops her phone when it vibrates.

God, you look stunning. Like a proper fucking dream.

All of her concerns immediately disintegrate, replaced by an odd sense of pride. She’s happy that he enjoyed it, and she’s thankful for the caliber of his response. Most men don’t care to comment that nicely, if they comment at all, and Harry’s enthusiasm only excites her further. She wants to keep going. 

You look pretty fucking good yourself. Wish I could just kneel between your thighs, take you into my mouth, and make you feel good for hours. 

Harry struggles to get saliva down his parched throat, her words bouncing around the inside of his skull, sending a current of bliss directly to where he needs it. 

Hours? You want me down your throat for hours?

For hours, Harry. I’d literally just sit between your legs and let you fuck my face again. Let you use me to make yourself cum.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Harry’s broken whine echoes off the tall walls of his home, one of his big hands finding a path to his curls and tugging in desperation. He needs to keep composure. 

Harry’s next snapshot comes through and Y/N has to screw her eyes shut for a second to brace the bolt of electricity that zips down to her core. 

The boy’s thighs have parted wider, his feet now down from the table, knees hanging off the edge of the sofa. His free hand has delved below his briefs, pulling them up just enough to show a tad of the neatly trimmed area beneath. His fingers are cupped over his cock, hiding it from plain view, but the imprint of his knuckles on the fabric suggest he’s gripping it tightly. The longer she looks, the more she notices— specifically, a dark damp patch spreading at the middle of his boxers and she knows damn well what it is. The fact that she’d got him riled up enough that he’s leaking through like that...She can hardly breathe right. 

Shit, you look so good. How do you always look that fucking good? I just want to feel you stretch me out while you moan into my mouth. 

Harry slowly starts pumping his palm up and down his cock as he rereads her words, catching his lower lip between his teeth, his naked and flushed chest stuttering. He doesn’t want to be the douche that tells her to send another picture, but he really needs her to. He wants to see what she’s doing, how she’s fairing. Wants to know if he has her as fucked as she has him right now. 

It’s almost like they share a telepathic link because not even five seconds later, another beautifully filthy photo is decorating his screen. 

This time around, Y/N has decided to fully lay on her back, spreading her legs open and drawing her knees up slightly so that her thighs are not only flexing, but displaying all the love bites he’d left only a few days prior. They’re all different shades of purple and brown, scattered over the satin suppleness of her skin, painting a canvas of the heated night they’d shared. It’s art at its most prestigious, if he’s ever seen it. And she has her hand ducked below her panties, the outline of her fingers situated right over her clit. 

Harry’s own hand instinctively tightens around his length, pulling a weak groan from his parted lips. He throws his head back against the backrest of the couch, bucking into his palm and teasing his forefinger over his bubbling tip. He spreads the precum all over the sensitive head, whimpering when the draft from the air conditioning caresses it and sends a quiver toppling over his shoulders. 

Fuck, she’s driving him mental. There’s only one way to take care of this effectively, despite their distance. 

I’m going to call you.

Y/N gulps heavily, licking over her chapped lips and feeling her pulse jump at the realization that she’ll be getting to hear his throaty voice coax her through an orgasm. Not only that, but she’ll get to hear him cum, too. She’ll get to hear every shattered gasp and needy mewl, almost as if he were pouring all those sounds of pleasure right into her ears in person. 

The mortal’s heart hiccups when his contact pops up on the Caller ID, phone vibrating insistently. After a deep breath taken to ground herself, she slides her shaky thumb over the glass, slowly bringing the device up to her ear. Her voice is soft and timid as ever, a tremble running through its undertone. “H-Hello?”

Harry’s words come through the crackling speaker as dark and smoky as whiskey, pouring into her mind and intoxicating her as easily as the real liquor would.

“Flip onto your stomach and take off the lace. Now.”

[bakubub]

favourite time of year

w/c: 1.2k

written for @kal0psi-a 's halloween collab

folding the sticky dough carefully, just as the recipe instructed, i try my best to ignore the itching in my nose in a feeble attempt to stay concentrated, but give up when it starts to irritate my eyes.

"eughh, because of you there's flour in my nose," i complain to my boyfriend, who has his chin hooked over my shoulder and very heavily leaning over me.

"hey, don't complain! have you seen my hair?" he asks, stretching his neck to show me. sure enough, his hair is more white than it is black. i rake my hand through it before he can say anything, my dough covered hands clumping his hair together as an avalanche of flour sprinkles all over my chest.

he screeches, jumping back from me and i quickly use this chance to start running, because based on previous incidents, there's a 90% chance he will chase me relentlessly.

his cough from across the kitchen halts my escape plan, "are you happy now? i have flour in my nose too," he complains.

i watch in amusement as a cloud of flour puffs around him in the shape of a mushroom as he sneezes heavily, looking quite literally like a cartoon character and quickly near him to snap a picture. this will do nicely for the autumn section in this year's album.

since we started dating, tetsuro and i have been taking photos of one another, which we organise into albums by year, separated by season. it started when he gave me an album on our first anniversary, now, 6 years later and married, putting together an album of the past year has become tradition. each season we do an activity that correlates with the vibe, and today, we're making pumpkin pie with halloween shape indents because really, what else comes to mind when you think of fall?

i laugh loudly at the photo i took, his face caught mid sneeze, and it seems to flick the switch deep within tetsuro that i thought i had flicked earlier, and his feline gaze snaps to mine, before lurching forward in an attempt to catch me. i move just in the nick of time and run to the other side of the bench. he chases me until we're playing cat and mouse around the bench like children, slowly stalking one another as the other makes it as though they're backtracking but running forward instead.

"give up, wicked witch!" he exclaims, putting his right hand on his heart and holding the other outwards as he closes his eyes, apparently overwhelmed with emotion, "it is i, prince tetsu-" in the midst of his theatrics, i move in for the kill. his need for dramatics is most definitely his achille's heel, i think as i stab him in the hip with my fingers, and he yelps, opening his eyes only to find the mouse catching the cat.

"and the wicked witch of fall wins!" i yell, jumping up and down, getting flour all over the hardwood floors.

"fine, this round goes to you. your reward? a magical kiss from your prince charming," he says, leaning in and halting my celebration.

"the prince kisses the witch? haven't heard this fairy-tale before," i mutter before he silences me by placing a soft but unhurried kiss on my lips. my hands automatically make their way around his neck, and i lean back slightly as his hands firmly hold my waist, providing protection and support even in a moment as miniscule as this. in the glow of the autumn sunset, painting our kitchen with a golden hue, with the man i love in front of me, everything is perfect. we break off, his forehead leaning on mine, neither of us moving away.

"this is our fairy-tale, with its own happy ending."

looking up, I'm met with his golden brown stare, the small specks of gold especially visible in this lighting, practically glowing. his white turtle neck hugging his form nicely, and his raven hair sprinkled with flour, i can't help but wonder if this is what we're going to be like in the future, when we've lived our lives, and grown old together; the only indication of our age being the salt and pepper hair, and the slightly more prominent lines around our eyes from spending a lifetime of smiling.

because that's how it would be, i think, to have tetsuro next to me for eternity, to smile and to laugh every day.

he has to kneel down considerably to reach my lips with his own, to rest his forehead on mine, but the look on his face and the emotion in his familiar, beautiful eyes reflect nothing but comfort and content, genuine even as he says stupid and cliché things. in a way, he’s promising me nothing but a life full of the music of our happiness.

"i love you, witch," he whispers, as if afraid to ruin the moment by speaking.

i kiss him again, before pulling out my secret weapon and dumping more flour over his head. "love you too, prince!" i screech as i run away. i hear his chuckles as he chases after me, muttering empty promises of revenge just as he did before, and every other time, and hopefully, if my luck holds out, every time after.

---

"okay, nod gonna lie, dis ith really goo-dh" i say, speaking with a mouth full of the pumpkin pie we finally got around to baking.

i watch him snap a photo of me, smiling through my full mouth, knowing full well i have pie all over my mouth and teeth.

“you’ve never looked better, babe,” he says, chuckling, before trying it himself, moaning through his full mouth, "oh mhy gohd." i roll my eyes as he continues, "baby, thth is fudding amathing," he says, taking another, and then another bite.

“slow it down, moron. you’re going to choke and the wicked witch is going to have to ruin her comfy position to give you the heimlich,” i say, my legs crossed on the carpeted floor with my feet nice and warm in my thick panda bear socks.

“how abouth we sthip straighd to the kith of life?” he asks, wiggling his eyebrows with a mouth full of pie.

"how about you shuffle the cards, prince? i'll pick a movie," i suggest, or rather order, raising my brows. he salutes sarcastically as he sets down his plate and goes to get our worn out deck of uno cards.

"i thought you were a witch, not a princess," he mutters once he swallows his pie.

"actually, i married the prince so that legally makes me a princess. c'mon tetsuro," i say, pressing play on a random comedy to play in the background.

with the fireplace going under the television, and our pumpkin spice and cinnamon candles lit, the room is cozy, warm and calm.

that is until tetsuro yells his profanities about me placing a 2+ on his 4+.

"THAT'S NOT ALLOWED! YOU CAN ONLY PLACE A 4+ ON TOP OF A 4+"

"since WHEN?! THIS WASN'T THE RULE LAST WEEK!" i scream back, refusing to back down. i am not picking up four cards. "i would never cheat. unlike YOU," i accuse, shoving another fork full of the pie into my mouth in defiance.

he dramatically gasps shoving a fork full of pie into his own mouth, and glares at me. i glare right back, both of us wordlessly agreeing that whoever loses the staring competition loses the uno argument. ignoring the burning in my eyes, i keep my expression neutral as i watch the tears building up in tetsuro's lashline, his right eye twitching and turning slightly red.

"YES!" i scream as he blinks, wiping his eyes and sighing dramatically before beginning to pick up six cards, unable to come up with an excuse.

i laugh mercilessly and we continue the game, which i ended up winning after he picked up another 12 cards, flashing me the 'please have mercy on me' eyes every time he reached for the deck.

"you really are a wicked little witch aren't you?" he mutters as he gets up. i snort in response, eating the last of my pie.

"i wanna another slice," he announces. "you want?" nodding eagerly, i give him my plate.

"i want a slice with a bat," i call out, referring to the misshapen shapes we cut out on the top layer of the pie.

when he came back, he halted at the door as he silently watches me set up face masks and mani-pedi equipment on the coffee table, the entire pie tray with two forks, instead of two slices, in his hands. i raised my eyebrows, and he mirrors my expression towards my makeshift salon on the floor of our living room.

we both shrug and he comes and sits next to me, picking up a face mask packet and reading the description.

"ooh! aloe vera!"

that's how we ended up watching shitty comedies all night with white face masks on and stomachs stuffed with pie.

---

laying in bed my head resting on tetsuro's shoulder and my hand rhythmically stroking his hair, i bask in the feeling of comfort and my mind being stress free. shielded from the cold night with a million blankets and the massive man sleeping next to me, with my especially cold, numb feet tucked under his thigh, i match my breathing with his easily as i follow after him into a deep slumber.

because that's what the season of autumn is about, really. taking it easy after the adventurous months that were spring and summer, to rewind and become a home-bug again as the weather cools down. and these moments with tetsuro?

these moments are what makes this my favourite time of year.

ahhh this was so, so fun!! special thanks to @/kal0psi-a for organising this entire collab <3

[aftgficrec]

First, I LOVE what you are doing, thank you so much.

Second: any that focus on the baby foxes—aside from just Neil punching Jack?

All the older foxes have stories that go more into their character, we can see why they are assholes (and almost excuse them). Any for the baby foxes (particularly Jack) like this?

Alternatively, any where the older foxes are held accountable for their asshole actions? (Andrew forcing Aaron’s withdrawal, the chocking incident, the speedballs, Matt’s attacking Kevin for stuff that isn’t his fault, Nicky’s kissing Neil, Andrew’s drugging of anyone he considers suspicious, etc.)

Ok, so Robin Cross and Jack are future foxes discussed in Nora’s extra content. Robin has some in-depth fics written about her backstory, most notably the true crime podcast AU ‘Red Rabbits: Season 2,’ below. We found a bit of Jack’s past in ‘Lessons In Cartography’ (chapters 19 and 20), and a bit of Robin’s in sequel ‘The Cartographer and the World’ (chapters 8 and 13), find both here.

I’ve also got some accountability fics for you. - A

Robin & Jack:

fics featuring the freshmen here

Jack and Sheena being assholes here

Neil fights with Jack here

‘pick up all the pieces (and what’s left of my pride)’ here

‘Red-Breasted Fox’ here

og foxes held accountable:

Confrontations about demisexuality/Andrew's soullessness here

Foxes feel guilty about Andrew here

New finds for Nicky kissing Neil here; master list here

Andrew apologizes to Kevin here

you may also like:

some with Jean reacting to Kevin’s role at the nest: ‘playing on’ and ‘Staring at the Sun’ (updated) here; ‘give your tears to the tide’ here

‘creature of habit’ here (fix-it fic for Nicky’s character)

Aaron’s ptsd from withdrawal here

in-depth fics for Robin Cross

Teaching a caged bird to fly series by Charcoalll [Rated T/M, Collection with 4 complete works, Last Updated Sept 2021]

Part 1: Sunrise over Home [M (we say T), 7870 Words]

Robin Cross is regretting ever signing with the Foxes more and more every day. But when a disastrous day at court leads to emotions culminating, she has a much needed talk with her coach. Turns out her recrutation wasn't as random as she thought, but why would Andrew Minyard off all people have an interest in her?

No matter what, it all ends on that cursed roof at midnight.

tw: violence, tw: negative self talk, tw: bullying, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced csa

Part 2: Guilt, Fault and Blame [T, 9093 Words]

Whatever that night at the roof meant, it changed Robin's life rather quickly. On the edge of a life she never thought she could have, she has to make some thought decisions.

What is Andrew's true intentions?

What does he want with her?

And is Steven still in controll of her from his prison cell halfway cross country?

Or; Robin begins driving with the monsters from practice and suddenly everything changes.

tw: anxiety, tw: drugs, tw: alcohol, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced kidnapping, tw: implied/referenced murder of a child

Part 3: Never felt Safer [T, 3465 Words]

Robin finally earned Andrew's attention. Now she's standing in front of the biggest changes her life has seen, but as it seems it's only for the better.

tw: violence

Part 4: Secret Privacy [M (we say T), 15790 Words]

5 times Robin saw the emotions others seemed blind to, and 1 time it was painfully obvious.

Or Andrew and Neil through Robin's eyes.

tw: alcohol, tw: blood, tw: panic attacks, tw: violence, tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: slurs

Red Rabbits: Season 2 by bloodydamnit, jeni182 [Rated E, 282064 words, complete, 2020]

You’re listening to Season Two of Red Rabbits, the Case of the Newark 9. My name is Robin Cross. I’m number 8. And I survived.

Disclaimer: This season is dark. We won't pretend it's not. It's dark and it's not for the faint of heart, but we really tried to make every single action we take justified. Nothing that is tagged under abuse or otherwise is current and it is in no way detailed, whatsoever. We really took every reference seriously and there will be a list of triggers before every single chapter. It's part of the reason why getting this story out took so long. We want you all to know we have been double and triple checking ourselves to make sure every topic in this Season is handled properly. If there are any questions, please message us via the links in the AN of ch 1.

tw: implied/referenced rape/noncon, tw: implied/referenced csa, tw: implied/referenced child abuse, tw: referenced kidnapping, tw: referenced murder, tw: implied/referenced self harm, tw: scars, tw: implied violence

accountability

cause and effect by clarodelune [Rated G, 2682 Words, Complete, 2020]

cause-and-effect [ kawz-uh nd-i-fekt, -uh n- ]

adjective

1. the principle of causation.

2. noting a relationship between actions or events such that one or more are the result of the other or others.

or: in which andrew understands actions have consequences and that losing kevin might just be one of them.

tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: implied/referenced non-consensual drug use, tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: ptsd

hand over hand series by lackingsoy [Rated T, Collection, 4 complete works, Last Updated August 2020]

Part 1: the deal's done [4091 Words]

"Does it hurt," Allison's voice was bleak.

"What do you think," Kevin replied, somehow managing to sound steady despite his closed throat.

Allison looked at him, eyes remarkably cool for someone who went toe to toe with Seth and other despicable players. "I think," she said, lips popping on the last word: "You, Kevin Day, are heartbroken."

Five fingers, one promise, and the end of a lifeline. Post-hotel scene, the long hours after but before Neil gets picked back up by the Foxes, wherein Kevin stares into the face of his wounds, Allison extends an olive branch, and Renee decides, in the privacy of her own mind, to stop playing mediator.

tw: implied/referenced violence, tw: alcohol abuse, tw: panic attacks, tw: implied/referenced abuse

Part 2: domestic bliss [4251 Words]

It was a vindictive, vicious sort of triumph, Kevin supposed, that made him turn his face to meet Andrew’s gaze. To rear his head just a little, bare his throat. A steady dark line, marred and patented.

Abuse aftermath is seen to seriously by Wymack and Abby; consequences are left in the hands of the Foxes; and a few finally make unprecedented moves. Kevin just wants to die, so maybe nothing's different. (Except it is; has to be.)

tw: implied/referenced torture, tw: implied/referenced violence

Part 3: you asked for this (he didn't; you spat in the face of him) [1326 Words]

“You were supposed to be better,” Renee said. “For him.”

“That was never the deal,” Andrew told her.

Re: the loud crash. What actually happened when Renee sought out the Monster(s).

tw: violence

Part 4: a minor inconvenience, a smaller promise [1022 Words]

Aaron looked like he wanted to die this time. His shoulders shifted side to side, uncertain and uncomfortable. But his eyes were very clearly honed on the discoloring still visible on Kevin's neck, Allison's intensive powdering long washed off, and the darkness that passed over his eyes could've been misinterpreted for anger and maybe stupider still, regret.

tw: implied/referenced violence

Like Damned Guilty Deeds by EmilyScarlett [Rated M, 1679 words, complete, 2017]

The first time Jean and Kevin train together again after the events of the books.

tw: implied/referenced abuse, tw: anxiety

[actualbird]

nobody asked but here are my personal top five pat gill videos | a 2.1k word long post where i rank and review pat gill’s videos for just way too long.

Right around the tail end of April, 2020, I fell into the rabbit hole of my current obsession; Polygon Dot Com Video Content. As a consequence of this was being introduced to the phenomenon of Pat Gill. A dire consequence of that consequence was me slowly, deeply, irrevocably, finding myself attracted to this marionette of a man. So, I enjoy his content and I think he’s hot and that combined with the fact that some of my friends bully me over that latter fact has inspired me to do this: rank my personal favorite Pat Gill videos in a post that’s entirely too long.

Before I get straight into the rankings, I need to explain my process. 

First, I needed to narrow my scope. Polygon has a lot of videos. Polygon has a lot of videos with Pat Gill in them. If I didn’t narrow my scope, I would either go bonkers yonkers or have a list that would be kilometric in length and thus miss the entire point of ranking altogether. So, for my sanity, I am excluding any videos that are a part of a Polygon video series. This means no Overboard, no Gill and Gilbert, no Video Game Theatre, etc. If I included these, I would cry. I do not want to cry over Polygon Dot Com Video Producer Pat Gill.

