i will create the best cocktails and put them in here

1 | Save Me

word count: 

series warnings: violence, gore, probably smut at some point I mean it’s me we’re talking about, this chapter has mention of non-con

Originally posted by annabartollo

masterlist | ask | next

Another gloomy day, another substitute teacher. You looked up at the elderly man who stood at the front of the classroom, he was wearing brown slacks and a messily ironed green plaid shirt, no wedding ring, no signs of any life beyond being a substitute teacher at the university. Pity dawned on you when you noticed his face burning with embarrassment when the wave of realisation that he had no idea what he was doing washed over him. Not being able to watch the old man struggle any longer you raised your hand, to the surprise of everybody in the room, 

“Yes Y/N?" 

"Sir would you like me to help? I still have some of Mr Lee’s lesson plans in my bag I could-" 

"That won’t be necessary Y/N. I’m perfectly capable of doing things myself.” The man scolded before he turned around to write some equations on the board, he was much harsher than you anticipated. 

Exhaling deeply you slouched back into your chair, you missed your old professor, Mr Lee. He was a much nicer man. Though he was younger than most professors, he was always very friendly, smart and helpful, everything a professor should be. And being a high achiever in his class didn’t go unnoticed, once a week he would let you teach your group, and with you being president of the student union it meant that nobody could argue with his decision either. Other students had their theories, that you and he were secretly hooking up on late night study sessions, either that or the only reason he was so nice to you was because his younger brother was your flat mate. However none of the rumours were true, except from you living with his brother who was also a student. But that all changed two weeks ago, nobody knows exactly what happened but Mr Lee just vanished out of nowhere, completely disappeared off the face of the Earth. Of course there were varying theories, but nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything, nobody knew anything. And so your fate of having to face substitute teacher after substitute teacher day after day was sealed. 

“She’s feisty today.” The orange haired boy sat next to you muttered, loud enough for you to hear, 

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300 Reasons why you should subscribe to AmazingPhil

1.       He’s been on youtube for over 10 years

2.       The Adventures of Lion was better than a soap opera

3.       PINOF

4.       He started making videos because he won a camera in a cereal box

5.       He is a self-confessed cereal thief

6.       People drew him naked; he used it as an opportunity to showcase their art

7.       He is a ball of sunshine that can brighten the bleakest of days

8.       He doesn’t complain about much

9.       His eyes are gorgeous

10.   He likes to put stickers on expensive things

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Companions are Dared to give Sole a Flower Crown Part 1

(Little goose-New admin~ I actually wrote this as a prompt so the owner could see that I can write so yeah I’ll have Maxson added tomorrow maybe (hopefully) )


Cait grumbled to herself about how pointless this was. She had weaved the flowers on a very bendy but durable stick. Most of the petals had fallen off the flowers, the flowers were going slightly limp, and the crown had fallen apart two times. Nonetheless, the crown itself had great beauty, the leaves that wrapped around the stick seemed to support the flowers and give them that extra boost to make them pop. The flowers were purple with a hint of green (mostly caused by the radiation) and the leaves, an extraordinary dark green. Cait’s face grew darker shades of red the closer she got to Sole.
“Here, have this stupid flower thing, sole.” Cait practically threw the crown at their head. Cait looked away as Sole admired the crown, turning it over in their hands and Fiddling with the semi loose leaves. When Sole told her that they thought it was beautiful, she was surprised, how could someone like sole think a radiated dirty, wilted flower crown be considered beautiful? Cait looked them in the eye slightly before rushing off, out of sight.


Curie was quite elated to give Sole such a crown. She thought they’d look wonderful with it on. Curie got on making the crown right away, picking the most undamaged twigs, leaves, and flowers she could find. Working on it was her number one priority. Finding the prettiest and fullest flowers were the main mission. The flowers varied in size shape and color. Some were a light green, or a dark purple. Others were red as blood and blue as the sky. Many of the settlers and companions were amazed by how preserved and beautiful the flowers were. It took Curie around two months to finish it but today was the day. Walking up to Sole, she placed the crown tenderly upon their head.
“Oh sole! You look even better than I imagined with the crown on! You are magnificent!” Sole chuckled at her, and ruffled her hair. Sole never once took the crown, it was too special. However, it did save their life when sole got shot near the head by a group of raiders. Sole was fine, however the bullet completely demolished the crown, sending both sole and Curie into tears, including a few settlers who had grown fond to it.


Codsworth would have loved to make sole a beautiful crown out of flowers, it gives him nostalgia from before the war when sole’s spouse made one themselves and had him wear it. However, Codsworth wasn’t capable of making one, he had a claw and a buzz saw as arms but he didn’t want to let sole down. He wandered around Sanctuary, clipping a bundle of flowers together. Finally he went to find sole, and started to gently place the flowers in their hair. Soon, sole’s hair was bundled up with the (mostly) pretty flowers of the commonwealth.


Danse wasn’t really the type of guy who made flower crowns in his spare time, but for sole…well sole was special to him. You could say he really cared about them and their wellbeing. So that is how he ended up doing the daré, isolated in his room, weaving flowers together with such skill you wouldn’t even think he’d had. For someone with as large hands of him, he had surprisingly nimble hands. Finally he had finished the crown. It wasn’t the best, it was his first time, but it went better than expected. The colors were simple, light purples, light greens, nothing extravagant. There were a few odds and ends sticking out and it was a bit lopsided. However sole loved it, when danse walked up to them, he was flustered and stumbled over his words a bit.
“I uh, I was told to make you this and um…here.” he placed it upon their head. He cleared his throat, becoming a little antsy and nervous. After his conversation with sole, he walked off, returning to his room, and if you looked closely, there was a faint smile that rested on his face.


Deacon gave out a light laugh and pushed his sunglasses up a bit.
“A flower crown? Pssshh!! That’s easy!” However, making a flower crown was actually more difficult than he thought. He couldn’t believe how hard it was and when sole asked him why he was in his room for around 10 hours without getting out he said with a nervous chuckle:
“I’m just ya know…practicing…spy stuff, it’s super secret I’m not allowed to talk about it.” He then closer the door and went on trying to attempt to make it for the 10th time that night. Tears, sweat, and internal screams finally paid off. He had constructed a flower crown. It was quite flimsy and delicate since he didn’t know that you needed something to really support the flowers from breaking off or falling out. Honestly, it was more of a headband, a few long, thin blades of grass were the support of the flowers. The flowers themselfs had been clipped just a tad too short that they couldn’t exactly stay in the crown. The flowers were small and tiny, some were just flowers buds, beginning to bloom. Walking up to sole with a wide grin in his face, he delicately placed it on them. The crown started to slip since it was a bit small, and sole giggled. Deacon started to regret making the crown but that changed when sole put an even worse flower crown on deacon’s head. How didthey managed to fail so bad at that? That was a question Deacon could not figure out. The two walked around Sanctuary, each with a flimsy, wilting crown atop their head.


Dogmeat is a dog. He has no opposable thumbs or even hands to construct such a thing. He whined, he wanted to show sole how much he loved them, even though he kissed and loved them everyday. He sniffed up and down, sometimes ending up in other settlers’…..business, searching for flowers. Every flower he thought would please sole, he would gently pull it out of the ground and run over to their house just to drop it on their bed. At the end of the week, sole’s bed had been covered in flowers of all different shapes and sizes and colors. This made Dogmeat happy, that every flower he gave sole made them smile ear to ear and pat his head. He wagged his tail and walked up to sole, dropping a pretty red flower at their feet, watched them pick it up and hug him. Nothing made him happier than sole being happy because of Dogmeat.


Hancock was very happy to make a flower crown despite the fact that he never made one, but he wanted to make sole happy. Popping in a few mentats, Hancock got to work on the crown. Throughout the night, he got frustrated several times because the flowers would not stay put and kept popping out or falling off. He ended having to restart two times since he tied the bass of the crown too tight, snapping it in half. When he finally finished the crown, Hancock carefully stepped away to admire the creation. The flowers were big and in full bloom, the colors were bright and pleasing to the eye. The next morning, he gently took it in his hands and headed towards sole.
“Hey there, sunshine, I made ya somethin’!” With a smile up in his face, he reached up and plopped the crown on sole’s head. He beamed in delight as Sole smiled at the crown and at him. The two wandered the settlement, Hancock glaring at anyone who gave sole a strange look for wearing the flower crown on their head.


Maccready was pretty embarrassed when given the dare. A hired mercenary like him would not be spending his afternoon making some dumb crown for his boss/friend. However, Maccready ended up spending his afternoon creating a half-assed flower crown. It was like a school project you didn’t want to do, throwing some stuff together that would maybe give you a passing grade, and hoped it work. Maccready just grabbed some flowers and a few weeds that were pretty. He pulled out a too thin of a base for it that he just weaved more and more of the base together and hoped that it would work decently. The flowers were simple, small blooms. They were flowers that you would pass by, not giving it a second glance. That’s what made them beautiful, they were the forgotten flowers, the weeds, the nuisances, but one person gave them the first glance and thought they were pretty. Maccready grumpily walked up to sole and placed the crown in their hands. He watched as Sole admired it and thanked him.
“Don’t thank me, I didn’t want to make it anyway, it was just a fricking daré.” He pulled his hat down to (try) hide the faint blush that creeper up his ears and face. The blush only darkened as the flower crowned sole leaned in and kissed his cheek then walked off, leaving him with a cocktail of emotions.


Nick smiled, a sad but warm smile. The flower crown before him reminded him of Jenny. The memory was fuzzy, but he could recall her laughter and her smile as she danced with a flower crown on her head. It was a sad memory, but it was a happy one, a memory before the country was turned into a radiated wasteland. Nick never made a flower crown, but he had an idea from the one in the memory. He weaved the leaves and flowers together with extreme concentration. It sat on his desk at the agency. When Ellie walked in on him when he was constructing it, he stuttered that it was just for a case. If a synth like him could blush at that moment, he’d look like a bright red tomato. Going up to sole, he smiled as he saw sole’s face light up noticing the crown.
“I uh, had some spare time, and well,” he chuckled slightly, “I made this, here.” He placed the crown on them and talked with them a bit, even sharing the memory of Jenny. He saw the corners of their face go up and they soon parted ways, each recalling a memory that would make them sad but happy for the rest of the day.

Dear Drinkers,

Thank you to everyone at Trotcon and beyond who helped make this happen! The original email might have been addressed to me, but I thought I’d make a couple key changes with some simple photoshoppy cantrips to honor everyone who took part in the event and preserve the privacy of our dear friend. 

It started as an idea to honor Rusty Nail in a way that felt sincere to him and grew and fell together in a way that I couldn’t have expected. This little ‘Drink Auction’ of cocktails he created turned into two hours of nonstop fun. I went into this hoping at the very least to raise enough money to offset the cost of the ingredients for the auction and instead we all were floored by the amazing acts of generosity that the patrons of the Pony Keg offered. In the end, we raised $1,400 to donate to the Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation!

So once again, I’d like to thank everyone who helped here, both those who came to the event and some very special people who went above and beyond-

@acaciaride @theamishpirate @llimus @captainhoers  -For Donating ahead of time to the panel funds to help offset the cost of the ingredients we needed! That helped a TON guys, more than you know!

@ask-wiggles - For offering her art as an incentive to have others donate to the cause, many thanks friendo!

@black-onyx-star -For going completely out of his way during the first day of the con to shop for and donate a TON of ingredients for the panel AND for donating during the event. You rock dude!

Lee Tockar (Twitter- @leetockar) -The man himself! For not only coming to the panel, but for being an all around good dude, interacting with the livestream guests, donating to the cause, and doing a fantastic toast for our dearly departed.

THOSE GUYS AT THAT ONE TABLE YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE (Twitter- @BerryTube) -You all were the life of the party and I’m still not entirely convinced that you weren’t a group manifestation of the Greek god Dionysus on the mortal plane come to pay respects to a Premier Bartender because REALLY.

AND last but definitely not the least, 

@techmomma - Rusty’s dearest, an excellent panel host, and someone who I’d put in my best friend category and cover in affection whenever it’s needed. Your hard work and dedication, not only as a friend and to this event, but to Rusty is really what made the sincerity of it true in every aspect. 

@kajeaynart - Another dear bestie who I’ve come to love. An absolute joy to be around and another excellent panel host. From what I’ve heard, Church attendance has skyrocketed thanks to you because of your advice to those sinners during Quiplash. Y’all need Jesus.

@piratedashmod - For helping to secure the time and space for the panel, giving us time to speak during both the opening and closing ceremonies, for the transportation of delicious drink ingredients and your work in purchasing them, and of course, for being a good sport and host when the going got tough and the tough got roasted. Lots of laughs were had, and we wouldn’t have had them without you.

Plus,  Batender for the night, Jay. You did Rusty’s recipes the justice they deserved and this event wouldn’t have been the same without you. Thank you so much for lending us your time and experience!

And definitely for all of those who donated during the panel and afterwards, one big giant THANK YOU to all of you! We’ll see you next year!

The Proposition: Part Two

The Proposition drabble series: Part Two

Cole Sprouse x Reader

Summary: You are on a weekend getaway with your best friend Cole and he offers you a life-changing proposition

Word Count: 1400

Previous chapter

A/N: Here’s part 2! Sorry it took so long, but here it is. Things start to get real. Feedback is always appreciated, and thank you so much for the love and support you’ve all given me since the beginning. I will creating a masterpost for the series soon so all the parts will be compiled in one place. I just want to see how this chapter does beforehand. So let me know what you think, and enjoy!

P.S- there is mention of an outfit the reader is wearing, it is hyperlinked so you can click on the words & it will show you a picture of the dress I had in mind. (:

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SSM Day o3: Chemistry

Summary: Sakura really didn’t sign up for this. (Or the one where Sasuke moonlights as an erotic dancer to pay the bills his internship can’t cover.)

Rating: T for language and minor sexual stuff (it’s a stripper!AU what did you expect)

Notes: I wrote this at like two in the morning after spending a solid hour doing anatomy studies that somehow all turned into Sasuke. I need an adult. Also, my YouTube history looks really, really weird now.

“Ino, I’m not entirely sure I’m comfortable with this,” Sakura says, eyeing the flashing neon signs around her. Her best friend scoffs and flips her long, loosely curled hair over her shoulder. “You’re always shut up in that lab of yours, Forehead! You’re twenty-five. You need to live a little. Besides, this place is fine.”

“Easy for you to say, you’re here every weekend,” Sakura mumbles, but she offers no further comment; rather, she can’t, because they’ve arrived at their destination. The bouncer waves them in with barely a glance. They’re clearly of age, or maybe he just doesn’t care enough to card them.

The first thing that strikes Sakura is the music—dark, sinuous, and pulsing, almost alive—and the way the red and violet lights create a haze over the black walls and tiles of the bar. It’s an unusual look, but one that fits the club’s name. Insidious is definitely the sort of place Ino frequents; a sophisticated establishment with plenty of live entertainment and well-mixed cocktails. There’s also a long, raised catwalk from the back rooms that connects to a large, circular stage in the center of the room. Her best friend ushers her to a table near said stage, her towering heels clicking against the smooth marble floor. That’s about when Sakura notices a thin silver pole in the center of the platform and realizes what, exactly, its purpose is.

“Ino,” she says slowly. “Did you bring me to a fucking strip club?”  Ino bats her eyes in a mockery of innocence. “Not the kind of strip club you’re thinking of, Sakura. You’ll like it, I promise.”

Well. Her day just keeps getting better, doesn’t it? Sakura looks around again, faintly hearing Ino order a couple cocktails for them both. The whole room has a certain plush feeling to it. Maybe it’s the velvet everywhere. Maybe it’s Sakura’s overactive imagination. The world may never know. The cocktails arrive in a few minutes. Sakura downs hers immediately, vaguely tasting strawberries and vodka. She gets the feeling she really, really shouldn’t be sober for this. Ino rolls her teal eyes for the umpteenth time and shifts so that her low cut dress shows off her cleavage just the right way.

Twenty minutes and another drink later, the room begins to fill. People come in twos and threes, all trying their damnedest to snag seats close to the stage. Sakura can’t help but notice most of them are women. Ino snickers at them and waves down a waiter. “There’s a reason we got here early, Forehead. The most popular act of the week is about to start.”

As if on cue, the overhead lights dim. A smooth, soft piano riff starts up as a spotlight flicks on, catching a tall, lithe man in its glow. Sakura is immediately entranced, because good God is he beautiful. He looks ethereal as he prowls downs the catwalk, the juxtaposition of his pale skin and dark hair striking in all the right ways. Then he reaches the pole and, with what looks like no effort at all, lifts himself up and flips his body upside down in a blatant “fuck you” to gravity and the laws of physics in general.

