Imagine Damon telling you he’s a vampire and asking if you still love him
“This is what I am Y/N. Do you really love a monster like me?” His face morphed into something you had never seen before and to say you were shocked would be an understatment.
“Well I mean I definitely didn’t see this coming. But you’re still the man I fell in love with. If you were going to hurt me you would have done it.” Looking at the love of your life, you saw as his eyes grew wide for a split second before narrowing again
“No, I’m a monster and you can’t love me.”
Stepping up to him, you reached out and placed your hands on his face, running your finger over the veins and his lips. “That’s where you’re wrong, Damon. I love you no matter what, the fact you’re a vampire doesn’t change that.”
His face changed and the blue eyes you had grown to love returned and he smiled down at you. “I love you too, Y/N. I’m glad I have you.”
So my school’s jazz ensemble is a massive boys club, and as a girl playing a male-dominated instrument in a male dominated band, there’s a lot of, ehm, barriers you have to get around. Games of who would you screw, comparing the sizes of teacher’s breasts, it’s something that takes time to get used to. You just have to learn how to blend in.
However, just today I found out about a long time jazz band tradition that may be pushing it a bit to far.
We play at this festival in a local hotel every year, and today I was invited to a celebratory lunch at Hooter’s after our performance. For those of you who don’t know what Hooter’s is, here’s the logo.
(the Os are breasts. Draw your own conclusions)
Apparently they do this yearly, and they make our conductor pay. Why they asked me along is beyond me, only one or two of them know about my sexual preferences.
but yeah. After one of our biggest concerts of the year, the band goes to what is basically one step below a strip club. I’m a queer girl in a fucking fraternity. Great.