Second, I need a criteria. If I just ranked videos with no system, I would find myself endlessly rearranging my list based on whatever thought comes out on top in my mind at the given moment. I am a disorganized person, so I need rules. I have decided that I will rank Pat Gill videos using the EEEH criteria. 

Entertainment. Do I smile, watching the video? Do I chortle? Am I filled with the embarrassing urge to show this video to my sister and derive glee from her laughing at the exact same moment I laughed? Entertainment is key.

Education. Did I come out of this video knowing something I originally did not know? More importantly, was I engaged in the learning process? I come from a family of teachers, so I have high standards when it comes to education. If I am to learn, I must learn well.

Exaltation. This is a bit of an oddball criteria, but it is important to me. The word “exalted” is defined as “elevated in rank, character, or status.” This criteria refers to how good it is at exalting, elevating, pulling me out of a depressive episode. That is to say I’ve been in a depressive episode for the past month and whether or not the video made me stop crying and brush my teeth is essential. Polygon video content has been integral to my serotonin production lately, and thus the video’s ability of acting as an audiovisual antidepressant for me factors into the rankings.

[BONUS POINTS] Hotness. How Hot Is Pat Gill In It? I felt bad, morally, ranking videos based on how good looking I thought Pat Gill was in it---because beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and all that, and people don’t exist to be beautiful, they just are, and I agree---so I’m relegating this criteria as a bonus point. Standard is 0, because he’s always hot in my mind, but he gets plus points if he is exemplary in the hotness department.

The maximum score for each of these criteria is 5 points, making the perfect score a 15, but because of the bonus points, a 20 is, hypothetically, possible. 

With that out of the way, let me dive right into it. 

5. The fastest interview ever with Ben Schwartz from Sonic the Hedgehog

Entertainment: 5 Education: 2 Exaltation: 2 Hotness: +2 Total Score: 11

Pat Gill is a good interviewer, he’s engaging and fun and keeps the interview interesting, but this interview is particularly special because it seems that, and let me quote Youtube user AudreyN who left a comment on this video stating “ben schwartz consumed all seven chaos emeralds prior to this interview.” Pat Gill and Ben Schwartz’s dynamic is amazing, and by “dynamic” I do mean “Ben Schwartz absolutely just fucking dunking on Pat Gill for 14 entire minutes.” and it is glorious.

For Entertainment this scores a solid 5. Quite honestly the funniest interview I’ve ever watched in my entire life. Just the sheer beauty in the exchange [Pat] “You would use Sonic’s power to gaslight me?” [Ben] “Just you.” In terms of Education, I guess I did learn a bunch of things about the Sonic movie that I didn’t know before, but the avenue by which it was portrayed in was not exactly the most engaging, more like I was absorbing it via watching two experts discuss on a webinar. I would have given just 1 point to Education but I made it 2 because of the wonderful knowledge that Pat Gill can draw a pretty good Sonic in a few seconds. When it comes to Exaltation, I must admit that while this video got quite a few laughs out of me, it didn’t make me want to get out of bed and take a shower. 

BONUS: Pat is +2 hot in it. His short hair makes him look very handsome. He’s a spiffy boy, in this video. Very, very good.  

4. Pat Will Not Tweet at Nintendo This Week Because He is Resting at Home — PLEASE RETWEET, Episode 12 

Entertainment: 5 Education: 0 Exaltation: 5 Hotness: +1 Total Score: 11

I know I’m breaking a rule I set for myself a few paragraphs earlier by including an episode of Please Retweet, which counts as a video series, but this is my post and I can do whatever I want. More importantly, this video is so fucking funny to me, it feels like it would be a crime not to put it in this list. 

Solid 5 out of 5 for entertainment. Pat Gill, alone in his apartment, drinking six cans of what I think is beer silently while the intro music plays. That scene in itself should win an Oscar. Sadly, a solid 0 for Education, because I learn nothing in this video except for the fact that Pat Gill is the type of person to put out a coaster and then just completely not use it. I quantify things as educational if I can maybe answer a trivia question with them, and unfortunately, this fact does not pass that test. In terms of Exaltation, seeing Pat Gill lie down on the floor next to his cat made me get out of bed to do the same with my dog, and with myself thusly out of my bed cocoon of sadness, I was able to actually complete tasks on the day I watched this video. Perfect 5.

BONUS: Pat is +1 hot in this because there’s something very beautiful about him being a little bit miserable. However, I do miss his beard when I watch this video. It is one of my favorite things about him, and it is not present here.

3. Pat and Simone Play Human: Fall Flat

Entertainment: 5 Education: 1 Exaltation: 5 Hotness: 0 Total Score: 11

I very much enjoy Polygon’s gameplay streams. I often play them in the background while I’m doing other stuff like doodling or origami, but this stream is special. It is special because of the moment at 24:00 when Pat Gill, in game, swings a stereo into a glass window, shattering it, while saying, “Actually, y’know what? Let’s talk about trauma.” and then proceeds to tell a horrible and embarrassing story from his childhood where he had to do a rap about Ancient Egypt. 

5 points for Entertainment. This is partly because of Pat’s tragic childhood story about the Egypt Rap (and, segue just to point out 33:22 the incredible moment where you can hear Pat’s feral panic when Simone finds the lyrics to the Egypt Rap) but also because Pat and Simone just talking to each other is so deeply entertaining to me in a very comfy way. I’m starved for human interaction, in this quarantime, okay. Let me enjoy listening to other people have conversations while playing video games. Education scores a 1 because, again, nothing in this video will let me answer a trivia question, however it does get 1 point and not a 0 because the Egypt Rap’s lyrics are in the comments and I did end up learning stuff about Ancient Egypt that I didn’t know. A perfect 5 for Exaltation because this video showed me that talking about trauma can actually be cathartic, given that you’re trashing a video game living room at the same time, and I think that message of not bottling up your experiences really helped me, in these trying times.

BONUS: Pat Gill is not visible for the entirety of this episode, so he scores the standard 0. I’m sure he was hot. We just couldn’t see him.  

2. Why Bloodborne and Muppets are the same thing

Entertainment: 4 Education: 4 Exaltation: 3 Hotness: +2 Total Score: 12

Ah yes, one of Pat’s “x is y because of z” videos. He’s made a number of these and they’re all very good but this one is my favorite among them and earns a spot on this list because 1) I think puppets are cool and 2) I fucking love monsters. 

This video scores a 4 on Entertainment, just shy of perfect, because as funny as it is, it also gives me the vibe like I am being lectured by a professor who’s just a little bit off the shits. And we all know that lectures are supposed to be taken seriously. Which brings us to Education, which also scores a 4. I learned a lot in this video! Watching Pat Gill explain to me that children’s puppets and these horrifying viddy game monsters use the same character principles in different ways is not only very educational but is also explained in a streamline and easy to understand manner that I WISH some of the shitty professors at my old university could emulate. As for Exaltation, while this video did give me enough energy to have a meal, I did eventually end up back in bed for the night at 8pm crying myself to sleep, thinking “I’m like the slime scholar. Used to be a scholar. Now they’re slime.” 

BONUS: Pat Gill is +2 hot here. He’s rockin that basic ass monochromatic aesthetic and I love his look dearly. 

1. Preparing for Big Boy Season in Red Dead Redemption 2 

Entertainment: 5 Education: 3 Exaltation: 5 Hotness: +3 Total Score: 16

Here we are. My favorite non video series Pat Gill video. The video where Pat Gill tries to make Red Dead Redemption 2 protagonist, Arthur Morgan, large. 

Perfect fucking 5 for Entertainment, which I’m sure many may find odd. Afterall, this video is told in a serious investigative tone reminiscent of Vox’s videos on current issues. But that’s the glory of it. The complete and utter ‘playing it straight and serious’ for a ridiculous issue in a video game. It is high tier comedy in a subtle, understated way that sings to my comedy loving heart in a melody so lovely, so wonderful, that it urged me to give this video 5 points for Entertainment. It scores 3 on Education, because I have never played Red Dead Redemption 2, nor will I ever, but now I know things about it. The information was also relayed to me in a very interesting style, via something like a crime procedural, and thus it was engaging for me to absorb all this new knowledge. Exaltation scores a perfect 5 because of this video’s beautiful end about existential smallness. No joke, but hearing Pat Gill say “Our bigness isn’t measured in pounds, but in the impact we have on the people with whom we shared the world.” deadass made me want to talk to my friends again after conversationally isolating myself for 3 days. Preparing for Big Boy Season has a special place in my heart. And there it will stay.

BONUS: Pat Gill is not visible for most of the video but he does appear for like 15 seconds in the middle of it, and guess what. He’s hot. +3 hotness. Good beardage, good hair, all in all, good Pat Gill. 

So there you have it. My five favorite Pat Gill videos. If you read this whole thing, holy shit. You’re welcome, I guess.

[disneydeb1928]

One Piece Theories: The Truth of the D. Clan

                                                       - The Void Century Theories, Part 3

This is the third part of my Void Century Theories Series. This one is a long one (I apologize).

The D. Clan

So, first I think we should review, what exactly has been mentioned, in canon, on this topic:

1) It is first brought up by Kureha, on Drum Island, when she revealed that the true name of the late Pirate King was “Gol D. Roger” and told Dolton that Chopper had joined up with a very “dangerous man” (Ch. 154)

After stating Chopper has joined up with a “dangerous man”, she then smiles and says, “D’s will is still alive?”

2) In chapter 594, which takes place after Marineford, the Gorosei are discussing the possible connection between Rayleigh and Luffy when one of them says, “The ‘D.’s are always the troublemakers… especially Portgas… it seems his name has been a little too visible lately.”

3) Law actually talks about the D. Clan twice. The first time, is right before the timeskip, in chapter 729. After leaving Amazon Lily with Luffy in Rayleigh’s care he says “Still, I wonder what the Dark King’s [Rayleigh] is up to… the ‘D.’ will always bring a storm without fail… heheh…”. Later, during the Dressrosa arc, Doflamingo questions Law about why he would trust the Straw Hat Pirates as much as he does.  Law replies “Because I know the ‘D.’ will blow up a storm again!”. However, both of these statements are merely echoing what Rosinante told him as a child.

Rosinante refers to where “I come from”, which must be referring to Mary Goise, the home of the Celestial Dragons. He says that will someone “with the name of ‘D.’ begins to make a name for themselves in the world… all the elders all groan and mutter… that ‘D.’ will surely bring with them another storm…”. We know that this is true based off the comments the Gorosei made (see above). He also says that it is a name that people have “secretly” been inheriting throughout history. This is highlighted by the fact that, just a chapter prior, when Law revealed his true name to Baby 5, he said “the ‘D.’ is a secret’ (Ch. 763). Rosinante then states that, in Mary Goise, the “’Family of D.’” is know as “God’s Natural Enemy”. Of course, many have taken this to mean ‘the Celestial Dragons natural enemy’ since the Celestial Dragons see themselves as gods.

When Law demands to know if that makes him a monster, Rosinante admits that “no one knows the actual truth”. However, we know that’s not true. This sentence is important because of a connection it has to the conversation between Law and Sengoku in Episode 743. Sengoku says,

“At least, I know Rosinante had no idea [about the meaning of that ‘D’]. So that wasn’t the reason he saved you.”

While it was a beautiful moment, it should be noted that Sengoku seems to be implying that had Rosinante have known about the true meaning behind the ‘D.’, it might have played a role in why he saved Law (even though we all know Rosinante was a big softy). Sengoku almost seems relieved to hear Rosinante didn’t know the truth. Then, he thinks,

“So he is one, too. The people with the name “D.” always lead a checkered life.”

The dictionary defines ‘checkered’ as: marked by periods of varied fortune or discreditable incidents. It at least implies that Sengoku knows something about the D. Clan.

Now, let’s review the people who appear to know something about the ‘D.’ (at least part of it) and the implications that could have:

1.) Dr. Kureha – (See Explanation Above)

Implications: Kureha aas born on September 8th, 1383. To put this into perspective, that makes her older than every known ‘D.’-bearer we’ve been introduced to in the story so far. In fact, that makes her 141 years old. As mentioned before, she is one of the people who knows Gold Roger’s real name. We know that Roger began to complain about the papers calling him that when he met with Whitebeard (around August) in 1500, so it is very plausible that she simply remembers what he used to be called before the propaganda began. However, her last comment, “D’s will is still alive?” is something of interest.

Grammatically, structuring the sentence as “D’s will” would give the same meaning as “Will of D.”. Both are describing a possessive condition. So we know that she is specifically referring to the Will of D. in this sentence. When she says this, she is smiling, implying that she is pleased with this fact. My question is, why would she have reason to believe that it wasn’t alive. I understand that some families with the ‘D.’ in their name have gone about hiding it, but there is still Monkey D. Garp, who is very public with his name. It’s possible that she’s been living a secluded life for a long time, but if she knew about Roger how had she not known of Garp? Also, I would stipulate, that her reaction makes me believe that there is an emotional connection to the “Will of D.”. It is absolutely possible, that her sentiment could more general, in that she’s happy to see that the World Government wasn’t able to extinguish another token of the past. Or it could imply something else. I think a lot of people wouldn’t be surprised if Kureha had met Roger in the past. He was a sick man and she was a genius doctor, capable of amazing advances in medicine. I think it is also possible that she knew others bearing that initial.  

2.) Roger and some of the Roger Pirates – (As mentioned during my discussion on Joy Boy’s treasure, they discovered the true meaning at Laugh Tale)

Implications: While Roger appeared put out by the idea that the newspaper was covering up his name, he didn’t seem too beat up about it. In fact, we honestly can’t garner much from Roger’s reactions to anything. He, much like Luffy, didn’t seem to let things bother him.

However, I would like to take a look at his last words before his execution. There are two main versions I have seen floating around, but I am sure, due to translations, that there are many more. They are:

·         “Inherited will, the swelling of the changing times, and the dreams of people. These are things that cannot be stopped. As long as people seek the answer to freedom, these will never cease to be!”

·         “Inherited Will, The Destiny of the Age, The Dreams of its People. As long as people continue to pursue the meaning of Freedom, these things will never cease!”

Of course, the first person who springs to mind when I read this, is Luffy, who talks about freedom being a large reason in why he wanted to become a pirate. What I believe Roger is saying, is that as long as people are not content with oppression, and instead chose freedom (which can taken many forms), then people’s dreams and will (Joy Boy’s, Roger’s, Ace’s) can never fully be extinguished (which parallels to what Whitebeard said during Marineford).

Now, freedom mean many things, to different people. Luffy sees freedom as becoming a pirate; Zoro sees it as becoming the world’s greatest swordsman; Koby sees it as becoming a Marine. If you notice, despite having a dislike at the idea of becoming a Marine, Luffy never does anything but encourage Koby (in his own way). Because ‘freedom’ in this sense, is more about following your ambitions – your heart’s desires – reaching for the stars.  

3.) Whitebeard – Roger informs Whitebeard the true meaning of the “D.” during their last meeting before turning himself in. In fact, Whitebeard has enough understanding on the subject that he can confidently say that Blackbeard is not the man that Roger is waiting for [to find the One Piece]

Implications: After Roger complains about his name change, WB asked him this,

“Now and then I come across some people with the name “D.”. Even in my own crew, there’s Teach. Just what is ‘D.’?”

So, Whitebeard is admitting that “now and then” he comes across ‘D.’-bearers. He doesn’t specify how often or even how many bearers he’s come across during his time (at this point WB is 50). However, we know that by 1500, the only ‘D.’-bearers that we know (currently) existed were:

·         Jaguar D. Saul (born March 6, 1397)

·         Monkey D. Garp (born May 2, 1446)

·         Rocks D. Xebec

·         Gol D. Roger (born December 31, 1447)

·         Monkey D. Dragon (born 1469)

·         Portrgas D. Rouge

·         Marshall D. Teach (born August 3, 1484)

We know that Whitebeard was a part of a infamous pirate crew known as the Rocks Pirates and that his captain, Rocks D. Xebec was a ‘D.’-bearer. Now, we have no idea what went down during the crew before they separated – or even when they separated. We don’t even know if the entire crew participated in the God’s Valley Incident. But what we do know, is that the Rocks Pirates were involved in a lot of the taboo subjects of the world. I go into this a lot deeper in one of my previous theories specifically on the Rocks Pirates, but it is very telling that two of the previous crew members end up with a Road Poneglyph. We also know that he is including Roger in his statement, but I also think it is likely he knows Garp as well. I think it is obvious that we have not discovered all of the current or past ‘D.’-bearers, so all we can do, beyond this list, is speculate.

Whatever it was that Roger ended up telling him, Whitebeard appears to keep to himself for the next 24 years. Not that I’m surprised, that man really didn’t care about pursuing any power other then keeping his family safe. However, at Marineford, he says,

“It’s not you [Blackbeard]… The man Roger is waiting for… is definitely not you, Teach. There are those who inherited Roger’s will… and one day, someone will appear who will inherit Ace’s will… As long as that ‘bloodline’ survives, their flames will never die… that will has been passed down from long ago…!!!”

4.) The Marines – They seem to have some awareness of the significance – or at least Sengoku does (as shown by his conversation with Law during episode 743)

5.) Doflamingo – After Law makes the comment about blowing the D. clan being able to blow up a “storm”, Doffy becomes enraged. This sees to indicate that he knows what Law is referencing. This wouldn’t be surprising since he knows the truth about the Treasure in Mary Geoise.

Implications: However, it could simply be that he, much like his brother, was reacting to the fear that the Celestial Dragons instilled in their children about the ‘D.’ clan and was angry that Law knew.

6.) Im-Sama – I think it is clear that if anyone in this story holds all the answers, it’s Im-Sama. They are clearly deeply rooted in the one piece mythology

7.) The Gorosei – Being second to Im-Sama and who the rest of the world view as the most powerful group in the world, it can be concluded that they, at least, know what Im wants them to know on the subject

Commonalities Between “D.”-bearers: All of the members who have passed, have all died with a smile on their face, in what appears to be, acceptance of their fate. This is, of course, with the exception of Teach, who feared death during Marineford.

[supernaturallyobsessedchic]

7 Days to Die - Part 1

Part 1: Surviving

Pairing: none to start with

Warnings: zombie hordes, language, injuries, scary situation, mentions of death and destruction.

Word count: 1,205

Summary: Town after town, horde after horde, the reader is trying to find a safe haven. Finding two scavengers who kindly take her in their company, maybe humanity isn’t doomed.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

7 Days to Die Masterlist

Mobile Masterlist

a/n: This is all un’beta’d, all mistakes are my own. But I hope you enjoy none-the-less.

~

Almost every car she got into to hijack was out of gas, she’s not the only survivor trying to get across the country.

All of this happened so suddenly, she even remembered how it started where she’s from. She was at work and someone really wanted in the café after closing. After bashing their head into the glass door, with no effects visibly noticed he came in and killed the first two employees that tried to subdue him and get him out. She ran for her life after that. Even narrowly escaping her hometown, the city of Lincoln Nebraska, not as big as Omaha but big enough to be a living hell to escape from.