His muscles move smoothly as he dances, pushing and pulling and creating enchanting patterns of shadow on his skin. He’s barely even breaking a sweat, he’s hitting every beat, and he’s so sensual it almost hurts her to watch. And then he just has to take it up a notch; he climbs up to the top of the pole and drops headfirst towards the floor, catching himself at the last second with his thighs. His THIGHS. Sakura can’t even register the smug look Ino is most likely throwing her because her eyes are locked to the spectacle before her. The dancer throws his head back, arching his spine against the pole, and strokes his hands up the sides of his torso. One rests lightly on his throat, thin, elegant fingers feathering over the curves of his neck, and the other grips the pole behind him. A glint of silver catches her eye as he moves and oh my god he has nipple piercings. Sakura’s mouth runs dry. Her heart is practically throwing itself against her ribs, and she swears he can hear it over the pound of the music.

He meets her gaze, and Sakura feels like she’s suddenly caught fire but can’t entirely bring herself to mind. There’s a flicker of something in those impossibly black eyes, before he blinks and gives her a slow, sexy smirk. He effortlessly levers himself down, twisting as he goes, to land on his knees in front of her. As he leans back, putting his whole body on display, all Sakura can focus on is how beautiful this man is. He’s not bulky, not by a long shot; instead, the cut of his muscles is soft and toned. His beauty is something ethereal and effortless, and the elegance he somehow infuses in every movement only accentuates it. Sakura is no stranger to this; in fact, she can name a few people off the top of her head who can do the same thing.

And then something clicks, and she’s is frozen. Not in a good, aroused way: of course, the attraction is definitely there, but at this exact moment it’s being overpowered by shock and just a bit of panic. She knows that smirk, just like she knows those eyes. Except usually, she sees them in the lab next to hers, on the reserved biochemist she works with more often than not.

Oh my god, she thinks faintly, as Uchiha Sasuke, one of the brightest up-and-coming minds in her oncological drug research course, gives her another tantalizing look to a dark guitar riff, he looks completely different without his glasses.

Miss Me? - Part 5

Warnings/Triggers: Slight angst, harsh words

Pairing: boxer!Bucky x Reader

A/N: Here is part 5! It is a little longer than the other parts, I hope that’s alright. Slight angst in this part and more conversation between Bucky and Reader! Feedback is appreciated. Enjoy?

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5


After already drinking through two beers, you could feel the knots aching in your back from sitting, being tense for a solid 45 minutes. You felt like a fly on the wall. Observing everyone, laughing, talking, thinking back on old memories while creating new ones…everyone besides you.

“I’m going to head to the restroom.” You cleared your throat, excusing yourself from the booth. Hearing the table roar in laughter as you walked through the bar. They continued on with their conversation, as if you weren’t there to begin with. You swiped a hand over your tired face as you entered the bathroom. You glanced in the mirror and teasing your fingers through your hair before washing your hands, cleaning off.

“Okay, just…go back out there, and have a good time.” You said in the mirror. Trying to whip up a smile, but failing. You immediately rolled your eyes not even believing yourself.

They had continued on with their conversation, as if you weren’t there to begin with. You wondered if they noticed that you had left. It seemed not even Sam would at this point. You couldn’t blame him, he was having a great time talking with his friends. He was being himself, letting loose. More so than he had around you which made you feel a pang of jealousy. Sam was your best friend. But did he feel that way about you?  

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Alchimie (day 1) - Jimin

genre : fluff, smut, slice of life
words : 5,7k (Imsorry)

masterlist l day 523

A/N : series abandoned or on hiatus.

Your foot softly hit the cobblestone floor as you walked to one of your current favorite place, The Shaker. It wasn’t exactly a nightclub, but it wasn’t a bar either; it was a mix of both. A smile appeared on your face when you admired the facade, the elegant neon light name of the bar shining brightly on the wall, suiting perfectly the old red bricks and the stylish entrance; chic and impressive black metallic doors, ornamented with gold plated doorknobs. Your steps came to a halt when you reached the small crowd forming in front of the door, and you eyed the bouncer nicely, silently asking him to let you him –which he did, as usual.

You granted him a thankful smirk, stepping inside the small building. As you made your way to the bar, you started to take off your leather jacket, already feeling warmer in the nice atmosphere of the large room. Indeed, ever since you first came here –and it was a long time ago-, you’ve always felt relaxed and comfortable the second you stepped in. Maybe it was thanks to the nice atmosphere, the small lights and purple and red neon lights that illuminated the main room, or even the small tables cordially arranged; no matter what it was, The Shaker was a thing to experience, which you definitely did.

You flashed a smile to brown hair boy behind the bar, and took a sit on your usual stool, at the end of the long counter, against the wall. You patiently waited for him finish the orders some people required, securing your jacket on your knees. As you waited, you looked around the place, pleased to see already known faces and some new ones sitting at tables or already having fun on the “dancefloor”.

A small tap on the shoulder woke you up from your reverie, and your turned your head to side to acknowledge the demanding person, a happy smirk on your lips.

“Hey you, how are you today?”, the brown hair boy asked, grinning just as much as you.

“Hi Hoseok, I’m fine thank you. What about you?”, you replied, your eyes focused on his sculptured face.

“Fine fine. I didn’t know you were coming today”, he said as he made his way to some alcohol beverages just a meter away from you, “The usual?”, he questioned, already mixing the cranberry juice with the lime green in a vessel filled with ice.

“Yup, please. And yes, I finished my super long essay due on Monday –you know, the one I told you about. So I decided to come here to celebrate this achievement!”, you exclaimed, clapping your hand once. You didn’t exactly know why, but coming here always eased you up, helped you relaxed from all the stress you accumulated because of college. This way, you were more yourself, especially when your friends were around.

“Oh yeah, I remember now”, he said, now shaking the cold container with firm hands wrapped around it. “Have you surpassed your previous score of… 11 pages?”, he asked, raising an eyebrow in hesitation.

“Boy, this time I scored 13 pages”, you said, your eyes wide open to show your own surprise, pursing your lips together in the process. You’re always said that your essays are too short, too synthetic, that you didn’t develop your examples enough. So, with this 13-pages essay –which you were proud of-, you really wanted to prove yourself that you could do it, and hoped that you actually achieved to do so.

“Wow, you really impress me Y/N”, he jested, his mouth forming a cute “o” shape. He sent you a proud smile before pouring the needed alcohols in the beverage. You smiled back, gently gazing him do what he was the best at in his discipline. He truly was the best bartender you’ve ever seen; he never missed a movement, always producing the perfect cocktails with the right amount of each booze needed, and all of that with that charming smile of his.

“Thanks Hobi!”, you said joyfully, shifting your body on the seat to find another comfortable position, crossing your legs. “Isn’t Agust D here?”, you asked looking around, smiling devilishly as you took the filled glass that he was holding out towards you.

“If he hears you call him this way again, he will kick your ass for real”, he said, letting out a cute laugh.

“He loves me too much to do so”, you affirmed confidently, taking out a bill from under your phone case to pay your Cosmopolitan. “Bitch, it’s on the house, don’t worry”, he said, shrugging off the small piece of paper you were handing him. You rolled your eyes, it was already the second drink he gave you for free in the week, and you didn’t like not paying for your consumption here –the place definitely deserved to receive the money they were asking.

“Anyway, he’s preparing the last things he needs to perform tonight”, Hoseok declared, a proud smile lingering on his lips. “I’ll be back, I have other people to serve”, he mentioned, tilting his head to the side to show you that some persons were waiting for him, and walked to them after sending you a teasing smirk. You playfully rolled your eyes as his behavior, and lifted your glass to your lips to take a small sip of your beverage, humming at the good taste of it.

“Damn”, you murmured to yourself, “Hoseok really make the best cocktails ever”.

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happy birthday to brooke, my best friend, my favorite person to cuddle, and probably the most passionate snk fan i have ever met; thank you for everything that you do.

i present a condensed version of an idea i’ve been toying with. more to come later on. enjoy <3

Erwin jolts awake. His heart beats so loudly he wonders if Levi will startle awake and pull a pillow over his ears while telling Erwin to stop being so noisy, I’m trying to sleep, all mock-irritation in his voice because usually it’s a fart that wakes him; but when he glances down Levi isn’t there, his bed is empty, and he is alone, surrounded on all sides by oppressing darkness that does little to assuage the cacophony of discordant thoughts swirling through his head.

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anonymous asked:


I must warn you, I’m not proud of this, it was actually harder than I thought it’d be to write so thoughts might be jumbled (also mobile sucks)
Lance’s royal blue eyes went watery for what felt like the hundredth time that minute.  He rolled over in his small bed, groaning as light suddenly assaulted his eyes.  “Come on, Lance, just because Keith broke up with you doesn’t mean you can do this to yourself.”  Hunk stood by the window with his Mom™ look plastered on his features.

The Cuban boy reached above his head to yank his pillow over his wet eyes.  “Don’t you have a class to get to with Shay?”  Hunk signed loudly, exasperated.

“Yes, but I can’t ignore my best friend, who’s obviously heartbroken!”  Lance only gave Hunk the bird in response before rolling over again.  “Okay, okay, you need more time to get over him, I get it.  I’ll tell Professor Coran you’re sick.”  Hunk collected his stuff and, after sparing Lance one last glance, slipped out the door.

Hearing the door shut behind his best friend, Lance sat up straight in bed.  His pillow fell into his lap and Lance immediately pounded into it with his fists.  Anger and sadness created an explosive cocktail inside the college student.  After thoroughly pummeling his pillow, Lance buried his face into it and screamed.

His chest constricted in the most painful way, making him double over in agonizing emptiness.  Lance knew Keith would dump him sooner or later, but he didn’t expect it to hurt so much.  He hadn’t expected to actually fall for the mullethead and now he was paying the price.

Lance wanted to march into class and scream and shout at his ex, but knew it’d do more harm than good.  So he stuck to screaming into his pillow at the top of his lungs.  Before he knew it, Lance’s screams had turned into sobs that shook his body.  Keith was everywhere here, he had to get out, had to get away.

Sobs turned into desperate attempts to pull air into his lungs to no avail.  Lance pressed his forehead against his knees, wheezing and gasping for air.  His fingers trailed up to his scalp to yank harshly at his hair.  The college student kept pulling until stands were beginning detach from his head.

Nothing seemed to make sense to Lance in his delirious state-of-mind and a fresh wave of tears assaulted his eyes.  They stang something fierce and Lance gave in, allowing them to stream down his face.  The Cuban boy gave up at wiping at the tears that seemed to have no end and allowed them to drip off his chin.

All of the energy was sucked from the college student and he collapsed on his side.  Lance clutched at his chest and continued to wail for what he lost.  Soon, he didn’t even have enough energy to cry out, effectively letting the tears dribble down his cheeks in silence.

Lance sighed heavily and tightened his grip on his satchel, “Hunk, my dude, I don’t think I’m mentally prepared for this shit yet.”  He stood in front of the door, today was the Cuban boy’s first day back since Keith shattered his heart.  Hunk gave him a sad smile and shrugged, opening the door for Lance to walk through.

“Sorry, dude, but I’m not letting you flunk out because Keith broke your heart.”  Hunk gently nudged his friend through the door and followed soon after.  Lance frozen and went rigid when he caught a glance of Shiro with his arms wrapped around Keith.  Hunk inhaled sharply from behind him and steered Lance in the opposite direction from the new couple.  “Shit Lance, I’m sorry, I didn’t think they’d get together this soon.”

Lance was still stock still, tense as a loaded gun.  Keith had broken up with him for Shiro, hell, Lance doubted Keith ever even liked him!  Doubts and ideas made his mind swim, everything around him just became background noise to the shitstorm inside his mind.  Lance was shook out of his thoughts by the Professor calling his name out.  “Mister McClain!  What have I said about daydreaming in class, if you aren’t willing to pay attention you might as well not be here!”

Lance sighed, snatched his bag up, and stood up.  Beside him, Hunk was leaning down in his seat while trying to convince Lance to stay for the rest of the class.  He gave Hunk a pat on the shoulder and made his way to the door, “McClain, if you walk out that door, don’t expect for me to let you back in!”

“Have a good day, Prof.”  Lance gave the professor the bird as he walked out the door.  The Cuban boy tried not to think about the way Keith’s face was full of guilt as he walked out.  Anger swelled up in him again and Lance ended up pounding a fist against the wall before pushing off it, back towards the dorm.

A ding came from Lance’s satchel and he fished in it for his phone.  

Alexander: dude, party tonight, you in?

Sharpshooter: sure, can I steal some tequila from you or something alcoholic?

Alexander:  hell yeah, meet me at the frat house

That was what he’d do.  Lance would get himself blackout drunk and forget all about that stupid mullethead.  The college student started jogging back to the dorms, finally having a reason to be excited.

Lance inhaled another shot and shivered as it made his throat burn.  Alex just laughed and handed him a glass, “Here, it’s whiskey coke.”  Lance snatched the drink away and drowned the glass in a matter of moments.

“I-I can’t tell you,” Lance hiccupped, “how much this means to me, dude!”  Alex just laughed and put his arm around his friend’s shoulders, leaning in closer.  The frat house reeked of booze and sex, just what Lance needed after a harsh breakup.  He looked back over at Alex, who had gotten even closer, and did something he’d regret later.

In hindsight, he should’ve brought Hunk or someone else he trusted with him.  

“That Keith dude broke up with you, didn’t he?”

“Fuck, Alex, don’t bring that ass up, I’ll sober up.  Alex chuckled and apologizing, shifting the two so their noses were almost touching.

Then, room was beginning to spin and Alex was sticking his tongue down Lance’s throat.  Alex separated himself from Lance and licked his lips, “I’ll help you forget about him, don’t worry.”

Nothing to be sorry for

Lutteoficweek Bonus Day: Fix it fic day (Where you fix one canon scene to your liking)

I know this is horribly late but in my defense, I thought this scene deserved proper fixing and I’m extra busy and stressed lately, so… better late than never, right? Anyway,I hope you enjoy this!

Special thanks to my fave Italian muffin @sky-girls for all the help! <3

„Why did you do this?“

„What, the photos?“

„That’s not what I mean, I’m talking about the kiss!“

“Oh, that. Well, to win the competition of course. It was part of the choreography. Or do you think I kissed you for another reason?”

“What? You know very well that it was never part of the choreography!”

“I added it, I think it improved the ending.”

“Of course, congratulations, the snob had the idea for an ending like in the movies! Next time, remember this is a rink, not a movie theatre!”

“Calm down, delivery girl, or did the kiss mess that much with your head?”

“Yeah, surely not, I know exactly what I feel. And what I… don’t feel.”

“Me too. Very well.”

19, 20, 21. 21 clips holding the curtains in their place. 21 clips he counted, again and again while the guitarist wasted minute after minute away under the shower.

Matteo understood he was the only one to blame for Simón’s misery, that he was the only one to blame for Luna’s angry outburst and the look of regret in her eyes back on the rink. He was the only one to blame and yet, here he laid, not sorry at all. Could it be considered a sin to not regret screwing up?

He started counting again. Still 21 clips.

The blood continued to rush through his veins, continued to burn him from inside out. The cocktail of emotions refused to leave him just like Simón refused to get out of the bathroom. Counting the clips made no difference, why did he even bother?

Matteo switched his attention to the drapes. Two, four, six, eight. Eight. Eight, like a sequence in a choreography, like in the choreography with Luna. Luna. Kissing Luna.

With a grunt Matteo threw himself on the other side of the bed, away from the stupid curtains and the stupid drapes that inevitably led him to the moon no matter where his eyes turned to. However, it was too late, the memory flooded his brain once more.

Keep reading

now you see me sentence starters.  contains 150 lines from the first film. some of these are lighthearted, some of these are angsty, some of these are suggestive — it’s a mixed bunch. you can send in a sentence or a ☆ for a randomised one. feel free to change the wording, pronouns, names etc. to fit!

Keep reading

Single Parent AU - Harry Styles.

For the single parent AU, there should be a date between y/n and Harry where Harry blindfolds her and has her tasting different sweets to have her guess it but the last one Harry eats and kisses her and it kind of turns into like a cute make out session but the whole thing should be essentially fluff. I just thought it would be cute. 

And maybe on the date when she’s blindfolded and had some cakes and Harry’s like “Next one” and he’s thought about kissing her this way the whole night and he hesitantly kisses her slowly and she says something like “That was my favorite.” 

After the date where they kiss for the first time Harry could drop her off at her house and they would be making out against her front door giggling became neither could end it permanently, but Harry has to get back home where is mom is with Asher

I suffered writers block throughout this one, so, I apologise if it’s a bit rusty and there are a few errors and parts that don’t make sense. But, here is Part Four for the Single Parent AU, my Lovelies. I’m so glad you’re all enjoying what I’m creating here, and, I’m so thrilled you’ve been sending in ideas and giving me such incredible feedback for it. I hope you enjoy this newest part - I’m not sure when the next one will be up, but, I’m hoping for soon. If anyone has any idea on what the next one can be, then, send in some ideas to my ask box. xx

Part One  Part Two  Part Three

Harry hadn’t been standing there in the car-park for long, leaning comfortably against his car to make sure (Y/N) could see him there, his arms folded across his chest as he stopped himself from looking at the watch upon his wrist. Ticking away at the seconds passing by, turning into short minutes, as his eyes found themselves darting around the pathway to catch a glimpse of your wintery dressed figure making its way to the gate.