Now she got so far north, she thinks she could be in Canada by the looks of the landscape. Beautiful mountainous landscape. Her phone, still working revealed it to be a rural area west of Vancouver.

As she walked the streets of a small rural town, she heard the sounds of a possible horde. Rounding a corner she saw the small horde of them. She remained quiet, noticing they didn’t see her. How could they? They’re dead. Though undead, the sense of sight has died but their sense of smell and hearing has heightened.

But a gust of wind hit them, giving them a big whiff of her scent.

“Shit.” She mutters under her breath.

The first walker in the group starts running after the scent, as did the entire herd.

“Time to put that cardio to work girl.” She coached herself as she took off.

The horde seemed to just grow and grow as she ran down the empty, lifeless road. A walker got close by nearly side swiping her, trying to flank her.

She focus’s on her escape, pushes herself harder the closer they got.

“Jared! Time to go!” she heard.

Seeing two men running out of an alleyway just as frantic as she was getting away from the horde.

“Jensen, there’s someone!” Jared shouted.

Jensen takes his hunters rifle and begins shooting some walkers to give her a cushion.

“Come on!” Jared waved her to join.

She didn’t question it.

She managed to reach the two men.

“Jensen, let’s go!” Jared shouts.

Jensen reloads his rifle as he turns to run away. Only reloading what he could before sprinting with Jared and Y/N.

They come to a fence, no gate in sight to allow them to go around the fence. But they see a whole big enough for two giants and Y/N.

Jensen crawls under first, lifting the fence a bit, Y/N goes through next.

The horde closes in, Jared hurries as fast as he could to get his pack on the other side before crawling.

Jensen didn’t need to be asked, he started shooting walkers.

“Come on Jared!” Y/N shouts, grabbing for his hand to help him out.

He started to yell as he kicked the few walkers that got a hold of his legs. But he got through the fence, nonetheless.

“You okay brother, they didn’t bite you did they?” Jensen drilled.

“No, I don’t think so. I didn’t feel it. I just freaked out mostly.��� He said.

“Yeah, I would too.” Jensen says.

“And who do we owe the pleasure of joining our company?” Jensen asks kindly looking over at Y/N.

“Y/N.” She says. Clearly freaked out she just came close to being zombie chow.

“Y/N, this is—”

“I know who you are, I seen your show. Can we just get going?” she asked.

“Sure thing, lets get going.” Jensen says, picking up Jared’s pack for him. Jared seemed to be out of it, in his head.

“Maybe you could help us carry our loot.” Jensen asks, as he picked up a medic kit.

“Yeah.” She says, picking up what she could carry.

And they headed out on the paved road before turning on a dirt road into the woods.

Where are these guys taking me? She wondered.

 “According to the map, there’s a hold out not far from here.” Jensen says looking at the map.

“Are you guys from, like, a local settlement or something?” she asked.

“Oddly enough yeah, well it’s not close. It’s a few days walk, on a good day.” Jensen answers.

“Okay, how far is not far from the hold out?” Jared asked. “I’m exhausted man.” He adds.

“Right there, you can see it from here.” Jensen points.

From the dirt road, between some trees even with the sun going down she could see the cabin Jensen was talking about. Seeing the dark solid building behind the dark green trees that somehow are as alive as anything in the forest. Not even the undead can kill the forest.

They continued until they finally reached the cabin.

“Wait here.” Jensen says, drawing a pistol from his waistband.

Jared and Y/N waited on the porch of the small hunter cabin. Jensen headed inside; gun drawn as he searched the cabin for any signs of unwanted life.

“Clear!” he shouted as he entered the main room.

Jared and Y/N eagerly entered to get out of the brisk October night.

“I’m gonna clean up, I feel gross.” Jared says.

“You don’t look so hot, how about hit the hay, I’ll take watch.” Jensen says, giving Jared’s back a pat as he walk past Jensen.

“So, how’d you guys end up here in Canada?” Y/N asked.

“Wrapped up our show when the outbreak happened. It happened in Texas long ago, my wife and kids got here before it broke out here, same for Jared’s family, they’re up here to at our camp.” Jensen explained.

“What about you, how’d you end up here?” he asked.

“Just trying to find a safe haven from this mess. My home in Nebraska totally destroyed, it was a war zone of soldiers, citizens and walkers. My family didn’t make it.” she says. “Raiders.” She adds.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” He sympathizes. “Raiders are just as bad up here than anywhere else.” He says.

“I just want to be around living humans, not undead ones.” She says.

“I feel ya there, well, you are more than welcome to join our camp.” Jensen offers. “Don’t laugh, but everyone goes by nicknames there. Misha, we call him Cas.” He says.

She giggles. “That’s awesome.” She goes.

Jensen smiles, agreeing.

“Get some sleep Y/N, we got a long walk tomorrow, and I need you well rested.” Jensen says.

She nods. “I definitely need more than a couple of hours a night.” She says.

“I’ll keep you safe,” he says, as she settles for the couch.

He grabs a blanket from his large pack, unrolling it he lays it over her. “Get some rest sweetheart.” He says.

She hums with a smile. Feeling safe for once.

 Jared gets ready to lay down, he notices his leg with a nasty scratch. Turning a bright red, showing signs of a quick infection. Even signs of dead flesh already developing around the cuts in the flesh.

Looking up from his leg, with an anxious feeling he is infected. But shaking the thought with, the fence probably scratched him as he got up to soon or something.

He puts antiseptic and a bandage wrap around the scratch and tries to sleep for the night.

~

Feedback is much appreciated! Tags are closed

Jensen Tags:

@luci-in-trenchcoats, @supernatural-jackles, @becs-bunker, @backseat-of-deans-67chevy, @salt-n-burn-em-all​, @moonlight-on-her-skin​, @mlovesstories​, @winchesters-favorite-girl​

~

Copying and reposting someone else’s content is plagiarism and illegal. This work is property of supernaturallyobsessedchic. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. These works contain material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of these works may be reproduced in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author / publisher. An electronic reference link to the original posted work may be provided for purposes of promotion or assistance of publication by the readers discretion, if proper credits are given to the author in the re-post. 10/3/2020

[morelikesin]

Security

Welcome to the first chapter of my self-indulgent kiss fic! My first Apex Legends fic, as well!

This fic has five chapters, including an intro (you’re here!), an ending, and three middle chapters that focus on a specific relationship each within my self-indulgent polyamorous ship of Bloodhound-Octane-Mirage-Caustic. This is like my take on the start of their romantic relationship 💕

I have to put a disclaimer, for I know not too much about the Apex lore, and have been playing for only a little more than four months as of now - so my characterizations and headcanons are purely based on what I think from seeing them in-game. I hope Apex veterans will still like my take (⺣◡⺣)♡* 

For quick reference, not that it truly matters to the reading experience, I wrote this fic with certain character skins in mind - Caustic has his Blackheart skin, Bloodhound has their Flamingo skin, Octane has his Original skin, and Mirage has his Fiber Optics skin.

Sidenote: There’s a lot of language other than English within these chapters, regarding dialogue - Old Norse, Icelandic, Spanish, and French being what they are. I have not included translations, but many of them are able to be understood with context. I also write dialogue based on how they actually speak, rather than readability. Words containing “r’r” represent a roll of the r, and missing letters represent the character skipping over them because of accent or dialect. Everything else should be self-explanatory! Any questions regarding this sidenote can be asked through the notes of any of the relevant chapters.

Below is the chapters in order.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1 - Intro (You are here!)

Chapter 2 - Mirage

Chapter 3 - Octane

Chapter 4 - Caustic

Chapter 5 - Ending

Without further ado, Chapter 1 below the cut!

The dormitories abruptly filled with stumbling footsteps.

“Are you sure it’s fine?” Mirage spoke uncomfortably as he eyed the team’s best hunter.

Bloodhound swatted away any hands that came to touch them - not meaning to come off as rude, but rather in their discomfort of general intimacy. The other legends were aware of this, but the natural urge to touch someone’s arm or back in comfort arose stronger now than in previous encounters, despite the hunter’s visible unwillingness to accept such an offer. In the middle of battle, it was often too risky to offer physical forms of affection even for a moment in terms of someone ambushing them, but even when the chance presented itself Bloodhound was always one to dismiss their hurt and assure their other teammate(s) that they were fine.

“Quite,” started the hunter, their ever-so-slightly-shaking fingers fiddling with one of their prominent jacket pockets, “I’ll be fine. Don’t treat this as such a dire issue.”

“Compadre, of course it’s a big issue,” Octane assured Bloodhound with his unwavering hand resting on their arm, much to the latter’s dismay. “Che needs to at least see it-”

The man’s purring voice was cut off by one deeper and more grainy.

Caustic pulled at his sleeves and turned to check the emergency medicine cabinet by the door - giving a bitter “I’m thinking if someone didn’t use an illegal play, then you’d not be wounded. I know a particular subject who despises common etiquette,” referring to Revenant.

Bloodhound gave a reassuring “Don’t tr'rouble yourself finding someone to blame. I’m fine, thank you.”

All three men seemed wanting in terms of disputing how fine Bloodhound really was (not to mention faulting the obvious perpetrator of their wound), but mutually abstained for civility’s sake.

“Cabinet’s bare.”

“Think I got some supplies left in my own stash,” Mirage offered as he hastily turned to go up the stairs to his room.

As he left, the hunter walked to the left side of the kitchen they were all standing in and leaned against the counter - looking down and tapping a hand against the granite. The motion gave the two men with them a quiet sign of how they were trying to ignore the pain.

“Where is it exactly?” Octane questioned as he came to stand in front of them, “Face, neck-?”

“Face,” they confirmed. “The pain feels centered on my right.”

Octane went to say something before Mirage had come back down - carrying in his hands a few items of aid.

“Got some antiseptic, some cotton pads, and a thing of g- a thing of- ah- some bandages.”

Octavio was quick - obviously - to take the pack of cotton pads, roll of applicable gauze, and travel-sized bottle of antiseptic. Before Mirage could question it, Octavio purred to Bloodhound, “If you need help with it, compadre, I’ve gotten five star reviews on my medical care.”

“From who, exactly?” Caustic quipped, “Last we were teamed, you could hardly administer a syringe to me without missing the vein two times first.”

“I’m thorough, what can I say?”

Bloodhound slightly reached out a hand to take the supplies, “Thank you for these, Mr. Witt. I think I’ll be fine to administer these myself, really-”

“Oh, it’s no big deal!” Octane assured, pulling open the bag of cotton pads as he spoke, “It’s better when you got someone else to look over your heridas - más cobertura.”

Bloodhound swallowed. The offer was tempting - knowing Octane was right in that - but they’d never taken their mask off in front of anyone in terms of the other legends. They trusted them, of course, but it was still a strong desire of theirs to keep their physical identity hidden. There’s been occasions they’ve seen their hands or their hair, but their face was something they were always careful to hide.

Taking in a sigh, they decided against their better judgement and slowly raised their hands to unclasp the few straps holding their mask in place behind their head.

“Just be quick about it.”

Octane half-expected Bloodhound to decline the offer, take the supplies, and head to their dorm - and yet they didn’t. Blinking, he popped open the cap of the antiseptic bottle and doused a cotton pad, “Sure thing! Sorry if this burns any.”

Bloodhound shook their head a bit, “I assume it will - no need to apologize.”

The next few moments felt so slow - Mirage and Caustic consciously looking elsewhere as to give the hunter a bit of privacy where it was due, Octane setting down the rest of the supplies on the counter beside Bloodhound until he needed them again, and all accompanied by a small clink from them unbuckling their mask.

They visibly hesitated to pull it off, gloved hands grasping the sides of the mask timidly, and had their gaze pointed downwards.

Nothing was said when they fully pulled the cover away and looked up - heterochromatic eyes looking to their left at nothing in particular just to avoid eye contact.

Octane, being the one to have been looking at them the entire time, would have been the first to find that they were so pretty - gorgeous, even. A slightly angled jaw, warm olive skin decorated with scattered beauty marks, blushed lips, a large angled nose, soft brows - not to mention the scars. One dragged from their right to left cheek horizontally, across the bridge of their nose. Another was smaller, and trailed vertical from their right brow to their cheekbone - the same side as their grey, presumably blind, eye. The last was a gnarly horizontal across the fully shaved part of their head - just below where their deep black hair began and trailed much past their shoulders.

Octane figured they wouldn’t want anything to be said about their appearance, which fought with his want to compliment them, but ultimately he went with the former idea. Raising the cotton pad to clean the notable fresh wound, an abrasion scuffing the skin beside their chin and just above their jaw, Octane pressed it against the scrape gently.

Bloodhound made a muted wince.

It was then that, as goes human curiosity, the two other men looked over - finding themselves at the same conclusion as Octane had just seconds ago-

Bloodhound was damn pretty.

It felt rude to stare, but it was hard to look away - Caustic being the first to reluctantly move his gaze towards the floor, followed by Mirage looking down and fiddling with a random pocket on his suit.

Octane tossed the used cotton pad into a nearby bin. Picking up the applicable gauze, he unwrapped it and began to line it up with Bloodhound’s wound.

“I think it’ll heal up just fine,” He assured, “Doesn’t look like anything that’ll leave a scar behind.”

The hunter gave a hushed “Thank you” as Octane pressed the bandage against the wound and made sure it was secure. As the man pulled his hands away, Bloodhound felt the urge to cover their face over once more - though as they’ve already seen it, they simply held the mask in their hands.

“..Þakka fyrir,” they spoke quietly, “All of your concern is appreciated.”

Given they seemed comfortable enough to leave it off, Mirage glanced back over prior to lifting his head up a bit. “It’s nothin’, really. Gotta’ look out for one another, you know?”

Bloodhound gave a nod.

“..I’ll retire to my room. Thank you all, again.”

Caustic gave an assuring “Our pleasure.”

With that, they made their way to the stairs and left - leaving behind a trio of men who suddenly needed time to think.

That was a week ago.

The opportunity to discuss the event came in the form of an early Monday morning - the beginning of the work week regarding games.

Caustic was a known early-riser - him or Lifeline always being the first to brew a pot of coffee in the morning. He and Mirage sat at the dining table making seldom conversation - the scientist drinking his coffee black while Mirage had poured in a concerning amount of his favourite pumpkin-flavoured creamer into his own.

Mirage wasn’t known to wake up quite this early, it being seven, but he wasn’t late to do so either - that title belonged to Octane, an infamous sleeper-till-three-or-four-in-the-afternoon. Considering that, it was a shock to find the man coming down into the kitchen.

“Morning,” Octane quipped prior to yawning and scratching his lower back. Unmasked, his baggy grey sweatpants and violet tank-top looked freshly wrinkled - most likely having just woken up.

Unperturbed by most things at this point, Caustic gave an unwavered “Good morning,” though unlike most days he sounded a little tired. Come to think of it, so did Octane.

Mirage returned the greeting with a playful “Aren’t normally up this early - special occasion?”

“Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.”

Octane took a seat beside Caustic, in front of Mirage - rubbing the back of his head and messing his hair a bit. The silence wasn’t necessarily awkward, but there was an obvious something between them not being said.

Knowing Mirage nor Caustic were going to say anything, Octane felt it his responsibility to break the tension.

“¿Qué pasó? We’re not gonna’ just forget about what happened last Monday, are we?”

Caustic furrowed his brows and hesitated to speak - taking a drink from his mug before responding, “I’m unsure what you mean.”

“I know you know what I mean, Nox,” Octane chortled, “and you aren’t free from this talk either, Elliott.”

Elliot gave a scoff. “I’m.. abstaining.”

“Really - can we talk about it?” Octane leaned back in his seat, putting his hands in his lap. The three of them haven’t been able to talk alone throughout the week, and any conversation with Bloodhound was the same as before that Monday afternoon. Octane continued, “Say what you want, compadres, but I have a feeling we’re all thinking the same thing.”

Octane’s intuition seemed to carry some weight when neither of the other men said anything - Dr. Nox hesitating before taking another drink and looking away while Elliott set his cup down.

The latter ultimately gave in with a sigh. Looking between Dr. Nox and Octane, Elliott spoke a little sheepishly, “Well, I…” He paused, “Look, promise you it’s not new - been.. liking Bloodhound for a while now.”

“How long is a while to you?” Octane teased before being reprehended by Dr. Nox.

“How exactly did you come to the conclusion this was the discussion you wanted to have?” He spoke while lifting the mug to his lips.

Octane scoffed and bore a smile, “I can’t be the only one who felt that tension after they left - I’m not dense.”

When the remark was met with no defense from either of them, Octane felt safe to assume they were now on the same page.

“..For what it’s worth, I’m fine with however we wanna’ go about this.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Elliott questioned with furrowed brows - though after a moment or two he quickly cleared his throat as the statement clicked. He put his elbow on the table and propped his head up in his hand. “Scratch that. Gotta’ say - would’ve taken you as a jealous type, Octavio.”

The comment earned an amused, short exhale from Dr. Nox.

Octavio spoke with playful surprise in his tone, then put his hand on his chest, “Me? Jealous? Estoy dolido.” He put his hand back in his lap. “Pero, I really don’t mind. I know I’m one of the least serious people here, but I’m talking about it because I’m trying to be for once.”

Dr. Nox set his mug down, his attention assumedly fully taken now.

“I’m just saying I’m interested in them,” Octavio finally confessed in concise terms. “And maybe I’m not as good at reading people as I think I am, but last week I felt something there. And I know nothing about your preferences,” he looked to the scientist, “Pero I wanted to.. how do I say this?”

Elliott looked focused on something, with his eyes narrowed and looking away. When Octavio found himself at a loss on how to convey his thoughts, Elliott spoke up in hopes he got the gist of what he was going for.

“What, like polyamory? I am, if it means anything - but, I’m.. sure you already knew that.”

Octavio gave a snort, “A huevo - yo también.” He then looked back to Dr. Nox and gave a quick nod of his head, “You?”

The man took a moment to answer - almost as though he’d never really thought about it before. Hell, he never expected to be talking about something like this. “..Might be. I’ve never given it much thought.”

“With what I’m proposing,” Octavio wanted to confirm, “You’d be okay with that? All of us having permission to pursue them, I mean.”

“I’ve yet to reject your offer,” Dr. Nox replied with a tinge of surprise in his own statement - definitely never before questioning this about himself.

The discussion seemed over on that note - an odd feeling of mutual relief lie between them. They knew Bloodhound had no obligation to accept any theoretical advances, but the first step was to make sure between themselves that they could do so in the first place. Octavio relaxed a bit and slouched in his seat, finding his once restless mood fading and, for the first time this week, ready for some proper sleep without anxieties occupying his mind. He closed his eyes and crossed his arms behind his head as a sort of cushion. Elliott took a quiet sip of his coffee. Dr. Nox kept his gaze elsewhere, in thought, and proceeded to pick his mug back up.

It was silent for a long while - the three  enjoying the company, in a way.

Upstairs, alone in their room, Bloodhound sat on their bed. Their hands clasped together, they couldn’t keep their mind off of something in particular - having kept them up for a few hours now.