When he’d bent down to adjust the leg of his jeans, tucking the hems into the tops of his boots, he’d heard feet shuffling on the concrete behind the car. His mind thinking it was a mindless person leaving the café after having a warm cup of tea and a biscuit before they started the journey home to wherever they’d travelled from.

But he was wrong. When the sweet voice of a woman found its way to his ears, his was straightened in a matter of seconds, knowing instantly it was you that had scuffed up to a stop.

“Harry? Hi,” he heard from behind him, a nervous cough leaving your mouth and followed by a sniff and a wipe of your nose with the back of your hand, a smile on your lips as you took in his date attire, “I had a feeling it was you standing here in jeans and suede boots. I couldn’t quite see the extravagant shirt on your body though.”

He’d dressed rather fancily for a date in the park, and, you felt on slightly underdressed, standing in a spotted button-up and a pair of black jeans that you’d every day that week, without a wash being given to them. A change up of black boots on your feet rather than a pair of worn-out and dirtied up trainers, looking scruffy and tattered upon your legs. 

“Hi,” he grinned, his arms opening widely as he took you into his hold, his scent wafting up through your nose as the sleeves of his coat rode up his wrists, “how have you been?”

“I’ve been really great, thank you,” you grinned, your chin settling comfortably on his shoulder, “how have you been? Have you been alright?”

“I suppose so, yeah. I mean, when you went a bit cold on me and stopped talking, I got some idea that you didn’t want to continue what we had before,” he whispered, “I got a bit upset with that but that was last week. I’m alright now.”

After his meltdown in the bakery, with the comfort of his mother, he’d realised that in that moment, Asher was his top priority. If you didn’t want to speak to him or see him anymore, or, if you’d deleted his contact information and ignored any of his calls or texts, then he was going to be understanding of that and he was going to put his son first. He didn’t care if didn’t have a girlfriend to go through the days with. He just wanted Asher to live a life that didn’t resemble his in anyway possible.

“Oh,” you mumbled, gulping nervously and looking down to your feet, “I’m sorry about that.”

And you were. You were incredibly sorry.

You felt guilty knowing that you’d caused him such dreadful heartache, paying attention to the accomplishments in your life rather than checking in to see how his day was going or how he’d been throughout the day. 

You knew what he’d been through in the past; not only had he opened up in the bakery on your first date, but, he’d spoken about it briefly on the second date you’d had. You felt honoured that he was so open about his past, and, deep down, it did make you feel comfortable around him.

Harry was one of a kind – and right off the bat, you knew.

Knowing that he was a man who could trust easily upon other women, you felt you’d bagged a guy to date who was rare in a sea of men. You couldn’t just be as cruel as some and break it off in the worst way possible.

“Is this a date where you’re going to break it off completely?” Harry wondered nervously, his eyes darting around everywhere but your face, figuring that if this was the last time he’d spend time with you then he wouldn’t want to see your face as you said it, “I understand. I’m a bit full-on, I s’pose. S’not something I can co-”

“I got promoted at work,” you grinned, interrupting his sentence as your your lips carved into a toothy grin, his green eyes widening as his lips mirrored the same toothy grin you sported, “my boss has seen how hard I’ve been working, and, he promoted me so I’ve been working so much more and I’ve been able to work behind the bar during later shifts and it’s all new but it’s been so great.”

Going from simple waitressing in specific shifts of the day at specified tables, to working behind the bar and making cocktails and working as a main hostess at the front of the restaurant had been a massive change to you. You’d been having meeting after meeting, getting details about what to do and working out hours in what would be best for you to work in; hours of your choice, of course.

You’d tested the waters at the beginning of the week with later shifts, taking the 7pm shift through to the midnight closing time and helping to stay behind and straighten the restaurant up before it was locked for the night, as the manager would arrive down on the main floor to gather the takings from that night.

You’d gotten friendly with the bar staff, learning their names and getting to know them better and become more acquainted with who you would share certain shifts with; with one in particular who’s name was Matt.

He had taken it upon himself to show you the ropes of being a bartender, helping you mix cocktails and making special ones that he could sneak onto the menu, and, helping you to work the cash register for when you were working just the bar shift on those who had popped in for a cheeky drink in the evening. 

You’d let it take a toll upon your relationship with Harry, straining what you’d had. You’d had to stop contact with Harry, promising your boss that you’d put your all into the shifts you’d been working and you wouldn’t be caught slacking in the bathroom as you sent texts and made phone calls during your later shifts. When you got home, you were too tired to even consider texting him a goodnight, knowing he was probably asleep himself and dreaming happily before he’d wake up to the shrill sound of his alarm.

“That’s fantastic news,” Harry grinned widely, “maybe I’ll have to pop in when you work the bar shift and buy you some drinks, what do you think?”

“You could definitely come and keep me company,” you grinned, “I make a killer Pina Colada,” you winked, poking his shoulder teasingly and smirking, “I can definitely get you drunk on some of that.”

“Tryin’ to get me drunk already. We’ve only been on three dates,” Harry teased softly, am amused look lacing his features; his eyebrows raising softly with a smile forming upon his lips, “I can bring a couple of mates, too. They’ve all got girlfriends, so, it wouldn’t be like I’m on my own and riding solo. Niall and Louis are always up for going out and having drinks.”

“That would be great. You can show off that you’re dating the lady behind the bar,” you grinned, “might even get you some discounts, but, we’ll see.”

A chuckle left his mouth.

“That’s fantastic news though. And, we need to celebrate,” Harry stated, looking towards the backdoor of the drivers side to his beat-up looking vintage car, “I’ve got some kind of picnic in the back, a bottle of wine and some water in case we get a bit too tipsy.”

“Well, I actually walked here so I’m not driving,” you claimed, watching as Harry wrapped his fingers around the handle of the car door, pulling it to him and opening his car up, “but, I’ll be sure to keep an eye on you and make sure you don’t drink too much.”

“I won’t drink much. I’ve got to be in the bakery at 9 tomorrow morning and Asher likes to wake me up a few hours before because he comes in with me on a Saturday, so, it’s an early start for me,” he chuckled, ducking beneath the car roof and reaching in for the picnic basket set straight and neatly upon the passenger side seat, “could you do me a favour and get the blanket from the boot? It’s folded up in the corner, at the back. Next to the camera bag.”

‘Of course,” you agreed softly, adjusting the handbag on your shoulder as you shuffled around the car and stood at the back end of the car, opening up the boot with a creak sounding as it opened up completely, allowing you to duck under the hood and rummage around the space for the checkered blanket, “this is such a nice car.”

It was an old Mercedes, a mixture of white and cream, and fitting himself and Asher into it perfectly. A vintage style, of course, because Harry was a sucker for cars that were used back in the day; second hand and passed down through generations.

“It was actually my dad’s before he left,” Harry smiled, the picnic basket hanging off his arm, the neck of the bottle of wine poking from beneath the wicker flap, “Gemma hadn’t passed her test at the time, so, I was the one he gave it too since I had a driver’s license. She doesn’t need it now anyway. Her husband brought her a pretty decent Mini Cooper. One of the newest styles, too.” 

“A new style for a Styles,” you teased, “unless she didn’t keep her name and took her husbands?”

“She a Mlynowski,” Harry chuckled, “Styles at birth, Mlynowski by marriage.” 

“Was it a nice ceremony?”

Harry smiled, nodding softly in response to your question. The wedding had only been a year ago – a year in February – and it was a day scribed onto his mind, like a tattoo. As a permanent reminder of the day his sister got her happy ending. 

It was a gorgeous wedding. A ceremony filled to the brim of family members, friends and people invited by Michal who were set to be welcomed in to the family by the simple joining of the two of them in matrimony. Family who he’d met before, the simple mother and father of the man, but he hadn’t considered them part of his life because he wasn’t marrying Michal – his sister was. 

He’d never seen his sister look so beautiful. A white dress on her body, hair curled and ombre-looking, her make-up light and almost completely natural upon her smiling face, her eyes bright and full of love as she met with her love at the end of the aisle. His dad passing her over with a kiss to the cheek and a pat to Michal’s shoulder as he wordlessly welcomed him into the family, coos and aww’s filling the small church as his small two-year old sat patiently beside him, eyes wide as he watched his auntie Gemma have the best day of her life. 

He’d made sure they both looked spick and span when it came to having photos taken; he’d let Asher have a few with his auntie before they proceeded to have family photos of just the four of them as the new Mlynowski clan. His sister no longer the sore thumb in her small family as she took the name of her husband and her twin daughters nestled into their arms. Smiles on their faces as the photographer gradually called everyone up to be in the large photo – starting with Anne and Des, calling Robin in and then Harry and his son being added into the clan, effortlessly filling up the area with the bridesmaids and the groomsmen and the family of Michal. 

Dancing had ensued at the reception party; with Asher having a few dances, his mother pulling him onto the dancefloor, and squeezing a little time in with his grandmother before he took over from Michal and had a twirl with his eldest sister. Kisses to her cheek and a thank-you for the speech he’d said, bringing tears to everyone’s eyes as well as a raucous of laughter when he snuck in some jokes that were dry of humour but had people amused.

She was leaving the Styles name behind on that day and moving on with her life with a family and a supportive partner; something that Harry was eager to have live himself.

“Absolutely stunning,” Harry smiled, “I’d never seen my sister so happy, and, that’s all down to Michal and how he treated her with so much love and respect.”

“She sounds like a lucky lady, Harry,” you smiled, “she’s found the love of her life. She sounds like she has a supportive family. She’s lucky.”

Harry smiled, watching as you shut the boot of his car, with the blanket tucked under your arm. 

“Shall we head off and find somewhere to sit?” He suggested, holding his free hand out and wiggling his fingers. A gesture you gladly accepted, slipping your own hand into his, lacing your fingers with his fingers and squeezing them tightly, “you’re okay with this, right? A date in the park? I know it’ll start getting dark soon, but, it’s where we first met and I thought it was a nice idea.”

“I’m just glad I bundled up in some layers,” you grinned, your arms swinging between you, “we don’t have to stay out here, anyway. The café looks open so I’m sure, if it gets too cold, we can go and sit in there and continue our date.”

“It’s only 6. We have a couple of hours before it starts getting dark,” Harry smiled, looking down at you as you stepped foot onto the grass, your black boots pressing upon the dampened ground, “you can pick anywhere you want to sit. We have the whole field.”

“I think we should sit over where we actually met,” you suggested, taking longer strides to reach the similar area as to where you met Harry with his son by your side, “I think it was around here,” you mumbled, your hand dropping from his hold as you stood in a specific spot upon the field, “right?”

“Take on more step to the left,” Harry smirked, pigeon-toed upon his own feet as he watched you take a small step to the side, “maybe a bit more?”


“Right there,” Harry grinned, setting the picnic basket down beside his feet, “we met in this very spot, about a month and a bit ago. I lost my son, you found my son, and here we are now. Third date.”

“A third date,” you whispered.

“C’mon then. I wan’a crack open this wine,” Harry smiled, opening his hands and reaching for the end of the picnic blanket, “I may have made some cakes that I want you try out as well. Ones I’m going to put in the bakery at Christmas.”

“Oh, I get some taster sessions before anyone else?” You wondered, stretching the blanket out flat so there were no twists or bends sticking up as you set it to the ground, “is this going to be a thing? When we have dates, are you going to bring me cake?” 

“Asher’s tastes them all before I box them up to make sure they taste as sweet as ever,” Harry chuckled, perching his bum down upon the checkered overspread, his dirtied boots staying foot on the grass to ensure he didn’t get himself muddied up, “but, this can be a definite something when we go on dates. If you’d like me to do that, of course.” 

“I love it,” you grinned, slipping off your boots and setting them at the corner of the blanket, to stop the wind from wafting up in the wind, “did you make my favourite?”

“I may have slipped in a coffee and almond cake,” Harry whispered with a hint of cheekiness in his voice as he reached down and copied your movements, tugging off his own brown boots and setting them beside the picnic blanket, “I want your honest opinions though. If you like them, I’ll make them and stick them in the bakery to sell.”

“You’re going to trust my judgement? What if I’m the only one who likes them?” You questioned with a grin, crossing your legs into a pretzel position and turning your body to face him, “I can’t speak for the rest of Cheshire, you know.”

“I’d prefer your opinion,” Harry whispered, your cheeks immediately flushing, “I mean, like-”

He turned his face to yours as a giggle escaped your lips, your head ducked down to your chest as you looked to your lap. A chuckle leaving Harry’s lips as he reached for the handle of the picnic basket and brought it to the empty space between the two of them. 

“I made sandwiches and some vegetarian pasta. A few sausage rolls and chicken pasties. I’m learning some proper baker skills on savoury treats,” Harry explained, “don’t eat them if you don’t like them. I figured it made a change from the typical picnic food of sausages and pasties brought from shops.” 

“You went through all this effort?” You gasped softly, catching a peek in between the wicker flaps, the smell of homemade goods wafting through the air and catching within the wind.

“Took the morning off of working at the bakery today. Called up the kids working today and told them I was sick and promised to see them tomorrow,” Harry smiled warmly, digging his hand into the basket and pulling out nearly wrapped sandwiches and a bowl of pasta wrapped up with cellophane and looked delicious and edible to the eyes, “I spent all morning cooking and baking and making stuff for us to eat, and, I thought about testing out flavours for cakes to stick in the bakery for the festive holiday. Unfortunately, I didn’t have my little taste tester with me to give me his opinion so you’re my next best.”

“I’m honoured to take over from Asher,” you grinned, subconsciously licking your dried lips as he handed over a neatly wrapped sandwich, “what am I expected to eat here? What’s in the sandwich?”

“Do you like bacon?” Harry wondered.

“I do, but, I don’t see or smell bacon in here,” you started with a giggle.

“Just checking for future references,” he mumbled, his eyes attentive to the foil he was ripping apart with his fingers, “this is just a simple ham and cheese sandwich. Not too extravagant but it’s what Asher has in his lunch at school and it’s the only sandwich filling I have in my fridge at the moment.” 

“I love ham and cheese, don’t worry,” you grinned, following his actions and tearing apart the foil covering the sandwich in your hand, “does it have mayonnaise or salad cream in it?”

“Mayonnaise, of course,” Harry grinned. 

“It’s like you know so much about me already,” you teased, pushing his knee with your socked foot, “have you been stalking me?” 

He brought one half of the ham and cheese sandwich to his lips, tearing a bite with his teeth as he shook his head with furrowed eyebrows. Chewing softly on the bread as he made contact with your eyeline, a smile on your lips as you chewed on a mouthful, swallowing down the texture and going back for another bite.

“I didn’t stalk you, but, you seemed like a mayonnaise girl. You work in a restaurant so you’re around condiments like that all the time,” Harry chuckled, “figured you either hated it or loved it so I took the chance.”

“You’re very observant, I like that.”

* *

Eating the food Harry had made had taken longer than expected.

As beautiful as the sunset was looking in the horizon of the field, snapping a few photos on your phone as Harry took some upon his camera – a camera stuck in the boot of his car and waiting and ready for an occasion that looked photographic and photogenic – the cold weather had taken a toll upon your both. Causing your little picnic set-up in the park to be taken into the café sitting in the carpark, cups of tea being brought to wash down the wine you’d consumed through the 2 hours.

The wind nipping at your cheeks and turning them a pinkish colour, numbing your fingertips and causing your eyes to water and nose to run when the feeling became insensitive. Chuckles leaving Harry’s mouth when he’d catch a tear dribbling down your cheek, and a giggle leaving your lips as you’d catch his nose running from the chill in the air.

You were the only ones set in the café, the picnic basket sitting on the chair beside Harry as he pulled out a black scarf and a knife; teasingly giving you a devilish smirk which earned a roll of your eyes in response. 

“Okay, I’m not gon’a kill you,” he promised, “but, this is going to be like a sort of game, alright?” 

“I don’t know if you ever saw the Saw films but that’s how those game start out,” you reasoned, “I could be blinded both with my eyes and by my ears. You’d blindfold me and lie to me, and, I’d end up having my fingers cut off.”

“Don’t be silly,” he chuckled, setting the plastic knife down on the table and reaching over the top, “I’m gon’a blindfold you, and, then I’m gon’a feed you bits of cake for you to guess the flavour. I’ll be able to tell by your face if you like it or not, as well.”

“Okay,” you whispered cautiously, letting him take away your sight, his fingers brushing over your skin momentarily as he tied up the scarf around your head, “I have faith that these cakes taste good. I have no doubts you’re about to poison me.”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” he teased. 

“I’m trusting you, Harry. Don’t you do anything mean,” you warned, your ears perking up to the sounds of his hands rummaging around the basket, the sound of a lid coming off of what you could presume was a box being heard in the quite building, “what are you doing?”

“Don’t worry,” he laughed, “I’m opening the box of cakes. Just being careful not to damage the frosting or the icing on top.”

Inside sat 8 cakes; cinnamon and apple, plain cinnamon, candy-cane flavoured cupcakes, eggnog and cinnamon, cranberry and white chocolate, plain chocolate, raisin and Christmas pudding flavoured cake as well as a gingerbread cupcake that had been a favourite in the past for himself and for Asher.

Gingerbread being Ashers favourite at Christmas time, begging for Harry to make him a gingerbread house to snack on when they cuddled on the sofa and watched Christmas films to get into the festive mood. Asking for gingerbread men to be made so he could decorate them at the kitchen island, with jellied sweets and flavoured icing being applied and the crunch soon following as he felt content with the amount of sugar topping the treat. Munching on a cake slice when Harry brought in the Christmas tree from the garage, nudging a box of decorations forward with his foot and watching as excitement covered his little boys features – there was nothing better for Asher than decorating the Christmas tree and eating gingerbread flavoured treats and watching Elf on TV. 

It was a tradition that Harry hoped he could continue into the future, passing it down to Asher who would then pass it on to his own family, with the same recipe and the same final product being the outcome.

“Wow, that smells incredible,” you muttered, the overloading smell of sweetness catching your nose, “I’m getting eager to try a bit now.” 

“Alright, let’s try this one first,” Harry started, picking up the plastic knife and pulling out the plain chocolate cake and set it upon the lid he’d decided to use as a tray, “open up. It’s a very easy one, so, I’ll be shocked if you don’t get it.”

With his free hand, he reached for the clean metal fork sitting in the box of cakes, tucked into a napkin to keep it clean from icing, using it to scoop up the piece of cake he’d cut off and lifting it up, cupping his hand beneath the fork to catch any falling crumbs that tumbled off of the metal. Your lips were gaped open, waiting patiently for the taste of a delicious piece of cake, the feeling of the fluffy texture touching your lips indicating it was time for you to wrap your lips around the object and chew upon the piece of moist cake. 

“What d’ you think?” 

“I’m gon’a go with the simple chocolate cake?” You wondered, swallowing down the food and nodding with your answer, “yeah. Chocolate cake.”

“That was an easy one,” Harry laughed, taking a bit of the chocolate cake himself before setting it to the side and pulling another cupcake out, icing high and piped neatly upon the surface, “let’s try this one. This is one I’ve never made before so I need you to give me your utterly honest opinion, alright?”

You gave him a soft nod. 

“Okay, there’s a bit of icing on this one,” you heard him mumble, as he cut up the cake in front of him, “all over m’ fingers. The flavour is in the icing, so, I guess there’s enough for you to savour the taste.” 

“I’m eager now,” you grinned, “you’ve never done this one before? Did you taste it before you made it the final product?” 

“O’ course I did. Stuck my finger into the icing like any baker would do,” he teased, “no, I’m joking. I used a spoon. I’m a clean baker, hygienic if you will.” 

The familiar feeling against your lips was felt again, and, with the sticky feeling icing lingering on your lips, you chewed upon the small piece of cake. Confusion in your face as you began to chew slower, trying to piece together the taste you were getting upon your tastebuds. You weren’t sure upon what you were tasting – it was sweet, tasteful but you’d never tasted it before.

“Tell me,” you hummed, swallowing heavily, “I have no idea.” 

“It’s eggnog,” Harry chuckled, bringing his thumb to your lips, wiping at your plump flesh to rid you of the lingering icing you couldn’t feel upon your face, “was it okay? Your face looked confused.”

“It was very sweet,” you claimed, “but, people love eggnog, don’t they? It’s in all the café’s and the coffee shops. And they sell well in the supermarkets. It’ll go down a treat.” 

“You reckon so?” Harry wondered, setting the cake to the side and reaching into the plastic box to pull another cupcake out from the restraint, “ready for the next one?” 

You gave him another nod, a smile on your lips. 

“Could I have some water quickly?” You asked, as Harry nodded to himself and reached into he picnic basket to pull out an unopened bottle of water, “how many more do I have to taste?”

“About 6 more,” Harry admitted, bringing the rim of the bottle to your lips and tilting it up for you to take soft swigs of the liquid, your cheeks puffing and swirling around the water, removing the taste of the cakes already lingering your mouth, “all different flavours, I promise.” 

“Alright, m’ready for more.”

* *

“Last cake,” Harry stated, the peppermint candy-cane flavoured cupcake sitting in front of him, “I think y’ might like this one. This was my favourite one to make, and, I made them last year for my mum’s Christmas party and they went down a treat.”

“Oh, I’m excited,” you whispered, a grin lingering on your lips, “le’ me taste it then. C’mon. If your mum thinks it’s good and your family thinks it’s good, then, I need to join the party by thinking the same.” 

“A’right,” Harry chuckled, looking down at the cake and gulping nervously; he was about to do something he’d not done in 5 years. 

He was about to kiss you. 

Yes, he’d kissed his mother on the cheek and he’d given Gemma soft kisses to her forehead but this was to a woman he’d only met just almost 2 months ago. A woman who he’d felt had been in his life forever, as someone he could trust with anything and one he could talk to when things got tough. You were his first kiss after 5 years; a new girl to do everything with 

He liked you.

It wasn’t just quite the feeling of love but he liked you. 

And, he was hoping his kiss would put it better than words; he was sure they’d come out as a jumble of messed up words and slurs, and, you’d think he was some idiot who felt like a teenager whenever it came to nerves. 

“C’mon, Harry,” you whined eagerly, a hint of begging in your words, “le’ me have a bit o’ ca-”

You were cut off by the soft feeling of his lips on yours, a piece of cake between his teeth as he used his tongue to push it between your lips before he was pulling back softly, with blushing cheeks contrasting against his tanned skin. He watched you as you stayed still, and he could only imagine your eyes being as wide as saucers behind the scarf tied around your head, shock and surprise coursing your veins as you chewed slowly on the cake. A strong taste of candy-cane and mint filling your taste.

But you didn’t say anything once your mouth was emptied of content; and it worried Harry to his bones.

“I shouldn’t have d-” 

“That was my favourite flavour,” you whispered softly, “can I have another bit?” 

And he swore, he could see a smirk on your lips.

“Exactly the same,” you whispered in addition, “lips n’everythin’, please.” 

And, knowing you wanted to feel his lips kiss yours again, he smiled whilst placing the cake between his lips and hovering over the table, his breath fanning across your skin as you slightly opened your jaw to invite the cake into your mouth, his lips pushed against yours as they moved in synchronization; it was happening. 

His first kiss in 5 years.

And it was exhilarating. Enough to knock the breath out of him like a football to the stomach.

“That was definitely my favourite cake,” you whispered breathlessly, “mint and Harry.” 

* * 

The apartment complex he’d parked the car in was small, but cosy looking, with flowers growing around the perimeter and lights lighting the way towards the door that had you entering a reception-like area. From what he could guess, on a Friday night at 10:30, it wasn’t a building that homed a lot of people. A few lights were on and the windows were closed and covered with curtains, some where pitch black and some seemed to have lights on with no curtains attached nor pulled to a drawn close. With a sigh, he switched off the engine and looked across the middle console, a smile on his lips.

“Thank you for such a great date,” he grinned softly, reaching across and sliding his fingers into your hold, “I had a really fun time, as always. I was beginning to lose hope on us but your text just gave me all sorts of happiness and I couldn’t have declined,” he admitted, his green eyes starting into your coloured orbs. 

“Well, thank you for agreeing,” you replied, your thumb running across his knuckles, “do you want to come up or are you in a rush to get home?”

“I’ve got to go and relieve my mum and step-dad from Asher,” he chuckled, “but, I can walk you to your door? I’d be a rude gentleman if I didn’t.”

“Could I interest you in a quick coffee?” You hummed, smiling as he detached his hand from yours and pressed down to unclip your seatbelt, “I’ve got tea, as well.”

“I would love too, but, my mum has to be up early tomorrow. They’re off on a cruise to celebrate my step-dad’s retirement together, and, they can’t look after Asher,” Harry sighed, unclipping his own and letting it swing back into the place behind him, “I’ll remember your apartment for future references and surprise you.”

“As long as you don’t break in and scare me in my sleep,” you winked, “but that would be very sweet.” 

He pushed open his car door, watching as you did the same, rushing out from his seat with his keys in his hand, bumping the door shut with his hip. He didn’t bother grabbing his coat, his button-up shirt protecting parts of his body from the biting chill of the wind, but still sneaking through the gaps in the material. His booted feet took him around the bumper of the car, heels tapping against the tarmac beneath him as he stood in front of you and held his hands out. Smiling widely when you took them into your hold and pulled yourself up to your feet, closing the door with you foot and proceeding to follow him to the entrance door.

A lift was straight ahead, a light flickering above with a seating area settled into a cove just beside it. Windows large and allowing the outside scenery to be seen from behind the glass, adding some light to the insight area, and Harry could only imagine how warm and summery it looked in the August months. When the sun was high in the sky and shining brightly into the room.

“The lift is better,” you explained, “it’s faster. I’m on the floor 6. There’s about 5 rooms on each floor, so, I’m number 30,” you told him, in hopes he was making a mental note on the address.

“Uh-huh,” Harry smiled, following you towards the lift and lunging forward to press the button, “it’s a cosy little place you live in, eh?” 

“You should see my apartment, Harry. The bedroom is the size of your bakery kitchen,” you giggled, your cheek pressing against his upper arm as the two of you waited patiently for the lift doors top open ahead of you, “I can afford a place of my own, but, I’m so attached to this place.” 

“My house was my first home after moving out of my childhood house,” Harry admitted, looking down towards you and wrapped his arm around your shoulders, “It has too many memories of my ex-girlfriend in it, but I think, it just holds too much of me and Asher in it that I can’t move out. All of those memories are just gone if we leave,” Harry sighed, a ding sounding shortly after. 

“I understand,” you smiled, your steps simultaneous as you both made your way inside the tiny silver lift, ready to take you up towards the floor you’d been living on, “I wouldn’t want to move out when a place holds so much of my past.”

The doors closed behind you both, your mind swimming with the silence engulfing you both, your body turning slightly beneath his arm as you looked up to him with doe-eyes; enough to have him weak at the knees.

“It’s a good place though. I removed everythin’ that reminded me of her and I’ve been great ever since. Had her new boyfriend come and get all her stuff, and that was that,” he sighed out a chuckle, “close to his school, close to the bakery, close to you,” he whispered, his face inching closer to yours as the lift began to move. 

“We can see each other,” you whispered softly, your lips mere centimetres from finding their place against his inviting plump flesh, “whenever we want,” you added, concluding your sentence before pressing your lips to Harry’s in a haste kiss, deeper than the café kisses you’d shared and taster sweeter than the cakes you’d tasted just minutes before.

His hands, large and intimidating but soft and delicate, roamed your back, finding home upon your waist and pulling your body closer to his as your lips melding together in a kiss that had been so anticipated from the moment the car had come to a halt outside the front entrance. A kiss that had you wanting more from him, more kisses to be exchanged and more kisses to be passed to take them further into something that hadn’t even been discussed between the two of you. A kiss that had you both in a feeling of shock; he hadn’t kissed a girl in 5 years, and here he was in a lift, kissing the life out of a girl he’d met a month and a half ago. A kiss that had you melting into his arms like jelly and entranced by how kissable they were like you were under a spell, his lips tasting of mint and coffee and had a lingering tingle left behind on your lips when he pulled away. 

“I like kissin’ you,” he whispered, a drunken-like giggle escaping his lips, “you’re a good kisser, did y’ know that?”

“You’re a good kisser too,” you reprimanded, mocking the giggle that had only just left his mouth, “is this gon’a be something that happens regularly now?”

“If you agree to a fourth date, it can most definitely happen again,” he whispered, bumping his nose against yours and blinking softly, his lashes brushing over the apple curve of his flushed cheeks. 

With a swift kiss to his lips one final time before the doors opened, he’d gotten his answer; he didn’t need words. Your kiss was enough to let him now that you were up for a fourth date, up to spending more time with him and up to seeing what the next step in your little relationship was.

“I’m literally right here,” you pointed out, your finger pointed towards a door that was the second on the left, “tea? Coffee?” 

“I’ll pass because I really do have to get going, but, one last kiss would make me the happiest,” he cooed, his cheeks flushing. He felt like a teenager with his crush, getting to kiss her and making her feel loved, spoiling her with plenty of smooches and holding her close to his body, close enough to feel the heat radiating off of him through his clothes.

“I’d go to bed very happy if we had one final kiss,” you admitted, turning to face him with your back pressed against the front door of your home, “c’mere then. A proper goodnight. Like the movies.”

Yet, before he could even get a deepening motion in on the peck, his phone was buzzing in his jean pocket, disrupting the sweet yet intimate moment between you both. Distracting his attention, what should have been on you and your lips, to the phone slipped into the denim.

“M’sorry,” he mumbled against your lips, pulling away, and looking down to his boots in a sheepish manner, “s’probably my mum asking where I am. I feel like I’m 16 again,” he chuckled.

“It’s okay,” you promised, “I’ll let you go. I’ll call you in the morning or you can call me on your break. We’ll organise a fourth date. It’s very much happening.” 

* * 

Are you coming home soon? I’ve got to head off, remember. x 

Coming home now. I just dropped (Y/N) off home. x

How was it? Did you have fun? x

She’s amazing, mum. I really like her. She loves my cakes, she’s so much fun, we’re planning a fourth date, and we kissed. A lot. x

Harry, I’m so pleased for you. I’ll put Asher to bed now and you tell me all about it before I leave, alright? I’ll have a cuppa waiting for you. x

I’ll be home soon. Thank you for tonight. x

It’s been a pleasure, sweetheart. x

The Greatest Fall

So I’ve been writing a bit of fanfiction lately but haven’t had the courage to publish anything yet. Then the other week I jokingly said I’d write fanfiction regarding this gif set of two handball players  who accidently fell on top of each other in a somewhat compromising position.

One of my favourite (if not favourite) tumblr users gave me an encouraging message, so here it is. I dedicate this to sh-inik. Forgive any typos or mistakes.

This is completely not true, figment of my imagination, and if Sofie and Nycke ever find this, please know it’s completely jokingly and I respect you both.

It’s everywhere.

Like, absolutely everywhere.

Nycke flicks through one website after the other and sinks deeper and deeper into the couch.

“Ugh, oh my God…”

There’s an entire Reddit page with hundreds of comments. People are even comparing them to anime characters.

And the comments, the comments are outrageous.

Nycke scans through them, blushing hard at some of them.

Now kiss kiss kiss

Wow, the blonde sure goes down easy.

I bet they fucked after this.

If all handball games were like this I’d watch more!

She groans again and pushes the laptop away, pulling her legs up and burying her head into her knees. She really hates the internet sometimes. For 8 years she’d played handball, she’d moved to Denmark from Holland and created a career for herself. She was good and had quickly become one of the most talked about players in Denmark. Yet this one fall, “the greatest fall ever” apparently, is what shoots her to international fame. One embarrassing moment that makes the world take notice. She’s pissed. Why can’t she be recognised for her talent? No, of course not, that’s not headline news, people don’t care about female handball players. What they care about is pretty girls on top of each other.

Again she cringes at the memory. How had she managed to land in such a compromising position? And grabbed the poor girls boob? Really! How is it even possible?

Then she thinks about the girl. After the match she’d shook her hand, ignored eye contact and blushed furiously. Luckily that wasn’t caught on camera. Nycke lifts her head and starts to bite her nails, thinking again about the girl. Her name was Sofie. She was younger than her and newer to the game, although Nycke had heard about this explosive new talent and was actually looking forward to meeting her and playing against her. She’d never in her wildest dreams thought she would end up between her legs. Her long, strong legs, tanned after a unseasonably warm summer in Denmark. Her breasts, one firm below Nyckes hand. The briefness of the moment hadn’t stopped Nycke from noticing how perfectly Sofies breast had fit in her hand. The memory burned in her mind, in her hand and further below, where she could feel a warmth spread and a kick in her stomach.

“Oh, get over yourself Nycke”.

She berates herself and gets up to take a cold shower. A long cold shower.