Since last week, the hunter had been slowly becoming more comfortable with showing their face around the other legends - albeit for short periods, at times they’d been having a communal meal, but it was still progress. Last week had encouraged them to be a bit more open about the idea of doing so, but something about then still bothered them.

Bloodhound couldn’t tell whether it was fortunate or not that the three people they’d taken their mask off in front of for the first time were the exact three people they’d found themselves attracted to for months now - maybe the circumstances were the Gods’ sense of humor.

[ucmeteora]

metōnymía

All The old houses crumble and new ones rise. (1) Whilst watching the burning roof of notre dame I couldn‘t help myself thinking about the crumbling existence of my father and what he stood for. 

My potential existence should not be victim to decay. But the phrase 'potential existence' is ambiguous. (2)

It is as if, in order to assert (my) priority over other living beings in the struggle for survival, (I) have to forsake the struggle for survival itself and focus on other questions. Victory in the struggle for survival can only be gained as a by product: if one focuses directly on the struggle, one loses. Only a being obsessed with impossible or insoluble problems can make a breakthrough in possible knowledge. (3) 

This burning roof let me feel the urge for a new understanding of the church and The location of the installation is exactly this place. (4)

This is truly the new world resurrecting beneath the melted snow of the flesh and signs of the old one. (5) 

The befreeing glance on a crumbling world.

Freedom is thus not freedom from a Master, but the replacement of one Master with another: the external Master is replaced with an internal one. (6)

The type of life which puts itself in God’s place, which turns against the principle of its own triumph and no longer recognises values other than its own. Finally, the exhausted life which prefers to not will, to fade away passively, rather than being animated by a will which goes beyond it. This still is and always remains the same type of life; life depreciated, reduced to its reactive form. Values can change, be renewed or even disappear. (6.1)

Metamorphosis

The alternative and predominant tradition of modernity has always made a virtue of irony, obliquity and multiple reference. We think of Picasso’s bicycle seat of 1944: Out of the handlebars and the bicycle seat (he) made a bull’s head which everybody recognized as a bull’s head. Thus a metamorphosis was completed; and now I would like to see another metamorphosis take place in the opposite direction. Suppose my bull’s head is thrown on the scrap heap. Perhaps some day a fellow will come along and say: “Why there’s something that would come in very handy for the handlebars of my bicycle..” and so a double metamorphosis would have been achieved. Remembrance of former function and value; shifting context; an attitude which encourages the composite; an exploitation and re cycling of meaning; memory; anticipation; the connectedness of memory and wit; the integrity of wit: this is a laundry list of reactions to Picasso’s proposition; and, since it is a proposition evidently addressed to people, it is in terms such as these, in terms of pleasures remembered and desired, of a dialectic between past and future, of an impacting of iconographic content, of a temporal as well as a spatial collision, that resuming an earlier argument, one might proceed to specify an ideal city of the mind. (7)

What then was this troubling power that the imaginary possessed? The essence of an image is that it should be taken for reality and equally reality can ape the image, and pass itself off as having the same substance and meaning. Without disturbance or rupture, perception can continue the dream and fill in the gaps, bringing confirmation to all that is precarious in it and allowing it to accomplish its work.If illusions could appear as real as perception, then perception too could pass itself off as the truth, undeniable and visible, of the illusion.The first moment in the cure by 'theatrical realisation' was therefore the integration of the unreality of the image into the perceptive truth, without perception appearing to contradict or even contest the importance of the image. (8)

Connectedness of memory

Bridges describe connections (between humans, languages, media, experiences, cities), yet are constantly threatened by collapse. If bridges offer the possibility of synthesis, ultimately only leaps from one situation or condition to another can guarantee transference. Flusser invokes the metaphors of bridges and leaps in his frequent references to “entropy.” While entropy is the predictable or “probable” process toward disorder in a system, the production and accumulation of information is its unpredictable or “improbable” counterpart.We have the capacity to counter entropy not only by constantly producing new information but also by storing it in memories and databanks. Information is not random, but is produced through the particular contexts of dialogue. (9)

While exclusivism perhaps manifests in opposition and violence, in a drive toward subjugation and extermination of other, and while inclusivism perhaps manifests in collaboration and harmony but perhaps through domestication, homogenization, and convergence, pluralism views diversity and actual difference as beneficial. In place of the potential monoculture of exclusivism and inclusivism, pluralism accepts a world characterized by wildness, biodiversity, and symbiotic relationships. The comparative engagement with contemplative practice and contemplative experience thus need not require cognitive annihilation or transcendence of difference. It may, rather, require complete acceptance of difference. (10)

Without it The world, then, would not be eternal. (11) By World we mean the universe in its “maximal” version, inasmuch as it includes both what we consider to be the current universe and the infinity of possible universes. (12) They don’t care for the world they enjoy. This situation, this state of affairs is grave and unbearable. We shall invent a new way of life; We shall have to construct another whole world from the ground up.It shall be built, it shall be created!” (12.1)

When we are modelling, we do so within the world, in order to connect to the world. (13)

For this reason I will always commend the time honored custom, practiced by the best builders, of preparing not only drawings and sketches but also models of wood or any other material. It will also allow one to increase or decrease the size of those elements freely, to exchange them, and to make new proposals and alterations until everything fits together well and meets with approval, (..)striving to attract and seduce the eye of the beholder, and to divert his attention from a proper examination of the parts to be considered, toward admiration of himself.

It is important to emphasize, however, that while recursive publics or free spaces do not, in and of themselves, guarantee the emergence of hacker political sensibilities, they remain nevertheless vital stage settings for the possibility of activism (15)

(1) Hugo, Les Miserables

(2) Aristotle, Physics

(3) Zizek, Less Than Nothing

(4) Siemens, A Companion to Digital Literary Studies

(5) Serres, Statues

(6) Zizek, Less Than Nothing

(6.1) Deleuze, Nietzsche and Philosophy

(7) Hays, Architecture Theory since 1968

(8)Foucault, History of Madness

(9) Simon, Speaking Memory How Translation Shapes City Life

(10) Komjathy, Introducing Contemplative Studies

(11) Aristotle, Metaphysics

(12) Eco, From the Tree to the Labyrinth

(12.1) Alberti, Momus

(13) Hovestadt Buehlmann, Printed Physics

(14)Alberti, On the Art of Building in Ten Books 1988

(15) Peters, Digital Keywords

[realtalkgames]

The CIA Hologram Document Explained

Approved For Release 2000/08/15 : CIA-RDP96-00792R000500210001-9 PARAPSYCHOLOGY IN THE USSR. I. Reports of studies of psi in the USSR go back to the mid 19th century. According to MARTIN EBON, in his book, “PSI IN THE USSR, RELIGION WITHOUT A CROSS” (see Appendix 1, Reference Literature), Russian scientists and laity have been researching various parapsychological phenomena for decades before the 1917 October Revolution. - From 1857 to 1867, the newspaper "WESTNIK EUROPY® in Petersburg appeared, which dealt with mediums and other openly unexplainable phenomena. - The medium phenomenon was re-examined for its veracity around 1860 by a special committee of the Physical Society of the University of Petersburg, which was founded just for this purpose, and a dispute developed between Mendeleev and the then-prominent spiritualist A.N. Askov over the presumptions and methodologies of the study. Mendeleev had openly exposed fraudulent mediums. - The oldest known report of telepathy experiments in Russia describes, as does EBON in his book, telepathy experiments in Tashkent through Alexander Wilkins around 1870, and was published in Paris in the "Annals of Physical Science”. - The Russian Society for Experimental Psychology was founded in 1891. t was interested in clairvoyance, psychometry and poltergeist phenomena. Materialism led to a search for new, new, no longer religious truths. Hypnosis, seances, with their connections to ghosts, and a string of unexplainable, supernatural phenomena such as thought transference and other related areas were popular. - So, research in parapsychology in the USSR was about the same as in the USA and other European countries up until the time of the industrial revolution. II. EBON lists other scientists and works in parapsychology which occurred between the 1917 October revolution and the mid ’50s: - VLADIMIR M. BECHTEREV (Leningrad): mental communication between dogs and humans. - P,P. LAZAREV (1922): published "Psycho-chemical Principles of the Higher Nerve Energies", in which the possibility of telepathic communication due to neurological functions was studied. - B.B. KASCHINSKI: conducted other pertinent studies of mental telepathy with dogs, and published a book on thought transference in Moscow in 1923. ~ LEONID L. VASILIEV (died in 1966). A student of BECHTEREV, joined Approved For Release 2000/08/15 : CIA-RDP96-00792R000500210001-9 Approved For Release 2000/08/15 : CIA-RDP96-00792R000500210001-9 the Institute for Brain Research in Leningrad in 1921, and became a member of the committee to study mental suggestion (the expression for telepathy at that time). - 1924: The 2nd All-Russia Congress for Psych neurology recommended a Joint-work of the Russian scientists and the International Committee for Parapsychological Studies. - About 1925: The selected Committee for the Study of Mental Suggestion came about through the Society for Neurology, Reflexology, Hypnosis and Biophysics was ended. - 1928: The Institute of Brain Research in Leningrad began a study of the possible practical factors of telepathic phenomena from person to person, resulting in the conclusion that the phenomena of thought transference do not rest on “electromagnetism”. ~ 1959: Soviet parapsychology received strong impetus through the French publication of supposed American ship-to-shore telepathy attempts with the atomic submarine Nautilus, These attempts were officially denied by the Americans. - In April, 1960 LL, VASILIEV, according to Sheila Ostrander and Lynn Schroeder in their book "PSI" (see Appendix 1, Reference Literature), reprimanded soviet scientists, referring to these Nautilus reports, for their considerable number of ESP and telepathy studies which were carried out under Stalin’s regime, but were as yet unpublished, He stressed the need to shake of f the prejudices against parapsychology. He is convinced that the discovery of ESP energy will be of the same significance as atomic energy. ~ 1961: L.L. Vasilyeva received the leadership of the first ESP laboratories sponsored by the soviet administration; the Special Laboratory for Parapsychology at the University of Leningrad. - After Vasilyeva’s death in 1966, the centre of soviet parapsychological research partially shifted from Leningrad to Moscow, where IPPOLIT KOGAN, Director of the Section for Bioinformation on the totally soviet scientific and technical A.S. Popov Institute for Radiotechnology and Electrical Communication was located. - EDUARD K. NAUMOV and KARL NIKOLAEV were known at this time through telepathy experiments which were conducted over the distance of Moscow to Leningrad, - In the summer of 1968 a conference in Moscow on "Technical Parapsychology” took place. - NINA KULAGINA and WOLF MESSING are the two most famous soviet “tears” of this time with supposedly especially great parapsychological talent. N. KULAGINA fascinated onlookers with 2 Approved For Release 2000/08/15 : CIA-RDP96-00792R000500210001-9 Abutted For Rele P96-00792R000500210001-9 psychokinetic abilities, in which she made compass needles and other articles move with an energy which seemed to radiate from her hands. W. MESSING held large crowds of spectators with his telepathic exhibitions in Bann. - In July, 1970, the Russian newspaper “Radio-Technika” published research results of the above mentioned professor KOGAN in Moscow, which had supposedly convincingly proven the existence of telepathic possibilities through statistical methods. ~ 8S. OSTRANDER and L. SCHROEDER in their book "PSI* maintained that while, by 1970 there were already more than 30 centres in the USSR for the study of paranormal phenomena, and that by 1967 there were already yearly budgets of at least 13 million rubbles had been put at their disposal for these studies, and parapsychology in the USSR enjoyed official sanction, VLADIMIR LVOV's article in the newspaper LE MONDE (4 AUG 76) denied it (official) recognition in the USSR. He logically pointed out in his article that it is a mistake to accept that parapsychology enjoyed official recognition in the USSR. Moreover, the truth was simply that, parapsychology in the Soviet Union was not recognized as an official branch of science. No institute and no research centre in the Soviet Union devoted itself to telepathy or psychokinesis, etc., but there were simply a group of amateurs who associated themselves with the paranormal. According to EBON, this opposing opinion makes clear the unpleasant situation in which parapsychology found itself in Russia at this time. It held no official status, but individuals and private groups could carry on such studies without special official intervention, Further examples of the historical development of soviet parapsychology are found listed in Appendix 1, Reference literature of western authors. The book "PSI" by S. OSTRANDER and L. SCHROEDER contains an extensive source of proof. It. A literature search on the theme, made in open-source databanks in December, 1990, for the time around 1968, turned up 27 institutes and/or centres in which researchers were occupied with paranormal phenomena, in the widest sense of the term (see List of Institutes, Appendix 2). Here were explored practically all aspects of parapsychology, such as the general concept "ESP" line German, ASW), and the subject reports of telepathy, telepathic hypnosis, clairvoyance, as well as the concept of "psychokinesis” (the physical influence of man over matter), which encompasses the study of the human biofield, the application of the KIRLIAN effect, and healing through laying on of hands. There appear to be the reports of telepathy and telepathic hypnosis, like hypnosis per se, which the most basic research and the widest development of reports of soviet parapsychology. Approved For Release 2000/08/15 : CIA-RDP96-00792R000500210001-9 SG1E Approved For Release 2000/08/15 : CIA-RDP96-00792R000500210001-9 In 1962 L.L. VASILIEV, in his book on experimental studies of "mental suggestion”, showed the advanced position of (such) pertinent research in the USSR. Efforts toward the aimed telepathic manipulation of human consciousness seem to have played a large role in telepathic hypnosis. Research and application of hypnosis is wide spread in the USSR. It is used in medicine, psychotherapy, physiology, psychology, psychiatry, and in experimental education. Also the possibility of the development and application of drugs for the augmentation of hypnosis was researched. soviet scientists such as L.L. VASILIEV, I.M. KOGAN, V. MUTSCHALL, V.F. BASSIN, M.V. AVAKUMOV, ID. DUBROVSKI, V.L. RAIKOV and PA. SLOBODYANIK, with their co-authors have made names for themselves in the above named reports for the timespan of 1968 on. The exceptional works published just in the 3 years 1969-1971 by S.A. EGOROV, P.V. ZAGRYADSKI, F.D. MORDVINOV and N.B. YAKOVETS and their co-authors from the Kirov Military-Medical Academy in Leningrad, fall especially into the area of psychophysiological research in connection with ergonometric questions, and only peripherally have something to do with parapsychology (see also Appendix 3, Author list). Isil. It was reported again and again in the rainbow press that the military and the secret police were behind the Russian efforts to get a scientific grip on parapsychology. The contents of these statements could never be substantiated and the soviet open-source literature on parapsychology also gives no reliable evidence. Certain revelations in the past years in the USSR have made assumptions that research has been done here - but these and the research results were and will be held in secret. Signs of the efforts of soviet parapsychologists to use telepathy as a world-wide telecommunications system for cosmonauts between one another and between earth and the cosmonauts in Space were already visible in the 50’s. In 1967, the Russian trade paper "Marine Report” wrote that cosmonauts in apace can “gat together (mentally) with each other easier than with people on earth. Psi-training wag said to have been taken up on the cosmonauts training program. Supposedly, phenomenal psi experiments between soviet cosmonauts and scientists on the earth were said to have been conducted. The dates and results of these experiments, however, were not published in open-source literature, so a firm evaluation of these efforts is not possible. In a purely news-report fashion, the subject-complexity of parapsychology in the USSR and its application by the military and the KGB is contradictory, based on, in part, conflicting rumours: - In 1977 a specialist in Psychiatry from the Serb ski Institute in Moscow, with a good possibility of insight into the situation declared in an article named "CONTROLLED BY THE KGB” which appeared in “Der SPIEGEL” (4 JUL 77), that Psi in the USSR was an unrealistic sensationalism of half-truths and the fantasies of 4 Approved For Release 2000/08/15 : CIA-RDP96-00792R000500210001-9 Approved For Release 2000/08/15 : CIA-RDP96-00792R000500210001-9 Journalist, Parapsychology was not a recognized science in the USSR. The arrest of the American Journalist TOTH at that time didn’t reveal that parapsychology in the USSR could have been seen as a state secret. It could have dealt with a completely normal paper of the KGB which a western journalist took from a soviet citizen, SG1B In the USSR, "Psi capabilities of biological systems” is the theme of exhaustive studies. The buzz-words for it are “Bioenergy” and “Hypersensitivity”. In the area of the so-called EMV~/EMC research a newly named scientific trend, under the buzz-word "Psychotronic”, shall be researched (to see) if it is actually a latent human possibility to be able to activate one’s bioelectric Field to join with distant objects and subjects. The principal of “Laying on of the hands” as a diagnostic tool for the sick will be conducted in the Poly-clinic of the State Planning Committee of the USSR in Moscow, which is situated directly under the Health Ministry. To the list of institutes which are occupied with the problem of "the nature of the biological energy field” belong, among others: The Institute for Psychology, Moscow, 37a Vavilov St. (Director, B.F. Lomo), fields of study: research of the material basis of the Psyche; psychological problems in its relationship to the driving of modern technology: Psychophysiology of the brain. These take place in cooperation with work in “the laboratory for cell physiology and synaptic control” of the "Institute for Higher Nerve Activity and Neurophysiology”, Moscow, and with the “Department of Kinetics Chemical and Biological Processes" of the Institute of Chemical Physics (N.N. Semenov)”, Moscow. This project also addresses research into the “KIRLIAN-effect”, the physical proof of “finger radiation", which, for example, might allow lay practitioners to make diagnoses, to achieve healings with this particular process, triggered on the skin of the human body or on the surface of various plants. Equipment necessary for the proof of the "KIRLIAN-effect” was developed and built in the "Special Construction Bureau” for the "biological apparatus building” in Podcatching. Connections with the application of psychoparmacopia 5 Approved For Release 2000/08/15 : CIA-RDP96-00792R000500210001-9 Approved For Release 2000/08/15 : CIA-RDP96-00792R000500210001-9 43 a simulation for the PSI ability should be undertaken at the Pacific Institute for Bioorganic Chemistry” in Vladivostok. It is interesting that “materialistic science” (tries) first of all to prove that all events are physically explainable. On this basis, the proof of the appearance of “rays” which come from living things demands a great deal of dedicated research, By the same token, it is also interesting to find out the possibilities of strengthening and making this type of “rays” useful for various applications. The applications Span from medical fields, like diagnosis and healing in a relatively simple (and cheap) way by influencing of the “psychically sick” (as it is officially called), to the communication between living beings over short or long distances, without tapping into or disturbing such a communications system. - In November 1986 a western scientist with the Opportunity of good insight into the research and application of medical hypnosis in the USSR transmitted the following details: Medical hypnosis is used intensively in the RGW field in the USSR. The primary work "Chemical and Experimental Hypnosis” by WILLIAM S, KROGER serves as the groundwork for the basis of corresponding intended research. The basic research for the subject area of “medical hypnosis” is carried out in the USSR at the Pavlov Institute and the Institute of Psychology in Moscow, as well as in “some branches” in Siberia. It deals with a known discipline within “psychosomatic medical word”, and this hypnosis will be inserted into several areas of Operative medicine, but algo therapy for the alleviation and elimination of pain, as it deals with neurologically conditioned pain. Beyond that, various groups have been schooled in the basis of the so-called “hypnotic Influence”, such as a scientist to whom important assignments have been given, or those appointed to special interest organizations in western countries, and also cosmonauts taking a 3-month hypnosis training course. That means that if the person tries to gain a "photographic memory”, it enables him to faithfully recapture visuals, audial, and even after a longer time, pictures and letters, Insofar as the above contents of these “service reports” which refer to the tangle of military or KGB interests, are whole, but also only partly proven, they cannot be Judged as undoubtable, APPENDIX 1 contains a reference list of western authors and a bibliography of their related works, APPENDIX 2 contains a reference list of soviet institutions with contributing authors and the titles of their works. APPENDIX 3 contains a reference list of soviet authors and a bibliography of their related works. Approved For Release 2000/08/15 : CIA-RDP96-00792R000500210001-9

[irelise]

the yew tree - end!