Sofie scrolls down her Instragram feed, mindlessly liking photos but not really taking them in. A few minutes earlier she’d fool-heartedly looked up Cornelia Groot, or Nycke, as her friends apparently called her. At first she hadn’t found her. Already relinquished to the task, she’d scrolled through the Eurohandball website where she’d found Cornelias profile and in it her nickname. With this new information she’d typed the name quickly into Instagram and found her. Then she had exited the app on her phone and thrown it across her bed, lying back with a sigh and rubbing her eyes.

“What are you doing?”

She’d lain like that for a while. Thinking about that fateful fall that had placed a gorgeous blonde between her legs, which now had over a million views on YouTube. In the week following, her friends had sent countless messages with gif sets, replays and comments about it. All jokingly of course, but Sofie hadn’t been able to get Nycke out of her head.

So now, here she was, lying on her bed affectively stalking any social media she could find. Her hand slowly reached out for her phone again. And after attempting to distract herself, she gave in and searched Nyckes name again. There weren’t many images, but in all of them she looked stunning. Her long blonde hair continually perfect and her bright blue-grey eyes shining. She had a big smile, with white straight teeth and Sofie remembered the cute grin she’d flashed Sofie when she’d picked her up off the court and apologised for their fall. The rest of the match they’d continually bumped into each other and lingered for a fraction too long. Although they hadn’t said a word after the match, Sofie had seen the shy smile Nycke had given her when they shook hands. Nyckes hand, which had been on Sofies breast, those long elegant fingers. Thinking of them, Sofie wondered what else those hands were capable of besides playing excellent handball.

“Oh man, what are you doing Sofie?!”.

She got up and grabbed her training gear, changing quickly and blasting her exercise playlist on her iPod, as she ran through the door for a jog. A long jog.

Nycke sits by the kitchen counter in her best friends apartment. There’s some kind of cocktail in front of her. Apparently it’s a sea breeze, but to Nycke it looks more like garnished swamp water. Lise however has gulped down at least two and is actively trying to get her friend enthused for a Saturday night out.

“Come on Nycke! You keep saying you want to go out more and meet people not in your ballgame world”.

“Handball Lise, I know you’re not overly interested in sports but you could at least get my career straight after 8 years of friendship”.

Nycke had met Lise in the first month she’d moved to Denmark. She’d impulsively gone out to a bar alone one night. She’d headed to a well known cocktail bar in the city; all sleek surfaces, low lighting and sexy house music. As Nycke scanned the cocktail list, she heard the voice of the bartender asking her for her order. When she looked up, there stood Lise. Lise was the definition of cute, barely 5'4, petite with tousled short blonde hair and big brown eyes that lit up when she smiled. Lise had spent the remainder of the night mixing all sorts of ingredients into the most delicious cocktails Nycke had ever tasted. They had quickly become friends after, with Lise knowing almost everyone in the city; from DJ’s to radio presenters to sports stars. Her bubbly personality was infectious and everyone seemed to gravitate towards her. Nycke felt truly blessed to be counted as one of her nearest and dearest.

Except for today. When all she wanted was to change into sweatpants, heat up some popcorn and settle in on her couch with a good book.

“Oh come on honey, all you’ve been doing lately is training. Now drink up, put on your party shoes and lets head over to this shindig”

Nycke couldn’t contain her smile at Lise’s enthusiasm. Lise quickly caught onto Nyckes weakening willpower and squealed with excitement.

“Alright Lise, calm down. Where are we going anyway?” Nycke said as she succumbed to the drink in front of her, which despite its off putting appearance, tasted fabulous.

“Well..” Lise expelled, hopping onto the bar stool next to her.

“It’s this new DJ in town, he’s hired out an entire warehouse to showcase his new record and it’s invite only, so of course yours truly scored one for herself and her superstar ballgame best friend”.

She smiled as if she’d just offered Nycke her left kidney.

“Who knows Nycke, maybe there will be a lucky someone there wanting to be swept of their feet”

This time Lise waggled her eyebrows finishing with a suggestive wink. And for some unknown reason Nycke instantly thought of Sofie. She hadn’t stopped thinking about her the whole week, even cancelled plans with some friends the Wednesday before just to stay home and watch Sofie’s team play. All of this was something she hadn’t mentioned to Lise yet, since she knew her friend would probably know Sofies parents and within a few weeks have organised a wedding. Pushing the thought out of her head she gave her friend a playful shove and downed the remainder of her drink.

“Alright cupid, let’s get going”.


Lise shrieked and threw her arms around a laughing Nycke.

Sofie weaved her way through the crowd, managing to expertly avoid an elbow from knocking her drink out of her hand. She knew she shouldn’t be drinking halfway through a season, but Wednesdays win and their bye next week meant she couldn’t refuse a much needed night out with her girlfriends. Especially when it involved tickets to the most sought out event of the season. Although she hadn’t heard of the DJ, she had grasped by her overexcited friends that it would be a party to not miss out on. So she’d chucked on her favourite little black dress topped off with converse shoes for easy dancing. She needed a good night out. It had been too long in between and she’d spent all week frustrated over a girl who she barely knew. A gorgeous tall blonde nonetheless.

So as she scanned the crowd looking for her friends she was shocked to see them standing in conversation with none other than said tall gorgeous blonde. As she stood rooted to the spot, Nycke glanced up and caught her eye. A mix of disbelief and anxiety filled Sofie, followed quickly by a sudden desire which grasped her insides at the slow smile forming on Nyckes lips. Sofie awkwardly waved back and then almost hit herself in the face for such an adolescent move. She steeled her nerves and forced herself forward.

“Hey girl hey!”

Sofies friend Kate threw her arm around her shoulders.

“There you are, we found ourselves a fellow ball player! This is Nycke and her friend Lise”

Sofie smiled at the cute blonde who’s arm was looped through Nyckes and felt a jolt of jealousy which she quickly pushed down as she extended her hand in greeting.

Lise looked at the hand briefly, then pulled Sofie in for a firm hug.

“It’s so nice to meet the only girl Nycke would dare to fondle in public”

Her comment relating to last weeks game brought a round of laughter to the group and Sofie tried to give an easy laugh too but felt it was constrained. She dared a glance at Nycke who had turned a adorable shade of red, which made Sofie feel all fuzzy inside again.

“Lise! I can’t take you anywhere… Sorry Sofie. My friend her seems to have left her good manners at home”

Nycke glared down at her friend, who beamed up at Nycke. As the two friends stared each other down, Sofie took a moment to appreciate Nycke. She looked effortlessly sexy. Tight black jeans showing off her long toned legs with a loose black singlet that gave a small glimpse to the dark purple lacy bra underneath. Damn. Sofie tore her eyes away from Nyckes body and looked back up into her face, seeing a small smile playing on Nyckes lips indicating her oggling hadn’t gone unnoticed. She cleared her throat and did her best not to blush.

‘Would you like a drink? I’m about to get a refill”.

Before Nycke could respond, Lise jumped in;

“Ooo yes, I know the bartender so I’ll come with and sort us out some delicious treats”

Lise apparently missed the quick glare Nycke gave and all but pulled Sofie and Nycke along, stopping several times to greet her numerous acquaintances inside the warehouse, which was quickly becoming cramed with people.

“Your friend seems to know a lot of people”

Sofie said as she manoeuvred through the crowd behind Nycke, trying her best not to stare at that magnificent butt.

“Yeah, she’s pretty popular, I met her when I first moved here and we’ve been best friends ever since. If it wasn’t for her I wouldn’t have half the social life I do and certainly wouldn’t be here right now”.

Nycke shot a smile over her shoulder at Sofie, who smiled back. Happy to hear Lise was her best friend and nothing more.

As they approached the bar a coupled of Hugo Boss looking guys appeared seemingly out of nowhere wanting to buy the girls a drink. Before either Sofie or Nycke could respond Lise had accepted with a giant smile and wink, ignoring the rather obvious eye roll Nycke shot her.

“Sorry, she can be rather eager”

Nycke said into Sofies ear. The nearness of her lips rendered Sofie almost speechless and she grabbed at a quick response, trying to steady herself.

“Oh…that’s ok, I’m always happy to accept a free drink”

She said back, also leaning into Nycke momentarily and as she pulled back was rewarded with a longing look from Nycke, who seemed to be as distracted by Sofies nearness.

They stared at each other for a moment longer than would be deemed appropriate and as both started to say something Lise was at their sides with three poisonous looking shots. Nycke and Sofie, startled out of their intense eye lock, quickly took the drinks and knocked them back.

“Oooohkay ladies, let’s get this party started!”

Lise almost yelled, throwing her shot back too.

Sofie and Nycke laughed, and Nycke was thankful for her friends easy presence, always capable of turning any situation into a carefree atmosphere. The girls clinked their empty glasses and headed back to the remainder of their friends.

Sofie was going home. It was close to 2am and Nycke knew she should go home too. She seemed to remember having promised herself to go home at midnight, but that thought had suddenly disappeared the moment she’d spotted Sofie. And now after hours of dancing, chatting and drinking together she still hadn’t managed to get a phone number or anything resembling the confidence to ask Sofie out.

The night had flown by too quickly and Nycke was having fun for the first time in ages. She’d spent so much of the last year training and focusing on her career she’d almost forgotten what it was like to get lost in the feeling of music, friends and a healthy dose of tipsyness. All of which had been topped off with getting to spend the night with the girl who had starred in her every fantasy since toppling onto her a week ago. She still couldn’t believe that she’d bumped into Sofie tonight. She liked her a lot, Nycke realised. Sofie laughed with her whole body and was completely engaged in their every conversation. Nycke wanted to know everything about her. But the night was coming to an end, and as she was trying to figure out how to nonchalantly ask to see Sofie again, she felt a hand grab hers. Looking up she saw Sofie smile softly at her.

“This was really fun, I’m probably gonna pay for it tomorrow, but I think it was worth it”

Nycke unconsciously ran her thumb over the back of Sofies hand and smiled back.

“Yeah it really was, I’m glad I came and got to see you again, this was the most fun I’ve had in ages ”

Nycke almost cringed at how obvious she sounded. She really couldn’t believe her lack of cool sometimes. Sofie however didn’t seem fazed by the statement, and just smiled wider.

“Do you maybe wanna do something next week with me?”

Nycke stared dumbstruck back at Sofie and lost all ability to form words. Sofie, seeming to have misunderstood Nyckes reaction, quickly dropped her hand and looked down. Nycke stumbled over her words, trying to set Sofie straight;

“Yeah! Yes, of course, definitely… I mean, I’d like that a lot. Yeh”

Well played Nycke, very cool

This time Nycke did cringe at herself, which luckily Sofie seemed to miss as she looked up and grinned at her. She grabbed Nyckes phone, which she’d already spotted tucked into her back pocket. The grab had Sofie reaching around Nycke and as her fingers brushed her butt to get the phone Nycke gasped. Sofie stopped briefly at the sound at glanced at Nyckes lips. She caught herself from leaning forward, a sudden intense shyness overcoming her, much to Nyckes disappointment.

Punching her number into Nyckes phone, she handed it back and shivered slightly at the gentle stroke of Nyckes finger across her own as she took back her phone.

“Don’t forget to call”

Sofie moved to leave, stilled momentarily and then placed a slow soft kiss on Nyckes cheek, who just stood like a statue, completely overtaken by the wonderful feeling of Sofies soft lips on her cheek. She was still standing like a fool after Sofie pulled back, gave her another earth shattering smile and disappeared into the crowd.


Nycke was transfixed, overjoyed and giddy all over. Had that really just happened?  Before she had the chance to ponder more, she felt a finger poke her ribs.

“Ooh la la, looks like someone owes me for dragging their sorry ass out tonight”

Lise giggled and jumped out of reach from Nycke who was about to grab her.

“Shut it you”

But Nycke couldn’t get the stupid grin off her face as they made their way home. And it stayed there as she fell into her bed, feeling outrageously excited for the prospect of the upcoming week.

Sitting in her kitchen, Nyckes chin is resting on her hands, which are splayed on top of her white marble counter. She’s staring at her phone which lies ten centimetres in front of her nose. It’s been 13 minutes since she sent a message to Sofie. And in those 13 minutes she has been through a roller-coaster of emotions. First, she had read and re-written the message about 4 times to make it sound as casual yet witty as possible. Then the second she had pressed send she instantly felt her hands go clammy and quickly re-read her message again, thinking of another 5 ways she could have wrote it to make it sound better. Chastising herself for acting like a hormonal teenager over one message, she’d dropped the phone on the counter and walked away to make some coffee. Only to return less than 5 minutes later to a blank phone screen and a sudden, completely irrational, disappointing feeling inside.

Now, as she contemplated her incessantly silent mobile, she wondered if maybe she should have waited more than a day before messaging Sofie, isn’t that the rule? Damn it, why did she suck at these things so much.

Frustrated with herself, she got up to go watch some tv or read a book or surf the internet or anything that could take her mind off of waiting for her phone. Then she heard the blissful sound of a message received and all her fears and aggravations faded away. Launching herself across the counter top she knocked her phone down onto the floor and bolted after it like a greyhound chasing a rabbit. Finally she had the phone in her hand, sitting on the floor she opened the message from Sofie.

Good morning! I had a really great time last night too, although I’m probably gonna get my head bitten off by my coach about it tomorrow! So glad you messaged me :) I’d love to go to dinner on Tuesday, I’ve never been to Bang & Jensen, I’ve always wanted to!”

If someone could see Nycke now, she’d be embarrassed for the rest of her life. Her she was, sitting on her kitchen floor with a slight blush to her cheeks, a sore elbow from crashing into the kitchen counter and the grin of a 14 year old who’d just gotten her first kiss. She re-read the message at least ten times before she almost began to type back. Stopping herself, she worried a quick reply might seem to eager, she should probably wait a few minutes, right?

“Oh frickety frack, stop it Nycke”.

She quickly typed out her reply.

Little did Nycke know that across town sat another woman with an equally large grin on her face and a flutter of excitement in her chest as she saw three dots light up on the screen under her own message.

Yeah, my head is angry at past Nyckes choice of shots last night. But it was worth it :) Great, I’ve been there once before and I think you’ll like it. See you there at 8?”

Sofie chuckled at Nyckes reference to her past self, remembering how a tipsy Nycke from the night before had  placed her hands ever so slowly on Sofie’s hips as they danced and had laced her fingers with hers as they’d moved through the crowds, as if afraid to lose Sofie. It had set her heart racing. And now it was again, at the prospect of seeing the gorgeous and charming blonde again in two days.

Perfect, see you then :)”

The restaurant is hipster and chic in the effortless way that only Copenhagen seems capable of. Combining old Scandinavian pictures and furniture in a modern way. A long wooden bar is lined along one wall, with a deep red wall behind it and matching red tables and chairs. Hanging over the bar are large round silver balls with a light inside, the design reminiscent of the 1970’s. At the end of the bar and on all the tables were candle lights, giving off an intimate feeling, coupled with the high ceilings which made the busy Cafe relatively quite.

Nycke is early. Which is truly shocking since she’s never early. But something about tonight had her ready and out the door with half an hour to spare. Now she’s regretting it, as she sits alone at a corner table feeling her nerves steadily increase by the minute. She’d worried about what to wear. Since it was just a casual dinner she didn’t want to dress up too much, but then also didn’t want to under-dress because she really wanted to impress Sofie. So it had ended with tight dark blue jeans and a oversized white cotton sweater which she’d topped off with a chunky necklace to make it looked like she was a fashionable. Her long blonde hair hang in loose curls around her face, which she’d let mostly devoid of make-up. Self-consciously she tucked her hair behind her ears ever few moments and tried her best to not look at her phone. She never liked it when people were glued to their phones and always attempted to make a huge effort to just sit quietly by herself if she was ever in a situation where she was just waiting. So instead she twiddled her thumbs and thought of interesting conversation topics and witty comments she could impress Sofie with. An act which proved entirely foolish as she looked up and saw Sofie weaving her way elegantly though the tables towards her, and all coherent thoughts disappeared from her mind.

She looked gorgeous. Dressed in tight grey jeans that showed off her toned legs, a sleeveless black top dressed up with a long silver necklace, with her long dark hair hanging over one shoulder. She smiled as she approached the table. The smile worked like an invisible force that pulled Nycke out of her chair, moving to meet Sofie in greeting. Nycke’s arm reached out and Sofie stepped into her, as if they’d done it a hundred times before, placing a chaste yet sweet kiss on her cheek.

“Hey you” Sofie purred into her ear and pulled away to sit down, leaving Nycke breathless and a little out of sorts. She quickly regrouped and mumbled an incoherent hello back, sitting down quickly before revealing her flushed neck and face.

“How did your training go this week?”

Nycke asks, trying to establish an easy conversation.

“Well yesterday was a bit hellish, I think Saturday night hadn’t worked itself out of my body, needless to say my coach was kinda mad! But it went well today, you?”

“Oh it went ok, we had a friendly match yesterday, and except for a couple of tumbles here and there I did ok”

“Didn’t tumble into anyone’s arms by chance did you?”