Erik has worked with Sebastian Shaw ever since Shaw rescued him from human experimentation when he was a boy. He is reluctantly enlisted to assist in Shaw’s newest scheme: seducing the wealthy and enigmatic Lord Xavier to claim his vast fortune. With Shaw posing as Xavier’s doctor, Erik goes undercover as Xavier’s personal manservant to convince him to fall in love with Shaw.

But Xavier has secrets of his own, and it isn’t long before Erik starts having second thoughts about the whole thing…

Featuring mysteries, hidden agendas, and a whole heap of master/servant tropes. (the handmaiden inspired au - no canon knowledge required

part one and two now on ao3!

beginning of part 3)

Warnings for this part: References to past abuse Rating: M Word count: 1986 Notes: I CAN’T BELIEVE IT IT’S FINALLY FINISHED!!! special thanks to akasanata, steph, kernezelda, and gerec for the support, couldn’t have finished this on my own! I’ll be editing over the next few days and uploading to Ao3 soon!

The next few days stutter past in an odd series of mismatched rhythms. Sometimes the hours drag by, agonizingly slow. Other times, Erik feels like he has no time to even breathe with the amount of activity unravelling around him. Shaw’s body is handled with minimal fuss; the police rule it as an accident, drug overdose, case closed. Shaw is quietly and ignominiously forgotten by the humans.

Not so in the mutant community. Shaw’s death had left a power vacuum, and much of Erik’s time is now spent wrestling for control over the various factions now embroiled in petty squabbles. The safehouse becomes filled with the constant stink of sulphur as Azazel teleports in and out, ferrying messages and occasionally delivering a mutant for Erik to glare into submission.

“It would be easier if I just take you with me,” Azazel grumbles after one such delivery.

“Not a chance,” Erik replies shortly.

He can’t leave. Charles is still recuperating. He doesn’t wake at all that first day, and Erik would have been out of his mind with worry had their thoughts not remained so closely entwined with each other. Charles’ presence remains a warm glow at the back of his head, faint but steady.

He’ll be fine. He has to be.

The second day is worse. Midway through the afternoon, Erik is attacked by a flare of stabbing pain, fierce enough to drive him to his knees. He clutches at his head and bites back a groan – it’s like someone is driving a pick right between his eyes, like he’s being stabbed, his skull split open–

The pain stops abruptly. Charles’ presence vanishes with it.

Fuck. Taking the stairs two at a time, Erik slams into Charles’ room. “Charles!”

Charles had moved from where he was peacefully asleep earlier. Now, he’s a small, dark shape on the bed, curled into himself, the blankets drawn over his head. Erik crosses the room in quick strides. “You’re awake?”

“Unfortunately.” The word is muffled by the blankets. “Migraine.”

And that was that. The pain is bad enough this time that Charles has forming words, and he adamantly refuses to link his mind with Erik’s again. When Erik pictures his thoughts reaching out for Charles, Charles only shakes his head and winces. “I can’t stop myself from projecting the migraine,” he says tiredly, the stubborn martyr. “I don’t want you to share it.”

Erik would have pressed the point, but something about Charles softens his hard edges, and he reluctantly concedes the point. It doesn’t stop him from climbing into bed with Charles, a stack of reports in his lap.

When Charles reaches out to lace their fingers together, Erik lets him, absently running his thumb over the knuckles of Charles’ hand.

Charles’ migraine doesn’t abate that day, or the next. It’s not until the morning of the fourth day Erik wakes to find Charles smiling softly at him. He’s pale, his eyes smudged with dark circles, but the sight of him properly awake and alive is sweeter than Erik had ever imagined. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding in.

“You look tired,” Charles remarks, and it’s just like him to fret over Erik when he was the one who almost died from holding onto Shaw. Erik can’t help but laugh, just a touch reluctant, and shakes his head.

“I could say the same.” His voice is rough. He almost stops there, but then the words come spilling out: “I thought I lost you.”

A frown ripples over Charles’ face, then smooths into a look of resolve. “Shaw had to be stopped.”

“…He did.” And Erik would have killed him at the expense of his own life, but Charles’… Charles hasn’t even had the chance to truly live yet. He had demanded too much of him, he sees that now. “But I should have been more patient. Spent more time planning. Made sure you understood the dangers. What we did was incredibly risky.”

Still, he thinks about Shaw’s plans to consummate his sham marriage with Charles, and something cold and ugly twists in Erik’s gut.

Charles is scrutinizing him, his expression thoughtful but impossible to read. “I wouldn’t have said no to more time spent planning,” he finally says. “But, Erik, you mustn’t feel guilty. My choices were my own.”

“I know you didn’t want to kill Shaw.”

Charles’ mouth twists. “You didn’t force me into anything I didn’t want to do. Death is always a waste, yes, but for someone like Shaw…” He looks troubled, but only for a second. Then he looks Erik squarely in the eye. “I’ve been in his mind before. I’ve tried to reason with him. His pride and envy run deep, deeper than you can imagine. He would have never let you live. If it was a choice between him and you…”

Pressing his lips together, Charles shakes his head. “I don’t regret it,” he says with a sense of finality.

For a few moments, they sit together in thoughtful silence, then Erik asks: “Are you really going to go through with it?”

Four days ago – had it really only been four days? – during their telepathic conversation in the car, Charles had resolved to stop running away from Marko. More than that, he had resolved to fight back. Erik would have loved to track Marko down and kill him, but Charles already has plans. Plans that Erik isn’t sure he approves of, if he’s honest, but he concedes Charles has the right to his own revenge.

Justice, not vengeance, Charles had said into their shared link.

You’ll be ruining him either way.

Good.

Charles’ plan is a simple one on the surface: let the public know about Marko’s crimes. Drag his perversions into the light, his cruelty and his inhumanity. Let the public be his judge.

In the present, Charles is frowning. “Uncle and his associates cannot be allowed to walk free, you’ve convinced me of that. But informing the public of their crimes won’t just affect me. The truth about mutants may come out. Are we prepared for that?”

Erik had spent much of the last few days asking himself the same question. He has an answer now. “We’ve spent too long living in the shadows, in silence and in shame. Enough.”

“Do you think it’s that easy?”

“No. But I’ll fight to the last drop of blood to defend our people.”

“And you’d do the same for me,” Charles murmurs, sounding awed. He must have read the conviction from Erik’s thoughts.

Erik inclines his head, not seeing the need to say anything further.

“To be honest…” Charles exhales slowly, visibly steeling himself. “No, I don’t want to do this. Not everyone is going to believe me, you must know that, and many of them will be – unkind. But you’re right. I’m tired of the shame, Erik. I…”

He reaches out and Erik leans forward, allowing Charles to settle his fingers against his temples. Charles bites his lip.

Images rush into Erik’s mind. Suddenly they’re back in Marko’s twisted library again, then in the labs, only this time Erik is seeing himself from Charles’ perspective. It’s disorienting, made worse by the way the memories seem to skip around like a broken recording, weighed down by Charles’ fear and shame and despair. Erik sees himself raise a hand, sees an ugly wreckage of jagged steel and torn pages, red splattering everywhere. Charles’ memories don’t shy away from the violence of the scene. But rather than horror, Erik’s fury seemed to have inspired something else in Charles, muted and wavering but warm all the same.

Hope.

 4. BUSINESS MOGUL KURT MARKO FACES ALLEGATIONS OF SEXUAL ABUSE AND TORTURE FROM HIS NEPHEW The reclusive young Lord Xavier of Westchester breaks his silence today, stepping forward to accuse his uncle and legal guardian…[…]…Police investigations of the ancestral Xavier estate have revealed the presence of numerous obscene materials…[…]…Lord Xavier has also levied accusations at multiple business associates connected to Marko…

***

The water is at the perfect temperature. His limbs loose and languid with a pleasant post-coital haze, Charles relaxes deeper into the bathtub, smiling in drowsy contentment at the noises of Erik splashing around behind him. Eventually, Erik settles down, and Charles makes a pleased sound as Erik cards his fingers through his hair, scratching against his sensitive scalp with just the right amount of pressure.

“Oh yes, do that again, please.”

Erik obliges, and for a few minutes everything else melts away except for the comfort of Erik’s body bracketed around his, hot water lapping against their skin. But then Charles feels the gears of Erik’s mind clicking, purposeful and precise.

“I was going over some reports with Azazel earlier,” Erik’s voice is carefully even. “I don’t know if you’ve heard yet, but Kurt Marko will be going up for trial soon.”

Charles winces slightly, half-wishing that Erik wouldn’t talk about Uncle here, but that’s a childish thought. “I’ve heard,” he says, every bit as carefully neutral as Erik had been. “Several of his associates may be facing criminal charges as well.”

He hears a splash of water as Erik shrugs. “Not that it matters. Most likely they’ll all be let off the hook.”

“No faith in the justice system, my friend?”

“None at all.”

Charles can’t even disagree entirely, but as always, he opts for the diplomatic approach. “Well, do let’s at least give them a chance to get things right. Whichever way the trial goes, Uncle will no longer be a threat to us.”

“How are things with the lawyers?”

“Everything has been finalised. The estate, the fortune – they’re all under my name once more.”

Vicious satisfaction flares in Erik’s mind, but the motions of his hands are gentle against Charles’ scalp. “Good.”

“You know, I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh?”

“You could put the estate to good use.”

Erik chuckles. His breath tickles the back of Charles’ neck, sending a pleasant shiver up his spine. “What would I need a mansion for?”

“Think about it,” Charles insists. He turns to face Erik fully. “We – you could make it a safe haven. For mutants. You told me before that you’ve rescued children before. The mansion could be a safe place for them, or for anyone injured or unable or otherwise unwilling to fight. You’ve been there, you know there’s more than enough room for everyone.”

Erik studies him with dark eyes. “And what will you be doing while all of that is going on?”

Trust Erik to cut to the heart of the matter. Charles looks down, watching the way rivulets of water run down Erik’s skin. “I haven’t quite decided yet.”

But he doesn’t want to go back to the mansion. Not yet, anyway.

Erik is still watching him, and Charles takes some comfort from the familiar, metronomic tick of Erik’s mind as he works through a problem. “I think it’s a good idea,” he says finally. “I’ll talk to Emma and Azazel about getting something set up.”

“You’re not doing it yourself?”

“No.” The tiniest hint of a smile is playing around the edges of Erik’s mouth. His mind is a dizzying, intoxicating mix of fondness and determination. “I have other business I need to take care of. Shaw had a rather extensive overseas network. Now that things are settling down here, I’d like to continue dismantling his empire.”

Overseas. Somewhere Charles will be unknown, just another anonymous face in the crowd. No reporters dodging his steps, no one watching him with the sort of greedy and scorn that makes him feel as if he’s being flayed apart.

“Is that,” Charles’ tongue darts out to wet his lips, “an invitation?”

Erik’s smile broadens. “Come with me, Charles.”

The thought of refusing never crosses Charles’ mind. He leans in for a kiss, which Erik swiftly deepens, and for the first time, Charles allows himself to dream of the future.

[orangeeu]

A GUIDE TO TOO’S CHAN

Heya! Here’s my essay about why you should stAN TOO’S CHAN!

SO! I recently stanned TOO because of their legendary Rising Sun cover in Road to Kingdom and because of the man, the myth, the legend… CHO CHANHYUK! Yeah, if you watched the performance already you may know who I’m talking about, but in case you don’t or you just didn’t bother to instigate in some intense kpop boy stalking (but why wouldn’t you?), I’ve made a guide for y’all!!

//Ahem A GUIDE TO TOO’S CHAN / CHANHYUK!

(Oh, and btw, no, I didn’t just copy and paste this from kprofiles.com - I added some extra facts and actual, CONCRETE reasons as to why you should stan him!!!) 

‘KAY, ONTO THE GUIDE!!

[BASIC INFO aka boring (but important) stuff lol]

Stage name: Chan 

Birth Name: Cho Chan Hyuk

Position: Main Dancer, Rapper, Producer

Birthday: December 8th, 1999

Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius

Height: 180 cm (5’11”)

Blood Type: O

Nationality: Korean

Element: Fire

YAY! BORING STUFF OVER!! Now here’s some insight on some Chan only tingz~~ 

[FUN FACTS]

He ranked 2nd place on the survival show that TOO was formed from called, To Be World Klass (DESERVED)

He has an older sister

Introduces himself as being “all-rounded” WHICH IS TOTALLY TRUE! He can rap, dance AND produce!!! 

Motto: “Let’s move smartly”

He is a former SM Entertainment trainee

He dropped out of high school

HE HAS A TATTOO ON HIS LEFT FOREARM AND BACK!! It’s hard to see them but alas! I’ve found a Twitter thread exposing his rad tats!: https://twitter.com/CHANHYUCKlE/status/1264654817261125632 From what I can observe, the one on his forearm is of a whale and flowers, and the one on his back is of flowers?? (He even once said that he hopes to get another tattoo on his waist!! YES PLEASE SIR)

He is left-handed 

He and Chihoon are producers/rappers for the dance group CUROHAKO. They actually have a Youtube channel and Chan is in two of their videos!!: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7uhq2pJA6oQ  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EgTT4bBGI78 

His favorite colour is black 

His favorite emoji is the fox emoji 

His favorite food is sushi

His favorite movie is called ‘About Time’

He can freaking guess pizza by its scent!! This was so cute tho, please watch it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mZHi8aNDTuc 

He ripped his pants during a stage but said he was fine with it as long as it’ll get his group views LMAO 

His dancer name is K!ZAROO (but I don’t know if he still goes by it)

His Myers-Briggs personality type is ENTJ (extoverted, intuitive, thinking, judging); natural leaders brimming with confidence and charisma. They’re determined when faced with challenges and thinks strategically in order to achieve their goals. You can read more about his MBTI here!: https://www.16personalities.com/entj-personality 

Part of the self-proclaimed, “sexies” sub-unit consisting of him and Chihoon

He was chosen as the most fashionable member in the group 

He used to have a lip piercing (I don’t know if it’s closed up by now or not)

He hates fluorescent lighting

AYE-- I wish I had more, but that’s all the facts I’ve found about him so far! I’ll update this in the future once TOO ages like fine wine..!

Here are scientific reasons as to why you should stan him!!

[WHY YOU SHOULD STAN]

IDOL TRAITS (why you should stan him as an IDOL):

1. DANCE

His dancing! He’s not the main dancer for nothing! His movements are smooth and natural yet aggressive and passionate..! His strongest point is free styling!  Whenever he free styles, you can tell that he’s simply vibing and embracing his element. It’s obvious that he really loves dancing and that he practices a lot.

People say that he’s similar to NCT’s Taeyong or that he’s “the next Taeyong” but I couldn’t disagree more.. Chan is his own individual with a distinct and unique dancing style. He’s NOT “the next Taeyong”, he’s Cho Chanhyuk! 

Sorry, I just get a bit annoyed when people say things like that.. Anywho, here are some videos of Chan being a dancing legend.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aLBYBAT1gGg 

https://youtu.be/TWiyBUBL3A0 

https://twitter.com/chanhyuckie/status/1265174013032034306

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NZdxA2kewsg 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l8Eg6AuiNxc

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7TIR0W0YPLc

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4QrJ3cCBuzA

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GFU0f5xKPs 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7CdHHqH51gg

https://twitter.com/i/status/1272322590854590465

WATCH THIS ONE ESPECIALLY!!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vnx8pmtUwWo                                     

2. RAP

Tough tone that’s got its own colour! Also really good at free styling his rap! 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o72hX8R28fo 

Chan’s free verse and him bopping with Lil Pump and the bois.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-elXeK0qYf8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4lEetiEqvDI

3. PRODUCE

HE.PRODUCES.HIS.OWN.DAMN.SONGS!! It’s actually very difficult to produce music as it takes a lot of patience, knowledge and creativity! Pretty sick beats with more rad raps! Here’s his soundcloud!

https://soundcloud.com/canigetyourchan

Hope he releases the rest of his works!

4. CHARISMA

A born performer! He never fails to give me goosebumps!! Chan is just mesmerizing when performing, he’s like a magnet.. It’s hard to lose sight of him on stage because he stands out so much! He’s an expert with facial expressions and consistently makes sure to fully immerse himself into the performance; it’s his expression of self which makes him shine so brightly on stage. 

PERSONAL TRAITS (why you should stan him as a PERSON:

1. PERFECTIONIST

A visionary and true tireless idealist. For most people, being a perfectionist isn’t an ideal trait, yet I still find myself respecting Chan for being one. He’s critical when it comes to creating the perfect performance and works really hard to achieve results which reaches his (high) standards. I think that’s pretty admirable - the fact that he puts his blood, sweat and tears to put on not only a good show, but one that exceeds standards for our sake, his own sake and the rest of TOO’s sake. 

2. PASSION

I think that the thing that I adore about him the most is his passion. As I mentioned before, he absolutely loves dancing. It’s refreshing to visibly see an idol enjoy themselves on stage. Chan doesn’t just perform, he lives. When he’s performing, he loses himself in the thing that he loves doing the most and relishes the moment like there’s no tomorrow.

3. DETERMINATION

Even if Chan isn’t the official leader of TOO, his leadership qualities are quite prominent. He’s determined to reach his goals and get through challenges no matter what. Taking initiative, he leads the group in dance and assists others when they are struggling. This can be seen by observing World Klass clips of the boys practicing All You Need Is Love - when Chan noticed that Chihoon was having difficulty with the choreography he called him over and helped him with it. Another example is when they ranked last place in Road to Kingdom and Chan, motivated to do better and prove TOO’s capability of rising up the ranks, thoughtfully assisted in planning their performance and concept and rigorously practiced while leading the others. 

4. CREATIVITY

Idea bank! As an artist myself, I marvel at Chan’s creativity. The concepts and choreographies that he comes up with are astounding and prove to have super effective results! He actually came up with the Rising Sun concept in TOO’s Road to King performance. Because they watched the sun set from the rooftop, Chan was inspired to make their concept about them being rookies and rising in the music industry like the sun!! Say it with me: Chan swollen brain, Chan inflamed brain, chAN GINORMOUS BRAIN!!! 

Overall, Chan, despite his appearance of being intimidating, is actually a real sweet guy that smiles and laughs easily. He’s a soft boi (especially for Chihoon) and likes to initiate skin ship. Members actually stated that Chan likes to act cute and even refers to himself as ‘Chanhyukie’!! So please don’t be fooled by his cool guy demeanor, he’s a squish if you take a closer look..! 

Wow, that was a LOT of writing! That aside, here are some random Chan stuff!

[ MISCELLANEOUS] 

Predebut Chan pics: https://twitter.com/c12c8h__177o/status/1265420652011417601

PREDEBUT CHAN IN BOY STORY ASDFGK (if you squint you can find him in the crowd starting from around 2:48. He’s the one with the yellow hair and sunglasses): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=klg8niUUjRQ

Cute clip from World Klass of Chan being all cuddly and cute with Kyungho!: https://twitter.com/i/status/1265176511146934273

Absolutely no context: https://twitter.com/CHANPlCS/status/1264522391008481280

E-BOY CHAN: https://www.tiktok.com/@too_offcl/video/6824848435217304837 https://www.tiktok.com/@too_offcl/video/6819342086857313542  https://www.tiktok.com/@too_offcl/video/6817551314097016069  https://www.tiktok.com/@too_offcl/video/6788981280240454918  https://www.tiktok.com/@too_offcl/video/6784186996119145733          https://www.tiktok.com/@too_offcl/video/6769724996559310086              https://www.tiktok.com/@too_offcl/video/6767461954127744262              

Saranghae saranghae saranghae Chan dance tutorial uwu: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9F4kQoaMljI

Chan humoring some fans: https://twitter.com/i/status/1249025324689453056 (scroll down below the first Tweet)

Chan English king: https://twitter.com/i/status/1251600155578494976

A cutie: https://twitter.com/i/status/1248594397056217088

Chan recommended this song! It’s pretty good so give it a listen!: https://open.spotify.com/track/7iooxPmnLY6wZynSplHUah?si=fBa5ppR0Qd-klOLa9tvnbA 

O-kay! I think that’s all the Chan content I have for now! Once again, I’ll update  this occasionally while on my journey with TOO! Don’t forget to stan Chan and TOO! Hope this has convinced you!! If it did, then please reblog this to spread exposure for Chan and TOO!

Before you go, please go watch their debut song Magnolia, thank you! Have a great day! 

(P.S., IF YOU FEEL LIKE THERE’S SOMETHING I SHOULD ADD OR CHANGE THEN DON’T HESITATE TO NOTIFY ME, THANKS!) 💖💖💖

[amaliabalash]

I’ve been trying to figure out how to write a post like this for months. and this is the best I came up with. Please send me asks if y’all want me to talk more about OSF’s production because, trust me, I want to talk more about OSF’s production. This would be so much longer if Tumblr allowed more than 10 photos.

I also decided to include my even more rambling plot synopsis I wrote back in 2015 when trying to tell my friends about the show. So if you wanna go deep, go ahead and click the read more. I only made a few edits from the run down I wrote back then, though, so I can’t promise coherency and can promise redundancy if you already know the show. And small jokes with myself that reflect dialogue that was cut for Broadway. :)

It begins with the actor who plays the Philanax (the Fool) giving the opening announcement, and then introducing the show and some of the cast in ways that reflect their characters (such as just saying “they had another daughter” about Philoclea but never introducing Tala Ashe as playing her).

The first scene opens with Basilius and Dametas going to visit the oracle.  She prophesizes that the king's eldest daughter will consummate her love but with no groom, his youngest daughter will marry one who the king has forbidden ("so she he will assume"), that he and his wife will have one affair, and that he will no longer be king.  A flag is displayed for each prophecy, and she states that as each prophecy comes to pass, a flag will fall.  Angry about the content of the prophecy, the king rejects it and wagers the oracle that it will not come to pass.  Once she leaves, he tells Dametas that he will outrun the prophecy by taking his family and fleeing his Arcadia.  

Meanwhile, back in the Arcadia (“This Town”), we are introduced to the eldest daughter Pamela, Mopsa, Philoclea, and queen Gynecia.  Pamela and Philoclea discuss missing their father, who is to return in a fortnight (soon!).  Gynecia comes in to inform Pamela that there are 47 suitors waiting for her (with none for Philoclea) and that Pamela should choose her own husband out of love, so that the king does not arrange a marriage for her.  Gynecia leaves, and Pamela tries to comfort her sister about her plainness (“you are plain, ‘tis a shocking plainness, ‘tis a stunningly routine appearance!”)  and lack of suitors.  Mopsa judges this hardcore.  Pamela sings "Beautiful" as she gets ready, and then as she meets the "finalist" suitors.  Fun fact: during the talent portion of the suitor competition, one of the suitors has a Trekkie monster puppet, because Jeff Whitty.  Pamela ends up dismissing all of the suitors.

Philoclea is on her own after the suitor festivities, and is met by her childhood friend, the shepherd boy Musidorus.  They are unbearably cute listening to each other's heartbeats. Unfortunately, Gynecia walks in on them as Musidorus is listening to Philoclea's heartbeat and she shoos him off.  Gynecia tells Philoclea that her father would never approve the match with Musidorus, and she warns her against love altogether.  She then introduces Philoclea to the "sisters of the order" and basically hints that being cloistered is the best choice for her.  Philoclea sings "Good Girl."

Basilius returns to the kingdom and briefly greets the family, lies about his experience with the oracle, and tells them they're going to go  away for a year ("Get Up and Go"). He doesn't know where yet, so Philanax suggests Bohemia, and off they go!  The question of who will be king comes up, and Basilius picks an audience member to come on stage and take his crown - and that's one prophecy fulfilled.  

As they're leaving, Musidorus stops them to ask for one of the daughters' hand in marriage.  Basilius, Gynecia, and Pamela all assume he is proposing to Pamela, and the clarification that he means Philoclea is shock to the family.  He is awkward and adorable this whole time, and proposes very poorly, singing first off key and then way too fast.  Philoclea is pressured by her family to say no, so she says no because she believes it is what is best for all.  Musidorus is heart broken, and Philoclea clearly is too.  He finally finds his words as the family is leaving, and it is too late (“I’m mad, I’m mad, I’m mad! I’m mad about yooouuuu.”). Musidorus runs off in the direction the family left in.

They travel a long time, and finally Gynecia requests they stop.  They set up camp, and Dametas privately brings the flag that fell when Basilius gave up his crown.  Basilius is upset, but decides that it was only one, things will be okay.  He designates Dametas to be protector of his daughters' innocence (this can only go well, right?).  Meanwhile, the princesses are getting comfortable in camp.  Pamela, per Philanax's suggestion, is writing a poem about her ideal suitor.  Philoclea and Philanax play a game, where each side of the card has an opposite idea, and one must figure out how both can be true at once, in order to clear the card. (Theme of the show alert!)  Pamela has not quite finished her poem, but decides to read what she has done.  Lots of puns about lady parts and unfinished (but obvious) rhymes are made, ones that no one seems to grasp the meaning of but Mopsa, whose face is best described as O_O throughout the recital.  

Once Philanax and Philoclea both leave for bed, Mopsa talks to Pamela about the fact that her attraction may not be what it seems. This leads to an argument ("Automatic Rainy Day").  This number is AMAZING live and I wish the audio could capture it better, by the end they're both on platforms a few rows into the audience, on opposite sides of the theatre, belting, and just. holy crap. All the applause for Britney Simpson and Bonnie Milligan. During this song, Mopsa tells Pamela she will leave her at journey’s end.

Next, we see Musidorus, who is following the family at a distance.  He is glad they stopped, but quickly realizes he brought nothing with him, and is likely to perish if left in the wild.  He stumbles on a chest with a covering, removes it, and finds two skeletons on top (insert theatre jokes here).  He is resigning himself to dying alongside them, when a voice from the chest disturbs him.  It turns out to be Philanax, who helps Musidorus with a plan to enter the royal family's camp in disguise - how convenient that it was a trunk of costumes he found!  "Vision of Nowness" happens, and by the end Musidorus is disguised as an Amazonian warrior woman.  

Back at the camp, Basilius and Gynecia are arguing.  The daughters see them, and so they quickly hide their argument and preach family connectedness ("This Old Feeling").  But then a bear attacks!  As the bear is cornering Philoclea, Musidorus in his disguise appears out of nowhere and kills the bear.  And then a LION shows and he, with the help of Basilius, kills the lion too.  Everyone is fawning over Musidorus and he tells his/her tale of being an Amazon separated from his people.  The family all introduce themselves, and when asked for his/her name, Musidorus panics and answers "Cleophila."  For the sake of simplicity, I'm gonna refer to Cleophila as her.

The next scene is after two weeks have passed.  Everyone enjoys Cleophila's company, Cleophila particularly enjoys Philoclea's, and both Basilius and Pamela seem particularly interested in the new friend. Gynecia partially narrates this portion, and as she talks about Philoclea befriending the warrior woman and being safe from love, they're in the middle of eating a marshmallow off the same stick.  Basilius makes cloaks out of the bear and lion and gives one to Cleophila, and proceeds to flirt outrageously and hilariously.  

When Cleophila excuses herself to pee, we see the body language of a male peeing. Gynecia is watching from above and notices her, and soon notices that Cleophila is no she.  Shock and horror quickly turn to interest.  3/4 of the royal family are now super into Cleophila knowingly, and Philoclea doesn't realize that it's Musidorus who SHE is in love with.  Gynecia begins "Traveling Heart" and some of the most lovely choreography I’ve ever seen (simple but beautiful) begins.  In the dance, Pamela is rejected by Cleophila as Cleophila opts to dance with Philoclea.  But shortly Philoclea bows out so Pamela can dance, and then becomes visibly upset and leaves. Cleophila is made uncomfortable by attention from Basilius and Gynecia, and runs after the upset Philoclea.

Philoclea sings a slower, gentler "Vacation" as she misses Musidorus, and it is lovely.

Cleophila tries to see Philoclea in her bedchamber, but Dametas isn't having any of that.  At least until Cleophila uses her feminine wiles (with a distinct look of annoyance and distaste on her face when Dametas can't see) and Mopsa walks in on her sitting on his lap, and Cleophila sneaks past when fleeing the awkward situation. Mopsa and Dametas discuss wanting happiness for each other.

Cleophila finds Philoclea lying down, upset.  She attempts to comfort her, clearly wishing she could reveal herself as Musidorus.  Philoclea states that Cleophila has been more sister to her lately than her own sister, and suddenly Pamela uncovers herself from a spot she was hiding, and goes apeshit ("How Much More") in her jealousy.  After Pamela leaves, the comforting continues, until Philoclea places her head to Cleophila's chest and recognizes the heartbeat. Tada it's Musidorus! ("Mad About You" reprise) She suggests running away, Musidorus squashes that because of the danger of the wilds, and so they decide to hide in plain sight ("Our Lips are Sealed").  Meanwhile, Pamela returns with a bouquet for Cleophila, and sees Philoclea and Cleophila kissing.  Distraught, she leaves, and is found my Mopsa.  Again, comforting, revelation, and then one hell of a kiss.  Two flags down, to be found by a very confused Dametas.  End of act one.

Act two begins with another opening from two of the actors - John Tufts (Philanax) and Bonnie Milligan (Pamela) - which mainly emphasizes "I never said this was a comedy, for comedy demands a happy end."  Just to freak the audience out.

"Head Over Heels" begins!  Philoclea and Musidorus are happy together walking around, Pamela and Mopsa are happy together in the bath, and both Basilius and Gynecia are still lusting after Cleophila. The song ends, and Musidorus tells Philoclea that he believes the king is hitting on him.  Philoclea dismisses this as absurd, offending Musidorus's feminine sensibilities.  The king has sent Cleophila a love note - and Philoclea tells Musidorus it is actually for the queen, that Cleophila was simply meant to be the messenger.  Notes get passed with Cleophila as the go between, both Basilius and Gynecia assuming that they are communicating with Cleophila, not each other.  A meeting is set.

Basilius and Gynecia meet in the dark cave, believing that the other is Cleophila.  Nevermind that Basilius has a beard where Cleophila doesn't and Gynecia has long hair - it's theatre we're suspending a lot of disbelief already. "I Get Weak."  There is a major penis joke being played out as Philanax and some of the men are off the stage lifting a giant log and two bushes. This goes right into "Heaven is a Place on Earth," sung by the oracle and the ensemble ladies.  The fourth prophecy has been fulfilled - the Basilius and Gynecia had one affair.  The fourth flag falls, Dametas finds it and is overwhelmed by the oracle and the dancing he's seeing.

Next, we see Philoclea sitting with Mopsa and Pamela.  Musidorus/Cleophila runs in and tells Philoclea he has just seen something he must tell her about, but Pamela interrupts and calls their meeting to order.  Pamela believes that Cleophila and Philoclea are a f/f couple just as Pamela and Mopsa are, and she creates this meeting to tell them she knows and that they are all the same.  Finally, with Philoclea and Cleophila not getting it, Pamela and Mopsa kiss much to the shock of Philoclea and Cleophila.  As Pamela insists that the sisters truly are the same, Philoclea encourages Cleophila to reveal herself as Musidorus - by lifting up the crown on his head.  Now it's Pamela and Mopsa's turn to be incredibly shocked. Pamela and Philoclea fight, as Pamela interprets Philoclea’s reaction as rejection.

Once they depart, Musidorus, with prompting, tells Philoclea what he had been planning on telling her: that he saw her parents leave the cave one shortly after the other, and looking disheveled.  Philoclea realizes that this means sex, and there are a lot of jokes about how gross it is to think about your parents having sex.  Musidorus tells her he thinks that they both thought that they were with Cleophila - upsetting Philoclea, who still desperately wants to believe her parents love each other.  Just then, Basilius and Gynecia come out arguing, confirming that they have had affairs.  Philoclea sees this and breaks things off with Musidorus, because she believes her idea of love to be proven wrong.  Basilius and Gynecia continue arguing.  Pamela and Mopsa begin arguing because Pamela wants to hide their love because of how Philoclea took it, and Mopsa thinks that it is hiding her true self to do so.  All of the couples argue, "Unforgiven."

As the couples are all seething, Philanax comes out holding the four flags.  Basilius is angry, wondering how all of this happened.  The queen and king both state that they had affairs with Cleophila - kissing her in their claims - before Cleophila once again removes the crown to reveal Musidorus.  Shock and awe, again.  Everyone is freaking out and finally - Philoclea speaks.  She says SHUT UP and it is SO satisfying.  She tells everyone about her and Musidorus, about their fight, but that she loves him still.  It's a nice moment until Basilius gets upset again about losing his bet with the oracle, about losing control.  He goes after Musidorus with a knife, blaming his problems on him.  "Lust to Love."  As the song ends, he kills Musidorus.

Basilius is reeling from what he just did, his whole family and everyone around (Mopsa, Dametas, Philanax) are horrified.  He orders Musidorus's body to be taken away.  He realizes that he did not have an affair with Cleophila/Musidorus, and that it was actually his wife he had an affair with.  Gynecia berates him and takes charge, exercising her power as queen to have Dametas arrest him.  As all of this happens, Philoclea is kneeling by Musidorus's body, and then continues kneeling at the spot once he is taken away.  

Gynecia orders the body to be returned and given a proper burial.  Philanax looks under the covering once he is returned, and recommends against Philoclea looking.  She decides to look anyway, and she straightens and states she is okay.  As she says this, her family looks at her like she's nuts, and she continues to defend her stance (“I’m fine, god mom, get off of me”) - the beat comes in, as she is speaking to a beat and Gynecia points this out to her and she finally says, “does anybody need a beat,” looks at Musidorus’s covered body, and it hits her and she falls to the ground crying. They have the funeral, Philoclea sings "Here You Are" and it is beautiful - the sisters of the order appear (who knows why), similar white cloaks are brought for everyone involved, a procession happens etc.  At the end, Philoclea leans into the embrace of one of the sisters and feels a familiar heartbeat - shocked, she looks up and Musidorus reveals himself by removing his head covering. (cue an immensely relieved audience who somehow missed him joining the procession midway through the song)

Understandably, Philoclea is very confused.  The Oracle appears, and a series of explanations occur (such as holding a stack of paper and saying, “it is a script!”), none fully convincing Philoclea.  Finally, Philanax suggests that she accept the miracle, and she does. Lovers reunited, and engaged! Awwwwww. :)  Philanax then points out that they have explanations for three prophecies, but hey there's one more... Pamela reveals her relationship with Mopsa, and makes an open commitment.  The family supports them!  And Dametas asks for the Oracle's - uh, Linda's - hand in marriage.  When Gynecia comments on her joy of having three daughters and a son, Musidorus interrupts "or daughters four!"  He decides that he would like to keep Cleophila around, both sides of him making one whole.  Mixed reception on accepting this, but pretty positive.  Basilius finally gets his head out of his ass and accepts his family - old and new. :)

As they near the gates of Bohemia, Basilius apologizes to Gynecia for everything. When they arrive at the gates, they realize that Philanax has led them back to Arcadia - but given all of the changes that occurred, they decide to rechristen the kingdom as Bohemia.  Basilius gets his crown back from the audience, and we see all of the changes that occurred for the ensemble as well as they walk out.  "We Got the Beat" - everyone is wearing very 80s, very entertaining clothing.  The song is interrupted when Philanax gives a monologue as he leaves Bohemia and everyone else behind... it continues, and everyone else lives happily ever after (at least I say they do).

[cardshcrp]

Before we begin, please do note that I am not a medical professional. This is a personal post meant to help my mutuals & followers in a casual context with questions I receive often or issues I’ve noticed that people aren’t quite sure about but often are not entirely comfortable asking for fear of being offensive. I am also doing this in a muse-specific context for my muse, while including a large amount of general information to hopefully be informative, because I wanted to and it seemed like others wanted me to when I suggested it. I think having an open conversation is very important and while I am happy to talk with you, always, not every trans mun will be comfortable in this way. If a trans mun asks you to simply read their blog posts about a topic or tells you they aren’t comfortable with a topic, please don’t press as everyone’s comfort is different. I do suggest research using reputable sources if you’d like to further look into a topic; you are welcome to contact me to be pointed towards some of course, or have private conversations if confused about something or wanting to know more. I am also typically welcoming to people who may be questioning their gender and have questions about my personal experience.

TL;DR I can’t speak for all trans people and this is my attempt to be helpful from my perspective using my personal knowledge, experience, and research into topics that are very important to me personally. I am not a medical professional or a gender therapist.

THE GENERAL QUESTIONS.

1. Is Remy openly trans? If not, in which cases would my muse know about it? Is it acceptable for my muse to step in if someone says something transphobic in character in a thread, etc.? 

He is and he isn’t. Sorry, that was a bad answer - no. He’s not openly trans, but it isn’t a secret. He informs medical professionals when he requires treatment, and he certainly does go around shirtless often. However, his top surgery scars are reasonably faded with age and he has many scars on his torso, which means that people often don’t pay them particular notice. Top surgery is a procedure in which breast tissue is reduced and the chest is cosmetically restructured to appear as we would associate with a cis man; this can but does not always include areola reduction to fit better with the new appearance. There are a few different ways to perform this that leave different scar patterns, but the most commonly known one (and the one that Remy has) involves two horizontal scar lines across the base/just under the breast. 