Sofie raised a perfect eyebrow, a coy smile appearing on her face, which Nycke laughed out loud at. Sofie was quickly discovering she loved that sound.

“No, no boob grabbing this time”

Nycke smiled back.

“Well, as far as boob grabs go, yours was very tender. The number of bruises I’ve had from not so gentle hands!”

“Oh yeah, man some of those girls can really pinch can’t they!”

Nycke replied, and from there a easy conversation of their handball careers followed.

When the waiter appeared they ordered drinks and a food. Sticking to the healthier and lighter options on the menu, they decided on sharing a selection of tapas plates.

Nyckes nervousness left her as an evening of talk of families, friends and stories unfolded between them. She enjoyed the light teasing Sofie offered and returned it with her own. In between sips of their drinks and bites of their food she snuck glances at Sofie and was pleased to see her doing the same. As their eyes met over the rim of their glasses Sofie was struck by the blues of Nyckes eyes. She’d always loved blue eyes, and Nycke’s were some of the prettiest she’d seen. A wonderful turquoise colour that reminded her of a holiday swimming in the Mediterranean.  

When the crowd around them thinned they realised how late the hour had gotten. Both entirely lost in the company of each other, they missed the waiters tidying up around them and regrettably realised it was time to go. After a brief, friendly exchange about who was going to pay, Sofie suggested they go Dutch and split the bill in honour of Nyckes homeland. Nycke laughed and hesitantly agreed. Before she knew it they were standing on the side-walk outside the restaurant, shuffling their feet and avoiding saying goodbye before they went opposite ways.

“I really enjoyed tonight Nycke,  you were right, I like this place a lot”

“Maybe we can make it our local then”

Nycke smiled and then wondered if maybe she’d presumed too much. But the grin on Sofies face said otherwise.

“I’d like that a lot”

They stared at each other some more and then Sofie shot a glance to Nyckes lips, which worked like gravity and before she could stop herself, Nycke stepped into Sofies space and ran a hand down her arm. 

Their lips met gently at first. Hesitantly they moved their lips against each other and Nycke felt Sofie’s hands work their way to her shoulders. As Nycke alternated kisses between top and bottom lips she felt Sofie push into her more, and before she knew it she’d snaked both her arms around Sofies waist and pulled her in. At the gentle sound of Sofie’s hum, Nyckes remaining inhibitions faltered and her desire betrayed her, slowly she ran her tongue along Sofies bottom lip,  asking for entrance to her glorious mouth. Sofie felt a rush of blood pound through her veins at the feeling of Nyckes tongue. With no hesitation she opened her mouth and as their tongues touched, both women moaned. Slowly their lips joined into the kiss again, alternating between gentle kisses and dancing tongues. As the kiss deepened again, Sofies hands slid deeper into Nyckes hair, willing her closer. Simultaneously, Nycke wrapped her arms tightly around Sofies torso and pulled her into her. This kiss was definitely going beyond what either had imagined from a first date, but it was the kind that had fuelled both their fantasies. And as they were about to lose complete control, a loud whistle shocked them from their tight embrace, bringing them back to reality.

“You get her girl!” A group of guys and girls walked along the opposite side of the road, cheering and giving big thumbs up.

Both Sofie and Nycke blushed profusely, but remained in each others arms. As two pairs of blue eyes connected, all nervousness over their out of control kiss faded, and they both laughed in response.

“Next time you end up on top of me miss, I expect you to stay around”

Sofies cheeky grin followed her quip regarding their first meeting. Her fingers gently rubbed along the back of Nyckes neck, setting of a dozen sparks through Nyckes body.

“Next time?” Nycke said as her eyes twinkled and a mischievous grin spread across her face.

Sofies gaze had dropped so quickly she missed the obvious taunt. As her fingers stopped their ministrations, she cleared her throat anxiously, wondering if she’d overstepped.

Nycke, deciding to swiftly put Sofie out of her misery, cupped her cheek in her palm and ran thumb gently along Sofies strong defined jaw.

“Next time I’m between your legs Sofie, I won’t be leaving for quite some time”

Sofies gaze shot up to meet Nyckes, her eyes seemingly darkening at the lustful promise. The teasing between them stopped abruptly as desired took its grasp and they leaned into each other once more. Lips meeting in triumph as two people began on a new journey, together, and all due to one slip of the foot.

The greatest fall ever.

Failure, as a perfectionist.

It is the day before my last exam, so I should really be carrying on with my last minute revision, but instead I’d like to take this moment to address something: the notion of failing

‘Failure’ can mean a whole number of different things – it depends who is doing the talking. Lately, I have heard ‘I’m going to fail,’ increasingly often, not in the context of ‘I am actually going to fail my exam’, but in the context, ‘I am not going to achieve my own personal target.’ I will address this issue in a minute, but first I’d like to note something else.

As exam term has gone on, I have even found myself saying ‘‘omg’ – I feel like I’m definitely going to fail,’ an awful lot, without even knowing what it is I actually mean by it. I feel like it is something said to humble oneself in the presence of others, to express in signifying words ‘my work has been really difficult, and I’m not sure how good at this I actually am’. It has been said by me perhaps to reduce other people’s expectations of my intelligence, so that when I come out with a decidedly average mark others won’t frown upon me, instead saying ‘well, at least you didn’t fail!’ And the notion of ‘failure’ seems to express the real intensity of my university course somewhat melodramatically: I know that it’s pretty impossible to fail my exams this year, especially after all the effort I have put into revision, but the idea that something so dramatic could possibly happen has possibly been said by me as an exaggeration of the fear I am feeling. I may be analysing things a little too much, but hey - I’m an English student, it’s what we do.

Back to my initial point. We all have our own targets, some realistic, some unrealistic. For future notice, I will never post my own targets or my own current academic achievements publicly on this blog because that’s not what I’m here for, and I refuse to create a marker (not that it would be much of a marker anyways) against which people can judge themselves on (I was a little uncomfortable about revealing my GCSE/A Level grades but figured that as they are in the past my emotions connected to them have been & gone). But my point is that when the idea of failing to achieve your own personal targets is raised, the problem of failure becomes a whole lot more personal, a whole lot more psychological, than a letter such as ‘A’ or ‘F’ can represent. The one main concern that I feel with regards to the institutional pressures put on people to succeed according to a certain guideline or socially acceptable ‘grade’ is the effect the failure to achieve this grade can have mentally on a human being. For example, take my own two years of studying A Levels, in constant fear of failing to achieve my own ‘target’ of getting into Cambridge. At the time, I thought my life would have been “over” (quote Sarah, melodramatic since the age of 18) if I hadn’t got in. Now that I am here, yes I am happy, but I am also now aware of many other, equally fulfilling, paths my life could have taken. All that has really come from my A Level fear of failure is a kind of ‘perfectionism,’ that, now I am at Cambridge, I have realised is a really shit trait to have. I have learnt, getting to my dream university and realising I was studying the wrong subject, that sometimes, life just doesn’t work out the way you expected it to. Sometimes our targets don’t even feel that great once we have achieved them. They are essentially imaginary stations that you form in your own mind, and it doesn’t register to us that they are moveable, adaptable. You don’t have to reach it first try, hell, you don’t have to reach it at all.  

I guess what I’m trying to say is that failure to achieve your own personal target isn’t the end of the world. Of course, it can be devastating, but the best thing we can try to do is heal ourselves, and attempt to move on. There is always another option, life is not over just because we didn’t get the grade, or didn’t manage to achieve something. But after ‘failure,’ perhaps a time out is needed. Give yourself time to think, ponder (maybe, like I do, wallow in self-pity for a while with chocolate and films), then dust yourself off and get back to trying hard to be a successful person, perhaps with a shaped or new perspective on where you want to go and how you can do your best to achieve it.

As a little example I am going to use my experience of our Shakespeare exam last week. I had worked ridiculously hard on this exam paper, as I happen to love Shakespeare, and I really wanted my hard work and my passion to show through on the exam. I opened the paper, and it was brutal. It was possibly the worst exam I have ever sat in my life, and after the exam I rushed to the bathroom to just sit and cry. I literally broke down. The one exam that I thought would really contribute to my overall grade and show what I can do was a disaster. To put it short – I think I have definitely failed to achieve my own target in that paper, which makes me feel like the grade I am going to receive at the end of this year won’t be representative of the kind of work I can do, the kind of things I can achieve. It is easy to allow this failure to seep into my expectations of my next exam, to think that I am going to ‘fail’ in my final exam tomorrow - and believe me I have had these thoughts – but quite honestly I am not going to give the pessimistic side of my being the satisfaction of knowing it has won. Yes, I wallowed in self-pity with chocolate and films after the Shakespeare exam. Yes, I rang my mother and cried for way too long. But I have re-focused, worked for my final exam, and I am telling myself to see tomorrow as a positive contribution to my final mark, instead as a negative contribution to my ‘failure.’ It is, admittedly, a consistent, conscious effort to tell myself so, but I feel it helps. And I know that even if I don’t get the total grade I have been aiming for mentally, I will know that I have worked my hardest to attempt to achieve this, and that will hopefully console me (along with cocktails).

Just a few thoughts.


Venomous Lips

“The social event of the year! High society’s biggest night! The city’s finest hour in the city’s finest-“

“Okay, okay, I get it, it’s gonna be great,” you say, rolling your eyes, only wishing your friend would shut up about it.

Crashing shitty frat parties and events at bars was one thing, but some “high society” event was something else. You definitely couldn’t pull that off and you didn’t want to anyway. What would be so great about it anyway? Overly dressed pretentious people talking about their perfect lives and blah blah blah- it didn’t interest you, no uptight formal party did. But your friend here really wanted to do this, really wanted to crash this overdone party so you would do it because why not? There wasn’t that much else to do.

“So you’ll do it then?”

“Yeah, alright. Meet you there in an hour or so?”

“Ah yes!! See you then. And make yourself look extra pretty!”

“I’ll try.”

“And don’t forget your mask!” they add with a click.

You roll your eyes, but can’t help your little smirk. You kind of enjoyed getting dressed up, especially for something like this. Showing up to a party you weren’t invited to looking better than the people that were was a good enough thought to put a little smile on your face. So you pull out your nicest little black number and a pair of shiny black and silver pumps and follow a youtube tutorial with shaky fingers to do your make-up. You grab the mask your friend has picked for you to convince you to crash and try it on, loving how mysterious you look. And with a just a few backwards glances in the mirror and a quick lipstick touch up, you’re on your way

“You look amazing,” your friend breathes when you nudge their shoulder on the sidewalk, standing across the street from where the event is being held.

“Thanks,” you say quietly, avoiding the compliment. “Now we gonna do this?”

“Of course,” they say excitedly, dragging you with them to the entrance.

As always it looks a lot easier than it ends up being. The bouncer type character seems to appear from nowhere when you step up to the door. You keep your head bowed, trying to seem a little less than sober while your friend explains that “we left our invitations inside, I just had a bit of an emergency so I wanted to run to the store the next street over” and that sort of thing. But the man doesn’t even look at you, only shakes his head once indicating your rejection.

“Please sir,” you hear your friend speak again. And then another explanation, something about “desperate” and “emergency” again as they tie their mask around their head, and you’re about to grab their hand and just walk away, but when you look up you catch a boy’s eyes through the slits of your mask, his own bright against his black one.

“They’re good,” he says to the guard, resting his palm on his shoulder for a moment to assure him as he speaks. The guard turns for a second and the boy nods once and you’re pulled suddenly from your thoughts of how breathtaking that boy’s eyes were into the most beautifully decorated banquet hall you’ve ever seen, not that you’ve seen many.

There are lights everywhere, but dimly lit. White lilies stand stark against bouquets of blood red roses on the tables that surround the crowded dancefloor and men in suits and women on gowns and cocktail dresses stand throughout, posed with smiles on their faces and glasses in their hands. It’s like a scene out of a movie.

“This is incredible.”

“Yeah, it is,” you say quietly, grabbing a glass of wine from the tray that a man carries by you and taking a large gulp.

Not your first choice of drink, but it’ll have to do.

“Did you know that guy that let us in?” your friend asks curiously and you shake your head.

“No. That was weird though.”

“Maybe he likes ya, he was looking at you kinda funny.”

“Likes me? When he couldn’t even see my face?”

“You never know,” they tease jokingly.

You roll your eyes and take another sip, observing all the ornate masks, some a little odd and creepy, others decorated and colorful. Your friend spots the bar and goes off as usual, leaving you on the sidelines to flirt and dance with whoever they might find there. But you smile and wave them off, taking another sip of the red wine and peering out at the crowd.

“Care to dance with me?” you hear near your ear and you whip around, looking for the voice.

When you turn, he’s in front of you, his head bowed and his arm outstretched, his fingers awaiting yours. You don’t answer, simply placing your glass of wine on the nearest tabletop and placing your fingers in the person’s hand, letting them guide you to the dancefloor.

It’s not a strange tune playing, just one you’re not really used to. A slow waltzing sort of thing, but there’s something sensual behind the violins that create the tune. You let the person pull you into him, his arm wrapping around your waist as you rest your palm on his shoulder, your other hand flat against his as you do your best to keep the beat and move in this unfamiliar way.

“You’ve never danced like this before?” he says, leaning down to speak near your ear.

You notice his accent when he speaks this time.

“No, not exactly.”

He chuckles and looks down again, his face hidden behind his mask. He pulls you a little tighter against him and you flush at the feeling, thankful for the mask that hides your face from him.

“Are you laughing at my bad dancing?”

“It’s not bad, really.”

“You could always teach me instead of laugh at me,” you say a little playfully, but maybe a little bitterly.

You could always go to parties you were actually invited to,” he shoots back with a dangerous smile.

“How’d you know-“

He looks up then, that grin still plastered to his face as his hauntingly green eyes stare at you through the openings in his mask. You lose your breath for a moment when your eyes meet his, taken aback by how gorgeous they are. You realize now how much you weren’t paying attention. That smile fades a little and you notice how pink and soft his lips look, how bright they are against his pale skin. You also notice the knot tied in the back of his head, his hair perfectly kept in a neat bun.

“You- you didn’t have to let us in.”

“Is that your way of saying thank you?”

You roll your eyes, still moving slowly to the music, your bodies pressed together and your heart racing. And thank goodness the music stops, because you could feel his eyes on you and you couldn’t look into them, you couldn’t think straight when you did.

“Thank you for the dance,” he says softly, bowing down again and kissing the back of your hand after he’s pulled away from you.

He starts to walk away and it’s like all of a sudden he’s all you can think about. Those eyes fill your head, the way his laugh sounded and- and he’s gone. You lose him in the crowd of people, but only for a moment before you spot his eyes again, staring at you from above someone’s head. You step towards him, following him into the crowd and wanting to call out to him when he walks further away, but not knowing what to call out. You just go, forgetting about your friend and following him through the crowd down a corridor where some coupled off party-goers give each other hickeys, a faster beat pulsing through the place now. You don’t realize how fast you’re running until you’ve pushed through a door, ending up outside at the back exit of the place with the boy nowhere in sight.

“Harry,” you hear, close, but you can’t place where it comes from.

He seems to step out of the shadows then, his breath near your neck when he speaks again.

“M’name’s Harry,” he repeats.

His voice sends chills down your spine and he chuckles, knowing he’s caught you off guard.

“I didn’t ask for you name.”

“Ah, but you wanted it didn’t you?”

You don’t know what to say, your lips parted as if to speak, but breaths can barely make their way out. You turn to face him and meet his eyes right away, the breath stolen from your lips when he steps a little closer. His arms encircle your waist and he pulls you against him, bending down to nuzzle at your neck, sighing happily.

“What’s your name?” he mutters, low enough that if anyone else was around, they wouldn’t know he’d said a word.

You tell him and he repeats it in a soft breath, speaking into the crook of your neck. Your eyes close at the feeling of his lips against your skin and you forget that you wanted to tell him to slow down, to find out why you’re both out here, why you felt so compelled to follow him. You forget everything except how good his mouth feels and let yourself relax in his grasp, your eyes fluttering closed. His hidden face keeps you from seeing the darkness that surrounds his eyes suddenly, the black and blue veins that spread out to just above his cheeks as his green eyes become rimmed with red. You feel a pinch and you whimper in pain as you bend backwards in his arms, his strong grasp keeping you on your feet as your flesh is pierced, his mouth moving against your neck, tongue lapping at the open wound. He keeps going till he can feel your pulse slow down and pulls away finally, those perfectly pink lips stained red, the darkness around his eyes fading and your body laying limp in his arms. He almost drops you on the concrete, but something changes his mind and within seconds the alleyway you were standing in together is vacant, not a soul in sight.

There’s no sound. There’s no light. You can only hear yourself breathing, you can only feel the relentless pounding in your head. And you start to get up and it takes a moment to realize that this isn’t your bed, these aren’t your clothes you’re wearing anymore. You try to call out for help, but your whole body hurts and you get dizzy as soon as your feet touch the ground. You reach out for something to steady yourself and your hand hits what you assume is a bed post and you lean your whole weight on it, trying to keep steady. You find the wall and keep your hand pressed against it, trying to feel around for a switch while holding yourself up. You finally find one and flip the lights on, squinting before you realize how dim they are. But you can see clearly now the luxurious bed you’d been in, the long drapes that spill onto the floor covering the windows. You stumble over to the door and jump up when you open it, startled by the figure awaiting you outside.

“You’re awake,” he says quietly, reaching out for you when he notices how you’ve propped yourself against the doorframe.

“Huh- Harry,” you breathe, letting yourself relax in his arms, an all too familiar feeling. You look up at him and realize his mask is off, his bun is undone and curly brown hair falls to his shoulders looking as soft as a cloud. You’d say it’s someone else but those green eyes tell you it’s him. “Where are we?”

“In my apartment,” he replies.

You try to remember getting here, getting into these clothes, but you can’t. You try to push away from him, afraid he’s hurt you or that he’s going to you, but your dizziness keeps you close to him. He chuckles at your weak fight and you try to shove at him, but he just pins you back, lifting you into his arms like it’s nothing and carrying you back to the bed.

“Why did you bring me here?”

“I didn’t want to leave you alone in the alley,” he says with a shrug.

“I could have just gone back to the party.”

“Probably not. You would have had to wake up to do that.”

“What? How long have I been asleep?”

“A few hours. You didn’t just fall asleep,” he starts to explain, but changes his mind, getting up and turning away from you.

“Harry, wait! Please,” you call out to him, scrambling across the bed.

“What’s going on?”

He winces slightly at the fear and confusion in your voice. He extends his hand to you and pulls you off the bed, keeping his arm locked around your waist as he walks you out of the bedroom.

“You shouldn’t be up. You should be sleeping more, getting some energy back,” he mutters, glancing sideways at you.

“I want to know what’s going on.”

“I’m showing you.”

He guides you into another dark room, but flips the lights on right away. Just a bathroom. A bright, shiny bathroom that looks like it’s never been used. He walks with you to the mirror and turns so you’re facing each other. He tilts your chin up and lets his fingers glide over your skin, stopping on your neck. You wince slightly as he touches a sore spot and he nods once.

“Feel that?” he says quietly.


“Look,” he says, nodding his head towards the mirror. You follow his eyes and look sideways at your neck, gasping as your fingers go straight to the darkened bruise, rubbing gently over the two small marks that sit in the center of the purplish spot.

“I- Harry please tell me what’s going on,” you say, voice soft and scared as your eyes well up with tears. You want to run away from this boy, but he’s been so gentle with you, letting you lean on him, looking at you with those eyes. “Why did you… do this? Why did you bring me here?”

“Please don’t be scared,” he pleads, reaching out for you as you take an unsteady step away from him, stumbling into the hallway in search of the room you’d come from for your things and a way out. He catches your arm and pins you against the wall, wiping another tear from your cheek.

“I must be crazy, this can’t be real,” you say as you touch the very real wound on your neck again. “You- you can’t be-“

“You’re not crazy,” he tells you, smiling sadly as he cradles your face in his hands, wiping another tear from your cheek. The gesture soothes you a little and you look up at him, your jaw dropping only slightly at his beauty.

“Show me,” you say softly, straightening up when he drops his hands from your face.


“Show me,” you say again, reaching up to trace his lips.

He looks as surprised as you do at the small, gentle motion, but he understands your request now. He shakes his head firmly, turning away from you for a moment. You reach up for his neck and he startles at your touch, like he’s never felt anything like it before. He swallows, maybe nervously, but shakes his head again.


“I can’t do that.”

“I want to see what did this to me.”

“But then you’ll probably want to leave,” he admits sadly, his voice quieter now.

Your eyebrows raise at the words. You don’t know what to say or what to think, or even why you want him to show you anything, but you do. So you just say please again and watch his face fall.

“Please don’t be scared,” he repeats, the words sadder now, more like a plea for the both of you.

And you watch and wish you hadn’t as his face twists into something dangerous, snarling so you can see the pointed incisors that show themselves from behind his lips. His eyes become surrounded with the blue black veins that his mask hid earlier, the whites in his eyes flooded with red. As scared as you are, as tense as you become under his gaze with those horrible eyes, death had never looked so beautiful.

“You could have killed me.”

You sit across from each other now on a soft gray and black couch, sat in a room that overlooks the bright lights of the city from floor to ceiling windows. The view is amazing, the apartment is spotless, but seems very unused, very lonely. Like nobody lives here.

“I could have,” he says with a nod, running his hand through his hair and giving you your cup of water, urging you to take another drink. “You were delicious. But I wasn’t sure if you would look as good drained lifeless as you would here like this,” he gestures at you in his clothes, some color back in your cheeks and the brightness in your eyes again now that you’ve had a little something to eat and drink.

“You usually let your uh… your prey. You let them die,” you say next, not sure if you meant for it to be a statement or a question.

“I have,” he readily admits, no shame or pain in his voice.

“But not me.”

“No. You made me um… feel… something,” he replies, pausing to think, to make sure he’s getting his thoughts out properly.

“You barely know me.”

“Yes and I still let you live,” he says darkly.

“That’s not the kind of thing you’d say to someone who makes you ‘feel something’.”

He mumbles an apology and looks up at you, his face softer now as he observes you, knees pulled up under your chin and your chin resting atop your arms.

“Thank you for staying,” he says then, making you perk up a little.

“I’m not sure why I did, actually.”

“Were you scared?”

“Of course I was.”

“But you still stayed.”

“You intrigue me,” you admit, tilting your head to the side a bit.

“Do I make you feel something?” he teases playfully, a smile dimpling his cheeks. He truly is too pretty to be real.

“I think so,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. “By the way,” you say, remembering whose clothes you’ve gotten so comfortable in. “How did I get into these clothes?”

“I woke you up and you insisted on changing. You thought you were home so-“

“So I did this myself?”

He chuckles when he realizes what you mean. “I never intended on seeing you naked without your permission, yes you changed yourself. I just gave you the clothes.”

“Well that was very sweet. Thank you.”

“Any time. You look better in them than I do,” he says with a smile and you can’t help the little one that tugs at your lips too.

“This is weird,” you say then, snapping out of it, out of this almost flirting and unbending your legs to hop off the couch.

“And I was starting to think this was normal.”

“What you are, this bite on my neck, no no none of this is normal, Harry.”

“It could be if you just- if you forgot that part for a second,” he says, straightening up and grabbing your wrist, pulling you closer to him. He sets you in between his legs, looking up at you as your eyes widen, scoffing at the thought of trying to forget he almost killed you. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he explains, standing up now so your bodies press together. “I- can I kiss you?”

“Huh?” you breathe, tilting your head up as his palm rests against your neck, cradling you.

“Can I kiss you?” he repeats, the words softer this time, a little slurred as his mouth draws closer to yours.

“Okay,” you breathe, but barely as the breath is stolen from your lips by his own.

He moves his lips slowly against yours, his hands cradling your neck, his thumbs rubbing softly against your jaw as you melt against him. You moan softly against his mouth, parting your lips to let him in more, to taste one another. His tongue slides over yours and you feel his hands leave your face only to slide down your body, his arms encircling your waist and your own snaking around his neck, draped over his shoulders. He breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours, licking his lips.

“Harry, I-“


“I have to go,” you tell him, pulling away. “I can’t do this, I can’t be with someone who just decided not to kill me, I can’t-“

“I would never hurt you, please-“

“You did. I’m not here because I walked in Harry, I’m here because you brought me here and I was passed out.”

“I know that was wrong,” he replies, seeming to appear from thin air in front of you when you try to go back to that room to get your stuff. “I wish that part was different, but please just- please stay with me. Just tonight. I’ll never hurt you again, I promise.”


“You’ve been incredible to me. You sat with me and spoke with me and didn’t run away from me,” he says quietly, his gaze dropping to the floor.

“You’re not as scary as you try to make yourself seem.”

He chuckles at that, the angelic sound filling the silence that surrounds you.

“Then stay,” he says again.


You look around at the lonely flat, the lights of the city setting the living room in a yellowish glow. You look at him, at this monster who’s only a boy with curly hair a dimpled smile, and down at the clothes covering you, his clothes. You think about how safe you feel, despite the circumstances, how sweet he’s been, how right it felt when he kissed you.

“Okay,” you say with a sigh, biting back a smile when he perks up, lifting his head to look at you again. “Okay, I’ll stay.”

“There’s just something about you,” you start to say, but stop when he looks back at you, caught off guard by the hope in his eyes, the life. “Well I’m staying,” you say instead, leaning against the wall across from him and fidgeting with your hands unsure where to put them. “Now what?”

“I’ve been wanting to do this again,” he says, pulling you against him abruptly and planting another kiss on your lips, barely hesitating to slide his tongue over your lips, parting them as your arms wrap around each other again. He pulls away, only to kiss just below your lips, working his way slowly over your jaw and to your neck. You tense up and he can sense your heart beat speeding up, can feel how your muscles tense.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” he assures again, nuzzling at your neck. “Trust me.”

You let go of a breath when you feel his lips move against you, nothing sharp or painful, and lean back a little. Trust him. You do for some reason, maybe too much. Your lips part, a soft breath leaving them when he nips gently at your skin, pressing another kiss. His eyes darken for a moment, but he pulls away, muttering a curse under his breath. You notice the veins disappearing from sight when he lifts his head a little and you guide him to face you, your palms pressed to either side of his face.

“It’s okay,” you say quietly, pressing another kiss to his lips.

“You trust me,” he says, nipping gently at your lower lip as you nod.

He guides you to move away and step in front of him, wrapping his arms around your waist as he walks with you back to the bedroom. He outstretches his arm to let you know it’s okay to go in and you watch as he walks around you, kicking his shoes off and sitting on the bed, pulling you towards him. He rests his hands on your thighs and rubs upwards, resting them on your hips. You let yourself be pulled against him as he slides backwards on the bed, settling in his lap. He kisses your neck again and you feel a chill run down your spine when his fangs graze your skin, not piercing, just taunting. He pulls away to look at you and kiss your lips again, his hands rubbing under the t-shirt you’d borrowed, rubbing over your bra and then down again. You raise both arms in the air and his eyes never leave you as he pulls off the t-shirt. You start to unbutton his dress shirt and with each button coming undone, a little bit of ink is exposed. You’d noticed the tattoos through his sheer shirt before, but didn’t pay too much attention. Now they caught your eye, the birds and the butterfly and the leaves, all so dark against his white skin.

“You have a lot of tattoos,” you observe and he nods, watching you as you look at them.

You look up at him briefly, catching his eyes and feeling your face heat up under his gaze. Your pulse picks up a little and you look at him again to catch him biting his lip as he tries to hide his eyes, looking down quickly.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, looking at you with those reddened eyes.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt me,” you say softly, undoing the last button on his dress shirt and pushing the sleeves off his shoulders, revealing more ink than you’d noticed before. “I believe you,” you add, kissing his shoulder softly, helping him pull the sheer black fabric the rest of the way off.

You kiss a little higher now, your lips moving softly over his neck. You bite down playfully and smile against his skin when you hear him laugh, his arms tightening around your waist. You brush his curls back and part your lips against his neck, grinding against him. He hooks his finger into the band of the boxers you borrowed and lets the fabric snap against your skin, smiling when you jump at the contact. You climb off of him for a moment to let him pull the fabric down your legs, letting it pool around your ankles. You step out of them and climb back onto him, pushing him further back on the bed and giggling when he growls playfully at you, picking his head up to nip at your lower lip.

You let your hands explore each other as you straddle his lap, his skin cool against yours and his lips on you whenever he gets the chance. His big hands are so gentle, pulling at your bra straps and letting them slip off your shoulders, kissing the skin there. You can feel the bulge in his pants desperate to be free of the fabric that holds him back and you bite your lip, kissing his shoulder again. You didn’t expect it to go this far this quickly, but it just feels right. It feels okay. You feel okay and you feel safe and god it feels good when he kisses you where he’s kissing you right now, a sweet spot on your neck that you think he’d love to get a taste of. He kisses the spot with pointed teeth scraping softly against your skin and you wince at first when you feel them, but relax against him in seconds, trusting him to take care of you. You trust him enough to give him everything tonight.

“Harry?” you call out in a whisper, meeting his gaze when he draws his face away from your neck.


His voice, so low and raspy sends a shiver down your spine. He sounds as good as he looks.

“Kiss me again,” you breathe and he doesn’t hesitate to grant your wish, pressing a warm, slow, open mouthed kiss to your lips.

You get lost in it, barely noticing the gentle movement of his fingers as they dance across your shoulders and then your back, removing your bra and discarding it to the floor. You push yourself against him so your bare chests press together and he sighs into your mouth, his fingers splayed out on the small of your back. You break the kiss and admire each other’s swollen lips as you slide off his lap a little, giving yourself room to unbutton and unzip his pants. You climb off him only so he can quickly pull them off, his boxers following, leaving them on the floor with the other clothes to join you in bed again, scooping you right back into his lap. You bite your lip at the sight of his bare body. Looking at him was like looking at some Greek statue. He was built so perfectly, pale skin covered in black ink, thighs that felt so firm under your body now, that adorably sexy dusting of hair that led right to his thick cock. He had a hint of love handles that you wanted to kiss forever and those hands, so big and gentle. And of course that dangerously charming smile on that overly handsome face, those eyes that looked like leaves after rain. He’s beautiful. And he keeps saying the same to you, that you’re so beautiful, as he kisses from your neck to your chest, his curls tickling you slightly with certain movements he makes. You cling to him as you kiss each other’s shoulders, bask in the feeling of his cool skin pressed against your warm body.

“I want more,” he says quietly, breaking the beat of your breaths.

You pick your head up from his shoulder and rest your forehead on his own. “You can have more,” you tell him, grabbing his face to kiss him again. “I want more, too.”

“You do?”

“Yes,” you breathe, your eyes locked on each other as he loops one finger into the band of your underwear, pulling the lace down. You swallow nervously and adjust yourself to help him get them off, gasping softly when you settle down against him again. You feel your skin get hot, nervous at the thought of both of you completely exposed.

“It’s okay,” he comforts. “I won’t-“

“I know, Harry.”

You look down at him in the dimly lit room as he kisses your breasts, his lips slightly parted leaving your skin warm and damp. He works his way back up to your mouth and his hands rub from your thighs to your hips, grabbing you there. He adjusts himself beneath you and holds his length as you pick yourself up slightly, sinking back down onto him with a soft whimper. He’s hard and long and feels so good when he finally fills you, his own head lolling back a little. You lift your hips and sink back down, repeating the action when he nods once, a low hum of approval coming from his throat. Your bodies wrap around each other, molded together as you ride him, his face buried in your neck. He sighs against your skin and you can feel it again, the light scratch of his sharpened teeth against your skin. Something in you wants to feel it, wants him to see that side of him and if he can control it.

“Harry,” you breathe, calling his attention. “Bite,” you say against his lips, watching as his eyes widen, his hips losing their rhythm for a brief second.


You cut him off with a fast, warm kiss and pull away to nod at him, bending your neck back.

He wants to hesitate, wants to argue that he shouldn’t, but that side of him takes over and he keeps your body close, keeps your hips rolling into one another’s as his eyes flush with red, the veins spreading out and darkening his skin as his teeth sink into your skin, the pinch of the bite stinging for a moment before subsiding. You slow down as he laps at your neck, mewling at the strange mix of pain and pleasure. When you whisper to stop, he does, not even a second later. You watch the red stain trickle down his lip and he wipes it away, forgetting to shield his face from you. His lips stay parted for a moment, stained a deep red as his head rolls back and he groans in pleasure, his grip on you tightening.

He licks at the two small wounds on your neck, burying his face there as your bodies bump together, pressed so close, your heart racing and your body warm after his bite, like he made everything more pleasurable, more intense.

He pushes you backwards till you’re lying down beneath him, taking a moment to sprinkle kisses over your chest and stomach. He goes a little lower and you arch back when you feel his breath there, your eyes fluttering when you see how his incisors peek out. He stares into your eyes as he drags his mouth across your inner thigh, the sharpness of his teeth sending a chill through you. He leaves you with a warm kiss on your thigh before coming back up, hiking your leg up on his body and settling in between your legs. Your back arches again when he pushes into you, his hard length filling you again. He starts slow, thrusting in and out, his lips bumping softly against yours. Your fingers press into his shoulders, scratching a bit roughly when he speeds up, his strength making the bed creak beneath you.