Your muse likely would not know he is trans unless they were familiar with the scars and looking enough to notice them, he is informing them in a pre-sexual content, or your muse has heightened senses or some other power that would allow them extra perception and so on. If your muse wants to defend him against some kind of transphobia, that’s all well and good, but frankly he’s liable to thoroughly thrash anyone who’s going to be phobic to him and support is really all he ever needs. He can fight his own battles. He is male-passing.

2. How long has Remy known he’s trans? What does it mean to be trans? Does he know his deadname? Does he tell people his deadname? What’s a deadname?

Being transgender means that someone identifies as a gender other than the sex they were assigned at birth. Remy is a female to male trans person (FTM) and was assigned female at birth (AFAB), meaning biologically and genetically he was originally what we would consider female. If you identify with your gender to match the sex you were assigned at birth, you would be cisgender. People may realize they are trans at any age, though it typically involves a period of struggling with their identity, and generally use the pronouns of the gender they identify as. Nonbinary people can also fall under the trans umbrella. 

Remy identified as male from early childhood and in fact did not realize his biology did not match his identity until he was somewhat older (i.e. around eleven or twelve). This is not universal. He is aware of his deadname but has never really used it (aside from for reasons referred to in this headcanon) as quite frankly, it’s a fucking mouthful and he just doesn’t like it in general. It’s quite old-fashioned and difficult. His adoptive family is also aware of it and do not use it. It’s safe to assume your muse wouldn’t, and if they did for some reason find out and use it on him, they’re also probably going to get 300 kicked.

3. When did he start transitioning? Is he “fully” transitioned? Is fully transitioning a thing?

Fully transitioning isn’t a thing. The transition experience is subjective entirely according to the trans person and what they need in order to identify as their gender. For instance, someone could never undergo any surgery or change of dress and consider themselves fully transitioned. I will say that the common misconception involves ‘completing’ a surgical routine, specifically regarding genitalia. It’s not necessary if the person does not need it for their comfort. Some people do. Common elements of transitioning in general include: non-surgical chest binding or chest accentuation, top surgery or breast augmentation, removal of reproductive organs if desired, genital surgery, changing manner of dress and behavior to suit the identified gender. Bottom line is that your genitalia does not define your gender identity. Transition needs are suited to each individual person and what they feel they need to be comfortable. 

Remy considers himself fully transitioned according to what he needs. He has received top surgery and is on testosterone; he has not received a hysterectomy or genital restructuring and does not desire genital surgery, though he is undecided on the hysterectomy. He does not have plans to have one, as it’s a costly procedure and the recovery isn’t ideal for someone as active as he is. That may change in the future. He started transitioning medically at the age of 16, which is when he began receiving HRT. I have a page concerning this here, so as not to extend this FAQ past the insane length it’ll already be.

4. Is Remy on testosterone? What the hell’s a HRT? What happens when you’re on T, and the different methods of taking it. What happens if you stop?

Hormone replacement therapy (HRT) is the process during which someone is assigned to take hormones/hormone medication in order to provide them bodily changes so that their body more closely aligns to their identity and may allow them to “pass” as their identified gender more easily. For instance, female-to-male men would take testosterone (T), and male-to-female women would take estrogen (if desired or needed). I can’t speak on the estrogen administration and I don’t want to get that wrong, so I will talk mostly about T here - any trans ladies are welcome to add in. I know the basics but don’t want to misrepresent, so. 

T is available in skin patches, gel, pills, and shots. The patches and gels are lower dosages and take longer to have a visible effect, while the shots are generally the most known method of delivery. When you take hormones, your body does change. It doesn’t undo your first puberty, but a trans man on T would reduce in body fat and increase in muscle mass somewhat, and a redistribution of body fat. Within 1-3 months on a ‘standard’ dosage typical effects include increased sex drive, increased vaginal dryness, acne, hair growth overall, and mentioned muscle/fat changes. Notably, the clitoris also grows and may appear somewhat like a very small penis, and typically this growth is in the range of 1-3 cm. Within 6 months, menstruation usually stops and voice drops and begins to change, though that process may take a long time. After a year or so facial hair growth may start, though the rate at which it becomes steady may take years, and male-pattern baldness may also be a problem for some men if it’s a thing in their family and so on. 

 You do have to keep taking it, and if you stop some effects are permanent - i.e. voice change, and clitoris growth. Hair growth may reduce but is unlikely to completely stop. Menstruation does return, and your fat and muscle also resume their previous distributions over time.

Remy is on testosterone and has been. He uses the shot method. 

5. Does he menstruate if he’s on T? What’s that like if so?

He no longer menstruates on T. However, here let’s address the other associated question - yes, trans men can get pregnant despite being on T and not menstruating. Birth control is still important. This isn’t true for everyone. Some people may become sterile forever. However, there has been research on this, and it has been found that despite lack of actual menstruation, ovulation still occurs in some cases. However, if a trans man becomes pregnant, he would have to stop T in order to carry to term if desired, as otherwise the hormones are toxic for a fetus. 

6. Does Remy experience dysphoria, and if so to what extent? How does it affect him? What is dysphoria, and why does it matter?

Gender dysphoria is a disconnect between a person’s identified gender and biological sex, i.e. when a person feels they are of a different gender than the one that ‘matches’ their physical sex characteristics. 

Yes, he does. He used to experience it to a far greater degree, obviously; it was particularly bad in regards to his chest. However, after top surgery and being on T for years, he is mostly comfortable with his body. He has no real lingering dysphoria from the waist up and has mostly conquered his bottom dysphoria as well; however, there are still some days in which he struggles with it and would not want to be touched/penetrated vaginally for his own comfort. Sexual contexts are mostly the only area he experiences lingering bother on this.

7. What is packing? Does Remy do it? Explain packing and the types of packing.

Packing is the practice in which FTM men essentially wear a prosthetic penis. This may be to help them pass or simply because it alleviates their personal dysphoria. There are many types of packers; some are just makeshift stuffing or fabric. Others are made to enable men to pass in the bathroom and relieve themselves standing without being questioned, and are called stand-to-pee (STP) devices. Others are made with the capacity to be used for sex (called pack n plays, etc.), which are typically made out of body safe silicone. In this case it should be noted that they are semi-erect only. It would be pretty inconvenient to pack a rock-hard prosthetic all hours of the day.

Remy does not typically pack as he feels it lowers his overall agility and he has reached fairly low levels of bottom dysphoria. He does on occasion if a particular costume makes him feel dysphoric or has a partner who very much likes spontaneity and he just wants that option for a particular day.

8. Remy has a fair number of stereotypically female habits. Is it because he’s trans?

Uh, no. It’s just because he likes doing certain things and likes generally being self-sufficient. He likes pink (purple too) because it’s a pretty color and it looks good on him, and additionally looks good in his eyes; and due to his altered eye biology, colors do appear differently to him, so he does have an attachment to colors that really look good both to him and others when worn. He likes cooking because good food is delicious and his metabolism is super fast, so he has to eat a lot anyway. Enjoying the process doesn’t hurt. He sews because it’s useful, and so on.

A trans man can be as ‘feminine’ as he likes. It doesn’t make him less of a man.

9. Would he date a trans woman, trans man, or a nonbinary person? Are trans people more likely to date one gender identity over another?

Sure he would! He’s pan and would date anyone of any (or no) gender identity. And in general, no, trans people really aren’t more likely to date one gender over another. Sexuality =/= gender identity. A trans person can be gay, could be straight, bi, pan, ace, it doesn’t matter! It’s person to person no matter what your gender identity is. Yes, you can be gay if you’re trans, you can be lesbian if you’re trans.

10. My character XYZ is magical and could change Remy physically if he wanted it. Would he want to have a flesh peen? Is it offensive to ask?

It’s not offensive to me if you ask. However, this may not hold true for other muns. I understand that it’s an easy leap to make and you probably are coming from a very good place and want to help my muse be happy, but the answer is a very big no! He wouldn’t want that. To him (and me), magically providing a flesh and blood penis would negate the years and years of working to be comfortable with his body as who he is, and he’s proud to be trans. This is my opinion and may be subjective according to other muns and muses.

11. I’m thinking about writing a trans character, but I’m cis and I don’t want to offend anyone. Should I? If I did, would drag queens, etc. be appropriate face claims? Please note that for this question, I can only give you my personal opinion.

My general opinion here is kind of neutral. I don’t think people should be banned from writing things regardless of whether or not you identify as x thing you would like to write a character as being. However, I do think that if you want to write a trans character, you need to have a lot of research. We are often misrepresented in media and it does suck, there doesn’t need to be more of it. There is not a lot of open conversation about being trans because it is a really difficult thing, and that’s understandable, and it makes it hard. I’d say it’s fine if you’re genuinely dedicated to doing a good, positive portrayal, and it’s not the literal only element your muse has, but I would also say that you should treat it as a professional endeavor if you want to be an ally because it means a lot. Will you get hate? I don’t know. Would I personally attack you? No, not unless you were transphobic in your portrayal. Should you use a drag queen as your face claim? No. If you write a trans person, you should use either a trans face claim or a cis face claim of the gender your muse identifies as. Drag queens ultimately are doing performance art and while some trans people may do drag, it is performance art and a character being presented in an exaggerated way as a way of showing skill at makeup and costuming. It isn’t what someone looks like in real life on the daily and shouldn’t be portrayed as such unless your muse is literally a drag queen and is performing, you know what I mean?

THE NSFW-RELATED QUESTIONS.

12. Does T have bedroom side effects? If so, what are they?

Yes. I’d say please refer to #4 for the obvious! Vaginal dryness is common and clit growth as well, which does also change how you should handle said clit. In general, I’d say a good rule is to be more careful. It’s sensitive and delicate, do not treat it roughly and continuously check in with your partner! Every person has different sexual preferences, so I’m not even going to touch this in depth; if you want to know Remy’s, feel free to ask me separately!

13. Do the bits change, because I don’t know and I’m afraid to ask?

Yes they do! See #4, I put this with the rest of the testosterone effects. (:

14. What do I call the no-no’s if we smut? Do I ask IC or OOC? Is it bad to ask?

This is a pretty subjective question. As a general rule: ask the mun. Every trans person has a different preference; some of us will call our clitoris the dick, refer to vagina and asshole as front hole and back hole respectively, some of us say vagina, clit, pussy, cunt, it’s seriously all personal preference. Some trans women like to call their penis their clit. I think it’s a good idea to ask OOCly about this, and if you’re wondering whether your muse should ask in a thread or something, ask the mun that too! It’s better to ask instead of use the wrong thing, as the wrong terms may cause dysphoria and discomfort in some people.  Please ask this question as it’s important and people don’t ask this enough.

Remy is fine with most terminology if it is not being used in a degrading or fetishizing manner. It does not upset him to use the words vagina, pussy, etc. and likewise he’s happy to hear that you want to suck his dick. This isn’t universal. Not all my trans muses use the same terminology.

15. Is he comfortable with vaginal penetration? Because he has a vagina, is that preferable? (John Mulaney voice: WOULD THAT BE GOOD FOR YOU?)

Just because you have a vagina doesn’t mean you necessarily only want to use that. Straight cis women sometimes have a preference for butt stuff; it’s just a matter of preference. Some trans men don’t like it at all because they don’t and/or it makes them dysphoric. Some trans men love it and prefer it.

Yes, most days he is fine with vaginal penetration if it’s on the table. Some days he isn’t, but in general he’s okay with it and enjoys it as a manner of sex. Not all my trans muses are like this.

16. I’ve been on Pornhub a lot and we all know that’s a super inclusive place to get our information, so because he’s trans he’s a bottom, right? That means bottom?

It really doesn’t. Again, this is sexual preference and has nothing to do with gender identity. Unfortunately porn tends to fetishize trans people, that’s just what happens. As a trans person who previously dabbled in sex work, I promise you, it does happen. (As a side note: if you ever use the phrase ‘bonus hole boy’ in front of me I will block you instantly. I hate nothing more than that.)

Remy is a service switch. He’s happy to top or bottom, give or receive, dom or sub; some trans people may have strict preferences just like cis people. 

Thanks for reading! I appreciate you. If you’d like to leave a tip and support my getting through daily life and hopefully saving for top surgery, my Ko-Fi is here. I hope this was helpful, and if you have any further questions please do feel free to contact me!

[hexadecimalmantis]

Argonaut Games Research

This post was originally going to be an absurdly long documentary video, but I realized it would have been a bit boring, so I ultimately decided on making a glorified blog post. 

When I joined BioMedia Project last year, I was tasked with researching Bionicle: The Game and its sequel Bionicle 2: City of Legends. I have talked about both games in great detail many times before, and I think we all know about the issues that plague both of them by now. Bionicle: The Game is seemingly incomplete, and filled with content that was cut early on, and Bionicle 2: City of Legends never made it past a private movement demo. For context about Bionicle 2: BioMedia Project managed to obtain an Xbox build of the movement demo a few years ago. It has a few issues, such as broken audio and some missing graphical effects. I began reaching out to former developers in an effort to piece together the entire story of Argonaut Games, and uncover more secrets about both games. (Initially) With the assistance of Liam Robertson of DidYouKnowGaming?, I began contacting some of the developers. For those of you that are unfamiliar, Argonaut Games was split into two different facilities during the development of Bionicle: The Game. The first being Argonaut London, and the second was Argonaut Sheffield. I decided to reach out to the former developers from the London branch first. I initially didn’t get any replies, but I remained persistent. After waiting a few weeks, I eventually I got a reply from a former artist. Keep in mind that personal details about the former developers I contacted will be expunged in order to protect their identities and to prevent harassment and spam.

This is the first message I received after I inquired about Bionicle: The Game:

“Hi, yes I was lead artist on Bionicle. I'd say that it was a game that we cared a lot about, and to be honest we had high hopes for, at least initially. As always with game dev there wasn't just one cause of the games problems, but probably the biggest was we fell in love with the games setting and bit off far more than we could chew. We should have started with far more cautious goals, but we wanted to tell the whole story. I'm surprised if there was that much unused content on the disc TBH but the original scope of the game is definitely visible in naming conventions etc. we had intended each character to have toa levels and toa nuva (if thats the right term?) their powered up versions - before adding the 7th. Given that they have different abilities that was a huge ask of the team.

(Redacted)”

This message was about what I expected, the devs were a bit too ambitious and were unable to complete their ideas during the given development time. I later asked about the developer signatures stored within the BIGB archives, and asked them if they had worked on any of the Kopaka areas, since I found their signature within a subset of those files:

“the 'signatures' probably just refer to the designers - which is a relatively small subset of the team as a whole. I oversaw the project from an art perspective, so characters env, frontend etc then I ended up doing some animation work on the bull, onua, the weird door thing. I didn't work on Kopaka - that work was done up in Sheffield, I used to visit their studio to review stuff & sign it off.”

I’m sure the Bull was probably the Kane-Ra seen in Onua Nuva’s level. There are some pre-release trailers that show a Kane-Ra attacking the player with unique animations too. After that, I asked him about Argonaut Sheffield and their work on Bionicle 2: City of Legends. To my surprise, I got this:

“No, I didn't I thought they were disbanded alongside Argo”

This essentially meant that nobody from Argonaut London was aware of the development of Bionicle 2: City of Legends. With this information, it was easy to conclude that Bionicle 2 was created solely by Argonaut Sheffield as speculated. After failing to get more replies from former developers from Argonaut London, I shifted my focus to Argonaut Sheffield, intrigued by the messages I received from the former artist.

After a bit of waiting, I got a reply from another former artist.

“Hi,

Yes, I worked on Bionicle as a character artist along side artist (redacted). He was my mentor back then as it was my first industry job. I think we modelled about 130 odd characters/modular models back then between us. The character concepts we're drawn up by (redacted).

Argonaut Sheffield was previously Particle Systems who made I-War, the PC Sci Fi game and some other iterations. It was a technically adept small team and great to work with. I didn't have much to do with the London branch. We went on to try and make some failed movie tie-ins alongside them at a later date. Catwoman, Zorro, Star Wars, Charlie And The Chocolate Factory and also Bionicle 2.. which was going to be a fluid parkour type platformer. Which never materialised as after being there just shy of two years, London shut us down.

I'm actually working back in the offices where it all happened now. Which seems strange. I did work at Sumo Digital as a lead Char artist for ten years in between. I know there's a basement full of hard drives still here as one of the old directors still rents some space here.

(redacted)

(redacted)

Hope this helps.

Cheers,

(redacted)”

I received concept art for both Bionicle: The Game and Bionicle 2: City of Legends in this message. The art was later posted on my Twitter: https://twitter.com/HexMantis/status/1099883979942084608

Aside from the plethora of art, this message provided some insight about how Argonaut Sheffield came to be. It was previously known as Particle Systems before it assimilated into Argonaut Games. After this exchange, I reached out to a former programmer from Argonaut Sheffield. This time I provided a set of questions for the developer to answer in an effort to obtain specific information. After waiting for nearly a month, I got a reply:

The questions I asked will be enclosed within [ ] to avoid confusion.

“Hey!

There's some incomplete credits here (redacted)

but you could try contacting (redacted) as he was the lead programmer there. He used to work at PKR too, also owned by (redacted).

(redacted)

[Asked about the main development platform for the games]

1) Yep it was PS2. The PS2 version was handled by Argonaut Edgeware and programmers in Sheffield did ports for the other platforms

[Asked about the cut content from Bionicle: The Game]

2) Sorry, I wasn't involved with that bit. I was responsible for adding the hyper threading features on the PC (redacted)

[Asked about interactions with the London branch]

3) Yep, we worked together on it. Designers and Artists in Sheffield were working on assets for the main game.

[Asked about I-Ninja’s compatibility with Bionicle: The Game]

4) I think they should be compatible with each other. I-ninja came out a bit later though.

[Asked about Bionicle 2: City of Legends]

5) Maybe, not sure as it was a long time ago and I then moved to the Edgeware studio. If they did I guess it was just a prototype for a pitch

Good luck with your fact finding!“

I later asked if they knew of any early builds of either game, and I got this reply:

“Hey!

Sorry for the late reply. I believe everything was archived by Argonaut and EA. I'm not sure if anyone archived it personally at Argonaut or not but there were a lot of people working on it. They created archive PCs with everything you need to make the game from the source assets.

Thanks,

(redacted)”

The concept of the supposed “archive PCs” was interesting, but I doubt any of them are still around after all this time. After this, I contacted another former programmer from Argonaut Sheffield. This time with a focus on Bionicle 2: City of Legends:

“Hi William, I must admit, I'm curious where you found my name in the demo. Do you have a source code drop to go with it, or did I leave my name in an error message in the binary package itself?

Either way, yes I did work on the demo, albeit briefly. The engine the demo is built on is largely the same engine used in Bionicle (the original PS2/Xbox/PC game), Catwoman, and I-Ninja. It has an older pedigree than that too, but those were the games it was used on while Argonaut Sheffield was part of the Argonaut group. I was one of the programmers who ported the engine over to PC & Xbox for the original Bionicle, which is why I was involved in the demo in some capacity.

I'm still in touch with a lot of the designers who worked on the movement demo; the lead designer, (redacted), has said that I can pass on his contact details if you'd like to get in touch with him. You can contact him at (redacted).

Cheers,

(redacted)”

I was not surprised to get confirmation that Bionicle 2 used the same engine as Bionicle: The Game, since most of my existing programs I wrote for Bionicle: The Game were compatible with the Xbox demo. I asked if a PS2 port of Bionicle 2: City of Legends ever existed, since the Xbox demo we have has DualShock button mappings present in the game:

“Ah, I'll bet that's because I'll have compiled and built the disc image, so it's embedded my PC's name into the image. The level select would have just been for test levels where I was looking at specific bugs, performance problems or new features.

I really can't remember if we did PS2 or PC builds of the demo, other than the development binaries the design team would have been using. It's unlikely we'll have done a full ISO for the PS2, because the spiders caused real performance problems and we'd have wanted to show it to the publishers on the fastest available hardware.

By the way, the Xbox version will have reference to PS2 hardware because the original engine was PS2 only. The easiest way to port the engine was to, as far as possible, just get the Xbox and PC versions to pretend they were doing exactly the same thing as the PS2. For example, the game scripts don't need to know that when they get a button press from Cross or Circle, they're actually getting button presses from A or B. So although the names are going to be PS2-centric, they're still doing Xbox specific stuff.”

I was surprised to find out that the Morbuzakh Spiders were the primary reason for shifting Bionicle 2 to the original Xbox. I guess it makes sense, given how little time Argonaut Sheffield had to optimize the game. Switching to the original Xbox appeared to be a quick and easy way to avoid the hassle of optimization.

I later asked about the audio issues present in the Xbox demo, and for some general information about Bionicle: The Game.

“Hi William,

I'm afraid I've got no idea why the demo would be silent - it's been far too many years for me to remember the exact details, and I have no idea which version of the demo is the one which has been circulated. The full code for the audio system will have been present, because it was just a continuation of the engine used on Bionicle, and I'm sure the designers would have had at least some placeholder audio to hook up.

Audio is habitually the last thing to get hooked up in any game development, and since most developers prefer to have a silent build and listen to their own music while they work, it's not unusual for it either to be neglected in early internal builds, or for it to have been hacked to be silent (assuming the demo was one built locally rather than for showing to a publisher).

In terms of the development situation on Bionicle, although we weren't directly in the body of main developers, I think most of us were aware that the game wasn't progressing as well as it should. As well as the code team doing the porting work, our design and art teams were making the 'adrenaline levels' - which were the short lava/ice/tree surfing levels. They were only supposed to be short breaks between much larger levels, but it became increasingly obvious towards the end that these relatively small levels were still a large percentage of the actual content, and the other larger levels weren't coming online as fast as they should. QA in particular do full play-throughs on a regular basis, so they have a very good view of how fast the game as a whole is coming together.

I'm not 100% sure on all of the reasons for the delays in development, having been a relatively junior developer in a satellite studio at the time, but the reasons discussed at the time with leads and producers are fairly common ones that I've seen and heard about on other projects since. Inexperienced publishers or IP holders who haven't worked with game developers before often don't understand the lead times involved in producing content.

It's very hard to explain to customers who are used to working with companies like advertising agencies, who can turn around a complete change of direction in a matter of days, that you need to make and lock down decisions months or even years in advance. I think the penny finally dropped for Lego about three months out from submission that if they kept holding up approvals and kept requesting changes, they weren't going to get any game at all on the shelves - which of course meant we all had to crunch like hell to get the content in good enough shape to ship!

Cheers,”

An example of the aforementioned “Adrenaline sections” is the Tahu Nuva level from Bionicle: The Game. This level is actually internally named “Ta Adrenaline” as well. It’s obvious at this point that Tahu Nuva was originally going to have more than just surfing sections in his level, given the evidence in this message and the fact that he has a full set of unused walking animations.

I eventually contacted the designer mentioned by the former programmer, and got a reply after a month. (This designer was kind enough to restate my questions in his message):

“Hey,

I'm so sorry it's taken so long to get back to you. I was launching a game and I completely forgot about this.

1. What was your role as a designer like when working on both games? What kind of work did you do?

I was lead designer at Argonaut Sheffield, and we were brought in to help out on Bionicle the Game. We were responsible for what was known internally as "the adrenaline sections". The game was split into third person. exploration and combat levels (which were developed by the main Argonaut office in London), and the fast moving on rails sections that we created. As well as leading the team on these sections I was directly involved in the Tahu Nuva Boss Race near the end of the game.

2. Were you aware of content being cut or removed when working on Bionicle: The Game? Did you work on anything that didn't make the cut?

Like with any game there's work that involved that never sees the light of day. There were a lot of changes to the design over time, sometimes for practical reasons, other times because Lego wanted them.  I seem to recall that in the original design you would play as each Toa normally and each one again in their Nuva form in large open levels - with the platform adventure and the adrenaline sections seamlessly blending into each other. Quite soon after we were brought into the project a much clearer separation was made between the two, but I'm sure there was lots of the preparatory work for that ended up on the disc.

3. Do you know if any other character models aside from Matau (The green character) were created for Bionicle 2?

No other characters were made for that demo. I think we had a matter of weeks and everything had to be done very quickly.  That build represents a build that we sent to Lego (And Giant who eventually became TT Games) for approval and hopefully for more funding for the company. And we spent a lot of time agreeing the visual look of the character, as it was very different from what we'd done in the first game.

The work done on Bionicle 2 was entirely done up in Sheffield so we had a lot more control over the content. We knew that the Bionicle audience was getting older, and their gaming needs were becoming more sophisticated and we wanted to do something that would appeal both to that audience and be an interesting game in its own right. We felt that the first game had been so compromised by production issues that it ended up being very disappointing. We wanted to make something fluid and interesting that was a joy to play as a platformer, and had the dynamism and the sense of scale that the Bionicle world deserved.

4. Do you know if any other builds of the Bionicle 2 movement demo exist? Like a build that has working audio?

I don't remember for sure if we ever ended up with a build with audio. But it feels a bit unlikely that we would have got to the stage that we did without their being something in there, especially if the audio assets were on the disk. Somewhere in the depths of my home I think I have a PS2 version of the demo, so I may see if I can get that up and running and find out. As I think - so far - the only people who have had access to the game have played on Xbox, right?

Thanks”

Of course LEGO was being difficult during Bionicle: The Game’s development. They did something similar with Bionicle: The Legend of Mata Nui, and that certainly did not end well. This message was a big deal for us at the time, not only did we get a lot of information about both games, but we also got confirmation that a PS2 build of Bionicle 2: City of Legends actually exists! Unfortunately, this developer never replied again, and I was beginning to lose motivation.

I decided I had enough of Argonaut Sheffield at that point, and shifted my focus to Argonaut London once more. After waiting a bit, I got another reply from a former AI programmer.

“Hi William, sure thing, although it was a long time back so may not remember too much :)

probably easier to use my email (redacted) though as I rarely login to Linkedin.”

We later communicated via email:

“Hi William,

on the unused level front, it’s entirely likely that a bunch of the designers and strat coders ’play areas’ would have ended up in the build. Not sure if you’ve had any background info on how a lot of the Argonaut games were built, but here’s a brief rundown :)

So, when I started at Argonaut in 1997 , I joined the Croc 2 team, who were using the first updated iteration of the engine they built for Croc that had its own scripting language written (originally for the level designers to use) to write all the gameplay elements, while the engine coders focused entirely on the main engine for the PS1 (and a separate small team handled porting the engine to GameCube/Dreamcast, PC etc.). The idea being that ASL (Argonaut Strategy Language) Strats would be cross platform as they were just interpreted by the engine.

As it turned out, ASL strats were a bit too complex for the level designers to write themselves without coder assistance, so Argonaut let them focus on the actual level design itself (using the editor that just became known as the Croc Editor) and got gameplay specialist coders (like myself) to work on the strats. This worked out great as we could focus on individual items or groups of them independent of what was happening with the engine and we could quickly tweak a strat and run it on the devkit without doing a full build of the game (which took *AGES* back then ;) ) as well as some basic debugging capability.

This meant that most of the level designers and strat coders usually had a level slapped together with all the bits they were trying out. I don’t know if my one with all the Matorans following you in a chain still exists, but there were some pretty strange ones. In theory these wouldn’t end up on the disk but the build system was pretty clunky, so it’s entirely likely that some ended up there.

So by the time I got drafted onto the Bionicle PS2 project, I’d worked on Croc 2, Aladdin Nazira’s Revenge, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone and Bionicle Matoran Adventures on GBA. All but the last one using revisions of the Croc Editor and ASL.  (The Emperor’s New Groove, Harry Potter 2, Malice, Catwoman & iNinja also got written with the engine). I say revisions as not a lot was actually added to either over time. Also, by Bionicle PS2 I was kind of an emergency response coder for strats, as I got parachuted in after the project started to help fix a lot of problems with how ASL was being used and design issues with the levels.

There were a lot of issues with Bionicle (not as many as Aladdin or Catwoman started with and my 4 days on Malice were certainly interesting, but they’re entirely different stories ;) ). Mostly from inexperience as the team working on it had a lot of new hires or ones that had been drafted from other teams that didn’t use ASL or the Croc Engine, so they weren’t familiar with its limitations. There were some HR issues going on too, but I’m not going to get into those. The team were mostly all professional and good at what they did, but struggling with a relatively clunky engine. By this point Argonaut had split off most of the engine coders to the “Tools” team and we had to officially request any engine or editor changes we wanted through their chain of command (and they weren’t interested in working on the ‘old’ engine).

There were also some issues with inexperience in games from the Lego UK side too. So a lot of the overall design rules were a bit flaky and lead to a lot of levels and gameplay getting changed. The “No Weapons” rule was one we thought was pretty odd, considering the swords, pikes etc. in use. Apparently they’re tools, not weapons. So we weren’t allowed to use them as direct combat weapons for gameplay, only for magical ranged effects. There was also a lot of issues of really big levels being designed without consideration for what could actually be rendered on screen at the required frame rate on PS2 with the old Croc engine. Even updated to PS2 and with everything the engine coders could do to optimise it, the engine and ASL were struggling to do what the designers wanted.

I don’t think it’s a case of biting off a bit more than they could chew (we successfully wrote Harry Potter from scratch in 9 months in time to release with the film using the engine but that was very much a dream team of all the right people with the right skills and a publisher working well in sync). More a case of it being a new team of people not so experienced with the system and a publisher that wasn’t entirely sure what it wanted. So things were that bit harder to get done in the time available.

In theory, some older gold disks are likely still around. (redacted) was one of our engine guys on the project and “Master of the Build” (he was the only one who had enough tasteless Hawaiian shirts for the numerous submission build days). I’ll have a dig through my CD collection, but it’s unlikely I’ve got any Bionicle builds surviving. I *might* still have some strat code floating about on an old hard disk. I do seem to have some of the Catwoman build code that used mostly the same (although slightly updated) engine though.

One thing that I think got axed was my chain of Matorans. The idea was a level where you’d be picking them up from around the level and they’d follow you to a rescue point. Normally this wouldn’t actually be that difficult to code, but ASL never actually had any arrays! I’d been asking for them for a couple of projects by that point but they never got added, so my Matorans were each working as their own array elements and frantically messaging one another in a chain, which never quite worked reliably enough with ASL, so we shelved the idea.

(redacted) was one of the strat coders working with me on Bionicle. I think he’d just joined Argonaut then, but luckily, knew his stuff.

(redacted)”

I guess a few of the unused levels I found in the PS2 port of Bionicle: The Game are examples of “play areas” given how small some of them are. This message also provided some insight about ASL, the proprietary language both games were created with. This gave me a good idea about how difficult ASL was to use as well. The fact that Arognaut also had many new hires that couldn’t handle ASL’s idiosyncrasies certainly didn’t help Bionicle: The Game at all.

I later reached out to another former AI programmer affiliated with the previous one. They had some interesting things to say:

“Wow, I'm really surprised that anyone is that interested in Bionicle, because I didn't think it was a very good game, but I'm happy that you felt strongly enough to do this, I guess. That's quite an impressive bit of digging.

[Asked about ASL]

Q1) ASL wasn't a great language to use, it was being developed at the same time as the engine so it was constantly changing and was occasionally broken as well. The turnaround from making a change in code to testing it on the target device was quite slow. And coming from C++ the lack of modularity was frustrating. There was some talk in the team about wanting it to be object oriented, but anything that made it cleaner and less prone to repetition would have been good. My memory of it isn't that good since it was 20 years ago. I remember the collision and animation systems being awkward and crude as well though. Do you know about the other games that the system was used for? Catwoman took the animation engine a bit further, but it was really horrible trying to program the animation blending for finite state machines with a language that was so hard to debug.

[Asked about scrapped content in Bionicle: The Game]

Q2) I don't remember much about what was scrapped. There were different teams working on different levels and playable characters, I mainly worked on the Tahu levels and the final boss. I think there might have been some stuff scrapped from the other characters. One or two of them were developed by the team who were doing the cross platform conversion for us, and we didn't see much of what they were doing and only saw it quite late.

[Asked if any early builds of Bionicle: The Game still exist]

Q3) I have no idea - perhaps Sony or EA have archives of the earlier builds. Someone on the engine team might do, I can't think how or why a strat coder would have one.”

The issues with the collision system they mentioned are definitely present in Bionicle: The Game. It’s quite easy to glitch out of bounds, as speedrunners have demonstrated many times. We later talked about general programming concepts and discussed ASL further:

“Reassuring to know that I'm not imagining Bionicle being pretty bad! I think object oriented was just flavour of the month in 2003, Java was a highly respected language at the time and we thought it was the future. It would have been nice to work in a language that was used in other places, because having ASL on your CV was a pretty crappy prospect for seeking other work. At least if you used Fortran or Pascal it was recognised by employers as a mainstream language. WTF is ASL? I worked in two other organisations that had proprietary languages and it was annoying. The good thing about starting work at Argonaut at least was that ASL was a proven language that you could make games with, and it did let you get down to the relevant bits of gameplay you wanted to take control of. Before that I worked at Phase 3 studios where they had never made an action game before, and we spent a lot of time programming systems that had hardly any effect on gameplay. So I was grateful for ASL and the toolchain for making it easy to do some limited things. I was very impressed by someone on the iNinja team for getting ropes to work with a vertlet algorithm, we stole that later for the green Bionicle to use. I think the High Voltage Software studio might be using a different language with the same initials? I can't see how it could possibly be Argonaut's language. I'm pretty sure there was some talk about opening it up as middleware to sell other studios but I don't think we ever got there. Many of the staff from Catwoman went on to work at Rocksteady, Sony and Ninja Theory, but I think they just started using whatever engine was in place there. You could find hundreds of people who had brushes with the language.”

I asked about other studios using ASL for their games:

“What release date were the games? Argonaut folded in 2004 I think, so the creditors might have managed to sell off the technology as cheap middleware of last-gen consoles

or perhaps they were licensing the tech while we were using it, and I just hadn't been aware of it”

I sent him some notable examples of games using ASL from other studios, such as The Conduit and Ben 10: Protector of Earth:

“That fits the picture then - liquidation in 2004, sell the technology in 2005, two years of learning the systems and developing content, release in 2007

The PS3 would be the current gen console by then, but the PS2 had a large enough user base to make it a viable market, especially for movie tie-ins and children’s games”

I later asked if there was any possibility that Argonaut received parts of ASL from other sources:

“That's an interesting question... I don't know but I think Argonaut were using strats since 1993 and the language gradually evolved from Starfox to Croc and so on. I think it was around before High Voltage existed. It does seem like a massive coincidence that the header is VOLT but there aren't many words that sound cool to programmers so I still suspect it is just a coincidence. Programming was Argonaut's strongest suit, it doesn't make sense that they would buy tech in like that. I was only at the company for two years or so, ask someone who was there longer.”

Then out of the blue, another former designer from Argonaut Sheffield reached out to me about Bionicle 2. After that, I asked them a few questions:

“Hi William,

Great to hear from you. Let me see what I can do to answer your questions!

[Asked about the development process of Bionicle 2]

1. Designing the demo was a bit of a break from the usual licensed Dev. We had creative control so got to decide what direction we'd like to take things in (hence a departure from the 'standard' platforming fare of the time!) My role was predominantly as a technical designer - that was, creating ideas and prototyping/building in the tools. For the demo I was responsible for populating and scripting some of the functionalities in the level.

[Asked about the broken audio in the Xbox port of Bionicle 2]

2. Not sure on the silence in the build tbh... I seem to remember doing some work on creating and implementing some spot FX and seem to remember we put some audio track on the front end screen. With this being a closed pitch demo, I honestly can't remember if we'd created the track or sourced it from elsewhere!

[Asked if they knew about any other builds of Bionicle 2]

3. I believe a have a variety of unreleased games and demos on various formats somewhere. Most of them will be PS2 from that period.

Thanks”

When they mentioned owning a variety of unreleased games and demos, I was immediately intrigued. I later asked if they had a PS2 build of Bionicle 2 and offered to send him a copy of our Xbox build of the game in exchange for it, and to my surprise I got this:

“Hey William,

Cool, I'll have a search when I get some time and attempt to extract it for you!

Thanks”

I was ecstatic. Finally, after months of searching, I was about to get something tangible! But the days passed, and those days turned into weeks. I was beginning to lose hope until I got this message:

“Hey William,

Quick note on my progress - I've not forgotten! I delved into my garage over the weekend and came away with 3 CDs labeled bionicle 2 with various dates on!

I'll attempt to create an ISO of the latest date and share with you when I get a mo (most likely the weekend again!)

Thanks”

Not only did he have a build of the game for the PS2, but THREE of them! After seeing this, I decided to wait for the weekend to arrive. Unfortunately I would be very busy on this particular weekend, but Bionicle was still my top priority! So I proceeded to bail on my friends to wait for an obscure as hell prototype game from a discontinued children’s toy line to show up in my inbox. However, on Sunday, the weekend was coming to a close, and I had heard nothing from the former designer. My waiting and persistence later paid off after I got this message:

“Hi William,

Give this a go - no idea if it works - let me know!

(redacted)”

At last! I finally got it! The latest known PS2 build of Bionicle 2: City of Legends! But there was a problem. The game didn’t boot. Just my luck. But I wasn’t ready to give up. I ended up rebuilding the entire iso with some proprietary tools, and by some miracle, it booted up in my emulator. It’s about what you would expect: It’s similar to Xbox build in many ways, but it is also different. Unlike the Xbox port, the audio works, and there are some extra graphical effects and animations. I was also able to get the game to boot up on a real PS2 without issue.

I can’t say exactly when BioMedia Project will release this build to the public, but I'm sure it will happen soon. Until then, feel free to watch some gameplay footage of the demo on my Youtube channel: https://youtu.be/Dvmzz92F3oo

These past couple of years have been pretty crazy for Bionicle. The Legend of Mata Nui was found TWICE, and there has been so much more activity within the community as a result. I’m glad I was able to make my mark and get this unreleased build of Bionicle 2: City of Legends into the hands of the Bionicle community where it belongs. If you made it this far, Thanks for reading. If you liked this post, don’t forget to share it. I spent a lot of time researching this, and I would really appreciate it. Special Thanks:

BioMedia Project

Liam Robertson

Fraug L. Coolman