His name leaves your lips in a breathy, high pitched moan when he slams into you, harder than before. You claw at his back, nipping at his shoulder to stop yourself from being too loud when he pounds into you, faster and deeper. You mewl in pleasure when he goes harder again, clinging to him, wanting to be closer than skin on skin and tangled limbs. Your lips part in a gasp when his thrusts grow harder, his hand wrapped tightly around the headboard, and you arch back beneath him, your chest thrust upward and your breaths on one another’s lips. His name leaves your lips again just as your mouths melt together, sloppy and desperate.

Your bodies rock against the bed, pressed so tightly together and you feel everything tense up, you feel fire in his touch. He urges you to let go near your ear, his voice soft and his movements hard as he pounds into you, the sounds of your climax bringing him to his own. You cry out in pleasure, cursing as you throw your head back, your fingers digging into his skin as the high spreads through you. Harry’s surges through him and he buries his face against you to keep from groaning too loudly. You pant beneath him as you come down from the high, his skin still cool against yours. You long for that coolness, your body slick with sweat and you pout when he rolls off of you, settling down beside you. He quickly pulls you back to his body though, longing for the warmth in your body that he misses in his own.

“Did I hurt you?” he asks then, pulling the soft silk sheets over both your bodies.

“No,” you assure him, voice a little tired.

“Why’d you let me… you know?”

“I wanted to know what it felt like.”

“How’d it feel then?” he asks curiously, tilting his head a little to the side.

You prop yourself up on one elbow, your free arm stretched out over his chest.

“Strange,” you admit, tracing over his tattoos with one finger. “But not bad, I guess.”


He smiles down at you, his arm tightening around you and forcing you closer to his side.

“You’re very warm,” he says, not sure if he’s speaking more to himself or to you.

“Is that bad?”

“No, no of course not. I like it,” he says wistfully.

“Harry,-“ and you’re cut off by his soft giggle. “What is it?”

“I just like how you say my name.”

You smile and kiss his chest, looking up at him with wide eyes. “How do you stay fed?”

“Strange thing to ask after sex.”

“Tell me,” you say, jokingly rolling your eyes.

“Blood bags like from hospitals and stuff,” he replies and you nod.

You were scared he’d admit something much worse, much darker and scarier.

“So then why-?”

“Sometimes I just can’t resist.”

You nod once, scooting a little closer and leaning your head on his chest. His hand dances along your hip, tracing patterns you can’t decipher into your skin. He grabs your hand then, kissing your fingertips and lining his fingers up with yours, quietly observing the difference in size, absent mindedly playing with your fingers.

“I can’t believe you stayed,” he says then, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Me too,” you say, your voice just as soft. “I’m glad I did. I’m glad I trusted you.”

“Can you stay again? Another night?”

“Harry, I have to go home at some point. I have to talk to my friend- oh my god.”

“Relax,” he says before you can leap out of bed in search for your phone. “You did that already, told me to send something like ‘I’m good see you later’ from your phone. And anyway, you can take a shower here, just spend another night with me, I’ll take you home myself afterwards.”

“You don’t like being alone, huh?”

He doesn’t say much, just leans his head against yours once you’ve moved yourself up a bit to rest your head on his shoulder. You meet his gaze briefly, turning away to snuggle up more comfortably beside him. He lifts his head up to watch you roll around with a smile on his face and when you finally settle down, he kisses you, a warm, heavy kiss that leaves you with your lips hanging open.

“Get some sleep, love,” Harry whispers.

“Do you sleep?”

“Course I do. But I’ll probably stay awake for a bit, watch the sunrise before I have to pull the drapes for the day,” he says, a hint of sadness in his voice.

You watch as he stretches, sitting up under the covers and pulling his boxer briefs on. He presses another kiss to your forehead before walking out, shutting the door quietly behind him. You can’t stand to be alone in that giant bed so you stand up, wrapping yourself in the thin sheet and leaving to follow him. You spot him just standing in front of the window, the light of the buildings leaving one side of his face in shadows. You pad quietly over to him, the sheet dragging behind you. You stand behind him, wrapping your arms around him and resting your chin against his shoulder.

“I’ll stay up with you,” you tell him, smiling when you feel his hand over yours.

You rest your head against him, kissing his cool skin and sighing to yourself at the sight of the city, so bright and busy, the sky barely a lighter shade of blue. You sigh at the lonely apartment, so void of life, so cold and new. You sigh at this lonely boy, this monster hidden in a man, so gentle and sweet but so deadly. You get scared all over again, but remember his promise not to hurt you, how kind he’s been. You care for him so much already, after only a few hours together and it scares you, the risk, the intensity, the danger. The thoughts swim in your head and you don’t realize how much the sky has lightened, how there are hints now of gold and pink as he presses a button that sends drapes unraveling to cover every floor to ceiling window in the flat and guides you to follow him back to bed.

“Get to sleep,” he urges like before, pulling you as close as humanly possible.

“See you at sunset?” you guess, looking up as his eyes flutter closed, nuzzling closer to him.

You lay your head against his chest and his grip around you tightens as you make beds out of each other in the bed you already shared. You start to doze off, eyes shut and lips parted as your breaths fall into the rhythm of sleep, safe in his arms.

“See you at sunset,” he says with a sad smile, only seconds before he falls asleep.

anonymous asked:

Hello~ May I prompt klaine in 'Are a singer and a blind person who falls in love with their voice' please? And then they meet and actually fall in love and all is right in the world :D

Anonymous said:I think I would die of pure squeals if you wrote: Klaine AU - Are a singer and a blind person who falls in love with their voice

Neooooww so cute

Klaine Bingo: Heart

“And this week, just like the past four weeks, Kurt Hummel’s third album, Unicorn, is topping the charts. To see the singer lead the charts with an album of covers, giving a new energy to old classics like Sinatra’s and the Beatles’ as well as more recent hits from Lady Gaga and Ke$ha, a new identity really, is truly a surprise.”

“I agree, Colin. I think Hummel’s usual targeted audience is showing an appreciation for oldies and goodies, beyond the studio expectation.”

“Precisely, Heather. And now, just for the kicks of it, let’s listen to the latest single from the album, Hummel’s duet with none other than Mercedes Jones, the cover of Madonna’s  Four Minutes.”

Blaine bites on his lower lip to keep himself from being too obvious as the song starts in his headphones.

His phone beeps in his pocket, and he stands up, unfolding his cane.

As much as he loves–adores, worships–Kurt Hummel and his voice, he still needs to get off the subway to get to work.

“Good morning Blaine,” Santana calls when he comes in through the back alley’s door. “Careful, the Motta croquembouche is on your left.”

Blaine takes a careful step to his right to avoid the left counter entirely. “Good morning boss.”

For the past two years, Blaine has been working for Santana’s event planning agency, “Boppidi-Boo”, and though they seemed to butthead on everything, they make for a powerful duo nowadays.

“Santana, I needed to talk to you about Puckerman’s napkins,” he says immediately, folding up his cane and putting his satchel on his desk.

“What about them?”

“He’s stealing from you.”

Blaine can actually feel the air swirling when Santana rushes to get next to him. “Speak.”

From his satchel, Blaine pulls out two napkins. “See, those,” he says, lifting one, “are the ones we initially ordered from him. Black Bengaline, high thread count. And those,” he lifts the other one, “are the ones he delivered for the Abrams-Cohen Chang engagement party.”

“I see no difference.”

Blaine unfolds then, running his fingers down both seams. “The thread count is completely different. One is high-class, smooth and chic, what you wanted and what represents your brand; the other is …”

“Cheap and irritating?”


Keep reading


“I remember her long hair, her bare feet, which as a little boy I often caressed while she put her makeup on. Whenever she had to go to a dinner or a cocktail party, she would always say, Oh, if only I could only stay home and eat in the kitchen with you. I remember school days, cramming for exams for which she probably fretted more than I did. She would test me before bed and again in the morning, waking up with a sort of sleepy head only adults enjoy. I remember her elation at good grades, her support and positiveness for the not so good ones. I remember sleepovers on weekends, when we would chat with the lights out, during those precious few moments before one falls asleep. We would talk about feelings and plans and people and things, but in that way that is specific to that darkness, like two souls suspended. I am often asked what it was like to have a famous mother. I always answer that I don’t know. I knew her first as my mother and then as my best friend. She wanted to be a mother very much so when she had the opportunity, she did it to the fullest extent of the law.” Sean Hepburn Ferrer 

"She resented the word ‘star’; she thought it was silly. And every time she’d realize that she was becoming too serious, too self-involved, she would poke fun at herself.” Robert Wolders 

“She smiled at the children, and some of them came forward to stroke her arm and hold her hands… just ahead, a small girl sat by herself under the shade of a coconut tree. The little one caught Audrey’s attention, and she asked, ‘Why doesn’t she join the others?’. Walking over, Audrey knelt down and spoke with her. Then, picking her up, she hugged her close. The child’s legs, crippled by polio, dangled uselessly. Carrying the little one, Audrey waked towards us, her eyes filled with tears. None of the rest of us had taken notice of that child.” Cole Dodge 

“She was thoughtful and loving and full of care. I remember one Easter, she arrived here, and she had this huge box from a great chocolatier in Lausanne, and the box of litte eggs, the most beautiful thing, and she lugged it all the way from Switzerland! And flowers, and letters…” Connie Wald 

“What is needed in order to really become a star is an extra element which God gives you or doesn’t give you. You’re born with it. You cannot learn it. God kissed Audrey Hepburn on the cheek and there she was.” Billy Wilder 

“I am, and forever will be, devastated by the gift of Audrey Hepburn before my camera. I cannot lift her to greater heights. She is already there. I can only record. I cannot interpret her. There is no going further than who she is. She has achieved in herself her ultimate portrait.” Richard Avedon 

I am proud to have been in a business that gives pleasure, creates beauty, and awakens our conscience, arouses compassion, and perhaps most importantly, gives millions a respite from our so violent world.

Rest in Peace, AUDREY KATHLEEN RUSTON (May 4th, 1929 - January 20th, 1993)

Restau-Rant: Why Some Of You Should Just Learn to Cook

Guys, I’m just going to come right out and say it. 

You know that saying, “the customer is always right?”

I have a different saying.   

“The customer, a good 60% of the time, is a huge fuckin’ idiot." 

A lot of us work in the service industry.  We spend our week hosting, serving, bussing, managing, cooking, dishwashing, mixology-ing, whatever you want to call it, we DO those things.  Now, I totally understand that some of the people who work in a restaurant can be assholes, (because let’s face it, there are a LOT of people who are assholes,) but I’m going to say that for every one poor and hardworking restaurant employee there are at least a handful of people who should never go out in public when they are hungry.  They should stick to pudding packs, or sacrificing goats, or whatever they do at home, but for the love of God, avoid restaurants entirely.  Buy an easy-bake oven and get the fuck out. 

I’m going to throw out a few things from my experience TODAY just so you get an idea of the calibre of people that we deal with on a day-to-day basis.  This post can in no way possibly cover all of the stupid shit that customers do at a restaurant, so stay tuned for parts two through oh, I don’t know, fucking INFINITY. 

First off, here are some questions I get on the regular.  Top four that I hear ALL the time.  Stop asking them.  It’s making you look like the appendix of society, and it proves that in some cases, Darwin’s Theory of Evolution is completely fucked. 

1) Do you have a bathroom?

No.  We don’t.  We all pee in our hands here.  Or else we have to hold it.  We require our customers to walk a few blocks down to the gas station on the corner, or offer a complimentary phone call twenty minutes before your reservation reminding you to empty your bladder.  Feel free to ask me where the bathroom is, but stop asking if we have one.  This is 2014, and the majority of us don’t eat in mud huts.

2) Is that the bar?

No.  That big thing that has drinks on it, and bartenders behind it is not the bar.  That’s actually a magical doorway that leads to Narnia.  Typically we have it blocked off because it’s pretty dangerous, but what the hell, tonight, run wild. 

3) Do you have blankets?

Are we a fucking Bed Bath and Beyond suddenly and I completely missed the memo?  I get cold at restaurants too.  But unlike some, I’m aware of the fact that temperature is a thing we all have to deal with, and I’m also aware of the fact that it changes pretty regularly on a day-to-day basis so I’ll bring a jacket or deal with it.  I don’t go to an appointment in my eye doctor’s office and ask him for a coat when it’s a little chilly, why in the name of fuck would I do it at a restaurant?

4) Can you throw this away for me?

Hey, seriously.  Thanks for bringing in your collection of old coffee cups, tissues, wadded up gum napkins, and whatever the fuck your grandmother had at the bottom of her purse in 1920.  It’s unfortunate that you don’t have a trashcan at home, but it’s cool because I like touching your germs.  I decided when I was four I was going to make it a hobby of mine to throw away other people’s shit.


Please be aware that when you go to a restaurant you are in public.  Public, according to Webster’s Dictionary is a place where you have to interact with other human beings and not be a complete fucking cave dweller who can’t control any primal psychosis that you may or may not be aware you have.  Webster’s words.  Not mine.

Class, guys. We don’t all have it.

Here’s an example of everything wrong with society.  This was ONE party.

Tonight a woman came in with her husband and two young sons.  She told me there were two of them. But because I’m not blind and I’m fairly good at math, I was able to count four of them.  Granted, two were tinier versions of the older two, but they still looked a lot like humans to me.   

Real quick, did everyone in the world who has children get together and have a meeting about how you’re just going to fuck with people at restaurants by not counting your children as part of a reservation?  Were you guys just like “yeah, let’s confuse them and pretend the kids aren’t here and then they’ll be surprised and probably also really happy to see extra children that they need to find space for.”  If you are two adults, and two kids, there are actually four of you.  We still need to find room for the kids to sit down.  Unless you’re Harry God Damn Potter and you taught your kids how to hover above the table so that you only need a two top, STOP casually forgetting to add them to your party.

We don’t have a table right away for her, because we’re a busy restaurant, but we tell her it’ll be a short wait.  Not a problem.  I show her over to the lounge area where a cocktail server can help them with some drinks while we wait for their table to become available.

QUICK FUCKING SIDEBAR.  IF YOU’RE A WALK-IN AT A BUSY RESTAURANT AND YOU DON’T MAKE A RESERVATION, YOU ARE NOT ALLOWED TO EVER BE PISSED OFF, EVER, THAT THERE IS A WAIT. If you don’t want to wait 30 minutes, then you know, just use your fucking legs or cane or wheels or tentacles or whatever the fuck you have and go out the door. We didn’t trap you here as soon as you came in, you’re not under contract.  Do us all a favor and just head to a Burger King instead of hanging around the host stand and staring at us like a mildly retarded pitbull who looks like they might attack at any moment.

Moving forward.

Five minutes later I turn around, and the two ADULTS have their feet, yeah THEIR FEET THAT THEY WALK AROUND ON, on the table, THE TABLE YOU EAT AT.  


After asking politely for them to put their feet down, because it’s a health code violation, and because no one wants Tom fucking Sawyer foot disease after eating some bread, the woman had the balls to roll her eyes at me and go “Wow.  Seriously?”  Yes, seriously Dennis the Menace.  Take your feet off the table.

Eventually, their wait is up.  So I show them over to a table.

“Follow me right this way” typically means, move one foot after the other and watch where I go, and make sure that you also go there.  It doesn’t mean stare blankly at me while I start walking away from you holding menus.  That would be counter-productive.

They get to the table and she looks at her husband and rolls her rolly fucking eyeballs, (which at this point should just roll the fuck out of her stupid head and save themselves,) and goes “Is this okay?” 

Guys.  Let me tell you why it’s okay.  It’s okay because the hostess just dealt with a god damn treasure map of a schematic and a couple of algebraic formulas to figure out what server could give you the best service without being swamped by too many tables.  We looked at what tables are reserved for reservations, what tables are best to accommodate children, what tables aren’t too loud, aren’t too quiet, aren’t too cold, aren’t too round, aren’t too boothy, etc. etc. 

We just did a magic trick to get you seated, so yes, it’s fucking okay, and you don’t get to have a debate amongst family and move wherever you want.  If you don’t want a hostess, head to a McDonalds and sit in the pit full of multicolored plastic balls for all I care. 

After I almost witness a fight that could create a divorce, she decides the table is not okay. 

At this point I play a fun hostess game called “Follow this party as they wander around the restaurant while they decide they hate every table that’s available while also being in the way of food runners and servers.”

Eventually they sit, and it’s fine, I no longer have to deal with them and now it’s the servers job to clean up spilled drinks, broken glasses, and tell them to stop haphazardly ordering shit that isn’t on the menu.

I’ll finish the shift, clock out and move on with my life.  But the point is, this is ONE customer.  ONE.  

I KNOW you guys are better than that.  And some of you are truly wonderful people to encounter at a restaurant.  But for those of you like rolly-polly-stupidfuckineyeballs, I seriously pray for a world where one day we can all get together and write Yelp reviews on you.  

Until then, thanks so much for coming, glad you enjoyed your meal, & have a great night.